Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

Angel of Mercy	By : cmill124 Category: DC Verse Comics > Watchmen Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Watchmen or Rorschach. I do not profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Angel of Mercy
- 1
Her car rolls to a stop. She pumps the gas pedal in vain. Turning it off, she waits a few tense seconds. When she turns the key the engine rumbles to life with ease. Again she pumps the gas pedal without effect. She repeats the procedure in vain. If she’s not careful, the noise will draw predators.
“Shoot!” Mercy slams the palm of her hand against the steering wheel accidentally hitting the horn and scaring the hell out of herself. Predators hear the horn. They appear as if from nowhere. No single discernible race, they are the dregs of the city. The boldest taps at her window.
“Got a little car trouble?” He teases. It’s obvious she’s got car trouble. Even more obvious she’s got a new kind of trouble. Another of the predators steps forward tapping loudly on the passenger side window.
“Hey beautiful, step outside. Maybe me an’ my bros can help you out.” Help. Mercy would laugh at the proposition if she wasn’t so terrified of the growing number of men surrounding her immobile car. She double checks to make sure all the doors are locked. They are, for all the good they’ll do...
“Thanks, I can manage.” Her effort to discourage them is a waste of breath. Their laughter fills the night with cruelty.
The leader presses his dirty face close to the glass and grins like an animal bearing its teeth. “What’s the matter sweetheart? Scared?” His saccharine tone degrades into something sour. “You should be. Get out of the car bitch.”
“Go away!” Her head snaps wildly first to one side and then the other. It’s too dark to count them, but it doesn’t matter. One of them would be too much for her…and there’s a lot more than just one.
“Get outta the car now or me an’ my boys start bustin’ windows lady.” His voice rises threateningly. The only reason they haven’t already carried out the threat is because they know the sound of breaking glass will draw attention. They don’t realize they have already drawn attention.
Shaking, terrified, Mercy does what she has always been told to do, what society has trained her to do. She obeys them and unlocks the door to get out. They’re on her like a pack of rabid dogs desperate for her flesh. One covers her mouth to mute her pleas and screams as he drags her into the alley. The other predators follow unaware of the man who hunts them. Rorschach.
Mercy is begging as best she can whilst muffled by her assailant. Rorschach picks off the first of the predators, covering his mouth so he can’t cry out then applying a sleeper hold. Snapping his neck now would alert the others. It’s too soon for that. Leaving the unconscious body he follows after the group. The one holding Mercy has dragged her to a dumpster set a fair ways back in the alley. He tosses her to his fellow predators and reaches down to unzip his pants. No more time, Rorschach thinks. He makes his presence known, walking boldly forward and kicking a steel trash can. Dented by his kick, the can flies forward, hitting the shoulder of one of the predators. No harm is done, but it draws the attention of the pack to Rorschach. This is exactly what he intended. The first two to charge him are dispatched by a single right hook and a hard throw into the brick wall making up one side of the alley. The group is intimidated, but not scared off yet. “Get Him!” Taking back his hold on the girl, the leader urges his pack forward.
For a moment Mercy frees her mouth. “Run! There’s too many of them!” Her warning is silenced by a fist and a curse. Anger sweeps through Rorschach. She’s not a whore and doesn’t deserve to be treated like one. The group charges him. He grabs two of them, one in each hand, and cracks their skulls together hard enough to leave them barely conscious as he drops them to the ground. The pack halts again, wisely reluctant to draw nearer.
Rorschach’s mask shifts inscrutably as he gazes back at them. “She’s right. You should run.” A few of them laugh, but it’s a nervous forced laugh.
“What’s the matter?! He’s just one fucker! What’re you waiting for!?” With insults and curses the leader urges them forward again. One moves ahead of the others with two close behind him. Rorschach sends him to the ground with a broken jaw. His agonized cries send his backup scampering away to return to the safety of their pack. “Get Him!”
The first coward speaks hidden in anonymity by the bodies of the others. “Fuck this man! Get him yourself!” He runs. The rest are quick to follow shouting similar sentiments. Cursing them, the lead predator drops the girl in the filth and grime of the alley and tries to run. He doesn’t get far. Rorschach grabs him by a wrist twisting his arm behind his back and pinning it there as he drags him back to face Mercy. “Please lady. We was just havin’ a little fun. Tell him to let me go ARGHH!”
“Shut up.” Rorschach’s words command immediate obedience. He turns the shifting face of his mask to Mercy. Speaking in a low gravelly voice, he states the situation. “The cops won’t do anything. Nothing they charge him with will put him behind bars long. You know what he wanted. What’s your judgment?” Piss trails down the defeated predator’s leg and he whimpers fearfully lips forming unvoiced pleas.
Disgust fills Mercy and she forgets her own name. Her right hand flies out wide then swings forward swift as a dart to connect with his face. “Bastard! Men like you should be killed!” Beneath Rorschach’s face, Walter smiles. He shares her sentiments.
“Penalty is death.” Mercy has barely an instant to register her savior’s words as Rorschach snaps the predator’s neck dropping the twitching body to the ground. She forgets the stinging of her palm. Fixing his unseen gaze on the look of horror on Mercy’s face, Rorschach speaks. “Regretting your judgment?” For a moment she stares at him, her lips barely parted. She shakes her head.
“No. He deserved worse. I just…didn’t expect you to actually kill him.” Her green eyes drift up from the still body to those predators unconscious on the ground or in too much pain to move. “What about them…?” It surprises her how little concern she has for them. They are human after all. She looks at them and tries to feel pity, tries to understand that horrors have driven them to become as they are.
Rorschach turns to look at them over his shoulder. Disgusted, he retorts, “What about them?”
Mercy finds herself without any pity for them. She goes rigid standing a little straighter. “They deserve the same…at the very least, they deserve the same.” A part of her can barely believe the words she’s speaking, but a darker part just wishes she knew how to kill them herself.
Rorschach smiles. “Judgment is passed.” She watches him finish the job. Even when the last one pleads agonizingly through his broken jaw, she doesn’t look away, doesn’t shy from the consequences of her choice, and doesn’t try to stop him. That’s something Rorschach can respect. Leaving behind half a dozen bodies he walks with her back to the dead car. “Open the hood. Get back in.” His curt words send Mercy swiftly forward. She pops the hood’s latch before climbing back into the driver’s seat. The car looks fine as far as he can determine. He shuts the hood.
Mercy steps back out speaking. “It’s the gas pedal. I step on it, but it doesn’t do anything.” Under the street light, her skin is luminescent. Her hair shines.
A simple problem, but one he can’t fix. “Not going anywhere tonight. How far to your home?” Walter whispers silently he should get back to work. Just as silently Rorschach responds that this is work. She can’t be left alone on these streets. If not for the Keene act, he could have Nite Owl fly her home, but that’s no longer an option.
“It’s a couple blocks from here…” Long city blocks with predator filled alleys. Her eyes are begging him to guard her to the safe haven, but she won’t ask in words. He’s already done so much. A few hours until dawn, it’s not yet safe to let her go alone. Even if it were broad daylight, it wouldn’t be safe for her to travel alone on foot.
“I’ll take you.” A smile of relief and gratitude brightens her face. She’s beautiful. They start walking. Silence settles between them disrupted by the rhythmic tapping of her shoes on the concrete and all the various noises that fill the city at night. This city, it never sleeps. Perhaps that is one of the reasons it is so sick.
“My name’s Mercy.” He doesn’t reply, silently considering the irony with more than slight amusement. “You’re Rorschach, aren’t you?” Her voice is hesitant as though afraid she’ll offend him, and she keeps her eyes on the concrete in front of her. Again he doesn’t reply. “My mother used to tell me stories, when I was little. Rorschach and Nite Owl. She told me just their names would scare the monsters out of my closet.” She laughs softly feeling silly. Why tell him this? Neither could answer that question with certainty. For something to fill the silence perhaps. Or possibly just an effort to show him, his work is still wanted by at least one soul.
“Hurm…” Her mother told her stories. The fact tugs at Rorschach until finally it forces him to speak. “How old?”
She glances at him, confused for a moment, then she grasps his question. “Twenty-three.” Old enough to remember things before the Keene act but still young. Barely over half his age. A bitterness enters her voice as she continues. “My mother. She tells me I should forget those bedtime stories and accept things the way they are. She tells me the world is a better place now.” Turning her face away she wipes furiously at her eyes refusing to let a single tear fall. Rorschach slows his pace to keep even with her but doesn’t say anything. “Well, I won’t ever forget, and I’ll never believe the world is a better place with just The Comedian and Dr. Manhattan.” She glances at him again, but he’s still looking ahead as far as she can tell. “I’m sorry. Prattling on like this. It must be annoying.” Silence resumes for the better part of two long city blocks.
This time, it’s Rorschach who breaks the silence, or rather Walter’s stomach growling in hunger. Beneath the latex he grimaces. After getting her home, he’ll have to find something to eat. It’s almost dawn as well. He’ll have to return home to sleep some. “Are you hungry?” Timidly she fixes her gaze on him. “I haven’t got much, but you’re welcome to it.” Her right hand rises between them and points out a brick tenement that’s seen better days but is still holding together. “That’s where I’m staying. A little room on the third floor. See the cat in the window.” Rorschach looks up catching a glimpse of a tail departing a window sill on the third floor. “Well, he’s gone now, but that’s my little roommate.” They reach the building in a little under two minutes. She puts a foot on the step to the main door, but stops realizing he is no longer at her side. Turning back to face him her voice is full of warmth. “Please, will you come up? I’ll fix something to eat for you. It’s the least I can do.”
For a moment he hesitates. It’s not his way to get involved with people…but Walter’s stomach growls again, loud and insistent. Reluctantly Rorschach nods and follows. Her smile is radiant. He feels less reluctant as he follows her through the main door, past an empty elevator shaft, up three flights of rickety stairs, and finally to her own door. It’s a numberless piece of cheap wood with peeling paint and a dingy brass knob. When it opens, the cat meows loudly in greeting. Before the door closes the bold little black and white feline is sniffing Rorschach’s shoes curiously. After a few seconds it rubs affectionately against his ankles. While the cat claims new territory, Rorschach looks over the room.
Mercy is in the tiny kitchen, an area delineated by a patch of tile opposing the shabby worn down carpet claiming the rest of the floor. A single mattress with a flat pillow and clean linens lies on the floor in a corner near a tall window. A heavy chest for clothing is pushed against the wall beneath the window. There is one other door in the place leading into a tiny closet of a bathroom. Some of the tiles are broken or missing, but overall it is spotlessly clean. A litter box sits beneath the chipped sink.
Mercy puts a pot of water on the stove to boil and watches out of the corner of her eye as he takes the surroundings in. “It’s not much, I know.”
“It’s plenty.” Rorschach replies. No landlady or noisy kids. It’s a nice change from his normal living arrangements. A few minutes tick by. The black and white cat prowls away to stake out a hole in a corner.
“The building has roaches, but N.C. eats them so they don’t come in here too often.” As though to prove her words, the cat pounces on an insect as it leaves the safety of its hole.
“N.C.” He asks as much out of curiosity as anything else.
Mercy’s laughter is sweet, lasting not nearly long enough. “Nite Cat. My mother would never let me get an owl.” For a moment Rorschach almost chuckles, almost. Humming softly, Mercy pours noodles into the boiling water and stirs them. In another pan she starts a sauce. A plain clock on the wall tracks time. Five minutes pass. Then, ten. Finally, twenty. Two bowls of fresh spaghetti covered in homemade sauce are the end result. The entire time Rorschach’s been leaning against the wall next to the window alternating between watching Mercy cook and staring at the passersby in the street below. The sky outside is just beginning to hint at turning lighter. When she brings the bowl to him, he takes it gratefully. Smelling her cook the sauce had been verging on torture. Before he even opens his mouth to ask her, she turns away.
Quietly, she takes her own bowl and sits on the edge of the bed facing away from him. “I won’t peek. Promise.” Walter believes her, but it’s not Rorschach’s way to take chances. Facing the corner so neither she nor any soul on the street can catch more than a glimpse of his face; he pulls the mask half way up and savors the aroma wafting up from the warm bowl for a fraction of an instant before devouring it. They eat in silence, N.C. crunching loudly as he enjoys his own meal.
After finishing her bowl, Mercy rinses it and leaves it in the sink for later. “I’m going to get a shower. There’s more pasta on the stove if you want it…” She resists the temptation to look over her shoulder and moves to the bathroom closing the door softly. Leaving her clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor she steps under the hot running water, one of the few things that continues to work regularly in the apartment. After the shower she dries herself slowly, wondering if her guest has left. “Probably…” She whispers softly and is surprised by the surge of sadness at the thought. “No reason to stay. He’s probably long gone.” Blinking away a tear before it can fall, she pulls on one of her few luxuries. Wearing a pink silk bathrobe she steps out followed by a whirl of hot steamy air.
In the corner where he’d stood and eaten, Rorschach is now sitting looking asleep but for the continuous movement of his mask. Even the black of his mask moves slowly as though it is resting. Taken with curiosity, Mercy walks quietly over to kneel in front of him. He doesn’t move. Breathing deeply she reaches a shaking hand toward the shifting black and white where a face should be. “This your idea of not peeking?” His voice, rough and so unexpected startles her. She pulls away swiftly, too swiftly; she falls backwards sprawling on the floor. Her green eyes widen with awe fearful of his anger. “Is it?” He rises, towering over her.
“No, I wasn’t…I just wanted to know, what it felt like…” She turns her face away from him and crawls onto her bed. He doesn’t stop her from sliding under the old blanket. “I’m sorry…” When she looks back, he’s crouching right next to her, startling her anew.
“No crime, being curious. Can get you hurt though.” He catches hold of her wrist in a steely yet gentle grasp. Slowly, he lifts her hand closer to his face releasing his hold when her fingers are almost close enough to touch. “Do it…” Grinning with the innocence youth should always carry, but seldom does, she brushes her finger tips over his right cheek trailing a line along his jaw and back up the left side of his face. “Well…?”
“It’s smooth.” For a second time he catches her by the wrist. No fear taints her countenance; she looks up at him calm, patient. Trusting. With his other hand he pulls his face halfway up leaving Walter’s face exposed up to the nose. Trembling too faintly for her to notice, he pulls her hand close brushes those soft clean fingertips over his unshaven jaw. He lets her hand go, and she doesn’t pull back, just keeps running her fingertips over his stubble as she sits up. “Rorschach…”
“Yes?” He can feel Walter’s desperation, his longing to feel close to another human. It’s a powerful feeling, not easily denied even by Rorschach.
“Can I…kiss you?” Walter’s heart pounds at the thought matching the quiet racing of her own. “The real you…” She trails her fingers up past the stubble to the smooth material of Rorschach’s face. He pulls the edge of the mask back down. Her hand slips under his coat as she pulls herself closer until her lips press against the smooth material where a mouth lies covered by shifting black. Hot desire races through Walter’s body and Rorschach wraps his arms around her half pulling her from the bed. It’s happening too quickly to be stopped. Suddenly he’s pulling off his gloves dropping them to the floor and running his hands over that soft pink silk sliding it aside to reveal a pale shoulder. She’s softer than the silk, her skin firm beneath his rough hand. Delicate little fingers grasp his wrist not pulling his hand so much as encouraging it to move up along her neck to caress her face. She lets his hand go and he combs his fingers through her satiny copper hair.
Walter can’t get enough of her softness. “Like angel of Mercy…” he whispers as she pulls away from the kiss and stares at Rorschach’s face with olive green eyes.
She breaths deep her soft flesh pressing gently against his hard muscles. “You’re an angel Rorschach. A guardian angel.” With every instinct in Walter crying out to pursue her interest Rorschach holds himself back, allows himself only to touch her as gently as he can.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re too young to know…too young for me.” Sharply he pulls away from her, snatching up his gloves and almost stepping on N.C. as he rises backing away from her. “Something so precious...deserves better than I offer. Need to leave.”
In a fluid blur of movement she leaves the blanket and bed behind rising after him. “Rorschach wait.” He’s reaching for the door when her voice catches him in a surprisingly sharp command. “Look at me.” Hand on the doorknob, he tells himself not to look back, to just leave but his neck muscles won’t listen. Walter won’t listen. He wants to look back. The muscles of his neck twist slowly and force his gaze back to focus on her. The bathrobe is a puddle of pink silk at her feet. Light from a streetlamp shines through the window tracing her naked form with light and shadow. She’s beautiful. Rorschach wants to disagree, wants to declare her just like all the others. Full of weaknesses and flaws, but even he is momentarily stunned by the sight of her. Everything about her looks untouched. Unquestionably innocent.
“Don’t tempt me.” Rorschach whispers the words in a coarse biting tone. “Don’t tempt me…” Walter echoes the words, his voice weaker, still gruff but filled with desperation.
She walks toward him slowly, moving from the light of the streetlamp to the darkness around him. Like an angel leaving the light of heaven for the darkness of hell, Rorschach thinks. Walter agrees or would if he were not so mesmerized. “Please Rorschach.” Both her hands tug his fingers away from the doorknob. “This is what I want. You are what I want.” His control shatters with her next words. “I’ve loved you ever since you saved me during the riots of the police strike.” She is too young he reminds Walter. Too young to understand the difference between infatuation and love. She is infatuated, Rorschach insists. Walter would argue, but he doesn’t need to. He knows Rorschach sees the same tenderness in her eyes that he does. A tenderness that could with time and attention become love. Time and attention neither has to offer. “You probably don’t remember me, but you saved me and N.C. that night. Not The Comedian. Not Dr. Manhattan. Or Silk Specter, or Nite Owl, or anyone else. It was you. I owe you my life.” His hand lifts to stroke her cheek. He hasn’t yet put his gloves back on.
She’s right about him not remembering. There had been too many people that night for him to remember one young woman. “Can’t be with you every day. Can’t take you to movies or dinner. Can’t be a husband…or father.” So many things he can’t do. For the first time in a long time Walter wishes that he could. Every word pains Rorschach more deeply than any knife or gunshot ever has. Pain. It’s one of the few things Rorschach feels very acutely. Usually it doesn’t bother him…usually.
“I don’t want any of those things.” She kisses him on the cheek, pressing her body close to his. It’s more than Walter can stand with a growing erection. Groaning he pushes her away and strips himself of everything, everything except his mask. His face. Rorschach had saved her life twice. It was Rorschach she professed to love. Rorschach trapped sharing the body of Walter Kovacs. She watches him pulling off the tan trench coat and dropping it to the floor with his gloves. His fingers are a blur as he pulls off one shoe, then the other followed by his socks. Why is there so much damn clothing, Walter screams silently. Just as silently, Rorschach tells him to shut up. The rest of his clothes are quickly dropped in a pile on the floor.
She stands in front of the bed watching him. Two strides carry him forward to wrap his arms around her slight figure and bear her down onto the mattress beneath him. As soon as he has her beneath him, her legs spread awkwardly, and he thrusts into her desperate to ease the aching desire of Walter’s body. Her moans are of sweet rapture even as sharp pain ripples through her. He feels the resistance, knows what it means. She has remained untainted until this moment. He despises the frenzy driving him, but knows there is a thrilling element to it all that even he is not completely immune to. Thrusting deep and firm he feels her muscles grip tightly around his cock as she gives a particularly startled cry of passion.
“More…” The word drags out into a breathy moan.
“There’s more.” He whispers his hands gripping her hips firmly as he continues to thrust. Another man would find her awkwardness irritating. Rorschach admires it, guiding her movements to match his. Such innocence and he is taking it from her because he was not strong enough to refuse Walter. Any moment now and he will know bliss. She is slick with desire. Smooth and tight beyond words. With a moan more like a growl he thrusts deeply, feels her body grip his coaxing it into a first release. It has taken only minutes. He feels a measure of regret that the first is over so quickly. “You want more,” he whispers questioningly. She nods rapidly. “So do I.” He and Walter murmur in unison as he thrusts slower, savoring the sensation of entering and re-entering her body. Her hands slide over his arms, his chest, explore his back, and inspire his own hands. Rough fingers caress her curves lingering for only moments at her breasts. There is so much more to her beauty than breasts. There is her sweet laughter. Her tender smile. Her olive green eyes brave enough to watch him work. Innocent enough to shy away while he walks beside her. So much more than breasts.
He slips his hands beneath her, pulls her up as he leans backwards to bring her on top of him. It takes a moment for her to reorient and get comfortable, but she is soon riding him. So wonderfully awkward at first, then she is using her thighs to lift herself up and settle slowly back down again. Already he is feeling hard again, wanting his next release, her next release. She lacks his stamina though, and after a few feverish minutes settles on top of him her torso pressing against his as she continues grinding gently against him, her internal muscles gripping repeatedly at his shaft.
“Rorschach, I love you.” She kisses his cheek, then the place where his mouth should be making Walter groan. Pulling Rorschach’s face up he presses his lips against hers, desperate for the taste of her mouth. She tastes like mint and toothpaste. He savors it. Sweat begins to slick her body, but he is too lost in ecstasy to notice. Every moan and whimper of pleasure sends another thrill down his spine and right up his cock. Something furry brushes against his shoulder. “N.C.” Even exasperated, her voice feeds his desire. It is hellish when she stops moving, her attention refocuses on picking up the cat and tossing it lightly across the room. It doesn’t seem to care much coming right back, meowing for attention. “Oh for goodness’ sake, go chase another roach.” She tosses him away again.
Walter fears what he might do if the animal returns for a third time. It would horribly upset her if he hurt the cat. He resolves to try not to let that happen. Returning to the grinding rhythm is the sweetest relief of his life. Sweeter than any punishment Rorschach has ever dealt. Sweeter than the sense of triumph that accompanies the solution to a difficult case. She is like a fragment of heaven dropped into the hell of his life.
He wants her in ways he’s never wanted a woman before. Every gasp, every moan from her sweet lips is like a priceless treasure. She’s a diamond in a coal pit. “Rorschach…” Sweat is already beading on her smooth flesh. The smell of it is wonderful. “Oh Rorschach…” Every inch of her body tightens, and she presses her face against his neck muffling her moans and murmurs against his flesh. Soft fingers dig lightly into the flesh of his shoulders. Strands of her hair fall across his face. It smells of soap and flowers. Clean and beautiful. A loud CRACK like a gunshot shatters the night as her body goes limp against him. For a moment he knows a terror like none before. Then, she’s pressing her soft lips against his neck, kissing him. Outside someone curses a miserable vehicle as it backfires again. He feels like a fool for thinking the worst. Her breath is hot, shallow and rapid. She’s not used to such exertions. Moving her gently, he rolls to the side putting her beneath him again. Laying his head on her chest, he listens to the slowing beat of her heart, the heavy whisper of her breathing as it grows deeper, calmer. His body is burning with desire, but he holds it back waiting patiently for her to recover. “Rorschach? Why did you stop?” A faint hint of worry in her voice. Has she done something wrong?
“You were out of breath.” He answers simply. “Thought…” But he stops himself. He won’t tell her that for an instant he’d thought she was dead. Stupid thing to think really, but when you’re used to horrible things happening for no god damn reason…But she’s not dead. She’s alive and soft and smells of good clean things. Unlike him. He starts to pull away thoughts of contaminating her with God knows what drown Walter’s desire like a match succumbing to a flood. “I stink. You shouldn’t…want me.”
She laughs. The sweetest of the sweet sounds she makes. He can’t hate that laugh, though he knows she’s laughing at him like so many people before. No, not like those people. She is quiet and tender. They were loud and cruel. “Shouldn’t I?” Her gentle laughter fades but remains visible in the curve of her lips. She sits up wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing gently with her thighs. As one Walter and Rorschach groan softly and wrap their arms around her. “You saved me years ago and I was never able to show my gratitude.” Gratitude. The word stings his sensibilities. Is she just giving him thank you sex? His stomach twists in disgust at the thought. Walter is too weak with disgust to question her. Rorschach will do it.
“Gratitude?” His hands slide up to her shoulders forcing her back at an angle and holding her there. “This your way of saying ‘thank you’?” Rorschach growls the question aware Walter is on the edge of despair. Bile is rising in his throat and he wants to scream.
“What? I don’t understand…what’s wrong?” Cold fear claws away the wonderful warmth so recently suffusing her body. In an instant she has slipped from warm sweat to fearful clamminess. “Rorschach?” Her hands reach out for him, but he holds her back.
Glaring down at her, his face forms frightful ragged shapes. “Answer me.” His voice rises in volume making her cringe fearfully. “This a thank you fuck?” Understanding softens the fearfulness of her face. Her features relax. She looks up at him tenderly. Innocently.
“Oh, Rorschach. No.” Her hand brushes his face and he pulls away. Drifting lower her fingers caress the powerful muscles of his lean chest. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m grateful, but that’s not…I wouldn’t.” The downward curve of her mouth reveals her distaste at what he’s suggested. “I don’t kiss people to say thank you, and this…” she stares intently at the now narrow black markings of his mask, “this is a lot more than a kiss.”
Some of the tension eases from his body. The bile retreats slowly. “Then why? I smell like filth. You haven’t complained once.” Her brows draw together in a look of confusion. Slowly she moves her face closer. He rests his hands on her shoulders leaving her unrestrained. The tip of her nose touches his chest and she sniffs gently. It would tickle if Rorschach were at all ticklish.
“Sweat. Smokes. Stale liquor.” She shakes her head and looks up at him. “What’s wrong with the way you smell?”
“That’s…all you can smell on me?” Naturally suspicious, Rorschach doesn’t believe her. How can the reek of blood not bother her. It’s nothing new to him or Walter, but she…he realizes her nose just isn’t sensitive enough. It doesn’t bother her because she can’t smell it. She stares up at him innocent. Beautiful.
“You can use my shower…if it bothers you that much.” She presses her cheek against his chest rubbing gently in a cat like fashion.
“Shower. Yeah.” Slowly she slides off of him and stands up. He rises following her into the tiny room. It’s barely big enough even though they are both smaller than most people. Somehow she closes the door locking them in absolute darkness. He knows there is a street light shining through the window, but it doesn’t reach here. Her fingers find him in the dark, feeling their way up slowly to the edge of his face still pulled halfway up Walter’s face. His muscles twitch. Reflexively he catches hold of her wrists.
“It’s alright Rorschach. I can’t see.” She’s right. He knows this, but taking his face all the way off in the presence of another person. It’s something he’s never done before. Feels like breaking some kind of rule. He pushes her hands gently away.
“Get water started.” Reaching up he slowly pulls the latex away and after a minute of feeling around sets it on the sink. The water is running. She’s adjusting the temperature. He breaths deeply and tastes steam already in the air. Reaching up to the low ceiling, he finds the light bulb and partially unscrews it. Just in case.
“You don’t trust me.” She says it in an un-accusing way.
“Don’t trust anyone. Not even angels.” In the dark, her chuckle seems more audible, more sensual and innocent at the same time.
“I don’t mind.” She reaches out blindly towards him and her fingers brush his cock. Walter catches her hand before it can move away. In the dark she flushes, her finger tips still lightly touching his flesh. Slowly he lifts her hand, pulling her up to stand in front of him. Stepping forward, his body forces her to move backwards past the curtain and into the tub. Two hot showers in one night could dry her skin out badly, she thinks. His arms wrap around her as he steps under the flowing water. She forgets about dry skin and kisses him. Closed lips press against her barely parted mouth. Reaching behind him, she finds her sponge and soap. The bar is almost brand new, but the sponge is old and care worn. She lathers it up and hands it to him. He takes it hesitantly, like maybe he doesn’t remember what to do with it. Of course he remembers. It’s just so strange having someone with him. Surreal almost.
“If you turn around, I’ll wash your back.” He nods grateful, forgetting she can’t see the movement as he hands the sponge back to her. Turning around is not an easy maneuver in the tiny shower, but he manages to make it seem easy. Mercy slides the sponge over his back scrubbing gently. Slowly, methodically she washes his back in the darkness. Using her fingers as a guide, she finds his shoulders and washes them as well with the same gentleness. Next, she attends to his arms. He turns back around. Without a word passing between them, she begins to wash his chest. “Close your eyes.” Her whisper would be lost in the sound of the shower, but her lips are almost touching his ear.
“Why?” His gruff voice is louder than hers but quieter than usual.
“I’m going to wash your face, and I don’t want to get soap in your eyes.” He grunts an acknowledgement and closes his eyes. Lightly she runs her fingertips over his face. When she’s sure his eyes are shut, she covers her hands in suds then washes his face. Her palms rub soap over his stubbly cheeks. Her fingertips cover the rest of his face one inch at a time. When she’s done she speaks again. Walter can barely breathe with the smell of the soap so strong in his nose. “Done.” Gratefully he tilts his head back letting the hot spray wash away the suds. The smell lingers. His hands find hers as she picks the sponge back up from its little shelf in the wall.
“Can finish myself. Thanks.” She lets him take the sponge and steps back pressing herself against the cool tile of the wall. The sound of him scrubbing vigorously is faint. In a vague way she can sense the position of his body as he bends over, scrubbing every inch. Determined to be clean for her. “Done.” He says dropping the sponge. In the darkness he can feel her draw closer. Water rushes down rinsing the soap from his lower body. She brushes against him drawing close. Her skin is cool. Silently Rorschach berates him. He should have let her stand under the warm stream of water while he scrubbed himself. He wraps his arms around her. His erection rises against the softness of her skin. Lust races through him like a beast demanding satisfaction. She gasps when his hands settle around her waist and lift her up.
“More…” He whispers, begging and demanding with the same word. Her answer is a kiss as she wraps her legs around his waist. Pressing her against the wall, he kisses her as the water continues to hit his back. Soft, tight, and inviting her body accepts his. Wanting her so physically is still a new sensation for him. Her arms are wrapped around his neck. Suspended between the wall and his body she naturally clings to whatever she can for support. Soft lips press against the side of his neck, his shoulder, and his stubble covered cheek. The tension in his body grows to a pleasant aching. He continues to thrust slowly, letting them both savor the sensations. Her body grips his like a vice for a moment and she moans his name.
“Rorschach…” For a moment he feels confused and his mouth opens to correct her. Walter, not Rorschach. Just barely he stops himself, recalling she cannot see his face. She is imagining Rorschach’s face though it lies in the sink just outside of arm’s length. He buries his face against the smooth line of her neck and moans without pleasure. Lust still fuels him, and sweet thrills echo throughout his body from every point of contact with her, but something unpleasant curls in his belly. “Rorschach, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t use that name.” He growls failing to whisper. “Different face. Different name.” His body dances on the edge of release as she shivers against him. Afraid of him. Not Rorschach. She swallows, the sound audible to him over the rushing water.
“What name?” He can hear the fear in her voice and it galls him. Sickens him knowing he is the cause of that fear.
“Different name…” He repeats himself gasping as he nears climax again.
“What name? I don't understand.” She demands louder, more fearful. He shakes his head letting her feel the motion. Again she demands, her voice a little more shrill.
Again he shakes his head as a groan escapes his lips followed by an answer he knows she will not like. “Can’t tell you. Too dangerous.” For her as well as him, he thinks. In his mind Walter berates Rorschach for his mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, but Rorschach should know better, did know better. Should have left. He blames Walter’s weakness. He reminds Walter who it was that made Rorschach look back. Walter who is enjoying the feel of a woman who doesn’t know his name. Will never know his name. Can’t know his name. Or his face. His hips buck harder pushing his cock deeper. The release is bliss. One more precious instant of heaven. Breathing deep he pulls out gently, sets her feet on the wet floor of the tub. Mercy hugs herself tightly as he pulls away. Twisting the faucet, Walter turns off the water. The silence is heavy between them. Warm damp air makes it seem heavier.
“Who are you?” Her whisper is desperate, a plea for understanding.
Walter gives the only answer he can. “Rorschach’s mask.” N.C. meows loudly and scratches at the door. He steps out of the tub grabbing for his face and pulling it on. A sense of security washes over him and he feels calmer. Rorschach has nothing to fear. He reaches up, screwing the light bulb back in then flips the switch. Though the bulb is dull and yellow, after the darkness its light is garish. Mercy cries out startled by the sudden brightness and covers her eyes, letting them adjust slowly. She is beautiful. Scared, but beautiful. Her eyes rise slowly to his face. Before her lips can even part, he stops her. “Don’t ask his name.” She looks down chewing lightly on her lower lip.
He dries off quickly with the damp towel. Acutely aware of the fact it has so recently been used on her body. Acutely aware of how recently his own body under Walter’s will was pressed against her soft form. When he finishes, he holds the towel out to her. She takes it and stands wrapping the soft damp cloth around her soft damp figure. He opens the door to see the red light of dawn shining through her window. N.C. runs into the bathroom to perch on the sink meowing at them. Without a word he pulls his clothes back on, dressing as rapidly as he had undressed. Mercy picks up her pink silk robe pulling it on and abandoning the towel to the floor. Again Rorschach starts for the door. Again she stops him with a word.
“Wait.” Angry with Walter for not being able to refuse her, he turns back around waiting. The tension radiates from his figure like heat from a flame. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have asked his name.” His name. The choice in words soothes Rorschach’s anger. Somewhat. “If you, if either of you, ever need food or a place to stay or anything at all…” she bites her lip wondering if he’ll misunderstand the last as an offer for more sex, “I’ll always help you. Any way I can.”
“Hurm.” His answer is neither acceptance nor refusal. He turns the knob and leaves closing the door behind him. “Never compromise again.” Rorschach’s tone is warning. Walter can accept that.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Angel of Mercy