A Stupid Plan: Watchmen Spankfic.
Warnings: Spanking, bondage, grammatically incorrect Latin and pretentious quotes.
Summary: This was written for yet another prompt on the Watchmen Kink Meme which requested Rorschach spankfic. Accordingly, this story involves Rorschach pissing Ozymandias off and getting his just desserts. In my mind, Crimebusters actually happened, okay?
The Crimebusters meeting hadn’t gone quite as Adrian had expected.
He had his proposal planned perfectly. He would present his strategy for a raid on a crime syndicate that had been a thorn in their side and everyone would sigh and ooh and ah at his genius - his perfect, impenetrable plan. When formulating the exact way his presentation would go, Adrian did not predict the thick-headedness of one man in particular.
“Smartest man in the world. Stupidest idea yet.” All eyes turned to stare at Rorschach and Adrian’s smile turned cold. The Comedian barked a laugh.
“The stupidest. Idea. Yet. Please, do elaborate on how this idea is stupid.”
Rorschach, never one to stand down or be intimidated, seemed more than happy to do so. “Have been watching gang, know their patterns. Too many members will be at hideout. Should wait, strike when their resources are weakest.”
Adrian momentarily ground his teeth together before catching himself, recomposing and flashing a smile to his seated, nervous looking compatriots. “Ah. ‘In war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak.’ Sun Tzu. I am quite acquainted with the philosophy, yes. Regardless, if I explain my plan once more I am sure you will see the logic in my strategy.”
“No need. Can already tell plan is stupid.”
Veidt had brushed it off as mere gallantry on Rorshach’s part and acted the part of the suave, easy going hero, but the damage had been done. The seed of doubt had been planted in his comrades’ minds and the raid would not happen on the proposed night. Adrian felt like his insides were made of acid.
Truly, Rorschach needed to be taught a lesson in humility.
The meeting ended inconclusively - one more hour wasted in an attempt to unite their forces. As the other masked men left the room, Veidt laid a friendly hand on Rorschach’s shoulder.
“Rorschach. Would you mind taking some time out of your undoubtedly busy schedule to help me revise this plan? Obviously, someone with your level of experience will have bountiful pearls of wisdom to share with a fellow like myself.”
“Hurm.” Rorschach nodded and the trap snapped closed in Veidt’s head. Victory.
“Excellent. Let’s get started. I have the layout of the gang’s base detailed in a report at my flat. I neglected to bring a copy with me today - would you mind accompanying me there, so that we can review the plan at my penthouse in comfort, with all of our resources at hand?”
A longer pause, followed by another terse nod. No matter how much Rorschach disliked Veidt, he would not deny a fellow mask aid.
Veidt’s penthouse is just as garish as Rorschach had expected, if not more so. Everything is purple and gold, velvet and brocade. The theme is agreeable, but the extravagance . . . detestable. Veidt takes Rorschach’s trench coat without asking. “Coffee?”
Veidt smiles, flashing his brilliant white teeth at Rorschach in a mimicry of goodwill. “Make yourself at home. Quis est mei est vestri.” With that, he strides through the living room towards what is presumably the kitchen. Rorschach follows haltingly before being distracted by a sculpture in the corner.
It is an abstract piece - made out of what appears to be scrap metal, in a style Rorschach had thought would be beyond Veidt’s decidedly classical appreciation. He touches it with a gloved finger, tracing the blunt edge of a particularly artful curve. An object of perfect symmetry. Rorschach hears a slight chuckle behind him, and then Veidt is gently grasping the wrist of his inquiring hand.
“Look with your eyes, not with your hands.” Rorschach attempts to turn and face the man behind him, but Veidt easily transitions his hold on Rorschach’s wrist into an arm bar, pulling him in a violent circle and utilizing the movement to force Rorschach face-down onto the ground.
Rorschach’s heart jumps into his throat. An attack had not been expected; he should not have let his guard down, but it’s too late for that now. Veidt is looping a thin rope around his left wrist and folding his elbow up - biding his wrist to his right upper arm.
Theories burst behind Rorschach’s eyes. Veidt was one of the good guys - egotistical, yes, but an attack. Out of character. Dangerous. This situation requires thought; careful strategizing, but the rope binding him is cutting into his skin and Veidt - Veidt. This shouldn’t be happening.
“Ennk. Hojojutsu.” Rorschach strains, uses his free hand to push up at the ground before Veidt’s knee is shoving him back down, pressing cruelly into the small of his back. His scarf is pulled away and the rope loops around the front of his neck - tight enough to force Rorschach to lift his head involuntarily - and binds his other wrist up to the opposite arm. Veidt finishes the knots expertly and pulls the netting snug. He chains the remaining rope into a long tail and wraps it over his own palm.
“That’s right. Ancient as it is, I find it is still the best way to subdue a potentially violent target.” Rorschach kicks up with his legs, and grunts as Veidt kneels on his calves to discourage him. Rorschach's ankles are bound together as well, a short length of rope threaded between them so as not to hobble him too badly.
Veidt stands and nudges Rorschach’s side with his shoe, pulls on the tail to help him stand.
Rorschach stumbles before finding his feet. He is understandably wary, confused. He stares at Veidt and hunches his shoulders. His pinstriped suit pinches where the ropes dig in and his fedora sits at a comical angle on top of his head, almost dislodged during the struggle. Veidt reaches over and tips it into the correct position.
“I can’t stand a sloppy hat.”
Rorschach growls, jerks against the constricting ropes binding his arms tight to his back. “Wrong answer.”
Veidt makes a dismissive gesture. “I appreciate you coming here to help me with my stupid little plan, but I find that I no longer require your assistance. I do, however, feel that I must teach you a lesson in manners.”
“Not your place to punish me like a child.”
“Oh but then who’s place is it? No one else can punish you the way I can.” Veidt runs his hands over Rorschach’s chest, fingers idly working the buttons out of their holes. “You have no right to speak to me the way that you did at today’s meeting. In fact, you have no right to speak to me that way anywhere, under any circumstance.”
“What - Veidt. Stop.” Rorschach twists away in protest and earns the back-handed slap that Veidt gives him. A hand reaches behind his neck and grasps the rope there; pulls on it just to threaten.
“No, I think that I’d rather continue.” Veidt pushes the sides of the suit jacket as open, rougher than before, and presses a palm against the discoloured wife-beater underneath, savouring the feeling of Rorschach’s muscles twitching and shivering under his touch.
“Don’t. Don’t do this.” Adrian simply laughs and pushes the wife-beater up until it bunches under Rorschach’s armpits. Now he can stroke his fingers over Rorschach’s chest and rake his manicured nails through the red hair there and over the pink nipples. Rorschach’s belly jumps at the cruel touch and he lets out a shuddering breath. “Disgusting.”
“I’d say so. Speaking out against someone obviously far more intelligent than yourself is certainly disgusting.” He fans his fingers over Rorschach’s freckled chest and grips one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Mm. You really do have nice colouring.” He rolls the vulnerable nub of flesh between his thumb and forefinger gently before clamping down tight, pulling on it just to watch Rorschach strain.
“Hhnnk.” Veidt chuckles lightly.
“Now come here.” He strides towards a velvet chaise longue sitting incongruously in a corner and tugs Rorschach with him, pulling him along with the rope like a dog on a leash. Rorschach stumbles but quickly finds his feet again, keeping his head down and following reluctantly.
Veidt sits down in an exaggeratedly elegant manner and smiles up at Rorschach. He pats his thigh welcomingly. “Well, then. Come and lay across my lap.” Rorschach has no response other than the stiffening of his back and a petulant grunt.
“I don’t think you understand. When I say, ‘lay across my lap,’ I mean ‘lay across my lap.’”
“And I hope that you will come to realize that if I am not obliged, I get rather upset.” Adrian’s grin is quite unnerving. Rorschach shifts from foot to foot, but does not obey. He turns his head away and bristles.
“Will not participate in perversions.” The moment of silence is broken by Veidt’s pealing laughter.
“Do you honestly think you have a choice here?” Adrian tugs on the rope connected to Rorschach’s bindings, pulling him closer hand-over-hand. He yanks and pulls and manoeuvres Rorschach’s unwilling body until he is, in fact, laying across his knees. “It’s best to follow along and take what’s given to you instead of putting up this unbecoming facade of reluctance.”
“Now then. I do believe you have a lesson to learn.”
The first slap across his ass surprises him. Veidt wasn’t kidding, and there is no kindness here. The second strike is just as startling, if only for the mere fact that Veidt means it. The strength behind his blows spoke louder than Adrian’s words ever could. This is intended as an honest punishment.
The tenth blow lands and Adrian pauses, strokes his hand over the back of Rorschach’s neck which is blushing red. “Can you feel it in your bones, yet?”
“Doesn’t hurt, Ozymandias.”
“I’ll have to work harder then. Besides, it’s not the pain that truly counts, my dear.” Perhaps not. Perhaps it’s the humiliation that counts - the emasculation of a perceived enemy at the war table. It’s the last thing Rorschach had expected when he agreed to this - to following Veidt to this ridiculous apartment. He grunts out a curse, a promise of violence, but he has no real power here.
Rorschach shifts his hips away from the falling blows. He’s mortified, but it’s happening. Completely against his will, his traitorous body is becoming aroused.
Walter - because he usn’t Rorschach now, he could never be Rorschach now - squirms on Adrian’s lap, making a pitiful noise in the back of his throat as his erection bumps against Adrian’s thigh. “I’m beginning to doubt that you’re learning anything at all.”
Veidt’s hand trails over Walter’s sore bottom, petting him gently. “Perhaps I need to be a bit more . . .” his hand is on Walter’s waistband, “direct.” Adrian yanks Walter’s trousers down to mid thigh, exposing his stinging ass to the cool air of the boudoir. Walter’s hands clench ineffectually behind his back and he twists his wrists within their bonds.
“Never get away with this, Adrian.”
His laugh is like a heady wine. “What ever makes you think that?” Now Adrian is tugging his briefs down at the back so that the elastic is under the curve of Walter’s ass, but his prick is still covered. At least he is granted that one, small modestly. “Are you going to run crying to your friend Nite Owl - or, God forbid, the Comedian? Honestly, Rorschach. I thought you had more sense than that.” Adrian’s hand is caressing the pink, freckled skin of Walter’s behind and the pain is negligible but the humiliation -
Walter thinks he is beginning to understand. “Stop it - just. Veidt. You need to stop now.”
“But the fun is just beginning!” With that, his hand drops heavily onto Walter’s ass and stays there, gropes his meagre bottom roughly before retreating and dropping down again, harder than before. Despite himself, Walter cries out. “Oh, now. Isn’t that wonderful. Let it all out, dear; don’t let those moans and groans go to waste.”
And if he could get just one hand free, Veidt would be a dead man. Rorschach pictures it - his fingers tightening around Veidt’s thick neck, squeezing until the man’s eyes roll back into his head, until his tongue lolls out of his mouth like a dog’s. Just - just to . . . God, but the pain in his ass is distracting and Veidt’s blows aren’t letting up.
And with each swat, Walter rocks against Veidt’s lap and it isn’t helping his reluctant erection one bit. Veidt is saying something but Walter can’t hear the words. The man’s voice is smooth and sounds like honey in his ears and it’s sick - it’s just sick but Walter can’t help himself; he’s trapped between Veidt’s cruel hand and his hard thighs and he’s starting to doubt that he wants to escape. He furtively rubs his prick against Veidt’s leg with every swat . . . If he could get just one hand free, he could relieve the ache.
Veidt plays with the locks of hair that have escaped the mask at the base of Walter’s skull, an undesired nicety that contrasts starkly with the beating his other hand is delivering.
Listening to Adrian’s smooth-as-silk voice and feeling the burning pain of contact, the deep thudding penetration of Adrian’s blows, Walter can no longer contain himself. His back arches and he cries out, shudders on Adrian’s lap and comes in his briefs. He slumps forward as much as the rope around his neck will allow and groans low in defeat. And Adrian. Adrian just rubs his sore ass in slow, hard circles.
“Very, very nice Rorschach. I have to say that that was the most . . . Satisfying lesson I have ever taught.”
“Nnk.” Walter is still fighting for breath - fighting to come back to himself. He folds his body in and presses his forehead to Veidt’s thighs in an open expression of shame.
“I hope you’ve learnt something from all of this, Rorschach.” Ozymandias pulls up the back of Walter’s briefs and tugs up his pants. When he stands up on unsteady feet, Adrian follows and stands behind him, buttoning his trousers and doing up the zip. “I hope you won’t try something so phenomenally stupid during a Crimebusters meeting again.”
His come is cooling inside of his underpants and he feels sick - beyond uncomfortable but it’s just what he deserves, after all. Veidt lands one last slap across Walter’s buttocks, and he jumps at the unexpected contact on his stinging rear. Adrian leans his chin on Walter’s shoulder and breathes into his ear, “that was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” and releases his bonds.
Rorschach snatches his hands back as soon as they are free and rubs at his chafed wrists. He turns to look at Adrian, who simply grins at him as if awaiting a favourable response. What he receives is a strong punch to the jaw.
And Rorschach can only hunch up his shoulders and storm to the exit.
Adrian calls after him, “Is Saturday good for you?”
At the next Crimebusters meeting, Veidt comes in late. He drops Rorschach’s trench coat into his lap. “You left this at my place last week. I thought you may like it back.”
Rorschach simply tightens his fists and mutters an almost indecipherable "thank you" under his breath.
This time, when Adrian presents his new and improved proposal on taking down the syndicate, Rorschach keeps his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.