Full House: Two Jacks and Three Queens 2/4
Title: Full House: Two Jacks and Three Queens
Pairings: R/NO
Warnings: AU, mildly sexual scenes, rampant cliches, OCs (that's a warning, right?)
Disclaimer: Sing it with me, now!
Alan Moore, he had a book,
E-I-E-I-O!
And in that book, there were hot guys,
E-I-E-I-O!
And I don't own them, so please don't sue,
Here a "don't," there a "sue," everywhere a "don't sue,"
Please don't sue me, 'cause I'm broke,
E-I-E-I-O!
Summary: Rorschach and Nite Owl are captured by a pair of vice queens. The terms of their release are simple, but simple doesn't always mean easy...
Author's Notes: Co-op fic with tonights. Enjoy!
Dan was alone. Well, alone with his partner tied to a chair. He crossed the room in long strides to rectify that situation and dropped to his knees besides the bound vigilante. "Rorschach? Rorschach? Are you okay? They said sweating and nausea - "
"Nnnrg. Fine, Daniel. No lasting harm done. Untie me." His voice was mostly normal, with an undertone of shaky weakness so faint that it almost wasn't there. Dan suspected that he wouldn't have picked up on it at all if he didn't know his partner so well. He began to fiddle with the knots of the silken rope, then cursed and cut them apart with the knife in his utility belt. Rorschach's hands were freed in only a moment, but he'd scraped his wrists raw with struggling. He was sweating, and profusely too - Dan could smell the salt pouring out of him.
"You're sure you're all right?" he tried hesitantly.
Rorschach snorted at him and stood up with ease. "Sure. Fine. Just a hit on the head when they brought me in. No warning, couldn't fight them off." He was on his feet for about a second and a half when his legs buckled without warning and he doubled over with a moan, knees hitting the elaborate Oriental rug.
Dan reached for him involuntarily, then pulled back with a jerk before he could make contact with Rorschach's shoulder. "Constance and Mm - uh. The - the whores. They said they gave you some kind of chemical that caused nausea and sweating and eventual organ failure, so it's fairly important that you tell me exactly how you're really feeling."
Silence, then a grunt. "Sweating. Achy. Not nauseous yet." He raised his face to Dan and the blots swirled inscrutably as the two of them knelt there on the floor.
The undeniable, unthinkable reality of it all hung between them in the trembling silence. If the two women - to hell with them - had told the truth and given Rorschach something, they'd presumably also been correct about the cure. Dan pushed that right out of his mind and got hurriedly to his feet. "Okay. Well, you just stay there on the floor for a minute while I look for a way out of here. I can take you to Ozymandias."
"Ozymandias?" Rorschach sat down more fully, crossing his legs. "Can't you fix it?"
"He's very good with chemicals. I'm not, really. I'm only good on the mechanical end of things. But he'll know what to do, I'm sure he'll be able to come up with some kind of antidote." He began inspecting the door, knowing that was likely fruitless. It was stout and heavy, with three steel bolts and thick hinges. Not to mention that there were two huge be-monacled henchmen waiting outside, and he probably wouldn't make it if he had to fight them off and carry Rorschach too (which was seeming a more and more a distinct possibility). He looked in dismay at the triple bolt keyholes and thought of the jailer's ring of keys Mercy carried. "Rorschach, do you have your lockpick kit?"
A pause, then, "No. They must have emptied my pockets."
"Damn." He'd have to invent something l to get out of situations like this, maybe some kind of laser...? He pushed that thought away as well and moved to the stained glass window. Breaking it wouldn't get anywhere - he knew only too well that they were underground and the window artificially lit from behind. Another dead end. He stared blankly at the glass apples swelling on the tree with a promise of sweetness and temptation, and tried to clear his mind. There weren't any accessible vents he could crawl through... he started tapping aimlessly on the walls, not sure what he was hoping to find.
He found his little clockwork owl sitting in a place of prominence on the mantle, right under two framed paintings that were probably priceless. The upper levels of the building functioned as a public art and furniture museum, and the girls didn't buy any reproductions. They must have truly prized this piece, if they'd put it here, a place of honor for a dear friend's gift...
"...I hope you don't mind, but I, uh, I sort of threw this together. Nothing much, you know, but I thought that you'd..." He ran a hand through his hair and grinned crookedly, proudly through the lamplit dimness. "It sort of goes with the place, don't you think?"
"Why, Daniel! It's simply amazing!" In a tone of wonder Mercy touched the little metal owl with one long finger, sweet clove smoke trailing unnoticed from the lit cigarette in her holder.
Constance bent closer to peer at the owl's face, then looked up at Dan, pleased astonishment writ large in her dark eyes. "This must have taken you forever, all those cunning little pieces! What does it do?"
"Well, that's the best part, watch." He produced a little brass key, inserted it into a hole on the back of the clockwork and wound it up with a rhythmic tick-tick-tick. The owl raised one wing, then the other, turned its head and clicked its beak. It had taken him incalculable hours to get the motions calibrated exactly right, but it had been worth it - it moved exactly like a real owl, except it was made of silver and brass instead of feathers and flesh. "I know all your decor is old things but I figured this looks nouveau enough to fit in, and, well, I wanted to make you something. And this is it." The three of them watched the little owl go through all of its little owl-motions until its gears wound down and it came to a stop on the polished wood of their private table, lofted and secluded from the main parlor and bar.
With a delighted giggle, Constance lifted her skirts and settled herself in one smooth motion onto Dan's lap, kissing him gently. His arms wove instinctively around her waist, pressing her closer, the feel of her full breasts and rounded hips belying the childlike facade. "What a charming gift, Mr. Dreiberg," she purred, nestling her crisp curls under his chin. "We shall treasure it always as our rarest of pieces. But what," she pulled back suddenly, catching his eyes with her darkly-lined gaze, "can we ever do to return the favor?"
Dan's mouth went suddenly dry. He wanted to move Constance away, to reach for his wine and say something nonchalant, no favors required, just a trifle, really. But he was drawn in, his eyes shifting back and forth from the tall siren in red to the petite lolita in blue, as captive as he was from the first night, as he was on every night he visited the Abbey, until Constance broke into a sweet smile. "Oh, I see, Mr. Dreiberg. I see."
She hopped off of Dan's lap and moved around the table to whisper in Mercy's ear, one hand theatrically shading her lips. Mercy's brows rose in elegant surprise. "Really?" she asked, both women smiling as Constance nodded eagerly.
Dan was bewildered. What had transpired here, and why was he not informed? "Now, hang on, ladies, you don't have to, I mean, I didn't do this for-"
Mercy simply held up one gloved hand, silencing Dan's objections as Constance tugged on a velvet bell pull. Within seconds, a young woman in a maid's uniform entered the loft and curtsied gracefully. "Ah, Agnes," Mercy said warmly. "Do clear the schedules for both Abbess Constance and myself for the next..." an appraising glance at Dan, and then another smile, "three hours, I think? No, make it four. And turn down the Persian Room, please. Make sure that the bathroom supplies are fully replenished." Agnes bobbed another curtsy and faded away down the stairs. "I do believe that we have a few minutes. Another glass, Daniel?"
Comprehension dawned in Daniel's mind and he swallowed and shifted in his seat, hoping to ease the tightness in two places. "Uh... ladies, I... you really don't have to-"
A satin-gloved finger on his lips silenced him, and he looked up to see Mercy standing above him, the sharp imposing image fading into softness as she slipped off his glasses. "Hush now, Daniel. Constance tells me that this is your desire, and so it shall be yours."
Mercy bent to capture his lips with her own while behind him, Constance peppered the nape of his neck with brief, maddening kisses. "You needn't worry so, Mr. Dreiberg," Constance breathed into his ear, her breath scented with drinking chocolate and clementine oranges. "This shan't interfere with your appointment with Liam. On the contrary, he's been most anxious to see you again. You've made him into quite the ornithologist."
"You have exercised your natural skills," Mercy added, as Constance turned Dan's head for her own kiss, "to fashion something delightful for your dear friends, without thought of cost or recompense. Please, Daniel, allow us the same... joy."
And Dan surrendered himself to them, thankfully, joyfully, for how could he not? They knew him. They knew him so very, very well.
"Daniel. Is there any water?"
"Hold on. There probably is." Dan jerked out of his memories guiltily, crossed the room and turned the brass doorknob of a second, narrower door. It led to a bathroom done in the same level of rich appointment as the bedroom itself, with double marble sinks, a small chandelier and several expensive throw rugs. A truly immense clawfoot tub surrounded by fresh unlit candles lurked in the back. Two wine goblets stood next to an ice bucket, and he filled one of them with cold tap water and brought it out to Rorschach, kneeling on the rug next to his partner. "Here."
The other man was sitting very still on the floor, as though it hurt him to move. He flipped his mask up to his nose, accepted the goblet and drained it in several deep swallows. Even without the use of his goggles (which were showing a readout of 103F core temperature, this was not good), Dan could feel the heat radiating off him, and tried unsuccessfully to keep anxiety out of his voice. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Small fever, nothing to worry about. It'll pass."
He's a terrible liar, Dan thought wryly. At least to me. "Yeah, well. I'm pretty worried anyway. You'd probably feel better if you took your mask all the way off, got some air on your face."
"No." Rorschach shook his head vehemently - at least, vehemently for someone who was slumped on a floor with a high fever. "The whores might come back."
"I... don't think they're going to come back until we do what they want us to do," Dan said, feeling helpless. Silence radiated off of Rorschach, thicker than heat, more telling than words. Cautiously, Dan scooted closer, pulling off one of his gloves. "Give me your hand."
"What?" Rorschach rasped, his voice tight.
"I need to check your pulse. Give me your hand." There was a pause, too long for Dan's liking, before Rorschach slowly extended one arm out from the tight bundle he had made of his limbs. The off-white sleeve trembled visibly as Dan's cooler fingers circled his friend's wrist, fingertip pads pressing gently on the pulse point. As suspected, Rorschach's heart was racing and the heat was even less bearable at the fleeting contact. "Rorschach, I don't like this," Dan said, trying to keep his voice strong and confident. "We need to try and get your core temperature down. Let's get you out of some of those layers."
"No."
"Rorschach, we can leave the mask on for now, but you have to at least-"
"No, Daniel." Rorschach jerked his arm back and climbed unsteadily to his feet, sweat leaving dark patches against his shirt and vest. The trembling grew more pronounced as Rorschach weaved his way towards the bolted door. "No need. There has to be a way out of here. Has to be some- ennk!" With a hitched, helpless groan, Rorschach suddenly bent at the waist and retched up all of the water he'd just consumed, his knees giving way once more as he fell onto his side.
"Rorschach!" Dan ran to his friend's side, running a careful hand up the length of Rorschach's arm, feeling the tightly corded muscles twitch and spasm. He ripped his goggles off and looked around the room, searching for some clue, some flash of brilliance (how could they do this to me? How?) but there was nothing. He was running out of options.
And Rorschach was running out of time.
Pairings: R/NO
Warnings: AU, mildly sexual scenes, rampant cliches, OCs (that's a warning, right?)
Disclaimer: Sing it with me, now!
Alan Moore, he had a book,
E-I-E-I-O!
And in that book, there were hot guys,
E-I-E-I-O!
And I don't own them, so please don't sue,
Here a "don't," there a "sue," everywhere a "don't sue,"
Please don't sue me, 'cause I'm broke,
E-I-E-I-O!
Summary: Rorschach and Nite Owl are captured by a pair of vice queens. The terms of their release are simple, but simple doesn't always mean easy...
Author's Notes: Co-op fic with tonights. Enjoy!
Dan was alone. Well, alone with his partner tied to a chair. He crossed the room in long strides to rectify that situation and dropped to his knees besides the bound vigilante. "Rorschach? Rorschach? Are you okay? They said sweating and nausea - "
"Nnnrg. Fine, Daniel. No lasting harm done. Untie me." His voice was mostly normal, with an undertone of shaky weakness so faint that it almost wasn't there. Dan suspected that he wouldn't have picked up on it at all if he didn't know his partner so well. He began to fiddle with the knots of the silken rope, then cursed and cut them apart with the knife in his utility belt. Rorschach's hands were freed in only a moment, but he'd scraped his wrists raw with struggling. He was sweating, and profusely too - Dan could smell the salt pouring out of him.
"You're sure you're all right?" he tried hesitantly.
Rorschach snorted at him and stood up with ease. "Sure. Fine. Just a hit on the head when they brought me in. No warning, couldn't fight them off." He was on his feet for about a second and a half when his legs buckled without warning and he doubled over with a moan, knees hitting the elaborate Oriental rug.
Dan reached for him involuntarily, then pulled back with a jerk before he could make contact with Rorschach's shoulder. "Constance and Mm - uh. The - the whores. They said they gave you some kind of chemical that caused nausea and sweating and eventual organ failure, so it's fairly important that you tell me exactly how you're really feeling."
Silence, then a grunt. "Sweating. Achy. Not nauseous yet." He raised his face to Dan and the blots swirled inscrutably as the two of them knelt there on the floor.
The undeniable, unthinkable reality of it all hung between them in the trembling silence. If the two women - to hell with them - had told the truth and given Rorschach something, they'd presumably also been correct about the cure. Dan pushed that right out of his mind and got hurriedly to his feet. "Okay. Well, you just stay there on the floor for a minute while I look for a way out of here. I can take you to Ozymandias."
"Ozymandias?" Rorschach sat down more fully, crossing his legs. "Can't you fix it?"
"He's very good with chemicals. I'm not, really. I'm only good on the mechanical end of things. But he'll know what to do, I'm sure he'll be able to come up with some kind of antidote." He began inspecting the door, knowing that was likely fruitless. It was stout and heavy, with three steel bolts and thick hinges. Not to mention that there were two huge be-monacled henchmen waiting outside, and he probably wouldn't make it if he had to fight them off and carry Rorschach too (which was seeming a more and more a distinct possibility). He looked in dismay at the triple bolt keyholes and thought of the jailer's ring of keys Mercy carried. "Rorschach, do you have your lockpick kit?"
A pause, then, "No. They must have emptied my pockets."
"Damn." He'd have to invent something l to get out of situations like this, maybe some kind of laser...? He pushed that thought away as well and moved to the stained glass window. Breaking it wouldn't get anywhere - he knew only too well that they were underground and the window artificially lit from behind. Another dead end. He stared blankly at the glass apples swelling on the tree with a promise of sweetness and temptation, and tried to clear his mind. There weren't any accessible vents he could crawl through... he started tapping aimlessly on the walls, not sure what he was hoping to find.
He found his little clockwork owl sitting in a place of prominence on the mantle, right under two framed paintings that were probably priceless. The upper levels of the building functioned as a public art and furniture museum, and the girls didn't buy any reproductions. They must have truly prized this piece, if they'd put it here, a place of honor for a dear friend's gift...
"...I hope you don't mind, but I, uh, I sort of threw this together. Nothing much, you know, but I thought that you'd..." He ran a hand through his hair and grinned crookedly, proudly through the lamplit dimness. "It sort of goes with the place, don't you think?"
"Why, Daniel! It's simply amazing!" In a tone of wonder Mercy touched the little metal owl with one long finger, sweet clove smoke trailing unnoticed from the lit cigarette in her holder.
Constance bent closer to peer at the owl's face, then looked up at Dan, pleased astonishment writ large in her dark eyes. "This must have taken you forever, all those cunning little pieces! What does it do?"
"Well, that's the best part, watch." He produced a little brass key, inserted it into a hole on the back of the clockwork and wound it up with a rhythmic tick-tick-tick. The owl raised one wing, then the other, turned its head and clicked its beak. It had taken him incalculable hours to get the motions calibrated exactly right, but it had been worth it - it moved exactly like a real owl, except it was made of silver and brass instead of feathers and flesh. "I know all your decor is old things but I figured this looks nouveau enough to fit in, and, well, I wanted to make you something. And this is it." The three of them watched the little owl go through all of its little owl-motions until its gears wound down and it came to a stop on the polished wood of their private table, lofted and secluded from the main parlor and bar.
With a delighted giggle, Constance lifted her skirts and settled herself in one smooth motion onto Dan's lap, kissing him gently. His arms wove instinctively around her waist, pressing her closer, the feel of her full breasts and rounded hips belying the childlike facade. "What a charming gift, Mr. Dreiberg," she purred, nestling her crisp curls under his chin. "We shall treasure it always as our rarest of pieces. But what," she pulled back suddenly, catching his eyes with her darkly-lined gaze, "can we ever do to return the favor?"
Dan's mouth went suddenly dry. He wanted to move Constance away, to reach for his wine and say something nonchalant, no favors required, just a trifle, really. But he was drawn in, his eyes shifting back and forth from the tall siren in red to the petite lolita in blue, as captive as he was from the first night, as he was on every night he visited the Abbey, until Constance broke into a sweet smile. "Oh, I see, Mr. Dreiberg. I see."
She hopped off of Dan's lap and moved around the table to whisper in Mercy's ear, one hand theatrically shading her lips. Mercy's brows rose in elegant surprise. "Really?" she asked, both women smiling as Constance nodded eagerly.
Dan was bewildered. What had transpired here, and why was he not informed? "Now, hang on, ladies, you don't have to, I mean, I didn't do this for-"
Mercy simply held up one gloved hand, silencing Dan's objections as Constance tugged on a velvet bell pull. Within seconds, a young woman in a maid's uniform entered the loft and curtsied gracefully. "Ah, Agnes," Mercy said warmly. "Do clear the schedules for both Abbess Constance and myself for the next..." an appraising glance at Dan, and then another smile, "three hours, I think? No, make it four. And turn down the Persian Room, please. Make sure that the bathroom supplies are fully replenished." Agnes bobbed another curtsy and faded away down the stairs. "I do believe that we have a few minutes. Another glass, Daniel?"
Comprehension dawned in Daniel's mind and he swallowed and shifted in his seat, hoping to ease the tightness in two places. "Uh... ladies, I... you really don't have to-"
A satin-gloved finger on his lips silenced him, and he looked up to see Mercy standing above him, the sharp imposing image fading into softness as she slipped off his glasses. "Hush now, Daniel. Constance tells me that this is your desire, and so it shall be yours."
Mercy bent to capture his lips with her own while behind him, Constance peppered the nape of his neck with brief, maddening kisses. "You needn't worry so, Mr. Dreiberg," Constance breathed into his ear, her breath scented with drinking chocolate and clementine oranges. "This shan't interfere with your appointment with Liam. On the contrary, he's been most anxious to see you again. You've made him into quite the ornithologist."
"You have exercised your natural skills," Mercy added, as Constance turned Dan's head for her own kiss, "to fashion something delightful for your dear friends, without thought of cost or recompense. Please, Daniel, allow us the same... joy."
And Dan surrendered himself to them, thankfully, joyfully, for how could he not? They knew him. They knew him so very, very well.
"Daniel. Is there any water?"
"Hold on. There probably is." Dan jerked out of his memories guiltily, crossed the room and turned the brass doorknob of a second, narrower door. It led to a bathroom done in the same level of rich appointment as the bedroom itself, with double marble sinks, a small chandelier and several expensive throw rugs. A truly immense clawfoot tub surrounded by fresh unlit candles lurked in the back. Two wine goblets stood next to an ice bucket, and he filled one of them with cold tap water and brought it out to Rorschach, kneeling on the rug next to his partner. "Here."
The other man was sitting very still on the floor, as though it hurt him to move. He flipped his mask up to his nose, accepted the goblet and drained it in several deep swallows. Even without the use of his goggles (which were showing a readout of 103F core temperature, this was not good), Dan could feel the heat radiating off him, and tried unsuccessfully to keep anxiety out of his voice. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Small fever, nothing to worry about. It'll pass."
He's a terrible liar, Dan thought wryly. At least to me. "Yeah, well. I'm pretty worried anyway. You'd probably feel better if you took your mask all the way off, got some air on your face."
"No." Rorschach shook his head vehemently - at least, vehemently for someone who was slumped on a floor with a high fever. "The whores might come back."
"I... don't think they're going to come back until we do what they want us to do," Dan said, feeling helpless. Silence radiated off of Rorschach, thicker than heat, more telling than words. Cautiously, Dan scooted closer, pulling off one of his gloves. "Give me your hand."
"What?" Rorschach rasped, his voice tight.
"I need to check your pulse. Give me your hand." There was a pause, too long for Dan's liking, before Rorschach slowly extended one arm out from the tight bundle he had made of his limbs. The off-white sleeve trembled visibly as Dan's cooler fingers circled his friend's wrist, fingertip pads pressing gently on the pulse point. As suspected, Rorschach's heart was racing and the heat was even less bearable at the fleeting contact. "Rorschach, I don't like this," Dan said, trying to keep his voice strong and confident. "We need to try and get your core temperature down. Let's get you out of some of those layers."
"No."
"Rorschach, we can leave the mask on for now, but you have to at least-"
"No, Daniel." Rorschach jerked his arm back and climbed unsteadily to his feet, sweat leaving dark patches against his shirt and vest. The trembling grew more pronounced as Rorschach weaved his way towards the bolted door. "No need. There has to be a way out of here. Has to be some- ennk!" With a hitched, helpless groan, Rorschach suddenly bent at the waist and retched up all of the water he'd just consumed, his knees giving way once more as he fell onto his side.
"Rorschach!" Dan ran to his friend's side, running a careful hand up the length of Rorschach's arm, feeling the tightly corded muscles twitch and spasm. He ripped his goggles off and looked around the room, searching for some clue, some flash of brilliance (how could they do this to me? How?) but there was nothing. He was running out of options.
And Rorschach was running out of time.