Deliverance - Hooch and Matt's Story (28 page)

“As are you, Hubert Bozic,” Matt held him close, nuzzling Hooch’s neck, just above the collar. “As are you.”

After a few more moments resting, waiting until their heartbeats returned to normal, Matt reluctantly eased away from Hooch and padded to the bathroom to quickly clean up, before returning with a wet cloth do the same for the boneless Hooch. Satisfied with his work, he went to the kitchen to prepare the salt solution for the new piercings, feeling Hooch’s eyes on him as he moved around the living area.

“What, you’re not falling asleep?” Hooch’s amused and sated voice came from the couch.

“Hmmm, no, not yet.” Matt was back as he removed the dressings and started to wash the wounds in the salt solution. “That’s later. When you fuck my brains out.”

Hooch hissed at the salt solution on the wounds, then ignored it. “I’m ten years older than you, you have to give me some time.” He looked down onto his nipples, and damned if he didn’t love the metal against his skin.

Matt smirked as he continued to tend to the tender flesh. “We have all the time in the world, old man, all the time in the world.”

“Who are you calling an old man? You do realize I could kill you with one hand and very little effort, kid?”

“Who’re you calling a kid?” Matt grinned as he finished with the salt water and moved back to properly admire the metal shining against Hooch’s tanned skin. “Who’d look after you then, huh?” He stood up and reached down to pull up the boneless Hooch. “Now, you still haven’t caught up on your sleep from the training exercise. Back to bed with you and I might even join you for a bit of a snooze.”

Hooch grinned sleepily and followed Matt into the bedroom. He couldn’t help the yawn. “Got to make sure I don’t bleed onto the bedding.”

“It’s stopped, mainly,” Matt said, pulling back the covers, “but what’s a go through the washing machine? They need to breathe a bit, and I like the look of that metal on you. So much so, I’m going to take a lot of photos, trust me on that.”

Hooch grinned then yawned again and slipped under the covers. “Anything else you want me to get pierced, just say so.” He let the words stay in the room, turned onto his side, relishing the ache in his ass as he closed his eyes. He was beat. Again.

Matt got in next to him, holding him close and enjoying the feeling of Hooch in his arms. Relaxed, rested, at ease. Touching the collar with his lips thoughtfully, he thought of the next fortnight until the club, pondering a few more ideas before he, too drifted off to sleep.

Hooch was back at work after his long weekend off. Pierced nipples carefully taped to avoid irritation of the still fresh wounds, and with renewed energy after the first weekend of what felt like a new chapter for Matt and himself. He wasn’t expected back home before his usual time in the evening, but at mid-afternoon there was a small commotion outside the front door, which made Mandy look up and listen.

It was clearly Hooch’s voice that she heard outside over the sound of an idling vehicle.

“No, I am fine.”

She couldn’t understand the reply, probably muffled by coming from inside the car.

“I said,” Hooch’s voice again, carefully pronouncing his words in the sharp way he had when he was getting annoyed, “that I am fine. Get back to base and make sure my truck’s here by tomorrow.”

The other voice again, and then Hooch’s, louder this time and clearly pissed off. “Get your ass back to base, Corporal. I said I am fine, now fuck off!”

His outburst was followed by the sound of the engine revving and the vehicle taking off, probably faster than it should.

A few seconds later the frosted glass door opened and Hooch stepped through. He held his pack in his left hand by its straps, while the right was secured in an elevated sling with a plastic cast around the wrist and most of the hand. His right eye was swollen, butterfly strips holding a gash above it together, and most of the right side of his face was bruised.

Hooch, battered and so pissed off, he was positively steaming with anger.

Mandy’s jaw dropped. “What happened?” she asked in shock.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Hooch fumed, dropping the pack beside the reception desk. “The fucking idiot should be thankful I could only hit him with my left and merely broke his nose.”

Still staring, Mandy swallowed. “Do you want me to get Matt?”

“Not if he’s busy taking a class.” Hooch walked over to the vending machine and fumbled for coins in his uniform’s back pocket, but utterly failing. Too unused to using his left hand, which only pissed him off even more.

Sufficiently accustomed to military men to know that any attempt to assist would just make things worse, Mandy shook the shoulder of the equally gaping Danni at the reception desk, motioning her to go off and get Matt who was due to finish a class in five minutes, and to intercept him before he headed off to the showers. She stayed and kept an eye on Hooch.

Rex crept out from behind her legs and stared at Hooch warily, figuring that it was a bad idea to get too near to large, angry men wearing combat boots.

“Goddammit!” Hooch hit the vending machine with his left fist, before whirling round to vent his anger somewhere else, but his gaze fell on Rex who whined at his outburst and slunk back, cowering. “Sorry.” Some of Hooch’s anger deflated at the frightened look of the dog. “Wasn’t aimed at you.” He held out his good hand but didn’t crouch down as he usually would.

Rex looked up at him, still wondering who this large, angry man was who had taken the place of the comfy, mellow human of the weekend. He hunched down and slinked closer, before cautiously touching a nervous, trembling nose to Hooch’s outstretched hand.

“Hey, sorry, Rex.” Hooch petted the dog’s head, controlling his anger in the face of Rex’s fear, who gradually gained confidence. Hooch was still petting Rex, albeit awkwardly, when Matt came through from the gym, towel round his neck and sweaty.

“Shit,” Matt’s voice was barely audible. He’d been warned by Danni, but the reality was somewhat more than he expected. “What happened, man?” All-buddy like in public.

“What happened? Some fucking idiot thought he was Rambo and didn’t need combat driver training and would show off his ‘skills’ to me. That’s what happened.” Hooch growled, but gave another pat on Rex’s head nevertheless.

“Hey, let’s get you upstairs for a change of clothes.” Matt reached for Hooch’s pack. “Come on.”

Hooch followed Matt onto the stairs. “Do we have coke? Full fat? I couldn’t get the motherfucking machine to work.” Despite all the good work Rex had done in controlling his anger, it was flaring up again.

“Just the emergency stash,” Matt told him. A couple of glass bottles they kept at the back of the fridge. The stuff with sugar, not corn syrup, that was a pain to track down but that Hooch preferred and craved when his body was depleted.

“Thank fuck.” Hooch went to the couch and slowly sat down, preferring the left side. “What a fucking mess,” he groaned with his head back and eyes closed. “I’m signed off for the next seven days.”

Matt was rummaging at the back of the fridge for the coke, before retrieving a single precious bottle and bringing it to the couch to put it into Hooch’s grateful hand. If Hooch noticed that the cap had already been removed, he didn’t say anything.

He emptied the bottle almost in one go, before opening his eyes again. “They had to pull me off that idiot.”

“Delta?” Matt frowned. If so, standards were slipping. But they wouldn’t waste Hooch on anyone else.

“Candidate. Thought he didn’t need training, was already hard as nails.” Hooch gingerly touched his swollen eye and tried to frown, but quickly gave up on that. “He fucked up his chances, might be kicked out altogether. Crashed the vehicle and me in it. Doesn’t look good on his record.” He pointed to his elevated hand. “No fracture, just sprained, or I would have stuffed his balls down his throat.”

Matt snorted, perfectly aware that Hooch probably had come very close to doing just that before he was pulled off the idiot. “Anything else apart from the obvious?” meaning the injuries.

“See for yourself.” Hooch indicated his uniform and then wiggled his left hand with a look of frustration on his face. “I’m shit with my left.”

“Come on then, to bed, so you can lie down properly.” Pulling Hooch up and urging him the short distance. Stripping Hooch was awkward with the sling. When he lay down, naked, Matt inspected the damage, which consisted mainly of bruising down the right side. More discoloration than damage. He noticed the tape over his pierced nipples had been removed and at his questioning look Hooch rolled his eyes. “I had to get checked over. Medics had a field day.”

Matt’s eyebrows went up. “What did they say?”

“That I should know better.”

A smile tugged at the edges of Matt’s mouth as he traced a fingertip over the left nipple. “So what’s new?” playing with the tender nubs and then going to the right, to make things even. “Do you want me to change the dressing on the cuts yet?”

Hooch drew in a sharp breath, watching the progress of Matt’s finger with his intense focus. “No, I’m fine. They told me the butterfly strips should stay on, the rest is surface damage.” He looked up, “I’ve had worse.”

Matt snorted, knowing full well, then the expression on his face turned thoughtful. “Any plans for the next seven days, then?” he asked, deliberately casual.

“Other than equally getting bored to death and being pissed off that I can’t train Lucifer, while looking like a painter’s palette gone wrong? No.”

Fingertips dancing over skin, stopping at the second half of Hooch’s sentence. “Funny you should say that.” Matt’s fingers flattened, pressing into an unbruised section of Hooch’s abdomen, sliding around and resting on his hip. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on the weekend, about doing anything I asked if it wasn’t visible when you were in uniform.”

“Hm?” Hooch made a distracted sound, then focused at Matt’s last words. “Yes.” Not a question.

“I find that I do like these,” he bent down and brushed a kiss on each nipple, “very much.” He straightened. “But I was thinking that when we go to the club, I should make it a little more obvious that you are mine. My mark, right here.” The hand that had been on his hip, gently but firmly moving under Hooch on his uninjured side, until fingertips pressed into Hooch’s back, just at his waist.

Hooch’s eyes widened. “What were you thinking of?” Full acceptance, without knowing what Matt had in mind.

Matt leaned closer, almost nose to nose. “Ink. Permanent. My mark tattooed on you, where everyone there can see.”

Hooch’s lips parted, stunned for a moment, his heart racing as adrenaline spiked within seconds. “Yeah. I’d…” he swallowed, “like that.”

Matt’s smile grew. “Good.” He drew back. “Should probably wait a few days until the worst of this goes down first, though.” Indicating the mess that was Hooch.

“My back’s fine,” Hooch protested, “and I’m only bruised, nothing major.”

“That means I can book you in.” Matt replied. “But first,” he stood up and rummaged in the wardrobe for the comfy, loose clothes that Hooch normally hated to wear, “you’re going to get some clothes on and settle on the couch and watch that stack of DVDs that you bought in Edinburgh. With the dog, because I have to get back downstairs.”

“Bully.” Hooch groused, but didn’t complain when Matt helped him into the clothes. Even putting socks on one-handed was awkward, and navigating anything but drawstring waistbands seemed nearly impossible. They opted for a shirt, easier to pull on with his arm in a sling. “I’d feel a lot better if I could use the idiot as a punching ball.”

“I’d imagine by the time the guys on base are through with him, he’d prefer it if you had,” Matt said dryly, imagining what a guy who’d probably be thrown out because of his own idiocy would be going through. Not feeling a shred of sympathy, not when the idiot had been responsible for Hooch’s injuries.

Hooch followed Matt back out into the living room, where he settled down on the couch, the remote in his hand, and a space left free for Rex. Having evidently forgiven him, Rex rested his chin on Hooch’s uninjured thigh, staring at the television, barely acknowledging Matt’s departure with a lazy twitch of an ear.

When Matt returned later that evening, he found Hooch asleep on the couch on his good side. TV on mute but running, a blanket over himself and Rex, who had curled up in his customary spot at Hooch’s stomach. A few remnants of dog food in the bowl showed Matt that Hooch had fed Rex, and a bottle of pain killers right beside Hooch’s cell phone gave Matt a good indication that someone, probably the doctor herself, had called Hooch to bully him into taking the pain killers as instructed, since the man hated taking them because they made him drowsy. Hooch didn’t even stir when Matt stepped closer. Only Rex looked lazily up and twitched his ears.

“Hey, Rex,” Matt gently smoothed a hand over the dog’s ears. “He been OK?” Rex laid his head back on Hooch’s stomach as though saying ‘yes, calm at last, and he has rotten taste in movies.’

Matt smiled and turned to Hooch, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but deciding against it, before heading to the kitchen, knowing that the sound and smell of food being prepared would wake Hooch anyway.

Matt was well into cooking dinner before Hooch stirred, woken by the combination of smells from the kitchen area, his rumbling stomach, and Rex getting off the couch—where he’d become a regular thanks to Hooch’s bad influence. He was bleary-eyed, unlike his usual instant waking, and several hours after the accident he was stiff and sore, and not in the good way.