Watchmen Kink Meme 2: Electric Boogaloo. Or not.
Alright, alright, I'm back now. Here ya go kids. (You're just lucky the other one didn't run out in the middle of my vacation grumble grumble)
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work ( Read more... )
He was a big man, built like a linebacker and something about him was vaguely familiar. At least the form was familiar, no one could see a face so twisted with sneering disgust and forget it.
He continued to work the bag for a few minutes and Dan was getting ready to turn the tape off, well and truly weirded out, and write the whole thing off as a bizarre joke. The man gave the bag one last kick. He turned directly towards the camera and grinned. Dan felt spider legs tickling his neck. The man spun the bag, locating the zipper that held the padding, and peeled it down. A skinny figure in a rumpled suit and wife-beater tumbled out and hit the floor hard.
Dan’s hand shot out and he hit the pause button in a reflex of self-preservation. He did not- did not want to see this. The footage froze midway in a fantastic action still of the almost-stranger pulling back to stomp directly on Rorschach’s left ankle. Dan closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the warm glass of the tv screen. Fuzzy bits of electricity tickled his forehead and made his hair dance with static. It was a comforting feeling for someone who’d spent his happiest hours soldering and tinkering, and Dan stayed like that until the pause wore off and he heard the VCR begin to whir again.
When he looked again, the man was kneeling on Rorschach’s chest, forcing a wad of white material with unique black markings into the mouth of the sorriest looking human being Dan had ever seen. Rorschach’s head was lolling alarmingly but he fought his attacker and tried to spit the mask out. He got a closed-fisted jab between the eyes and a strip of duct tape over his mouth for his efforts.
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Leaning over him, the man unbuckled Rorschach’s trousers and jerked them, along with his underwear down to his ankles. Rorschach twitched and bucked when those big hands grazed along his hips, but it must have felt as obscene as it looked and he froze and lay breathing like something hunted. The man dropped his own shorts carelessly to the side. He gripped Rorschach around the thighs and rocked against him, his mouth slack with- no, not pleasure because no one could- please don’t let it be possible that someone could enjoy doing that.
The man spread Rorschach and slid forward into him. His expression never changed. There was no sound on the video, and of course Dan knew too well that Rorschach was gagged, but in his head there was an awful soundtrack of angry, miserable Rorschach noises timed along with the brutal, unflagging thrusts. The man- scum, monster, motherfucking rapist, no word bad enough to describe- kneaded Rorschach’s ass and Dan noticed to his own horror that Rorschach really did have a nice, round ass for such a skinny guy.
It must have been hot in there. The rapist was gleaming with sweat and Rorschach’s wife beater was sticking to every contour. It was obscene, Rorschach being slid back and forth on the damp leather with every stroke, struggling like two halves of an earthworm split by a cruel child; slick and ugly and helpless. Dan was numb, but the rational part of his brain recognized the insidious sadism of this form of restraint.
If Rorschach could only focus his strength, lift one arm- he felt sick even thinking like that, and knew with terrible certainty that this had been done specifically because it was something that Rorschach would never forgive himself for.
One final thrust and it was over. The man withdrew, a thin stream of cum fell against the flushed, freckled skin. The man stepped away, out of frame, and there were dark smears of blood visible on Rorschach’s inner thighs. When he returned a moment later he was wearing a clean pair of shorts and smoking a cigar.
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Is about.
To die.
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The man hauled Rorschach across the room and shoved him belly-down onto a bench upholstered in black leather. He braced a knee against Rorschach’s back and reached for a weight from the stack. The man was strong, but it cost him some effort to drag the weights forward. Each one was attached to a metal cuff, lined with terrycloth. Gritting his teeth, the man pinned Rorschach’s clawing arm and snapped the weight tightly around his wrist. Tethered like that, the weight dragged Rorschach’s arm to the floor. He secured Rorschach’s other limbs, wrenching the broken ankle cruelly, and arranged the thin body to be splayed out starfish-like.
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