Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (4 page)

Hoch shrugged. “Spare room.”

“Bullshit! Nobody’s going to believe that.”

“I’m too high profile now. Don’t ask don’t tell? This shit works both ways. You think they’re going to prove I’m not staying in my own room?”

Matt grinned. “It might just work if we’re careful, but you’re fucking crazy.”

“No, just alive.”

That sobered Matt, but before the dark shadow could touch him, Hooch reached up to draw him closer, and Matt forgot all about it during the kiss.

April 1998, United States of America

A few weeks later, when Matt came home from work on a Friday, the strong scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him. “Hey, Hooch!”

No answer, and Matt strained to listen. Improbable that Hooch was out and about, but not impossible. He’d been moving further and further lately, and had been coming on in leaps and bounds, thanks to the physiotherapy he meticulously followed, doing his exercises religiously.

Matt eventually noticed the sound of the shower and, as expected, the bathroom door was ajar. “Fair enough,” he muttered to himself, whistling under his breath as he took his tunic off, hung it onto a hook in the hallway, and marched into the kitchenette. The coffee was steaming in the pot and he poured himself a mug before he sat down at the breakfast bar.

He noticed a sheet on the table, unfolded, the letter pointing the other direction. Curious, he turned it round and skimmed over the letter while taking a sip of the strong, black coffee. He almost burnt his lips when he stared at the writing. Putting the mug down, he pulled the letter closer and re-checked the heading. Medical Lab. Test results. Then read it once more, and then again, for good measure, where it said in bold letters: ‘Bozic, Hubert. Negative.’

Negative.

The grin that spread across Matt’s face threatened to split it side-to-side and he jumped off the chair. “Hooch!” Hollering across the apartment, but Hooch, hair still wet, towel around his hips, and leaning on his walker, was already standing in the doorframe.

“Why the ear-splitting noise?”

“You damn well know, buddy.”

Hooch raised his brows in the most infuriating manner he managed. “And?”

“
And
? What does
and
mean, you dickhead?”

“You tell me.”

But Matt didn’t. Wordlessly pulling the t-shirt over his head, he flung it into a corner. Flexing the impressive muscles of his smooth chest. He wasn’t a PT instructor for nothing. “Does that remind you of anything?”

“Waxing?” Hooch deadpanned.

Matt rolled his eyes while unbuttoning the BDUs. He pushed them down, together with his briefs underneath. The trousers slipped and got caught around his ankles at the top of the boots. His groin was just as smooth

except for a neat patch. “And what does
that
remind you of?”

“Shaving?”

Matt laughed with exasperation. “You’re insufferable.”

“And horny.”

“Now we are getting somewhere.” Matt stepped closer, pulled the towel off Hooch and steadied Hooch’s hips with his hands, holding him carefully, just enough to push his groin against Hooch’s. He grinned at the immediate reaction. “If I fucked myself on you, very carefully, would your pelvis manage?”

“If it doesn’t I don’t give a shit.” The sudden, husky quality to Hooch’s voice caused Matt to take in a sharp breath.

“In that case
…
” Matt murmured, giving his hips a slight twist, “fuck me, Hooch.”

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Hooch’s rare, shit-eating grin.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, Hooch was moving round on crutches, the walker discarded. He was getting better, but the pain had only eased minimally. Still, he could piss and shit without major distress, and if that wasn’t a victory to be proud of, then he didn’t know what was. Getting back into the living room, he watched Matt from the hallway. He could see his profile, the handsome face and that perfect body. Young, unspoiled, and if he could help it, Matt would remain like that.

Watching him for a while, until Matt lifted his head, cottoned on that he was being watched, and cast a smile at Hooch. Another one of those motherfucking dazzling smiles, the sort that made Hooch’s knees go weak and his mind step onto a merry-go-round. He didn’t quite understand why this particular man, this ‘kid’ had managed to crawl beneath his skin and settle down inside his heart.

“See anything you like, buddy?” Matt grinned.

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.” Hooch made his way towards the couch.

Matt moved over, making space for him to sit down. “Smartass.” A lazy fist connected gently with Hooch’s shoulder once he had maneuvered himself to sit.

“You alright?”

“Couldn’t be better.” Hooch glanced to the side. “I just managed to take a shit without screaming in pain, I call that a glorious day.”

Matt laughed, “thanks for the gory details.”

“Thought you would appreciate it.”

Sitting comfortably in silence, each with a beer in their hand. Hooch had his legs up on the stool, and Matt slouched with his feet on the couch table, watching a baseball game. Hooch realized quite some time into the game that he had no idea who was playing.

“Matt?”

“Huh?” Drawn to the game, Matt took a moment before he turned his head, looking at Hooch. “What’s up?”

“I got to tell you something.” And wasn’t attack better than defense.

“You’ve turned into a right chatterbox lately.” Matt grinned, taking a mouthful of his beer.

Ignoring the quip, Hooch went straight on. “I never told you that I’m a masochist.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt laughed. “Was there something in your lunch today?”

“No.” Hooch twisted to look at Matt, “but I think it’s time to tell you about the rest of me. Sometimes, I need to be beaten and fucked up until I crack.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“No.”

“Then why the hell do you tell me?
Now?
What’s the point?” Matt slammed the half empty bottle onto the table.

“I need you to know.”

“After what, five years? I don’t fucking believe it, you bastard!”

“Bastard, because I didn’t tell you, thinking that this part of me had nothing to do with you?”

“Bastard, because you fucking
lied
.”

“How?”

“By not telling me!” Matt’s eyes were ablaze.

Hooch had never seen him that angry and hurt before. “If I had told you, what good would it have done?”

“I would have tried to be for you what you needed.”

“No, Matt,” Hooch’s voice turned softer, “you don’t have it in you.”

“What the fuck are you telling me? You say I’m a pussy? I don’t fucking have it in me?”

“It’s not you, Matt.”

“That’s not what you said.”

Hooch shook his head. “It’s what I meant.”

Getting up from the sofa, Matt was fuming. “What you
said
is that I am not what you want.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“How would you see it then, if you were me? You tell me, after five fucking years, that you need to…what the fuck should I call it, get punished. And that is
not
telling me that I’m not alright? That I’m not missing something?”

Hooch quietly interjected. “You’re not missing anything.”

“Don’t you fucking kid me.” Matt’s hands were in fists and he started to pace the small living room. “I thought we had a relationship.”

“We do now. The question is if we had.”

“You always came back.”

“Yeah, because you were convenient. And pretty.”

“Fucking
what
? Convenient? You asshole.”

“You were, not saying that’s what you still are.”

“You have the guts to tell me that?” Matt shook his head. “Convenient? Like a fucking door mat?”

“No,” Hooch said quietly, looking at Matt with a serious expression, “but I am telling you the truth right now. Back when it all started you were convenient. Great fun, fantastic source for sex, and…pretty.”

“Pretty? Fuck you, Hooch.”

“Yeah, but you are.”

“Girls are pretty, I’m a man. I’m not pretty.”

“What would you rather be? Handsome? Adorable? Perfect? Stunning? Gorgeous? Breathtaking? Beautiful?”

“Am I?”

“All of it and more.”

“Shit.” Matt groused. He deflated, had some of the anger taken out of him, but the sting was still there. “You’re fighting dirty.”

“Delta.” Hooch beckoned Matt closer.

“Yeah, and I’m outgunned. As usual.” Matt reached for the beer again, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

“You’ve never been outgunned.”

“You’re fucking kidding me again.”

“I told you before, Matthew Donahue, you are quite something. Outwitted, perhaps, but never outgunned.”

“Charmer.”

Hooch didn’t reply immediately, just looked at Matt, fingers twisting into the fabric of his t-shirt. Looking at him for a long time, before he pulled him across and close. “If I told you that I wanted to spend my days and nights with you, live with you, as my partner, because out there, in Hell, I realized that you mean the world to me? If I told you that you are my sanity, my laughter, my lust, my love, my comfort, my day and my night, my heat and cold and everything? If I told you all that, would you think that translates to ‘convenient’?”

Matt swallowed, staring at Hooch wide-eyed. “N...no.”

“Damn right. Now shut up, Donahue, and tell me that you’ll spend the rest of your life with me.”

Matt pronounced his next words very carefully:

“I do.”

Late Summer 199
8, Fayetteville, North Carolina
United States of America

It smelt of wet carpet and of tile grot. Of crumbling plaster and fresh paint the realtor had hastily slapped on in a spirit of forlorn hope to make it look slightly less depressing. A large building that had once been a furniture workshop and showroom, most of it double-height, though there was office space on the second floor that had been used by the managers and could be easily converted into a small apartment

well, small to civilians. For a former Marine, it was going to be positively palatial compared to some of the places he’d lived in. Even with the addition of a roommate, his Delta-instructor best bud who happened to be moving into the spare room.

Despite its run-down state, the building itself was solid. It was cheap, well located in a decent part of Fayetteville, it had a large parking lot and it was
his
.

Matt dumped his rucksack down onto the ground and walked around, kicking up swirls of dust. He picked his way around the space, the morning sunshine flooding down from the windows set in the clerestory-style roof. There were smaller offices and storerooms on the first floor, the pipes already in a good position for the wet areas, and the wide expanse of space, dividable in so many ways, which filled in his mind’s eye with fitness equipment, a sound system, and the long shopping list of gym gear living in his head. Or, more reliably, on the new laptop computer in his bag.

The other man in the room had been silent as Matt moved around. He was so still and unmoving, he seemed to barely disturb the air. Specks of dust settling in his dark hair, Hooch stood, slightly leaning on a cane, dark eyes tracking Matt’s movements.

Matt took a deep breath and turned around. Despite the times he had visited here to inspect the building, the long hours spent on the phone with the realtor, the bank, the insurers, the builders, the architect and what appeared to be every single remotely responsible local government body in Fayetteville possible, the realization that he had only taken the first steps towards his new dream had set in. His name on the title deed. A frighteningly large amount owed to the bank. Pages and pages of sketches and plans and specifications and a team of guys ready to start work the following day. “Well? What do you think?”

“It’s big,” Hooch commented. “How much did you pay?”

Money. The question of money again. The only time they had fights over the last months at Matt’s apartment was over money and the fact that Hooch tried to pay his way in a manner that infuriated Matt, and Hooch just wouldn’t get it.

Matt hoped his sigh was inaudible. While overflowing enthusiasm was probably out of the question, it would have been nice to have some sort of appreciative comment. “It was a bargain, actually,” he said, voice level.

“How much?” Hooch repeated, dark eyes in line of Matt’s sight, like a sniper rifle.

There was that feeling again, the one he’d had far too often in the recent months as Hooch recovered. The feeling that he was being inched into a corner. Matt said the figure. It wasn’t something he needed to keep a secret, but the fact that Hooch had pushed for it, that was the bit that stung.

They never told you about this part of living with someone. Or else nobody else had a someone quite like Hooch.

Hooch nodded once. “I’ll pay my way. If I’m going to live here, I’ll pay you rent.”

Could he not wait more than ten minutes after getting here before taking
that
up again?

“Does your…” Matt stopped. Hooch’s parents were completely off-limits as far as conversation went, so he was stumped as an example. “No.” There, one word. Not hard, was it?

“Why not?” Hooch put the full force of his pig-headedness into those two words. He’d had months of boredom to perfect it, cooped up in one place, unable to do most things on his own, let alone go out and do his job. He’d never again go on a mission, and it drove him insane, far worse than he’d expected

and he’d expected a lot. But he’d pushed it all down; down and away. The constant pain had been the least of his troubles.

“You’re my…” Matt started. What were they, actually? It wasn’t ‘boyfriend’, that was trite and laughable, certainly not ‘husband’, and he ran through the various unsatisfactory options—lover (too icky), mate (eww), partner (too…no). Stumped, he tried again. “It’s not as though we’re just roommates. You just…can’t…” Matt trailed off again. Hooch had been increasingly insufferable as he regained his strength, as though all the energy that he wasn’t using for his physical recovery was channeled into being an unbearable prick.

“Okay. We’re not roommates, we’re not even fuckbuddies. Does that mean you get to keep me and I don’t get to pay my share?” The laser-beam stare was back in Hooch’s eyes. His whole body strummed with energy; an energy he couldn’t expend, no matter how much physical therapy he did, and that goddammed, infuriating, fucking cane was a symbol of how he was most definitely not himself.

“We’ll share. We’ll work something out as we go along. Like everyone else does when they move in together. But. You. Are. Not. Paying. Me. Rent.”

“Then what am I paying?” Hooch’s fingers drummed onto the cane’s  grip, in an ever faster beat.

Matt threw up his arms. “Whatever one part of a couple does when they move in together! The bills when they come in and you’re there! Flatware with bent prongs and where none of the teaspoons match! A couch that doesn’t match anything I have! A movie collection that doesn’t fit on the shelves! A bed that doesn’t fit up the stairs or in the door! Stuff! We. Will. Fucking. Work. It. Out.” He was vaguely aware that he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

Hooch opened his mouth as if to retort, but merely drew in a sharp breath. He stared at Matt, while the tension in his body shifted perceptively from fight to something entirely else.

The distinct downside of having a shouting match with someone who didn’t talk was that it tended to end in a most unsatisfactory way, and Matt finished with: “we don’t have to work it out today, or tomorrow, or to anyone’s fucking schedule. It’s home, and nobody can fucking say what we fucking can or can’t do here. Just…I don’t know…just look at it. This, this is the fucking beginning and…it’s the beginning…”

“…of what?” Hooch voice was quiet. “Of what is this the beginning?” Up close, Hooch’s pupils were blown wide, and he had stilled completely except for his breathing.

“…of…us…” How was he supposed to be coherent when Hooch did that? It felt disturbingly like being stared down by a cobra. A horny one.

“How is that ‘us’ going to be?” Hooch’s voice had dropped another octave, until it hit a low rumble.

Matt swallowed, then stared straight back.

“Whatever we want it to be.” He had no idea how he kept his voice steady while being bored into by those eyes, “and whatever we call it, but we’re a couple, and couples don’t pay each other rent.”

“Matt…” Hooch drawled, his low voice leaving no doubt about his intentions. “I give you my word, no more talk about rent if you give me your word: stop treating me with those goddamned motherfucking kid gloves you’ve been wearing for the past months. Stop it,” he drew in a slow, shaky breath, “right now.”

Matt’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hooch’s face. “Okay…” His eyes drifted back down. “You can
not
be serious.” This directed at Hooch’s crotch.

“Have I ever been not serious?” Hooch raised his eyebrows, cast a quick glance across the dusty and empty space, then stopped at one of the steel girders. “Fuck me, right there.” He nodded towards it, “and I’ll never mention rent again. I’m going batshit crazy, here. I need…damn, Matt, I’m going fucking insane when you treat me like I could fucking break. I don’t give a shit about rent, or rooms, or money or however the fuck I’m supposed to behave as part of a couple. I. Just. Want. You.”

The very first thought, whether Hooch’s pelvis would be up to it, faded. Matt closed his dropped jaw, looking for a suitable place. “Fuck, if this is all it took to stop you acting like a spoilt brat, I should have done this weeks ago.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Hooch murmured. He dropped the cane to the floor, kicked it aside as if discarding the past months, and started to move towards the steel girder. “Fuck the pelvis, fuck no lube, fuck everything, but fuck me. Now.”

Matt glanced towards the girder. “Not there, it’ll leave marks you don’t want to explain to the medic.” He scanned about for an alternative, “the reception desk.” Already there, only a few feet away, and made of smooth carved wood. Bolted into the floor, it hadn’t been removed when the previous tenants had left, and was the perfect height.

Hooch nodded, and steered them towards the desk instead. Only letting go of Matt when they reached it. He opened his fly and pushed down his black denims and briefs underneath. Impatient, when he turned around and bent over, bracing himself on the desk. Elbows on the hard surface, as far down as he could go.

With fumbling fingers, Matt pushed Hooch’s jeans and briefs down further, before unzipping and shoving down his own. He cursed his suddenly dry mouth as he tried to get enough spit.

Hooch craned his neck briefly, saw Matt floundering, and reached out to catch Matt’s hand. He couldn’t twist that far, but Matt got the picture and leaned forward, to have Hooch spit on his hand.

Hooch spread his legs as far as he could, then braced himself for the onslaught that would be dry and painful. Deliciously, goddamned painful; tearing into him and casting away all the boredom, the pent-up energy, the badly ignored hatred of his body that had let him down and that wouldn’t allow him to be again who he’d always been. Reckless. Dangerous. Demanding, and…

“Fuck!” Hooch groaned out, arms trembling on the desk, his shoulders so taut, he could feel the tension ripple down his spine, only to concentrate in the one point of his body, that was forced to open up.

Matt’s breathing was harsh, sweat beaded his forehead, as he concentrated on forcing his entry. Discomfort for him, too, and how he relished Hooch’s surrender that was everything but. The way Hooch’s breath came whistling through clenched teeth, small, suppressed sounds that urged Matt on, that showed how much he wanted the pain, wanted every single ounce of strength Matt could give him, as he buried himself in Hooch’s ass.

With the ever increasing thrusts, Hooch gasped out Matt’s name, forced him on, harder, no holding back. To make him forget the last months, and it was good, so goddamned good, that he pushed Matt’s hand away, as he tried to stroke his cock. He wanted to feel the pounding, the strength, the craved-for ache of Matt’s cock deep within his body.

Hooch lost himself, forgot everything but the lust that kept spiraling higher the harder and faster Matt let loose. When Hooch came suddenly, bucking and crying out with relief, with pain, with everything that he’d needed for so long, he took Matt by surprise.

Matt’s own release, no matter how much he was lost himself, suddenly made sense of one word, one confession, months ago: masochist. And he came with the intensity of knowing that he had given Hooch what he’d needed. He’d made him come apart underneath his hands and body, and he was so much in love with that motherfucking bastard right now, that he pulled Hooch up against himself, kissing the sweaty neck, and just holding as he shuddered through the come-down.

Hooch calmed in Matt’s arms, his heartbeat slowing down, until it beat steadily.

“You are quite something, Matt Donahue.” Hooch rumbled hoarsely.

“Am I?” Matt murmured into Hooch’s ear, feeling, rather than hearing their heartbeats merge. “Something good, I hope?” he teased as he carefully eased his way out.

“Yeah, all good.” Hooch took in a deep breath, and reveled in the soreness and the knowledge he’d be a sticky mess, hidden beneath respectable clothing.

Matt quickly righted himself before pulling up Hooch’s briefs and jeans

carefully, but not quite as slowly or gently as he had been when helping Hooch dress in the last few months.

Hooch turned around with a grin on his face. Relaxed and sated, all tension gone for now. “So, about that rent…” he let out a sharp gust of laughter at Matt’s immediate eye rolling. “Calm down, you fucked some sense into me. I get it now. The gym’s your new life and you want to pay for it, and couples don’t pay rent to each other. I need you to understand that it’s a new life for me, too. I want to pay for the apartment.”

Matt nodded slowly. Hooch’s stubbornness over the money thing finally made sense. “Deal.” He paused, then rephrased what he was going to say, “do you wanna look at the upstairs?”

“Yeah, if you get me my motherfucking cane?” Hooch quirked a rueful grin. Stairs were still a bastard.

The cane had somehow ended up halfway across the room and Matt went to pick it up. The cane, that last remaining aid, and Hooch actually asking for it was enough of a concession in itself.

The stairs were behind one of the doors near the reception, which Matt thought would have been damned inconvenient when the space above was being used as an office, but gave a measure of privacy to an apartment.

It had cheap synthetic carpet and paper-thin walls, the memory of office furniture and the smell, like the rest of the building, of dust and abandonment. On opening the door at the top of the stairs, there was a reception area, meeting room and boardroom with a less-than-inspiring view of the parking lot, which would be their living area and kitchen. The remainder of the space was divided into a number of rather depressing offices, where the status of the previous inhabitant was painfully obvious by size and windows. Matt and the architect had decided to reconfigure these into two good-sized bedrooms, a compact study, and a bathroom.