Rating: MA
Warnings: implied violence, explicit language and sex
Summary: Biker!Dan/schach on the OwlBike
Beta: silvergrin
Disclaimer: Do not own.
For a kinkmeme prompt.
It is unacceptable. It goes beyond the call of duty, what Daniel expects of him, he thinks as he trudges yet another time down the tunnel, limbs still a little bit shaky. He'd gone along with using the bike for patrols, with riding behind Daniel. All for a good cause: the car thefts have been stepped up a notch, citizens are complaining, and the New Frontiersman has taken to ranting about taxpayers being deprived of the rewards of their hard work. It is becoming embarrassing for both the vigilantes and the cops and he's willing to endure a certain measure of discomfort in order to nail them. But it seems each night, his boundaries are being breached, the neat lines that delineate their partnership bleeding out. And all because of that contraption.
The night began with Nite Owl emerging from the dressing-room-in-all-but-name clad in some sort of cross between his normal owl attire and a motocross racer. He comes down the steps a little stiffly and squeakily, because he's entirely encased in brown leather, a one-piece racing suit. There's something on his back... oh, of course, what else--a triangular flap of leather stitched to his shoulders and upper arms made to resemble wings. Rorschach allows himself to be a little grateful for the absence of a cape: it was blowing in his face and around him. The outfit is topped by a full-faced helmet with owl tufts, similar to the ones on his cowl but sweeping a little further back, he supposes, for air flow.
He harrumphs to disguise the beginnings of a laugh. Still, he appreciates the effect it would have on those already ridden with paranoia and guilt--Nite Owl looks less human, taller and more intimidating, the leather clinging-- He especially approves of the visor, which has the shape of a barn owl's face and is made of a dark, reflective material that completely hides Daniel's face.
"Infrared vision?" he asks, but he knows the answer even before Nite Owl nods. He reaches under his chin and, sheeek, the visor slides up, revealing Dan's face. He's not quite happy with how exposed it looks--there are no spectacles or goggles protecting Daniel's brown eyes, currently filled with excitement more befitting a little boy.
The matter of the costume dealt with, he's turning away when he hears Daniel clearing his throat. Not usually a good sign. Daniel fishes something out from the bench behind him and holds it out to him. A helmet. This is too much. He's already had to deal with Daniel repeatedly hinting about body armor in the past. He likes his costume the way it is. He starts to shake his head.
"Come on, Rorschach, it'd give you better protection."
"Hurm. Plenty of protection but you still get hurt."
He feels no small satisfaction as Daniel pauses momentarily at this, but then hears him say, in a casual voice, "So... what, you're going to question suspects and witnesses with the scarf tied over your hat, like some sort of eccentric aunt?"
"Don't be an imbecile, Daniel, only whilst riding." It's too late, though, as his mind will not let him forget the image that Daniel has painted for him. With a sigh that puffs out his mask, he places his hat carefully on Daniel's draft table and snatches up the helmet. At least it is not too ostentatious, just a black open-faced helmet, and will not affect his vision and fighting. It is a small adjustment, totally pragmatic. Tapping the helmet, he reflects on its weight and hardness before putting it on.
"No, the strap has to be pulled through. Like this." Daniel's gloved fingers feel cool against his jaw. The smell of coffee on his breath. He mutters, "A bit hard with my gloves on, though."
Before he can go further, Rorschach flicks him off. "Enough wasting time, let's talk to the contact I mentioned."
The insurance inspector they interview gives them very useful information: the car thieves are branching out into insurance scams, and someone's gotten a bit sloppy in their greed. One so-called victim of car theft looked too familiar to her--she saw him on a different case several days ago. She's given them an address which Daniel will check out in the day.
It is progress, in any case. However, Daniel is not taking them back the way they came. No, apparently he has other plans. He rides them out of New York City, passing through wide highways. It was from this point the problem really started. First, it manifested under his posterior, the thudding of the motorbike against the inside of his legs, an insistent rhythm sent to where they join. It is just a physical reaction, not anything more, the hardness becoming increasingly demanding as they pass more trees, less buildings, sloping land rising and falling alongside.
He finds himself leaning in, and draws back as subtly as he can. The scenery slows down, starts acquiring details. They follow a long slow curve east; hit a straight, empty stretch and then--
In his ears, Daniel's voice cuts into his reflection. "I need you to hang on tight." What was--? It dawns on him that the helmet is less innocuous than he thought; it is Daniel-made after all. He growls to himself and is irritated to hear, "Don't be like that--think about the operational advantages." Apparently, their helmets are equipped with two-way communication devices.
"Hardly think chatter about transitory female acquaintances is an operational advantage--"
"Hey! That... that's just unfair, Rorschach, you know I wouldn't do that. And Rachel is not some blow-in, although I give you I have yet to know her better--"
"Yammering. Right now."
"Okay, that's it." The bike is moving slow; he feels it, the difference in the way the bike is stopping. The rear ends lifts up and he's got barely enough time fling his arms tighter around Daniel's chest before he is flung hard against his head and shoulders as the bike continues to move forward on its front wheel. "Easy, easy, pal!" as, in an effort to stay on, he snaps his arms tight around Daniel.
"DANIEL! PUT BIKE DOWN NOW OR WILL MISS BEING ALIVE!"
"Come on, we need practice." Pleading.
"Umfft. Fail to see how broken neck will be of any use."
The bike falls back down, swings dangerously from side to side and then accelerates. Rorschach breathes again, beginning to loosen, only to be thrown backwards as Daniel practices a wheely. As the personage formerly known as Nite Owl whoops, he clings tightly. He reflects that it was one thing to leap from building to building and climb fire escapes, but sitting on the back of a motorbike while another person did their best to crash it was completely different.
As he adjusts, he begins to notice the effects of friction and the throb of the engine and grits his teeth against them. On their way back, he ascribes the intensification of the depraved feelings to the spikes of panic and the clashing physical and mental challenges that he's been put through. The pressure against his groin is becoming painful. It is intolerable; it is the ultimate affront to all that he has striven for. Resentment against the man in front builds. It is all he can do not to... not to attack Daniel, to push him onto the floor... to... to--
It might be-- No. It is just chemicals and the corrupting influences of his childhood that are having this effect upon him. He does not even bother to respond to Daniel's almost-enquiring, "Good night" as he leaves. When he reaches his apartment, he decides it would be best if they work apart for a while; perhaps that is all that he needs to salvage Rorschach's incorruptibility, critical to cleansing and protecting the city from human filth.
Three nights later, he's waiting for Daniel near the bike again. It is not a big sacrifice for the sake of fighting crime, after all.
The carjacking ring has coalesced around the figure of someone calling himself 'Motohead'--and they really shouldn't laugh, after all, look at their own lineage of assumed names. And costumes. He's taken on the style of turn-of-the-century motorists, with a gray cloth duster jacket, scarf, driving goggles and peaked cap. Already, he boasts an army of thieves, chop shops, fences and money launderers. They good cop bad cop the hell out of the insurance cheat. Faced with Rorschach's methods of inquiry, he finds a sympathetic ear in Dan, providing a list of members of the network and their locations.
It is one of these that they are visiting tonight, a huge workshop in a dockyard warehouse specializing in stripping and changing car ids. Cars and car parts everywhere. Dan sends the bike surging forward. Rorschach's hold on him tightens as the bike thunders towards the mechanic and two men.
There's a surge of triumph as they gain upon the fleeing criminals and are almost at their heels--but then their targets veer off into two directions. A moment of panic as he's suddenly released by Rorschach, the bike sways, and then utter amazement as he watches his partner pull away above him. Rorschach's used the grappling gun to hook one of the supports of the warehouse. He reels himself in, flying above Dan. He now swings himself towards the mechanic and drops on him from above.
Dan turns his attention to the other men. He chases one down and--he's done this many times already, but it still feels like he's throwing himself to fate when he does it--steps on the back brake hard. This makes the bike skid forward and hit the man. He's down; he's holding his leg and looking terrified. Not too far away, the other suspect climbs up some crates that are in his way. A hard swing, and his crescent handles this one, the target drops where he is.
"Hurm. Underestimated the tactical value of owl bike." Dan feels the blush spread across his face--this is the first time that Rorschach has called it that. It is usually, 'that thing,' or 'it', often spat out with contempt. Not for the first time, he also notes Rorschach's strategic omissions of pronouns, this time allowing him to escape a real apology. He takes out a pair of handcuffs from the alternate dimension that inhabits his trench coat pockets, clicks them in place, and, the mechanic secured, leaps over to where he left the grappling gun. A practiced twist of his wrist--as the hook comes off the beam, he's already pressed the retract button, and the cable zips into the recess of the gun with a thwack that echoes around them.
He turns back to the mechanic as Dan ties up the others and looks for his crescent. Only one finger is required to secure the leads needed to pinpoint where Motohead is based.
As Dan tucks his crescent away, he hears a sickening crack. Rorschach is finishing up and it might be messy. He winces as he turns to the sight. The helmet is swinging off the straps held in Rorschach's hand, and Dan guesses that it, too, had done its service to the cause, and had a part to play in the prone figure of the mechanic. "He was complaining about the pain," Rorschach explains. He shrugs. "Alteration to uniform is serviceable"--and that is as direct a compliment or concession he would be getting.
Rorschach is in a good mood, and shows off a bit--he vaults onto the bike lightly and sits there, arms across his chest, looking at Dan. Dan can't help but smile. There are few sights that give him pleasure as much as seeing his partner in crime fighting obviously pleased and happy.
He's looking forward to celebrating a bit on the ride back.
Time passes.
Dan eases the bike down to a graceful stop, takes off his helmet, and waits for Rorschach to hop off. Rorschach doesn't move; his arms are still clasped around his waist.
"Um, Rorschach?" His voice lifts at the end. Perhaps Rorschach is hurt? Rorschach removes his helmet slowly and places it on the ground. He puts his hands against Dan's shoulders, makes to push away, and then instead leans in, head pressed against Dan's back. He feels a sharp exhalation through Rorschach's chest.
Dan turns around in inquiry and is struck speechless by what he can read of Rorschach's posture and the darkness of his mask. The black almost covers the whole of the areas around his cheek and mouth. He twists his body completely around, hitching his legs over to switch sides and face Rorschach.
Rorschach rubs at the sides of his head, the indication, Dan knows, of extreme distress. "Can't go on doing this, Daniel."
"Wh.. What? I thought we did well tonight."
"Yes. No... Not what I meant. This is your fault..." and Rorschach slides forward and presses himself against Dan. Now he can feel what is causing Rorschach's distress against his own groin. His partner rubs a latex-covered cheek against his chest and Dan wraps his large hands around the back of his neck. He experiences a brief moment of panic as Rorschach pulls away.
Rorschach reaches underneath and peels his mask up from beneath his throat and hitches it on his nose. He clumsily pulls himself up on Dan; in an instant, Dan feels stubble rub against his jaw, and that contact against his skin almost does him in. He swallows, heart racing.
"I did not want this. You..." Rorschach growls against his throat. "You insisted. Said it gave us a 'tactical advantage'. Even threatened to go patrolling alone with your bike."
"Ror-schach, please, buddy, no kidding around, it's not like I f-forced--hey!" Rorschach pushes him back and lines Dan's left arm taut along the handlebar. His other hand works his scarf loose. He holds Dan down using his shoulder while he quickly winds the scarf around. Dan's left arm now secured the the handlebar, he watches Dan through the mask as he fiddles with something at his abdomen. His trench coat belt--what--? And before Dan can do anything about it, his right arm is belted up to a handlebar and, now, he's truly at Rorschach's mercy.
"L-look Rorschach, I wasn't threatening to go out patrolling..." Dan realizes he is hard himself and finds the time to wonder what is wrong with him. There should be nothing to celebrate in being bound by a maddened Rorschach.
"No, not a threat to say," mimics Dan's tentative voice, "'How about I take it out alone some nights, you know, Mondays or something?'"
"Ow!" Rorschach bites Dan's ear lobe, and his snarls and growls remind Dan of a rabid dog. Abruptly, he stops; he draws himself slightly back and tilts his head at Dan.
"Daniel." He can goddamn feel that stare shooting through the mask.
"Rorschach?" Dan makes himself grin at his crazy erect partner.
"Choice." He sounds soft, almost scared.
Dan takes a moment to process this before he surprises himself in his response. He pulls at his restraints and says, "Did you think it would be anything else but..." and he has to control the pitch of his voice, so it ends up coming out low, "Yes. Yeah, buddy."
Rorschach inhales sharply. Dan feels a breeze against his neck as he sighs and proceeds to run his teeth along the line from his jaw to his shoulders. The zip of his suit is pulled down excruciatingly slowly to expose his torso.
He hears Rorschach moan as he slides his arms through Dan's sides and stretches up into a kiss. A rough, awkward one of colliding teeth and gums, but Dan doesn't care. Rorschach tastes as he might expect: coffee, sugar and day-(week?)-old breath. Part of Dan can't believe it's Rorschach he's kissing, but the warmth fills him, he revels in Rorschach's mouth desperately devouring his.
As he rubs against Dan, crotch to crotch, Dan groans, "Jesus, give me a chance to adjust!" Then, "No, no, don't stop. Go on!"
Rorschach chuckles. "I don't think you are in a position," tugging at his zip again, "to dictate."
"You are perfectly right--Fuck!" as Rorschach reaches down and seizes his balls a bit too roughly.
Shards of Rorschach's quieter self return briefly as he says softly, "Apologies. Not something I've done much."
"No, really?" he responds, but more sarcasm is driven out of his mind, "Aaah..."
"Should remember I have you by the testicles," Rorschach says, moving them around in a slow hypnotic rhythm. The combined force of fear and pleasure is becoming unbearable. Rorschach is unzipping down the inside of Dan's thigh and he feels helpless, pinned as he is on top of the petrol tank.
A hiss escapes his lips as he sees Rorschach's cock brought out of his pants, stiff and glistening in relief against the sculptured marvel that is his partner's abdomen. He feels its fleshy hardness sliding against his own shaft; Dan's buttock muscles clench and he thrusts wildly.
No relief comes for him, not yet, as Rorschach slides his cock around his thighs and up his groin, the feel of wetness from his precome driving Dan to beg. He hears a low growl against his neck and scenes of his partner interrogating suspects pass through his mind and make a beeline down to his cock, causing it to twitch in impatience.
This doesn't escape Rorschach's notice: his hand shifts and Dan is gripped firmly by a gloved hand. He peels back Dan's suit further, exposing him right down to his knees, the suit effectively restricting his legs. He leans down and licks Dan near his belly button, and huffs in amusement, his warm breath sliding around the abdomen.
"What?"
"Salty."
"Sorry. Next time, let me know we're going to do this and I'll be... Uh!... appropriately seasoned. Would you prefer honey or--"
"Spare me your debauchery." The downturned mouth and sneer accompanying debauchery brings him close. The air leaves his lungs as he feels the slippery wetness of Rorschach's tongue flick down his stomach, and lap the area next to the tip of his cock, which is jutting out stiffly.
Leather squeaks as Rorschach shifts his legs, places his arms on either side of Dan, and bends close. He licks experimentally at the tip, it jerks against his lips, almost like questing. Dan gasps, his breath and pulse shoot through the roof.
Lips close around his cock head and he gasps, "Rorschach!" And just hearing his own voice saying it like that, just that... It is all his strength to stop himself from ejaculating.
A vibration shakes from Rorschach's throat through Dan's length. It is the sensation of Rorschach moaning.
He feels wet warmth descend down his shaft, and then swipe upwards again, leaving a slippery wake. Then down, a little faster and smoother. Beyond the curve of his chest, he witnesses the sight of his partner in crime fighting, mask rolled up halfway, red curls at the base of his head. Freckles against white skin. Bent at work on his cock.
On the first attempts at taking in the whole length, Rorschach gags before finding a way to open up his mouth and throat. Sometimes his teeth scrape, but he learns fast from Dan's reactions. Rorschach builds his rhythm.
When he cries out, "Oh, fuck, now!" Rorschach straightens up, fisting him as he comes louder and harder than he'd ever come before. The bike frame shudders along with him, rattling resounding through the basement.
His movements desperate, Rorschach doesn't last too long. He ruts against Dan, weight balanced on his arms, cock sliding around the wetness. He is facing the come strewn around Dan's belly as he climaxes with a "Hurrgh!" His own ejaculate flies out to join the rest on Dan's stomach; his mouth is open, ends pulled down.
Later, speaking in hushed voices.
"What would you have done if I said, 'No'?"
"Would have hoped to persuade you."
"How do you mean, 'persuade'?"
"Ehnk." And then, "Would like to rest. Still have to go on final pre-dawn patrol."
Silence; followed by, "You have got to be kidding."