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"That's right..."

He jumps, his hand stuttering to a halt before his fingers do more than brush his erection. He can't do this, he can't-

"Look at me."

...No.

"Look at me."

He does this time, forcing his eyes open. His mask is on, he thinks stupidly, how will Daniel know. But Daniel does, and dips his head down close, almost - almost touching their mouths together. He's looming over Rorschach, hands resting on either side of his arms, surrounding him without touching.

They're on Daniel's bed. A moment of weakness and Daniel's perceptiveness brought him to this, forced a confession from him when his partner wouldn't relent. There was no escape from what he'd revealed, or from the questions that followed. He couldn't refuse Daniel anything, not after shaming him in such a way – Daniel deserved so much better. He could only do as Daniel asked now and bear whatever punishment was coming, and hope it would be enough.

But it feels like too much, now... Daniel wants - demands, and how can he not, after – but he didn't know it would go so far, that Daniel would actually want to see... this.

Burning with shame, he tries to curl in on himself by instinct, but the body above him won't allow it.

"No. No, don't hide. You're not like that." Warm breath fans across his burning cheek and Daniel's eyes pin him down. They soften for just a moment as he makes himself obey, then flare with something else entirely as Daniel speaks again. "I want to see what you do when you think about me – about us. I want you to show me."

A gasp catches in his throat.

Nite Owl looks at him from Daniel's eyes. "Show me."

His hand begins to move before he fully realizes it, and he shakily pulls his gloves off before returning to the front of his trousers. Fumbling, he undoes the button and draws down the fly.

His face is aflame and his eyes clench shut, but his hand drifts softly over the front of his underwear once, twice. He feels Daniel's head tilt down to watch, and envisions another's hand instead of his own in spite of himself. Slowly he pulls himself free and feels the cool air on the taut skin of his cock.

"My hand..." Daniel's whisper goes right through him. His hand strokes along the top and the underside of his erection – slowly, as if learning its shape. He can feel the living warmth of Daniel's body above him where before there was always only the meager covering of his own bedclothes (but at least it was cover, he didn't have to be exposed...) His palm presses down and he arches up into it, breath shuddering out of him as his hand closes in a firm grip. Disbelief keeps him from opening his eyes; if he keeps them closed, he doesn't have to see Daniel's gaze on him, watching him do this. He doesn't have to think about how close they are... he could reach his hands up and touch -

He tries to take a steadying breath, and suddenly realizes he can smell Daniel all around him – his breath on his skin, his shampoo, his sweat, they're lying here in his bed - Straining upward, his hand tightens and a low cry escapes him as he just wants to touch, or be touched...

"Go on..."

He hates himself for this weakness. He shouldn't want this, should never have wanted it. But his hand still moves, the other one clutching into his shirt as his touch – Daniel's touch, he guiltily imagines – coils the tension tighter, burns into him and shortens his breath. He hears Daniel make some sound with him and his eyes open behind the mask to see Daniel looking into his face.

"What do you see when you do this?" Daniel's face is so close, so close, and he has no defense for this, can't look away, has to give Daniel what he asks for. "What do you think about?"

"Eyes. Your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"...Your mouth..." And it's there, exactly how he sees it in his mind, the curve and dip and the way his lips are barely parted, and it's so beautiful -

- and Daniel's whisper is merciless. "What name do I call when we're together like this?"

He bucks, hand clenching almost painfully at the thought.

"What name?"

"...Rorschach." And this is the most shameful thing, tearing something like a sob from him even as he fights to keep from clutching Daniel to him. He won't do that, he has no right, and this is fitting punishment - having to abase himself like this in front of the man he couldn't stop himself from wanting. To be so near, to confess to everything, and to not have it because he shouldn't, he mustn't -

- and then another hand closes over his fingers, matching seamlessly with his movements and adding its own strength. He can't breathe, there's a weight settling on him and it can't be, it can't, Daniel would never, never

"Rorschach."

.