Chapter Text
When Marty wakes early enough, he can watch as the sun starts to bleed through the edges of the thin curtains and creep over Rust’s shoulders. Rust is such a light sleeper, that when Marty watches the body lying parallel to him, he feels like he’s caught the other man off-guard somehow. That probably says more about him than it does Rust but he doesn't delve into the thought too deeply. He mentioned replacing the curtains once but Rust claimed it didn't bother him, so Marty left them alone. Besides, all the home goods stores near them seem to only sell blackout curtains, or wispy pieces of fabric that look like they’d be right at home in his Grandma's house, which he doubted Rust would appreciate more than the current situation.
Sometimes Rust’s breathing comes so shallowly that Marty has to hold himself very still and make sure that the other man’s chest is still rising and falling before the lump in his throat goes away, and his pulse settles back to normal. It scares him more than it should, though he imagines Rust would probably laugh at him if he said that. The soft morning light sharpens the curve of Rust’s already too-well-defined shoulders, and the line of his neck. His shoulders are tan and faintly freckled from too much time spent outside, and they stand out against the pale cotton sheets. If he feels like it, Marty will hold his palm up against the other man's shoulder blade, and try to feel his pulse through his back, which doesn’t generally work, but he likes to try. His skin is warm to the touch and Marty’s hands seem rough in comparison, but he’s usually gentle enough not to wake him. Rust sleeps in just his boxers, cause it's mostly too hot for anything else, and because, he claims, Marty runs hot enough anyways to keep the both of them warm. As far as morning routines/rituals go, he could be worse off.
When Rust eventually groans and turns over to face Marty, he drags a hand through his hair to keep it off his face. He only recently let Marty give him a trim, and he thinks it turned out pretty good for someone who had never shown any promise in regards to hairdressing, albeit Maisie was the only one to ever let him try. Anyways it's still long enough that Rust ties it up lots of the time, so Marty takes the chance to tuck a stray strand behind Rust's ear, and continues to trace his finger down the side of his face. He stops to press his thumb against Rust's cheekbone, and holds it there till Rust opens his eyes again. He blinks tiredly at Marty a couple times, and reaches up to hold Marty’s wrist in place.
“The fuck are ya doin?” Rust whispers at him, but his voice is still scratchy and kind of dehydrated sounding that Marty cracks a grin in response.
“I don’t know, what's it look like?”
Rust stares at him a while longer as if waiting for him to say something else, then closes his eyes again. “What time is it?”
“Just past seven. You don’t gotta get up.”
“Mmm.” Rust inhales deeply and shifts his face further into Marty’s hand, but doesn’t say anything else.
Marty has plans to be in the office at a decent time today, especially since business has picked up recently, and besides, it's not a great look to leave the office unmanned too often. Lest he becomes one of those strange stores, like mattress places, or the one tea store in town, that seem to operate with no staff, no business, and are probably all fronts for some kind of money laundering gig. He’s been trying to convince Rust to come in with him sometime, as he so enjoys lending his opinion on whatever case Marty happens to be working. Generally all in the realm of cheating spouses, child support payment evaders, and parents who hire him to find out if their kids are using drugs. All in all it's straightforward and exactly what he wanted after everything.
Marty looks back at Rust, who’s either making an honest attempt at sleep, or just pretending, because he likes to do that too sometimes. Marty slides his hand out from under Rust's head to stifle a yawn, before landing his hand back on Rust's waist, and dragging it over the sheets to rest on his hip. Rust's lips twitch into a smile under his mustache as Marty unsubtly slides his hand a bit lower, and he snorts softly into the pillow.
“M’not playing grab-ass with you right now Marty,” he mumbles, but he’s smiling into the pillow and not hiding it very successfully. “Let me sleep and maybe I’ll stop by later.”
Marty sighs somewhat dramatically and ceases his exploration of Rust's ass. “Fine. You best believe I’m gonna hold you to that.” He rolls off his side of the bed and walks softly to the dresser to find some socks. Outside the cicadas are already chirping and the sun beating through the window is warming the room despite the old AC that runs most of the night and day. By the time Marty is dressed and downstairs drinking his first cup of coffee, he can hear Rust wandering around upstairs.
After they first made their impromptu escape from the hospital, Rust slept so damn much Marty had to stop himself checking all the time to see if he was still breathing. It took a while, but as Rust healed their lives seemed to merge naturally into one, until they started eating together, shopping together, and even rising in the morning at the same time. Marty figured that was a side effect from years spent working the same hours, but it made things seem settled in a way they never really had been before. At some point they started sleeping together. That was a development that Marty never would have predicted, but after he thought it over for a long while, it sorta just made sense. Like it was inevitable or something. Hell, they even started watching TV together sometimes, even though Rust read most of the time, and Marty was pretty sure he viewed it as a pointless activity, he always stuck around. So things were good. Honestly a lot better than he ever figured things would turn out, especially after everything with Maggie. Sometimes he felt like it was a lot better than he deserved, which might be true. Maggie said once that he and Rust deserved each other, which he figured might also be true. That was a long time ago now, and things had changed between them, but those two things could be true at the same time. That idea alone seemed like it was good enough.
Marty poured Rust some coffee and sat at the counter to look over his admittedly short agenda for the day. Eventually he heard footsteps start down the stairs and glanced up to watch Rust emerge, still in his boxers but now also wearing one of Marty’s old band tees which really hadn’t fit him properly since college. Marty smiled into his coffee and slid Rust’s cup across the counter to him. Rust yawned, then tracked Marty’s gaze to his shirt, and narrowed his eyes at him.
“Shut up.”
“Didn't say nothin.”
“Mmhm.” Rust sat, drank his coffee slowly, then kicked Marty rather gently in the leg. “You're meeting with Billings' wife today?”
Marty nodded. “Yup.” Then added, “Bet you’d like her.”
“I’m sure.” Rust set the mug down. “I meant it, I’ll come by. Help you fill out paperwork or something.”
“Gee thanks, you know, I fill out the paperwork just fine by myself.”
Rust smiled and stared into his coffee, “Yeah I know you just like my company.”
Marty made a defeated noise, but all he thought about was how nice this was, and how different from when he sat in his old apartment and watched Rust shoot ink into his veins, or when the counter used to be always sticky from the beer he used to spill on it every night and forget to clean up.
“Yeah that might be it.” I’m getting soft, Marty thought to himself. It wasn’t as bad as he used to imagine it would be.