Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (29 page)

“You want to use the table, or stay on the couch?” Matt asked, guessing that Hooch was in considerably more pain than he would ever show.

“Table.” Hooch groaned and stretched carefully. Sleep had been forced onto him from the painkillers, but it had made every muscle and bruised part of him seize up and protest the movement. Eventually he got up and to the table. “I hate those goddamned pills.”

Watching Hooch carefully, Matt set the food on the table, a casserole that was easy for Hooch to eat with one hand. “How often are you meant to be taking them?”

“Every four hours.” Hooch yawned, awkwardly covering his mouth with his left. “Not going to. They knock me out.”

“That’s the point.” Matt was adamant. “You need a chance to heal up.” He paused, not knowing how close to tread. “You’re not supposed to be that knocked up before you go to the club.”

“Yeah, damn. That’s one reason I was so pissed off.” Hooch glared down at his hand still elevated. “I haven’t been for months.”

“I know.” Not since September, one of the longest stretches yet. “So you’ll need time, and rest.” A small smile as Matt speared a cube of chicken. “Plenty of time to think what you might want to do, and to wonder about what I’ve got planned before then.”

Hooch’s brows rose, but then he remembered Matt’s mention of a tattoo from earlier. “I’m not knocked up everywhere.” Looking at Matt over his fork, dark lashes shadowing even darker eyes.

“Knocked up enough,” Matt was firm. “Besides, you get some of your best ideas when you’re bored.” That mysterious smile again, so unlike Matt, “and the bruising needs to go down a bit before some of the other things I have in mind.”

“I also get seriously annoying and a right pain in the ass when I’m bored.” Hooch countered, then gave up trying to eat with the fork, reaching for the spoon instead.

Matt’s eyes flashed as though he was enjoying some private joke. “Oh, there’ll be pain, though I don’t know if you’ll enjoy it or not.” Ignoring Hooch’s accurate prediction that after a week of boredom, he would be well-nigh unbearable. “Do you need to tell the club that I’m coming or anything? Do I have to fill out a new form?” Remembering the plethora of forms when Hooch had joined.

“I’ll tell them. Wouldn’t be surprised if they let you come for free.”

A quizzical look. “Why?”

“I think I’m…” Hooch let the spoon move slowly on the half empty plate, looking for the right words. “I think I’m quite popular.” He shrugged.

“But you…” but you’re always blindfolded and never speak to anyone there, Matt was about to say, but stopped, when he realized just what Hooch was trying to say. “Do they know about me?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“All they know is that I’m yours.” Hooch put the spoon down to wrap his hand around the back of his neck, rolling his head. “They know you own me and they know what I’m like, so I guess they figure you’re superman or something.”

Matt only barely restrained a snort. “I see, plenty of advance publicity I’ll have to live up to, then.” Echoing what he’d said in the airport lounge when they’d started talking of this. It seemed half a lifetime ago, and he was surprised to remember it had only been a couple of weeks. A very enlightening couple of weeks.

Hooch grinned. “You won’t have to do anything, just be there. Kiss me, if you want, because I never allow anyone there to kiss me. I don’t care about them, they are just tools to deliver what I need to function.” Hooch pushed the unfinished plate away. “But you, you’re different.”

Matt realized he’d just been playing with his food, and put down his fork. “How?” though he suspected the answer, Hooch, honest to goodness talking, was a rare enough thing that he didn’t want to discourage it.

“They are the tools so I can be with you.” Hooch trailed off as he tried to find words once again. The eternal struggle. “I want to be your partner, and the only way I can be that without going off the rails is by them being the tools to keep me in check.” He frowned lopsidedly. “You’re different because you’re never a tool, you’re the goal.”

Fuck. Just when he thought he had a grasp of Hooch, he went and pulled this sort of shit. But it made a strange, bizarre sense, it really did, in its fucked-up way. “Do you,” Matt swallowed, “do you think you’re there?”

“Do you?” Hooch countered.

So easy to say ‘yes’, the answer he wanted to be true. “I don’t know,” barely audible. “Sometimes. Most of the time.” Taking control of himself, Matt took a deep breath, placed a hand on Hooch’s uninjured wrist.

Hooch looked at Matt’s hand on his, and there was no denying, a fleeting expression of hurt had crossed his face. “It’s been how long?” He asked quietly. “You think I ever get there?”

“I do.” Two words. Unknown when, or how, but somehow, sometime, they would.

* * *

A few days later, when Hooch’s injuries had healed somewhat, and he was so antsy and twitchy from the forced inactivity that even Rex refused to sit on the couch with him, he and Matt returned to the studio where he’d had the piercings done.

Matt had clearly been having discussions with the artist about the actual design, because there was no more than an introduction, a shake of the hand, and then a talk on the particular technique to be used and aftercare before the obligatory forms and disclaimers were signed and explained, before Hooch was motioned to a chair. He was asked to take his top off and his denims, to straddle the chair and lean forward, and he did so almost gratefully.

Matt was looking at him steadily, as though wanting to ask him whether he was sure, but also holding back from asking, because that was not what Hooch wanted.

The sound of the artist putting on rubber gloves in Hooch’s back, then a hand on him, motioning him to bend a little further, and steadying him in readiness.

The first time the tattooist’s needle pierced his flesh was like a scratch to his skin. A short, intense sensation, immediately followed by the next and the next once more. Relentless, as long as the tattooist worked on the design. Hooch tensed his muscles, but there was little on his lower back except for smooth skin over sinews and bones.

He began to sweat and lowered his head, his breathing shallow as he sank into the buzz the endless ‘scratch’ of the needle gave him. Through all the time it took, far longer than he’d expected, Hooch was hard while lost in the physical sensation, coupled with the knowledge that now, for the first time in his life, he was truly marked.

* * *

The drive home was silent. Hooch sat in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, the expression on his face thoughtful. Matt pulled into the secure parking at the gym and got out, going around to the other side, ready in case Hooch needed a hand out, but not offering it unless it was needed. As he’d expected, Hooch didn’t ask for any help, getting out of the truck with slightly stiff movements.

“Crap, can we take the elevator?” Matt asked, watching Hooch’s stiff movements but knowing that Hooch wouldn’t ever admit weakness. “Forgot I promised Mandy I’d bring up a box of brochures. Just wait a minute.” He disappeared into the storeroom and emerged with the bulky package and pressed the button.

If Hooch was grateful he didn’t let it on. He waited until they stepped inside the lift before he spoke. “You’re a shit liar, you know that, Donahue?”

A snort as Matt leaned against the lift walls. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t always have to be the big scary Delta in public.”

“Only in public?” Hooch grinned.

The doors opened and Matt went to put the brochures under the reception desk, saying hello to Mandy, and greeting Rex from his new place sprawled on a rug in the reception area, heading to the door up to the apartment. Rex lazily stayed where he was, enjoying the winter sunshine, and the compliments and company of the clients.

Hooch followed up the stairs, slower than usual, but clearly upholding the ‘big bad Delta’ image. “How long has it been?” Hooch went straight to the kitchen area, starting to make coffee in their fancy machine.

Matt glanced at the clock, as though he didn’t already know. “Nearly four,.” he told him, standing on the other side of the kitchen bench. “How does it feel?”

“Sore.” Hooch craned his neck to look at Matt. “Translated to: good.” He was a lot calmer than before, and the antsiness born out of boredom had disappeared for now.

A steady look, before Matt was satisfied that Hooch wasn’t being stoic and invincible. He accepted the coffee with a nod, and took a sip. “Do you want to have a look?” he asked.

“Contrary to what you might think,” Hooch added a lot of cold milk to his double espresso, “I’m damned well dying of curiosity.”

“I’ll go get the mirror from the bathroom if you go to the bedroom?” Matt asked, already heading in that direction.

Hooch nodded, went off to the bedroom where he sat down to take his boots off. Bending over was tricky with the gauze taped over his lower back, which felt as if all of his back had been covered up. He’d pulled off his shirt and denims and was working on his briefs, when Matt returned.

“I’ll do it,” Matt put the mirror down on the bed. “Close your eyes.”

Hooch’s brows rose a fraction at the command, but he did as Matt told him to. He stood up when he was naked, eyes closed. Matt positioned him in front of the mirror, before carefully removing the gauze, holding his breath as he did so. He exhaled audibly when Hooch’s back was bared, before picking up the mirror and taking a step back. “Open,” he said softly, holding the mirror so that Hooch could see the artistry.

Hooch opened his eyes, stared at the vast expanse of ink all across his lower back. “Holy shit!”

Matt nearly dropped the mirror. “You don’t like it?” He blinked.

“Wrong question. You wanted me to have this, there’s no way I wouldn’t like it.” Hooch turned from left to right, best he could, to look at the tribal design from all angles. Black ink against his tanned skin, spanning all across his lower back and dipping down in the middle, pointing downwards to his ass crack. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought. Shit, Matt, it’s amazing.” He squinted his eyes and stilled. “Wait…is that…” trying to see clearer, “is that an ‘M’ and a ‘D’ in the design?.”

Still too early, too sore for Matt to put a hand there, to trace over his initials on Hooch’s back, the curves and the lines cunningly hidden in the design. He stepped closer, touching Hooch not on the tattoo, but his unbruised shoulder, leaning close. “Mine,” he said simply, “and anyone who gets close enough to see you will know.”

Hooch held Matt’s gaze in the mirror. “Yours.” His next breath was shaky, and he could feel his cock getting half hard. “Your piercings, your tattoo, your mark.” Getting more aroused by the second. “This is the goddamned motherfucking hottest thing in my life.”

Watching Hooch’s arousal through the mirror, the eyes so dark they looked all pupil, his hardening cock was one of the most erotic things that Matt had seen. His hand slid around to Hooch’s chest, lingering on the pierced nipples before slowly trailing down his stomach, fingers brushing on the light dusting of hair.

Matt’s fingers slipped off as he stepped back, around, dropping to his knees in front of Hooch. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” He ordered, before swallowing Hooch whole.

Hooch’s knees buckled at the sudden onslaught, but he braced himself, set his feet apart and kept his eyes firmly on the mirror. The back of Matt’s head, the way his neck moved, his shoulders, the broad back, and how the sensations of Matt’s tight lips, pressing tongue, light scrape of teeth, and constricting throat, contrasted with only being able to see his back, and nothing more.

As always, the little convulsion and shudder just before Hooch came, and Matt sucked down harder, increasing the pressure, feeling the warm rush of liquid, swallowing every drop and lapping Hooch clean before sitting back on his heels.

“Fuck me.” Hooch murmured. His voice thick and rough with lingering arousal.

A look of disbelief as Matt took in the fresh tattoo, the bruises faded to mottled yellow, the strapped wrist, the other injuries. “Ah, no. Not right now. Not when you’re injured front and back.”

“My face.” Hooch urged, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed and spreading his knees apart for Matt to stand between them.

Lust warred with doubt on Matt’s face, wary that this was another one of Hooch’s moods that would be too far in his condition. He stepped closer, between Hooch’s legs, then brushed his cock against Hooch’s lips.

The bruising on Hooch’s face had gone down, and the cut was healing well. There was nothing that could and would hold him back right now, and when he parted his lips to let Matt’s cock slide between them, he immediately opened his mouth wide, grabbed hold of Matt’s hips, forcing him closer and Matt’s cock deep down his throat. The sound Hooch made was choked-off and needy.

Matt bit back a sob as Hooch sucked him greedily, pulling him in, the grip on his hips almost painful as he fought to keep his hands away from Hooch’s head. Touching Hooch lightly on the shoulder, letting him know he was about to come, before it felt like he was coming apart. Anchored only by the strong hands on his hips and his cock down Hooch’s throat. He was kept close and down, Hooch’s throat convulsively flexing around Matt’s cock as he came. Hooch fought his gagging reflex, wanted and needed to, punishing himself with his eyes watering, but wanting Matt’s cock to cut off his air, more than he wanted anything else.