prefiera

Title: Your Hands, My Perspective
Rating:  NC-17 (you've been warned!)
Category: Noncon, prison!sex, dark!Rorschach
Characters: Rorschach/Big Figure
Summary:  What really did happen with Rorschach and Big Figure in the men's room at Sing Sing?  And what was that banging noise? 
Warnings: non-consensual sex, anal sex, gore, canon character death, some swearing  Once again, you've been warned!  This is NOT fluff

Author's note:  This was a is my very first Watchmen fic AND my first really dark and noncon.  I feel icky.  Enjoy.  Cause I don't think Big Figure did.  Oh yeah, I wrote it for the kink meme challenge here:  http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=27693 and it's not beta-ed, so you can blame me for all things.  :-)

Forgot to add...this fic is partially inspired from this work on DeviantART by sullen-skrewt and this stock photo from the film.  :-D 
http://sullen-skrewt.deviantart.com/art/Walter-Kovacs-114672567





***

Your Hands, My Perspective

The air was gag inducing in the upper hallway of solitary in Sing Sing Prison on Halloween night with the mingled stench of charred flesh and the copper smell of blood running in slow rivulets into the cell.  The fluorescent light fixtures in the cell and hallway damaged in the riot and from the electrical surge flickered ominously, throwing into sharp relief the expressions of the now silent screams of Lawrence and Michael as Rorschach turned his gaze from their lifeless bodies from his crouched position on his bunk to the diminutive mobster just outside the door of the cell. 

“Hurrm.  Never disposed of sewage with toilet before.  Obvious, really.  Two-nothing.  Your move.” 

Big Figure had little cause to fear in his life, save his early years as an up and coming thug where he had to prove himself.  He liked to think of himself as a shrewd and patient businessman who could keep a cool head at almost all times and allow his reputation for barbaric acts precede his small stature.  This was not one of those times. 

The adrenaline surge changed from excitement for decades of desire for pent up retribution to giving way to mortal fear as Big Figure realized no one else was rioting in this near vicinity.  There would be no help from the other inmates and no mercy from his pursuer.  He realized immediately that he was now fucked.  Proper fucked.  He just didn’t know how right he would be.

He turned away from the cell and from that cold, deadpan face with the intense eyes glittering unnaturally in the flickering light.  He sprinted as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, but still heard a pop as the arc wielder was yanked and unplugged, followed by a light splash as Rorschach nimbly leapt down from the bunk like some horrible predatory ginger cat past the two dead henchmen. 

Breathing wildly, Figure sought some kind of shelter from the slow and inevitable clicks of Rorschach’s boots as they echoed down the concrete hallway.  The prison was almost deserted in this sector, thanks to the odd screeching coming from the far side of the prison. There!  Delirious with fear, Figure saw MEN’S ROOM stenciled on a swinging door and ducked breathlessly inside for safety.  As soon as he had done so, he then realized he was trapped into a corner with no escape.  Figure dove under the sink and watched with huge eyes as the door swung back to meet the hallway.  The lean body of muscle and sinew strode down the hall, torso and trousers covered in blood and sweat.  The expressionless face was betrayed again by the malevolent eyes staring right its prey.  Rorschach was all but licking his chops in anticipation as each purposeful step stalked closer.  The door swung shut once more and Figure heard another man and woman’s voice addressing Rorschach by name.  The click of shoes on cement stopped for a moment and Figure’s heart hammered in his chest, not daring to breath.  Perhaps a respite…?

Few understood that Rorschach’s “face” kept his other human wants and desires in check so it that allowed him channel all his energies into physical violence against his opponents.  The desire for physical love was always a confusing feeling for Walter Kovacs:  an amalgam of grotesque scenes from his childhood with his mother tinged with an almost orgasmic high when he brought in or dispatched some particularly dastardly criminal element.  Fighting crime allowed him an outlet for sexual desire in a way that was not shameful to him.  If the man was ever laid up in bed for more than two or three days due to injury or sickness while not being allowed to patrol (usually by Daniel’s insistence), he would often awake to damp sheets and unclean feelings.  Being caged in Sing Sing away from his element for the last week and a half sent him past the brink and blood wasn’t the only kind of lust on the menu tonight.

“No.  Excuse me.  Have visit men’s room.”

The door swung open once more and Rorschach instantly identified the rank smell of fear competing with the odor of overflowing toilets.  Rorschach was well versed in the scent of fear, as he encountered it nightly when meting out justice.  The corner of his lips betraying the slightest smirk right before he pounced with the force and speed more befitting a mountain lion than a man onto the hapless cowering figure curled in the fetal position.  The predator had now become the prey as Rorschach dragged the smaller man from underneath the sink as he flailed on the slick floors trying to avoid his fate. 

Knowing he had but a few moments with his crime fighting colleagues waiting outside, Rorschach wasted no time.  He effortlessly grappled the tiny man from behind into a rear choke hold to keep him quiet.  Figure thrashed, gagged, and foamed in front of his captor a foot off the ground in an attempt to free himself in vain for another fifteen seconds as Rorschach simply pinned him in the crook of his elbow from behind. 

As consciousness was starting to fade from the effects of the choke, he had a vague realization of a firm, insistent pressure on the small of his back as he struggled.  Did the bastard have a shiv?  he wondered in an almost out of body way as precious oxygen fled the brain as he waited for the slash to the kidney or rib cage.  With the last bit of energy he could muster, Figure tried to twist free and ended up partially turned just inches from the face of his taller enemy.  Gasping for air, he felt the hot, labored breath coming out in chuffs from the gaps of missing and crooked teeth bared and seething in agitation.  Figure stopped moving, guts lining with ice as he realized his struggles had done nothing to free him.  The very opposite, in fact.  They awakened a new feral beast within his captor whose lust would be slaked at a very high cost. 

As his eyes were closed in concentration, Rorschach realized his victim had stopped moving when his unintentional grinding ceased as the larger man simply supported him for a moment in the middle of the air.  The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the rambling of Daniel in the hallway.  Ever so slowly, Rorschach spun his captive to meet his closed gaze, hoisted up only by the soaking uniform shirt.  Now face to face, he finally opened his unfathomable eyes to those of his quarry and inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, reveling in the smell of fear as his eyes rolled in the back of his head in pleasure. 

Figure froze, knowing this look of utter depravity far too well.  Had seen it on fellow prisoners too far gone to see reason...when male rape was used as a means for punishment and ultimate humiliation, not just for sexual preference. He knew it because he himself had participated as part of the prison dominance hierarchy.  He had gone so far as to make sure Rorschach heard the screams of other lesser men subjugated and tortured crying in the dark following lights out every night for the last ten days as what was to be a preview for Halloween. Gone was any semblance of a man with sexual desires kept in check by a powerful super ego embodied by the mask.  Or the costumed loner who roughed up criminals, but did not typically cull them himself unless it was truly warranted, for Sing Sing Prison would have much further depopulated.  The tables were now turned. No quarter given. 

Terrified raindrops of urine dribbled freely on the tile.  At that moment, the lithe corded arms dumped the small man belly down on the slick tile, followed by a vicious kick to the ribs. He doubled up on his hands and knees in renewed pain, certain some were broken but still barely able to make a sound or even purchase a breathe from the previous choking. This allowed the other man to grab the waist of his pants and now urine soaked briefs and wrench them down to his ankles. He then ripped the matching shirt off and quickly fashioned it into a makeshift halter and gagged him so he could not scream. His head was wrenched around to the side with a sickening crack, but still partially turned face down in the pools of dirty water. 

Rorschach kicked his short legs apart, his bare ass presented for all to see as he slowly and methodically unzipped his own trousers, engorged length straining at the blue gray fabric in anticipation, and knelt behind the nearly prone man. Their eyes locked for a split second. 

No…oh no… whimpered Figure, flopping his head desperately against the floor. He knew he was a dead man as soon as he ran into the men’s room. But not like this. Anything but this.

“Oh yes...” Rorschach whispered in that horrible, throaty monotone just barely audible as if they were the only two lost souls in the universe. 

No further preamble, he slammed his entire length into the dwarf. Stars of excruciating pain from the violation was augmented with the possessed vigilante slashing his nails to use as a purchase on Figure’s hips and sides as he hammered like an uncontrolled demon. He could not scream properly through the gag and only succeeding in crunching his face into the porcelain tile with each fast thrust. Blood poured out of multiple openings in front as he saw at least two smashed gold teeth on the tile along with another stream from his nose. Behind, a thick hemorrhage of blood ran from his perforated rectum, ironically lubricating the uncontrolled thrusts from the madman behind him.

Just as Figure was about to pass out from the pain and total humiliation, the intensity reached a fever pitch with Rorschach’s head lolling back as he reached his peak. He pitched forward and gasped with the power of the last waves of the ungodly satisfying climax forty-five years in the making.  He was barely able to catch himself before falling over panting on top of the utterly wasted and convulsing smaller man. Pulling out without ceremony, he quickly wiping himself off on the tattered remains of Figure’s uniform and threw the garment in his face in contempt after stepping to his feet. He took a moment to survey the scene and seemed to regain much of his senses as heard the impatience of his colleagues in the hall. 

“Hell, what’s he doing in there? That bumping…” complained Laurie.

“Hurm. Playtime’s over. Time to clean up.”

The ruined man’s face still partially prone on the floor in a pool of his own bodily fluids was one that was like the lamb before the cudgel. None of his cronies or even the justice system could help him now. This was the only system of justice that mattered. He silently nodded, begging for death. Rorschach obliged by picking him up by the ankles and dumping him unceremoniously headfirst into the nearest overflowing commode, holding him there until a few gurgling air bubbles and spasmodic leg kicks betrayed the last spark of life for Big Figure. A single flush his only eulogy.

“It’s okay…I think I just heard him just flush,” said Daniel.

Rorschach paused a moment at the sink to wash his hands before exiting out into the hallway, where bloody water flowed down the chinks and cracks in the concrete. He looked up in the mirror and smiled. Justice and vengeance were best served wet.

“At last!” exclaimed Laurie.

“Shhh," said Daniel.

“There, did what had to be done,” intoned Rorschach. “Can leave now.”

“Really? I mean, are you sure? We don’t want to get too reckless and go diving headfirst into things,” Laurie said impatiently as she rolled her eyes. 

“Hurm. Good advice. Sure there are many that would agree with you.”

 

 End Author's Note:  I should apologize for the intensity, but I don't think I can.  Rory's not exactly a sugar cube, least we ever forget...