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Nite Owl guides Archie neatly into the docking braces and cuts the engines, throws all the right switches, and settles the airship down. As he does, he takes a sidelong look at his partner who is, of course, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened tonight. Dan's nerves are still thrumming, however, thinking about the fight that took place earlier in the evening.
A simple takedown of a particularly unsavory pimp (a trafficker in very underage girls) and a couple of his bodyguards had become a real fight when a half dozen more of the pimp's bodyguards turned up unexpectedly and came running to their boss' rescue.
They'd taken down about half of them when the pimp had gotten around behind Rorschach and tried to drive a stiletto into his throat. Dan had caught the motion, but there was no time for him to do anything about it and he'd watched in horror as his partner's trench coat collar was yanked to one side and the thin blade flashed and disappeared under his scarf. As the blade disappeared, Rorschach had stiffened convulsively and gone rigid, and Dan had simply lost his mind.
The pimp immediately pulled the blade back out, but before he'd had a chance to thrust it in again, Rorschach was yanked out of his grasp and Nite Owl was slamming him violently back against the wall. The pimp's remaining bodyguards froze and had watched in awe as a snarling Nite Owl mauled their boss in a fury, tossing him all over the alley, alternating between slamming him against the wall and into the concrete pavement. (That was, they watched in awe until Rorschach popped up behind them and commenced to demonstrate why it was never wise to allow yourself to become distracted in a fight.)
An hour later as he settles Archie down onto the landing braces, Dan's still shaky on adrenaline, still replaying the fight in his mind. Because please, God, that's as close as he ever wants to come to seeing his partner get stabbed in the throat.
Rorschach of course, has already forgotten all about it. Once he had assured himself that the stiletto hadn't punctured his mask (which, Dan now realizes, is why he'd stiffened up the way he had), Rorschach became all business again. Dan, however, is having a hard time getting the picture of the thin blade sliding into his partner's neck out of his mind.
Nite Owl knows that every patrol holds the potential that one or even both of them will never make it back to the Nest. And with the way that Rorschach fights, throwing himself into the thick of every fray, always taking risks, the odds are high in favor of him being the one who doesn't make it back some night. Dan wishes for the thousandth time that he could persuade his partner to at least let him line that damned trench coat of his with Kevlar, or something to give him a bit of protection.
As they leave the ship, Dan taps Rorschach's shoulder and says, "You know that you're bleeding, right?"
And he is. Not a lot, but enough for a little red stain to have spread across the scarf at the back of his neck. Rorschach grunts and slides his fingers under his collar and scarf to check. He examines the splotches of blood dabbled on his gloved fingertips and turns them toward Dan to show him that it's nothing. "Hrn. Just a scratch."
Dan grins a little fiercely at him, taking the first aid kit out of the metal cabinet by his workbench. "Fine, it's just a scratch. I still want to look at it. You don't mind, do you?" Rorschach immediately waves him off and starts to walk away.
Dan knows that he's most likely right; there really isn't that much blood. But he wants to check for himself, to reassure himself that his partner really is fine. Because for that one horrible grief-stricken moment, Dan had been sure that the stiletto had gone up through Rorschach's throat and into his skull instead of simply sliding along the back of his neck, and that he'd just seen his partner get killed. And he really needs to put his hands on Rorschach and feel the physical confirmation that he's there and they have both made it home warm and alive and in one piece once again.
So he cuts the nascent argument short by immediately bringing out the big guns. "Look, humor me please; I just saw you almost get stabbed in the throat. Just let me take a quick look and clean the wound up if it needs it. Then we can head upstairs, I'll make something to eat and we can go over our notes on the wharf bust, figure out our next move."
It's Dan's perfect trifecta of persuasion; a personal favor, food, and shared strategizing. He knows that it's a little unfair to pull out all the weapons at once like this, but he doesn't want to dick around right now, he needs to examine his partner and make sure that he's all right. He pats the back of the chair by his workbench. "Come on. Coat and jacket off, and have a seat." He says it with just the right amount of matter-of-fact firmness; not stern enough to make it a command to be resisted, not begging for a favor that can be summarily refused.
Rorschach huffs as if to inform Dan that he's on to him but will put up with it anyway, just this once. With a put-upon air, he sulkily shrugs off his trench coat and suit jacket, then drops gracelessly into the chair and folds his arms.
Dan removes the fedora, placing it carefully on the bench, and unwinds the scarf from around Rorschach's neck. The smaller man shudders slightly as the cold air from the tunnel hits the exposed, slightly damp skin of his throat.
"Sorry," Dan says, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I know it's cold down here. We should probably do this up in the kitchen."
"Just get on with it," Rorschach snaps, moving away from Dan's touch. Dan wonders a little at his irritability, but lets it go.
Curious, he runs the material of the scarf through his fingers before placing it to one side on the bench. Dan's never really examined the scarf closely before. It's softer than it looks; some fairly expensive-feeling type of wool blend. Dan thinks to himself that the bloodstain's going to be a bitch to get out, but then he supposes that Rorschach's had plenty of practice getting bloodstains out of his clothing.
Dan rolls the latex mask up to the bridge of Rorschach's nose, sliding it up far enough on the sides so that the lower part of his ears and the base of his skull is exposed. (As always, it's fascinating to see the black shadows follow the pressure of his fingertips, chasing each other around the white fabric.)
Rorschach's fingers come up instinctively to rest on his as Dan pushes the mask up. Dan knows it's a nervous reflex only, Rorschach trusts that Dan would never take advantage of an opportunity like this to try and pull his mask off. He hopes that one day soon his partner will trust him enough to remove it himself.
Dan's known about Rorschach's hair color for a while now, so the tufts of red hair that peep out from under the rolled-up mask at the nape of his neck are no surprise. (And boy, his hair is red; new-copper-penny, carroty red. Exactly the same shade as Leslie's hair, although Dan is smart enough never to make that little observation out loud.)
Now that the mask is rolled up, Dan can see a red line where the tip of the stiletto slid across the back of Rorschach's neck. A small trickle of blood is still oozing from where the pointed tip dug into his scalp, but it's not a deep wound. "Well, you're right. It is just a scratch."
"Told you." Rorschach makes as if to get up, but Dan presses him back down into the chair.
"Nope, not yet. Still need to clean it out, hold still."
Rorschach grinds his teeth a little, but remains still. Dan takes some antiseptic and cotton, and works briskly to clean out the minor wound. As he works, he notices that Rorschach becomes oddly tense as Dan's hands move around his neck and throat, gliding lightly over his skin. The gloved hands move to the arms of the chair and grip them firmly, forearms corded with tension.
There's raised gooseflesh on the cool skin of his partner's throat and he shivers a little as Dan runs the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball along the long red scratch. Dan notices, and says apologetically, "I'm sorry, it is too cold down here. We really should have gone up to the kitchen." He places his large hands lightly around Rorschach's throat to warm the cold skin. "There, better?"
Instead of relaxing, Rorschach just becomes more tense and antsy, and now Dan's really not sure what's going on here. Avoiding the scratch, he moves his fingers on the other man's neck in what he hopes are soothing circles, trying to massage some of the tension out of his partner, but he seems to be having the opposite effect. Rorschach shifts in the chair and makes a tiny noise of discomfort. Dan's just about to give up and ask him what the heck is going on and is he hurt somewhere else, when his gaze travels down along his partner's body and he sees the tented fabric over his partner's crotch. And Dan realizes he's been entirely mistaken about which type of discomfort Rorschach is feeling.
Well, that's interesting.
He experimentally runs his fingernails lightly along the nape of his partner's neck and this produces a little intake of breath. The body under his hands shifts in the chair again and the tenting becomes a little more pronounced. Hmm. This is definitely interesting.
This thing between them is still pretty new. It's been barely a month since they finally crossed that particular line (the one they've been dancing around in one way or another for years) and they're still feeling out the rules and boundaries of what they allow themselves to do with each other.
Up until now, whenever they've done anything like this it's been fast, driven, and over quickly. Rorschach rushes through sex the same way that he fights, all drive and force, like a starving man who desperately needs food and wolfs it down as quickly as possible without pausing to really taste it.
Dan really can't complain too much, it's been the most intense sex of his life so far---but slowing down and stretching things out a bit would be nice, too. And he can't escape the feeling that one of the reasons that things have been so rushed and frenzied is that Rorschach hasn't yet really come to grips with the idea that it's all right for him to feel pleasure; that as much as he obviously needs it, he's just been trying to get it over with before he has to really deal with the idea that he actually enjoys being touched, or that Dan actually enjoys touching him. During the last month, Dan's been trying hard to learn what sort of things his partner likes, but Rorschach's not been exactly forthcoming as far as that goes.
Evidently Rorschach's throat and neck are a bit of a hot spot for him. Unable to keep himself from grinning at the discovery, Dan decides to find out exactly how much of a gold mine he's uncovered here. His long, sensitive engineer's fingers skim over the angles of Rorschach's throat, mapping its lines, feeling the skin shudder under his touch, The bristling stubble catches slightly on the whorls of his fingerprints and gives him an amazing sensation, a subtle little thrill that he feels all through his body, sending a hot pulse straight to his groin and down his stiffening cock.
As he lightly caresses his partner's throat, one hand drifts down to pause and trace light fingernail patterns lazily on the back of his neck. Rorschach huffs and drops his head slightly forward, angling his neck to the side and presenting the side of his throat. Dan takes the implicit invitation and bends down, his mouth open, and starts tracing freckles with the tip of his tongue. As Dan's tongue tickles along his throat, Rorschach suddenly tenses and starts to get up out of the chair.
Dan knows that this is the point at which everything could go south if his partner decides that this shouldn't be happening, and moves quickly to nip that possibility in the bud. He slides his arm across Rorschach's chest and presses him back down into the chair, whispering "No, stay there," in his ear and follows it up by running his tongue around the edge of the ear and gnawing lightly at the earlobe.
Rorschach chuffs a harsh exhalation, but subsides into the chair, obviously struggling to hold himself still. Dan grins and triumphantly buries his face in his partner's neck, determined to take full advantage of this opportunity.
Dan starts massaging Rorschach's neck in earnest, running his hands all around his partner's throat. Rorschach shudders under the light, feathery pressure of Dan's long, strong fingers. Then he leans in and breathes a long, hot breath down the side of Rorschach's throat and gnaws very gently at the spot where neck meets corded shoulder muscle and is rewarded with a shuddering breath and a full-body squirm. Intensifying his efforts, he mercilessly runs his busy mouth over Rorschach's straining throat, tonguing it, nipping and licking the hypersensitive skin, thrilled at the way it makes his partner squirm and utter little desperate noises, like it's driving him half out of his mind.
Just knowing that he's having this effect on his stoic partner and the fact that Rorschach allows Dan to touch him in this way (and at this point Dan has no doubt that he's the only person on the planet that Rorschach has ever allowed to touch him like this) makes him feel incredible, just light-headed with happiness and so damn powerful.
Each little groan or choked-back noise of pleasure, each time his partner just can't hold still anymore and moves his hips, trying to thrust himself against something for relief, makes Dan dizzy with arousal, makes him feel like he could come just from watching this. And he can tell that Rorschach's just barely keeping himself from the indignity of openly stroking himself in front of Dan. The gloved hands are tightly clenched on the arms of the chair and Dan can see his arms trembling with strain.
Rorschach holds out for a few more minutes, then a delicate caress involving Dan's tongue and teeth at a particular spot on his neck makes him moan out loud and he loses the battle. One hand creeps toward his groin, where a tiny dark spot has seeped through the fabric.
As soon as Rorschach's shaking hand brushes against his crotch, Dan leans in, flicks his tongue against an earlobe, then nips it sharply and whispers, "If you touch yourself, I'll stop right now."
A barely audible whine shivers in his throat, but Rorschach draws his arm back and the hand returns to clutch the chair arm so tightly that Dan can hear the glove leather creak. Satisfied, Dan unbuttons the white dress shirt and slides his hand inside, massaging his partner's chest through his worn undershirt. He drags his nails across the tiny hard nipples, pausing to pinch each one a few times, which brings a new, sharp noise out of his squirming victim.
Dan finally drops his hand down to draw his fingernails lightly back and forth over the tented fabric over Rorschach's groin. As his nails graze the straining erection beneath, Dan savors the hissed intake of breath through the gritted teeth and the way it makes Rorschach thrust his hips up seeking some kind of friction, trying to push himself into Dan's teasing hand for relief.
He drags out the torment for a while, alternating between tickling the hot, hard lump and giving it an occasional light squeeze, then dragging the heel of his hand up over it. Finally Rorschach grits out a pained "Daniel" between clenched teeth as he strains up into the air. Then again, an exhalation so quiet Dan wouldn't be sure he'd have heard it if he didn't see the other man's lips move; "Daniel".
It's not quite pleading, but it's close enough for Dan. He doesn't want this to become about making his partner beg for release, turning it into a declaration of power. This is more about making sure that his partner really feels what's happening between them.
Dan clumsily unbuckles Rorschach's belt one-handedly, opens his trousers and slides his hand under the waistband of his briefs and grips the hot, hard flesh he finds there, bringing a frantic, despairing little cry out of his partner. The sound almost makes Dan come right then and there.
Sliding his hand up and down the hot length, squeezing, pumping, he speeds up his rhythm, still tickling the hypersensitive skin of Rorschach's throat with his tongue as he does. He rubs his thumb over the slick head and moves his hand in a way that makes another tortured groan vibrate out of the taut throat.
He brings his other hand around Rorschach's neck and cups the side of his head, tilting his head toward Dan. He leaves off licking his partner's throat and drags his mouth up over the sandpaper jawline to kiss his mouth. Rorschach makes a little wounded sound into his mouth, then bites at Dan's lip and sucks hard on his tongue, his body coming up off the chair.
Rorschach's movements become sharper, jerkier, as his body begins its final spin out of control. The bucking becomes thrashing and the clenched hands finally leave the arms of the chair and come up to clutch desperately at Dan. One hand moves to the back of Dan's head and grips his hair, holding on tight. The other hand fists a handful of Dan's t-shirt, twisting and tearing it as he cries aloud as if he's been shot, hard flesh jerking and pulsing in Dan's grip as his release spills out hot and slick over Dan's moving fingers.
As he shudders and chokes and bucks under Dan's hands, it's too much for Dan and he comes hard inside his costume, grinding himself against the arm of the chair and moaning helplessly into Rorschach's mouth.
Dan keeps moving his hand, wringing every aftershock he can manage out of Rorschach's body until he can tell it's becoming uncomfortable. Then he finally lets go and draws his hand back out, covered in his partner's spunk, still shuddering through the aftershocks of his own orgasm. Rorschach slides down in the chair, boneless, and his head lolls to one side.
Dan smiles down at his motionless, probably passed-out friend and hums with pleasure, enjoying the sight of him so relaxed and satiated. He studies the hand he's just drawn out of his partner's pants, then brings it up to his face and takes a long, deep open-mouthed whiff, inhaling his partner's musk.
At that point, Rorschach comes back to life and looks up at Daniel, just in time to catch him with his nose buried in the palm of his hand, sniffing it.
Oblivious to his audience, Dan drags his tongue with obscene, loving slowness across his palm and along his fingers, his eyes heavy-lidded, expression completely debauched. As he slips his fingers into his mouth to savor the salty-bitter traces of fluid streaking his hand, Dan freezes, busted, his half-closed eyes flying open as they lock gazes with the black eye-splotches of his partner's mask. His fingers make an obscene little wet 'pop' as he pulls them abruptly out of his mouth, looking flustered.
Dan has just enough time to think "Oops" before Rorschach's mouth pulls into a grimace of distaste and he's up and out of the chair with a strangled "Kkgh!" of disgust. His partner stalks quickly away, gait a little wobbly but shoulders tight and his back ramrod straight, zipping up his pants as he goes with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances.
But he stalks up the stairs into the house, not down the tunnel toward the warehouse exit, so that's okay.
Sighing, Dan marvels at how, without a single word, his partner can make him feel like the filthiest perv who ever perved. Man, if he ever gets a load of my gadget collection, he'll probably have an aneurysm on the spot. (Which is why his toy box is well hidden, and does not have a cheap lock, because privacy is an extremely subjective term as far as Rorschach's concerned.) It really makes him despair a little. Then he grins ruefully and shakes his head, because really, you had to love the man. And hey, it was a step in the right direction, at least.
Anyway, he now has an excellent idea of what to get Rorschach for his birthday next month, because he doubts that bloodstain will ever really come out of the scarf. And although the material of his current scarf isn't cheap, there are even better materials Dan can think of to wrap that sensitive throat in.
He smiles, already thinking about what a silk-cashmere blend will feel like sliding through his fingers or trailing over pale, freckled skin (or knotted snugly around bony wrists).
I wonder if he would let me tie him up?
Dan heads up the stairs, thinking that he should probably buy four or five scarves. Just in case, because it always pays to plan ahead.