#Rust Vance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coalrust · 23 days ago

Text

In The State I Am

Cole and Rust rediscover what it means to be close, nine months after fighting for their lives.

wc: 6.4k

ao3

Cole loosed the skin of Rust’s throat from between his lips with a soft pop, leaning back against the steering wheel and glancing down at the boy beneath him. This Rust was so different. Bigger, thicker-skinned– like he’d been stuck in a sandstorm for all the years since Cole had touched him like this. It wasn’t just that, either. The mottled skin around his midsection, curled around his back, up his neck, his face. Scars like thin red paint, splashed over his body– paint that had bubbled with age and weather. Skin that pulled taut in odd places and made Cole’s hands feel even softer than Rust teased them for being. In the dim cabin lights of Rust’s truck, the texture of his skin cast strange shadows against itself, lit just right to look utterly foreign to Cole, who hadn’t meant to stare. “Pretty ugly, huh?” was all Rust said, and Cole just shook his head, as if he weren’t staring down with the countenance of someone grieving.

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Cole assured him, but maybe he was deluding himself. The first time Colton Hill had seen Rust without a shirt on, he was too young to remember. He did, however, remember the first time the sight had affected him.

They were fishing at Linn point, a long stretch of water ahead of them. Cole had been staring out at the other side of the lake, the side with trails that ran to the reservoir. It was mid-July, and Cole had never been one for summer. The sun beat down on them in rays like punishment, Rust’s dingy fold-out chairs and their vinyl seats warming Cole’s back and bare thighs so that no part of him had respite. It’d been quiet for a while, an effect that only compounded Cole’s restlessness, the whirring mosquitoes and far-off bird calls offering little stimulation to someone that had grown accustomed to the ambient sounds of Kettle Springs years ago. Cole squinted against beams of sunlight to glance at Rust, who seemed to have just as much wind in his sails as when they’d arrived— as if they hadn’t been fishing nothing for nearly four hours. Cole had run out of topics to bring up, and Rust had never been one to help him in that regard. Cole figured, like usual, if he wanted something fun to happen to them, he would have to start it.

He stood, stripped off his t-shirt and flung it over to the other boy. It hit Rust’s chest lamely before settling in the boy’s lap, and Rust started reeling in his pole— though nothing had bit. “What’re you doing?” Rust asked, as Cole’s thumbs slid into the hem of his jean shorts and he shimmied them off, moving his hips against his hands to avoid shedding his boxers with them. Cole wound up for comedic effect, before hitting his heels against the rotting dock wood and jumping in, ignoring Rust’s complaints that he’d scare the fish. After resurfacing, wiping water from his eyes and shaking his hair out, Cole called back in reply, “What fish?” He began begging and pleading for Rust to join him, lying that the water felt great, despite the chill around his ankles. Rust gave in and started stripping. When he removed his shirt, and started unbuckling his belt, Cole suddenly regretted his entire idea. Something about his friend in this light.

It was a far cry from the first time, but Cole sternly told himself that it would have to be the last. It had to be, because Cole's legs suddenly felt so weak that treading water felt impossible. His stomach felt hot, despite the coolness of the water. Rust’s chest and arms were smooth, nearly hairless save for a thick happy trail that was revealed slightly more to him as Rust unbuttoned his pants, unzipped his fly. Rust’s skin looked so much softer than Cole had ever noticed. So much softer than the rest of him, than the part that everyone else got to see. This— Rust in his boxers, bounding over to the edge of the dock, jumping purposefully on top of Cole just to push him down under and make him laugh— this part of him was just for Cole.

Rust didn’t look soft anymore.

The pads of Cole’s fingers trailed softly up Rust’s chest, passing over burnt away sections that used to contain freckles. Cole remembered exactly where every single one of them had been, and he would never get to see them again. Rust’s shoulders flexed as Cole brought both hands over them. “You’re freaking me out,” Rust said, shyly, like he was trying to find this funny, but desperately wanted it to be over nonetheless. For the past few, long moments, Cole had just been gawking— his eyes flickering over Rust’s bare chest and gnawing at his already bitten lips.

“Sorry, I was just,” Cole started, but wasn’t sure how to finish. “You remember when we jumped off the dock at the point? We must’ve been, what? Fourteen?” Rust smiled. Cole had been spacing out even more recently, coming back to Rust with some random memory from when they were kids. A memory from before everything happened. Rust found it sweet, if not a bit tragic, but he just nodded.

“‘Course I remember. You got out of the water all awkwardly, trying to hide your boner.” Rust laughed and Cole’s face screwed up.

“Ew, Jesus,” he shook his head as if he could physically rid it of the memory. “I didn’t think you knew that.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Rust said, and it was clear to Cole that he meant it. “Didn’t want to bring it up.” The younger boy finished. If anyone else had said that, Cole would’ve thought they were lying, that they really just filed it away for later, when it could be useful ammunition against him. If Janet were here, she would warn him about that, but thinking about dead friends while making out with your boyfriend had to be bad karma, so Cole brushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. Instead, he leaned back in to kiss Rust, mouth slightly open, skipping the preamble to get right back to where they had been— all tongue. Cole slid his hips back and forth in Rust’s lap as they kissed, before pulling away for a half second, just to drag Rust’s bottom lip with his teeth. It earned him a soft sound and Cole kissed him again, licking his way back into Rust’s mouth and thinking that they should probably speed this up before he finished in his jeans.

Rust’s fingers found their way up Cole’s arms, brushing against the column of his neck as they moved to cup his head. Instead, Rust’s hands were left clutching air as Cole shoved himself back into the steering wheel with enough force to hit the truck's horn. Two small mocking sounds cut through the quiet of the street. Rust muttered placations like he were stilling a horse, shushing and soothing that Cole could hardly hear over the rush of blood in his ears.“Colton?” Rust said low, two tentative hands now resting over Cole’s thighs. “You okay?” Cole hummed in lieu of a reply. It had happened so fast, like Cole’s body moved without him inside of it; Jumping with the reflexes of a rabbit, not a perfectly safe grown man. Rust’s head leaned forward, eyes focused on Cole with all the stilled experience and severity of a hunter. Cole bristled.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “m’fine.” But he was breathless, reaching to scratch at his throat as though something was still there, something too tight. He didn’t need to explain what had just happened, and Rust was too kind to make him.

“I’ll try not to touch you there.” Rust said simply, but his mouth opened and closed once more. Cole had known him long enough to recognize that meant there was something else he wanted to say. Cole waited, letting the boy beneath him find the words. “While we’re… y’know,” Rust started, while we’re at it, Cole’s brain autofilled, something Rust probably didn’t finish saying because it sounded so reductive. Instead, Rust thought for another long while, a quiet beat that Cole let play out, despite his impatience manifesting in a slight, puckish rocking of his hips in Rust’s lap. Rust ignored this as he spoke again, quieter. “The scars are sensitive.”

Cole stilled, suddenly serious, a rarity. “Sensitive where?” He asked, his hands lifting to shakily hover— off of Rust’s shoulders.

“Just, when you were… giving me hickies and whatnot.” Rust finished. Cole tried not to, but felt a physical response to Rust’s casualness immediately. The way he used the word ‘hickies’ like a teen girl. It made Cole’s pulse quicken, made his stomach hot, albeit shamefully.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were kissing my neck and grinding on me, Colton. The last thing I wanted to do was tell you to stop.” Rust laughed, but Cole shivered a bit, feeling goosebumps of arousal race up his spine. Rust just hummed and readjusted with his face screwed up, either unaware of his effect or simply uncaring. The sound of sweaty skin separating from leather was painful even just to hear, and Rust confirmed this by sucking air through his teeth. His hands slid up too, moving Cole by the hips to aid the adjustment. Rust’s burns had been the most severe on his back. Nearly the entire expanse was third degree, and large sections of it needed grafts, which left Rust with scale-like skin over more than half of the whole thing. When Rust’s eyes blinked open again, and he realized just how easy Cole had been to move with minimal effort, he didn’t even think to stop himself. “You got so skinny…” He muttered, quiet and without looking Cole in the eyes. His hushedness wasn’t guilt over mentioning Cole’s weight (something that probably was a bit tasteless), it was instead clear that he spoke quietly around the words because it hurt to say them. His gaze was fixed on the display of sharp bones in his lap, the dip beneath Cole's ribcage, the way his collar bones jutted out. “S’weird.” He finished, arching his thumb off of Cole's hip to trace the top curve of his pelvis where it stuck out from beneath his skin.

Cole surprised himself by apologizing quietly, but Rust just shook his head. “No, just,” He let himself think, knew that Cole would wait for him to. Cole always did. “It’s just kind of sad.” He spoke, quieter still.

Cole huffed a small laugh and squirmed a bit in Rust’s lap, unsure of what else he was supposed to say. He settled for levity, something he did often. “Maybe…” Cole pushed two fingers into Ruston’s comically hard-cut chest, “You just got fat.”

“Right,” Rust smiled, rolling his eyes back up to meet Cole’s. “Or maybe you need to start eating more.” The smaller boy slumped his shoulders and let his head rock back dramatically, whining a bit.

“Can you stop therapizing?”

“Sorry.” Rust said with a soft laugh, dipping up off the seat to crowd Cole forward, craning to kiss and nip at his exposed neck with an angle that made Cole have to tilt his head to avoid hitting the roof of the truck. Cole moved his hands off Rust’s shoulders, softer than before, sliding over the front of Rust’s chest. He moved them down, over the curves of Rust’s stomach until he reached the belted waistband of the boy's jeans.

Cole leaned forward slowly, easing Rust back against the seat as he continued kissing at Cole's jaw. There would probably be marks tomorrow, but Cole had to remind himself that it was okay if there were. They weren't sixteen anymore. Cole wouldn’t have to invent lies for his friends to explain away hickies. A sick voice in Cole’s head reminded him that it was only because his friends were all dead, along with anybody else that would care enough to ask about a hickey. it was starting to piss Cole off how often his mind was going there. He shook his head, inadvertently brushing Rust off, who leaned back off Cole’s neck. His lips were still reddened and wet, slightly parted as he breathed. Cole took the freedom of this position to unbuckle Rust’s belt. “You sure you don’t want to head back to your place first?” Rust asked, watching Cole’s eyes.

Cole thought about his bedroom, the flight of stairs they’d have to take to reach it— not to mention the ghosts in the east wing that he’d have to walk past with Ruston Vance in tow— and scoffed. “Nah,” Cole said, the buckle coming undone in his hands. “This is way hotter.” Cole tugged on Rust’s belt until the other boy picked his hips up to allow Cole to slide it off easier. “Besides, when was the last time we hooked up in your truck?” Cole laughed. He had meant it to be rhetorical, but Rust missed that memo.

“Junior year, when you called me from Ethan Davis’s party to pick you up.” Rust was watching Cole's hands undo his jeans, smiling. “You lied and told me your phone was dead, that you couldn’t find your friends.”

“How’d you know I was lying?” Cole entertained, though still reeling over the fact that Rust had answered his teasing in earnest. How cute.

“Because you called me from your phone, genius.” Rust laughed, full-bellied this time, though not without nerves around the edges as Cole finished unzipping his fly and stuck his hand into the front of Rust’s pants. Cole was smiling, for a moment, before he focused his efforts on palming soft squeezes against Rust’s bulge to coax out moans. It used to take a lot to get Rust to make noise, no matter how far out in the woods they were. It was like Rust was scared the whole town would hear, or maybe afraid to scare Cole off— like the older boy was a deer in his sights. Now though, Rust’s sounds were an easy prize— something at the fair, costing the least amount of tickets. Cole would kiss him chastely in the morning and it’d win him a tired, content sigh. He would apply lotion to Rust’s scars after a shower and be rewarded with little hums around every tight muscle. Practically every time he touched Rust he’d get some kind of prize, though that feeling wasn’t new. It had always felt like winning something.

Rust’s hips bucked into Cole’s hand, before the blonde-haired boy was tutting, tongue between teeth to get Cole to stop without having to manage words through his arousal. Cole got the message, pulled his hand off and used it instead to maneuver awkwardly out of Rust’s lap, flopping back onto the bench seat in the passenger side before undoing his own jeans. His knees felt wobbly as he pushed himself up, pressing his shoulder blades against the headrest and his feet against the floor to free himself of his jeans— having to take an awkward break with his pants around his ankles to remove his shoes.

Rust allowed himself to watch Cole do this for a moment, sitting beside him, before he followed suit by tediously unlacing his boots before removing his pants. Rust spared glances throughout the process. Cole left his boxers on, so Rust did as well. Unspokenly trying to stay on the same page. Before Rust had a chance to put his clothes in the back seat, Cole leaned over to kiss him. Rust kissed back chastely before pushing Cole over and laying him down on the bench. Rust crowded on top of the smaller boy, cradled the back of his head, careful not to touch his neck. In the jostling, their lips parted again. Cole laughed at Rust’s maneuvering— the way his outer knee fought for purchase on the edge of the seat. The lack of space made Rust look even larger than normal, and Cole liked the feeling of being sheltered like this by him. If someone, god forbid, were to walk by the windows and peer in, it might look like Rust was alone in here. He was covering Cole completely in this position.

Rust’s head hit the ceiling in his attempt to find a comfortable way to do this, and Cole’s eyes shut as his small, awed giggles turned into true laughter. “What’re you laughing at, huh?” Rust joked, putting on a voice to accentuate the rhotic qualities of his midwestern accent. He kept echoing it, his knees finding holds enough for him to lean on his heels, sitting lightly on Cole’s legs. It felt so light, being with him like this. Cole hadn’t felt this good in a while.

“You’re so stupidly big.” Cole ragged through laughs, reaching up with his elbows close to his body— starved for space as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Rust made a show of gasping in feigned offense, before taking advantage of Coles' exposed sides to squeeze and tickle him. The attack spurred Cole to curl up, his forehead nearly breaking Rust’s nose all over again before Rust ducked down. He steeled his hands to grab Cole’s sides, stabilizing them both as he kissed hungrily at the older boy’s chest.

Cole’s posture relaxed to lay back, his head resting just below the handle of the passenger side door. Rust was kissing all over, open-mouthed pecks trailing to Cole's nipple, which he lapped smally at with the tip of his tongue. Cole exhaled, a sound like he had nearly whined. Rust ducked his head across Cole’s chest to the other one, kissing over it as he moved one of his hands down to palm Cole through his underwear. This one elicited a full moan, one that was choked out halfway through. Rust glanced up through his eyelashes to see Cole biting the back of his hand— tampering his sounds. Rust smiled as he relented, getting back to Cole’s face to pull the boy’s arm down and kiss him. His hand nearly moved back up to cup the side of Cole’s neck, before he remembered what Cole had said— or, rather, what he hadn’t said. Cole broke their kiss to speak, breathily. “Can I kiss your neck?” He panted, “the un-cooked parts?”

Rust laughed at how classless the boy beneath him was. If anyone else had made that joke he may have been upset, but Cole of all people had earned the right to find levity in everything that had happened to them. Honestly, it surprised Rust how much he enjoyed it. If Cole could make light of this, there was hope for everything, maybe. But that didn’t make sense, and he was too hard against Colton’s inner thigh to say any of it, so he just nodded. Cole pushed himself onto his elbows for support, craning his head upward into Rust’s neck to kiss him there. Cole stopped every few seconds and pulled back just enough to squint at the spots for signs of damage. He was trying to ensure that he wasn’t hurting Rust, before ducking back upward and kissing him more. Eventually, his hunger won out over his worry, and he moved to rely solely on mouth-feel as he sucked small plum marks into his boyfriend’s neck. Rust used the time to awkwardly reach toward the glove box, gently urging Cole’s head away from it before clicking the button. The old hinges did no work at slowing it down as the door swung open with a painful sound, and Rust searched around blindly in the dark for a small bottle of lube.

Cole curiously separated himself from Rust’s neck enough to squint at the bottle, before chuckling breathlessly. “Seriously?” He teased.

Ruston rushed to defend himself, “Well last time we-“

“I know, I know,” Cole stopped him, “just hurry up.”

‘Last time’ refers to two and a half years ago, when they hooked up after Ethan’s party. Spit could only go so far, which they were well aware of and had learned the hard way. After that night Rust bought a small tube of personal lubricant two towns over where he was sure no one would recognize him. He’s kept it in the truck since, though today was the first time he had gotten to open it. Rust sat back on his heels, legs caging Cole’s in, the smaller boy sat up on his elbows beneath Rust, watching. Rust opened the cap and squeezed a small amount onto his first two fingers, thinking out loud, “Does this stuff expire?”

Cole laughed lightly before replying, “probably didn’t help keeping it in a car with no AC,” Rust shrugged as he spread it over his fingers with the pad of his thumb.

“Still feels… slippery.” Rust confirmed, staring at it as though he were looking for some sign that it had gone bad. Cole ignored him, continuing his own thought process.

“Just heating up in that bottle for three years,” he continued, classlessly laughing before telling his joke. “I’ve been worried about eating microplastics, And you’re about to shove some straight in my ass.”

“Gross.” Rust said, smiling as he did, despite how stupid he found it. Maybe out of politeness, though it was more than likely because it was Cole who had said it, and Rust would laugh for even his worst attempts at humor.

Rust used his non-lubed hand to tug uselessly at the waistband of Cole’s boxers, more of a prompt then anything else. Cole reached down to push them off enough, but fumbled in the small space between Rust's legs. “Here,” Rust said, using his free hand to grab the dashboard for leverage and move his outer leg enough for Cole to reposition. Cole wrestled his boxers off before bringing his knees out from under Rust and up to his chest. The younger boy resettled on top of him. “Good?” Rust asked, his left hand pushing the back of Cole’s knee up further as Rust leaned back over him— hips between his thighs.

“Great.” Cole confirmed with a dumb smile and a thumbs-up held tight to his own chest. Rust replied with a kiss to the corner of Cole’s mouth.

Rust reached between them with curled fingers, pointlessly afraid that he’d drip lube on the already stained bench seat. He pressed against Cole lightly with two fingers, spreading the lube out in a small motion before dipping just the tip of his pointer finger into him. Cole was already biting his tongue to keep from making a sound. The two of them had stopped kissing for a moment, both looking down. Their foreheads met as Rust pressed further still, not stopping until he could feel the ring of Cole’s muscles flex around his second knuckle. Their breaths mixed in the air until every inhale felt humid. Rust began moving his finger, just back and forth, in and out for a moment. He made no attempt to curl it yet— to search. Cole had been hard for half an hour by this point, and Rust stupidly didn’t want to waste it.

He tipped his chin up to kiss Cole’s forehead as he added the bare tip of his second finger, kissing twice more as Cole sucked in air through his teeth. Cole was good at this part, but he didn’t like it very much. The older boy prided himself on being very still, very good at relaxing on command. It didn’t make it easier, though, and he cursed the callus of Rust’s trigger finger as it spread him open. Rust continued kissing his forehead, nosing at his hairline to offer some modicum of an apology as he began curling and scissoring his fingers inside Cole. The dark-haired boy sucked air into his cheeks, held it for a moment before releasing, repetitively. He was keeping himself relaxed, as relaxed as he could, until Rust curled into his prostate and reflex took over— clamping around Rust’s fingers. Cole whined embarrassingly, and Rust rubbed his free hand over Cole’s stomach in soft circles. “You’re doing good,” he praised, “you’re almost done.”

If it were up to Cole, he’d skip this bit. Not that it was really an option to, something they learned during their first time, but the wish still nagged at the back of his brain. It wasn’t that it was bad, and it certainly felt good for the brief moments that Rust brushed against his spot— blacking his vision for seconds at a time and making his knees tremble— but something about it made Cole want to squirm. It was almost nauseating, in a way. It made his stomach one big knot, made him tighten up, which only prolonged the entire process. It made Cole impatient. Impatient to the point of discomfort. He rocked down onto Rust’s fingers, barely hearing the hushed contentions that came from above him. He only whined in reply, rocking again, his hips bucking up and his still-clothed cock rubbing against Rust’s forearm. The friction made his mouth open for another whimper, and Rust’s subdueing tuts ceased as the younger boy above him simply muttered out a curse, one he rarely said.

“C’mon,” Cole managed through sounds. “I don’t care if it hurts.”

Rust scoffed breathlessly and shook his head, “I hate when you say that.” Cole shivered as he furrowed his eyebrows, Rust’s fingers never stilling. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

Cole hated being told no, and Rust knew that. Rust always felt as though, if he were to drag this out any longer than necessary, Cole might shove him off and stubbornly leave.

Rust pulled his fingers out slowly and Cole’s rim puckered at the absence. Rust attempted to tug his boxers down, but settled for freeing his cock from the front of them, the weight and his position settling it over the bottom of Cole’s stomach.

Cole breathed exasperatedly, relieved. “Finally, Jesus,” he said.

“So impatient…” Rust smiled, shaking his head as he fished for the lube from the floor of the truck, spreading some over himself with a few lazy strokes. He leaned back over Cole, bracing himself with a hand by Cole’s head. Cole tried to hide the way he flinched when Rust set it there. The younger boy's free hand guided his cock up to Cole’s rim, pressing with a slight rock of his hips. Cole was holding his breath like he was preparing to jump off a diving board. “Breathe, Colton,” Rust reminded, but Cole just sucked more air through tight lips as Rust rocked forward.

Cole didn’t exhale until the head of Rust’s cock had breached him, at which point the air came out in a rush of whines and half-moans. Cole cussed a few times under his breath. Rust kept pressing, his mouth falling open with every new inch, he took his time but fuck, Cole made that very difficult. The older boy was too stretched to relax himself, was clenching impossibly tighter with every new movement— practically pulling Rust into him. When Rust finally bottomed out, they both breathed heavily, panting around each other. Cole's hands grabbed down at Rust’s hips, and Rust took a moment to kiss the boy deeply before starting to slide back out. Cole moaned open-mouthed into their kiss, a sound that turned sharp when Rust rocked back into him. Rust was surprisingly gentle, and it shocked Cole every time. He was good at this, Cole thought, stupidly, Ruston Vance was naturally gifted at fucking guys. The thought was pushed out of him as Rust’s pace picked up. Every time Rust bottomed out, Cole’s moans built, until the punches of it were knocking loud whines from his mouth with a rhythmic consistency, loud enough for Rust to shush him with his free hand— annoyingly composed. “Someone’s gonna hear you, Cole.”

“Who the fuck,” Cole managed between breaths, “is gonna hear me, Ruston?” Breathless, but never too gone to be an asshole.

“Just keep,” Rust shuddered at the warmth around his cock, and Cole could feel the goose-flesh on his legs. “Keep a bit quieter for me, babe.” If Rust wanted him quiet he chose the wrong phrasing by a mile. Cole moaned at the pet name, unabashed enough that Rust had never wanted to cover his mouth more. He wasn’t sure if that’d freak Cole out, so he played it safe, but he seriously might lose his mind if Cole kept this up.

They were only about a half a mile down the road from The Eureka, which had been playing some sappy old romance movie that Cole whiningly begged to leave in the middle of. They were the only two people in the theatre, likely the only two people currently on Main Street, but it was a popular enough area that Rust was seriously expecting someone to knock on the driver’s side window behind him any moment now. Mrs. Reyes or Sheriff Lee. Someone that certainly wouldn’t appreciate the scene in this car right now. It wasn’t helping his fears that Cole was beneath him moaning like a pornstar.

Rust cursed and his rhythm stuttered, his head dropping into Cole’s chest. Cole kissed the crown of Rust’s head until he lifted it, at which point he took to kissing Rust’s open, panting mouth. Cole reached around, beneath Rust’s arms to grab helplessly at his back. Rust winced into his mouth, and wordlessly Cole made fists and brought his arms back to himself. This was so different. It was wincing, fumbling. Cole flinching when Rust’s callused fingers brushed against the column of his neck, Rust’s returned bristles at every touch to his burnt skin. This was nothing like before, when they were young and fearless, too reckless with their bodies to be shy— hurt. Too new in their sexuality to fear it. This was tentative, silently figuring out what scared them between breaths, between kisses. Rust bucked his hips, dragging Cole’s body lightly across the leather seats as he did. The entire truck was hot. Cole blinked up to find, satisfyingly, that the windows were fogged up.

Rust breathed through his thrusts. Cole’s knees fell out, shaky. His outside leg might have slipped off of the seat, but Rust’s hands held Cole behind each knee, propping him in a position that made each stroke hit Cole deep. The smaller boy’s sounds had quieted, mixing with Rust’s soft panting in the air until the cabin of the truck was filled with the low, lewdish sounds of their bodies and breaths mixing in the air. Cole reached a hand behind himself, grabbing blindly at the car door. His fingers slipped over the glass, carving clear lines through the fog of it. His elbow knocked into the window crank, pushing it open a bit. Rust rushed to close it again, but Cole’s eyes just shut, goosebumps rising over his chest at the small rush of cool air that came through the open slit. His ears felt shuttered, sounds far away as Rust muttered choked pacifications into the space beside Cole’s head. “Careful, there.” And Cole whined.

Rust was so much. So much of Cole’s soul in living flesh. Cole could feel every inch of his body, guiding, touching, fucking him. Every bit of Rust was his, alone– like a limb or an organ. A vital, immutable piece of him. Cole thought this way every time, when he was close like this. Rust’s hips faltered into him, a failure he compensated for by wrapping a calloused hand around Cole’s hip– another around his cock to jerk him off. It should feel lewd, like sex did with other people, but it never did. It felt like something irreplaceable– a tethered, inseparable connection. Rust muttered another string of curse words, and Cole smiled, half-lidded. Rust was always so beautiful like this. Drunk off of the boy beneath him, his voice rugged. Cole reached up to grab the side of Rust’s face, and the younger boy broke concentration to meet his eyes.

Cole traced the side of Rust’s nose with his thumb. The small crook of it, the bend where he had broken it so many years ago. Those eyes, eyes that Cole had met for the first time thirteen years ago. Cole wanted them to be the last thing he ever saw. He felt Rust slow down– heard the boy’s fractured breaths and moans fall loosely from his mouth. Cole felt Rust finish inside of him, before Rust’s head fell onto his shoulder. Cole made a sound, and Rust lamely lifted his head enough to kiss into Cole’s mouth, his hand picking up around Cole’s cock– pace quickening around it. It wouldn’t have taken much, but it was only seconds before Cole came across his bare stomach, across Rust’s hand.

The older boy struggled to return Rust’s kisses for a moment, turning his head away to breathe as Rust continued nosing at his cheek, kissing his jaw and the corner of his mouth. Cole laughed breathily, turning his head to kiss him back before slapping him lightly on the side of his face.

“You okay?” Rust said, smiling down at him, so close that their noses were nearly touching.

“I will be,” Cole panted lightly, “You have anything to…” Cole glanced down at the mess of his stomach. “Y’know,”

Rust leaned up, still half inside as he pulled back to reach onto the floor of the truck, producing his undershirt. Cole laughed. “That’s so fucking gross.”

“Well,” Rust soothed, lifting Cole’s hips as he slowly pulled out. Cole’s face screwed up at the sensation. Rust wiped between them. “S’all we got, so…”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “You’ll just have to make it up to me with a hot shower, hm?” Cole said, coyly, biting his lip to make a point. Rust had no idea how Cole’s brain could already be planning a second round. He was always like that, so quick, so restless.

“You’re such a guy.” Rust said simply, wiping at Cole’s stomach before rearranging their limbs until they were both sitting up again in their respective seats. Cole was sure he would have a sore neck tomorrow from having been crowded against the door.

Cole muttered some joke about that response under his breath as the two boys began dressing themselves. It felt gross– pulling clothes over their sexed-out bodies, slick with sweat– but it’d have to do, at least for the twenty minute drive back to the Hill estate.

The older boy glanced out of the passenger side window as Rust wrestled with the ignition, then with the engine to get the truck going. With a whir, it surprised them both by starting up. Rust reached over to squeeze Cole’s knee before resting his hand over the gear shift and rolling off of the curb. Through the windows, they could hear the sputter of the exhaust.

The drive fell into silence. They coasted down pin-straight roads, through memorized residential streets until eventually the truck was flanked by nothing but fields. Cole let himself stare out at them. Nine months ago they’d been in those fields running for their lives. Maybe not those fields— they were at least half an hour from the Tillerson’s property— but fields just like these. Fields that whistled low when you walked through them, wind plucking stalks of corn like discordant strings. Fields that made it impossible to recognize the distance of sounds, bowfire and buzzsaw revs. Fields that took people— that had apparently taken Arthur Hill entirely, chewed him up and swallowed until there was nothing left.

Cole didn’t like the drive to his house almost as much as he didn’t like his actual house. But then Rust’s fingers danced on the gear shift again, before reaching to play with the hair at the back of Cole’s head. It wasn’t lost on Cole that Rust had intended to grab at the nape of his neck, before switching plans and moving his hand a bit higher up, a safer distance. Rust’s fingers skipped through small cowlicks on the crown of Cole’s head, rubbed up against the clipper-short sections around the sides— where Cole sometimes complained about his head feeling cold, not yet accustomed to the haircut. The touch was grounding, relaxing. Cole let his eyes close, a partition from the fields and it’s memories. He didn’t imagine anything behind his eyelids— no Janet, no Victoria, no dad.

He didn't zone out like he usually did. He just sank into the feeling of Rust’s fingers in his hair; the feeling of his own body, loose and tired. He knew tired, it was a feeling that he had been quite close with since his mom passed away. But this wasn’t that kind of tired. This wasn’t exhaustion or frustration. This wasn’t the other kind of tired either, the kind that came from sprinting and hiding and last-ditch efforts. Desperately biting shotgun wounds with his hands bound and a noose around his neck. This was a kind of tiredness that Cole had only recently grown accustomed to, one where he was excited to go to sleep, not scared of the dreams that were awaiting him. This was the feeling that Rust gave him. The way it feels when you lay in the sun and everything gets slower, softer. The way it feels to pull a dryer-warmed blanket out of the machine and wrap yourself in it.

Cole felt the truck roll off of pavement and onto gravel. A few minutes of winding up the obnoxiously long private driveway and suddenly, there was Hill Manor. Rust got out of the truck and walked around to Cole’s side, but Cole just stared. Hill Manor was a stain on the otherwise empty horizon, but Cole didn’t feel the choked bitterness in his throat as strongly as usual. Because the path up to Cole’s bedroom— the porch railings that dripped leaves of ivy in long strands, the oversized door that creaked like laughter, the stairs and hallways to the west wing, past ghosts— it was a path that Cole wouldn’t be walking alone.

It was a path that led to a hazy shower scene. Rust holding Cole in bed, soothing him to sleep with thumbed circles rubbed onto his shoulder. Rust waking him up obnoxiously early, before offering to take him out to breakfast. This was home. Not the house itself, but the boy standing beside him, opening the passenger-side door.

#clown in a cornfield #cole hill #rust vance #colerust

22 notes · View notes