Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (34 page)

Matt closed his eyes. The words unvoiced, but understood all the same: I hope so too.

The rest of the long weekend was quiet, with Matt doing all the little domestic odd-jobs that were part of life: the bits and pieces that needed to be done around the apartment, the detested preparation of tax returns, and the equally dreaded cleaning out of the fridge and freezer.

Hooch spent the two days mostly sleeping, letting his body recover as much as possible before returning to work. The expertise of Tank, Skull, Eagle and MC had ensured that except for some lingering stiffness and a few marks and fading bruises, which could be explained by some roughhousing or an overenthusiastic football game, Hooch would almost be back to his usual self come Tuesday.

Matt, meanwhile, had used the time that Hooch was asleep productively, doing some research from the privacy of the apartment, where there was no chance a stray staff member or gym customer catching a glimpse of what he was doing. It seemed easier now than it had been when he had been browsing before his trip to the club, having a better idea of what he was looking for, and being able to better process what he found. Some he still found incomprehensible, but he realized that it had nothing to do with whether he would ever understand that arcane world of rules and rituals and sheer weirdness, but everything to do with Hooch.

The evening before going back to work, Hooch was standing at the ironing board, meticulously pressing his uniform. A task he’d never let anyone else do for him. He’d just finished the last tunic, and was walking past Matt who was surfing the net on the dining table.

When came back from the guest room he used for hanging his kit, he stopped at Matt’s chair and quietly put his special credit card on the table beside Matt’s laptop. The one that was linked to his investment accounts.

Matt looked at Hooch, at the credit card, at what he was browsing on screen and back at Hooch again. “Are you serious?” he asked, redundantly, because Hooch was never anything but serious.

“Sure I am. Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than spending my goddamned inheritance on kinky shit.” He flashed a sharp grin. “Go on. You’re on the card anyway.”

Matt blinked at the deliberately casual tone. “I’m what?” he asked. As far as he knew, Hooch hadn’t ever mentioned him to any part of his old life, their relationship, nor the little detail that Hooch happened to exclusively fuck men these days.

“You’re my partner, aren’t you?” Hooch shrugged, still a little stiff.

That he was. But nevertheless this was a surprise. There had always been two Hooches, as though there was a wall between what had happened before he enlisted and after. His past was a different world, and it rarely encroached on the present. Now and then he would fly back to Texas for a few days, summoned for something or other he rarely spoke about, and then there were Christmas cards, and a call on his birthday from his sister but that was all.

“Yes, yes I am.” Matt looked at the screen. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing with it or do you want to be surprised?”

“Surprise me.” Hooch squeezed Matt’s shoulder before he went to put the ironing board away. “Whatever you choose, I will do it, wear it, have it done, accept it, and want it.” He walked past again, carrying the folded-up board. “Never forget,” he stopped at Matt’s chair, “you own me.”

Matt swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, looking up at Hooch. “I know.”

“Yes.” Hooch stated. The one word holding everything. He smiled as he walked into the spare room.

In bed that night

no sex, because Hooch was still not up to it

and neither, if he was being completely honest, was he, Matt shifted so that he was on his side, waiting until Hooch turned as well, to be eye to eye. “I will go with you to the club,” Matt said, “every time. But I decide when you go on the stage,” that seemed a good enough euphemism, “and it won’t be every time we go. Sometimes we’ll just…play.”

“Play?” Hooch’s brows rose in a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“Play.” Matt said. His fingers lightly went to caress Hooch’s throat, where a collar would lie. “No whipping, no flogging, no electricity, only a little pain. But while we’re there, you’ll do as I say. Sometimes I might choose to restrain you with leather, or rope, or chains. Sometimes all you’ll wear is my collar and a leash, like some enormous big cat, purring at my feet.”

Hooch swallowed so hard, Matt’s finger moved with the Adam’s apple. “That sounds like a great plan.” His voice had become instantly huskier. “What about others?”

“Not much point going to the club if it’s just you and me, is there? We could just get a drawer full of toys and surf the internet for ideas and have some fun right here, no need to drive all the way to Raleigh, book a hotel overnight, and get Mandy to take the dog. We can still play with others, but I decide who gets to have you, and how.”

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. You,” Hooch poked his finger into Matt’s chest, “are quite a lot more than ‘something’, Matt Donahue.”

His raised eyebrows were barely visible in the darkness of the room, as Matt moved even closer. “I know.”

“And I’m a damned lucky bastard.” Hooch’s hand went southwards towards Matt’s cock. “So lucky, in fact, that I have to suck you off now.”

Matt wasn’t going to argue with that, and he wriggled into a more comfortable position as he felt Hooch shift under the duvet.

From the moment Matt felt Hooch’s lips close around his cock and Hooch’s hands on his ass, until after he had come and Hooch pulled him into a tight embrace for Matt to drift off, there was only Hooch. As always.

* * *

They went to Hooch’s club together every month or so, as Hooch had done on his for the past four years. It never seemed necessary for Matt to acquire a name at the club. He was always simply “H’s owner,” which amused him when he found out that it was the reverse of the usual order of things, but it suited them. As Matt had decided, Hooch did not always go up on stage when they went. More often than not he and Matt stayed in the main area of the theatre, still the focus of attention. Matt made an effort to take part in a little of the more social side of the club, making the odd posting on the secure forum on the club’s members-only website, and going through the club’s impressive directory of purveyors of specialist toys and artisans who made items to order and to measure.

At home, Hooch’s ‘kinky shit’ credit card, as they called it, got a strenuous workout as Matt went shopping on the internet, and the collection of well-edited toys soon overflowed from the bottom drawer of the bedside table, and into a securely locked metal chest at the foot of the bed. When Matt soon after started to amass a collection of made-to-measure black leather to wear at the club, a heavy wardrobe with built-in rails, drawers and shelves appeared, so that everything could be neatly organized, including the newly acquired spreader bars.

December 2006, Fayetteville

In early December, after they’d been and gone to Matt’s family for Thanksgiving

a tradition they’d manage to uphold almost every year

Hooch was cooking steak at Sunday lunchtime.

“Matt?” he called out from the kitchenette, cutting above the sizzling of meat and through the smoke of hot oil.

“Yeah?” Matt replied from the spare bedroom, where he’d been changing the sheets.

“Do you have anything planned for the holidays?”

Hooch noticing such trivialities was remarkable enough that Matt padded out of the room. “No, not especially. Why?”

“Anne asked me again if we were coming for Christmas.” As she had every year. Matt’s mom was nothing short of persistent. Hooch switched off the hob and laid the steaks onto plates to rest.

“We’ve just been there.” Matt frowned. Much as he would have liked to have Hooch experience a Donahue family Christmas, he knew that crowds, sociability, small children and Hooch didn’t mix. Particularly not twice in two months.

“Yeah,” Hooch pulled the tray with fries out of the oven and shook them onto the plates, “but I think we should go. It means a lot to your mom.”

Matt stared at him. Blinked hard. Hooch never failed to surprise him. Just when he was starting to feel he was really getting a handle on the kink, Hooch had to go the other way. “You want to go to Michigan, ten feet deep in snow, to get trapped in a house with my family, complete with screaming toddlers and sulky teenagers, sleep in the room next to my parents, and get stuffed full of turkey for the second time in two months?”

“Yeah, well,” Hooch shrugged, then carried the plates to the dining table. “I figure if it means so much to Anne I suck up and get myself through it somehow.” He fetched the ketchup, pepper grinder and salt, then sat down.

Matt stumbled to his chair, feeling numb. “Why now?” he asked.

“Because,” Hooch vigorously shook the ketchup bottle, “you gave me a new way to cope.”

Strangely enough, that made sense, as much as anything about Hooch ever made sense. There had been a new stillness, almost a contentment about Hooch, as Matt had ventured more and more into their own particular form of ownership. As if for Hooch, allowing someone else to take control, enabled him to settle, calm down and let go. Matt nodded, and picked up his knife and fork. “I’ll book the plane tickets. Do you want to tell her we’re coming, or shall I?”

“I leave that to you.” Hooch smiled briefly, before tucking into his steak and chips. “I plan to go to the club the weekend before the holidays. You good with that?”

The weekend before Christmas was what passed as the themed ‘holiday party’ at the club, which would be full of members. From what Matt had been reading on the club’s private online forum, the night would be even wilder than usual. Hooch had never gone that particular weekend before, and it was going to be a new experience. “Sure,” Matt replied, “but not on the stage. We’re not explaining any injuries to my nieces and nephews. Or even worse, my parents.”

Hooch didn’t try to hide his amused grin. “I didn’t expect to, but I saw you buying that high leather collar and leash set.” He took another bite, chewing carefully. “I didn’t snoop, by the way, you left the page up.” He paused, “also, I have a Christmas present for you that requires work beforehand to be in time for the club.”

Matt put down his flatware and looked at Hooch, wondering what he was up to now. Rex, by now sensing that for some unknown reason, his humans were distracted from their steak, came and sat down next to Matt: perfectly straight, nose trembling, quietly hopeful eyes staring at Hooch.

“You’ve been talking about wanting to put more piercings on me. I booked an appointment tomorrow for a cock piercing.” Hooch tilted his head ever so slightly.

Matt swallowed as he imagined it, then nodded. Approval granted.

“The appointment is in the evening. I was told I should go for a Prince Albert. You agree?” Hooch cut off a piece of steak, sneaking it under the table for Rex. As if he ever failed to do that.

“Yes.” Matt picked up his knife and fork again, ignoring the delighted sounds of a greyhound chewing his favorite treat. Despite the fact that Rex was meant to be his birthday present, the dog was well and truly Hooch’s. “Yes,” he repeated. “I agree and I will come with you.”

“Good.” Hooch smiled once more, going back to his favorite meal. He and Rex, they had too much in common.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Matt stepped out of the changing room at the club, dressed in his usual black leather. No concession to the season, despite the subtle decorations in gold and silver and crystal at the club, and the seasonal refreshments and snacks. He wrapped the new leash around his hand; long enough for Hooch to crouch at Matt’s feet when Matt was standing, but not much more. Hooch moved his neck, trying to get the high collar to settle. Though it was covered in soft doeskin, and carefully fitted so as not to restrict breathing, it was still high enough that it was uncomfortable for long periods of time.

Matt had added new adornments to Hooch’s body in the form of weights hanging from the nipple rings, made from the same darkly gleaming metal as the new piercing in his cock and the cock ring and ball spreader.

Hooch had never had weights attached to his nipple rings before, because Matt had insisted on a thorough healing, and the new sensation added to keeping his ring-bound cock hard, which ensured that his erection remained proudly displayed by Matt, his owner. He had to concentrate on walking properly on the leash, to keep in step while not able to look down, but then the whole thought behind this new broad collar was so that his face was there for all to see, and especially his eyes. Matt had commented that Hooch’s looks had always attracted him and that hiding his features and dark eyes from the club was criminal.

They headed towards the theatre, sure of their steps. They had tried a few of the smaller themed rooms but they kept coming back to the theatre, to the crowd, even when Hooch did not go on stage. Matt enjoyed showing him off too much; enjoyed the admiration that Hooch attracted. The doors opened in front of them, attended, as always, by the silent, collared staff.

Inside, the theatre had more of the gold and silver decorations, augmented by heavy, dark purple drapes. There were bodies on the stage, at once more artistic and less real than the usual participants, and Matt remembered there were meant to be organized shows tonight from invited professionals.