The Flat Circle
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Summary
Rust shakes Hart’s hand and tries hard not to think about the way the man’s broad and roughly callused hands remind him of the hot sun beaming on even hotter sands back home. Nor does he think about the chill that runs down his spine when the pair of them lock eyes. Not the heady scent of pine and whiskey that rolls off him in waves, or the taste of sweet honey and yellow amber that settles low in the back of his throat.
Series
- Part 1 of The Flat Circle
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Summary
“What’re you seein’,'' Marty asks, mostly just to confirm that Rust’s actually alive and not tied up naked to a tree somewhere for Marty to find. He hasn’t quite built up the courage to turn and look at him yet.
“You ever been to a club, Marty?” It’s slurred and slow, but more confident than before and Marty can actually understand him this time—or at least he can make out the words. Rust’s always been an enigma. Either he’s spewing philosophical bullshit that Marty’s not sure anyone but Rust actually understands (and maybe not even Rust at times) or his lips are zip-tied shut for hours and not even case-talk will get him going. “A club. Blinding lights and even louder music that shakes your skull so hard you’re not sure you’re hearing the lyrics or if it's your body screaming at you. It’s a little like that.”
OR
Rust's hallucinating and Marty's here to help. Sort of.
Series
- Part 2 of The Flat Circle