Chapter Text
It's almost midnight, and Dan's doorbell rings. It startles him enough that he almost spills a mug of coffee over his sweatpants – only the first of the evening, since he's been jittery and unable to focus on anything since that deranged fitting-room tryst. The day's paper is in his lap, still mostly unread, every time he sits down to it he finds himself hopelessly lost in one daydream or another.
The bell rings again, longer this time, followed by a short, sharp jab.
He doesn't really like to open the door this late at night, but since (to his chagrin) Rorschach hasn't put in an appearance so far, he has an inkling of who it might be. He dumps his coffee and paper on the table as butterflies writhe in his chest, nervous and anticipatory.
Walter is on his doorstep, and if Dan'd had trouble truly correlating the mercurial redhead with 'his' Rorschach before, it all slots perfectly into place for him now. The trench is there over familiar pinstripes, but there's a real, human face beneath the fedora tonight. Walter's cheeks are ruddy from the cold, nose pink at the tip, chin buried in his scarf – he looks chilled to the bone. His breath condenses in the air as he nods solemnly in greeting, shifting a brown paper parcel from beneath his arm.
"Rorschach?" Dan says, stepping aside to let him in, curbing the urge to fold the guy into his arms, warm him up a bit... Play it cool, Dreiberg. You don't want the neighbors talking. "It's uh, kinda late. And what the hell man, you're—"
"Walter," he interrupts, hovering at the threshold like a vampire. "Apologies. Took longer than expected," he taps the package emphatically and turns to leave. "Will return when it's more convenient for you."
Dan grabs him by the arm and yanks him into the hallway, despite stony-faced indignation. "Get in here, are you crazy? You should have come in through the Nest." His manners kick in reflexively. "Coffee?"
Walter doffs his hat and allows himself to be guided into the living room with alarming ease. "No, thank you. Here on business, it seemed more appropriate this way."
"You're half in uniform!" Dan says, gesturing incredulously. God, he can imagine the headlines already, the man must be insane. Dan's starting to feel a little cracked himself, because look at him. He's half in uniform and Jesus, he doesn't even know why that's...
Walter shrugs, places the parcel on the couch. "You overestimate people, Daniel. Often don't see what is right in front of them." The fedora twists between his fingers, then is placed on the coffee table, followed by his gloves. Pale hands linger at his neck, adjusting the scarf, tightening and loosening it by turns.
"I am aware of the phenomenon," Dan says dryly. "Do you even know what you're doing here?" He catches Walter's hands with his own, stilling them against the man's chest. They're hot, damp-palmed. Dan can feel his heartbeat vibrating through the layers of his costume.
"Yes," Walter replies cagily, tugging his hands free. "It's like I said. Suit fitting."
Dan has to admire his adamance. "You're a terrible liar," he says, and reaches to unknot the scarf himself. The silk is warm where Walter has pressed his mouth into it to fend off the cold. It slides smoothly from around his neck. "Awful."
The color rises in Walter's face, and all the muscles in his jaw tighten as he takes umbrage. He's clean-shaven for a change, and it takes years off him. He looks like a sulking teenager.
"Let me get you a coffee," Dan says kindly. "Give me your coat, and sit yourself down."
He's not so bad, once you get used to all the severe angles of his face. Sure, his nose looks like it went a few rounds with a cinder block and his ears stick out and it's clear he cuts his own hair (not that Dan has any room to talk), but the freckles are kinda cute.
Dan makes a mental note to never, ever mention that out loud. While being pinned by a snarling Rorschach is an attractive prospect on a number of levels, it'd be pretty traumatizing as far as first dates go.
Dan wonders if he has freckles on his—
"Staring, Daniel." Walter shifts uncomfortably, perched on the edge of the couch, coffee mug cradled between his hands.
"Hm?" Hell. Yeah, he is staring, and worrying at his lower lip like an infatuated teenager. "Oh! Sorry, sorry, I was miles away. Not so sharp this time of night, unless we're beating someone's ass." That much is true. His eyelids feel heavy and he's fuzzy and unfocused, he takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes.
"We should patrol, then," Walter says. He puts down his coffee and hesitantly pulls his mask out of his suit pocket, almost as though he's embarrassed to have brought it with him. He stretches it over his head, and it's like mainlining adrenaline. Dan's mouth goes dryer than the Sahara.
"Wait," he breathes. Oh dear god, this is just too much. "Wait."
Walter pauses, the mask pulled over hair and eyes.
Rorschach tilts his head in a familiar, inquisitive gesture.
Dan carefully places his glasses on the arm of the chair, and abandons his sense of self-preservation with as much grace as he can muster.
His knees sink into the couch cushions and throw him off-balance, but not so much that he misses entirely; he ends up half-straddling Rorschach with his nose in the crook of his neck, so he just goes with that. He smells musty and musky and is that... is that his cologne?
It's definitely Nostalgia, but the scent is slightly different on his skin. Woodier. Dan inhales deeply, and presses his mouth to Rorschach's throat.
"Nnh—" Rorschach is clutching at the hem of Dan's t-shirt, gathering the fabric in fisted hands. "Daniel..."
"Mm..."
"Daniel."
Dan leans back to look at him, alarmed by the note of pain in his voice. "Are you okay?"
"Squashing me." He sounds strained. "Don't mean to ruin the mood, but is quite uncomfortable."
"Oh god! Jesus. Sorry!" Dan shifts his knee from Rorschach's crotch. "Ah, I'm pretty bad at this, huh," he says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.
"Wouldn't know," Rorschach replies, his guard down momentarily. He immediately recognizes his slip, and ever the tactical genius, manhandles Dan by his shirt to pull him properly onto his lap. It's pretty self-defeating as far as distracting maneuvers go.
Dan sits there, astride his rumpled, half-masked partner of three years who is brutal and graceful and driven and so, so strange and who might, might have just told him he's a...
I am going to die tonight, he thinks. Death by lust. It's not how I thought I'd go, but hell, considering the alternatives, I'm not complaining. In fact—
Rorschach squirms beneath him, driving any further coherent thought from his head. He's making a low growling noise that Dan chooses to interpret as 'ravish me please, Daniel', so he does his best, drawing Rorschach's lower lip into his mouth to suck gently, and letting his hands roam over his shoulders and arms, gripping the solid muscle through the suit.
"Hn," Rorschach says consideringly, and pitches forward to tumble them both to the carpet; Dan's head hits the floor hard as they sprawl in an inelegant heap.
He laughs into Rorschach's shoulder, clutching at him as stars clear from his vision. He's pushed away, and his shirt is tugged up suddenly, over his head and tangling his arms. Turns out that being pinned by his partner is every bit as thrilling as he thought it would be, and almost as violent.
"Ow," he gasps as teeth scrape over his chest, bite down firmly on a nipple. "Christ, Rorschach."
Rorschach looks up, blots drifting lazily in cloud formations. "Taken much worse," he says, and ducks his head to trail his tongue across a pale seam on Dan's abdomen.
"Not voluntarily!" Dan yelps, bucking as rough fingernails rake along another scar; one that's in a ticklish spot.
"Stop?"
"God, no." He knows his laughter is probably the wrong side of deranged, but he's past caring.
There's a huff of warm breath over his skin and Dan cranes his neck, trying to see if Rorschach has actually cracked a smile. He hasn't, and despite Dan's urging he's sat back on his heels and is watching him intently, fingers pressed to his chin.
"What?" Dan asks, catching his breath and blowing a stray lick of hair out of his eyes. His face feels hot; he's probably more flushed than Rorschach right now.
"This is ridiculous," Rorschach says.
"No," Dan shrugs his shirt the rest of the way off and sits up, bare-chested. "No, this is not. Ridiculous is...is making a pass at you in a fitting room. Ridiculous is when you wipe dirty cutlery on your trench and put it back in the drawer – yeah I've seen you, don't try and deny it." Dan licks his lips. "Ridiculous is the way you can take down four men twice your size without breaking stride. Ridiculous is how much I—" He tugs at the buttons on Rorschach's suit jacket. "Ridiculous is how completely dressed you are. Still. Goddammit."
"Patience, Daniel." Still no smile, but there's amusement there. "It's a virtue."
"I don't want a lecture on virtue right now, Rorschach."
"Maybe would prefer rebuttal of homosexu—"
"—don't even think about finishing that sentence." He sends a button pinging off the jacket, the offending garment flung onto the couch followed by the matching vest. Dan winds his hands into suspenders – suspenders, what a class act – and tugs Rorschach down for a kiss; he gets a glancing elbow to the ribs for his trouble. He has a sneaking suspicion it's not entirely accidental, some petty vengeance for his clumsiness earlier.
He forgives him though, could do nothing else when he's being devoured voraciously. Though, even with his mouth working roughly over Dan's jaw and neck, Rorschach still manages to make a scandalized noise as Dan runs his hands down his back and squeezes his rear through the pinstripes. When Dan raises his hips to press heat against insistent heat, Rorschach jerks against him and moans, low and guttural.
"Good?" Dan murmurs.
"Nnh..." Sounds positive, considering how hard he's breathing, and Dan knows it's probably the closest he'll get to 'oh god yes'. He's pinned Dan's hips and is rocking against him so hard that the carpet burns Dan's back. "Reconsidering opinion on patience," he rasps, and there it is, an awkward little smirk.
Grinning brightly, Dan hooks his legs around Rorschach's waist, arches against him, and lets friction do the work.
Dan wears the suit to breakfast, and Walter almost chokes on his cereal.