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Working in the business of the criminal and the illicit where even the good side is mired in false identities, one develops an instinct for deception as a method of self preservation. Working with a Manichean-valued partner with a talent for sniffing out anything he deems inappropriate, one develops an instinct for the objectionable in the most mundane things.
Sleeping with said partner has only honed the latter instinct.
Which is why Dan’s new acquisition is on the very top of his bookshelf, sandwiched between two outdated textbooks and half hidden behind a collection of dusty knickknacks. As inconspicuous as it could be.
Yet there’s still a sense of doomed inevitability when Rorschach appears in his bedroom with his find in hand, fingers carefully gripping the sides as if he could be corrupted by too much contact. “Daniel,” he says, in a tone so similar to the one he only uses on a certain class of criminal that it’s all Dan can do not to flinch. “What is this?”
An obstinate streak flares up; he has a right to his own things. Nevermind the whole ‘trying to hide it’ thing. “It’s a book,” Dan states, flatly.
Rorschach narrows his eyes. Thrilled as he is that he’s trusted with Rorschach’s daytime identity, it’s not the first time Dan’s missed the neutrality of the mask.
“It’s just something I picked up,” Dan continues. He steps forwards as confidentially as he can manage and takes the book from Rorschach. The cover stares up at him: two bas-relief figures entwine in an unmistakable act, decorating an ancient silver-cast goblet and recalling why he kept this hidden in the first place. Above that, the title: Homosexuality in the Ancient World. “I told you I used to be into mythology, and this, y’know. Has to do with that.”
Not the most convincing excuse, if Rorschach’s expression is any indication. “You can’t pass it off as just a history book. Saw it. It has…eenk.” His discomfort is obvious, shifting his weight and pointedly looking at neither Dan nor the book. “Positions. Filthy descriptions and drawings.”
“Oh, you saw that.” Okay, he can’t deny a few less-than-historical sections of the book. The image of Rorschach flipping through a book of artwork, completely scandalized, comes to mind and Dan can’t help but grin. Less scandalized at the moment though still miffed, Rorschach hovers over his shoulder as Dan sits on the edge of the bed and perches the open book on his lap.
“You weren’t—planning those positions, with...us?”
Dan’s shocked near off the bed to hear that coming from Rorschach’s mouth; in all the months since they started this his partner has been frustratingly evasive when it comes to talking about their sexual relationship.
Perhaps that’s why Dan’s fantasies have been running dirtier than usual of late, guided by ancient images of men loving each other without shame. How many times has he watched Rorschach train in the Nest; watched him stretch and stretch and bend in ways that send his imagination reeling?
But then again, self preservation through deception: “No! Uh, no, it’s just a book— I mean,” he flips through the pages, and maybe he’s trying to skirt the question before the lie can be detected, but whatever works. “Have you seen some of these positions? I really don’t think they’re anything I could manage.”
His fingers stop at one particular drawing. “‘The Seleucus Position,” he reads. “‘Named for a popular Athenian athlete and believed to have its roots in a move from ancient Greek wrestling, the Seleucus position involves one partner stretching his legs…allows the other to get into position to…requires significant amount of flexibility…'” A flush rises in his face as he trails off, aching from just the sketched likeness of stretched muscles, of taut limbs. “I’m nowhere near flexible enough to pull that off.”
He looks up, and has a single baffling moment to realize that Rorschach looks calmer than he does before he’s being pressed to his back, a body straddling his legs. The book is slid out of his hand as lips slide across his cheek.
“I am,” Rorschach murmurs.
Dan hears pages crunching as the book is jettisoned from the bed, and as he breathlessly watches Rorschach stretch and stretch he doesn’t really give a damn what happens to it.