This fanfiction was a bit of a dedication to the members of MTC's production of "Arsenic and Old Lace", as well as the house members who sat and deciphered all the lovely sexual innuendos. I don't even know what genre this was supposed to end up as, but I can guarantee that it will be pretty much all of them in the end. Good Lord. Have mercy, this will likely be the worst, most unrefined, inappropriate thing I've ever written. ~Cat.
Rating: T+, I think. For swearing, blood, and implied sex.
On the other side of the country, a light went out in the window of a travel lodge outside of San Francisco. Traffic on the newly-paved highway was practically dead at two o'clock in the morning. There was no sound but a desolate wind rolling across the rolling spaces of rural California. Perhaps the next thing - a shout of agony - was just a tad bit out of place in the perfect silence.
"Ohh, Johnny-" The doctor choked. "You're hurting me... I thought you'd promised to be a little-" His face scrunched up and pained tears ran down his cheeks in salty rivers. His wire-rimmed spectacles were tipped across his face in an adorably pathetic manner as he quivered.
The man on top gritted his teeth and ran his fingers down the poor doctor's back. His tones, husky and sadistic, were lowered to a whisper as his mouth found its way to his partner's ear. "You know I lie a lot, Herm," he chuckled, biting down on the fellow's earlobe with the corner of his mouth. "It's just far too... Enjoyable..." He grunted, a bass to Einstein's tenor.
"P-please... I, oh no..."
There was another cry that echoed all the way to Arizona's mesas. Every other inhabitant of the motor lodge must have wondered what the hell those two shady fellows were at in their room. They were being far too loud about it. Then again, it was the outskirts of a major city they were staying in. San Francisco, to boot... [Well, I would think it would be obvious. Bless my virgin ears.]
Jonathan Brewster was a bastard, a sadist, a murderer, and a man of more than one face, thanks to Hermann Einstein, M.D. He was the master of teasing, and with just the right amount of pain administered to one of his victims, he could turn them weak at the knees. He was hypnotizing, however much of a disgusting resemblance he bore to the darkly disturbing Boris Karloff.
His partner, Dr. Hermann Einstein, was perhaps his deepest, darkest secret left to the naked eye. The shivering little fellow held all of the things Jonathan never wanted to remember again. In return for his retainment of this valuable information, he gave him a benefactor, protection, and certain other things. Somehow, despite his deeply-seated, impossible love for his partner, Jonathan often beat the poor man out of spite and ill-directed anger.
Tonight, however, he felt pity for him, and just a wee bit guilty for causing him pain on behalf of his own desires. Jonathan decided to let the doctor sleep in the bed with him. He reached out and ruffled Hermann's blond mop in the darkness. The sigh he received in return was one he'd heard a lot these days. But he'd vowed, the day he left his blasted childhood home, never to apologize for being the way he was.
The house actually seemed welcoming in his mind, just a little, after these past few months of living in flea-trap motels and lodges along the roads. To gain a new face, two, four, now five, he and the young doctor had killed numerous victims. It was running on thirteen. And, yet, it seemed only right to take a life for a new face of your own. They'd been dying anyway, most of them.
"We need a change of pace, Hermann," Jonathan mused, clearing his throat. His fingers moved methodically through the doctor's hair, healing himself from the habitual motion. "Somewhere safe... Somewhere familiar... Somewhere we can take a piss where the cops can't catch us for it..."
Dr. Einstein moaned and turned over in the sheets. "I spring you from prison, Johnny," he mumbled, squirming uncomfortably. "I no think you would go back..." He continued to wriggle around in the scratchy blankets, let out the occasional whimper. [Awww. Poor little uke, too much in one sitting.]
Jonathan laid his hand on the small of his partner's back and attempted to still his movements. The doctor paused, but was still obviously tense. "No. I have a place in mind, a place from my childhood. I know I told you long ago that I hated Brooklyn, but the place seems almost welcoming compared to where we are now..." He looked around the dank room, which held only a bed, a dresser, two tables, a chair, and a bathroom. The bare necessities. Nothing like what a home should be.
"You have a point- Johnny..." The doctor turned over to look into his eyes, which were surrounded by the darkest circles one would ever see. They were deep, dark black holes into a sealed soul, an empty shell that had turned itself inside out until there was nothing left. It made Hermann Einstein's heart bleed, among other parts.
Jonathan Brewster ran his fingers through Einstein's hair and let them spider down the other man's neck. "I knew you would understand, Herm."
The doctor flipped onto his stomach and squinted across the dark space between him and his partner. "J-Johnny... I hope you understand when I tell you I'm bleeding, I think. It's hurting." He bit his lip and blushed in embarrassment, feeling like a fragment of a man, bent over in servitude to another man. [I think it's more than servitude.]
"You're hurting, are you? Sit up... tell me where it hurts."
Laboring, Hermann Einstein propped himself up on two elbows and heaved up onto the headboard, resting his back next to Jonathan's. "I think you know, Johnny... You know it's not easy for me... I'm not used to being yours ... all the time."
A set of perfect white teeth sparkled in the dark. "Oh, I think I can help."
Another echo exploded across the outside, through the hollow walls of the room. "JOHNNY!"
The neighboring residents of the Frisco Motor Lodge would not be getting much sleep that night.
Afternotes: Muahaha... Homosexual sodomy is my favorite. And it fits Jonathan so well.