Mar. 5th, 2010 07:10 am
[personal profile] brancher
TITLE: Hang-Up
PAIRING: Dan/Laurie/Rorschach
Summary: Phone sex. Written for kinkmeme.

NOW WITH SEQUEL by [livejournal.com profile] steals_thyme: Telephone

The phone rings in the middle of the night.

The room is thick with Dan's sleep-breathing and the shapes of her dreams; something about falling. She moans, rolls over, and fumbles for the receiver in the dark.


Always the same; no greeting, just her name. She wonders where he's calling from -- if he has a telephone in whatever godforsaken hole he lives in, or if he's at some payphone somewhere in the city.

"Hi, Rorschach."

Some nights she swears at him, tells him she's too tired to put up with his creepy bullshit. Less and less, though. She knows him better now, knows how badly he needs just to talk to her like this.

Just a voice. Disembodied.

Bodies are difficult for Rorschach, she thinks.

"How are you tonight," he says, frustratingly formal as always. As if they don't both know what he's calling for.

"I'm fine." Dan's stirring now, pushing up sleepily on one elbow. She feels his warmth against her back, and he puts his mouth against her free ear.

"Is that --" Dan whispers.

She covers the mouthpiece with her hand and turns to look at him.

"Yeah. It's him."

"Are you going to --" But she can see the eagerness in his eyes.

"Shh," she says, and he bites his lip as Rorschach grates in her other ear: "I'm glad you are well." Honestly, she thinks, two fucking weirdos.

"What do you want, Rorschach," she says, as she always says, as she said that first time, weeks ago -- or is it months now? Then it was a demand. Now she asks gently, feeling Dan's hands come to rest on her hips. He pulls her in against his chest.

There's a long, long pause. She waits, feeling Dan's breathing rise and fall. She lets her head roll back on his shoulder. It will take as long as it takes. She maybe dips back into sleep a little, surfacing when she hears Rorschach clear his throat.

He says, roughly, "Tell me."

"He's touching me," she says. It takes her a little while to get going, every time, and her own words always sound awkward and cheesy until she does, but Dan obligingly slides one finger down the side of her throat, and she shivers.

"His hands. You know his hands, how broad they are. He has his hands on me. He's touching me, my breasts. My tits," she adds, just to shock him. She hears the expected hitch in his breath.

"His hands are so warm," she says, and he whines, softly.

She remembers being with Jon, searching for orgasm, reaching out blindly for an image, an idea, that would make her come. She ended up with some crazy fantasies, things she'd disown in the light, and she figures this is the same for him. If this is the closest he'll let himself get to people she might as well make it good for him.

It had started with hang-up calls. Then there were calls with just silence and labored breath on the other end of the line. She had her suspicions. One night she had said "Rorschach, is that you?" just before the line went dead. The next time, she said "Stop calling like this, you fucking creep." Then she said, "Rorschach, I know this is you." And then finally she said, "Fine, look, we were about to have sex, but if you want to listen in I'll give you a fucking play-by-play," and only realized her mistake when she saw Dan's eyes widen and heard Rorschach moan.

Dan cups her breast and takes her nipple between two fingers, rubbing his thumb slowly over the tip, and she feels herself clench. She must have made a sound, because Rorschach says "Tell me," again, at the same time that Dan says "Tell him. Tell him what I'm doing to you."

She says, "When he touches my nipples it's like he's already inside me," and Dan groans and bites her neck. "He -- his teeth," she says, shuddering. "In my skin."

"More," Rorschach says.

"I can feel him," she says. "Up against my back. He's already hard, it doesn't take -- ahhhhh -- doesn't take much." She's warming up now, and it turns her on, as it always does, just saying these words. Knowing that somewhere in the city Rorschach is pressing his face against the cold plastic of a telephone receiver, probably with his eyes closed, probably with his hand in his pants.

"Tell him I'm about to finger you," Dan says into one ear, as Rorschach shudders into the other.

"He's, uhhh... he's reaching down. He's going to open me up for him ... for his fingers," she says. "And then his cock. Fuck, Rorschach, you're such a sick bastard, I should hang up on you right now."

Dan knows she won't, his slick thumb circling her hood, but Rorschach rasps, "No. Please."

"I bet you wish you were here," she says, just to be a little mean. "Don't you ever want more than this? Don't you ever want to feel --"

Rorschach makes a sounds like a sob, and Dan slips a finger inside her. Laurie closes her eyes, reflexively; god, Dan's got big hands.

"He's got one finger in me," she tells Rorschach. "Shit, that's good."

Dan groans into her neck, "Tell him how fucking wet you are. Tell him I can't wait, tell him I'm going to fuck you now."

She knows he'd never say something like that if they were alone (but they are alone) if Rorschach wasn't here (but he's not here). She and Rorschach breathe together as Dan lifts her up, spreading her legs and tipping her forward.

"He's --" She struggles, trying to get back up on her elbows and knees without letting go of the phone. "He --"

"Filthy whore," Rorschach says, brokenly, and she wonders why it's taken him so long. He always gets to this sooner or later, but it's usually sooner. He rasps, "You're just going to let him -- mount you like --"

Dan's hands on her hips, hauling her back, knees pushing her legs further apart. She feels him hover over her back and then the sweet nudge of him at the mouth of her cunt. "God, yes," she breathes, and he slides inside, just like that -- hot and thick and easy.

"Oh, god, yes," she says, as Dan gasps and Rorschach mutters to himself frantically -- somewhere, alone, rutting into his own hand. There's something in her mouth that tastes like pity, and she says, "I fucking wish you knew how this feels. The way he moves, inside, I can feel everything, Rorschach, you'd fucking love this. You should try it sometime," and Dan whines and fists a hand in her hair and stops holding back, really lets her have it.

"Fuck," she says, "Dan," her own voice unrecognizable, pushing back to meet him, desperate for it now, Rorschach's ragged breath in her ear hissing don't, sick, filthy and then, Daniel --

"Rorschach," Dan chokes, and goes still, clutching her hips. She feels the spasm, the hot rush.

Dan shudders and melts against her back, exhausted and slick with sweat. Laurie closes her eyes.

From the receiver, a dial tone.



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