Summary: here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky. For
cynatnite.
and the sky of the sky
It's getting dark and the drive's at least an hour even with the traffic all dried up. Waves roll out noisily over the sand, so Starsky can't hear the snap of the bonfire that's slowly falling in on itself.
"Should've brought marshmallows."
Hutch shrugs, staring out at the sea or the horizon or who knows what.
Starsky takes a good long look at Hutch, here, like this.
"Hey. You missed a spot."
Hutch blinks and glances over. "Hm?"
Starsky reaches out and fits his hand to the curve of Hutch's neck, right over the small patch of pink, sunburned skin.