Title: My Hutch

Word Count: 890

Rating: T

Note: At first, this was going to be a simple excersie on describing a man but then it turned into this... All i can say is that Hutch is very distracting. Excuse any errors, i have no beta.

His blue eyes stared at me. His hair, usually combed and parted to the side, was clinging to his face, plastered down by the water trailing down his forehead and perfect aquiline nose. The water then trailed down between his nostrils and stopped for a moment at the curve of his lips before making a trip down his mouth and then rapidly sliding off his chin. The drop, which I'd followed with my eyes as it made its trip down his face, fell down and hit his naked tanned chest.

"God, you're beautiful…" I muttered before I could help myself. His eyes sparkled in amusement, his lips twitching at the sides as he tried to contain a smile. His eyebrows, as blond as his hair, knitted together as he saw my blood rush to my face, making me resemble a plump tomato ready to be plucked. "I… I mean-"

"Thanks," he told me with a chuckle, bringing his hand up to my bare shoulder. His touch was electrifying, every nerve in my body responded to his skin being in contact with mine. His other hand was brought up and woven between my hair - parting it with his long, slim fingers. I leaned in closer, letting my head tilt to the side and press into the palm of his hand. "The filter in your mind is wonderful," he exclaimed, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine for a second.

I nodded my head, a smile coming to form itself on my lips. He had told me this before, on another night where the moon shone through the drapes of his window, past the plants that he had hung from the ceiling, and had hit his mouth as he mouthed against the skin of my hands, "I can't believe this is happening."

It was just like now, he had just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his thin waist, his glorious body exposed to the world to see and water dripping down his skin. He wasn't ashamed of his body, not with his toned muscles and square shoulders. He was like a sculpture made by one of the great artist. He left the shower, towel around his waist and hands running through his short blond hair and making the water drip faster from his head. I was sitting down on the couch, less than five feet from the bathroom, close enough for me to feel the steam from his shower as he exited the room. I turned; ready to say I'd made lunch, when I saw him.

A moment later, after my lips superseded my brain, I looked down at my hands. I hear his semi-wet feet hit the floor, making a splashing sound on the floor. I hear him walk behind me, walking towards the kitchen and sniffing the air with a moan. I turned to the left, watching him as he hunched over the stove to take a taste of the food I'd left in the pots. I watched him raised his arm, spoon in hand, and take a taste. From the back, I couldn't tell if he liked what I'd made. This healthy thing was new for me. Hell, if I didn't want to show Hutch that I could cook more than just a good burger, I wouldn't be cooking this soup with all these vegetables. He was worst than my mother, trying to entice me with all sorts of rewards so that I would eat my veggies. It worked better than my mother's constant pleading, that's for sure.

"This is …" Hutch said turning to me, "fantastic!"

Of course it is, I thought, I made it for you and only you. But I didn't say anything as he took some plates from the cupboard and began to serve himself some of my amazing food. Meanwhile, my stomach growled loudly knowing that nay food that I will eat will not be a cheeseburger with extra onions or a pizza with anchovies and extra cheese. He sits down next to me, pushing a plate into my hands. The hot plate burns my hands but it is nothing compared to the intensity of his smile as he takes a full bite of my creation.

"I'm glad you like it," I tell him. "I'm glad you're safe."

You could barely see the marks on his pale skin anymore. The marks on his arms, memories of those horrible 72 hours he had been injected with drugs, all but gone. He was back to being the same old Hutch. He wasn't strung out; he was back to his old self except for a few moments where his eyes would tighten as if he was remembering being in that dark room with a needle injecting junk veins. I was desperate, unbalance without him by my side and now, even if I had to cook all his favourite meals (even the healthy ones) I would do it if it kept him from leaving me; If it kept him from going back to those hours and remaining with me, here in the present.

I would do anything; he was my partner, my buddy, my pal, my Blond Blitz but most of all, he was my Hutch.