Watchmen: Gen
Title: Coasters NOT Optional
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairing: Gen. Involves Rorschach and Dan (Nite Owl II)
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Warnings: Mention of vomit, nothing too big
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. I'm sure whoever has rights to them will hate me.
Summary: Daniel Dreiberg is a patient man and a good friend. Really.
AN: I wrote this originally for one of the many Watchmen kink memes at least a year ago. The prompt was "tickling", but I couldn't really do it as a serious piece. I don't know if the original requester enjoyed what I had to write, but I know a few of my anonymous /co/mrades did. I do have two known pieces of art for this fic, which is pretty much light-hearted boys-will-be-boys tomfoolery. I'll have to upload them later, though.
Nite Owl had challenged the tyrany of the Underboss, taken down criminals twice his size with twice the firepower. Hell, before Archimedes was ever in the picture, he was flinging himself across rooftops with a grappling gun and spring-soled boots (that had really been a bad idea, all things considered). He had never felt so close to death.
It had been building up, really. It was only a matter of time. He had been pulling his hair out over the countless false alarms raised in the night from the clattering arising from his kitchen pantry. He woke up in the morning and there was no sugar for his goddamn coffee. Like a racoon- really, he couldn’t think of a better metaphor! Pawing through his inventory of canned goods, stealing away into the night without so much as a how-do-you-do. And just because he /had/ the money didn’t mean he /wanted/ to keep pulling it out of his pockets to keep repairing his door. He was beginning to entertain thoughts of having another housekey made, but then that would mean he was encouraging this sort of behavior.
Then again, what did it say when he went out night after night without saying a thing to the perpetrator? Rorschach was there every night -unless he wasn’t, which Dan never got notice of- riding beside him in the hull of Archie or striding strong at his shoulder in the streets. Neither of them said anything about it, and Dan simply had to sigh and shake his head because he was just as an enabler. It wasn’t all bad, after all. Sometimes his partner lingered when caught in the act of poaching, sat at the table and humored Daniel’s attempts at casual conversation. Sometimes. Or they talked about the next big bust, the details of their next mission, which he knew the masked man was much more eager for. And that was pleasant.
Lately, though, lately it had been trying Dan’s saint-worthy patience. Five nights in a row, they’d been chasing down a drug ring that seemed to be three steps ahead. Much to Nite Owl’s dismay, they had even taken the sewers in hopes of surprising what they had been led to believe was one of the higher up officers. Again, a little fish, a front man that knew as much about anything as the vigilantes. Another address to search, an abandoned warehouse to show for it. Even if he let Rorschach drag him through the streets until he was raw one breadcrumb after another, Nite Owl knew they were going to have to slip back under the radar again, wait for mistakes to be made. He knew it wasn’t what his partner wanted to hear, wasn’t something he would be convinced of through the same trivialities that made Dan want to throw his hands up.
He awoke to the sound of his basement door hitting the wall downstairs, meaning his partner had taken the route into the lair. Probably had taken some tools too. Dan reluctantly rose from his bed- he knew Rorschach wasn’t getting any sleep over this. Infuriated, no doubt, that he kept being had. Couldn’t blame him, but something needed to be said.
Daniel found him with a can of peaches in one hand and a can of Coca-Cola in the other, nestled in the crook of his downstairs couch. He had his mask drawn up to his nose, all square jaw and stubble and loud noises as he slurped the juice from the peach can.
“Amastad another wash. Potential bases running out.” Was all he had to offer. He had a dog-eared map spread on the table before him, marks all over it where they had found information and crossed out every failure. Dan noticed they had increased substancially.
“I’ll say,” Dan mused, “You’ve nearly covered the whole city.”
“Necessary for success.”
“Yes, desperation calls for drastic measures...”
There is a tense silence. Rorschach chews on a peach slice with ruthless fervor. Schlorp schlorp.
“Listen, Rorschach,” Dan sighs, feeling sorry for letting his exhaustion get the better of him. “They know we’re looking for them. Even the dumbest criminal can avoid an investigation if they know the roads we’re taking.”
“So change course.” With the mask out of the way, Dan could see Rorschach was speaking through gritted teeth. He wasn’t going to let this go. He kind of had the pitbull thing going for him. But Dan wasn’t amused. He was tired and he was beginning to feel desperate for his friend.
“We need to lay low for a while. Make them think that we quit.”
“Hrn. But /they/ won’t quit.” He set the can of peaches down on the coffee table and cracked open his can of coke, taking long swallows and wrinkling his short nose reflexively as it burned all the way down. “Can’t let them win.”
Daniel knew it. Somehow, Rorschach had gotten it into his head that he had something to prove to himself by persuing this case. Neither of them could possibly know it now, but things were going to get a lot worse in the future, the stakes would be much higher. Right now Daniel thought his partner was wound so tight he was bound to pass out from brain deterioration (from the man’s clear insomnia) all from clutching at coat tails. Rorschach was taking this way too seriously for his own good, but he was too damn ate up with it to see reason. And Dan wasn’t really good at being anything but reasonable when baring down his friends and colleagues. He was still grasping for something to say when Rorschach said it.
“Don’t need to come. You rest, Daniel.”
Maybe the masked man hadn’t meant it to be patronizing, didn’t mean for it to sound like he was implying Nite Owl step aside. But Daniel reared his head back like he had been slapped all the same, the words making him blink behind his glasses in rapidfire offense. It stings. He is a young man then, they both are, and he has his pride too.
“You stubborn bastard, you’re going to be so dazed that /if/ you find them, they’re not even going to have to try and kill you. You’ll keel right over! Goddamn you.”
He’s seething and Rorschach ignores him. Ignores him! He places down his coke on the table and leans back into the couch, head turned toward the door. He’s thinking about leaving. In the next moment he will. Dan’s eyes draw to the shimmering beads of sweat that are coming from the can and are beginning to form a puddle on his table.
“Are you going to put that on a coaster?” He whispers, nearly hoarse with rage and desperation.
“No.”
That’s it. The shit hits the fan.
Daniel and Rorschach are a tangle of limbs and anger on the couch where Dan has thrown himself at his partner with the pure intent of strangling him. No shake of the head or finger waggle- Oh, Rorschach, you pig-headed rascal, you! Just raw energy that has them stuggling against one another, trying to do harm and gain control of the situation all the same. Rorschach’s hands are slamming into Dan’s chest, pounding his back, pushing his cheeks and lips into odd angles as he both tries to fight and flee. Daniel shows how much of a saint he’s not, cursing Rorschach’s name and his crudeness and letting out everything he’s been holding back for weeks. It’s enough to make a sailor blush.
The wrestling is so violent it flips them both over the couch. Rorschach ends up on the bottom, so it winds him, and Daniel is shaking him like he can rid the man of all his horrible habits just by that. It’s all so rediculous, watching the other’s head waggle like a bobble doll, his mouth still agape with surprise, and he doesn’t care he’s so frustrated. And god, Rorschach smells so damn bad he wants to gag; he probably hadn’t even washed his clothes since the sewer incident. Before the shorter man can do anything like cold-clock him, Daniel pins his wrists and sinks his weight down just as Rorschach begins to buck and roar.
“GET OFF!”
“SCREW YOU, RORSCHACH!” He yells right back at him, though he sounds more like a dove trying to crow. Or an owl screeching. “We’re doing it MY WAY. You OWE ME.”
But Rorschach simply thrashes, gritting his teeth and curling his lip defiantly. Though they can’t be seen, his eyes are burning. The mask ripples his fury for him in distressed spatterings. “Action NOW!”
However, Dan knows his weight is too much for his partner (or soon to be ex-partner, it looked like) to handle in this position. He still fears for his life, fears that the man will rear up and tear out his throat with his teeth. He’s so powerful and raw even now. They pant harshly between one another for more moments, staring the other down though it’s hard to take Dan serious with his so glasses askew and his hair frazzled up like feathers of an irrate bird. Dan has the advantage, though, so it’s his move. And he gets a terrible idea, an idea that he thinks may bring him pains worse than death. But it just may work.
While they’re taking the next breath, the brunette’s hands free themselves from their white-knuckled death grip on the smaller man’s wrists. Only milliseconds exist as he delves them deep inside the trenchcoat beneath and find the muscled sides of his captive, squeezing just enough to tease the muscle. Rorschach goes as stiff as a plank, his head rearing back to thump the floor. Dan continues, and gloved fingers spring up to try and ineffectually claw at his arms as Rorschach chokes then makes a sharp keening sound.
“Ennk! Ennk!”
Dan begins to feel a grin stretching his features, and his fingers are livid up Rorschach’s sides as the man gasps and squirms and wheezes before finally, yes, finally he is laughing. You couldn’t really call it laughing by normal standards, it’s more of a whispery choking noise and the occasional snort from the man’s nostrils as he tries to suck it back in. He’s even harder to hold onto when they were fighting, kicking and arching, slapping at Daniel’s face only to miss because the man saw it coming.
“Dan--iel! Stop! No! Kke-ghh--!”
“No more bashing in the door!” The brunette rattles off his demands, “No more pilfering! Late night snacks- you ask!”
The masked man’s body strains beneath him, trying to twist away and finding no purchase. “Ys--ck!”
“What?”
“YES!”
Daniel can see moisture trickling down from the mask, clear rivulets down the speckled cheeks and past the gasping tight-lipped smile that may have been forced but still makes Daniel feel so damn accomplished.
“You’re staying here tonight and sleeping! On the couch! And you’ll be here in the morning! We’re going to talk!”
That one is a little harder, but he knows if Rorschach makes the promise he can’t go back on it. There is a brief struggle where the smaller man grits his teeth and tries to frown. Daniel reaches down and finds the crook of one of his knees, squeezes the muscle above the kneecap until the man howls what he wants to hear before dissolving into laughter again. He knows the man will be angry with him later, but he savors this, grinning as he affectionately bumps foreheads with his partner and flips off a shoe.
The fun is over when Rorschach pretty much kicks him across the room for running a thumb up the ball of his foot. It’s a gut shot, so the brunette only manages the edge of his kitchen before he’s puking all over the tile. Rorschach apologetically, if awkwardly pats his back while he heaves. He huffs indignantly when Dan grins back at him. But he isn’t petty, even if the defeat makes him ashamed of himself (for being taken down by tickling, of all things, but he’s never been touched in that way in his life either) and wounds his pride. He pulls down his mask and he flops on the couch while Dan goes to clean up the mess. He also transports his can of soda to a coaster.
Later he begins to forget his promises, though at first he will slip in the windows and shake Dan awake for his nightly visits. But Dan manages to finally talk some sense into the man that next morning, and since Rorschach has finally gotten his sleep he’s a bit more agreeable. There’s really only one of the promises he needed to be kept. The rest he can work out along the way.
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairing: Gen. Involves Rorschach and Dan (Nite Owl II)
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Warnings: Mention of vomit, nothing too big
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. I'm sure whoever has rights to them will hate me.
Summary: Daniel Dreiberg is a patient man and a good friend. Really.
AN: I wrote this originally for one of the many Watchmen kink memes at least a year ago. The prompt was "tickling", but I couldn't really do it as a serious piece. I don't know if the original requester enjoyed what I had to write, but I know a few of my anonymous /co/mrades did. I do have two known pieces of art for this fic, which is pretty much light-hearted boys-will-be-boys tomfoolery. I'll have to upload them later, though.
Nite Owl had challenged the tyrany of the Underboss, taken down criminals twice his size with twice the firepower. Hell, before Archimedes was ever in the picture, he was flinging himself across rooftops with a grappling gun and spring-soled boots (that had really been a bad idea, all things considered). He had never felt so close to death.
It had been building up, really. It was only a matter of time. He had been pulling his hair out over the countless false alarms raised in the night from the clattering arising from his kitchen pantry. He woke up in the morning and there was no sugar for his goddamn coffee. Like a racoon- really, he couldn’t think of a better metaphor! Pawing through his inventory of canned goods, stealing away into the night without so much as a how-do-you-do. And just because he /had/ the money didn’t mean he /wanted/ to keep pulling it out of his pockets to keep repairing his door. He was beginning to entertain thoughts of having another housekey made, but then that would mean he was encouraging this sort of behavior.
Then again, what did it say when he went out night after night without saying a thing to the perpetrator? Rorschach was there every night -unless he wasn’t, which Dan never got notice of- riding beside him in the hull of Archie or striding strong at his shoulder in the streets. Neither of them said anything about it, and Dan simply had to sigh and shake his head because he was just as an enabler. It wasn’t all bad, after all. Sometimes his partner lingered when caught in the act of poaching, sat at the table and humored Daniel’s attempts at casual conversation. Sometimes. Or they talked about the next big bust, the details of their next mission, which he knew the masked man was much more eager for. And that was pleasant.
Lately, though, lately it had been trying Dan’s saint-worthy patience. Five nights in a row, they’d been chasing down a drug ring that seemed to be three steps ahead. Much to Nite Owl’s dismay, they had even taken the sewers in hopes of surprising what they had been led to believe was one of the higher up officers. Again, a little fish, a front man that knew as much about anything as the vigilantes. Another address to search, an abandoned warehouse to show for it. Even if he let Rorschach drag him through the streets until he was raw one breadcrumb after another, Nite Owl knew they were going to have to slip back under the radar again, wait for mistakes to be made. He knew it wasn’t what his partner wanted to hear, wasn’t something he would be convinced of through the same trivialities that made Dan want to throw his hands up.
He awoke to the sound of his basement door hitting the wall downstairs, meaning his partner had taken the route into the lair. Probably had taken some tools too. Dan reluctantly rose from his bed- he knew Rorschach wasn’t getting any sleep over this. Infuriated, no doubt, that he kept being had. Couldn’t blame him, but something needed to be said.
Daniel found him with a can of peaches in one hand and a can of Coca-Cola in the other, nestled in the crook of his downstairs couch. He had his mask drawn up to his nose, all square jaw and stubble and loud noises as he slurped the juice from the peach can.
“Amastad another wash. Potential bases running out.” Was all he had to offer. He had a dog-eared map spread on the table before him, marks all over it where they had found information and crossed out every failure. Dan noticed they had increased substancially.
“I’ll say,” Dan mused, “You’ve nearly covered the whole city.”
“Necessary for success.”
“Yes, desperation calls for drastic measures...”
There is a tense silence. Rorschach chews on a peach slice with ruthless fervor. Schlorp schlorp.
“Listen, Rorschach,” Dan sighs, feeling sorry for letting his exhaustion get the better of him. “They know we’re looking for them. Even the dumbest criminal can avoid an investigation if they know the roads we’re taking.”
“So change course.” With the mask out of the way, Dan could see Rorschach was speaking through gritted teeth. He wasn’t going to let this go. He kind of had the pitbull thing going for him. But Dan wasn’t amused. He was tired and he was beginning to feel desperate for his friend.
“We need to lay low for a while. Make them think that we quit.”
“Hrn. But /they/ won’t quit.” He set the can of peaches down on the coffee table and cracked open his can of coke, taking long swallows and wrinkling his short nose reflexively as it burned all the way down. “Can’t let them win.”
Daniel knew it. Somehow, Rorschach had gotten it into his head that he had something to prove to himself by persuing this case. Neither of them could possibly know it now, but things were going to get a lot worse in the future, the stakes would be much higher. Right now Daniel thought his partner was wound so tight he was bound to pass out from brain deterioration (from the man’s clear insomnia) all from clutching at coat tails. Rorschach was taking this way too seriously for his own good, but he was too damn ate up with it to see reason. And Dan wasn’t really good at being anything but reasonable when baring down his friends and colleagues. He was still grasping for something to say when Rorschach said it.
“Don’t need to come. You rest, Daniel.”
Maybe the masked man hadn’t meant it to be patronizing, didn’t mean for it to sound like he was implying Nite Owl step aside. But Daniel reared his head back like he had been slapped all the same, the words making him blink behind his glasses in rapidfire offense. It stings. He is a young man then, they both are, and he has his pride too.
“You stubborn bastard, you’re going to be so dazed that /if/ you find them, they’re not even going to have to try and kill you. You’ll keel right over! Goddamn you.”
He’s seething and Rorschach ignores him. Ignores him! He places down his coke on the table and leans back into the couch, head turned toward the door. He’s thinking about leaving. In the next moment he will. Dan’s eyes draw to the shimmering beads of sweat that are coming from the can and are beginning to form a puddle on his table.
“Are you going to put that on a coaster?” He whispers, nearly hoarse with rage and desperation.
“No.”
That’s it. The shit hits the fan.
Daniel and Rorschach are a tangle of limbs and anger on the couch where Dan has thrown himself at his partner with the pure intent of strangling him. No shake of the head or finger waggle- Oh, Rorschach, you pig-headed rascal, you! Just raw energy that has them stuggling against one another, trying to do harm and gain control of the situation all the same. Rorschach’s hands are slamming into Dan’s chest, pounding his back, pushing his cheeks and lips into odd angles as he both tries to fight and flee. Daniel shows how much of a saint he’s not, cursing Rorschach’s name and his crudeness and letting out everything he’s been holding back for weeks. It’s enough to make a sailor blush.
The wrestling is so violent it flips them both over the couch. Rorschach ends up on the bottom, so it winds him, and Daniel is shaking him like he can rid the man of all his horrible habits just by that. It’s all so rediculous, watching the other’s head waggle like a bobble doll, his mouth still agape with surprise, and he doesn’t care he’s so frustrated. And god, Rorschach smells so damn bad he wants to gag; he probably hadn’t even washed his clothes since the sewer incident. Before the shorter man can do anything like cold-clock him, Daniel pins his wrists and sinks his weight down just as Rorschach begins to buck and roar.
“GET OFF!”
“SCREW YOU, RORSCHACH!” He yells right back at him, though he sounds more like a dove trying to crow. Or an owl screeching. “We’re doing it MY WAY. You OWE ME.”
But Rorschach simply thrashes, gritting his teeth and curling his lip defiantly. Though they can’t be seen, his eyes are burning. The mask ripples his fury for him in distressed spatterings. “Action NOW!”
However, Dan knows his weight is too much for his partner (or soon to be ex-partner, it looked like) to handle in this position. He still fears for his life, fears that the man will rear up and tear out his throat with his teeth. He’s so powerful and raw even now. They pant harshly between one another for more moments, staring the other down though it’s hard to take Dan serious with his so glasses askew and his hair frazzled up like feathers of an irrate bird. Dan has the advantage, though, so it’s his move. And he gets a terrible idea, an idea that he thinks may bring him pains worse than death. But it just may work.
While they’re taking the next breath, the brunette’s hands free themselves from their white-knuckled death grip on the smaller man’s wrists. Only milliseconds exist as he delves them deep inside the trenchcoat beneath and find the muscled sides of his captive, squeezing just enough to tease the muscle. Rorschach goes as stiff as a plank, his head rearing back to thump the floor. Dan continues, and gloved fingers spring up to try and ineffectually claw at his arms as Rorschach chokes then makes a sharp keening sound.
“Ennk! Ennk!”
Dan begins to feel a grin stretching his features, and his fingers are livid up Rorschach’s sides as the man gasps and squirms and wheezes before finally, yes, finally he is laughing. You couldn’t really call it laughing by normal standards, it’s more of a whispery choking noise and the occasional snort from the man’s nostrils as he tries to suck it back in. He’s even harder to hold onto when they were fighting, kicking and arching, slapping at Daniel’s face only to miss because the man saw it coming.
“Dan--iel! Stop! No! Kke-ghh--!”
“No more bashing in the door!” The brunette rattles off his demands, “No more pilfering! Late night snacks- you ask!”
The masked man’s body strains beneath him, trying to twist away and finding no purchase. “Ys--ck!”
“What?”
“YES!”
Daniel can see moisture trickling down from the mask, clear rivulets down the speckled cheeks and past the gasping tight-lipped smile that may have been forced but still makes Daniel feel so damn accomplished.
“You’re staying here tonight and sleeping! On the couch! And you’ll be here in the morning! We’re going to talk!”
That one is a little harder, but he knows if Rorschach makes the promise he can’t go back on it. There is a brief struggle where the smaller man grits his teeth and tries to frown. Daniel reaches down and finds the crook of one of his knees, squeezes the muscle above the kneecap until the man howls what he wants to hear before dissolving into laughter again. He knows the man will be angry with him later, but he savors this, grinning as he affectionately bumps foreheads with his partner and flips off a shoe.
The fun is over when Rorschach pretty much kicks him across the room for running a thumb up the ball of his foot. It’s a gut shot, so the brunette only manages the edge of his kitchen before he’s puking all over the tile. Rorschach apologetically, if awkwardly pats his back while he heaves. He huffs indignantly when Dan grins back at him. But he isn’t petty, even if the defeat makes him ashamed of himself (for being taken down by tickling, of all things, but he’s never been touched in that way in his life either) and wounds his pride. He pulls down his mask and he flops on the couch while Dan goes to clean up the mess. He also transports his can of soda to a coaster.
Later he begins to forget his promises, though at first he will slip in the windows and shake Dan awake for his nightly visits. But Dan manages to finally talk some sense into the man that next morning, and since Rorschach has finally gotten his sleep he’s a bit more agreeable. There’s really only one of the promises he needed to be kept. The rest he can work out along the way.