The Tat

Starsky catches sight of Hutch’s tiny tattoo and won’t be satisfied until he’s wheedled the story from his partner.

Originally written for the 2026 Valentine’s Day Challenge on the Starsky/Hutch Original bRomance Facebook Group

He knew it was there, but had never seen it up close. Nobody had, and Hutch refused to discuss it. What looked like a tiny tat inked high on his right butt cheek, just below where the elastic band of the boxers or briefs Hutch wore would fall. Not the kind of thing you’d try to examine close up in the men’s shower in the gym or at the precinct. As time passed, Starsky’s curiosity faded and he let it go.

Valentine’s Day was approaching. It was the first one since Terry died, and they bought a bottle of champagne, retired to Starsky’s place, and toasted her memory. It was a sad and silly evening, and comforted them both. When the champagne was gone, Hutch was too drunk to drive home, so he slipped off his jeans, plopped down on Starsky’s bed and passed out.

Morning dawned. Starsky woke, head on his pillow, to find Hutch’s feet curled under the pillow next to him. Hutch snored softly, his back to Starsky, the elastic band on the boxers he wore slipped down just low enough to expose the tiny tat. Starsky grabbed his chance to finally see what it was, then found himself thoughtfully studying it.

It was a tiny broken heart.

For some reason, it was the last thing Starsky expected to see, and deep down, he found himself hurting for Hutch, who seemed to brood over a sadness the tat represented. Starsky wanted to brush away the pain. He actually reached to do it.

“Don’t.”

The soft whisper stayed his hand, and he wondered how Hutch knew. “Tell me about it, babe,” he asked.

“I shouldn’t drink,” Hutch murmured.

Starsky waited and Hutch sighed.

“The night my divorce was final, friends took me out to “celebrate” and I got drunk on my ass. When I came to a day later, I discovered we’d staggered by a tattoo parlor and they’d dared me to get one. I was drunk enough to do it and this is what I chose.” Hutch paused, then forced himself to finish. “The guy took pity on me though. It was supposed to be larger, a garish tat on my chest over my heart. When he found I was a cop, he didn’t want to do it, but we were drunk and we insisted, so he ink it here and made it subtle. I got teased about it, but I went back later and thanked him for his discretion. He said when it healed, I could probably get it removed, but I decided to keep it as a reminder.

“Of what?”

Hutch stopped talking. He stretched, sat up and reached for his jeans on the floor.

And Valentine’s Day came and went.

***

Now that he knew about it, the tat became Starsky’s private obsession, though they never mentioned it again. He wanted to touch it, take away the pain Hutch hid, and he grew closer to Hutch, the touches more intimate, but not erotic. Not yet.

Another Valentine’s Day approached.

“Wanna double-date, Hutch? Maybe dinner and a movie?” Starsky wasn’t seeing anyone special, but decided to leave it to Hutch to decide.

“Not really. I’m not seeing anyone I’m particularly interested in fighting holiday crowds for. Let’s just get some egg rolls and a six pack and hang out.”

Starsky was relieved. He felt the same way. “Works for me. My place or yours?”

“I don’t care.” Hutch rode shotgun in the Torino, moodily staring out the window at the end of their shift.

“Your place, then. It’s near that Chinese restaurant with the egg rolls you like so much, and I’ll run next door and get the beer while you wait for our order to come up.”

“Whatever…”

“Are you okay, babe?” Starsky patted Hutch’s leg, but “Hmmm…” was all Hutch said.

It was a quiet evening. They each had a beer and a couple of egg rolls before Starsky dozed off on the sofa and Hutch sat on the floor ignoring the romantic comedy playing on the television. He finally had enough, turned it off and stood to gather the trash.

“Starsky. Starsk!”

“Huh?”

“C’mon. It’s late. Time to go.”

Starsky rubbed his bleary eyes and sat up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Go change. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Hutch shrugged and handed Starsky the trash he held. “I’ll be right back,” and he headed for the bathroom. By the time he returned in his flannels, Starsky was ready to go, but he lingered.

“Hutch? Let me see it. Please.”

Starsky didn’t specify, but Hutch knew what he meant. “Why? What is it with you and my tat?”

It was hard to explain. “I-I… it used to hurt. A dull pain on the edge of my awareness, that I thought I could heal if I could just touch it. But somehow, it’s changing. The ache has faded and I don’t know why. Do you?”

Hutch didn’t say a word. He simply lifted the soft red Henley he wore and Starsky sank down on the coffee table. He carefully reached for the elastic band on Hutch’s flannels and gently exposed the tat.

The tat was different.

The tiny heart looked… like it was healing… No longer broken, but not yet whole. “Hutch?”

“It’s henna. One of my dates was playing around with it. She got pissy when I told her to leave it alone. She didn’t last. Neither will the henna.”

Starsky got the feeling there was more to the story, but Hutch shut down. He took a chance and gently stroked the tiny heart, then on a whim, he kissed it.

“Starsk!”

He stood and gathered Hutch from behind. “I need to go, babe,” he whispered. “If I stay, we’ll end up in the bedroom doing things we’re not quite ready to do.”

“Things?” Hutch leaned back against Starsky.

“I want to take you, Hutch. Have you kneel before me, slide into your body and make you mine. And I want you to do the same to me. I care for you so fucking much.”

Hutch shuddered. “Touch me, Starsk.”

And he did. He slipped his hand down into the flannels and fondled Hutch’s cock.

Hutch moaned and spurted in Starsky’s hand. “Ohmygod” he whimpered. “Stay with me, babe.”

“I can’t. Not tonight. But we’ll get there.” He pulled his hand out of Hutch’s flannels, and hurriedly stepped away. “I gotta get outta here. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He kissed Hutch’s neck and left.

A dejected Hutch sighed, but in his bedroom, on the pillow, he found a chocolate Hershey’s kiss.

And Valentine’s Day was over.

***

It was a difficult, magical year as they came together and became intimate, comfortably touching and tasting each other, driving each other into orgasms that bound them ever closer.

Valentine’s Day!

They made plans to spend it together over an elaborate dinner Starsky ordered. He had it set up at his place—candles, champagne, surf and turf and a gooey chocolate dessert served on fancy dinnerware the caterer provided. Dress was very casual.

They had a wonderful evening. They took their time, sharing kisses and food morsels, but set the dessert aside.

It was time. Hutch stood and held out his hand to Starsky. “A dinner this extravagant I never expected. It was a wonderful gift, but now it’s my turn. Come with me.” And he led Starsky into the bedroom and set him down on the edge of his bed.

“Look at the tat, babe.”

Starsky lowered the flannels on Hutch’s hip.

There was a circular gold band-aid, and as Starsky removed it, the tat appeared. It wasn’t a broken heart any longer. It was bright red, whole, healed and very permanent.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” Hutch murmured. “We’ve waited long enough. It’s time. I want you to take me, make us one.”

And Starsky did.