dalegardener: (Starsky and Hutch 2)
Written for the cuffs challenge on Me and Thee 100 on LJ. Sexual references but nothing explicit. Even when Vanessa wins, she doesn't.
Drabble under the cut )
dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, a famous hug from the episode The Fix (The Fix)
Written for the spark challenge on the Me and Thee 100 comm on LJ. Gen in the sense that you can't actually prove that it's slash.

Hutch is stone-faced after Marianne, after Kira, aware that it’s all gone wrong somewhere, sharp edges cutting himself and the people around him. But Starsky, steel in his eyes, keeps getting in Hutch’s way. Hutch doesn’t even mean to strike at him, would rather not, and winces every time he sees the sparks fly. Starsky wants to set a fire in him, to warm them both, but all that Hutch can see is how they could burn each other, all the things that might turn to ash, and he keeps his distance, hard as flint. But the sparks still fly....

Drabble

May. 25th, 2011 08:52 pm
dalegardener: (Starsky and Hutch 2)
Written for challenge #110 on the Me and Thee comm on LJ. The prompt was 'sing'.

“Wild thing!” Starsky banged out the beat on the steering wheel. “You make my heart sing!”

“Starsk...”

“You make everything... groovy!"

"Starsk!"

Starsky eyed Hutch, who looked kind of green. Their current undercover target had hard-drinking associates.

“Sorry.” The lights turned red, and Starsky brought them to a gentle stop out of pure consideration for the blond grump in the passenger seat. They waited.

“Just do it.”

“What?” Starsky asked innocently.

“You know you want to.” Hutch looked head-achey, but resigned.

“Wild thing, I think I love you,” Starsky sang softly, and let the engine roar as he pulled away.
dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, smiling, monochrome pic (Starsky and Hutch)
I wrote this for the Me and Thee 100 comm on Livejournal, for the one hundredth prompt celebrations, to the prompt of jealousy.

Fault

Ollie's round glass eyes seem to stare accusingly; or maybe Hutch is imagining the clear-eyed, perceptive gaze of his former owner.

'Hey,' he thinks. 'How things turned out is not my fault.' "Not my fault," he says to the darkened room, but not too loudly.

Beside him, Starsky mutters, only half awake. "Babe?"

"Go to sleep. We have a busy day at the office tomorrow."

Starsky chuckles, a sleepy burble. Hutch turns his back on Ollie, and lays his arm across Starsky's waist. Sure, he'd have learned to share. But he can't help feeling glad that he doesn't have to.
dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, smiling, monochrome pic (Starsky and Hutch)
Written for the jeans prompt at the Me and Thee 100 comm on LJ. Gen, mild angst.

Starsky doesn't keep tabs on how often he replaces or repair his clothes, or on whether his drycleaners will miss his custom when he retires. If he cared to count, there's the pair of jeans that Hutch threw up on coming off the heroin. Another pair were ripped to the knee on a chain link fence. There's the pair that Hutch threw in the trash with shaking hands after they were cut off Starsky when Gunther's men shot him.

Starsky's mother told him that cold water gives you a better chance of shifting bloodstains; but that only works on cloth.
dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, smiling, monochrome pic (Starsky and Hutch)
I wrote this for the MeandThee100 comm on Livejournal.

The nearest telephone is downstairs in the apartment of the late Victor Bellamy, so Hutch lifts Starsky with a fireman's carry. He hates Starsky's grunt of pain, but there's no easier way to safely negotiate the stairs.

Bellamy's wife, Bellamy's widow, gazes wide-eyed around the doorway, and Hutch hopes she doesn't start screaming because he doesn't trust himself not to start screaming right along with her. Instead, she sobs with stifled hysteria as Hutch sidles in and lays Starsky down on the crappy sofa.

He phones for ambulances and back-up and whatever's necessary for a dead body shot by a cop's gun. "Guess we have an IA meeting in our future, buddy," he murmurs, gently pushing Starsky's hair back from the sweaty face.

"Look forward to it," Starsky says, so slurred Hutch wouldn't recognise the words if he didn't know Starsky.

Bellamy's wife rocks back and forth on a chair, wailing, and Hutch grits his teeth so he won't yell at her, so he won't stand up and backhand her into silence. He's angry, but he knows who the anger's really for. "He wouldn't have got the drop on me," he protests.

He isn't convincing anyone, least of all himself.
dalegardener: Starsky and Hutch, a famous hug from the episode The Fix (The Fix)
Drabble, ie 100 words, gen, pgish for adult concepts, I guess. Written for the 'deep' challenge on the MeandThee-100 comm on Live Journal.

Too Deep

A cop is always in too deep with his city, delving worm-like into her innards, hoping that it's the good earth he leaves behind him, and not just more shit. A cop knows the rough places where the garbage lies out in the open, and he knows the shiny places where the rot lies discreet and hidden. A cop can't drive past the blue sparkling ocean without wondering what rests below the surface.

A cop is always in too deep with his city. A man needs something (or someone) to haul him to the surface. Lucky he has Starsky, then.
dalegardener: Railways tracks between trees (Railway tracks)
The challenge in the Me and Thee 100 comm was Fat Rolly. Someone must have appreciated him, even temporarily. :0)


This beer sure is strong... Not even a 'I love you, Lillian'. It's not like I don't love my big lummox but he ain't much of a talker. Makes me mad. Rolly, he's a solid guy, and I like 'em solid, it's reassurin', and he's got sweet talk. Plus, he's a businessman. It's not classy, but Rolly is enterprising and you gotta respect that.

I feel awful how Rolly got hurt, but a woman appreciates it when her sweetie gets riled like that. Pardon my hiccup. It's not sweet talk, but it's reassurin', and sometimes a girl just needs reassurin'...

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