Chapter Text
Walter has no idea what to do anymore. He has revealed everything he can: his name, his unfortunate looks, his time in the Home, his poverty (a wren among gleaming ravens), and it doesn't seem to matter. Daniel likes him. The knowledge keeps ringing in his head like the echo of a bell, periodically renewed by Daniel's smile. None of the speeches have made any sense in a while, because he's watching Daniel instead of listening. It actually comes as a surprise when it's all over, and they're supposed to get up and mingle.
"Relax, I'm bad at it too." Daniel says, and takes his arm and hauls him around to introduce him. At lot of the people are dreadful, but some of them are sweet, guileless scientists like Daniel, and bonbons have been put out at some point when Walter was utterly failing to pay attention. So he sticks close to Daniel and lets himself be introduced by his real name, fighting like hell not to blush.
Walter is so fucking cute Dan can hardly stand it, and in the easy glow of champagne he almost puts an arm around him, but manages to resist. Still, it's hard with him nibbling chocolate-covered raspberry cordials like a little kid or an even littler mouse, brown eyes taking everything in. There's something animal about them, a kind of flat wariness that makes him think of alley cats, of downed hawks and intelligent dogs. He's talking quietly to Dr. Horne about pigeons when Dan drifts bathroomwards, with dim, probably entirely pointless ideas about beating off and burning off some of this weird, sweet tension after he takes a leak. Walter startles and follows him, barely taking a moment to excuse himself.
"What?" Dan asks, able to tell he's anxious but with no idea what about.
"Aren't..."
"Wait, do you think I'm ditching you?" He laughs. "Walter, you're a freaking delight, I just actually have to pee."
So Walter comes with him, like they're girls and need to fix their lipstick together. So much for beating off. When Walter takes the fag position (the very next urinal, despite all of them being open) Dan wonders if he's a: not going to be able to piss at all (being one of those shy-bladder people) and b: going to have to have a very awkward conversation about having a boyfriend. Walter just uses the facilities and carefully washes his hands, passing Dan paper towels so he can do the same. He turns to toss them into the trash after drying his hands, and Walter's way too close, almost cornering him against the sink. And he doesn't mind. He should. Hell, he should be suspicious, because even a little tipsy he usually knows where everyone in the room is if he's freaking blindfolded and waitaminute!
"...Rorschach?!" He stares down into Walter's brown eyes and for a moment thinks he's going to bolt.
"H-how.."
Dan smiles. "You smell the same, buddy." He leans in and nuzzles just under his ear, and it's definitely Rorschach's scent and skin and half helpless, half irritated noise when he sucks lightly.
"Wearing cologne," he points out.
"And it smells good, but you still smell like you," Dan purrs, and then giggles, biting Walter's neck and making him flinch. "Man, you have no idea how glad I am that you're you."
"...Really?" And he blushes again and sounds so goddamn shy that Dan just has to kiss him.
"Yeah. I've been wanting to do that all night and thought it would mean cheating on you."
"...Oh." He's trembling a little. "Daniel, can we leave?"
"One more round and we can leave together on the excuse of sharing a cab." He grins. "Although I'm hoping we're headed to the same address.
Rorschach is a fine-tuned machine, who sees more without eyes than most people do in their entire lives. But Walter really doesn't see anything as he and Daniel make their escape. It makes sense because he certainly doesn't feel like Rorschach, warm and expectant and fuzzy. One sip of nasty, foul, horrible champagne can't have been enough to make him drunk, even though he never drinks, but he supposes this must be what it's like. Everything slides past in a glow of color, and he's polite on autopilot, fighting every cell in his body, because every single one wants to wrap around Daniel and not let go for a long, long time.
If he didn't know his partner better, Dan would be afraid Walter was pissed off at him. He's formal, correct, rigid, and the soul of brevity. Dan can feel himself softening into apologies to keep anyone from being abraded on that edge, and speeds Walter out. Besides, he's not sure how long he can keep from pouncing the guy. Or carrying him off like a goddamn viking, and it's so cute that he's this fucking short, and red hair, for God's sake. To say nothing of the freckles and the pug nose and he's somewhere between ugly-cute and imposing, and that is just so Rorschach.
Walter wants to relent in the back of the cab, to take Daniel's hand. After all, homosexuals are no surprise in these degenerate times, particularly not to a New York cabbie, but Rorschach has standards. And Nite Owl apparently recognizes and respects that, because Daniel... Well, he doesn't exactly maintain manly silence, but he does refrain from touching, and talks to the driver about baseball. Walter has always had a certain affection for the sport, and is even able to contribute every now and again through the debilitating haze.
The tip is massive, but Dan is feeling goodwill toward pretty much everyone. It's positively Christmas-y. Well, save for being about 70% x-rated by this point. And he sure as shit doesn't feel like waiting for his change. Still, Dan is a patient man. Only once they are safely out of the cab, across the sidewalk, up the steps, and behind the closed (and locked) door, does he snatch Walter up and pin him to the wall with a kiss. He whines, legs wrapping around Dan's waist, and he's rock hard as Dan yanks at his tie, thanking God and everybody that Walter went with a four-in-hand knot and he can just rip the damn thing off and fling it aside. He does not pop off the top two buttons of Walter's shirt, no matter how badly he wants to. Walter is fussy about his clothes, and while he may be mewling helplessly now, he will bitch later. Still, Dan allows himself a low groan of longing as he does his best with one hand and without looking, biting Walter's neck and making him cry out, loud, sharp, and unselfconscious.
He can't think, he can barely breathe, and he should be afraid. Almost is, but not quite. Under it all, the snare-drum heartbeat and the terrifying vulnerability is the steady, sure knowledge that Daniel will take care of him. He never admits that that's how it works, but he's far too perceptive not to see it. Now, he just wriggles out of his jacket, shirt, and undershirt, and lets them drop to the floor to become a mass of wrinkles. Daniel is suitably appreciative, moaning and biting Walter's shoulder in a way that makes his hips buck like flipping a switch.
It takes Dan a while to think about his own clothes, or anything but devouring Walter, but finally he does carry his partner off. Like a groom rather than a viking, and Walter mutters bitterly about being emasculated into Dan's ear, hot breath and sharp teeth making him whine and stumble a little on the stairs, regathering Walter's weight and surging upward, laughing as Walter nips his neck in irritation. He kicks the bedroom door open and sets Walter on the bed, sitting down beside him and getting out of his clothes are quickly as he can. It's not very quick, with Walter "helping", his bony hands getting in the way, and all the kissing. It's very distracting, but finally they're stretched out naked, and Dan can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.
It's still so alien to be held, so strange to be something precious to anyone. But Daniel holds him close, like someone else actually might want to take Walter away. As if there really is something particular and good about him. Daniel's hands are huge, and so gentle, stroking every inch of his ugly, speckled skin, cupping his face as their owner covers it with kisses. His own hands are only able to dig their nails into Daniel's back, and he can't articulate any of it, only able to make animal noises and grind against his partner.
There's no possibility of planning anything more elaborate than a handjob, and Dan doesn't care. Walter squeaks at having his ass squeezed, and that right there is enough to justify the existence of the universe. The noise he makes when Dan grips both their cocks in one hand and jerks nice and slow for as long as he can stand it is so high and sharp that Dan has to kiss him, swallowing it for safekeeping. Walter moans, one leg stretched impossibly high, knee hooked just below Dan's arm, then claws five stripes of fire on Dan's back and cries out, shaking and coming so hard Dan is almost afraid he'll hurt himself. There's no way to resist that, and he buries his face in Walter's hair, groaning as he follows him over the edge.
Walter whimpers, and nuzzles Daniel's chest, shivering. "Need to wash." He mutters.
"MMmmmnno." Dan replies, eloquent in the service of reason.
"Sticky." Walter points out. Daniel just sighs and kneads his backside, something that is unaccountably distracting and therefore cheating. "Not fair." He mutters, purring when Daniel scratches him a little. Daniel just chuckles, but reminded of scratches, Walter feels his back with an experienced hand. "...Bleeding."
"...Hot." Dan grins, watching Walter's amazing, plug-ugly, beautiful face contort into a familiar and shockingly new expression of mostly-feigned disgust.
"Deviant."
"Mmhm."
"...Love you." Walter mutters, feeling ridiculous the way he does every time.
"I love you too, Walter Kovacs."