He has never been here during the day. He only visits Daniel when he is Rorschach, and he is usually only Rorschach after dark, so it's disorienting, sets his reality at a slant when the morning sun plays across his masked face. It is increasingly unnerving when he shifts and feels the slide of bedclothes against bare skin. He cracks his eyes open, and sees his uniform folded neatly at the end of the bed.
He swallows thickly, shifts again. There's the telltale pull of sutures in his left thigh, and a towel beneath him, stiff and rasping against his legs. He grunts, slides a hand down to check the damage. His chest and torso are still covered by his undershirt. Daniel spared him the indignity of being stripped naked, but he is unhappy with the unnecessary revelation of freckles and red hair.
His fingers travel further down, glide over the fabric at his hips. He stops short, and the breath rushes out of him.
He is too hot suddenly, face and neck prickling with it, and when he heaves himself into a sitting position, he can't shake his lightheadedness. He curls his fingers into the hem of his mask, pulls it over his nose to sip at the air. He is too horrified to make a sound.
Daniel appears in the doorway, dowdy in a knitted cardigan and shapeless slacks, a glass of water in one hand. "Hey." A relieved smile spreads across his face.
He moves over to the bed, offers the water. Rorschach takes it cautiously, holds it between both hands as he drinks. Daniel crouches by the bed and takes off his glasses to clean them on his sleeve. Rorschach is familiar with most of Daniel's nervous habits through long association, but this one would be obvious even to a stranger.
"So, uh. How are you feeling?" He's blinking at the middle distance, glasses hovering halfway to his face. "You gave me a bit of a scare."
Rorschach ignores the overture as best he can. Conversation is not something he is inclined to at present. He slurps the last drops of water from the glass, deliberately uncouth.
A sigh, more exasperated than weary. "Listen," Daniel says, and Rorschach can tell he's trying to infuse his words with Nite Owl's confidence. He isn't particularly successful.
"No."
"No...? Oh. Well, okay. I, uh, just wanted to say..."
It occurs to Rorschach that Daniel can be poor about picking up certain cues. He tries not to listen.
"I'm not going to judge you for...uh. I'm not going to judge. I admit it's not what I was expecting—I thought you'd be a tighty whiteys kind of guy, if I'm honest with you—but hell, I wear mine on the outside of my pants, so I'm hardly in a position..."
Reality tilts a little too far to the left, and Rorschach finds himself wondering why Daniel would have occasion to consider the kind of underwear he favors. He fixes his partner with a withering stare, lets the ink speak for him.
Daniel licks his lips, and Rorschach finds his mouth is dry.
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Dan/Rorschach; Crossdressing, H/C; PG-13; 2/2
Date: 2010-04-21 08:44 pm (UTC)He swallows thickly, shifts again. There's the telltale pull of sutures in his left thigh, and a towel beneath him, stiff and rasping against his legs. He grunts, slides a hand down to check the damage. His chest and torso are still covered by his undershirt. Daniel spared him the indignity of being stripped naked, but he is unhappy with the unnecessary revelation of freckles and red hair.
His fingers travel further down, glide over the fabric at his hips. He stops short, and the breath rushes out of him.
He is too hot suddenly, face and neck prickling with it, and when he heaves himself into a sitting position, he can't shake his lightheadedness. He curls his fingers into the hem of his mask, pulls it over his nose to sip at the air. He is too horrified to make a sound.
Daniel appears in the doorway, dowdy in a knitted cardigan and shapeless slacks, a glass of water in one hand. "Hey." A relieved smile spreads across his face.
He moves over to the bed, offers the water. Rorschach takes it cautiously, holds it between both hands as he drinks. Daniel crouches by the bed and takes off his glasses to clean them on his sleeve. Rorschach is familiar with most of Daniel's nervous habits through long association, but this one would be obvious even to a stranger.
"So, uh. How are you feeling?" He's blinking at the middle distance, glasses hovering halfway to his face. "You gave me a bit of a scare."
Rorschach ignores the overture as best he can. Conversation is not something he is inclined to at present. He slurps the last drops of water from the glass, deliberately uncouth.
A sigh, more exasperated than weary. "Listen," Daniel says, and Rorschach can tell he's trying to infuse his words with Nite Owl's confidence. He isn't particularly successful.
"No."
"No...? Oh. Well, okay. I, uh, just wanted to say..."
It occurs to Rorschach that Daniel can be poor about picking up certain cues. He tries not to listen.
"I'm not going to judge you for...uh. I'm not going to judge. I admit it's not what I was expecting—I thought you'd be a tighty whiteys kind of guy, if I'm honest with you—but hell, I wear mine on the outside of my pants, so I'm hardly in a position..."
Reality tilts a little too far to the left, and Rorschach finds himself wondering why Daniel would have occasion to consider the kind of underwear he favors. He fixes his partner with a withering stare, lets the ink speak for him.
Daniel licks his lips, and Rorschach finds his mouth is dry.
"...I'll get you more water."
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