fanfic - Christening
Title: Christening
Rated: R/NC-17
Summary: Smut. Rorschach and Nite Owl celebrate wiping another district clean from criminal activity.
They walked shoulder-to-shoulder -- closer, perhaps, than was necessary along such a wide and deserted dockside path. But the darkest pre-dawn hours are kind to those with no wish to be seen. Neither spoke, though both silently focused on tonight’s unique mission. Water lapped rhythmically against the quay as Nite Owl’s cape flapped on Rorschach’s leg. Inside his pockets, Rorschach slipped out of his gloves.
They’d come to admire their handiwork -- a district freed from another mob boss, one week after his arrest and the capture of most of his gang. Subsequent patrols every night since had scraped up a few more key figures. Any minor underlings who may still be unaccounted for were apparently running scared. On the past two nights, Nite Owl and Rorschach hadn’t seen so much as a stray cat. If not secured, the area was at last quiet -- quiet enough for a celebration. Rorschach unbuttoned his coat as they walked.
Whether celebration, tradition, or habit, the first time was in 1965 -- the night they’d wiped the streets clean of Big Figure. Their first victory as a team, all their hard work validated. From a quiet rooftop vantage point, they looked out over the retreating line of flashing red and blue. Watching the police drive off with a captive, raging Big Figure initiated a chain reaction of satisfaction and adrenaline. Dan’s proud clap on Rorschach’s shoulder instantly turned into a half-hug. Playful shoving changed into grappling and arm-pinning, inevitably leading to a frenzied exchange of orgasms. Daniel’s hand dove beneath his partner’s waistband and ended Rorschach’s desperation with a few firm strokes. Rorschach’s warm gasping breaths clouded around his mask that chilly night as he fumbled with Nite Owl’s costume. It was no use, and too urgent, and he just as easily rubbed Daniel off through his leggings. Dan had redesigned the costume since then.
By unspoken mutual consent, the same thing happened after the next case closed…and the next…
Rorschach slid his hands down deep into his pockets, opting to wait for Daniel to make his move. Tonight, he would wait it out. Watching Dan’s gentlemanly resolve wither and fail was far more satisfying than working on building his own anticipation.
He saw it before Dan did, but then allowed himself to be steered into the only sheltered alcove along this end of the dock. The recessed passageway led off to the right, almost completely dark within. Rorschach counted on a sweep of Nite Owl’s goggles to assure the location’s safety.
Dan grabbed Rorschach and spun him against the wall, both breathing out hard as Rorschach’s back hit the bricks. He allowed his head to drop back to the wall for an indulgent moment before lifting it back to Dan’s gaze. Daniel pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his utility belt, then dropped out of sight as he fell to his knees before his partner. His hands splayed possessively across the front of the other man’s trousers, pulling the fabric taut against Rorschach’s contours. There was no hiding from Dan’s night vision, and Rorschach let him look.
Dan’s fingers were cold yet nimble, tugging layers of clothing aside. Rorschach twitched inside of them, ready for the liquid heat of Dan’s mouth. His body relaxed as Daniel moved forward. Slipping into Dan was like slipping into his own mask -- a relief, an escape, the completion of himself.
Sensations built quickly under his partner’s pulling, swirling attentions, and Rorschach fought not to let go too soon. He stared at Dan’s lips as they slid forward and withdrew, wondering if he preferred them this way -- slicked and swollen -- or curled into a sneer, teeth clenched, as he threw punches at their adversaries. One way he looked more like Nite Owl…the other, more like Daniel.
Rorschach reached for Dan’s mouth, tracing a thumb along his lip, feeling how their bodies joined. After a moment, he pushed it in as well, felt the warmth and closeness of the space he and Daniel already shared, felt the tiny undulations of Daniel’s tongue. He pulled his thumb out again, and closed it into his fist. The head rocking before him picked up its pace, a rhythm quickly matched by Rorschach’s respiration.
As ever, without warning, Rorschach felt himself hitting the point of no return. Both hands smacked back against the wall, scrambling for a grip as he let Daniel overwhelm him. More blood surged and pounded as his fingernails scratched the brick, and he let out a short groan. His hips rolled upward uncontrollably with the final warm rush, heels lifting from the ground as his body clenched and released.
His heart thudded hard in his chest as his eyes opened again and searched for his partner. Dan turned his head to the side for a moment before standing up. He helpfully yanked Rorschach’s pants closed and stood impatiently, twisting the untucked shirt tails around his hands. Through the pulsing ink blots, Rorschach could see that Daniel was doing his best to keep a grin from completely spreading across his face…and being rather unsuccessful. How useless to wear a hood when his more earnest emotions were always so clearly readable.
Dan lifted Rorschach’s shirt as his fingers sought out bare flesh. Rorschach had come back into himself enough to inwardly object to the hands climbing his chest -- not like this, not that way. No entwining and sweating and rolling about. This way was gritty, secret, and deliberate -- suited to the world they lived in.
He pulled away, turning, and placed those troublesome searching hands against the wall, leaning Dan forward against them. Holding Daniel around the waist, he pressed close against his back, hip bones grinding into buttocks. Daniel obligingly spread his feet, standing braced and spread-eagled. Somehow, the position made him seem heroic -- solid and invincible Nite Owl.
The owl suit rolled down easily over Daniel’s hips, and Rorschach paused. He reached for Nite Owl’s belt, locating the correct pouch and the small bottle within. He squeezed a bit of the oily lotion into his palm where it quickly warmed. With a soft gasp, Dan pushed fluidly through his partner’s tight fist.
He slipped and slid under Rorschach’s bruised knuckles, encouraging the pace to set. When he groaned low, it rang out in the long passageway. The wanton helplessness of the sound echoed such need that Rorschach nearly groaned in return. The long, firm strokes made Daniel moan again -- moan, when he was usually so quiet. As Rorschach dipped low to roll and knead his balls, Dan let loose a cry much too loud to be safe. Rorschach’s other hand found Dan’s mouth and silenced it, stifling sounds which he’d otherwise have enjoyed listening to.
A few more muffled cries vibrated under Rorschach’s fingers before he felt Dan’s jaw open and tense. He jerked once, twice, gasping deeply as Rorschach saw him through it with slowing, loosening strokes.
When he was sure Dan’s knees would again hold his own weight, Rorschach slid away. He waited a couple of paces to the side, watching covertly while Dan pulled himself together.
As they left the corridor, passing again along the docks, Rorschach cast a glance back over his hunched shoulder. The area was quiet -- christened and cleared, unmarked by them except by the new absence of crime. Tomorrow night they would head back to the Lower East Side to tackle the increasing numbers of drug dealers along Canal Street. It was hard to determine how long it would be before they’d be casing Canal Street, searching for an empty warehouse or shadowed rooftop in which to mark another case closed. Crime busting was its own reward, but a ritual can only strengthen a partnership.
Rated: R/NC-17
Summary: Smut. Rorschach and Nite Owl celebrate wiping another district clean from criminal activity.
They walked shoulder-to-shoulder -- closer, perhaps, than was necessary along such a wide and deserted dockside path. But the darkest pre-dawn hours are kind to those with no wish to be seen. Neither spoke, though both silently focused on tonight’s unique mission. Water lapped rhythmically against the quay as Nite Owl’s cape flapped on Rorschach’s leg. Inside his pockets, Rorschach slipped out of his gloves.
They’d come to admire their handiwork -- a district freed from another mob boss, one week after his arrest and the capture of most of his gang. Subsequent patrols every night since had scraped up a few more key figures. Any minor underlings who may still be unaccounted for were apparently running scared. On the past two nights, Nite Owl and Rorschach hadn’t seen so much as a stray cat. If not secured, the area was at last quiet -- quiet enough for a celebration. Rorschach unbuttoned his coat as they walked.
Whether celebration, tradition, or habit, the first time was in 1965 -- the night they’d wiped the streets clean of Big Figure. Their first victory as a team, all their hard work validated. From a quiet rooftop vantage point, they looked out over the retreating line of flashing red and blue. Watching the police drive off with a captive, raging Big Figure initiated a chain reaction of satisfaction and adrenaline. Dan’s proud clap on Rorschach’s shoulder instantly turned into a half-hug. Playful shoving changed into grappling and arm-pinning, inevitably leading to a frenzied exchange of orgasms. Daniel’s hand dove beneath his partner’s waistband and ended Rorschach’s desperation with a few firm strokes. Rorschach’s warm gasping breaths clouded around his mask that chilly night as he fumbled with Nite Owl’s costume. It was no use, and too urgent, and he just as easily rubbed Daniel off through his leggings. Dan had redesigned the costume since then.
By unspoken mutual consent, the same thing happened after the next case closed…and the next…
Rorschach slid his hands down deep into his pockets, opting to wait for Daniel to make his move. Tonight, he would wait it out. Watching Dan’s gentlemanly resolve wither and fail was far more satisfying than working on building his own anticipation.
He saw it before Dan did, but then allowed himself to be steered into the only sheltered alcove along this end of the dock. The recessed passageway led off to the right, almost completely dark within. Rorschach counted on a sweep of Nite Owl’s goggles to assure the location’s safety.
Dan grabbed Rorschach and spun him against the wall, both breathing out hard as Rorschach’s back hit the bricks. He allowed his head to drop back to the wall for an indulgent moment before lifting it back to Dan’s gaze. Daniel pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his utility belt, then dropped out of sight as he fell to his knees before his partner. His hands splayed possessively across the front of the other man’s trousers, pulling the fabric taut against Rorschach’s contours. There was no hiding from Dan’s night vision, and Rorschach let him look.
Dan’s fingers were cold yet nimble, tugging layers of clothing aside. Rorschach twitched inside of them, ready for the liquid heat of Dan’s mouth. His body relaxed as Daniel moved forward. Slipping into Dan was like slipping into his own mask -- a relief, an escape, the completion of himself.
Sensations built quickly under his partner’s pulling, swirling attentions, and Rorschach fought not to let go too soon. He stared at Dan’s lips as they slid forward and withdrew, wondering if he preferred them this way -- slicked and swollen -- or curled into a sneer, teeth clenched, as he threw punches at their adversaries. One way he looked more like Nite Owl…the other, more like Daniel.
Rorschach reached for Dan’s mouth, tracing a thumb along his lip, feeling how their bodies joined. After a moment, he pushed it in as well, felt the warmth and closeness of the space he and Daniel already shared, felt the tiny undulations of Daniel’s tongue. He pulled his thumb out again, and closed it into his fist. The head rocking before him picked up its pace, a rhythm quickly matched by Rorschach’s respiration.
As ever, without warning, Rorschach felt himself hitting the point of no return. Both hands smacked back against the wall, scrambling for a grip as he let Daniel overwhelm him. More blood surged and pounded as his fingernails scratched the brick, and he let out a short groan. His hips rolled upward uncontrollably with the final warm rush, heels lifting from the ground as his body clenched and released.
His heart thudded hard in his chest as his eyes opened again and searched for his partner. Dan turned his head to the side for a moment before standing up. He helpfully yanked Rorschach’s pants closed and stood impatiently, twisting the untucked shirt tails around his hands. Through the pulsing ink blots, Rorschach could see that Daniel was doing his best to keep a grin from completely spreading across his face…and being rather unsuccessful. How useless to wear a hood when his more earnest emotions were always so clearly readable.
Dan lifted Rorschach’s shirt as his fingers sought out bare flesh. Rorschach had come back into himself enough to inwardly object to the hands climbing his chest -- not like this, not that way. No entwining and sweating and rolling about. This way was gritty, secret, and deliberate -- suited to the world they lived in.
He pulled away, turning, and placed those troublesome searching hands against the wall, leaning Dan forward against them. Holding Daniel around the waist, he pressed close against his back, hip bones grinding into buttocks. Daniel obligingly spread his feet, standing braced and spread-eagled. Somehow, the position made him seem heroic -- solid and invincible Nite Owl.
The owl suit rolled down easily over Daniel’s hips, and Rorschach paused. He reached for Nite Owl’s belt, locating the correct pouch and the small bottle within. He squeezed a bit of the oily lotion into his palm where it quickly warmed. With a soft gasp, Dan pushed fluidly through his partner’s tight fist.
He slipped and slid under Rorschach’s bruised knuckles, encouraging the pace to set. When he groaned low, it rang out in the long passageway. The wanton helplessness of the sound echoed such need that Rorschach nearly groaned in return. The long, firm strokes made Daniel moan again -- moan, when he was usually so quiet. As Rorschach dipped low to roll and knead his balls, Dan let loose a cry much too loud to be safe. Rorschach’s other hand found Dan’s mouth and silenced it, stifling sounds which he’d otherwise have enjoyed listening to.
A few more muffled cries vibrated under Rorschach’s fingers before he felt Dan’s jaw open and tense. He jerked once, twice, gasping deeply as Rorschach saw him through it with slowing, loosening strokes.
When he was sure Dan’s knees would again hold his own weight, Rorschach slid away. He waited a couple of paces to the side, watching covertly while Dan pulled himself together.
As they left the corridor, passing again along the docks, Rorschach cast a glance back over his hunched shoulder. The area was quiet -- christened and cleared, unmarked by them except by the new absence of crime. Tomorrow night they would head back to the Lower East Side to tackle the increasing numbers of drug dealers along Canal Street. It was hard to determine how long it would be before they’d be casing Canal Street, searching for an empty warehouse or shadowed rooftop in which to mark another case closed. Crime busting was its own reward, but a ritual can only strengthen a partnership.