Title: To Tie A Gordian Knot
Rating: M for language, adult situations and strong sexual content
Pairing: Ozymandias/The Comedian
Disclaimer: The characters of "Watchmen" are the sole property of Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, and DC Comics. No copyright infringement is intended, no disrespect is meant to anyone involved in the making of either book or film, and no profit will ever be made. I am just a humble fan who likes to fill in the blanks.
Summary: Canon. The Comedian issues a dare, and Ozymandias finds a truth. Slight spoilers for book-verse backstory.
Warnings: D/s; consensual bondage; power trips (which is par for the course for these two). Don't like, don't read. It's as simple as that.
Archive?: Only with permission.
Special Thanks: To La (aka "bond_girl") for fluffing this pillow of a story up high with her insightful beta work. Arigatou gozaimasu, Sensei! *bows*
Author's Note: New story, new fandom, rare pairing! (I need another fannish obsession like I need another hole in my head...but what can you do? *shrugs*) It's so rare these days for a character that I've just met to suddenly take up residence in my head and start speaking at length, but that's exactly what Adrian did. The blame for what follows shall rest squarely on his shoulders, along with the fate of the world as we know it. There's room for both, I think. *wink*
(This is an EDITED version, slightly reworked to conform to FFN's guidelines for adult content. The original will ONLY be archived at my Journal.)
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To Tie A Gordian Knot
"Oh yeah, smart guy?" The stench of his tobacco breath is overpowering, yet I maintain my composure. He dangles a pair of police-issue handcuffs before my eyes, barely able to suppress a chuckle. Even now, in the face of my greatness, I was still just a joke to him.
"Prove it."
Of course he would come to me. Or rather, come for me. It was no secret that I had amassed a wealth of expertise over the years, having studied a variety of books and films dedicated to the very subject at hand. And the practice of said arts with a skilled and willing partner proved to be a most pleasing enterprise, for the most part.
But pleasure takes many forms. And of all the forms I knew, there was one guaranteed to cause him not only the most discomfort, but the most shame.
How perfect. I alone was capable of causing The Comedian shame. And if in the end, this becomes the only thing about me that commands his respect, then so be it.
"As you wish."
It was enough to bring us to this point. The rest is up to him.
* * * * *
My gloved fingers tangle in the thicket of hair in his armpit, and he shudders, spitting out another stream of curses as he struggles within my artfully-tied kinbaku ropes.
"Silence," I say, wrapping the black silken cord that snakes around his erection even tighter. Already he has forgotten the terms of our agreement. "'Crouching Samurai, His Sword Unsheathed' is a very advanced position, a technique worthy of a Grand Master. You should be honored."
"Fuck you and your honor, you faggot!" He growls. "Let me go!"
Now it was my turn to laugh at his insistence. "Wrong answer."
Dockland swims into view, our past overlapping the present in my mind's eye, and I watch my hands move as if from a great distance. The brine of sea air becomes the salt of a man's sweat; the chime of dock bells echo in the clink of handcuffs against a metal headboard. Not his body blanketing mine this time; oh no. Not his fists pummeling me, overpowering me, his blunt remarks years later cutting me down to the quick.
I have finally become a man to be reckoned with. And tonight, I have the upper hand.
On his back, restrained like this, he is like a wild stallion, harnessed against its will to the front of a warrior's chariot. Lips foaming around the bit between its teeth, all instinct and fury as it barrels mindlessly onward. I try to reign him in once more but still he resists, so I draw out my most secret weapon. A rare find excavated from an Egyptian temple; a solid gold representation of that which drives mankind to the brink of madness. Made for a queen, now wielded by a king. It slides into him with an ease that betrays his experience, and as I rock it back and forth the sculpture works its ancient magic. The initial shock subsides, and is swiftly overtaken by surprise. I know the exquisite sensation all too well.
My nipples harden beneath their kevlar and rubber prison but I restrain myself, clenching my teeth and willing the current of excitement to subside. One must never surrender to baser needs when exacting discipline.
His eyes roll heavenward as his mouth falls open, but instead of a gull's keening cry there comes a demon's howl, a lustful counterpoint to the fresh sheen of sweat that makes his naked body glow amber in the lamplight. He thrashes his head from side to side, moaning, straining mightily against jute and titanium. And when his spine arches past the breaking point I throw caution to the wind, going all the way in to the very root.
"PLEASE!" He screams.
If only he was younger, purer, not so much a blood-soaked tool but a man unspoiled, I might truly have him.
But I am not John. I cannot unravel the tangled web of past history any more than I could turn this brute soldier into a savior. All I can do is learn. Learn, grow, move forward, eliminate all obstacles in my way. Destroy my enemies from the inside out if need be. It is a lonely path I travel, true...but the price I pay for knowledge is a small one. There are far greater glories that await me at journey's end. I know this. It gives me solace when nothing else will.
There might be some solace here too, but I doubt he will find it. He looks so helpless now, caught in the first throes of his own blinding climax, and as I finally pull the binding loose I watch his freed organ pump against his belly, painting his scarred flesh with gouts of pearly white. There is so much of it that I think it might never end. I drag a fingertip through the cooling mess and bring it to his cheek, tracing where the deep gouge on his face meets the corner of his mouth. His drool mixes with his tears, runs down his stubbly chin. He doesn't seem to care.
The Comedian's breath is ragged, his eyes dark and heavy...and for the first time in a long while I am truly satisfied.
* * * * *
I watch his reflection in the tall windows while I wait patiently for my car to arrive. The evidence of what transpired here hardly shows on him, save for a bright red bracelet that circles one wrist. He rubs at the welt, chewing absently on what remains of his Montecristo while sitting on the edge of the sofa.
"What if I say that I want to do that again?" There's something raw in his voice as he says this; just the barest hint of emotion cutting through the screen of cigar smoke. I turn to face him.
He meets my stare -- fearless, unmasked -- and dares ask, "Would you?"
Would I?
At last. The reins are firmly in my grasp. I hold them fast, and smile as I answer, "No."
~finis
*** For more information about the ancient Japanese art of "rope bondage" (aka kinbaku) see the corresponding article on Wikipedia (NSFW).
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