The Strength of His Convictions - Rorschach/Dan fic
There is a stillness to the night, one he might have actually appreciated under different circumstances, but that stillness is punctuated by a tenseness, a tang in the air that tells Rorschach that something is not quite right.
He stands outside the apartment building of his former (is he former now?) partner, Dan Dreiberg, the man once known as Nite Owl. They haven’t seen each other in weeks; in fact, their partnership hasn’t been the same since that night in ’75 when Rorschach became the man he is now. Dan doesn’t approve of his newfound ferocity towards criminals, and he doesn’t care for Dan’s softer approach. Although he will never admit it, he still holds out hope that their partnership can be salvaged.
He focuses on the task now at hand: entering the building without alerting anyone to his presence. He’s a pro at this. He has entered Daniel’s home many times before, usually by simply kicking the door in (he thinks it aids Dan by keeping him alert and on his toes), but tonight, he relies on his lock picks.
He slides the case out of one of his trench’s outer pockets, flips open the cover and removes the right tool, all in one swift, practiced motion. He deftly makes swift work of the lock, and, cautiously, he swings the door in, ready for any danger that may lurk on the other side.
Only there is no danger there, no burglar rummaging through Daniel’s possessions, no murderer ascending the stairs, knife in hand. No, there is only Rorschach and the night, and he almost feels foolish. Maybe he is becoming paranoid, like they all whisper about him behind his back (he has heard all the things they have said about him).
He turns to leave when he hears the sound of a muffled groan coming from down the hallway. He chides himself for not checking the entire apartment as he heads to the source of the sound. It’s coming from Daniel’s bedroom. He hesitates in front of the thick oak door (he’s never been in this part of the apartment before), but another pained moan sturdies his resolve.
The door already stands a few inches open, and he gently pushes it open further, willing the hinges not to squeak. Fortunately, Dan is a stickler for taking care of his home, and the door doesn’t make a sound.
He expects to see Dan struggling with an attacker. That would make sense. That would explain the sounds he has heard. What he actually sees is far worse and harder for his mind to take in.
Daniel is alone in the room, alone in the grand king-sized bed. One hand is currently clutching at the tangled sheet beneath him, and the other. . .
It takes a moment for Rorschach to fully comprehend the scene before him. Dan lies naked before him, his other hand slowly, gently stroking his dick.
"Filth!" Rorschach's mind screams. "Degenerate!"
He can't believe what he is seeing. Dan Dreiberg, Nite Owl, his partner! Behaving no better than the common scum they've taken off the streets!
He turns to leave, his stomach knotted by what he has seen tonight when another groan, one that almost sounds like a name, captures his attention.
Rorschach looks back into the room, and image he sees there makes him gasp softly under his mask. His brain knows this is wrong, to watch Daniel in such a moment, but the fire in his gut compels him.
If he could only admit the truth to anyone, himself included, Rorschach has dreamed of such an opportunity while he curls up on his own dingy mattress in his own paltry apartment. He has imagined what Dan would look like in such a situation. His wildest fantasies don't even come close to approaching reality.
The moonlight drifts in through the curtains, caressing his body in ways Rorschach has dreamed of touching Dan. The light glints off the sweat collected on his body, and his well-sculpted form looks like marble. His hand is moving more rapidly now.
Rorschach's mouth has grown very dry, and he swallows once, hard, painfully. His body is as tense as a loaded spring. His eyes graze hungrily down the length of Dan's body, but his eyes are drawn back to Dan's hands.
Those hands that have patched him up heaven knows how many times are moving faster and faster. They elicit beautiful, agonizing gasps of pleasure, and Rorschach yearns to feel that touch himself, to be the one causing Dan such delight.
He can feel his own lust build up inside him. He struggles to keep it under control. He is not some common pervert ("Neither is Daniel," some small part of his mind protests), yet he watches. He just can't bring himself to look away, not when Dan is so close.
He watches as Dan's expression changes the closer he is to his release, the way his tongue runs over his lips, how he runs his free hand through his hair. He takes in every minute detail, savoring it like a lost soul at an oasis.
The moment Dan's orgasm hits is a sight to behold. He gasps and moans as the waves of pleasure overtake him, and his muscles contort under his skin as he writhes wantonly on the bed. Rorschach bites his lower lip until he draws blood, determined to still his own echoing moans.
He knows his window of opportunity to escape unnoticed is closing. Slowly, with a little regret, he backs down the hallway. He is cautious, alert for Daniel, but in his addled state, he forgets about the bookcase at the end of the hall.
As he turns the corner, his hip bumps the lower shelf, knocking something to the floor with a cacophonous clatter. As lightly as a cat, he springs for the door and is outside before Daniel can catch him. It would be the breaking point of their partnership, of that he is certain.
His heart races as he heads down the adjoining alley. He must regain his composure. Rorschach glances up at Dan's building and sees lights on in the apartment. He presses himself tighter against the wall, willing the shadows to swallow him.
It doesn't take long before Dan's apartment is once again dark. He must have found there was no one there and returned to bed, assuming the danger is gone.
"Too trusting," Rorschach mutters darkly, pulling his trench coat tighter against his body.
He has resisted. He didn't give into the instinct to sully himself. Strangely, the knowledge is small comfort as he stalks the streets. He doesn't feel like the stronger man tonight.