Rating: MA
Warnings
: improbable absence of traffic cops and even more implausible sex (later).
Summary: Biker!Dan/schach on the OwlBike
Beta: silvergrin
Disclaimer: Do not own.

For a kinkmeme prompt.


For more than a few months, he's observed a shape growing under a tarpaulin in Daniel's basement. Pride prevents him from peeking or asking outright. Instead, he pays closer attention to the various parts Daniel works on during the day. Writing in his journal or reading the New Frontiersman, he watches from the periphery of his vision, solely to identify the mysterious object that is Daniel's daytime pre-occupation; Daniel at his workshop, sometimes in his overalls, oily streaks clinging to his cheekbones, or, rather shamelessly, in his under-vest and shorts, straight out of bed, third coffee steaming gently on the ground next to his toolbox.

Occasionally, there is a dented, paint-chipped metal item he beats out, clangs reverberating around the Nest and forcing Rorschach to retreat to the kitchen to huddle over whatever is in Daniel's fridge or cupboards. Sometimes, putty is reluctantly mixed and applied with a spatula, to the accompaniment of muttering over the travesty. This is followed by sanding, cleaning, painting and buffing with tools that spin or rattle, always making a huge din, until suitable aloofness is impossible to sustain.

When he sees the two aerodynamic objects that Daniel styled with chrome art deco trim, there is no choice. He has to find out. While Daniel lovingly hand-paints feathers along this thing, he harrumphs, "Daniel," making it sound like an accusation.

"Yes, Rorschach?" Daniel covers up his initial startled reaction with what Rorschach internally refers to as his irritatingly pleasant smile and idiot-child face.

"What is that?" he says, somehow managing to pack, another extravagant time-wasting distraction that is taking you away from things that really matter, like crime fighting and patrolling into it.

"Uh, what?" Daniel says, making the impatience rise in him until he growls.

"Oh, this?" he says, pointing to the feathered brown thing.

"Yes, Daniel, that."

"It's, uh, it's a rear fender."

"A fender." Rorschach is getting a little worried now. "You're working on a motorbike?"

Dan isn't sure what he expected Rorschach to say, certainly not wholehearted support, but he is a little disappointed when Rorschach huffs and expresses his disapproval at the way he is spending his time. Hands in his pockets, he glares--for that is what the pattern looks like--at the bike in question with a ferocity he usually reserves for prostitutes who come a little too close.

"I do not understand this sudden desire to put yourself in the seat of a death trap, Daniel. What is wrong with the owlship?"

"Nothing's wrong with Archie. And may I point out the irony of a safety lecture coming from you, a man that regularly throws himself off roofs and fire-escapes?" He suspects the real reason why Rorschach is being particularly irascible, so he says, "Besides, I was kind of hoping you would be riding it too."

"Me?" Rorschach appears startled.

"Yes, you. To fight crime," he offers as a carrot.

Unfortunately, with not much of a result. "On the back of that thing?"

"Um... Yes. There's plenty of room," Dan says, pointing to the raised rear portion of the seat before feeling slightly silly.

"With y--" Rorschach appears struck dumb. He looks from the bike to Dan and then back again. Then he turns to Dan, rolls his shoulders, and just stares at him.

Dan begins to feel extremely uncomfortable, and hastens to end the conversation. "Well, there's plenty of time to think it over. Now, how about that patrol?"

The next few months see Rorschach demanding more research and other work outside of patrol time from Dan. He asks Dan to chase increasingly impossible leads, sends him on absurd errands. Yet Dan manages to steal time here and there, fuelled by coffee and the same fanaticism that created Archie. He feels inspired, he studies the technical aspects of custom-made and racing bikes, things to do with mufflers and other aspects of the bike's engineering to make it go faster and quieter than anything else on the road. He decides on a tire design that will allow it to be as maneuverable and fast off road as well as on, because you never know.

At the touch of a button, the bike throws up shields that enclose its riders and protect them from bullets and other assault weapons. Drawing on his crime fighting and owlship experience, he thinks up other things to add that could be of use to vigilante work: CB radio, police scanner, radar, a smoke screen, talons that pop out of the sides of the wheels, screechers, and warm/cold drink holders.

With each addition, Rorschach becomes more and more gloomy as the reality of Daniel's conviction becomes clearer. He's not sure what it is about the bike, after all, isn't Daniel creating a lethal weapon, another addition in their arsenal against crime? But the thought of riding pillion makes him very nervous, for some reason. He's fortunate that, Daniel being Daniel, there's always something new to add, something that doesn't quite work the way it should, and Daniel is pulling apart some part of the bike again.

One evening, his heart sinks as he walks up the tunnel and Daniel is already at the end of it, apparently waiting for him. He has that look in his face, the one that makes him want to both punch him in the face and yet also ... he refuses to think about it further. Dan is clearly excited about something, he's got his costume on but the cowl is off. There's a ramp that wasn't there before leading up to where Dan has his owl suits and other gear. Where the bike is.

The front recalls Archie, with large round twin headlights and oval windshield, only more streamlined. The fairings on either side resemble wings flaring out, leading to the wheels, the covers of the fork end with talons at the front wheel. Here and there are feathers against the dark brown background, painted as if picked out by moonlight. The overall impression is of an owl diving, legs stretched out in front to snatch its prey. When he looks more closely, he can see instruments, buttons and switches neatly integrated into the fairing, behind the windshield. It is massive, built for Nite Owl's frame.

Half an hour later, Dan is still persuading Rorschach. By now, both of them have exchanged insults and threats. Dan is getting increasingly desperate.

"Come on, Rorschach, haven't you heard of The Wild One? Marlon Brando?"

"Hedonistic delinquents engaged in disorderly and criminal activities, bad role models for youth. Excuses manslaughter, and responsible for glorification of gang violence--"

Before Rorschach can begin the familiar litany against immoral films, Dan says, "All I'm saying is live a little."

"Intend to. Starting with a sense of self-preservation."

"Self-pre-- You?"

"Cannot fight crime dead, Daniel." Wait, was that a smirk?

Dan concentrates on putting the finishing touches while he thinks. It can't be what he says. Rorschach is rarely afraid of something so ordinary as mortal danger, is this one rare instance? Or... the thought forms, could it be Rorschach is nervous about Dan, whether he can be trusted to be able to ride the bike, whether Dan is, in fact, a good enough rider? There was only one way to find out.

"Of course, if you're afraid--" and Rorschach cuts him off with one of his obscene throat noises.

"I am not... afraid of what is simply a mode of transport. Simply debating operational issues. Suppose the partnership should be open to new things."

"Now you're talking. Besides, there is that carjacking ring..." he offers as a clincher. The overly-successful car theft operation has been a pain for both the police and themselves: the stolen cars are used for a free ride, but more seriously in other crimes, like ram-raiding business premises and shops or to do a hit, and avoid identification. Many end up stripped and scattered in other vehicles, others have their VINs and plates swapped and wait in dealerships and shipping docks.

Rorschach's reluctance is obvious, but he is not one to reject a tactical advantage, which being on a fast motorbike would indeed bring. He climbs on to the back of the bike, hands grabbing at the bars on either side of the seat, legs looking short as they attempt to wrap around the sides. He takes off his scarf and uses it to tie his fedora down. Dan works hard to keep his face straight. They'd need to do something about that. In the meantime...

He tries explaining with gestures, "Um, you'd be more in tandem with the bike and me if you put your hands round my..." then swallows, hands shifting quickly to pull at his cowl, suddenly awkward.

"Fine like this," Rorschach says firmly, looking prim as he keeps his hands clutched on the bike.

"Okay. Sure."

They pull out of the tunnel, and Dan is a bit shaky around the first bend; he is a little nervous. Somehow, burning the candle at both ends, even with Rorschach cracking the whip behind him, Dan has also been having one-on-one training at the Nascar race track, explaining it away as a hobby (wasn't that what heirs to family fortunes did?). He's been taught how to skid through sand and oil, how to stop and spin the bike around, ride on narrower and narrower raised planks and make jumps spanning gaps. Part of it has to do with shifting the centre of gravity, using his gaze to direct his body to steer the bike, to wherever he wants it to go.

He was not, however, taught how to deal with a particular sensation: muted by padding, he still senses it, the rub of Rorschach's coat against his Kevlar-protected back. He's both nervous and victorious--he thought it would be at least a week before he got Rorschach to ride, and something about Rorschach's apprehension is a pleasant novelty, a little of a reversal to Dan. What isn't is his own physical reaction to Rorschach's proximity, and he's glad his partner can't see it from behind him.

It's all too much of a distraction, so he tries to tune it out. He's stopped at the lights and turns to glance at Rorschach, who shrugs at him. He takes the time to reflect. Recently, using the instructor's bike, he's ridden through city streets, car parks, and race tracks. The bike at first felt like an untamed beast, himself out of tune, awkward. Then, more lately, it's become more familiar, an extension of his body, and he's been surprising himself and his teacher, spinning, cutting and leaning into corners like he's been doing it since he was three.

He reaches behind to tap Rorschach on his arm. "Do what I do," he tells him. The latter has barely enough time to grip more firmly before Dan pulls the throttle in sharply, throwing the front wheel up, the bike rearing like a wild colt, and off they go. He smiles to himself as he feels Rorschach put his arms around his waist in an attempt to keep from flying off the back, practicality winning out over unease over contact. Five minutes on the motorbike has achieved a breakthrough in Rorschach's wall of reserve that a couple of years as partners did not. Dropping from the wheely onto two wheels again, he revs up, flicking with his foot through the gears, until they're almost at top speed.

A good thing he knows these streets so well: up ahead comes a right corner that he knows is followed by a swing to the left, so he's well-prepared. He feels Rorschach slam against him as he applies the front brake and changes down the gears. He lightens pressure on the front to release the beginnings of a lock, looks beyond the bend and leans the bike into the right corner. Straightaway past the first corner, he swings up and then leans to the other side to bring the bike around the left curve. Rorschach echoes his movements, a little slow, but not so badly as to destabilize the bike; he's quick enough, and it won't take long before he figures out what to do.

Sure enough, at the T-junction, Rorschach has already worked out where Dan intends to turn and roughly how to lean the body and keep his head upright. There's time for Dan to give a congratulatory 'thumbs up' to which Rorschach responds with his middle finger in front of Dan's face.

Strong language, especially from Rorschach, but Dan's on a high and unstoppable. The next crossroads, he executes a spin, and there is a mix of very real fear that the bike would drop, and euphoria when he successfully turns the bike three hundred and sixty degrees to face the direction it came from. Feeling proud of himself, he takes the bike to the pace of a light jog. A tap on his shoulder reminds him of his passenger. Turning around, his goggles fill with the vision of Rorschach up close--and there is no mistaking the blot for 'angry.'

He signals, okay, okay, and rides the bike home.

Back at the nest, if Dan's flushed and his voice is filled with excitement, it is from the thrill of the ride. Nothing more. And if it's given him ideas on how to use the bike as a weapon against crime, Rorschach didn't need to know yet. At least, not until he gets him back onto the bike again.