NS: David and His Jonathan-Part 1

As he stepped into the throne room, David – youngest son of the shepherd Jesse – stood in awe at how the stone and mud blocks fit perfectly together. In contrast to his humble abode, this grand edifice was a richly decorated structure. With camel hair thrushes, sheep’s wool blankets, colorful pillows lining the floor, and woolen blankets dyed in various blues and gold, the room was considerably warmer than his father’s great room. Dozens of people danced and partook of an abundance of foods and drink as they celebrated the defeat of the Philistine army at the hands of the Israelites. For a common sheep herder, it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and David felt his eyes rounding in awe at each step forward. His father would say it was glut and greed; shameful displays of the flesh and the weakness in man. But for a young man of David’s impressionable age, the sights and smells were intoxicating.

At Saul’s behest, David approached the well-built middle-aged man on the raised dais at the end of the room. As he came near the gold-lined throne, the king’s subjects fell quieter, unnerving the young warrior. It seemed that everyone was interested in the young man who defeated the Philistine's greatest warrior. At the powerful man’s request, David stood before his king, tall and with pride as Saul made the proclamation that “he is as mine own”. He glanced around to see if he would be scolded for the shamefulness of pride that he’d always been taught it was. But he saw no censure amongst the king’s subjects.

A tall, dark-haired young man, several years older than David, appeared at King Saul’s side. David drew in a sharp breath, so taken was he by the Prince’s beauty and the grace he commanded as he glided to the side of the throne. This must be one of King Saul’s sons, David thought. With such beauty, grace, and presence, he could be nothing less.

The powerful King of the Israelites addressed his youngest son, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls. “Mine own Jonathan, take David to thy quarters. Giveth all that he require. Command thy servants to him as you would to thee.”

Bowing low as a sign of respect to his king’s son, David was surprised to find a large warm hand fit into his own and raise him up as an equal. “Thou art equal and bless-ed by the Lord.” The rich tenor voice struck David’s soul, and he followed the Prince to his quarters, almost hypnotized.

Once the tapestry had dropped over the doorway, leaving the two alone in Prince Jonathan’s private quarters, David found his voice. “Thou art beauteous.” Startled at his own presumptuousness of speaking without being addressed, David lowered his eyes and hoped that the compassion he’d glimpsed in the other man’s eyes was not the reflection of candlelight.

He was reassured when Prince Jonathan put a hand under his chin and raised his head to meet the other’s eyes. More than reassured when Prince Jonathan told David that he was in awe of David’s greatness – both physically and spiritually; and honored to become a brother of one so respected by God and king.

David shook his head in denial, he was not worthy to be a friend of this important man in king’s household, much less his equal. How had it all come to this, that a young man with no prospects – a lowly sheepherder, and a youngest of many sons – was now on a par with a king’s son?


In the early morning hours of a gray, Bay City dawn, Hutch shook his lover’s shoulder, calling to him and trying to wake him from an apparent dream. “Starsky!”

“Thou hath honored me, thy Prince.” It was obvious that Starsky was dreaming as his voice was husky with sleep and his speech included words that sounded unlike any in the English language.

“Starsky! Wake up!” Hutch jostled his shoulder harder.

A dark, tousled head appeared from underneath the layers of bedclothes. “Huh? Hutch? What’s wrong?” Starsky squinted his eyes as they adjusted to a wakeful state.

What’s wrong? Nothing. Just that you were mumbling weirdly. What were you dreaming about?”

Starsky opened his sluggish and confused eyes all the way as his mind woke up to find his blond lover bowed over him. The feeling of being overwhelmed by… what, he didn’t know, stayed with him even after he woke. “Hutch. What the hell time’s it?”

Squinting past Starsky’s body, Hutch looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Uh, 5:30.”

“Geez, Hutch. You woke me that early to interpret a dream?!” Starsky threw the covers back over his head, hiding from his lover and his dreams.

“Well, since I’m up, I might as well get my run in.” Hutch turned down the bedcovers over him in a smooth motion, pulling them down from Starsky’s torso at the same time.

As Hutch started to get up, Starsky pushed him out of the bed lightly with the rest of the way with his muscular legs. “You do that an’ lemme sleep s’ummor…” he trailed off drowsily

While Hutch took his morning jog and then stopped to pick up breakfast for the two, Starsky dreamed again. Dreaming of a mysterious dark haired man, sand, warmth, and the past; the images disappearing in wisps of memory as he slowly awoke to begin his day.

The dreams were forgotten by both men by the time the two arrived at the precinct to begin their day. The next few days consisted of busy work hours chasing down crazed gunmen and incompetent criminals, so much so that neither man was up for any romantic festivities, and spent nights at their respective apartments.

While sleeping alone Starsky didn’t have any confusing and powerful dreams; however, once he returned to Hutch’s arms…


~*~


And David went with Jonathan and behaved himself wisely; and he was accepted in the sight of all the people and also in the sight of the Lord. His brothers were jealous, but he shared gladly of his good fortune. He was kind, but firm to the servants; gentle with animals; open and friendly with all those in the community; he held his counsel around King Saul and his advisors, only giving responses when addressed or questioned. His advice to the household and the military persons were sound and intelligent.

Jonathan became his confidant, his adviser, his best friend, and yes, his lover. He told David he was proud of the way he handled himself, for one so young and unused to the trappings of royalty. Within months, David’s popularity had surpassed that of the King. It worried David inwardly, but he kept his deference to God and King Saul and his sons, making him even more beloved of the people.

To gain the support of the young warrior, and to keep him close to hearth, King Saul gave his daughter Michal to David to wife. Michal loved David, but David loved Jonathan above all others. Honored by Saul’s gift, David felt the happiest he had ever in his life. Now, rather than being the youngest son with little future, he had a wife, a love, a family, a purpose.

The two men spent their days honing hunting skills, playing games of courage, and competing against each other for the attention of the serving girls. And nights that saw discussions from politic to farming, or perhaps listening to Court Musicians. David had never known such luxury and relaxation. Being the youngest of his father’s children, it was his responsibility to take care of his older brothers while they worked in the fields or with the flocks. But now he had a wife and servants to see to his needs.

“I delight in thee, my David. Herewith I giveth thee my cloak.” And Jonathan took off his royal blue cloak and laid it upon the shoulders of his friend. Jonathan was just as faithful to God and David, and it comforted David to know that not all of King Saul’s Court had lost the way of the Lord.

Humbled, David accepted the gift, but protested the symbol, as blue was worn only by those of the royal line. He turned to look into his beloved’s face; deep brown eyes lined with pale lashes, aquiline nose, and shoulder-length brown hair. Astounded that such a man – a good man – loved him, a modest shepherd, he reached up to touch Jonathan’s face and gently brushed it with his fingers. “I loveth thee too much to take thy rights.”

“The prophet Samuel sayeth that a son of Jesse will be anointed king over Israel. I shalt be proud to call thee my king.” To prove his words, Jonathan prostrated himself in front of David and grasped his strong callused hand, kissing the palm in reverence.

In shock, David raised Jonathan from his knees. The fear he felt from what Jonathan suggested – and should either man be found out – gave way to awe, and David grasped Jonathan’s neck, pulling the other man closer, giving him a ardent kiss as he lowered the two of them onto the pallet in the center of Jonathan’s tent. David had never felt such passion, beauty, and love before, even with his new wife.

And so Jonathan’s soul was knit with the soul of David and the two made a covenant between them. And that covenant was before God, and God was pleased.

Late at night thereafter, Jonathan would dismiss his servants & musicians, and he & David knew each other. But David always retired to his tent or rooms - and his wife, lest he shame Jonathan and Mikal. The Pharisees had always taught that God frowned upon such things, but men in other cultures that visited King Saul’s Court openly flaunted their young male lovers. How could man hold himself as high as God and decide what God liked and didn’t, he wondered? Eventually David decided that if God was unhappy with how David was living his life, He would make it known. And David was always faithful to God first, making sure he lived the laws as God had given them to Moses.

Under the warm covers, Starsky snuggled closer to his blond and began paying homage to Hutch’s neck with his mouth. “Jonathan.” He breathed gently. “Thou art mine and I am thine.”

The light ministrations roused Hutch from his sleeping state, and he wriggled under the tickling dry lips and hot breath.

Slowly, Starsky moved down to Hutch’s bare shoulder and arm, and mouthed into the tanned skin, “Jonathan, mine own.”

Hutch brought his hands up to the curled head to encourage the loving mouth. “Starsk, mmm, you sure know how to wake up a guy.” He looked down and noticed that Starsky was still asleep and dreaming. He rubbed the thick head of curls beneath his hands. “Starsk? Hey…”

“Jonathan….” The dry lips moved over Hutch’s pectorals to outline the name, as if Starsky were painting it on Hutch’s chest.

“Jona…? What the?” Hutch lifted the curly head in his palms and gazed upon Starsky’s sleeping countenance that was glazed with passion. “Starsky! Damnit, wake up!” He tapped the cheeks between his palms several times to rouse his lover.

The mussed head of curls rose up and Starsky looked around as if confused by his surroundings. Feeling the tension in the long body beneath him, he brought his hands up to soothe Hutch’s side and relax the taut body.

Wriggling out from underneath his lover, Hutch distanced himself as much as possible from Starsky. He looked up with wary eyes. “Starsky, who’s Jonathan?”

Confusion alit in the dark blue eyes and Starsky’s brows knit together. “Jonathan? I don’t know any Jonathan.”

Believing him, but feeling left out, Hutch still pouted. “Well, you were pawing all over me while calling out that name.”

“I’m sorry babe. It must’ve been just a dream. I swear to you Hutch, I don’t know any Jonathan.” Starsky rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” A whisper of teasing had entered his voice.

“Of course not. I trust you. It’s just,” Hutch paused, hating to admit to any weakness…anything as petty as jealousy, “it’s unnerving to hear your lover call out another man’s name at the same time he’s getting amorous.”

“Aw, Hutch. I’m sorry. I really don’t remember what the dream was about.” Rubbing his eyes, he looked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Damn. We’re late again.”

The dream already forgotten, Hutch rolled onto his side and put his arms around his devilish lover. “Since when do you care about being late?” He snuggled closer, “You started something – now don’t you think you should finish it?” burying his nose into the messy, lush curls.

Starsky stared at him warily. “You sure that dream didn’t make you feel jealous? This isn’t like you. You hate to be late.”

“Dobey can wait for once. And yes, I’m positive I’m not jealous.” Then Hutch shut up as his mouth found, and latched onto, a pale earlobe, nipping and pulling the tiny appendage as his tongue traced the outer cartilage.

With difficulty, Starsky pushed himself away and rolled out of bed, taking most of the covers with him. “As much as I’d love to take advantage of your offer, we gotta finish the paperwork on the Phillips case. The DA needs it today to file their charges within the time limit.” He clicked his tongue and jerked a thumb upward to indicate his lover should be up and at ’em also.

Disappointed, slightly horny, and confused by his partner’s unwillingness to play around – most unlike Starsky, Hutch sighed and rolled out the other side of the bed to prepare himself for another day. Left high and dry with his blood pulsing in his veins after Starsky’s amorous handling, the rest of the day from that point on seemed off to Hutch; the shower wasn’t warm enough, the eggs and coffee were cool, the air was filmy and crusty, the Torino’s engine extra loud.

All day, Starsky kept up a constant chatter about their ongoing cases, the troubles with his car, vacation ideas, etc; causing the unused adrenaline in Hutch’s systems to turn to tension. As Starsky pulled in front of Venice Place at the end of the work day, Hutch got out and slammed the passenger door, Starsky grimacing behind him at the impact of heavy metal upon metal.

His nerves shot and head pounding from the frustration of that morning, Starsky’s faux pas, not to mention the constant verbal onslaught his partner laid on him, Hutch fumbled with the keys in his hand as he hurriedly tried to unlock his door.

The next thing Hutch knew, Starsky was placing one of his hands over his own that held the keys; to calm Hutch.

A blaze of sensation shot from his hand where they were connected, and up Hutch’s arm. He was still amazed at the response that a simple touch by his partner could generate – even after all this time. But he held onto lingering disappointment and told Starsky that he wanted to be alone tonight. “Just go home,” he told his shadow as Starsky tried to follow him in.

“Go home?!” Starsky was stunned. “But babe, why?”

“I’ve got a headache. I’ve had one all day just listening to your nonstop babble.” Hutch finally got the door opened and stood at the entryway. “And I don’t think I could stand to hear you call out some other guy’s name two nights in a row while lying next to me.”

Chagrined and slightly hurt, Starsky turned away toward the stairs. “I told you I was sorry. Don’t even remember anything about it,” he mumbled. But he honored Hutch’s request and took off to his own place, alone.

That night Hutch was the one with the troubled sleep. He could never get comfortable without the warm, compact, muscular body of his best friend and lover beside him. Starsky, however, slept well burrowed within his blankets; pillows placed beside him to soothe his aching psyche. Without Hutch beside him, there were no disturbing dreams of a mysterious lover named Jonathan.