>>43468
>>43723

Artist anon is boggled that anyone remembers that, let alone saved it. c=

Not sure if this is a repost, but even so, here it is.

>>43785

I imagine him doing this to make Dan laugh hysterically.

SO THIS ISN'T RORSCHACH/NITE OWL
but it gave me a giggle-fit, so I had to share.

>>43723
Haha yessss, thank you!
>>43735
And thank YOU!

>>44830
HNNNNG
Tell me this is based on a fic. Please.

Guys. GUYS.
It took me until today to find out that Ted Kord (Blue Beetle) is DC's Nite Owl. Why did it take me until now?
I mean I knew they were similar but...

>>45404
...B-but Nite Owl is DC's Nite Owl!

>>45404
Oh you silly billy. They're all explicitly inspired by existing comic book characters. Rorschach is the Question, Comedian is Peacemaker, etc.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watchmen#Characters

>>29300
>but why

...because it's been established canonly that Dan is one mild mannered kinky bastard who gets it up best when everyone's dressed up.

>>44830

I miss this sort of content, thank you

>>44830

sauce for the shaving pic plz

...and on the subject of sauce, i heart when the author add their name and site at the bottom of the picture. I usually save it with the filename, but since the chan sites strip the file names, I think it's better if we add it with the picture in paint, like, drag down a line of space at the bottom of the picture and add the author name and title.

>>46578
If I'm not mistaken, it's the same artist as the picture you just posted (liodain). Same style, and it's signed "lio"

>>41222
Are you still going to continue the story anon? If you are then I love you!

Here you go, Anon. :3

>>47159 UNF. Nice.

>>44830

this one gets me more hot than some of the explicit ones do.

is this part of a fic?

>>48294
Dying laughing here

anon is on the look out for long fics. Can be gen WM or Rorschach/N.Owl.

Any recs coq?

>>49368
Last Days of an Unreal City - http://scarlet-carsons.livejournal.com/7736.html
AU, there's a nuclear apocalypse instead of squid

Now, as Before - http://etherati.livejournal.com/8531.html
ZOMBIES

Between the Brushstrokes - http://etherati.livejournal.com/15453.html
Post-Karnak, Dan and Rorschach are transported ten years into the future

Playing a Poor Hand Well - http://steals-thyme.livejournal.com/24692.html
Dan's bank account is compromised. He stays with Rorschach while they work the case

Moonless Night - http://daylilymoon.livejournal.com/8002.html
Rorschach is blinded and Dan helps him adapt

Stars - http://daylilymoon.livejournal.com/3121.html
Western AU

>>49564

thanks kind anon! I was just listening to the podfic of Now, As Before and that's what got me looking for more longer fics. ;)

>>49564

dude, +4 owns. look how helpful you people are

>>49564

Not recommending Spy's masterpiece? Shame shame, anon.

Ordinary World by i-am-your-spy
AU where Rorschach is spared, and Dan has to pick up the pieces.
http://i-am-your-spy.livejournal.com/

>>49995
I KNEW I FORGOT ONE. D:
I am suitably shamed, thank you for picking up my slack.

>>49564

moar:

Remember Me as a Time of Day
http://community.livejournal.com/watchfic_dir/481648.html
Rorschach loses his memory, Dan takes care of him

Nocturnal
http://community.livejournal.com/watchfic_dir/486931.html
Dan is a werewolf.

Impschach
http://khilari.livejournal.com/5199.html

The Widening Gyre
http://etherati.livejournal.com/29868.html
Dan and Rorschach stay in a haunted house

Cast Away
http://community.livejournal.com/watchfic_dir/204660.html
Rorschach and Dan crash on the way home from Karnak and get stranded on a desert island

My Only Friend is Imaginary
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5166445/1/My_Only_Friend_is_Imaginary
Instead of a mask Rorschach made a living doll out of the dress


You should check out the OT3 epics too

>>50028

I had missed Nocturnal somehow and now I have a new hugelong fic to read that is turning out really good. Thanks anon!

So I'm trying to find a link to download the podfic of "Now, As Before" and it is kicking my ass for some reason. Do you have to be eljay friends with the reader to see that entry? I dun wanna make a journal. somebody call the waaahmbulance

>>50316 She stopped podficcing and afaik took down all the files for previous podfics, so if it's anywhere to be found it wouldn't be on her journal.

Probably a repost, but whatever.

>>50316

You could try asking on the meta post for the kinkmeme, or at Watchdom. That's usually your best bet for finding the rare and unusual in this fandom.

People make podfic? Huh. Who knew?

>>50316

ask anon on the kinkmeme or etherati's journal
You can't download it direct from the reader anymore afaik, so you need to find someone who's saved it.

>>50316

Let me see if this works. I tried to upload the "Now, As Before" podfic for you all b/c it's awesome. Seriously, it's a zombie AU, so download it asap.

http://www.mediafire.com/?acov10alpfalyyn

>>50392

It worked. I'm not the OP, but thanks anon! Podfic should be interesting.

>>50392
original requester here. Thanks a lot! Really lightened up a long car ride, lemme tell you. Have some Rorschach pron from the distant past of last year.

>>50593

glad to lend a hand! Esp with sharing such an awesome podfic.

>>38020
>>40213

'Think this is it. Saved the writer's note and everything--such a great story...:

I finally got round to finishing the aggressive!Dan/hobo!Walter that I briefly mentioned sometime before. I tried to fit as many wee kinks as I could, but it's my first fic and I'm still not very sure about it. They're both pretty disjointed and OOC, but lets just say Walter was gagging for a bit of hot identity pornings, and Dan is just goddamned sexually frustrated.
------------------------------

Above the city, storm clouds were gathering; a slowly churning mass, the same ill purple-yellow of old bruises. Weak buttery light barely reached the streets below as the clocks crawled past 5pm, and the early evening air was saturated with moisture and the promise of thunder. Daniel eyed the sky with a degree of distrust as he expected the heavens to burst at any moment and drench the ruefully umbrellaless fools of New York.
"- and it had been so nice this morning, which just goes to show you can't even trust the damn weather anymore these days -" In response he merely gave a mollifying smile and pressed a few coins into the waiting palm of the ever-chattering newspaper vendor. Normally, he might stay for a moment and make small talk, but he wasn't in the mood for it then. Tucking his rustling purchase under his arm he stepped out into the busy street again. Old fool. Since when could you ever trust the weather? He smirked, and shook his head. Tomorrow he would be insisting that Heather the Weather Girl was in league with the Reds or some bullshit.

Daniel had the bad habit of watching his feet instead of where he was going, which wasn't a good idea at any time of the day in NYC but was down right thoughtless during rush hour. He brushed past countless shoulders, his gaze lowered to a foot infront of his worn brown loafers as suits grew impatient behind him. Comfortable brown shoes to go with his comfortable brown jacket because he was just comfortable brown Daniel Dreiberg. He would rather watch legs than faces, rather run the risk of a casual bump than accidental eye-contact. The first few pregnant drops of warm rain fell like wet little bombs and the homeward bound crowds seemed to speed up all at once which only succeeded in slowing them down as a whole. He couldn't have been more than a few blocks away from his apartment, so he didn't care much though he did wish people had more patience. It was just then as felt an urgent shove from behind as someone with a briefcase squeezed his way through the trudging masses like a snake, and Dan struggled to keep his balance. He over compensated with a step or two to the left and ended up walking straight into a stationary man. He reeled back with mumbling apologies as he lifted his gazed to see his victim - and froze.

The man was not a stranger. Daniel had seen him a hundred times before, stoically prowling the streets from the diner to his apartment. His eyes worked from the shock of dirty red curls to the stoney colourless gaze down the dirty brown suit, and his mouth went dry. He was a couple of inches shy of perfect, but the strong jaw, the wiry frame hidden beneath filthy layers, the downturned mouth and thin lips made up for that. Christ, he could even smell him from there. Dan had never spoken to him, never even come with fifteen feet of him but he had watched him before - every day he would stand like a sentry in his chosen spot, his sign proclaiming the approaching apocalypse slung over his shoulder like a gun. Eyecatching yet instantly forgettable. Repulsive yet attractive, an enigma in dirty rags. Dan wet his lips with a nervous tongue as they stared at each other for what seemed to be a century.

"It's raining," he said dumbly after a moment. The man adjusted his possessive grip on the sign but said nothing, his face as forcefully passive as ever, "Your placard will be ruined."
Still no response. Daniel could feel himself shriveling up under that cold blank stare. He squirmed slightly, kidding himself he didn't know where he was really going with this. Kidding himself that he hadn't played over this situation a hundred times in his head with a hundred different people.
"Do you...have somewhere to go?...To - y'know, stay?"
The filthy man stayed barely long enough to hear Dan's innocent question. He side stepped him and continued on his glum purposeful march to nowhere in particular. The bespectacled Samaritan was left floundering for someway to stop him. This was just too good an opportunity to pass up.
"I-I'd pay you," he spluttered, pretending not to notice the funny looks he got from passers-by. The tramp stopped midstep as though he had been stricken, and turned with a snarl that sent shivers through Dan. Yellowing teeth bared, eyes flashing, body tense for just a moment - it was perfect, absolutely perfect, "A hundred dollars, in cash."
The sudden flare of anger was gone, and gingery brows creased in a cross between disgust and distrust. Dan knew what he was thinking - scum. He was scum, and by god he was so right but if he didn't do something about it - about Rorschach, about this crazy wonderful man - he would surely explode. He was just human after all, he had needs just like anyone else and they surely weren't worse than most of New York's. Struggling to maintain eye contact, Dan swallowed hard. /Hit me,/ he urged silently as the seconds carried more weight than all the raindrops in the world as they fell away. /Do something. Yell, walk away, sock me right in the jaw, but just do something don't just look at me like that/. His nerves wouldn't - couldn't - hold out any longer, and he turned to go with a muttered apology. Evidently the redhead wasn't quite as desperate as he looked. "Forget it," he said though he was too far and too quiet to be heard. Shame and frustration rolled in his belly like two hot stones and he sighed, "Thought you were someone else. My mistake."

Daniel decided to take the long way home, crossing the street as quickly as possible and slipping unnoticed down a reeking alleyway. His flat was only a couple of blocks away from the forecaster of doom and his stupid sign, but he didn't want to go straight there incase the man found out where he lived. Not that there was really any threat of that. He was clearly as interested in him as he was in something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe, and right then Dan felt like that was exactly what he was. He couldn't believe he had just prepositioned a stranger - a man - for sex. A hundred dollars? A hundred fucking dollars? His breath escaped him in a hiss, and his shoulders dropped slightly. He was quite thoroughly disgusted in himself. It had just sort of...slipped out, he hadn't meant to say it. There wouldn't have been anytime for nonsense like that anyway, it would be dark in a few hours and then Rorschach would come for him. Lord, if he had caught him like that he would have gutted him like a pig - or worse, disappeared and never spoke to him again. Emerging back out into the street, he straightened his rain speckled glasses and half-jogged to his apartment building. There was plenty of time to check Archie was ship-shape for tonight's action. Of course, it would be in perfect working order but Dan couldn't think of a better way to kill time.

He knew something wasn't right before he even got to his end of the hallway, and his suspicions were confirmed upon discovering that his door was slightly ajar. The space beyond was dark, and completely silent. Already his heart was racing as adrenalin surged through Dan's body, his muscles tense and every sense wired to maximum. Had he been robbed? Were they still there? Was it some petty dime-a-dozen crook, a cliched pseudo-villain mask? It didn't really matter in the end. It would only finish the same way - an exchange of barked words, chased closely by a brief and perhaps violent scuffle in which he would overpower the intruder. Unless they were armed, of course. Or Rorschach. Dan might have been fit for a man of his age and girth - and more than capable - but with no tech, no back-up and no prep-time...well, he could do a lot of things, but he couldn't catch a bullet. "Rorschach?" he asked the darkness hoarsely, "Buddy, is that you?" There was no reply. He nudged the door open ever so gently, and slipped inside. He crossed the short hallway in a couple of steps, and without another moments hesitation shoved open the kitchen door. Without his goggles his eyes were slow to adapt to the gloom, so he palmed the switch on the wall closest plunging the small room into watery yellow light.

Daniel had prepared himself for the worst, but the worst couldn't be as bad as this. Sitting there at his table, calm and stoney as ever with his hands flat on he table, was the man with placard. The actual sign itself was propped up against the fridge dripping watery ink onto his clean kitchen floor. His stomach sank like a stone and his heart had leapt into his mouth. Sitting there uninvited in his kitchen - silent and purposeful like a goddamn sphinx or something - was this person. /His/ person, the man of his dreams so to speak but by no means ideal - a pale imitation but an imitation none the less. He swallowed hard, the whole scene feeling uncomfortably familiar. "Wh-what are you doing here?" was the best Dan could choke out. The red-haired man said nothing, his gaze never wavering. He didn't know what to do, but after their earlier encounter he knew that this was going to be nothing but bad news. Taking a step into the room, he placed his hands on the back of the chair opposite his unwanted guest, and smiled tensely.

"Look, if this is about what I said earlier, I'm -"

"Yes," came a gruff interruption. The red-haired man had dropped his gaze to the table top, and his hands were now tight fists.

"Yes...what?" Dan asked, his voice suddenly a little softer. The intruder's jaw twitched, and he knew he was being cruel. He couldn't leave this to chance. He couldn't afford another mistake.

"Hundred dollars, cash," and Dan didn't know if it was a statement, a question or a demand but he could hardly believe that he was hearing it. He couldn't help but notice that the man was breathing a little heavier than before. He let go of the chair, not realizing that he had been gripping it hard enough to whiten his knuckles, and passed a hand briefly over his eyes. It was a moment before he collected himself again, a hundred different circumstances and outcomes running through his head. Not many of them were pretty.

"What's your name?" he asked shortly.

"...Walter."

Daniel nodded, and straightened up. Clearing his throat, he shrugged off his wet jacket and looked his guest straight in the eye with a half-smile.

"Go sit in the living room, Walter. Take off your clothes. Don't touch anything."

Walter done as he was told. He stood before the couch in Daniel's small but cosy flat, and slowly began to undress himself. First he peeled off his grubby fingerless gloves and tucked them into the pocket of his threadbare brown woolen suit jacket which came off next, followed by his dull black shoes and tatty pants. He folded his clothes carefully, gently setting them in a small stack on the arm of the couch.

By the time he was down to his greying underwear and vest-top, he became aware that he wasn't alone anymore. Dan stood in the doorway, intensely watching the man undress with such control and such purpose that it seemed like some sort of ritual. He was a little ahead of the game, already nude from the waist up; around his neck hung a pair of neat little yellow goggles and in his hand he clutched what appeared to be a dirty white rag. He dragged his gaze down Walter, drinking in every drop of him from his greasy orange curls to his uneven sock garters before he thrust the white piece of cloth at him.

"Put it on," was the only instruction.

Walter pawed softly at the rag - it was made of a thin white stretchy material he assumed was once a pair of women's tights or perhaps underwear. Parts of it was stiff with seemingly random blotches of black ink but as he smoothed it out it became quite apparent that they infact formed a nearly perfectly symmetrical design. His breath caught in his throat but he desperately clung to his composure, and instead looked blankly at Dan who sighed. He felt ill.

"Put it on," he said again, a little more urgently. He wanted it to be over and done with as quickly as possible. The less time they took, the less chance he had of being caught-out by his partner. He would have to clean the flat, hide the mask, shower again - no trace of what was about to happen could ever remain, "I'll pay extra. /Please./"

>>51322

Walter fisted the material in his dirty hands before he dragged it on reluctantly. It was difficult to see with it on, but it wasn't too hard to breathe through. Immediately Dan was on him, pulling at the make-shift mask, adjusting it so it was just perfect. Walter resisted the urge to push him off. It was wrong - it was all sick and wrong - but what disgusted him the most was the small comfort it afforded him. It wasn't his face. It wasn't his face, clean and true, it was the gut-twisting fantasy of the man he fought exactly this sort of immoral degradation with on the cold wet streets of New York. It wasn't his partner that he could feel roughly pulling him from his vest like he was undressing a child. It wasn't his Nite Owl that dug his fleshy fingers into Walter's shoulders and his teeth into his neck as he was pushed onto the sagging couch - but it was the closest he was ever going to get. The other man came down with him, forcing the breath from him as he was pinned to the cushions. Through the fabric, he could see Dan adjusting his goggles before hurriedly sliding his pants off and into a heap on the floor where Walter's neat pile was now strewn. They clashed together in an ungainly tangle of bony knees and sharp elbows, with Dan straddling the masked man's narrow hips. He snatched his wrists with one strong hand and held them down above their heads before leaning forward to murmur in his covered ear.

"Struggle," he hissed - his free hand on Walter's neck, his thumb stroking his adam's apple lightly before pressing firmly - and he did, suddenly feeling a little panicked. He hadn't expected it to go like this. He didn't know what he had been expecting, perhaps for Dan to be slow and gentle like he always was, but nothing like this. His hips bucked as he fought to gain some sort of wiggle room beneath his partner, as he could hardly breath beneath him. Ink-stiff cloth chaffed the bridge of his nose as his head was forced back suddenly, and teeth scraped against his vulnerable jugular with the intent to leave their mark eliciting a reluctant moan from the smaller man. Now Dan was struggling to free both himself and his guest of their underwear as quickly as possible, which was made infinitely more difficult by the fact he was unwilling to break contact with him. Waistbands snapped and slid, and finally they were uncovered - this time it was Daniel's turn to moan as Walter ground up against him urgently. He leaned forward causing the smaller man to snap his covered head sharply to the side, but he wasn't going to attempt to kiss him - that would have implied familiarity, affection, perhaps something other than pure lust and frustration. With the hand he had gently choked him with, he slid up the bottom of the mask and roughly jammed his thick fingers into Walter's hot wet mouth.

"Suck," came yet another grunted instruction. The digits tasted faintly of sweat and motor oil even though they were clean, and Walter resisted them, pushing and fighting with his clumsy tongue. If he knew what Dan was planning to do with those fingers and what little saliva coated them, he might have been more compliant. He shifted, moving down the pale freckle speckled body beneath him. He had to let go of his wrists, but Walter didn't move - he was stiff, tense, shaking, craning his neck trying to see what Dan was doing as he moved into an inky blindspot. His legs were pushed apart with a growl as he tried to keep his knees together, feeling over-exposed and vulnerable as hands grabbed at his ankles, shoving them up and out. There was a mutter of something that could have been 'relax', and suddenly there was two fingers jabbed harshly inside him. Walter bit off his ragged moan, twisting and squirming at the itching burning sensation of being stretched without warning. He gritted his teeth as those slick thick fingers were scissored and he clenched as they hooked inside him, trying to arch away.

Now that Walter was keeping his legs spread of his own accord, Daniel was free to leisurely stroke his own cock as he hungrily ate up every little detail of the scene before him. How would it happen, he though to himself. How did they get here, he and his partner? A tough night, a little close, humid - raining, perhaps. A gang of youths - of thugs - six or seven of them...yeah, seven, with weapons. Knives, chains, the works. They'd rough them up a little, it would come scarily close. Adrenaline pumping, hearts thumping they would stagger back to the owl-cave delirious and victorious. Rorschach...Rorschach would be wounded, ferocious, snarling like a bobcat, a wild animal...wild animals were /dangerous/, wild animals had to be /tamed/. Dan would tame him, make him squirm and moan just right before he lost too much blood, before he hurt himself. He'd tame him for his own sake, break him in, calm him down. He slapped away Walter's hands that had drifted down to tug at his neglected cock, pinning his shoulders down. He'd tame him alright, he thought as he thrust forward cruelly making the masked man cry out hoarsely. He'd show him who's boss for once. Without giving him time to adjust, Dan pulled out and slammed back in again all the way to the hilt, loving the noises it forced from his partner; gasps, sobs, grunts, strangled screams. It hurt, he knew that. He wanted it to. Through his goggles, he watched sharp features barely concealed by the pseudo-mask contort and scrunch with pain and perhaps even pleasure in fantastical colours and almost unreal detail. Convinced he could /see/ the bruised blush on those razor sharp cheekbones, the damp spot on the mask where his mouth would be, Dan's pace was starting to become jerky, erratic. He knew he couldn't last much longer, not with rough hands twisting in his hair, untrimmed dirty nails clawing welts down his back.

With a last forceful shallow thrust and a throaty moan, he came so hard he swore he could see stars and his hands clenched around Walter's throat hard enough to leave marks. He couldn't remember grabbing it, but he didn't care. The man was still breathing as he rolled off him to perch unsteadily on the edge of the couch. He dragged his hand across his sweat beaded forehead and stood up shakily. Behind him, Walter lay eaglespread gasping and half-hard. As Daniel stood up uncertainly to gather his clothes, he tore off the damp mask and threw it on the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick and his body was feverish and aching as he stared at the badly scratched back that ambled towards the door without so much as a second glance.

"Put your clothes on and get out. Your money's on the kitchen table," he said, sounding far away or preoccupied, entirely uninterested in Walter - and later on when he comes back through to the empty kitchen, dripping wet and scrubbed red raw, there is nothing left of Walter but an inky puddle and an untouched bundle of twenties.

Some random porn for you, coq. Because we're on the third page, and that's no good.

--

Nite Owl has been watching him strangely all night. It's nothing immediately worrying – he doesn't think he's injured, can feel no defects in his body save the usual aches and bruises, product of a night spent answering the highest calling – but it's all corner-of-the-eye nonsense, something he'd expect from someone less aware of just how little Rorschach misses.

Which means that Nite Owl wants him to notice. Curious and unsettling, all at once.

When they stop on a rooftop for a few minutes' surveillance (there is always more of it to do, more monsters to watch and secrets to uncover) Nite Owl indulges in a sidelong glance that lasts an infuriatingly long time. A man would have to be literally blind to miss it.

Inside Rorschach's gloves, fingers go hot and tingly; his throat is dry. "What," he asks, letting that heat manifest as irritation.

Nite Owl gets halfway to a word before he shakes his head. Looks at his hands, his feet, the distant skyline – anywhere but into the mask, and Rorschach knows it's always asked its own questions.

"Nothing," he finally says, with a catch in his voice that says it's definitely something, but Rorschach isn't in the mood to argue with him.

--

The tunnel back to the Owl's Nest is long, always seems longer at the end of the night than at the beginning. It echoes abandonment from every curved wall, and everything's monochromatic and magnified here, taken to simplified extremes. More than once they've stopped under one of these lights, riding high on the city's pulse and unable to wait another quarter mile, and Nite Owl would–

No. He's not going to lose himself to those thoughts now, because Nite Owl clearly already has, walking with a loose and careless grace, lines of his body falling into a desperately inviting curve. And one of them has to take point, has to pay attention, has to be present, even if they have walked these rails a hundred times, will walk them a hundred more, know the tunnel well enough to go blindfolded from one end to the other without ever touching the walls. Even if it is well and truly abandoned, no footsteps but theirs for years.

Nights like these, anything could happen.

--

Over coffee in the kitchen, his partner will not stop staring, long legs spread under the table and taking up far more space than he needs to. He's low in his chair, eyes dark and suggestive, and in retrospect, the odd looks started days ago. They've felt like some question Nite Owl's incapable of asking, too finely lit in moonlight and justice, too idealized even in his own mind.

Daniel, though...

Rorschach sets his coffee mug down, hard.

--

"God," Daniel breathes, harshly. He's on his back, like he always is, naked as he always is, night's battles written in abstract post-modern shorthand on the canvas of his skin, blue and purple and black. Walter's still mostly disguised as Rorschach, as he always is. The mask is up and his coat and jacket and vest and shirt are all opened down the middle, peeled and pinned back like delicate layers of membrane and skin, and that's hard enough. But he hasn't shed them entirely and they're at least some protection against this.

Still, Daniel asks for more.

"Please," he whines, curling hard fingers into Walter's hipbones, tugging them closer together. One leg tries to hitch up over the worn-smooth leather of his coat, finds no purchase.

It's obscene, what he's asked for, with nothing but the spread of thighs and clawing hands and a high whine that should come from no good man's mouth. A crossing of boundaries that is easy to find condemning words for – whorish, depraved – when it's distant, when it's women in alleyways begging for this, hitching their skirts and allowing themselves to be braced up against walls and pushed inside of, taken.

This close, with all the heat and smell of sweat and the awareness that it's him Daniel wants inside, his own flesh sliding into those dark and disgusting places, the words are forced right out his head. He looks down at Daniel, writhing and lifting his hips invitingly and burbling nonsense and he can't even put his mind around what's happening.

It's too close, too...

He pulls away, shifts off the bed – closes his eyes behind the mask so that he doesn't have to see the look of disappointment to match the low, despairing moan. Works on buttoning his clothes back up, from the inside out, like closing a wound.

"Rorschach..." Daniel starts, and Walter winces, because Rorschach would never be here, here every night like an addict haunting his supplier's doorway; would not be flushed under his clothes and trying desperately to shape bewilderment into disgust instead of the temptation it keeps trying to be. He wills his hands to work faster. "Look, don't... I wasn't trying to scare you off."

"Not scared," Walter hisses, but his voice is in slightly the wrong register and his fingers fumble the tiny buttons of his vest.

"Then why are you–"

"Clearly at cross-purposes tonight. Better to disengage."

Daniel shifts, leverages himself up onto his elbows. "I though we both pretty much wanted to get off," he says, smirking a little, and Walter freezes midway through smoothing the waistcoat points flat against his hips.

Silence in the dark room, for a good while; it'll be dawn soon.

Then Walter finds himself on Daniel again, pinning his shoulders to the mattress with a controlled violence, looming. He waits for the flare of heat in Daniel's eyes to subside back to nervousness.

"Interested in taking something equitable and... enh, marginally honorable, and turning it into a farce," he says, and now the nervousness on Daniel's face shifts again, into confusion. "Degrading yourself, forcing me to degrade you. Not a... this isn't... not a whore, Daniel."

"I... shit, I never said you were–"

"Not me," Walter growls, and his voice is still a little too high and tight but it echoes against the stretched hollow of Daniel's throat. "You."

A whimper, low in the chest; he can feel Daniel swallow at air. "Please."

"No."

"I'm not... I'm not like that and you know it," Daniel says, raking fingers down Walter's coatsleeves. "I just, I need it, need to feel you, please."

"No."

Daniel groans, rough and fractured, arches his head back. It hits Walter like running into a wall, old brickwork scratching at his senses: Daniel's wallowing in this, in the denial.

He shapes the words in his head again – No, Daniel – and feels a spike of something low and hot.

"Tell me what you want," he says, before he can even be sure why he's saying it.

"You already–"

"Say it."

Daniel looks up at him, without any of the soft boyishness that'd once made Walter certain Daniel wasn't as filthy and compromised as he was; this creature is all sharpness and need, shameless. "I want you to fuck me."

"Not going to," Walter growls, peeling Daniel's hands from his sleeves and pressing them flat to the mattress; they're shaking. "Tell me why you want it."

Daniel's flushing now, a new kind of heat in his eyes. He still replies, careful, like reciting a script: "I want to know what it's like."

"Know what it's like?" Walter rocks against him, a hot, careful grind that leaves even him feeling teased and deprived. Daniel must be... "To be violated? Object for another's pleasure? Taken, like some cheap, throwaway toy?"

"I... no, god, it's not like that," Daniel says, and it's almost like he's appalled by the words but the sharp buck of his hips gives him away. Sweat's pooling in the dip of his collarbone, and Walter ducks to lick along it, still too solid and slow, too gone when it's gone. Daniel groans, low, needy.

"Not the real reason." Walter runs a hand up the cleft of Daniel's ass, one finger finding him relaxed and inviting; he makes an inarticulate sound, surprise and arousal. "Have obviously done it before. Why do you want it?"

Daniel doesn't answer, biting his lip, saliva shining there in the diffuse light from the window.

The finger pushes in, dry, to the first knuckle.

"Fuck." It comes out explosive and thin, like a held breath. "Fuck, Rorschach."

"No."

"But you're–"

"Said no," and now it's Walter that gives his own game up, heat rising through his limbs with the words, and this feels so good he can't even allow himself to think about it. He crooks his finger instead, vindictive. "Also told you to tell me why."

Grit teeth, breath through his nose. Daniel still doesn't answer at first, stays silent until Rorschach's just starting to contemplate what his next option is shy of breaking fingers.

"Because it's you," he finally says, and his shining eyes betray it as truth. The words pick up speed as they go. "Because I know what your... ah, god. I know what your hands feel like on me, what you do to other people with them, how you move, how your body... I know what you could do inside me."

Silence, delicate, and he can feel Daniel's pulse racing against the enveloped tip of his finger.

Daniel swallows. "I want that."

"Don't get something just because you want it."

A low vocalization, as close to pure pleasure as Rorschach can identify. He eases the finger out, careful, and the sound changes pitch, becomes more desperate.

"Certainly don't get something the first time you ask," Rorschach says, and it feels like the filthiest thing he's ever said.

"Of course," Daniel says; then, contradicting, "Please."

"Asked nicely." Rorschach wraps a hand around both of them, rocking into the friction; Daniel moves with him, hands still curled into the sheets where Rorschach put them, like they're still being pinned there. "But that doesn't get you everywhere."

Daniel whimpers, and something breaks open, letting a stream of babble free. "Goddamn it, Rorschach, please," he says, then repeats himself, endless variations on the theme until what's leaving his mouth is barely language. "Come on, I'm..."

I'm begging you, here.

Under the lifted line of the mask, Rorschach feels his face shift; he's smiling, just a little, as he tightens his grip and twists, pulls Daniel's orgasm out of him and finishes himself a moment later, soiling them both in symmetric, equal measure.

--

"Oh my–" Daniel says, interrupting himself with breathless laughter. "Oh my god, Rorschach."

Walter doesn't respond, doesn't bother correcting him; even with the trench and jacket splayed open and his pants undone and his cock going soft against his leg, he still feels like something strong, now.

"God," and Daniel is repeating himself, uselessly awe-struck. "I can't believe you were getting off on that. A kink for being disagreeable and uncooperative, there's one for the books."

An annoyed huff of breath, louder than he means it to be.

Daniel runs the back of his hand over his forehead, collecting sweat. "Only you, man."

"Noticed," Walter finally finds the energy to rebut, acerbic, "that I was not the only one enjoying it."

And it's natural enough in this state for them to drift a little, so the pause that follows doesn't strike Walter as strange until Daniel breaks it by rolling to face him, threading one arm over his chest. The moment feels tight, suddenly.

"You weren't," Daniel says, mumbling into his throat, strangely serious. "I was... that was really hot, god. Saying things like that, and you... but, Rorschach. I don't, uh. I don't say things I don't mean."

Walter shuts his eyes again, tries to keep his breathing steady under Daniel's arm. Behind closed lids, sparks are still dancing.

"I do want... I do want you," Daniel's voice continues, vibrating against his skin. "Like that. Because I think it'd be amazing. And because I... ah, hell."

Breath catches in his throat when he feels Daniel drag his mouth up over his jawline, come to rest just under his ear, take a moment to form soundless endearments there. When he continues, it's almost a whisper.

"But you know? I'll beg as long as you need me to, buddy."

-

>>51879
Fuck, I came. More like this anon.

>>51879
omfg this is hot as hell. MOAR.

>>51938

haaaaaa LAURIE'S FACE THAT IS AMAZING

But I think the "Although if she..." bubble should say "stopped bathing and switched to Nostalgia" because he does use Nostalgia! He steals it from Dan XD

>>51938

Can this be the new Ooh Mr. Darcy comic plzthx?

oh noes, we've stopped bumping. Someone repost that comic in a new thread quick!