Watchmen Kink Meme 3. Weeeeeeee.
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 just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such is also acceptable/awesome. Multiple people may respond to ( Read more... )
Music to help with visual aid = Sneaker Pimps - Small Town Witch
deep ink 1/?
He takes his clients in complete silence, lithe movement and stiff, nearly inaudible gasps for air in lieu of words or moans. He’s well known throughout the area, and it isn’t because of his screaming bright red hair or because of his odd alias or the fact that he’s all rough edges and flesh that you could tell was once torn all over. It’s not even that he’s particularly talented in the oldest occupation in history.
“You’ve got the silence,” the Twilight Lady tells him one day as he lays his head in her lap, cigarette coming away from her own plush lips and a plume of smoke. With her other hand, she reaches down to stroke a freckle-spattered cheek.
“We’ve got different appeal, you and I. I fucking love sex. I love everything about it. I love the way it smells, the way it might look to someone watching; I love the way the tricks look as I’m becoming a fantasy that they can’t play out with their prudish, breeder wives, I love the lingering feeling of being used, I love loving it. But you. You manage to stay true to yourself, and stay in the business. Now that,” she stops to suck on her cigarette, “is something.”
Walter likes it better when she’s high. She thinks more clearly, says things that should (and sometimes do) go into his journal. She’s more honest with herself and the world, and that’s something he can definitely respect. He wonders what she could have been like if that kind of energy was put to use in school, or an honest living, but he doesn’t pity her. Nor does he entertain the thought in anything other than a passing sigh.
“You don’t get high,” she says, looking down at him. “But you don’t need it.” She exhales again, dancing pink lights filtering through blankets of smoke.
You’ve got the silence, he thinks he hears again, as he drifts to sleep. The dead space between you and whoever you’re fucking is precious. Valuable. You turn it into something; lord knows how. No wasted breath on lying, screaming how much you want it, for them to fuck harder and faster. For you to want to come.
Nope.
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By then, it had occurred to him that he would never see his father. If he had survived World War II, well, there was still the Korean War he could have died from, and it’s not like he could blame him for not returning or even sending a letter to say such a thing. If he hadn’t, then it’s not like they would have received a death notice from the War Department-Charlie never married his mother.
But it’s okay, because he and his mom had gotten by just fine without any paychecks or help from him or anyone else. He’d staved off the protective services enough times so that they’d leave him be, swearing that the bruises and swollen lips were from encounters at school and extracurricular boxing lessons and not from the hand of the woman that bore him.
Besides, it was half true, right? Right.
Right then, I Love Lucy played in the background as his mother lay crumpled on the floor beside the kitchen table, wailing unintelligibly. He’d walked in on her from school not too long ago and knew better than to approach her directly until she had calmed down and made eye contact with him. He deduced from the situation (one-fourth full bottle of Jack next to a pathetic pile of rumpled bills and change, a broken glass nearby and a reeking puddle of alcohol) that she was short on the rent. Again. He dropped his books.
“Waaaaaah,” cried Lucy, and Walter winced at the television, deciding that it contrasted poorly to the situation. He moved to switch it off.
“Walt,” she said through sniffles. He stopped, turning to her for a moment.
“Mommy’s a fuck-up,” she sputtered. “Mommy’s a big fuck-up.”
He turned the dial to off and went back to kneel beside her.
“No you’re not, mama,” he murmured, possibly too low for her to hear as she burst into another fit of drunken tears, nearly retching up the contents of her stomach.
He’d heard it all before. It’d happened nearly every month since the boys headed off to another far away country he hadn’t heard of before, taking with them the slim possibility that his father might return. Two years ago they returned, bringing with them a flood of more foreign refugees which will make people like he and his mom struggle even more in the battle to find legitimate work.
He wrapped his arms around her neck and let her soak his school shirt with sobs and slobber and snot. When she was done and blew her nose on it, she stood shakily and made her way to the vanity in her room to prepare for the night ahead. She didn’t say anything else to Walter.
Walter didn’t want to give her the opportunity, either. He understood what it was he had to do to release some of the weight from his mom’s shoulders.
He turned out the door again to look for Leslie.
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Background Music = Massive Attack - Mezzanine
deep ink #3
1965
The john isn’t waiting eagerly as he comes out of the shower with the towel draped around his shoulders, as opposed to wrapped around his waist. He’s known this one for some time and formalities weren’t used-if such formalities ever existed in such relations. Instead, the young college student with black-dyed hair that hangs sloppily over his eyes sat at the edge of the bed, legs kicking off, the weight of his Nikon F camera heavy against his bare chest. He is giddy from amphetamines.
Walter faces the wall and flings his towel behind him so that he can dry his back, catching it with his other hand.
“Stop! Hold it,” his client says.
Walter obeys, listening to his bare feet scrape the floor as he approached. He didn’t jerk back or twitch as his nameless client ran rough fingers across his trapezius muscles.
“Fuck!” he says, a little too loudly for Walter not to jump a little. They fuck in the light, so the entire room is illuminated, but everything else is muted-even the constant wailing of sirens seems far away here. “I can’t believe I never thought of this before.”
He orders Walter not to move as he sets up a light source that will glean on and emphasize the sculpted muscles of his back in good contrast. After a few shots, he curses himself again for not making him drop the towel; it’s in the way. He takes a few more. Now, the picture looks strange and out of context because why is Walter holding his hands up in midair like so? What is he doing? What is he thinking?
“Never mind,” he says, taking a few more shots. “I like that idea.”
So the focus today is on Walter’s back. When the john sits on the edge of the bed and beckons for him to come (flashing pictures of his feet as he comes nearer), it’s those trapezius muscles that he slides his hands across first, snaking their way down to grab his ass and pull him closer between his legs. Walter lets him bury his face into his taut abs and lick his navel. A simple action such as wrapping his forearms around the man’s neck encourages him to move his hands back up Walter’s hips and fling him on his back. He took more pictures as he climbed up the bed on his knees. Walter truly feels whorish, spread out like one of the girls in the old black and white “nudie photos” his mother’s customers would leave around.
As his client pulls a rubber out of his pocket and tears it open with his teeth, he remembers this man likening themselves to the photographer Bellocq and his honest whores. He holds the condom in his mouth as he pulls his pants off and tosses them off to the side. In a rare instance, Walter can’t think of that comparison as an oxymoron. He opens his mouth for him and the man’s tongue slides in, tasting like cigarettes and dope and rubber, the oily film of lubricant coating the walls of his mouth.
Twilight Lady said that he was as honest as a whore could get.
The student towers over Walter on his knees before pulling him up by the back of his neck and lowering him down to face his cock, a small needle-point drop of pre-come beading at the tip already. He lets the flesh lean delicately against his bottom lip for moment before he takes it in, (Beautiful, the client says with the click and snap of the shutter) drawing a long, exasperated exhale out of him as the tip of his cock pushed against his tonsils. He fought against his gag reflex, pushing until he couldn’t breathe. When he pulled out, his throat made an involuntary gagging noise, hinting to the student what his voice might sound like. Saliva and pre-come drip down his mouth and chest, a wisp of moisture stretching the dense air between him and his john. Walter looks up at him, mouth parted, and following a quick succession of snaps, he feels like he’s looking down the barrel of a gun.
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He remembers that the man’s idea of a perfect shot would be of them fucking like this, from the back detailing the contours of his muscular back and how it joins with his thighs and gluts to form an image of a man unraveled. He lets go of Walter’s hips, letting him angle himself, arch his back, move on his own accord.
The shutter closes.
The shutter closes.
The shutter closes.
They fuck harder now, and god, if Walter finds out that he’s actually enjoying this-never mind instinctive bodily reactions like an erection--he swears from then on that he’ll mimic his john, who comes to him every week with a new incision on his thighs and forearms and a new sob story to tell about how hard school is and a new track mark in the crease of his elbow. He arches his neck to look at the ceiling for a moment.
The shutter closes.
He closes his eyes, just for a second.
The shutter closes.
“Fuck!” the man says, and despite his profession, Walter is put-off by swear words enough to snap his head back and look at his john with open eyes an an open mouth. That really seems to do it.
The shutter closes.
The man’s fingers taste like stop bath and fixer, a distinguished taste that he wouldn’t experience anywhere else, the identity of this particular trick.
He tenses up-
The shutter closes, and the roll of film whirs for thirty seconds.
--
Later, as the college kid showers and Walter is leaning his side against the window, his elbow rested atop the window sill, he thinks of Leslie and her johns. He imagines how her night is going, how she is mutually satisfied each time, how she doesn’t decline offers from her clients to pleasure her.
He hears the shower stop and moves out of the curtain of moonlight the window offers, so that the photographer won’t see his pose and want to admire it.
One day, he needs to figure out how to reconcile the concepts of jealousy and disgust.
--
Captcha: Texas steeps. TEXAS REPRESENT WHOO
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It always hurts to see Walter justifying things to himself like that.
he feels like he’s looking down the barrel of a gun.
I should not find that so hot.
Oh my fucking god, I LOVE the dynamic you've set up between TL and Walter. It is so awesome. There is also something...I don't...I can't really put it into words, but the sex scene between Walter and the photographer - particular the repetition of 'The shutter closes' - affected me. I'm also intrigued by the fact that rather than being forced into the profession one way or another, he chose to do it. Seriously excellent start; we can never have too much whore!schach. Looking forward to the next update.
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YES YOU SHOULD. PHOTOGRAPHY IS SEXY. XD
So glad you enjoyed this, anon. I really tried very hard to tap into something that hasn't been done before. Writing Watchmen characters is soooo haaaard XD I was afraid this was going to be utter fail.
Thanks!
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And LESLIE! (I was a little pissed when my story didn't let me do anything with her.) Leslie is spot-on the happy hooker, I esp. liked the line about how she "loves loving it," which is apropos b/c being a whore is supposed to be intrinsically shameful, and you're not supposed to love it. But that's Leslie for you. I luff her so, and their relationship (romantic, sexual or otherwise) is boss.
Sorry for rambling. but this was HOT and WOW and SUCH a great start. I am all a-flutter to see how Dan works into this! Moremoremore, and soon!
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Ohhhmygoood. I'm new to this fandom, so to be honest, it's actually super hard for me to make good on everyone's personalities. (That, and this is literally the FIRST THING I'VE WRITTEN IN A YEAR AND A HALF). I'm really glad someone likes it XD
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WHAT this is the first thing you've written in a year and a half? You better stay in this fandom and keep writing us more. :| Or else!
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And YES. Pregnancy + marriage + new babby = NO IDEAS. I was so frustrated in the days before coming up with this. XD I'm glad you like it.
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1955
His first kiss was a whore’s kiss.
“You sure?”
He was squatting in the alley way, back against the brick wall as she takes a knee beside him. She popped her bubble gum in his ear.
“Stop,” he said firmly.
“Jeez, okay.” She moved away and sat next to him. “Well… how you wanna do this?”
“Don’t you know anyone that… you know.”
“Takes boys?” He winced; she popped again, though that time a considerable distance away from his ear. Absently, she twirls her red curls. “Gee…”
“There has to be some real sickos you’ve seen.”
“Yeah, well, they’re all sickos. Tell you what,” she said, standing, offering him a hand. He took it and pulled himself up, declining an offer for a piece of her annoying gum.
“Next time I do my rounds, I’ll ask around. ‘Kay?”
“Do you like it?” Walter asked suddenly. Leslie blinked at the question, as if someone had suddenly repeated a dirty secret from her diary. He knew she’d been doing it for at least a year now; everyone did except for her parents. He thought it was a pretty legitimate question.
“Uh… Well,” she kicked at wet gravel beneath her worn Mary Janes.
“Yeah, actually.”
She made eye contact with Walter and decided, based on the way his face was about to contort into a mixed expression of shock and disgust, to put the spotlight back on him.
She shook her head. “Look, this isn’t right. You don’t even know how--“
“How to what?”
She paused and smirked, which he didn’t like. “Well, for one, to kiss.”
There wasn’t a very long pause between her last words and his.
“Show me.”
She sat on her knees in front of him, excitedly turning on her professionalism.
“Okay well, first of all, you have to relax. Take a deep breath.”
He sighed, instead.
“… Okay, that’ll do. Next, you have to lean in-“
“Contrary to popular belief, Leslie, I’m not a retard. Get on with it.”
She made a face at him and leaned in to meet his lips. He pressed against them, lasting for several seconds, until she slipped her tongue in, and he jerked away, pulling his knees up to his chest. His blush was like wildfire crawling up his pale neck and face.
She sighed back. “See? You can’t do that, Walter.”
Angrily, he pushed himself up the wall and stalked in the direction of home, hands deep in pockets.
She called after him, “Well if you can’t even kiss, what are you gonna do for him, huh? Stare at him until he gets a hard-on?”
It’s when she said those words that Walter understood the full gravity of what he was trying to do. He turned back to her.
“Let’s try this again,” she said.
The next time, his lips were still slack, but he was able to part his mouth to let her in. She could feel him tense up, resisting without pulling away. When he tried to reciprocate, he bit her tongue on accident, painfully scraping his teeth against hers as she pulled away.
“Ow,” she said, tears in her eyes.
“Sorry.”
Her face sank into her palm. “We have a lot of work to do.”
He set his jaw, a twisted kind of determination solidified in his face.
“Rent’s due at the end of the week.”
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Walter’s biggest issue, Leslie contemplated between stops one day, was that… well, Walt had a lot of issues. But the main one was that it was so obvious that he didn’t want it.
“Do you understand?” She stopped and turned to Walter, not even knowing that she had simply been thinking her words and Walter knew nothing of them.
Confused, he shook his head no.
“You can’t just suck someone’s dick for five dollars and expect them to like it.”
“Why should I care if they like it or not? They’re getting what they paid for, aren’t they?”
Leslie opened her mouth to respond, but shut it. Sometimes, Walter spoke with a stroke of pure genius. What he said began to make sense before she shook her curls. I will not get caught up in a fight about morals with Walter. I will not get caught up in a debate with Walter. I will not get caught up…
In the next alleyway, she surprised him by taking the collar of his coat and slamming his small frame up against the brick, her mouth coming down on him with the pressure of a can opener. Instinctively he tried to push her away, but she caught his hands and held him against the rough material, scraping his hands against it. She pried his lips open and slid her tongue in.
…and still, nothing of note about his kissing besides the way he wrenches free from her and slaps her across the face, hard.
When she recovered and simply frowned at him in disdain, he felt nauseous. He thought of the men that waited in his hallway, the ones that tried to touch him and call him “sonny” or “little man.” He thought of the man who was with his mom behind her closed door when he heard her scream and later found her on the ground with a broken nose, blood gushing freely over the dirty carpet.
“You’re a terrible kisser, Walter,” she sneered, wiping her mouth. His face whitened.
Walter turned heel and ran.
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deep ink #9
For the third time since she’d become one of Twilight Lady’s charges, Bit had been assaulted again.
Walter had been tasked by both himself and Twilight to check up on her regularly if there was time; she likewise had been assigned to a specific spot within reach of her headquarters so that escape from a dangerous situation could be made as quickly as possible.
On his way to see Leslie, he ducked into one of three alleys that she was permitted to “vend” in. The chipper way she smiles and says “Hi, oppa,” don’t give away much, but the way a flickering light gleans onto a part of her flesh that shouldn’t be as dark as the splotches of grime under their feet say a lot.
He beckons her to come closer, and when her smile falters and she hesitates for a moment, he goes to her, delicately taking her face into his hands and examining the discolored part of her cheek.
“Not so bad,” she quips nervously. “Man gave me five hundred. Didn’t do much.”
He snaps her neck up-not unlike what some of his johns have done to him-and examines the rope burn there. In a second, his mind turns to the man with the fedora hat, who sometimes bound his wrists with a rope-but no. New York City is big enough for more than one of the type.
Effortlessly fighting her protest and the grating of her heels onto the pavement, he drags her out of the alleyway, hails the next taxi and shoves her in it, a wad of cash pushed into her chipped, manicured fingers. As the taxi drives away, he tries not to make eye contact with the doll like face pressed against the window.
--
Upon entering Leslie’s palace, Walter noticed that there were more girls in than usual present, all huddled in a circle near the stairs, chattering in hushed voices as if someone would give a damn about what they were discussing.
The circle broke up momentarily, but only to look at him as they approached.
“Hey, Vermillion,” Walter grimaced at his de facto alias, “You haven’t uh… You haven’t seen Dani around, have you?”
Dani had been with he and Leslie since they were in high school; she was a bright, blonde girl who had opted to try her hand at college while continuing to hook-an easy profession that didn’t take much experience, or time. She was a philosophy major, and even though he never said a word back, he enjoyed listening to her talk about what she had debated at school during her Socratic seminars.
He had noticed her missing several days ago, but, not actually being in Twilight Lady’s employ, hadn’t heard any of the other girls talking about it and simply assumed that she was busy with school. It wouldn’t have been the first time that one had taken a few days off to deal with their personal matters. But the context of the situation implied that she hadn’t told anyone about it, nor did she clear it with her madam, either. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, if she wasn’t the second girl to go missing.
Considering Bit for a moment, he shook his head and pushed past them to ascend the stairs.
As soon as he opened the door and stepped in, he was met with the large, blurred black and white print of the Gazette right in his face.
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