Watchmen - Nite Owl/Rorschach - "Happens To Everybody"
Title: "Happens To Everybody"
Nite Owl/Rorschach
Rated R
Warnings: urophilia/desperation; pissing (not on each other, but some people get squicked)
Summary: kinkmeme response to the "Dan losing an arrest due to his poor costume design" canon
He tried to liken it to bird watching -- the effort spent keeping invisible, the roll-of-the-dice chance at spotting anything, the all-weather/all-hours schedule…and the waiting. It was taking too long; far too long. Their quarry had entered his local hang-out three hours ago, and for all that time Rorschach insisted that he and Nite Owl wait where they were -- not speaking, not planning, barely moving. Somehow bird watching had simpler rules. The drug dealer they were tailing was a fairly small-time operator, but was always armed and seldom alone. Their safest chance to apprehend him would be to nab him on his way home, the timing of which was hard to anticipate. Dan shifted his hips and tried to find a more comfortable position. The night was cold, his knees ached, and his coffee was gone…leading to further discomforts. It was unusual, he thought, for Rorschach to be so intent on a stakeout. Though meticulous in his information-gathering, his general method was to act quickly as soon as they’d found their man. The fact that Rorschach seemed to be playing it safe might mean that Rorschach knew something Dan didn’t about tonight's proceedings. He had to go with that assumption for the time being, since his partner kept shushing him every time he tried to talk. Bowing to Rorschach’s lead-taking on this case, Dan kept to his silence and his suffering, not wanting to rock the boat. Rorschach made it clear that tonight there was no room for error -- they would stay in hidden surveillance, waiting for the criminal while he played poker, fondled the waitresses, and downed mug after mug of beer.
The thought of all that liquid caused Dan to throb. They’d been up here for hours, and before that had stopped at a couple other patrol points, so by now he was dying for a pee. The silence and the chill weren’t helping him get his mind off of it, and he felt pretty sure his teeth would be chattering if he wasn’t keeping them tightly clenched.
They crouched behind the low wall of a fifth-story rooftop opposite a seedy dive. From this vantage point, they could keep an eye on both the front and rear entrances of the bar so as not to miss their man. What advantages the rooftop offered as a watchtower, it lacked in terms of concealment options. All of the surrounding buildings were taller, plenty of windows overlooking it. Now would not be the best time for a lucky New Yorker to glance out his kitchen window and catch sight of two famous vigilantes huddling on the roof next door. With costumed crime fighters’ popularity surging as it was, they couldn’t risk having a mission blown that way. Last week’s encounter between Rorschach and an autograph hound had ended…disagreeably. To avoid such interference, Rorschach had chosen the one bit of cover the spot offered -- a shadowed nook between the building’s edge and the stairs to the elevator shaft access door.
They’d ascended by grappling hook, and would probably leave the same way. Until then, it seemed that Dan would have to suffer a pounding bladder. Rorschach wasn’t up for letting him speak, much less wandering off for a piss. Dan felt, for all intents and purposes, trapped -- trapped by the building, by his partner, and, increasingly, by his own damned costume. Despite the obstacles, he was going to have to do something soon. Shifting his weight only sloshed the urgency around, he noticed, as he twisted for a better look at the area. A growing apprehension moved him beyond the “ignoring it” phase and advancing into “seeking out options.”
The owl suit was a problem.
He’d been meaning to get around to correcting its little flaws. Damn it, he was an engineer! How could he have successfully built the owlship yet failed so miserably when it came to the basic design of his suit? It had only taken a few missions to become aware of the drawbacks of its complicated logistics, but a time-consuming dressing (and undressing) ritual had seemed the least of his worries. As long as Archie was airworthy, he was ecstatic. The suit in general was doing its job, and every new invention can use some tweaking. Adopt, adapt, and improve -- he was willing to fix his mistakes, though he wished he wasn’t paying for them so painfully right now. All the same, a stakeout situation was a new one for them -- one for which he hadn’t been prepared. Since they’d teamed up, it was rare that they were away from Archie for more than an hour or two at a time. How long had it been tonight?
And how long would it be before he could pull away all those layers? Underneath it all he wore seamless briefs. Then his leggings, pulled high to contribute further to the seamless effect. Overtop of that was the one-piece body suit which wrapped his entire torso from shoulder to wrist and neck to crotch. He couldn’t possibly wriggle free out here, pulling his arms out of the leotard top to roll it down and stand half-naked in an alley or rooftop taking a piss. It wasn’t the ideal image he’d like to leave with any civilians who might catch a glimpse of Nite Owl on patrol. The onset of desperation fueled his reasoning. If he could get enough slack, he thought, he wouldn’t need to take off the whole body suit -- just maybe tug down the leggings and move the crotch panel aside…
That he failed to notice Rorschach’s head swiveling slowly to look at him was a testament to how far Dan’s attention had slipped. He all but jumped when Rorschach barked a short “Daniel!” at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, stopping the leg-jiggling he hadn’t realized he was doing. He had to pull it together in front of Rorschach -- a man who prided himself on his iron control.
No, this was not the ideal place for a discrete leak. The only cover was the roof access door they were already sheltering by. If he went to the other side of it, he’d be in plain view of the apartments, not to mention the fact that he’d be out of eye-shot of their target. Rorschach was counting on Nite Owl’s goggles to zero in on the dark figures coming and going from the bar. Despite the hour, there was frustratingly little activity there. When was the last time anybody had heard of a dope dealer spending such a long time in one place, Dan wondered miserably. Didn’t they keep on the move in a series of short appointments with their contacts? He pressed his thighs close and tried to calculate how much longer he’d be able to wait before a full-blown emergency.
He adjusted the rims of his goggles to get a better look, hoping that keeping occupied would take his mind off of his tiring bladder for a few minutes. Maybe the dealer would be walking through the door at just this moment. They could rush down, apprehend him, and call the police. Then he would spare no effort getting back to Archie and his makeshift, though functional, head. Dan thought longingly of Archie, hovering a blind thousand feet above them -- available in a matter of seconds, yet impossibly out of reach.
Hell, that was enough. Enough waiting. He was going to have to go down to the street and look for an inevitably filthy doorway or corner to duck into. And he should leave now while his body could afford him a few more minutes to find one.
Just as his boots were scraping the gravel as he shifted to stand up, Dan felt the slap of Rorschach’s heavy hand pull him back down. The jolt was unwelcome, but justified. The drug criminal had lumbered out onto the sidewalk, followed by a scrawny and worn-looking woman. She pulled his arm with both of hers, urging him back toward the doors. He shook her off, cursing at her and sending her stumbling drunkenly. Rorschach paused like an animal hunting, torn between springing and assessing the usefulness of the distraction the woman was causing. His hesitation paid off, for just then the target turned and re-entered the bar. The flurry of excitement had gotten Dan back on his toes but also refreshed his sense of frustrated urgency. His owl eyes scanned the blue light that escaped the crack of the door as he and Rorschach looked for the man to re-emerge. Shapes passed behind it, making it strobe across the sidewalk, but no one came back out. “Do we go down there?” Dan asked. Surely the dope dealer was just having some trouble detaching himself from that woman, and would reappear in seconds. Rorschach shook his head, still poised. They watched and waited, both with one hand each on the grappling hook cable. But after ten minutes passed and he still hadn’t come out again, Dan grew highly concerned -- not for the sake of their target, but because of a new and alarming twinge.
It had gone far enough, he decided. There was nothing wrong with yielding when one knew he was defeated. Dan quickly opted to go around the access door and wrestle with clothing as best he could. If he was spotted, so be it; he’d take that chance.
His partner sat strangely still, facing out across the street. Dan turned toward him. “Rorschach? I’m just gonna…” he gestured around the corner with a jerk of his head and his thumb. “You know… Just for a minute. I’m bursting.”
Rorschach responded with an open, upturned palm, indicating the bar below. “Not now, Daniel. So close.”
“I’ll hurry,” Dan promised.
“What if he returns?”
“And what if I -- ?” Dan couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought out loud.
Crouching down was putting a dangerous pressure on his abdomen. Of all the things for them to argue about. “Jesus, Rorschach!” Dan hissed as another desperate wave hit.
Rorschach’s voice dropped unusually low -- soft, even. “Nothing serious. Calm down, it will pass.”
Dan snorted bitterly, but the sharpness did ease as the urgency rolled through its warning cycle.
“Well, I’m going to have to do something. I can barely walk, let alone chase after that low-life.” He let a deep breath out in a long huff, leaning forward and closing his eyes for a moment.
Rorschach assessed his partner’s condition, his gaze seeming to linger on the fist Dan clenched at his groin -- not holding himself, but doing the next nearest thing by leaning against it. Self-consciously, Dan pulled it away and dug his fingers into his thigh instead. But perhaps Dan’s need had finally impressed itself upon Rorschach. “Go here,” Rorschach suggested, face still downcast. “In that direction,” he added.
Dan switched his weight to the other knee. “Uh, it’s not that easy. I have to get practically undressed.” Any prospect of stage fright had pretty much been crushed out of him by this point, though that was still kind of close quarters. He didn’t know whether to be surprised at Rorschach or not. The man had managed to throw the suggestion out there somewhat offhand, yet give it a baited taint. Did he not mind if Dan let it go here?…or was he asking him to?
Rorschach grunted dismissively. “Wait then,” he said, and turned back to his watch. Dan felt a hot wave of anger at Rorschach’s apparent lack of sympathy. On the other hand, Rorschach had been on patrol for just as long this evening without any relief of his own. Dan gave a fleeting thought as to the state of Rorschach’s current threshold. When they patrolled the streets, the man had no compunction about having a piss in any alleyway if needed…but he tended to blend into the gutters better than a guy in a large owl suit.
Rorschach’s ink blots poured into each other, flowing like fluid spreading across his nose and disappearing under his chin. Dan openly watched the display, falling into the trap of forgetting that just because he’s wearing a mask doesn’t mean he can’t see you staring. Dan’s own face must have broadcast its own silent plea. Suddenly, Rorschach sprang from his post to scramble over in front of Dan.
“Hand me a blade,” Rorschach said, startling Dan with his no-nonsense tone. Dan automatically reached to retrieve a sharp moon crescent out of his belt pouch. Rorschach took it. He turned it over twice in his hand then held it out, offering it back to Dan. “Cut your uniform.”
“What?”
“Cut it. At the crotch.” Not waiting for Dan to comply, Rorschach leaned in. In a split second he’d unlatched the utility belt and taken him by his wrist, moving Dan’s hand away from where it was lodged between his legs. He yanked at the uniform, pulling it out of Dan’s grip and making him wince at the spandex pressure moving over his low abdomen. Without hesitation, Rorschach slid two fingers under the elastic at Dan’s groin and gathered up the material. “Oh hey, steady!” Dan yelped. With a skillful twist, Rorschach sliced through the layer of Dan’s body suit. Dan fell free when Rorschach let go. Tossing the blade to land next to Dan’s tool belt, Rorschach moved back to a position just polite enough to be out of his partner’s personal space.
Dan had gone a bit off-balance in the commotion, and he cautiously pushed himself up. His uniform hung in odd flaps, but at least now he had free access to his pants. It had all happened so quickly -- Rorschach diving, an assault on his costume, dexterous fingers, a blade so close to his intimate self. How typical of Rorschach, weaving both heroics and danger into every move he made. Deadly powerful yet remarkably efficient, those hands could surely snap a man’s neck, but Dan knew he was more than okay with having them grappling with him.
Noticing that Dan hadn’t moved, Rorschach shot a quick double-take toward his partner, then averted his gaze again. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, and it took another confused moment for Dan to realize Rorschach was referring to Dan relieving himself. The way Rorschach sat in profile, leaning back on his heels, Dan couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable full erection jutting up behind the pinstripes. Had he seriously gotten hard from five seconds spent with his hands inside Dan’s shorts?…or perhaps it hinted at a deeper participation in Dan’s desperate situation. In any case, it was a fascinating development.
It deserved testing, but first things first. On his knees, Dan pivoted a few degrees away from Rorschach. Lowering the waistband of his costume, he withdrew his penis and aimed halfway down the wall. The cant of the roof and the rainwater runoff trench would take care of the rest. It hurt to let go after waiting so long, and at first it came in hesitant spurts. As his muscles relaxed, the stream built to full force, and Dan let out a breathy sigh of relief. Thankfully, Rorschach did not try to hush him this time, so he let loose another weighty groan. Tension dissolved into a rushing pleasure, and Dan became purposefully careless about screening himself. If anything about this situation was getting Rorschach off, he was damned well going to try to encourage it. Rorschach’s gaze appeared to be resolutely focused on the bar-room doors, but with that mask on, Dan could never be quite sure in which direction his eyes were looking.
He pissed for a long time -- the flow finally thinning out, trickling, then shaken to an end. Dan too leaned back against his heels, exhausted and relieved beyond measure. The release, coupled with the intriguing appearance of Rorschach’s hard-on -- not to mention all the evening’s extra blood flow to his own crotch -- left him a bit giddy. “When you have to go that bad, it can feel just as good as sex!” he said, jaw and shoulders slackening as he let his head roll back.
Rorschach turned and faced Dan, ink blots pooling at his cheeks. Dan stared back, inwardly promising that he’d have waited another hour to piss, if only he could know what Rorschach was thinking right then.
A flicker of light below drew his attention for a split-second as he suddenly remembered their mission. He slid forward to peer over the edge of the roof just in time to see their quarry slam his car door and drive off down the street. Dan’s eyebrows rose as he gaped at the turn of events. “Shit. Oh shit! I’m sorry, man.”
Rorschach jumped to his feet and whipped off his hat, clutching a hand to his head. He darted away a few steps as if to automatically give chase, but immediately paced back beside Dan. In that position, standing over Daniel with his coat hanging open, Rorschach’s erection was even more evident, though half-forgotten by Rorschach himself. Dan tried to stare without staring as his partner dropped his arms and took a few more aimless steps. “We’ll get him, Rorschach,” Dan reassured. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”
But he couldn’t feel sorry. He was not sorry to have lost their prey. Not sorry at all that they’d likely have to spend another long shift here tomorrow night as a result. He could repair and enhance his costume by then. And tomorrow he’d bring a big thermos of extra-sugary coffee…
Nite Owl/Rorschach
Rated R
Warnings: urophilia/desperation; pissing (not on each other, but some people get squicked)
Summary: kinkmeme response to the "Dan losing an arrest due to his poor costume design" canon
He tried to liken it to bird watching -- the effort spent keeping invisible, the roll-of-the-dice chance at spotting anything, the all-weather/all-hours schedule…and the waiting. It was taking too long; far too long. Their quarry had entered his local hang-out three hours ago, and for all that time Rorschach insisted that he and Nite Owl wait where they were -- not speaking, not planning, barely moving. Somehow bird watching had simpler rules. The drug dealer they were tailing was a fairly small-time operator, but was always armed and seldom alone. Their safest chance to apprehend him would be to nab him on his way home, the timing of which was hard to anticipate. Dan shifted his hips and tried to find a more comfortable position. The night was cold, his knees ached, and his coffee was gone…leading to further discomforts. It was unusual, he thought, for Rorschach to be so intent on a stakeout. Though meticulous in his information-gathering, his general method was to act quickly as soon as they’d found their man. The fact that Rorschach seemed to be playing it safe might mean that Rorschach knew something Dan didn’t about tonight's proceedings. He had to go with that assumption for the time being, since his partner kept shushing him every time he tried to talk. Bowing to Rorschach’s lead-taking on this case, Dan kept to his silence and his suffering, not wanting to rock the boat. Rorschach made it clear that tonight there was no room for error -- they would stay in hidden surveillance, waiting for the criminal while he played poker, fondled the waitresses, and downed mug after mug of beer.
The thought of all that liquid caused Dan to throb. They’d been up here for hours, and before that had stopped at a couple other patrol points, so by now he was dying for a pee. The silence and the chill weren’t helping him get his mind off of it, and he felt pretty sure his teeth would be chattering if he wasn’t keeping them tightly clenched.
They crouched behind the low wall of a fifth-story rooftop opposite a seedy dive. From this vantage point, they could keep an eye on both the front and rear entrances of the bar so as not to miss their man. What advantages the rooftop offered as a watchtower, it lacked in terms of concealment options. All of the surrounding buildings were taller, plenty of windows overlooking it. Now would not be the best time for a lucky New Yorker to glance out his kitchen window and catch sight of two famous vigilantes huddling on the roof next door. With costumed crime fighters’ popularity surging as it was, they couldn’t risk having a mission blown that way. Last week’s encounter between Rorschach and an autograph hound had ended…disagreeably. To avoid such interference, Rorschach had chosen the one bit of cover the spot offered -- a shadowed nook between the building’s edge and the stairs to the elevator shaft access door.
They’d ascended by grappling hook, and would probably leave the same way. Until then, it seemed that Dan would have to suffer a pounding bladder. Rorschach wasn’t up for letting him speak, much less wandering off for a piss. Dan felt, for all intents and purposes, trapped -- trapped by the building, by his partner, and, increasingly, by his own damned costume. Despite the obstacles, he was going to have to do something soon. Shifting his weight only sloshed the urgency around, he noticed, as he twisted for a better look at the area. A growing apprehension moved him beyond the “ignoring it” phase and advancing into “seeking out options.”
The owl suit was a problem.
He’d been meaning to get around to correcting its little flaws. Damn it, he was an engineer! How could he have successfully built the owlship yet failed so miserably when it came to the basic design of his suit? It had only taken a few missions to become aware of the drawbacks of its complicated logistics, but a time-consuming dressing (and undressing) ritual had seemed the least of his worries. As long as Archie was airworthy, he was ecstatic. The suit in general was doing its job, and every new invention can use some tweaking. Adopt, adapt, and improve -- he was willing to fix his mistakes, though he wished he wasn’t paying for them so painfully right now. All the same, a stakeout situation was a new one for them -- one for which he hadn’t been prepared. Since they’d teamed up, it was rare that they were away from Archie for more than an hour or two at a time. How long had it been tonight?
And how long would it be before he could pull away all those layers? Underneath it all he wore seamless briefs. Then his leggings, pulled high to contribute further to the seamless effect. Overtop of that was the one-piece body suit which wrapped his entire torso from shoulder to wrist and neck to crotch. He couldn’t possibly wriggle free out here, pulling his arms out of the leotard top to roll it down and stand half-naked in an alley or rooftop taking a piss. It wasn’t the ideal image he’d like to leave with any civilians who might catch a glimpse of Nite Owl on patrol. The onset of desperation fueled his reasoning. If he could get enough slack, he thought, he wouldn’t need to take off the whole body suit -- just maybe tug down the leggings and move the crotch panel aside…
That he failed to notice Rorschach’s head swiveling slowly to look at him was a testament to how far Dan’s attention had slipped. He all but jumped when Rorschach barked a short “Daniel!” at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, stopping the leg-jiggling he hadn’t realized he was doing. He had to pull it together in front of Rorschach -- a man who prided himself on his iron control.
No, this was not the ideal place for a discrete leak. The only cover was the roof access door they were already sheltering by. If he went to the other side of it, he’d be in plain view of the apartments, not to mention the fact that he’d be out of eye-shot of their target. Rorschach was counting on Nite Owl’s goggles to zero in on the dark figures coming and going from the bar. Despite the hour, there was frustratingly little activity there. When was the last time anybody had heard of a dope dealer spending such a long time in one place, Dan wondered miserably. Didn’t they keep on the move in a series of short appointments with their contacts? He pressed his thighs close and tried to calculate how much longer he’d be able to wait before a full-blown emergency.
He adjusted the rims of his goggles to get a better look, hoping that keeping occupied would take his mind off of his tiring bladder for a few minutes. Maybe the dealer would be walking through the door at just this moment. They could rush down, apprehend him, and call the police. Then he would spare no effort getting back to Archie and his makeshift, though functional, head. Dan thought longingly of Archie, hovering a blind thousand feet above them -- available in a matter of seconds, yet impossibly out of reach.
Hell, that was enough. Enough waiting. He was going to have to go down to the street and look for an inevitably filthy doorway or corner to duck into. And he should leave now while his body could afford him a few more minutes to find one.
Just as his boots were scraping the gravel as he shifted to stand up, Dan felt the slap of Rorschach’s heavy hand pull him back down. The jolt was unwelcome, but justified. The drug criminal had lumbered out onto the sidewalk, followed by a scrawny and worn-looking woman. She pulled his arm with both of hers, urging him back toward the doors. He shook her off, cursing at her and sending her stumbling drunkenly. Rorschach paused like an animal hunting, torn between springing and assessing the usefulness of the distraction the woman was causing. His hesitation paid off, for just then the target turned and re-entered the bar. The flurry of excitement had gotten Dan back on his toes but also refreshed his sense of frustrated urgency. His owl eyes scanned the blue light that escaped the crack of the door as he and Rorschach looked for the man to re-emerge. Shapes passed behind it, making it strobe across the sidewalk, but no one came back out. “Do we go down there?” Dan asked. Surely the dope dealer was just having some trouble detaching himself from that woman, and would reappear in seconds. Rorschach shook his head, still poised. They watched and waited, both with one hand each on the grappling hook cable. But after ten minutes passed and he still hadn’t come out again, Dan grew highly concerned -- not for the sake of their target, but because of a new and alarming twinge.
It had gone far enough, he decided. There was nothing wrong with yielding when one knew he was defeated. Dan quickly opted to go around the access door and wrestle with clothing as best he could. If he was spotted, so be it; he’d take that chance.
His partner sat strangely still, facing out across the street. Dan turned toward him. “Rorschach? I’m just gonna…” he gestured around the corner with a jerk of his head and his thumb. “You know… Just for a minute. I’m bursting.”
Rorschach responded with an open, upturned palm, indicating the bar below. “Not now, Daniel. So close.”
“I’ll hurry,” Dan promised.
“What if he returns?”
“And what if I -- ?” Dan couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought out loud.
Crouching down was putting a dangerous pressure on his abdomen. Of all the things for them to argue about. “Jesus, Rorschach!” Dan hissed as another desperate wave hit.
Rorschach’s voice dropped unusually low -- soft, even. “Nothing serious. Calm down, it will pass.”
Dan snorted bitterly, but the sharpness did ease as the urgency rolled through its warning cycle.
“Well, I’m going to have to do something. I can barely walk, let alone chase after that low-life.” He let a deep breath out in a long huff, leaning forward and closing his eyes for a moment.
Rorschach assessed his partner’s condition, his gaze seeming to linger on the fist Dan clenched at his groin -- not holding himself, but doing the next nearest thing by leaning against it. Self-consciously, Dan pulled it away and dug his fingers into his thigh instead. But perhaps Dan’s need had finally impressed itself upon Rorschach. “Go here,” Rorschach suggested, face still downcast. “In that direction,” he added.
Dan switched his weight to the other knee. “Uh, it’s not that easy. I have to get practically undressed.” Any prospect of stage fright had pretty much been crushed out of him by this point, though that was still kind of close quarters. He didn’t know whether to be surprised at Rorschach or not. The man had managed to throw the suggestion out there somewhat offhand, yet give it a baited taint. Did he not mind if Dan let it go here?…or was he asking him to?
Rorschach grunted dismissively. “Wait then,” he said, and turned back to his watch. Dan felt a hot wave of anger at Rorschach’s apparent lack of sympathy. On the other hand, Rorschach had been on patrol for just as long this evening without any relief of his own. Dan gave a fleeting thought as to the state of Rorschach’s current threshold. When they patrolled the streets, the man had no compunction about having a piss in any alleyway if needed…but he tended to blend into the gutters better than a guy in a large owl suit.
Rorschach’s ink blots poured into each other, flowing like fluid spreading across his nose and disappearing under his chin. Dan openly watched the display, falling into the trap of forgetting that just because he’s wearing a mask doesn’t mean he can’t see you staring. Dan’s own face must have broadcast its own silent plea. Suddenly, Rorschach sprang from his post to scramble over in front of Dan.
“Hand me a blade,” Rorschach said, startling Dan with his no-nonsense tone. Dan automatically reached to retrieve a sharp moon crescent out of his belt pouch. Rorschach took it. He turned it over twice in his hand then held it out, offering it back to Dan. “Cut your uniform.”
“What?”
“Cut it. At the crotch.” Not waiting for Dan to comply, Rorschach leaned in. In a split second he’d unlatched the utility belt and taken him by his wrist, moving Dan’s hand away from where it was lodged between his legs. He yanked at the uniform, pulling it out of Dan’s grip and making him wince at the spandex pressure moving over his low abdomen. Without hesitation, Rorschach slid two fingers under the elastic at Dan’s groin and gathered up the material. “Oh hey, steady!” Dan yelped. With a skillful twist, Rorschach sliced through the layer of Dan’s body suit. Dan fell free when Rorschach let go. Tossing the blade to land next to Dan’s tool belt, Rorschach moved back to a position just polite enough to be out of his partner’s personal space.
Dan had gone a bit off-balance in the commotion, and he cautiously pushed himself up. His uniform hung in odd flaps, but at least now he had free access to his pants. It had all happened so quickly -- Rorschach diving, an assault on his costume, dexterous fingers, a blade so close to his intimate self. How typical of Rorschach, weaving both heroics and danger into every move he made. Deadly powerful yet remarkably efficient, those hands could surely snap a man’s neck, but Dan knew he was more than okay with having them grappling with him.
Noticing that Dan hadn’t moved, Rorschach shot a quick double-take toward his partner, then averted his gaze again. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, and it took another confused moment for Dan to realize Rorschach was referring to Dan relieving himself. The way Rorschach sat in profile, leaning back on his heels, Dan couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable full erection jutting up behind the pinstripes. Had he seriously gotten hard from five seconds spent with his hands inside Dan’s shorts?…or perhaps it hinted at a deeper participation in Dan’s desperate situation. In any case, it was a fascinating development.
It deserved testing, but first things first. On his knees, Dan pivoted a few degrees away from Rorschach. Lowering the waistband of his costume, he withdrew his penis and aimed halfway down the wall. The cant of the roof and the rainwater runoff trench would take care of the rest. It hurt to let go after waiting so long, and at first it came in hesitant spurts. As his muscles relaxed, the stream built to full force, and Dan let out a breathy sigh of relief. Thankfully, Rorschach did not try to hush him this time, so he let loose another weighty groan. Tension dissolved into a rushing pleasure, and Dan became purposefully careless about screening himself. If anything about this situation was getting Rorschach off, he was damned well going to try to encourage it. Rorschach’s gaze appeared to be resolutely focused on the bar-room doors, but with that mask on, Dan could never be quite sure in which direction his eyes were looking.
He pissed for a long time -- the flow finally thinning out, trickling, then shaken to an end. Dan too leaned back against his heels, exhausted and relieved beyond measure. The release, coupled with the intriguing appearance of Rorschach’s hard-on -- not to mention all the evening’s extra blood flow to his own crotch -- left him a bit giddy. “When you have to go that bad, it can feel just as good as sex!” he said, jaw and shoulders slackening as he let his head roll back.
Rorschach turned and faced Dan, ink blots pooling at his cheeks. Dan stared back, inwardly promising that he’d have waited another hour to piss, if only he could know what Rorschach was thinking right then.
A flicker of light below drew his attention for a split-second as he suddenly remembered their mission. He slid forward to peer over the edge of the roof just in time to see their quarry slam his car door and drive off down the street. Dan’s eyebrows rose as he gaped at the turn of events. “Shit. Oh shit! I’m sorry, man.”
Rorschach jumped to his feet and whipped off his hat, clutching a hand to his head. He darted away a few steps as if to automatically give chase, but immediately paced back beside Dan. In that position, standing over Daniel with his coat hanging open, Rorschach’s erection was even more evident, though half-forgotten by Rorschach himself. Dan tried to stare without staring as his partner dropped his arms and took a few more aimless steps. “We’ll get him, Rorschach,” Dan reassured. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”
But he couldn’t feel sorry. He was not sorry to have lost their prey. Not sorry at all that they’d likely have to spend another long shift here tomorrow night as a result. He could repair and enhance his costume by then. And tomorrow he’d bring a big thermos of extra-sugary coffee…