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Rust’s got the door open before Marty even has his keys out, Marty’s old Pink Floyd t-shirt and checkered pyjama pants hanging loose around his frame as he peers out from the shadow of the doorframe, anxious and eager squinting hard into the sun cause he’s trying not to show it. It’s been like this every day this week, since Marty started spending his days back at the office instead of flopped on the couch next to Rust, and Marty’s starting to think it’s pointless to even reach into his pocket anymore. Rust nods once when Marty gets close, satisfied as he’s like to get, before he saunters back into the entryway ahead of Marty.
Marty can’t blame him, not really— it’s been two months since they walked out of Lafayette General and they’ve barely been apart since, maybe don’t really know how to be; barely 8 weeks gone and it feels like Rust has slipped himself soft and seamless into an empty space in Marty’s life that he didn’t really even know was there. If Marty thinks too hard about it, he gets to wondering if that space might’ve been made just for him, and he’s not sure what to do with that feeling at all.
Not that living with Rust is ever simple. He still pushes Marty’s buttons easy as anything in the way only he ever could, picking incessantly at Marty’s habits, his routines as if they hadn’t gone ten years without seeing each other before Rust ended up invalided in his bed, but it feels different now, and if Marty had to give it a name, he thinks it might land somewhere too close to domestic. Marty’s come to figure, though, that with the things they’ve been through together, the things they’ve seen, there ain’t really any other way for them to be.
Marty’s barely toed his shoes off before Rust is on him, hands everywhere as he tries to touch all of Marty at once, and Marty chuckles into the kiss, tries not to betray the lightness in his chest as Rust presses against him, insistent.
“Missed me, huh?” And this is new, too, the way their partnership has shifted into this something else where Rust can kiss him and he can kiss back, can tease him about it, run light fingertips across the line of his shoulders in the slanted light of the afternoon sun through his blinds.
Rust huffs against his lips but doesn’t move away. “Shut up, Marty.” His hands are still tight on Marty’s shoulders and Marty realizes he’s shaking, opens his eyes and uses his grip on Rust’s biceps to separate them just a little, hold him there until Rust looks at him.
“You alright?” He tries not to let any thread of worry slip into his voice, isn’t sure he succeeds.
Rust turns his head to the side, slants his eyes down and away. “‘M fine, Marty, don’t worry about it.”
Marty waits, cause that’s not all of it. Rust could break away if he wanted to, if he really didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t. Just lets Marty hold him there until, finally, he lets out a big breath, says “‘s just not good for me, bein’ here on my own.”
Marty sighs, rubs his hands up and down Rust’s biceps, gentle, before leading him to the couch. They’re both out of their depth here, with Marty back at work and no future plans but for Rust to stay exactly where he is, if Marty has any say in the matter, and they should really talk about it, as much as the two of them know how to talk about anything.
Marty sits, expecting Rust to settle down next to him, but then Rust is clambering up into his lap instead, long thighs straddling Marty’s and hands landing back in their place on his shoulders. Marty watches as Rust works his jaw for a second before setting his gaze back on Marty.
“An’ what if I said I did miss you?” It’s as much of a concession as he’s gonna get right now, Marty knows, and he can’t help but grin as he settles his hands on either side of Rust’s hips, pulls him down flush against him. They’ve done this a few times too, quick and messy like teenagers and Marty knows what Rust is angling for, knows he’s powerless to say no to him.
He hums deep in his throat, smug. “Well that depends. What’re you thinkin’ you might do about it?”
Rust rolls his eyes, refuses to even deign that with a compliment before he’s lunging down to meet Marty’s lips with his own, and Marty still feels like he’s won somehow.
Rust kisses like a hurricane, single-minded and unforgiving, all that intensity making Marty’s head spin every time he finds himself at Rust’s disposal. Turns him on like crazy, that’s for sure, and he thought he’d need to work that out more in his head, but it hasn’t felt like a problem, not once. It’s Rust, and it feels good, and Marty doesn’t really care to remember the last time he wanted something or someone this fuckin’ bad.
Marty breaks the kiss to rearrange them so that Rust is straddling one of his thighs, one of his legs is pressed flush against Marty’s growing hard on. Rust’s eyes are dark, lids heavy and pupils blown as he studies the planes of Marty’s face, and it still about knocks the breath out of him, the intensity of Rust’s gaze when it’s focused nowhere else but on him. He tugs Rust back down against him, rolls his hips up slow and deliberate, and Rust bites back a moan as Marty’s leg presses up between his own.
It’s not a perfect angle, the pressure on his dick not quite enough like this, but Marty knows Rust loves it, has deposited himself in Marty’s lap and rubbed himself off against him almost every time since that first one. It feels intimate in a way he never expected them to be, and, all things considered, Marty would be more than willing to thank whatever god might be up there for letting him have this— Rust, lips parted and throat exposed as he grinds himself firm against Marty’s thigh.
And Christ, if this is all Marty ever gets from Rust, it’d be more than enough. He’d be more’n happy if all Rust ever wanted to give him was soft breath and the flutter of his eyelashes against the top of his cheekbones as he throws his head back, takes his pleasure like this. But that don’t stop him from wanting more, from picturing Rust up against the wall or on his knees, from wondering if Rust might want that too. He hasn’t asked, though, not yet, too busy being grateful for what he’s already got, but something about the way Rust is grinding into him, desperate and needy, makes him want to know what else Rust might let him do if given the chance.
Rust huffs against him as Marty pulls him down just right and Marty can’t help but catch Rust’s lips with his own, tighten his grip on Rust’s hips. Rust breaks the kiss to drop his forehead against Marty’s own, pant out Marty’s name, and it takes everything in Marty to stop before he’s too far gone, force himself still beneath Rust’s weight.
“Marty, wha—”, Rust starts, but Marty kisses him again, turns it into something slow and dirty that leaves Rust moaning into his mouth, and shit, they’ll never get where Marty wants to go if he keeps going on like this. He pulls away, takes a deep, steadying breath, tries not to focus on the feeling of Rust’s eyes on his skin, the feel of his body under Rust’s own.
“God, Rust, the things I want to do to you, I—”
He can’t finish the thought, not quite. Clamps his mouth shut, his eyes, too. His body is thrumming and he feels tongue-tied, nervous and shaky like a damn kid all over again.
Feels Rust breathe, shift above him, curious, but he can’t quite open his eyes to see his reaction.
Rusts voice is pitched low and rough when he responds, and Marty shivers, feels it through his entire body. “What things, Marty?”
And doesn’t that open up a world of possibilities. Rust on his knees, body pressed down into the mattress; Rust arching back, legs wrapped tight around Marty’s waist. Rust, sweet and wet and trembling on his tongue— Marty almost moans at the image, himself blushing down to his toes at the thought of it.
“Wanna— wanna eat you out, Rust. Wanna get my mouth on you. Can I—”
He forces his eyes open— needs to see Rust, needs to show him how much he wants this, has been wanting it. Their eyes meet and Rust reacts like he’s been hit with an electric current, twists his fingers tight and desperate in Marty’s shirt before letting his own eyes drift closed. It feels like an eternity passes between them before Rust finally speaks, soft as anything. “Yeah. Yeah, Marty, please.”
Marty’s mouth goes dry but then Rust is kissing him again and it’s like a wildfire, everywhere at once til he feels like he’s burning with it. Marty barely has the wherewithal to slide his hands up Rust’s back to pull him closer, stand them both up from the couch, turn towards the bedroom.
Neither one of them seems to want to let go, and then end up half-dragging, half-stumbling through the bedroom door. Marty feels a bit like he’s dreaming when Rust finally breaks the kiss to tug his shirt over his head, shuck his pyjama bottoms til he’s left in nothing but his briefs, a wet spot soaking through where he was grinding against Marty’s leg.
Rust freezes when Marty neglects to strip his own clothes off, holds himself still under Marty’s steady gaze. Marty’s never seen him this nervous but he looks beautiful and Marty wants him to know it, so he wets his lips, whistles long and low as he lets his eyes rake dramatically up and down Rust’s frame.
It has the desired effect— Rust moves closer so he’s less exposed to Marty’s eyes on him, drags his teeth along Marty’s throat as he pushes his overshirt back off of his shoulders. Grumbles “Take your clothes off, Marty” into the hollow between his shoulder and neck.
Marty’s really not one to say no, but they’ve never done this before, he and Rust, and he’s determined to take his sweet time for as long as Rust’ll put up with it. He lets the overshirt drop to the floor behind him, peels his undershirt over his head, unbuckles his belt but doesn’t shuck his pants. Instead, he drops to his knees, presses his face to the crease between Rust’s thigh and the warmth between his legs, breathes deep. He smells like sex, like damp and musk and it’s so Rust that Marty’s head swims with it. He pulls back, keeps his eyes on Rust’s face as he hooks his fingers in Rust’s waistband, tugs his briefs down to the floor.
Rust still looks a bit like a trapped animal above him and Marty wants to ask him how long it’s been since he’s let somebody see him like this, but that’s not the kind of question Rust is like to answer, so he just rubs one hand up Rust’s leg, gentle as anything, doesn’t break eye contact when he asks, “You sure about this?”
Rust lets out a soft, broken sound and screws his eyes shut, doesn’t pull away. Lifts a hand to ghost over Marty’s head, rest gentle against the back of his skull.
When he finally speaks, it’s its own kind of prayer. “Please, Marty.”
Marty finally, finally drops his gaze, and the sight of Rust’s body in front of him is both familiar and unfamiliar at once, and so enticing it makes his mouth water.
The soft, dark wisps of a treasure trail lead down from his bellybutton to a sparse bush, a swollen bulge below it, and the folds of his pussy, wet and swollen with blood. Marty wants to taste it.
He lifts one hand, reverent, slides it through the slickness between Rust’s legs and Rust breathes out hard through his nose, trembles slightly. He feels like he’s moving through honey, thick and sweet as he slides his hand up, splits his fingers to slide over the skin on either side of Rust’s small dick, brush feather-light over the tip.
Rust muffles a whine, bites out, “Jesus fucking Christ, Marty, will you just touch me already?” and then Marty’s moving, burying his face in the folds of Rust’s pussy, nosing up underneath his hard-on, the wet heat of him overwhelming and comforting all at once. Rust chokes at the sudden contact, clutches hard at the base of Marty’s skull, pulling him in. Marty sticks his tongue out to taste him, slides lower to press into him as far as he can go, and Rust’s knees almost buckle above him.
He pulls back, chuckling, and Rust honest-to-god whines at the loss. He looks wrecked in a way Marty’s never seen before, wild-eyed and panting, and Marty wants to put his mouth back on him now, preferably without having to worry about whether or not Rust can stay standing.
He leans forward again, presses a kiss to Rust’s stomach, follows it up to Rust’s mouth as he gets to his feet. Rust’s mouth is pliant against his lips, slips open without resistance when Marty presses his tongue inside. Marty plants his hands against Rust’s hips, doesn’t break the kiss as he guides Rust back towards the bed. He keeps pushing when he feels the back of Rust’s legs hit the mattress, just guides him up higher, bites his lower lip once before sliding back down between Rust’s spread thighs.
Marty’s always loved eating pussy, the act of losing himself in the slick heat of another body, and the fact that this is Rust’s pussy, all pink and wet and hard for him has him grinding hard into the mattress as he spreads Rust open with two fingers, presses his skin back to reveal the full length of his dick.
It’s always been a point of pride for him, too, figuring out what makes a woman tick, what he needs to do to make them shake, wrap their thighs around his head, pull him in closer. He wants to do that to Rust, too— make him feel good, make him come apart on Marty’s mouth and fingers. Rust squirms above him, impatient again, and Marty leans down to lick a long stripe up Rust’s pussy before wrapping his lips around the tip of his dick.
Rust bucks against Marty’s arm where it’s pressed low on his stomach and Marty hollows his cheeks, tongue dragging along the underside of his dick as he bobs his head down and back up, luxurious. Rust keens when Marty swirls his tongue, heels scrabbling for purchase on Marty’s back and hands fisting in the sheets. Marty holds him there for a second before pulling off to catch Rust’s eye.
Rust’s breathing hard, hair a mess and lips bitten red from trying to keep quiet and Marty’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his life. Thinks he could stay here like this forever— just the two of them in this room, Rust’s legs wrapped around his head and his face buried in Rust’s pussy— ‘cept he really wants to make Rust cum, see what he looks like electric with pleasure from the feeling of Marty’s mouth on him. So he holds eye contact, slides the two fingers on Rust’s pussy down to rest at Rust’s entrance, waits for Rust to make a move. Rust shifts lower until Marty’s fingertips breach the tight hole of his entrance, throws his head back when Marty presses them in deep.
“Christ, Rust, look at you,” he breathes, caught up in the tight heat of Rust around his fingers, the sight of his them sliding in and back out as Rust fucks himself on them, shameless and needy now. “Like you were made for this.”
“Marty, fuck,” is all the response he thinks he’s gonna get, but then Rust keeps talking. “I need— ah— I need your mouth. C’mon.”
“Oh, Jesus—” Marty bites out, and then he dives back in, nosing again at Rust’s dick before taking it back in his mouth, crooking his fingers deep inside Rust until he feels his thighs start to shake. Rust is arching against him now, drawing closer to the edge, soft sounds dropping sweet from his mouth as Marty doubles down, moans around the sensitive skin of Rust’s dick when he feels it throb against his tongue.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware that he’s been thrusting his hips into the mattress below him, short and shallow thrusts in a bid for friction against the aching line of his dick, but he pushes that aside, focuses on bringing Rust to the edge.
He scissors his fingers inside Rust, drops his mouth open hot and sloppy against the underside of Rust’s dick. He can feel Rust’s tension building, desperation in the way he’s pushing himself down into Marty’s fingers and the thready whines dragging their way up his throat as he rides Marty’s face. Marty pistons his fingers harder, twists, and Rust’s whole body convulses above him. Rust pants his name in warning and Marty buries his face in Rust’s pussy as his orgasm hits him, holds it there as his body tenses and shivers, riding it out.
Marty’s skin feels electric, Rust’s pussy still pulsing around his fingers and his scent everywhere. Rust stills above him and Marty’s awareness finally narrows to his own dick, aching as he shifts against the mattress. Rust says his name and Marty grinds his hips involuntarily in response, pleasure arching up his body and severing the last of his self-control, and then he’s rutting against the mattress in earnest, delirious and so hard it hurts. His face is still buried in the folds of Rust’s slick skin, fingers warm inside him and he can’t pull himself away, can’t move to do anything but chase the wave of pleasure mounting in his body. Rust tightens his thighs around Marty’s shoulders, dragging him impossibly closer, whispers “C’mon, Marty”, and that’s all it takes, Marty’s vision going white as his own orgasm rockets up his spine.
Rust gives Marty a few breaths before he slides up the bed, pads gently across the floor to the bathroom. Marty drifts in a haze of bliss until Rust comes back, pyjama pants slung loose on his hips, and shoves his shoulder, prodding him to roll over. He realizes vaguely that he’s still wearing his pants, his belt; needs to remind his limbs how to work again so he can get them off and clean himself up. Instead, he just drops his head to the side to meet Rust’s gaze, grin up at him, goofy and pleased. Rust huffs and rolls his eyes, but leans down to kiss him anyway before dropping the damp cloth on Marty’s chest and sauntering back out to the living room.
Once Marty’s cleaned up, he makes his way to the kitchen, pops on the kettle before settling on the couch next to Rust, clears his throat. Rust looks up from his book, sleepy eyes curious as he meets Marty’s gaze, and Marty’s chest fills with something bright and warm.
“So…”, he starts, settling himself back against the arm of the couch, stretching his leg out long to brush against Rust’s. “You coming in to the office with me tomorrow? Figure it might do both of us some good.”
Rust blinks slow, hums deep in his chest before he drops his eyes back to his book, flips a page. “Guess you could probably use my help”, he says, casual as anything, but Marty knows him well enough to read him now, maybe has for years.
The kettle whistles and Marty just grunts, pleased. Lets his hand brush across Rust’s ankle as he stands, feels Rust’s eyes linger as pulls out two mugs, steeps the tea.