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Chapter 3

Notes:

July 2019: Oh, I'll have this finished in a couple weeks!

July 2020: WHOOPS MY BAD

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Yellow-gold sunlight wakes Danielle, slanting in through the window.  It’s late morning, and she wants to get up and stretch, but Rorschach is still clutching her hand.  In fact, the two of them don’t seem to have moved at all except that their legs have tangled up together as well as their arms.

She had expected to wake up alone, maybe find a note left somewhere, maybe just some cereal missing from the cupboard (maybe nothing at all). Rorschach doesn’t seem the type to sleep in, and does seem the type to flee without saying goodbye the morning after.  Not that it is the morning after, not like that.

Danielle takes the rare opportunity to observe her partner.  It is by far the most vulnerable she’s ever seen her—the most vulnerable anyone has ever seen her, probably.  The thought sends a shiver down Danielle’s spine, delighted and at the same time feeling like she’s seeing something she shouldn’t be.  Like spotting your teacher at the grocery store, only more so.

Not only is Rorschach asleep, she is wearing so few of her usual obfuscating layers.  Danielle has never seen more than her neck and jaw, not counting the occasional patch of skin carefully bared by necessity to clean up a wound.  Now Danielle can see her whole arm where it rests on the blankets, freckled shoulder down to knobby fingers.  She’s wearing a sleeveless white undershirt, worn thin and meticulously repaired in places.  Underneath looks like an ace bandage, and Danielle winces.  That can’t be comfortable (or healthy) to sleep in—or to fight crime in, for that matter.  Danielle wonders how much wheedling it would take to get Rorschach to try on a sports bra.

Even with all that skin on display, her face is still the most interesting.  The features aren’t new, but their relaxed expression is.  Slack jaw, parted lips, nostrils flaring gently with each breath... Danielle tries to commit all of it to memory.  There’s a spot of drool on the pillow, and maybe that should be gross but it isn’t.  Even the mask seems altered somehow by sleep, and she stares unabashedly.  Ostensibly, there’s nothing different about the blots.  They might move more sluggishly, but not by much.  Nevertheless, staring into them, Danielle can spot the exact moment Rorschach wakes up, even before she closes her mouth and swallows, body just barely tenser than it was a moment before.  Danielle beams.

“Good morning!”

“Mmphrrrggh” is what she gets in reply, followed by a loud yawn.  “Hurm. Morning, Danielle.”

“Are you hungry? I was thinking french toast and bacon.”

“Mrph.” Rorschach buries her face in the pillow, voice muffled. “Stay here.” She slips her arm back beneath the covers and puts it over Danielle’s waist, hand splayed over the small of her back; tugs, rolling onto her stomach as she does, and pulls Danielle flush against her side.  She seems ready to go back to sleep like that, facedown and squeezing Danielle like a teddy bear.  A flushed, slightly breathless teddy bear who is finding it difficult to think straight.

In fact, her thoughts at that moment are about as far from straight as you can get.

Rorschach probably didn’t realize that Danielle’s nightshirt had ridden up a bit in the night, and that her hand—her whole arm, actually—is resting on Danielle’s bare skin.  Or possibly she did notice, and simply wasn’t counting on her partner’s ridiculous hair-trigger libido.

Rorschach’s palm is warm against the arch of her spine, and her legs are sandwiched between Danielle’s.  There’s a jolt of shock and heat as she notices that they are skin to skin there, too.  Rorschach isn’t wearing her pinstripes.

Danielle feels a whine building in her throat, but she does her best to hold it back and what comes out is more like a small squeak.  They are touching in too many places.

Admittedly, things have been getting more physical over the past week.  But hands have only just started wandering, and always over layers of clothing.  The skin contact is very new.

Danielle grits her teeth, and firmly dictates a plan of action in her head.  She will wait until Rorschach is properly asleep again, then extricate herself so she can sneak away, grab her vibrator, and take some alone time in the shower.

There’s another grumble from the pillow.

“Alright, Danielle?”

“Fine!” She can tell her voice is too thin, too high, and clears her throat. “Um, fine. Why do you—”

“Squirming.” The tone is accusatory and Danielle freezes.  She realizes, belatedly, that she has indeed been moving, hips bucking slightly in an attempt to find friction.  She lets out a nervous giggle.

“Oh. Sorry?” Her voice still sounds strained.  Rorschach turns her head sideways on the pillow, looking into the face Danielle knows is radiating heat and guilt.  She is assessed for a moment.

“Hurm.”

Danielle tries to pull away just a little, and finds she can’t.  She has seen Rorschach’s strength in action, knows those arms can pin criminals twice her size easily, but has never been on the receiving end of their vice-grip before.  It’s...interesting.  In a way that does not lessen her current predicament at all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” she breaks off, swallows, tries again. “It’s just you—you’re—”

“Danielle.” Rorschach is still watching her face intently. “Hush.”

Danielle hushes, as the hand is finally removed from beneath her shirt, only to return to press insistently on her shoulder.  She lets herself be guided onto her back.  Rorschach raises her torso off the bed, twisting and straightening her arms on either side of Danielle’s head.  She’s half-hovering now, looming in a way that belies her short stature, and Danielle is beginning to understand the pattern here: Rorschach must gain control before she can lose it.  And Danielle, for her part, is perfectly willing—eager, frankly—to relinquish that control.

She keeps herself still, enduring Rorschach’s scrutiny for what feels like forever.

Evidently she finds whatever she was looking for in Danielle’s eyes, because Rorschach moves to settle between her legs, knees tucked under her.  The blanket slides down her back as she sits up, and Danielle’s not surprised to learn that Rorschach wears boxers, but it makes her mouth go dry all the same.  Danielle lifts herself onto her elbows, and waits.

She’s sure as hell not gonna make the first move.

Still, it surprises her a little when Rorschach leans forward and carefully slides one hand underneath her t-shirt, keeping her gaze fixed on Danielle’s face.  She shivers and sucks in a breath when the hand rests against her stomach, cold against sleep-warmed flesh.  Danielle closes her eyes.

They snap open again when the touch vanishes, replaced by cool air as Rorschach lifts the hem of her shirt.  Danielle sits up and pulls it off the rest of the way, shaking her hair out.  She forces away the urge to slouch, feeling a blush heat her face even as the draft raises goosebumps across her bare chest.  Rorschach is definitely staring, and something about that emboldens her.

Moving with the same deliberate slowness, Danielle gently grasps the bottom of her partner’s threadbare undershirt, watching her face for any sign she should stop.  Rorschach just lifts her arms obediently and lets the shirt be pulled over her head.

They sit for a moment, watching each other.  Danielle sets the ball of soft white fabric gently off to one side.  She opens her mouth to say—something, but Rorschach shakes her head minutely and she swallows the unformed words.  She would only have spoiled the moment by saying something dumb, anyway.

Rorschach pulls free the tucked end of her ace bandage and unwinds it from her chest.  Danielle tries not to cringe at her little sigh of relief, and is saved by the incredibly effective distraction of Rorschach’s breasts.

For a few long seconds they just blink nervously at each other, unashamed but terrified all the same.  Rorschach reaches out first, skimming her hand down the left side of Danielle’s ribcage.  After a moment Danielle mirrors the movement, marveling at the melting sigh she feels beneath her fingertips.  Their touches are light, brushing over skin and tracing curves.

This is Danielle’s favorite part of any new relationship: the exploration of an unfamiliar body, learning the shape of it and searching out every exquisite little difference with hands that are deliberate and soft and sure.

She remembers doing something like this as a young teenager, with a girl who had giggled and swatted her hand away when her touches became too eager.  Don’t make it weird, Danielle.

She had been so confused, didn’t understand then how someone could look at such beauty and not want to touch.

As she caresses Rorschach’s pale skin, splays her fingers over soft flesh and hard muscle and tries to map every inch of it, Danielle finds she still doesn’t understand.


The house is silent, and that probably just means the heater is broken again, but for now it feels like the world is holding its breath for them.  Like a generous god has gifted them their own golden bubble to exist in for a while, where all is peace and quiet joy and the soft slide of skin on skin.

It’s a funny thing how different it is, kissing topless.  Chest to chest like this, Rorschach’s skin is so hot ; how could a few millimeters of cloth between them have concealed such heat?  Then again, Rorschach has shed something more than just clothing.  The woman in Danielle’s arms barely is Rorschach; only the faint smell of latex keeps her grounded.  She feels so small like this, her spine knobby beneath Danielle’s palm.

When Danielle pulls away slightly to palm over one breast, Rorschach lets out a moan that splits the morning air like a whip.  She freezes, probably embarrassed, but Danielle smiles against her lips and gently catches her wrist before she can draw it away.  She places Rorschach’s hand on her own chest and, leaning into the contact, breathes a moan of her own.

There is another beat of silence, and then it’s like a switch has been flipped for both of them.  Any anxiety is gone, devoured by a greedy fire that leaves no room for nerves; they are all hands and mouths and burning hot skin.

When Rorschach slips a finger into the waistband of her shorts, Danielle whines and rises onto her knees automatically so she can shove the garment down her thighs.  Rorschach is running fingers through her short-cropped curls before she even gets her underwear down, and Danielle fights the instinct to close her eyes.  It’s a sight she wants to drink in for as long as possible: Rorschach sitting in front of her, the white dome of her head tilted back to gaze up at Danielle, freckled cheeks flushed a pleasant pink.  She wraps her arms around Rorschach’s neck and feels herself suck in a breath at the first slide of calloused fingers against slick flesh.  Her knees spread apart of their own accord, pulling taut the elastic of her underwear.

Danielle leans down to kiss Rorschach again, gasping against her partner’s mouth each time she finds a new sensitive spot.  Rorschach is inexperienced, Danielle knows; however, she is also attentive to detail and adept at nonverbal communication.  She reads Danielle’s reactions and responds accordingly, adjusting her movements with the same precision she applies to everything.  It isn’t long before Danielle is panting, clutching Rorschach’s shoulders and letting out a constant stream of barely coherent curse words.

Rorschach’s fingers are delicate, careful as they press deeper—and she’s seen those fingers break a man’s wrist but now they’re taking her apart just as deftly, rending and making her whole again in the same instant, gentle strokes reforming her over and over until she can’t breathe and her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth falls open and—

Danielle clings, trembling, limbs wrapped around Rorschach as though she’s the only thing keeping her from floating up into the sky, kissing her as hard as she’s ever kissed.  For a few moments she is lost, and cannot think of anything beyond the desire to meld her body into that of the (gorgeous, mad, utterly marvelous ) woman in her arms.

Then, gradually coming down from the high, she registers the way that same woman is panting against her mouth, thighs clenched and hips moving jerkily.

Well, that won’t do.

Danielle presses one hand down between them, finds the opening at the front of Rorschach’s boxers.  There’s a yelp and a jerk, and then Danielle’s wrist is caught in the vice-grip of Rorschach’s thighs as her partner writhes against her.  Her arm is trapped as well, crushed between them as Rorschach clutches her shoulders.  Danielle can just about move her fingers, but that’s it.  It’s easy to let Rorschach set her own pace, grinding against Danielle’s palm with short, stuttering movements.  Eventually the movement stops altogether, and Rorschach quivers for several seconds, the muscles in her thighs shaking with tension.  All at once she stiffens with a gasp, and after a moment curls in on herself just as suddenly.  She bows her head to rest it on Danielle’s shoulder and there’s something like a sob, muffled where her open mouth is pressed to Danielle’s collarbone.

Danielle rests her cheek against Rorschach’s masked head and strokes soothingly down her spine with her free hand.  She gingerly extracts the other, wincing at the slight squelching noise.  Rorschach doesn’t seem to hear it, though, and continues blissfully melting onto Danielle, the ink of her mask slowing into its usual lazy patterns.

When it feels like she’s falling asleep, arms looped around Danielle’s neck, Danielle turns her face and pecks a kiss onto the latex.

“Do you need a shower?” she whispers.  Rorschach shakes her head, and that’s a little gross but it’s a little hot, too. “Well, I do.” she gently peels Rorschach’s arms away from her neck and leans back to look at her.  Her expression is almost as unguarded as when she was asleep, and Danielle smiles softly. “How about you go back to sleep, and I’ll come wake you when breakfast’s ready?”

Rorschach nods, and her smile is only a little uncertain.  She sinks back down into the fluffy, tousled bedspread, looking very small and very content as she closes her eyes.


Notes:

As always, comments and feedback are very welcome, especially as this is my first time writing a sex scene!