Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (9 page)

Matt’s gasp at Hooch’s entry was only barely muffled, and the grip on Hooch’s arms tightened as Matt fought to keep silent. Usually a vocal lover, the effort to keep quiet showed in the tension in his muscles and his tightly gritted teeth, fighting against Hooch’s skill and the urge to cry out. When he came, he bucked and bit his lip, but made no sound.

Once he had his breath back, he smirked up at Hooch. “I do believe that means I get to collect.”

Hooch hadn’t come yet, holding himself back for Matt’s benefit, and he stilled any movement at Matt’s smirk, matching it with one of his own.

“Right now?”

Matt’s smile grew lazy and replete, like some big cat lazing in the sun as he tilted his hips upwards. “I suppose you can finish what you’re doing first.”

Hooch immediately began to move again. Long, slow thrust, gentle still.

Matt looked like he was going to purr, but remembered the terms of the bet and raised his arms to grasp the headboard. Watching Hooch from under hooded lids, clearly enjoying himself.

When Hooch let go he didn’t do it with absolute abandon, but with a single focus that burnt through Matt. All of Hooch’s lust and need, all of his strength, gathered in one point only, in the connection between their bodies.

Hooch made hardly any sound, controlling himself except for his harsh breath, and when he came, his eyes flew open, looking straight at Matt, as he shuddered through his orgasm.

Eventually, when he’d calmed down after collapsing on Matt, sweat and cum between their bodies but neither of them caring, he murmured sleepily, “guess you won.”

Matt chuckled and held him tight, enjoying the weight and the sound of their heartbeats thudding together, but not the sound of the radio-alarm turning itself on in the next room, followed by movement. “But not in time to collect,” he said softly into the almost-asleep Hooch’s ear, before easing himself out from under Hooch, sliding out of the bed and pulling the covers up over Hooch before finding some clothes and padding to the bathroom.

* * *

The next few days were spent with Matt’s family, the two of them being constantly overfed both in the house and when Matt took Hooch to all his old haunts. He was introduced as Matt’s buddy from back in the Gulf War, in need of some good old-fashioned feeding up at Thanksgiving, which was true for Hooch, who hadn’t been back to his normal weight yet. It got easier around Matt’s large, loud and loving family, as they realized that Hooch wasn’t as tactile as they were, and that they needed to give him space.

By the time they were ready to go, Matt’s mother dropped them off at the airport with plenty of encouragement to come again, and boxes of cookies and cakes to take with them because they “could both do with some home cooking.” She was surprised to find herself embraced by Hooch, who murmured “thank you” into her ear before letting go.

Matt gave one of his grins as they waved goodbye, just before heading to the boarding gate. “Told you you’d like them,” he said to Hooch, as he shouldered his rucksack and balanced the box of cookies.

Hooch answered Matt’s grin with one of his own. It was an odd feeling, he thought, but not at all an unpleasant one. A home, a partner
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even a proper family unlike his own, things that had been the furthest from his mind the day he had enlisted, two decades ago.

November 1998, Fayetteville

When they returned to Fayetteville, Hooch stopped at the threshold of the apartment, staring, because the whole place had been finished while they’d been away. When he asked Matt how the fuck he’d managed to get anyone to work over the Thanksgiving weekend, he just grinned and shrugged.

The apartment had clean and simple lines, leather, white and chrome, with comfortable furniture that was just right for two tall and fit men who didn’t give a crap about nicnacs and for whom the idea of interior decorating brought them out in hives.

It was the first true home Hooch had ever had since he’d joined up at eighteen, and even the ranch had never truly felt like home, except for the stables and the wide open land. This place, though, did, and it scared the shit out of him, because it was so goddamned good.

The bedroom got christened that night when Matt demanded the payment of Hooch’s lost bet, and the next day saw a pleasantly sore and almost mellow Captain Hubert Bozic deal with a piece of admin in his life he’d never expected to deal with: the cancellation of his quarters on base and the change of his address.

A part of him had hoped that it would just slip by in the black hole that was administration on the base, but unlike countless other forms that had disappeared, it was not the case. The polite but firm summons to the office of the Colonel came all too soon.

The seriousness with which this triviality was being taken, was evident straight away. The Colonel was sitting at his desk, frowning, when Hooch came in. “Sit, Captain.” It was between a request and an order.

Hooch’s face immediately settled into the blank expression he’d mastered no matter the circumstances. This was going to be a pissing contest, he could read the signs as if written in neon capitals above his superior’s head. “Good morning, Sir.” Hooch greeted despite the lack of courtesy he’d received, and sat down. Two could play this game, and while he wasn’t a Colonel he’d had more years of experience in the field than any of the more senior staff could ever dream of gaining. Besides, what did he have to lose? Not Matt, no matter what. Everything else paled in comparison, he’d learned that lesson during captivity.

“I see you’re moving off base, Captain,” the Colonel stated the obvious. “Quite sudden, isn’t it?”

“The apartment hadn’t been ready until now.”

Hooch leaned back in his chair, legs a little open, staking his claim of the space and of his position in the pecking order. No superior had ever intimidated him, and this one wasn’t going to change that.

Eyebrows raised, the Colonel looked down at the forms. “True enough, but you’ve never done so before. I see it’s above a gym. Have you considered the security risks of such a location?”

“Yes.” Hooch’s gaze went slowly back to the Colonel’s face. He wasn’t crossing his arms just yet, but the invisible barrier could be felt in the charged atmosphere. A pre-emptive strike suited him better than defense. “I know the owner. He’s got security clearance and is aware of the necessity of security measures due to my active status.”

“Yes, I see, Mr. Matthew Donahue, recently Gunnery Sergeant, USMC, honorably discharged.” The Colonel looked down, “I see that you stayed with him during your recovery. A friendship of long standing, I take it?”

“Since the Gulf, Sir.” Hooch wasn’t giving his superior even the fraction of an inch.

“I see.” A completely unnecessary flipping of some papers in Hooch’s file. “Unusual.” Equally nonverbal, but a faint undercurrent of disapproval. “You’ll be sharing the apartment with him?” The question came sideways, like a switchblade in an alley.

“I have my own room.” Hooch’s answer came just as quickly and as precisely, without a change in his neutral expression nor a blink of his eyes.

The Colonel made a noise that on anyone else would have been a dissatisfied grunt. “Convenient,” a mountain of meaning in the word, “a qualified PTI keeping an eye on your condition.”

“It is, isn’t it, Sir?” Hooch wasn’t going to budge, wasn’t going to offer his superior even the tiniest hook to latch on. The man couldn’t ask, after all, that was what DADT was all about
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and thus he didn’t have to tell. “I’m lucky.”

A narrowing of eyes, and momentary speculation. The Colonel was an arrogant, unpleasant sod, but far from stupid, and he was rapidly putting together a few loose threads. “I gather so.” Lips thinned, moved, as though he was working out what to say next. “A long-term arrangement?”

Bastard. Hooch knew exactly what he meant. He hyper-focused, just like he would during a mission. “That depends on the circumstances.”

“I see,” another unnecessary shuffling of papers. “I see.” The Colonel paused, seemingly deep in thought, “and what are those circumstances?”

“The rent, for example.” Hooch deadpanned.

Another not-grunt, as wheels visibly turned behind those disapproving eyes. “I see.” A pause, considering, “quite a change for you, since you’ve lived on base for all of your career.” No mention of just how many years that had been. “Remember that you’ll need to be careful out there in ways you haven’t needed to be on base.”

“I am perfectly aware of any additional security measures, Sir.” Hooch didn’t acknowledge anything else. “Is that all now, Sir?”

The other man looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Yes, Captain,” he said curtly, “so long as that’s understood.”

“Perfectly, Sir.” Hooch stood up and saluted, then turned sharply to make his way out of the room.

Once outside he couldn’t help the ugly grin appear on his face, as he went back to his office. He had men to train and a medical appointment that afternoon, he didn’t have time to dwell on a stuck-up officer who’d probably like to see him fall.

Yet something inside of him raised its head, an itch he’d buried deep down for so long, but which he once more pushed away. Not yet. It wasn’t time yet.

* * *

When Hooch returned home that evening, later than usual but still with the novelty factor of actually returning to a home, Matt was throwing something together in the kitchenette. Hooch figured it would be some sort of lean meat and some sort of salad. Matt’s culinary skills were marginally better than Hooch’s nonexistent ones, but his interest in nutrition was a lot more developed.

“Hey,” Matt flashed a bright smile, “something wrong?”

“Just a stuck up bastard of a superior.” Hooch shrugged and dropped his pack near the door.

Matt made a noise of sympathy, “that sucks.” He laid out plates and glasses on the dining table.

“Yeah, especially as he kept going on about my change of address.” Hooch went to the fridge and took out a large bottle of carbonated water. He looked at it, put it back into the fridge, then pulled out a beer instead.

Matt visibly tensed. “Do you think he’s guessed?” It was a strange feeling: he didn’t have to be wary for himself anymore, but he had to be for Hooch, which was a lot more nerve-wracking.

“I’m damned sure. The guy’s as subtle as a tank.” Hooch cracked open the beer bottle and finished half of it in one long draft, before sitting down at the table. “Of course, he couldn’t ask.”

Matt visibly relaxed, taking Hooch’s words at face value, as he dished out the food and added a bottle of water for himself. “I never thought to ask
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but do you think anyone on base is going to be a shithead about us?”

“Apart from that dickhead? No.” Hooch poured Matt a glass of water. “None of the guys I worked with ever gave a shit about where I want to stick my dick.” He watched Matt help himself to the salad, then got a smaller portion for himself. “That’s precisely what’s pissed off the Colonel.”

Matt made a non-committal sound, “and your guys would just see what they expect to see anyway, even if they did give a shit.” He took a piece of meat. “How’s it going on the other side?” Leaving it open for Hooch to interpret whether he meant as a trainer, or an officer.

Hooch’s fingertips involuntarily fluttered against the beer bottle, before he took control and stilled them. “It’s not the same.” His gaze slid away from Matt, concentrating on his chicken with a little too much focus to be convincing.

Matt had to remind himself not to hover too obviously, because that would piss Hooch off. He settled for eating in silence for a few minutes. “No, it wouldn’t be,” that sounded neutral enough, leaving Hooch room. It was a funny thing, this living together, no more passing by and being ‘Central Station’, but a true, honest to goodness couple.

Hooch finished the chicken and most of the salad, fork and knife still in his hands, unmoving. Eventually he took in an audible breath and looked at Matt. “Part of me hates it. Really fucking hates it. Other part knows I’m too old even without the injury. Still having trouble with the first part. Makes me itch.”

Sympathy was generally inappropriate around Hooch, and platitudes an even worse idea. All the more so now, when there really was nothing anyone could do. “Ah,” Matt settled for the monosyllable, and for giving Hooch space.

That got a lightning-fast grin from Hooch. There and gone again, but the after effects lingered around the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘ah’.” He put the cutlery down. “As for good news, phys exam today came back clear. X-rays show the fracture’s completely healed and the MD thinks I’m fit for all the duties of my new role.”

Matt answered the grin with one of his own, longer lasting. “That’s great,” it was mixed with relief. “Pity this is as close to anything with bubbles we’ve got.” He looked at the carbonated water. “Or else we should have a toast to new beginnings.”

“Don’t feel like celebrating. It’s a new beginning alright, but except for being here in this place can’t find that much to celebrate.” Hooch twisted the almost empty beer bottle in his hand. “Give me time, Okay? Need to get my bearings in the new job.”

Matt looked like he was going to say something else, but settled for nodding instead. “‘kay,” he echoed, giving Hooch a long look. Caring, but not intrusive, letting the other man sit with his thoughts.