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Ochre

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The set of Marty's mouth was thin and grim. In part, Rust was sure, from his own intrusion into Marty's peace with his thoughts. The rest of it though had to be his preoccupation with the woman from the crime scene.

Which seemed odd to Rust, given Marty's phenomenal ability to compartmentalize. When it suited him.

The sketches felt like black coal sinking into the pages of Rust's work book. And for a moment he wished he had yellow pigment to smear into the center of it. It was an odd thought. But then Rust was feeling odd. Crime scenes always made him existential but something was off...

Rust watched out the window, something swirling in the clouds. Shimmering like water off a pond.

"Fuck." Rust said then. "Pull over."

"What do you mean 'pull over'?" Marty asked testily before Rust made a grab for the wheel.

And then Marty was swearing, a jumbled mess tumbling from his mouth as the car screeched to a stop.

They both panted there for a minute.

And then Rust was up and out of the car.

Marty followed him out.

The wash of grains all around them seemed peaceful, disturbed only by two men facing each other down from either side of the car.

"You want to tell me," Marty paused for effect, "what the fuck that was all about?"

"Mart-" Rust rasped, making an abortive hand motion for Marty to back off when he came around.

"Fucking dangerous is what that was." Marty cried testily, shaken "Seriously, what is your fucking problem?"

 "It's-" Rust choked out, turning from Marty and leaning palms out on the car, "-new drug."

He was having trouble breathing.

"w-what do you mean new drug...?" Marty asked breathlessly, already trying on denial, except that he knew. There'd only been one new drug that had everyone talking. And it was lethal.

The tension in Rust's body seemed to twist under his skin. It gave Marty the impression of a snake about to strike. His palms pressed harder against the car roof like he was trying to contain himself.

-and Marty couldn't. He really couldn't. Couldn't let this happen. Couldn't go through with it. Even as he raised a hand, hovered above Rust's shoulder.

Marty couldn't let the man die.

"Okay." Marty said, voice strangled and strangely high, "Only one thing for it."

Rust turned to give him a withering gaze. He possibly wasn't that far gone yet but then his hips bucked and his eyes lost focus.

It was going to be over quick. That's what Marty told himself. He had to act, there was a time limit on these things. Marty wasn't going to be the reason his partner died on the job.

It was like Rust had just been waiting for Marty to touch him. At the first tentative press of Marty's hand to Rust's shoulder Marty was abruptly pulled forward and pressed into the hot surface of the car.

He started to shake. He couldn't help himself.

Rustin Cohle was a strange man, quiet, irritatingly attractive in a way that made Marty feel less than, but he wasn't a bad guy. That's what Marty focused on.

Rust breathed heavy into Marty's neck before inhaling deeply. His hands came around to hook their thumbs under Marty's waistband.

"Rust I-I'm scared." The quiet words broke the stifling air.

"Don't be 'fraid." Rust slurred in his honeyed drawl, " 'm just gonna fuck you."

Like it wasn't a big deal. Like this whole incident wasn't going to fuck up Marty's life.

Marty's breathing got faster and he had to deliberately slow it as Rust shoved Marty's pants down his legs. It was going to be over soon.

Marty flinched when he felt the fingers.

He should have thought of that. Of protection, or something to ease the way. Only it was all so sudden. Every other thought eclipsed by the very fact that he had to find a way to make himself do this.

The initial press wasn't as bad as Marty imagined. He tried to be quiet but couldn't quite manage it. Knew it wasn't manly, that...that Rust was...and Marty was going to be his bitch for letting him do it.

The finger in him, buried to the hilt, felt good. It always felt good and one finger had been as far as Marty ever went. When a second nudged at him he couldn't help the flash of fear.

"Please don't." He whinged pathetically, but Rust pressed inside anyway.

Marty threw his head back at the sensation. Something dripped on his neck and it was then he realized he was crying. His face was burning in humiliation.

Rust was panting behind him.

Marty clenched his eyes shut and his hips rolled back despite himself. He groaned as the fingers bottomed out. Rust hummed, pleased.

And then he was retreating.

Marty waited, hips canting embarrassingly until something blunt and thick pressed between his ass cheeks. The loud moan, humiliating - it was humiliating, didn't come from Rust.

"Easy." Rust said, voice gravel and dazed, as his hands came up to cover Marty's own.

Rust pushed, spearing Marty an inch.

The long, low, loud moan was so shameful Marty tried to bring a hand up to cover his mouth. Rust wouldn't let him though, hands pressing firmly over his.

Marty panted, trying and failing to get his bearings. All he could focus on was the thick thing inside him, pressing insistently and maddeningly slowly forward.

And he didn't mean to, but suddenly Marty was pressing back, trying to meet Rust's hips with his own.

How Rust could be so languid Marty didn't know. The sheer physicality of it was driving him mad. It was overwhelming, Marty felt like he was gasping, unable to catch his breath.

"Fuck." Rust murmured, finally sliding home. All the way in.

His thrusts, if they could be called that, were shallow and the movement small. Marty leaned his forehead to rest against the car. It was unbearable.

This shouldn't be happening and he definitely shouldn't be hard. But he was.

And he was going to cum. Right here and now from some guy's dick in him who he hardly knew from Adam. Their three month partnership would never survive this. Maggie wouldn't even meet Rust, Marty was sure of it.

The thick drag of him inside. The hands caging his own. The lips pressed to his neck.

Marty came before Rust even got a proper thrust in.

But then a hand was releasing his own and Rust was reaching down to fondle him and then - oh, Rust was smearing Marty's cum on his cock, making it slick.

And that's when he began to fuck in earnest. Full thrusts, punishing pace. Marty's ass was sore thirty seconds in. Rust's hips spanking him.

"Oh please cum." He begged quietly, "Please just cum already. I-I can't take it."

Rust's hands migrated to his hips, to be able to push faster, deeper, harder. Marty sobbed with it.

"Rust" he begged, because he knew the man wasn't cruel. Rust pet soothing circles into his hips and that seemed to help.

Rust finally spilled with a groan, stilling against Marty, pressing him down for a thick minute.

Marty couldn't say when Rust regained himself. He'd heard it was a quick process. It had to be between Rust pulling up Marty's pants and refastening them to him pushing Marty into the passenger's seat and getting behind the wheel.

Rust's face had gone pale and clammy. It looked unnatural in the Southern sun.

'Are you okay to drive?' was what Marty had been going to ask him, had started to - but it had only come out as an anguished squeak.

"Are you hurt?" Rust asked, voice flat and - angry, almost.

Marty shook his head.

"We'll get you to a hospital so they can do a kit. I'm clean but you'll get tested anyway." The stream of words was quiet, focused.

"I'm not going to a hospital." Marty's voice was weak, trembling. He straightened it out and tried again, "Whatever you're thinking Rust is not going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

It was possibly the first time Marty had bewildered the man. He looked lost for a moment.

"Please." Marty impressed, willing him to understand.

The grim set of his mouth told Marty he did. His expression also told him that he was against it, but he wasn't going to refuse. He eased up on the gas and Marty's heart thumped in fear for a second when he thought he was going to pull over. He was relieved when he kept going.

"Marty-" Rust began, helplessly.

"No one has to know. It's not like you - it's not like you did it because you wanted to."

The silence began to stretch. But Marty felt calmer, more sure. He wiped at his face with his sleeve.

"And we never talk about it. I mean never."

Marty's relieved when Rust nods. Hates the way Rust eyeballs him for a moment, trying to read him.

They ride in silence the rest of the way.

 

 

They get back to the station and Marty doesn't even go inside.

"I'll tell them you got a weak stomach." Rust offers, but Marty immediately refutes it.

"Then we won't get the case. Tell them my daughter's sick and I have to pick her up from school."

Marty leaves then and doesn't look back.

 

 

He stands in the shower for he doesn't know how long. Maggie knocks at some point, probably wants to know why he's home but he doesn't answer her.

 

He expects Rust will put in for a transfer, hell, his resignation maybe. He doesn't. He gets them the case and nothing changes. Nothing really. It's probably in Marty's head that sometimes he catches Rust eyeing him in consternated concern.

Marty doesn't think about it, much.