Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/556043.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Watchmen_(Comic), Watchmen_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Laurie_Juspeczyk/Rorschach
  Character:
      Laurie_Juspeczyk, Rorschach
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, aggressive_virgin, Mildly_Dubious_Consent,
      Internalized_Homophobia, Fluff, Angst, Rivals_to_Lovers, no_homo!
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Faceless_Man_and_the_Girl_Wonder
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-06 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 2919
****** Taking the Bait ******
by Not_You
Summary
     In an alternate universe where Laurie is Rorschach's kid sidekick,
     she sort of bullies him into deflowering her, since she digs him and
     doesn't want to die a virgin.
***** Chapter 1 *****
"Look, we both nearly fucking died tonight and I don't think it's too much to
ask!"
"Don't know what you're saying, Laurel." He says, infuriatingly rational and
gentle as he carefully folds her costume, redesigned to be more like armor and
less like porn. She glares, arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing his
bathrobe, and it fits perfectly because he's a tiny little fuck. He's shorter
than her, padding around in stocking feet with his mask half up.
"Yes I do, you asshole! I don't wanna die a virgin, I know you care about me,
and despite being a complete lunatic, you're kinda sexy!"
This shocks him into a snort of laughter as he stashes her costume behind a
loose section of panelling in the wall. "You only think that because you've
never seen my face." He stands up straighter, and looks over at her. "If you're
determined, you should find someone your own age."
"And have you break his fingers because you're over-protective and boys my age
pretty much universally suck? Christ, I know you want me, don't talk like I'm
trying to get you to donate a kidney." She shakes a lock of damp hair out of
her face, trying not to feel his rejection for what it is.
"What I want or don't want is immaterial." It's his tone that gets her. So
deadly calm and even, all self-abnegation and reason. She snarls and drops the
robe to the floor. He's seen her in that trampy Silk Spectre suit, and he's
held one of her long legs across his lap to stitch it up, promising terrible,
terrible vengeance on Big Figure for trying to hamstring her, but he's never
seen the whole show. She's had to change in the same room, but he always turns
his back, scrupulously chivalrous. It's somewhere between heartbreaking and
funny, how unprepared he is for this full-frontal assault, cringing back like a
vampire in the face of the True Cross. He whirls around so fast it makes his
jacket flare a little, and she's sure he's cursing himself for having taken off
his coat. It's really bad enough that they're in his apartment at all, but it
was the closest reasonably secure place, and even though he's never said he'll
do whatever it takes to keep his partner safe, he doesn't have to.
"Laurel! Put clothes back on!" He's actually covering his eyes, like a little
kid or a shocked maiden aunt.
"Make me." She steps out of the dark blue pile and tosses her hair back over
her shoulder.
"Laurel," he growls, uncovering his eyes with obvious determination, shoulders
hunched up around his ears as he balls his hands into fists, "will not engage
in childish behavior. Will only request that you consider how much you're
proving my point."
"If you really don't want me, turn around."
"Not decent."
"Am I ever really decent?" She purrs, high on adrenaline and prowling up behind
him. "I've seen you look at me. Don't think that mask hides everything." He
makes a little hurt noise in his throat, and she feels kinda bad for how wet
that makes her. "C'mon." She rests her hands on those tense shoulders and god,
he's shaking. "Turn around and tell me you don't want me."
"Laurel..." His voice is pleading and cracks on her name. "Laurel, I c-
can't..." She wraps her arms around him, her breasts pressing against his back,
and he actually fucking whimpers.
"Can't, or can't not?" She bites his neck and he groans, tipping his head back.
"Filthy," he mutters, as she unbuttons his jacket. "Filthy and weak... Sorry,
Laurel." He really does sound broken up about it, and she sighs, stopping to
just hold him for a minute.
"Rorschach, I want you to. Would you get that through your thick head? Because
this is really hot, but you're starting to make me feel bad."
"Would make you feel worse to--ehnk!" She yanks the jacket the rest of the way
off, flinging it aside.
"Would you stop being an idiot? Think of everything else you've taught me! Is
this really so different?" She can feel this thought turning over and over as
it sinks to the bottom of his head. "Please." She says softly, hands ghosting
over the buttons of his shirt but not undoing them. She's no rapist, and if he
really manages to hold out, she guesses she's just gonna have to get dressed,
go home and cry.
"Forgive me." He whispers, and she doesn't even know if he's talking to her or
Jesus or what, and she doesn't really have time to wonder, because he's kissing
her like he'll die if he doesn't, his trembling arms wrapped around her. She's
felt them before, in sparring matches and when they're hunched over a map of
the subway system, and he says something kinda mean about her youth and
inexperience, and she punches him for it and he doesn't mind. They're like
iron, and now they're holding her like she's precious and breakable, spotless
gloves smooth on her skin. She moans into his mouth, and he shudders and
whines, his hands mapping the sleek lines of her back, not really daring to
grab her ass until she takes one and puts it there, and then the other comes to
join it, squeezing hard but not too hard, and drawing her right in against him.
She's kinda relieved to feel every inch of him and to only count about five and
a half. Her mother says it's not the size of the boat but the motion of the
ocean, and really, any bigger would be kinda scary. He peels off his gloves and
drops them, callouses wonderful on her skin. With his hands safely occupied
(and who would've guessed that having your ass groped felt so nice?) she can
unbutton his shirt. She's seen him in his undershirt before, but only because
she was trying to quell something terribly arterial that was happening with his
left arm. She can see the scar, paler than pale and twisting through the
freckles. It was her shaky stitching and tears that made it so ugly, and she
kisses it softly to apologize to that smooth skin.
After that particular brush with death, she had only wanted him to hold her
close with his good arm, and he had. For a long, quiet time in one of Adrian's
boltholes, impersonal as a hotel room, rocking her a little bit and making the
few soothing noises he was capable of. It twists in her gut like sorrow, but
also makes her blood run even hotter, memories of the nearness of loss making
her want to consume him. She bites his shoulder, one sharp canine on ribbed
cotton, the other on skin, and his hips jerk against her. She can feel the mess
she's leaving on the front of his pinstripes, and whimpers, yanking the strap
down so she can bite him again, holding on this time, determined to leave her
mark. He groans, the sound so low it's almost a growl, and she finally lets go,
pleased with the dark red bruise blooming within the ring of indents left by
her teeth.
"Oh god, Laurel..." And it's completely fucking obscene, because he never
swears, so it's got the payload of a thousand f-bombs. She tears his shirt off
of him and flings it over the jacket, now eons distant, and drags up the
undershirt, stopping to bite one nipple because it's so pink and fucking dainty
and utterly unlike him, and he jumps and yelps and twitches against her, which
is really kind of creepy, like some kind of undersea creature, but it feels
good, so she just purrs and licks him, pulling the undershirt off over his head
and slinging it to some distant and unregarded country. She kisses him again,
so hard it leaves him breathless, and steers him bedward. The mattress is thin
and cheap and she doesn't give a shit, pushing Rorschach down onto his back.
She touches his face, and he pulls back like it burns. "It's okay, you can keep
it on."
"...Really don't mind?" And he actually sounds timid, and it's actually cute,
and she bursts out laughing.
"No, I don't mind." She kisses him. "Whether or not I see your face, I know
you." That said, she gets to work on his pants, tugging them off and doing her
best to restrain her amusement at the dingy white briefs under them. They're
sweaty, but it's fresh. They're greyish from too much washing, not the reverse,
and there's a place by the waistband where a hole along the seam has been fixed
with neat white stitches. She pulls them down, and takes a minute to check him
out, fascinated. Shit, he's got freckles here, too! Laurie doesn't laugh,
because she figures laughing at a guy's cock is a pretty damned good way to
deflate it, no matter how kindly meant. He's uncut, and she's kinda surprised
at how wet he is. She gives his foreskin a curious and gentle tug back and he
bucks and whimpers. "Cool."
"G-glad you think so." He says it as dryly as he can manage with his cock in
her hand. She's pleased at how little success he has and licks the tip, making
him cry out, sounding lost. Laurie grins, and kneels between his legs, pulling
his pants and his socks off, dropping them over the side of the bed. When
Rorschach suddenly sits up, she wonders if he's reconsidering, and stares at
him as he goes to the closet, kneeling and digging through the various
shoeboxes he keeps his crap in.
"If you don't mind my asking, partner, just what the hell are you doing?"
"Condoms." He turns back, holding three, all still connected by the perforated
edges of the wrappers.
She stares. "Wow. Thank god I have you to take care of me."
"God has nothing to do with it." He mutters, coming to sit on the edge of the
bed.
"Holy crap, are these Army issue?"
"Gift." He coughs.
"...The Comedian totally gave you these, didn't he?"
"...Yes."
"Fuck it, I don't care. It's better than being pregnant."
"Glad to see you so reasonable." He deadpans, rolling one on.
"Mmm. On your back." She suits action to words, pushing him down again. He lets
her, and whimpers when she straddles him.
"Wait..." he croaks, "will hurt." She doesn't want to wait, but Rorschach is
just thick enough to give her pause. So she ranges over him and makes a game of
brushing her nipples over his face to distract him as he works two fingers into
her. "Good?" He asks softly, before catching one nipple in his mouth.
"Y-yeah." He's so gentle. It shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does, and she
purrs as he strokes slow and even over exactly the right spot. His thumb on her
clit is actually too gentle, and she presses against it so he'll get the idea.
Soon there are three fingers in her, and it doesn't hurt at all. She rocks on
them, wanting more, and when she tells him so he flushes bright red. He leaves
it up to her, and once she realizes that's what he's doing, she guides him in
and sinks down, groaning deep in her chest.
Rorschach turns out to be good with more than just his hands, and soon she's
whimpering and moaning as they move together, as perfectly synchronous as they
are in combat. After a while they've shifted, so he's sitting with his back
against the wall, covering her in stubbly kisses, and leaving marks of his own
on her shoulders as she squeezes him as tightly as she can, because it makes
him let out something that's almost a squeak. It also makes him bite harder,
and she's not sure which she likes better. He grabs her hand and gets her to
guide his fingers over her clit, until he's doing it exactly right and she just
can just wrap her arms around his neck and hang on.
She doesn't recognize her own voice, and she can only hope the way she's
practically wailing isn't freaking Rorschach out. He certainly isn't going
soft. His face is set in a comically grim expression, and she can tell it's
because he's trying to last. Laurie kisses him because the words to tell him
how much she appreciates the effort are nowhere to be found. She comes moments
later, clamping down on him in waves as her hips buck automatically and a last
burst of wetness wells up. She digs her nails into his shoulders and rides it
out.
His resolve gives way to an expression somewhere between pained and beatific
and she suddenly wishes she was on the pill, so she could could feel it happen.
Watching is good enough, and feeling the snap of his hips as he buries himself
in her completely. He moans her name, hiding his face in her hair and clinging
to her for a long time. They catch their breath in the ensuing silence.
"Thanks, partner." Laurie finally says, kissing him again.
"Laurel..."
"I'm not gonna mess everything up by falling in love with you, but I do love
you, okay?"
"Okay." He coughs, hiding his face again. "Return sentiments."
She laughs. "Good."
***** OT3 Coda *****
Chapter Summary
     Set in the same universe, for a prompt in which Dan is not the
     lynchpin of the OT3, but is one of the tense points competing for the
     center's attention (at first, anyway) as Rorschach and Laurie so
     often are.
Dan knows he's driving Rorschach batshit. Nevermind that until Dan showed up,
he was content to skulk around with one of his protoge's 'lost' gloves tucked
over his heart and say nothing. Little creep should be grateful, goddammit. If
Dan hadn't wandered in and done the obvious thing, Rorschach would still be
carrying a torch for her in silence. It's actually really moving, because he
can tell Rorschach would tear down the heavens with his bare hands if Laurie
wanted him to, and he really never would have said a word. Of course, he has to
share her now since he never approached her on his own, and now he spends even
more time hunched over his journal, scribbling angrily.
Today he's doing it in the bathroom with all the lights off, which is a really
bad sign. He sits in the dry bathtub fully clothed, pen scratching away in the
blue-tinted dimness. Dan sighs and makes coffee. Usually Rorschach at least
gets through breakfast before fleeing, but this morning has been kinda awkward.
There's no real protocol for waking up with the guy who's letting you sleep
with his girlfriend's morning wood against your leg. Especially not when you've
actually become tangled up in the night, so he's tucked cozily in against your
chest like a stuffed animal or a baby. Christ. He throws a frozen coffee cake
into the oven as a peace offering, because while nobody doesn't like Sara Lee,
Rorschach a passionate, furtive affair with her.
Smell cake. Will not be drawn out. Rorschach underlines the last sentence
multiple times, and sighs. This lust for Daniel confuses him, because it isn't
as if his attachment to Laurel has faded. It has, if anything, gotten stronger,
and he sighs miserably. She sleeps in the middle, and this isn't the first time
she's woken up before them and gone off to run errands, although it is rare.
But Rorschach has been able to keep to his side, even with her gone, even on
the colder nights of early spring. With the year deepening into summer, it
should be easier. He hears the faint shift of pressures in the house that means
someone has opened the door. The tone of Daniel's greeting lets him know that
it's Laurel, and he sighs, feeling childish.
She comes breezing in with raindrops in her hair, and presses a kiss to the
side of Dan's neck, making him shiver. "What'd you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"You always give Rorschach coffee cake when you piss him off." She shrugs.
"It's ingenious, I was just wondering what happened." She hops up onto the
counter, slotting a toothpick between her teeth. It's a curiously masculine
little twitch, and awkwardly enough, one of the first things that had drawn Dan
to her. She says she almost took up smoking at sixteen, but that Rorschach
pitched such an unbelievable fit that it wasn't worth it.
Dan sighs. "Honestly, he rolled over to my side, but there was contact with
erect junk, which made it gay."
"You mean you guys got all gay with each other and I missed it? Fuck!"
He can't help but laugh. "Maybe you should tell Rorschach that. I think he's
guilt-tripping himself."
"Hurm." She hops off the counter. "Where's he hiding?"
"Bathroom."
"Great, I have to take a piss anyway. Rorschach!" She calls, trying the door
and finding it unlocked.
"Yes, Laurel?" He looks up from the tub, brown eyes mild and solicitous, and
then rolls onto his back and looks at the ceiling when it becomes clear she's
actually going to use the facilities.
"So I heard you were like, sleep-humping Dan."
"Was not humping."
She laughs, flushing and getting up to wash her hands. "Well, okay. But still.
I mean, do you want him?"
He squirms desperately for a long moment, the way he does whenever he's trying
to lie to her for any reason other than to save her life. "...Yes."
"It's all right if you do, Walter." She says softly, and he leaves his journal
in the tub to come and wrap his arms around her.
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