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 interior of a forest preserve, a brand-new car was parked in a clearing. The light in the backseat was on, shining onto the unturned pages of a medical journal. Einstein was propped up against the door behind the driver's side, reading. There was a fresh bottle of alcohol tucked into his elbow. It seemed as though their latest victim had brought in a happy sum, at least enough to keep the doctor happy.

In front, Jonathan Brewster was deeply asleep. Every few moments, he would sigh, or bite his lip. There was something going on inside his head; he was dreaming about something he'd been thinking about in his waking hours. While in the stolen car, he was the adult, matured Jonathan, but in his dreams, he was his sixteen-year-old self again.

He was back in the Brewster house. Jonathan was reclined on one of the Persian rugs in the drawing room, his shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. It was late summer in the Brooklyn of his memory, and the fireplace behind him had been dampened. Across the room, Teddy was pounding out an unfamiliar tune on the piano. The aunts, younger then, were only present through their voices coming in through the kitchen. In the bedroom upstairs, Mortimer was clacking away on his typewriter.

The young man sighed loudly and got to his feet, following the path of his memory out the back door. His shoes scuffed loudly on the wood flooring as he exited, letting the old door slam behind him.

Outside, the garden was in its last days of glory, the grass lush and green. Instead of lying back down on the ground, or sitting comfortably beneath the friendly yew on the other end of the yard, Jonathan picked a hard seat on the edge of one of the low walls near the door. A planter of ferns brushed his back, but their gentle ministration felt more like the mocking scratch of claws.

Through his brother's open window the sound of more noisy typing came. The teenager gulped and squinted at the pavement for a second, thinking that old thought again. His heart raced. I WANT him... [Eheh.] He swung his legs back and forth anxiously, then heaved himself off of the short brick wall.

Jonathan paced across the yard, his heart beating in the back of his throat. The aunts already thought he was enough of an animal, so this would obviously break the situation. Just last week he'd nicked Teddy's soldier figurines to outline a pentagram on the floor of his and Mortimer's bedroom. Two days after that, he'd given Mortimer the needle treatement beneath his fingernails for squealing on him. Oh, how he'd whimpered. The very thought made beads of sweat drip down him neck.

The wind blew his dark brown hair into darker eyes. He grunted. Oh, why'd it HAVE to be Mortimer? The lump in his throat throbbed threateningly. He felt as though he might choke as the memories swelled into his consciousness. When they were twelve, he'd tied Mortimer up and gagged him to prevent the aunts from finding out about the neighbors' cat. The June after that he'd gotten them lost in the woods, secretly savoring the time it had taken them to find their way back.

And the recent torture. Good God. In order to lash him to the bedframe, Jonathan had had to straddle the poor, squirming boy. The blood rushed to his cheeks as his feet stopped beneath the viny trellis. Directly above, his brother's window. Dash it all. I WANT HIM. With that thought, he put his weight in the narrow, fragile footholds. Every inch of ascent made the boy's hands slicker with sweat. And then he came to the sill and leaned there, begging every fiber to exude 'nonchalant'.

His head was resting on folded arms when Mortimer peeped up at him, pushing his swivelly chair back a full foot. The blonde's glasses fell askew. "Oh, darling, darling brother. Wouldn't you rather push my buttons?" [Y-ye- Wait, no! I mean, YES!]

Mortimer blushed, his jaw falling open. His mouth opened in a thoroughly shocked "what?" but no sound followed.

"I said, wouldn't you rather push my buttons?" Jonathan murred, disentangling himself from the vines and pushing himself up onto the desk inside the window. He leaned forward, staring into Mortimer's baby blue eyes. The other boy made a show of tossing his head to the side. "Come now... Tell me you've considered it once. Twice." The second word he spat out almost desperately.

Mortimer swallowed, "Well, I..." His chin remained turned as his eyes fell downward. So he was ashamed.

"No?" Jonathan quipped, brushing his fingertips beneath his brother's soft chin. He turned Mortimer's face to look at him. "Or yes?" The other boy blushed, and before he could perhaps even verify his brother's accusation, their lips were mashed together, with Jonathan fighting for dominance. Mortimer fought merely to escape with his dignity.

The blonde threw his dark-haired counterpart to the edge of the bed across the floor, where his back landed with a creak upon the sagging mattress. "What in Jesus Christ's name are you trying to do, Jonathan?" He took off his glasses and threw them on the desk.

Jonathan then knew right there that his brother was angry. One, he'd sworn and taken His Lord's name in vain. Two, the glasses were off. The fury in his eyes was often dampened when masked by the thin layer of easily-removable glass. Now, the full magnitude of emotion could be seen therein.

"So Mort's feeling agressive today, is he?" He asked, grinning like Satan incarnate. He grabbed the blonde by the lapel and threw him onto the bed. "Well, TWO can play at THIS game!" Jonathan pressed his lips to Mortimer's, falling atop him. He wouldn't let go, never, and then suddenly, he realized that the boy on the bottom was kissing him back. [LE GASP!]

A flushed Mortimer propped himself up on his elbows. "Well, you don't have to hold me down, you know," he choked. A tear rolled down his cheek, the last sign of his chastity. "It's not like you're giving me much choice." He grabbed Jonathan by the back of the head and forced them back together, and they began a battle to come out, to come out on top at the very least.

It would appear to a person watching that it was just two boys rough housing atop a bed, but the moments they paused gave it all away.

"I HATE YOU, JONATHAN," Mortimer hissed into his brother's ear just before nipping it. [Om. Nom nom nom.]

Jonathan made a choking noise, dampening it in the lining of a pillow under his head. "I still want you," he gasped, rolling over to be on top.

"One, don't tie me-" he bit down on the other boy's neck- "To the bed. Two," he moaned, "Don't think you're adding me to your little collection."

The dark-eyed one smirked. "Are you submitting?" He chuckled.

Mortimer glowered as Jonathan's hips grinded against his. "No, I'm not," he managed to say. "Good Christian boys can have their fun every once and a while." He pressed back, smiling widely.

The dark-haired teenager, on the off chance he could actually think, began to question what closet activities Mortimer had been pursuing all this time. His brother seemed inexperienced, but still there was a burning passion behind his every movement. It was his hatred, his resentment, his sickness of being maltreated. These emotions were dark and sexual, but at the same time acidic to the touch. Behind it all, Jonathan knew that Mortimer didn't necessarily want this.

He didn't care.

Things were getting more serious as the steaming moments wore on. Neither of the boys had any mind to close the bedroom window, which was still thrown in to combat the summer heat. Any noise made could easily be heard outside, but fortunately no one was out . [Rrrowwwllggrrrrmmmpphhhh.]

"Slow down a bit- Jonathan...."

"Why - slow down?"

"Because, brother dear, you could be-" [Giving me AIDS.]

Jonathan bit his lip, grunting behind his teeth. "Hold that thought." Both of their voices, raised only in carnal-half song, began to reach a chorus. It was loud, and seemed to reach their peak as the door swung open. In the frame stood a pair of equally-enraged aunts.

"Jonathan Monroe Brewster, you get off of your brother right now. Right now." Martha spat the words, and the boy rolled off the bed to find his clothes. Abby stepped nearer to her nephew as he buttoned his shirt incorrectly, pulling him up by the ear.

"Out." She whispered. "You're out of here for good. This proved it." And then she dropped him.

Martha gave her sister a pleading, despairing look, but she would have no was a short, painful pause. The two left just as quickly as they had come, perhaps only to issue a long-expected eviction. Their footsteps seemed all-encompassing as they faded down the hall.

Whether he liked it or not, Jonathan's life was ruined. As he got up off the floor, he looked at Mortimer, who was still naked and plastered in the position he'd been thrown into when the aunts entered. "Thanks a lot," said Jonathan coldly, going over to the other bed to fetch his schoolbag.

"Well... You know, it sort of was your-"

Mortimer's brother interrupted. He threw a hand to his forehead. "Yes, I partook of the Holy Sacrament of Mortimer! But you bade me 'Take eat', so I did. Now look what happened." He crammed a few pairs of socks into his bag, followed by random clothes. [And I didn't think Jonathan had a religious bone in his body. Looks like he belongs to the Church of Now-And-Later Manlovers.]

The blonde wrapped a blanket around his waist and went over to Jonathan. He meant to put his hand on his brother's cheek, but the boy swatted it away. "The next time I touch you, you will be mine," he hissed. He went over to the desk and threw a leg over and out the window. As the other one followed, he added, "Next time, I will tie you up. Bad mistake." And with that, Jonathan Brewster was outside the house, and would be forever, he realized as he grabbed and closed the windows.

When his feet hit the ground in the backyard, the real Jonathan awoke and groaned. He was in the stolen vehicle, still. Einstein was asleep in the back, and the both of them were in the middle of nowhere. The forest stared back at him through the front window, and the young man pressed himself back into his seat. Memories would get him nothing. Trying to fill his head with thoughts of the doctor behind him instead of his brother, Jonathan drifted into an uneasy slumber.

Afternotes: OMIGOD. O. Mai. Gud. I enjoyed this very much. It was like, christening a ship that finally gets to sail.

The message to this one was something along the lines of, "This time, I was too nice to tie you up. NEXT TIME I'LL BIND AND GAG YOU." 8D