Chapter Text
He felt trapped as he had never seen when those hands, usually almost delicate under his eyes, embraced his own and warned him of precaution. He had seen them countless times flipping pages filled with what for him were pure scrambles but for Rust meaningful drawings and annotations of every particle of dust, he thought significant in each of the cases they led. Sometimes, he peeked at them and then at Rust wondering what they meant to him. What was the need to intently look at them repeatedly and by doing so adverting his eyes from him? What were the secrets underlying that handwriting taking his attention in such a way that Marty kept it behind, miles away from the secrets that Rust buried alone?
As animals of custom and repetition, he also save for himself the number of interrupted sleep hours he dreamed of Rust, ashes around his fingertips when explaining any of his nihilistic observations of the terrible world they live in. Marty took those nightmares for granted, as they just were examples of his work partner mining the field of his dreams with more and more cryptic knowledge he really did not want to learn from or about. He was a lesser man and felt okay with it, especially if seeing the world's wisdom through Rust’s eyes meant carrying that halo of a broken angel wherever they went.
Now, through ragged breathing and anger pumping into his veins the need to correct this stupid man, he just stared at him as free as never before.
Marty held his breath, feeling his partner's drumbeat underneath the palms of his fists, closer than he could recall happened before. Except in those unexpected but nowadays, welcomed dreams in which Rust dig his way into his soul without the need of permission or the signal of reciprocity. He liked how he stormed himself in, enveloped in the quietness of thunder about to tremble the ground under his feet and the fake attitude his masculinity forced him to perform all the time. In the borderline point of nightmares and dreams, Rust was the lightning shattering his convictions and the cloak of darkness embracing him full of unspoken desires.
The paradox of this stolen moment came as a sudden realisation settled in when Rust’s eyes felt so heavy on him, seeing through the veil and leaving Marty naked and exposed to his hypocritical mind.
Sometimes you lose track of what you say to yourself ‘is good for the family’. Delusions can overcome reality and become it. You just get used to it and only get to work on feeding the narrative.
Otherwise your sand castle crumbles at the first blow of wind.
Or in this case, at the first touch of skin against skin.
What would happen if he leaned a bit more? What would result if Rust did the same and both found common ground without useless words? Would the reality merge with his nonsensical mind and bring forward what he could feel now they both desired?
Marty was still a mess of hormones in the aftermath of Lisa’s body which if needed, would blame as the only one responsible for fueling his rage into the violent, tight but so deliciously intimate proximity he was allowed to take from the man pinned against the lockers.
Then the unexpected sniffing Rust drew from him only provoked his knees to wobble and his struggling breathing disappeared into the thin lips he was now daring to taste.
As Marty cut as a dagger their distance, Rust leant forward knowing fully well the moment would disappear once the man came back to his self-imposed mask of bravado and chauvinism, one he felt too tired to deal with again . Rust’s lips moved with the care of an impromptu truth unfolding itself, with the weight of raw need and feelings he was still aware Marty was not even close to looking at, to puzzle on his own.
In the late nights of solitude at his place, tired of explicit pages full of descriptions of violence and depressing philosophy from which he learned to come to better analyses, he also took moments for himself. Early into their interactions, he realised Marty was the thunder in his winter, rolling restlessly trying to catch Rust as the wind that slips from your fingers and the raindrops washing away second by second the pain nestled for so long in his heart. Or whatever was left of it. He didn’t know how long they would burn in silent longing, how much time they could continue investing to throw wet logs in the fire living behind their chests. The pattern came to life by itself, knowing by his own experience how cruel the world was, he accepted the dynamic, to burn under denied wants and the unyielding promise of resurrection.
“You have no right to mess with my life”
“Don’t I?”
Whispers got lost in the saliva hanging from one mouth to the other, none of them knowing whose spit they were sharing now. Rust bit his lip from curling, sensing Marty would only take it as mockery instead of flattery, of reassurance, of rightfulness. He was far from convincing such a blunt man to indulge himself in the moment, in the sound of their friendship shattering into little pieces. How could he even explain to him about kintsugi and the possibility of themselves reconstructing their relationship into something tangible, more honest and above everything something of their own ? Something built in the same hands now imprisoning each other’s, fists reclaiming space when only aiming to voice words none of them felt capable yet to pronounce?
So he did the only thing he could do and leaned in, trapped in his own hunger to taste Marty’s lips again, to languidly lick his mouth until it parted open for him, defences and nonsense lost to let the pieces fall into their authentic place. One day, one day it would all be logical for Marty. One day the man will realise that there were no real barriers in between, that the fence he believed Rust had manufactured under nihilism and depression was nothing but an open invitation to get what was his. It surprised Rust how easy it was to stroke their tongues together, how muffled a moan was swallowed down his throat when Marty in a split second gave in and allowed himself to be tasted. To be taken. To swim in the hurricane of forbidden pleasure when Rust’s hands applied pressure to their fingers, as entwined as their souls were maybe from a silence pact with time to repeat this scenario in every lifetime they crossed path together.
Fearing of father time stealing this brief moment between them he sucked Marty’s tongue before those strong hands pushed him away, marking not only proper distance but his alleged heterosexuality, now clouded in a smoke of ash as it had always been since they began working together.
Rust pretended all the time not to be paying attention to his partner, pretending to ignore his features full of guilt and shoulders hunched, tired and brimming with repressed feelings every time they lingered together. Every time they brushed shoulders or fingers got to point at the same details in their typed files. He just did what he did best and pretended nothing ever, was truly happening. If he could dismiss the flashes of lights and colours when driving, the clouds twisting shapes when looking above the sky or the figures the skyline at sundown drew for him, he could of course pretend Marty’s attraction was being masked every second without the man fully seeing into it. He had become such an expert at neglecting everything that avoiding looking into Marty’s heart was nothing but another task to carry out every day of the rest of his life.
There was no way out now. Marty could scream and shout but he had not been paying attention as Rust had. He had covered for so long between women’s thighs that he was far from understanding the reality and weight of his heart’s desire. It didn’t bother Rust that much anymore, not now when he had got to hold him, seeing him yield while pretending at the same time to be the one taming him. To be the one submitting knowing fully well that power relied there, into giving in rather than continue weaving lies between them.
He also knew well, that it would take long years again to repeat this exact moment of seeing Marty’s face blurred and eyes closed, brow knitted in delicious lust that he would redirect to more safe nests.
Rust didn’t care.
Already feeling sadness coiling alongside frustrated pleasure he felt Marty breaking their kiss, stretching the distance between them and ignoring his own sigh once he looked at Rust’s face. They remained in silence, warning hanging still in the air with the same pressure their hands remained trapping each other. The moment Marty pushed him and released him, Rust felt his heart clenched painfully. The man gave in one last frustrated look which also let through a glint of desire that disappeared as soon as he left, hanging in the air while Rust stayed put and checked his pulse.
He could wait.
What else could he do in this worthless tick-tock of the clock dragging him further into day after night with the only company of this repressed man at his side?