Embers
Title: Embers
Fandom: Watchmen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,475
Characters: Dan Dreiberg, Walter Joseph Kovacs/Rorschach
Prompt: Vampire Watchmen!
Original Post: Click Here.
Author's Notes: First Kink Meme fill evar! Enjoy!
Everything about him is red. The hair that peaks out from the white and black latex, curling at the nape of his neck. The flush that colors his cheeks, harshly juxtaposed against the blue-white tinge of the cold, hard flesh of his face. The eyes that appear as the motionless mask is dragged up to reveal them, irises like the heated center of a flame, fringed in rivulets of puce diluted by the depth of the blue. The tongue that flicks out to lap away the blood, Dan's blood, from his blushing lips, thin and scarred and parting in red lust. Rorschach.
Dan can see the teeth, the canines, long and sharp and white like bone. He can see them as his name is hushed, a whisper meant to comfort and subdue the gasps and whimpers that Dan isn't aware he's making. He can see those lips and those teeth as they close in on him, parting wider by increments.
Dan turns his head, exposing his neck, offering it, the exquisite artery that was viciously torn open. He sighs as Rorschach places those lips over it, offering in turn, a sorrowful kiss. And then Rorschach bites, pulls for second time the gasp and blood that flow right into him. He tender in the assault, unlike before, releasing a quiet aching murmur from his throat as he exhales needlessly against Dan's quivering flesh. He pulls another mouthful of the crimson sustenance from Dan's throat, draws it hard and fast.
Dan can feel a shock of arousal jolt through him as he feels every vein, artery, and vessel, every blood cell changing its direction, gushing, swirling, to rush to his head, to his neck, to Rorschach's teeth as they tear the wound into a deep chasm. He's hard and he shouldn't be, but the blood and the teeth and lips and rush. They're unlike any high that Dan has ever known, like mainlining rapture, except there is no tourniquet and there is no syringe and the drug does not suffuse within him, but out of him.
Dan moans lowly and claws desperately at Rorschach's back as he grows lightheaded. His nails tear vicious lines in Rorschach's alabaster flesh, so hard and cold and smooth, like a marble masterpiece. Unbreakable. Untouchable. Like he used to be. And never will be again.
Dan bucks against his assailant, his former partner, his deceased, diseased friend, thrusts his hips even as the heady arousal that surges through his body, even as the pique of his passion surges elsewhere and leaves his member limp and cold. Dan's decumbent form is turning as gray as the flesh of the man above him, the man who is now flushing hot and red as he drains the man below him.
And then Rorschach is pushing inside of him but Dan can't hear his choked moan or his quivering breath. He can hear only the surge, the flooding sonance is deafening like a burst of air whipping past his ears, harsh on his eardrums. The kisses on Dan's battered throat feel apologetic as Rorschach thrusts into him without restraint, unleashing a loud, wanton moan in his fervor. But Dan doesn't hear it, the gale alone making him ache as he plummets and falls to oblivion. Dan lays unmoving beneath Rorschach, taking the heat and the pain and the pulse as he is impaled upon the arousal of Rorschach's violence and passion.
He mutters unintelligible words, words that Dan couldn't have understood even if he weren't fading, if he could feel them whispered below his ear. Dan's body is limp, graying, his own arousal displaced and desensitized as it seeps out slowly along with his failing consciousness. He doesn't have the presence of mind to tell Rorschach to stop, that he'll kill him, drain him dry until he's nothing but a shriveled carcass. And even if he could, he would tell him not such thing. Don't stop.
Dan's mind flutters like colorless butterflies, extravagant moths, and he can only dimly acknowledge that he tastes tears on the lips of the man who is altogether so black and white and gray and... and red. He can taste the tears as the masked man kisses him and as the warm, tentative tongue dips to Dan's own. He can taste himself on him, taste the blood he is withering without, and he laps at Rorschach's tongue helplessly.
Rorschach whimpers and moans again as Dan sinks his own razor sharp fangs into his deepening kiss, the tongue that lathes over and tangles with his own, and Dan utters a hungry growl as he sips of both his lover and himself. His cock twitches to life between them, excited by the tiny taste, goaded by the persistent throbbing deep inside of him.
Rorschach pulls away and stares down at Dan, blood dripping from his parted lips. Dan weakly pushes himself up from their bed and licks the little dribble away from the corner of Rorschach's mouth and his chin. He supports Dan with a hot arm around his cold shoulders, opening his mouth wider to draw him in. His quick, shallow thrusts dissolve into long, deep strokes as Dan drinks from his swollen lips and Rorschach readily pours like red wine into his lover's mouth.
Dan's hands are touching him everywhere, reanimating quickly as they share one another. Their lusts are transmuted to something human and Dan's legs wrap around his hips to pull him closer and deeper as their blood stirs their ache and need of each other. As if they are disintegrating cell by cell, their molecules dislocating and flowing away in the wind like sparks of the fire that is burning and consuming them, the matter they're made of humming at the prospect of the combustion, that the is burning beneath their scorching flesh, the blood that swirls between their lips and throughout them, the catalyst of their hunger and intensity. There is never impotence when they find one another, here in this vermilion ecstasy. And there is always a tenderness which betrays the monstrous modus operandi of their existences, of a rape of blood and heat and life.
A sound, ethereal and reverberant, shakes from Rorschach's lips as presses Dan back to the bed, pillowing his head in the crook of his arm as he melts and pants. He closes his eyes and turns his face, and Dan holds him close. It is almost too much, the red, scalding... Almost.
And then Dan tears Rorschach's throat open wide to render unto them both a pleasure to drive them to the brink of madness. Rorschach pounds into him and Dan swallows him down. And as they fall together, part and breath and whim of their damned beings and bodies and blackened souls are revitalized, brought back from the dead and as they kiss and fuck and bite, it isn't any of these things. It has never been anything more than reaching and they merge each other as they pull and pull and pull and finally burst, hotter than the sun, burning through one another.
And they smolder, red embers.
Rorschach takes off his mask and tosses it away. Dan's hands are in his hair, twisting tight and strong in the soft red strands. He kisses away the tears that shake free from Rorschach's erubescent eyes, stroking his soft, warm lips with his fingertips. A droplet of blood fills the cusp of his glass like thumbnail, and Rorschach's lips quiver and he speaks.
"L-love you, Daniel." He takes the tip of Dan's thumb into his mouth and traces where fingerprints would have marked him, giving Dan the shadow of a human identity Rorschach could never have allowed himself to love in this way, but which he had craved in his fantastic descent and had made transcendent and perfect and more than he could ever tear himself away from again, regardless of how undeserving he is.
Dan replaces thumb and fingers with lips and brushes his nose against Rorschach's. He breathes a breath that is fire hot, a breath that he doesn't need to take but indulges in for this man, to give him his warmth, because Rorschach is trembling and Dan can feel him, feel him need. It's recognizable, familiar, shared. He turns his own fire tinged eyes, burgundy and fierce and full of a love and want and urgency he had never possessed as a mortal man, whispering the words he knows his lover needs to hear, sighing them against his lips.
"I forgive you."
Fandom: Watchmen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,475
Characters: Dan Dreiberg, Walter Joseph Kovacs/Rorschach
Prompt: Vampire Watchmen!
Original Post: Click Here.
Author's Notes: First Kink Meme fill evar! Enjoy!
Everything about him is red. The hair that peaks out from the white and black latex, curling at the nape of his neck. The flush that colors his cheeks, harshly juxtaposed against the blue-white tinge of the cold, hard flesh of his face. The eyes that appear as the motionless mask is dragged up to reveal them, irises like the heated center of a flame, fringed in rivulets of puce diluted by the depth of the blue. The tongue that flicks out to lap away the blood, Dan's blood, from his blushing lips, thin and scarred and parting in red lust. Rorschach.
Dan can see the teeth, the canines, long and sharp and white like bone. He can see them as his name is hushed, a whisper meant to comfort and subdue the gasps and whimpers that Dan isn't aware he's making. He can see those lips and those teeth as they close in on him, parting wider by increments.
Dan turns his head, exposing his neck, offering it, the exquisite artery that was viciously torn open. He sighs as Rorschach places those lips over it, offering in turn, a sorrowful kiss. And then Rorschach bites, pulls for second time the gasp and blood that flow right into him. He tender in the assault, unlike before, releasing a quiet aching murmur from his throat as he exhales needlessly against Dan's quivering flesh. He pulls another mouthful of the crimson sustenance from Dan's throat, draws it hard and fast.
Dan can feel a shock of arousal jolt through him as he feels every vein, artery, and vessel, every blood cell changing its direction, gushing, swirling, to rush to his head, to his neck, to Rorschach's teeth as they tear the wound into a deep chasm. He's hard and he shouldn't be, but the blood and the teeth and lips and rush. They're unlike any high that Dan has ever known, like mainlining rapture, except there is no tourniquet and there is no syringe and the drug does not suffuse within him, but out of him.
Dan moans lowly and claws desperately at Rorschach's back as he grows lightheaded. His nails tear vicious lines in Rorschach's alabaster flesh, so hard and cold and smooth, like a marble masterpiece. Unbreakable. Untouchable. Like he used to be. And never will be again.
Dan bucks against his assailant, his former partner, his deceased, diseased friend, thrusts his hips even as the heady arousal that surges through his body, even as the pique of his passion surges elsewhere and leaves his member limp and cold. Dan's decumbent form is turning as gray as the flesh of the man above him, the man who is now flushing hot and red as he drains the man below him.
And then Rorschach is pushing inside of him but Dan can't hear his choked moan or his quivering breath. He can hear only the surge, the flooding sonance is deafening like a burst of air whipping past his ears, harsh on his eardrums. The kisses on Dan's battered throat feel apologetic as Rorschach thrusts into him without restraint, unleashing a loud, wanton moan in his fervor. But Dan doesn't hear it, the gale alone making him ache as he plummets and falls to oblivion. Dan lays unmoving beneath Rorschach, taking the heat and the pain and the pulse as he is impaled upon the arousal of Rorschach's violence and passion.
He mutters unintelligible words, words that Dan couldn't have understood even if he weren't fading, if he could feel them whispered below his ear. Dan's body is limp, graying, his own arousal displaced and desensitized as it seeps out slowly along with his failing consciousness. He doesn't have the presence of mind to tell Rorschach to stop, that he'll kill him, drain him dry until he's nothing but a shriveled carcass. And even if he could, he would tell him not such thing. Don't stop.
Dan's mind flutters like colorless butterflies, extravagant moths, and he can only dimly acknowledge that he tastes tears on the lips of the man who is altogether so black and white and gray and... and red. He can taste the tears as the masked man kisses him and as the warm, tentative tongue dips to Dan's own. He can taste himself on him, taste the blood he is withering without, and he laps at Rorschach's tongue helplessly.
Rorschach whimpers and moans again as Dan sinks his own razor sharp fangs into his deepening kiss, the tongue that lathes over and tangles with his own, and Dan utters a hungry growl as he sips of both his lover and himself. His cock twitches to life between them, excited by the tiny taste, goaded by the persistent throbbing deep inside of him.
Rorschach pulls away and stares down at Dan, blood dripping from his parted lips. Dan weakly pushes himself up from their bed and licks the little dribble away from the corner of Rorschach's mouth and his chin. He supports Dan with a hot arm around his cold shoulders, opening his mouth wider to draw him in. His quick, shallow thrusts dissolve into long, deep strokes as Dan drinks from his swollen lips and Rorschach readily pours like red wine into his lover's mouth.
Dan's hands are touching him everywhere, reanimating quickly as they share one another. Their lusts are transmuted to something human and Dan's legs wrap around his hips to pull him closer and deeper as their blood stirs their ache and need of each other. As if they are disintegrating cell by cell, their molecules dislocating and flowing away in the wind like sparks of the fire that is burning and consuming them, the matter they're made of humming at the prospect of the combustion, that the is burning beneath their scorching flesh, the blood that swirls between their lips and throughout them, the catalyst of their hunger and intensity. There is never impotence when they find one another, here in this vermilion ecstasy. And there is always a tenderness which betrays the monstrous modus operandi of their existences, of a rape of blood and heat and life.
A sound, ethereal and reverberant, shakes from Rorschach's lips as presses Dan back to the bed, pillowing his head in the crook of his arm as he melts and pants. He closes his eyes and turns his face, and Dan holds him close. It is almost too much, the red, scalding... Almost.
And then Dan tears Rorschach's throat open wide to render unto them both a pleasure to drive them to the brink of madness. Rorschach pounds into him and Dan swallows him down. And as they fall together, part and breath and whim of their damned beings and bodies and blackened souls are revitalized, brought back from the dead and as they kiss and fuck and bite, it isn't any of these things. It has never been anything more than reaching and they merge each other as they pull and pull and pull and finally burst, hotter than the sun, burning through one another.
And they smolder, red embers.
Rorschach takes off his mask and tosses it away. Dan's hands are in his hair, twisting tight and strong in the soft red strands. He kisses away the tears that shake free from Rorschach's erubescent eyes, stroking his soft, warm lips with his fingertips. A droplet of blood fills the cusp of his glass like thumbnail, and Rorschach's lips quiver and he speaks.
"L-love you, Daniel." He takes the tip of Dan's thumb into his mouth and traces where fingerprints would have marked him, giving Dan the shadow of a human identity Rorschach could never have allowed himself to love in this way, but which he had craved in his fantastic descent and had made transcendent and perfect and more than he could ever tear himself away from again, regardless of how undeserving he is.
Dan replaces thumb and fingers with lips and brushes his nose against Rorschach's. He breathes a breath that is fire hot, a breath that he doesn't need to take but indulges in for this man, to give him his warmth, because Rorschach is trembling and Dan can feel him, feel him need. It's recognizable, familiar, shared. He turns his own fire tinged eyes, burgundy and fierce and full of a love and want and urgency he had never possessed as a mortal man, whispering the words he knows his lover needs to hear, sighing them against his lips.
"I forgive you."