Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (7 page)

She poured a last, generous splash into Hooch’s glass. “I’m not too sure how much longer pop is going to be able to hold the horde back from their dinner, but I promise they’re all much better behaved when they’re at the table.”

He glanced towards the door and the main room. “Your family has been asking me questions. I understand that, but most of them I can’t answer. I don’t want to be rude.”

She nodded. “I’m sure by now Matt’s managed to get a word in sideways and reminded everyone just who happen to be stationed at Fort Bragg, and…” she paused, “as you will notice in time, it is almost entirely impossible to offend any of my brood. Unless, of course, you disparage football, hockey, hunting or fishing.”

There was the distinct sound near the door of hungry children wanting their dinner.

“I’m in no danger, then.” Hooch’s smile came easier now that he wasn’t on edge anymore. “Back into the lion’s den?” He finished his brandy and stood up. Once more ready to face the family that was so much like Matt, just in a very large dose.

* * *

They made it seem accidental, but it was probably by design that Hooch found himself sitting between Matt and his mother, and across from Matt’s fishing-fanatic brother, who, after establishing that Hooch was from Texas and lived in Fayetteville, immediately spouted a bewildering lecture of fish species and river systems of the South. Anne had been right
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clearly Matt had spread a quiet reminder to the rest of the family about topics of conversation best avoided, though to a casual observer the impact seemed negligible. Everyone still had lots to say, much centered on Matt’s antics as a child, stories that made him alternatively blush and cringe.

Far more at ease now, Hooch relaxed even further throughout the meal. Zoning out of the lecture on fish species and rivers, with the occasional nod and inquisitive grunt, he relished the food that was truly divine. He hadn’t had a home cooked meal like this in…not ever. His parents’ cook had been too professional to create anything but sleek perfection. As it was, he realized after a while that he was enjoying himself more than he’d ever believed possible.

He even laughed out loud when Matt’s mom heaved more turkey meat, mashed potatoes, dressing and gravy onto his plate, because evidently he “wasn’t eating enough, was too wiry, and she had to fatten him up,” which made Matt smirk and elbow him with a ‘told you so’ expression.

Though everyone felt stuffed to the gills by the time the older children came in to help clear the table, they all suddenly found the elusive extra dessert stomach when the table was re-laid and filled with pumpkin, apple and pecan pies, and cookies for the kids. By the time dinner was finished, Hooch’s polite offer of help was adamantly refused (much to his relief) and they settled in for an after-dinner drink.

When it was eventually time for bed, Hooch was quite relaxed.

Matt shut the door behind them and gave Hooch another of his legendary smooches, tasting of pumpkin pie and nutmeg. There was a mischievous expression on his face as he pulled away from the kiss. “In the interests of full disclosure, my parents are just on the other side of that wall,” he nodded towards the far side of the bed, “how quiet do you think you can be?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hooch shot a glance at the wall towards Matt’s parents’ bedroom.

The grin got wider. “I think you deserve a reward for being so well behaved,” there was a wicked gleam in Matt’s eyes, as he quickly undid Hooch’s jeans and pushed them down, together with his briefs. He got down on his knees and nudged Hooch against the closed door. “Making small talk and not scaring the kiddies, that deserves something very nice.” His breath was warm against Hooch’s groin.

“Shit.” Hooch let himself get pushed against the door. “You get turned on by making out in your teenage bedroom?” Despite the teasing, he was already showing the stirrings of interest. Not that Matt had ever failed to arouse him. Whenever and wherever.

Matt kept looking up at Hooch while he gave a few playful, quick laps, barely flickering over the skin and leaving only the faintest hint of coolness. “Not the first time this room’s seen a bit of making out,” his eyes glanced over a few feet to Hooch’s left, “and more
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I lost my cherry just over there, you know.”

Without giving Hooch a chance to respond he swallowed him down with practiced ease, barely pausing as Hooch’s cock met the back of his throat.

Whatever mockery Hooch was about to come out with, it was swallowed, literally, by Matt. All thoughts of teenage Matt were gone, as the adult one gave pleasure to Hooch.

Which he did with his usual meticulous skill and the occasional glance upwards at Hooch, eyes gleaming, as if daring him to make more than a few muffled sounds.

Hooch clenched his fists at his side, no contact, except for the heat of Matt’s throat, his tongue that knew all the sensitive places, and his hand. Hooch’s face contorted with the effort of control, but no sound came out from between his gritted teeth, not even as he came.

Matt took much longer than was really necessary to swallow every drop, ensuring that Hooch was clean with long, lazy swipes of his tongue, before standing up and doing Hooch’s fly up again. The kiss this time was softer, almost languid, just letting Hooch taste himself as well as the faint ghost of nutmeg.

Once he got his heartbeat and breathing back under control, Hooch took hold of Matt’s shoulders and pushed him back at arm’s length, studying him with an ever growing smirk.

“You, Matt Donahue,” he finally said, “are going to pay for that. Undress and onto the bed. It will be christened tonight, and in absolute silence!” He reached to grope Matt’s hard-on through his trousers.

With a raised eyebrow, and pretending a nonchalance that his strangled gasp and increased breathing betrayed, Matt stepped back out of Hooch’s grasp. He pulled his sweater up over his head, before kicking off his shoes and pulling down his trousers. The room was small enough that it was only a few steps backwards to the bed, and he landed on it with the faint puff of feathers in the duvet as it was hastily pushed to one side.

Hooch remained standing at the side of the bed for a while longer, feasting on the sight of the perfect body, laid out before his eyes. Not touching, not talking, just looking while taking his fill, until he moved onto the bed at long last, still fully clothed.

For the next hour, he took his time to explore the body he knew so well, attempting to re-learn it all over again, with only his lips, teeth and tongue. He almost had to gag Matt, to keep him from making noises he couldn’t hold back, until he finally, mercifully, allowed him to come.

“You bastard,” Matt’s grin was weary and his voice hoarse, as though the effort of keeping quiet had put strain on his vocal cords. He looked up at the ceiling, where a few glow-in-the-dark stickers remained, then returned his gaze to Hooch. “I thought you said a proper christening,” the pointedly looked at Hooch’s crotch as he spread his legs further, lying back on the pillows.

“You trying to tell me you never got fucked in here? I thought you’d lost your cherry in this room.” Hooch let his finger run all the way down from Matt’s smooth throat, along the chest, down to his spent cock.

“Hmmm…” Matt’s purr was noncommittal, “not for more than ten years, not in this bed, and not by you.” He pushed up lazily into Hooch’s hand.

“In that case, one more day won’t matter.” Hooch flashed a downright mean grin, then stretched out beside Matt. Still fully clothed, hands beneath is head, he looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling. To all intents and purposes ignoring his more than half-hard cock. “Go to sleep, kid. I’m a middle aged man who needs his rest.”

Matt made a muffled sound of outrage but there was no budging Hooch when he was in one of his moods. Grumbling about sneaky, unreasonable, sadistic Deltas, he turned onto his side, careful to present a tempting sight of muscled back and butt, and then, to all appearances, obeyed and went immediately to sleep.

Hooch chuckled quietly, eventually got up, but not without running his hand all the way along the smooth, bare flank. Soon after, the sound of the shower running came out of the bathroom, and a few minutes later the mattress dipped when a slightly damp, fully naked Hooch climbed into bed behind Matt. He pulled Matt against his body, holding him. Something he’d never done before the capture.

The house was silent, and it didn’t take long for Hooch to fall asleep, lulled by Matt’s steady breaths and the warmth of his body.

* * *

Arms, bodies, pain and stench, death, filth and ever more bodies. Fear, all-encompassing; fear he’d never admitted. Fear to give up, just give into the pain and the stink and let himself fall down, far down, down into the darkness.

Hooch woke with a start. He was drenched in sweat, on his back, while the sleeping body beside him lay curled up, making a soft snuffling sound. Hooch lay still, trying to force his wildly hammering heart to calm, while ruthlessly pushing back down the sound of terror that tried to rip out of his throat. The cover was off his body, sweat cooling in the air. The last thing he wanted was to wake Matt. He couldn’t bear for him to know, not Matt, not having to explain to him that there was more of a legacy from his captivity than the scars from cigarette burns and pelvic surgery.

When he had himself under control, with the same recklessness he applied to anything in his life, he slipped out of bed and searched for shorts and t-shirt. He couldn’t stay in the bed, not with the damp patch of his terror and sweat on the sheets. He padded quietly downstairs and into the kitchen.

He only dared to switch on a small light above the sink, and while he’d love a hot drink, he didn’t want to wake anyone, nor felt it appropriate to make himself at home in a home that wasn’t his. So he merely filled a glass with cold water from the tap and sat down at the kitchen table, sipping the water while staring into the faint glow of the single lamp.

A movement in the corridor alerted him to someone approaching. Hooch looked up a few seconds before Anne appeared in the door. She gasped and held a hand against her chest at the sight of him, illuminated in the faint glow. “Oh,” she said, “sorry, you gave me a bit of a fright. Is everything alright? I was just getting myself a cup of peppermint tea
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would you like one too?”

Hooch half stood, but sat back down when she spoke. “Yes, anything, please. Tea is fine. Thanks.” Carefully avoiding her question if everything was alright. What was he to say? Things were okay, of course they were. If only he didn’t dream of that goddamned stench.

She seemed to sense that he needed silence, as she boiled water and readied the tea. Soon, she had two large pottery mugs full of the brew and placed one in front of Hooch.

“When my dad came back from the war,” she said in a conversational tone as she sat down, “he had trouble sleeping nights now and then, particularly if it was in a new place. It made for interesting family holidays, to say the least.” She turned the mug in her hands, as though conscious that chatter was the last thing that Hooch needed.

Hooch looked at her without any expression, until a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “None of your kids could ever hide anything from you, right?”

She smiled. “No, but we’ve been very lucky with our brood. None of them have felt the need to conceal anything. Discretion, sometimes, of course.” Letting that hang in the air, and allowing Hooch to pick up on it or not, as he chose.

Hooch nodded. “Fine line between concealing and discretion,” a pause, “and protection.”

“But a line nonetheless.” Anne’s fingers tapped on the handle of the mug and Hooch was struck by how similar in shape they were to Matt’s. “He never hid from us that there was someone. He simply never said who. And might I say that we are very glad to find out who it is.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Hooch’s face again. The similarity in speech and manners was striking, and oddly comforting, too. “Thank you, but you don’t know who I really am, what I’ve done, what I’ve seen.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t have to. In any case, I am fairly sure you’re not allowed to tell me.” She reached out a hand and put it on his forearm. “You and Matt found each other, and you let him bring you here. That’s all that matters, here and now.”

A minute twitch of his arm, an automatic reaction he could not control, before he relaxed into the touch. “I just…” he trailed off, studying the hand on his arm. He finally looked back up. “Tell me, Anne, do you think Matt would ever feel sorry for anyone?”

“Of course,” the answer was immediate, “but that’s not the question you’re really asking, is it?”

Those steady, penetrating eyes, just like Matt’s, bore into him.

“No, it’s not. Of course not.” A rueful smile flitted across his face. “I should have asked if he’d ever pity anyone.” Again this almost-there smile, and then a shake of his head. “No, wrong again.” He met her gaze straight on, with a fearless one of his own. “Do you believe he would ever pity me if he knew I am perhaps not as tough as thinks?”

Her eyebrows went up. “First, I think your particular starting point of toughness is rather off the far end of any normal scale. Second…” she hesitated, “forgive me if I pry, but Matt’s already nursed you through a very bad illness or injury?”