dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, smiling, monochrome pic (Starsky and Hutch)
Written for Me and Thee 100 on LJ, to the prompt 'crossover'.

One of a Kind

Starsky held up the business card he’d discovered down the side of the couch. “Joe Rossi, Los Angeles Tribune,” he declaimed, before asking in more gentle tones, “Getting offers from the big boys after Gunther, blintz?”

Hutch leaned across Starsky’s body to take the card and tear it into confetti. “A high-class establishment paper like the Tribune doesn’t make ‘offers’. What it does is send pushy reporters to your front door demanding your contribution to the story of the century.”

Starsky settled more comfortably into the crook of Hutch’s arm. “Story of the century, huh?”

“They got their exclusive without me. I figured that Rossi looked ambitious enough to dig out his story on his own, and I was right.” Hutch stretched out his legs, and tightened the arm around Starsky’s shoulders, before saying quietly “I might have informally contacted him once or twice about side issues. I like the Tribune’s editorial stance.”

Starsky raised one eyebrow. “Informally as in anonymously? Does Huggy have competition?”

Hutch looked as embarrassed as Starsky had even seen him. “Huggy is one of a kind. And so are you.” He kissed Starsky’s temple, and Starsky smiled.

“Always knew there was something to recommend me.”
dalegardener: (Starsky and Hutch 2)
Written for the Me and Thee 100 community on Live Journal, to the prompt 'radio'.

“I just can’t smi-ile without you-ooo,” Starsky warbled along with the radio. Hutch was looking at him, the backs of his fingers curved against his mouth, failing to hide a fond smile.

“Barry Manilow, Starsk?”

“Hey, Barry’s okay. He sings a good song,” Starsky said, turning towards his favourite hot-dog stand. “Tuneful.”

“Tinkly,” Hutch rejoined.

“Meaningful,” Starsky said.

“Sappy.” Hutch didn’t sound that loftily elitist, but Starsky was riled by the aspersions cast on his musical appreciation.

“How come ‘I can’t smile without you’ is more sappy than ‘all I want is black bean soup, and you to make it with me’?” Genuine offense skirted Hutch’s face and Starsky offered amends. “You sing a good song, too, I’m not denying it.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Barry’s not so bad. And it’s a true song. ‘I feel sad when you’re sad, feel glad when you’re glad.’” Starsky didn’t sing like a guy on the radio, but he didn’t make dogs howl, either. “Come on,” he cajoled, poking Hutch with his elbow. “You know you want to.”

“I don’t think so,” Hutch said. But Starsky caught him humming later and grinned victoriously before he whistled some bars, just to see Hutch glare.

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Dale

July 2015

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