Watchmen - Nite Owl/Rorschach - "Aftermath"
Title: "Aftermath"
Nite Owl/Rorschach
Rated R
Warnings: eh, none. homosexual and adult-rated. Oh, angst.
Summary: Post-Keene, pre-GN. Dan and Rorschach are still partners, even if Dan's been left behind.
He’s always awoken gently, the soft creak and dip of the mattress rocking him awake. Though weighted by sleep, Dan is suddenly flooded with a buoyant sense of relief. The world is right again. He won’t have to feel the gnaw of worry coming back for at least a couple of weeks. Even before Rorschach’s body slides up against Dan’s back, he can feel the chill of it. It’s a taste of the streets that he brings with him; a reminder of a world Dan is no longer a part of.
Rorschach’s skin is icy-cold, his chest bare. He’s taken off his shoes and shirt, but not his pants. Slowing breaths ruffle a lock of hair at Dan’s ear, five days of stubble scrapes his shoulder; the mask is up or off.
They lie still, and it’s almost as if Rorschach has always been there. Casual company, as if he’s just put down his journal and come to bed after working late downstairs. But how long had it been this time? Nearly two months? Dan wonders again if he should be offended by Rorschach’s selfish, sporadic appearances -- that he always assumes, always knows, Dan’s bed will be empty. It’s only filled when Rorschach wants it to be. Only when need and distraction grow too uncontrollable for him does he reappear -- determined but petulant, regretting his fall before the fact.
If they’d never started this, neither of them would have learned how unbearable it is to live without. Seems he’s been saying that to himself about a lot of things this past year.
In a post-Keene world, options are limited and substitution impossible. A secret life of this sort doesn’t match the heroics of fighting crime, but offers a comparable adrenaline rush. Their world together only existed in the dark in the first place. Conducting it by night now seems like a cheat -- rousing Dan from deep dreams encourages him to fall back asleep afterwards, leaving each tryst in a limbo half-reality.
There was a time when the idea of Rorschach spooning up behind him seemed unreal.
****
He must have drifted off again for a moment. His eyes open to the dark bedroom and blurred shadows. Rorschach is pressed even tighter now, and finally feels warm. A hand stirs under Dan’s t-shirt, splaying across his belly, skimming up the strip of hair to his chest. Noticing he is awake, it stops. It wriggles instead under his waistband and resumes its languid stroking, drawing a surge of blood. Dan’s heart pounds to accommodate. His body responds quickly to Rorschach’s, taking its cues from his partner. Ex-partner, he corrects himself, then undoes the correction. Partner.
He tugs down his pyjama bottoms, opens his thighs, inviting Rorschach to touch more, to do more. Rorschach complies, his touches meandering and uncreative, with a grip too firm to be tantalizing, contact too fleeting to give satisfaction…and hands too smooth to belong to an outlaw. It’s maddening and unpredictable, and Dan craves every brutish instant of it. A fingertip strays, almost accidentally, and Dan gasps at the startling near-intrusion. It jumps back in apology, hovers indecisively, then returns, saliva-slicked, to circle again and again. The breath puffing in his ear has gone harsh and erratic but hips pulse rhythmically, rocking a fiery cock along the cleft of Dan’s buttocks.
The dizzying sensation stops abruptly when Rorschach pulls away to undo his zipper. He frees himself, bobbing up against the small of Dan’s back. He climbs over Dan awkwardly, legs bound by the pants and underwear pushed down only as far as his thighs. Dan kicks off his own as Rorschach turns him onto his back. Rorschach lowers his body and they meet length to length.
The body arching backward above him is magnificent -- broad back and narrow hips which fit so well between Dan’s thighs. His knees tent the bedclothes as they rise up, legs locking around Rorschach. Dan clamps his thighs tightly and begins to twist -- a reminder to Rorschach that Dan can still flip him…into the mattress, or floor, or wall…any time he wants, that not all of his strength and training have deserted him yet. Rorschach fights back, countering with a deeper roll of the pelvis -- a distracting tactic. The friction is exquisite, and Dan reaches between them, eventually working in a hand to hold them both, two cocks pressed together in one grasp. Still, Rorschach hangs over him at literal arms-length. At this distance, there’s no chance they might kiss, or “make love,” or whisper something to be regretted. Dan grinds back, chasing everything unreachable about Rorschach. He grips those arms, feeling them strain and shudder as they hold Rorschach up. Suddenly they heave forward, Rorschach hisses between his teeth, and they both feel the slippery heat spilling between them. Dan adds to it seconds later, yanking Rorschach closer with a jerk of his heels.
Their bodies meet with a slap as Rorschach drops face-down on Dan’s pillow. It muffles the rasping breaths of recovery he’s pulling in. Dan sinks his teeth into the shoulder that’s landed on top of him and claws at the back of Rorschach’s neck. Maybe he’ll leave a mark that Rorschach will notice tomorrow.
Rorschach is half-dressed before he’s even out of bed. He’s out of the room and creaking the hall floorboards a moment after. Dan listens to water running in the bathroom sink -- the howling and rattling of the pipes sound so different from this side of the wall. The medicine cabinet door clicks and squeals out. Its contents will be rearranged when Dan checks it tomorrow -- the only crime-solving opportunity he gets these days.
Nighttime also safely wraps each encounter in silence; no words ever exchanged except each other’s names -- earnestly, repeatedly, and at low volume. The quiet discourages Dan from asking questions about what it’s like out there now, who Rorschach is investigating, how he’s getting away with it. It saves Rorschach from having to answer or accuse -- a mute protection of their relationship. For now it’s just the rustle of a raincoat sliding on, the groan of the third stair from the landing, then nothing.
Daniel is left lying tangled in the aftermath. He pulls off his t-shirt, uses it to wipe off their combined fluids that are trailing down his sides. The sheets go next, and Dan wraps up in the comforter. He’s not sure what time it is, but there are surely only a few dark hours left -- the only ones worth counting. As any ornithologist knows, Nite owls, retired or not, don’t sleep when it’s dark. But he does. Disturbing how it’s the only part of civilian life he’s gotten used to again. He wonders whether Rorschach was just beginning or ending his evening. Was Dan the first thug to have Rorschach’s hands wrapped around him tonight, or the last? He doesn’t bother to wish he’d gone too. It’s not as simple as that.
Nite Owl/Rorschach
Rated R
Warnings: eh, none. homosexual and adult-rated. Oh, angst.
Summary: Post-Keene, pre-GN. Dan and Rorschach are still partners, even if Dan's been left behind.
He’s always awoken gently, the soft creak and dip of the mattress rocking him awake. Though weighted by sleep, Dan is suddenly flooded with a buoyant sense of relief. The world is right again. He won’t have to feel the gnaw of worry coming back for at least a couple of weeks. Even before Rorschach’s body slides up against Dan’s back, he can feel the chill of it. It’s a taste of the streets that he brings with him; a reminder of a world Dan is no longer a part of.
Rorschach’s skin is icy-cold, his chest bare. He’s taken off his shoes and shirt, but not his pants. Slowing breaths ruffle a lock of hair at Dan’s ear, five days of stubble scrapes his shoulder; the mask is up or off.
They lie still, and it’s almost as if Rorschach has always been there. Casual company, as if he’s just put down his journal and come to bed after working late downstairs. But how long had it been this time? Nearly two months? Dan wonders again if he should be offended by Rorschach’s selfish, sporadic appearances -- that he always assumes, always knows, Dan’s bed will be empty. It’s only filled when Rorschach wants it to be. Only when need and distraction grow too uncontrollable for him does he reappear -- determined but petulant, regretting his fall before the fact.
If they’d never started this, neither of them would have learned how unbearable it is to live without. Seems he’s been saying that to himself about a lot of things this past year.
In a post-Keene world, options are limited and substitution impossible. A secret life of this sort doesn’t match the heroics of fighting crime, but offers a comparable adrenaline rush. Their world together only existed in the dark in the first place. Conducting it by night now seems like a cheat -- rousing Dan from deep dreams encourages him to fall back asleep afterwards, leaving each tryst in a limbo half-reality.
There was a time when the idea of Rorschach spooning up behind him seemed unreal.
****
He must have drifted off again for a moment. His eyes open to the dark bedroom and blurred shadows. Rorschach is pressed even tighter now, and finally feels warm. A hand stirs under Dan’s t-shirt, splaying across his belly, skimming up the strip of hair to his chest. Noticing he is awake, it stops. It wriggles instead under his waistband and resumes its languid stroking, drawing a surge of blood. Dan’s heart pounds to accommodate. His body responds quickly to Rorschach’s, taking its cues from his partner. Ex-partner, he corrects himself, then undoes the correction. Partner.
He tugs down his pyjama bottoms, opens his thighs, inviting Rorschach to touch more, to do more. Rorschach complies, his touches meandering and uncreative, with a grip too firm to be tantalizing, contact too fleeting to give satisfaction…and hands too smooth to belong to an outlaw. It’s maddening and unpredictable, and Dan craves every brutish instant of it. A fingertip strays, almost accidentally, and Dan gasps at the startling near-intrusion. It jumps back in apology, hovers indecisively, then returns, saliva-slicked, to circle again and again. The breath puffing in his ear has gone harsh and erratic but hips pulse rhythmically, rocking a fiery cock along the cleft of Dan’s buttocks.
The dizzying sensation stops abruptly when Rorschach pulls away to undo his zipper. He frees himself, bobbing up against the small of Dan’s back. He climbs over Dan awkwardly, legs bound by the pants and underwear pushed down only as far as his thighs. Dan kicks off his own as Rorschach turns him onto his back. Rorschach lowers his body and they meet length to length.
The body arching backward above him is magnificent -- broad back and narrow hips which fit so well between Dan’s thighs. His knees tent the bedclothes as they rise up, legs locking around Rorschach. Dan clamps his thighs tightly and begins to twist -- a reminder to Rorschach that Dan can still flip him…into the mattress, or floor, or wall…any time he wants, that not all of his strength and training have deserted him yet. Rorschach fights back, countering with a deeper roll of the pelvis -- a distracting tactic. The friction is exquisite, and Dan reaches between them, eventually working in a hand to hold them both, two cocks pressed together in one grasp. Still, Rorschach hangs over him at literal arms-length. At this distance, there’s no chance they might kiss, or “make love,” or whisper something to be regretted. Dan grinds back, chasing everything unreachable about Rorschach. He grips those arms, feeling them strain and shudder as they hold Rorschach up. Suddenly they heave forward, Rorschach hisses between his teeth, and they both feel the slippery heat spilling between them. Dan adds to it seconds later, yanking Rorschach closer with a jerk of his heels.
Their bodies meet with a slap as Rorschach drops face-down on Dan’s pillow. It muffles the rasping breaths of recovery he’s pulling in. Dan sinks his teeth into the shoulder that’s landed on top of him and claws at the back of Rorschach’s neck. Maybe he’ll leave a mark that Rorschach will notice tomorrow.
Rorschach is half-dressed before he’s even out of bed. He’s out of the room and creaking the hall floorboards a moment after. Dan listens to water running in the bathroom sink -- the howling and rattling of the pipes sound so different from this side of the wall. The medicine cabinet door clicks and squeals out. Its contents will be rearranged when Dan checks it tomorrow -- the only crime-solving opportunity he gets these days.
Nighttime also safely wraps each encounter in silence; no words ever exchanged except each other’s names -- earnestly, repeatedly, and at low volume. The quiet discourages Dan from asking questions about what it’s like out there now, who Rorschach is investigating, how he’s getting away with it. It saves Rorschach from having to answer or accuse -- a mute protection of their relationship. For now it’s just the rustle of a raincoat sliding on, the groan of the third stair from the landing, then nothing.
Daniel is left lying tangled in the aftermath. He pulls off his t-shirt, uses it to wipe off their combined fluids that are trailing down his sides. The sheets go next, and Dan wraps up in the comforter. He’s not sure what time it is, but there are surely only a few dark hours left -- the only ones worth counting. As any ornithologist knows, Nite owls, retired or not, don’t sleep when it’s dark. But he does. Disturbing how it’s the only part of civilian life he’s gotten used to again. He wonders whether Rorschach was just beginning or ending his evening. Was Dan the first thug to have Rorschach’s hands wrapped around him tonight, or the last? He doesn’t bother to wish he’d gone too. It’s not as simple as that.