Brad was standing in the door frame, gazing through his eyelashes, hidden behind one of the numerous statues which crowded the castle. Just a few more seconds, he promised to himself. After all, the object of his contemplation was still unaware of his presence… Bathed in the shy sun rays of November, he had covered his shoulders in some shawl whose faded colours and fringes weren't much to Brad's liking. Not that this insignificant piece of cloth could ever dim his eerie glow (a snowflake would have been more likely to eclipse the Sun itself), but the probability that it might have belonged to one of his former conquests was inexplicably unsettling. Even from his makeshift arrow slit, he could distinguish the goosebumps on his bare legs and arms quickly followed by a discreet shiver.
Frank N. Furter was cold, while himself fanned flames.
"Do come in, Brad," he called, a sultry smile drawn on his face as he stretched out his legs on the daybed he was sitting on. "The peepshow can wait."
"I wasn't…" he trailed off, entering the parlour, quite relieved that his host would rather deride his behaviour than condemn it. "I'm sorry. You wanted to see me?"
"Amongst other things, yes," he nodded with his signature seductive purr before patting the armchair next to him. "Make yourself comfortable, have a cup of coffee. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Being obedient, Brad complied right away. The softness of the seat and the familiar bitterness of caffeine were much welcomed, as it had been a very long night.
"Well I'm all ears," he finally said, curious to discover what Frank might have in mind.
"It's about your friend."
"Janet? What's the matter with her?"
"Ew, no!" Frank exclaimed with a dismissive wave of the hand. "There isn't much more left to say about that perfid man-thief anyway. No, I was talking about the Nazi one."
"Scotty?" he asked straight off.
"So you agree."
"Agree what?"
"That he's a Nazi," he said with a wider-than-life grin.
"I do not! It was pure deduction!"
"Aw Brad, there's no need to cloud that sweet face of yours…"
"He's just German. Not all Germans are… what you accuse him to be."
"Yeah, heard about that," Frank retorted with a snort of amusement. "But enough with the harebrained theories. Can he be trusted?"
Brad's heart began to race in his chest. In the middle of all the agitation at the end of the floor show, his former mentor had simply vanished. Did he warn the government about the aliens? Or was he planning something worse against a certain overwhelmingly hot crossdresser?
"Look, I'll talk to him, tell him to back off, if that's what you want."
He took a sip of his own cup and rubbed his legs together with a nonchalant move which inflamed Brad's loins.
"Why would you do that?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "Some would say you've already done your share. You saved my life after all!"
"And you changed mine."
"Did I? Well in that case…" Frank immediately left the daybed and cornered him in his chair, placing his hands on each of the amrest. "Do your best."
Brad's brain was already soaked in his nocturnal memories, but this sudden proximity made it even more vivid, throwing him off beyond comprehension.
"I-I will, I swear!"
"But Brad…"
"Yes?"
"About that helping hand you're offering…" he began as his index glided over Brad's chest up to the base of his neck, "...you shall do so willingly. The last thing I want is you to feel obliged to me somehow." The rest of the fingers snaked around his throat and squeezed almost imperceptibly. "Because oh, how I'd hate that!" He finally said with a lower voice, circling Brad's Adam's apple with his thumb.
A sigh of delight mixed with frustration escaped his mouth. Harder. It was all he yearned for. Goddammit ! Would that outrageous man corrupt him to his very last fibre?
"I'm more than happy to help, I promise," he insisted.
"Splendid!"
He stopped his caresses and stood up straight, leaving Brad panting in his chair, each inhalation being more scorching than the last. Afterwards, Frank took a small chromed remote out of his pocket and pressed its button. Before he could wonder about the purpose of this strange device, Brad heard a screeching.
One of the massive wall book-cases slid along an invisible rail and unveiled a narrow recess, which was occupied by Scott himself, seemingly unconscious… or worse.
"Oh my god!" Brad yelled as he got up and ran to check on him. "Scotty? Scotty, you hear me?"
"'Fraid not,'' Frank smirked. "But don't fret, the good doctor has simply passed out."
"What did you do to him?!"
"Glad you ask!" Frank came by his side and put his hands on his own hips, striking a triumphant pose. "At first I opted for slashing his wheels to deter him from escaping again, but I came to realise it wouldn't be very urbane. You know, taking advantage of an old man's disability…" Looking extremely full of himself, he paused and tilted his head on the side, gauging Brad's reaction. "So I sedated him and stashed him in my secret closet instead, as I would have done with anyone else!"
This was wrong on so many levels. Yet, the complex cocktail of emotions (including a good dose of fear, no doubt) Brad was currently experiencing dissuaded him from replying anything other than :
"Wait, what do you mean escape again ?"
"He tried to leave the castle grounds, rolling his way out like the coward swastika-sucking twat he is! But my beloved Jeepster caught him in the yard, thank goodness!"
Brad was outraged to see his friend in such a predicament, but beyond that, a greenish icy fist was now clutching his chest.
"Jeepster, huh…" What kind of a ridi-fuckin-culous name was that? "Yet another one of your playthings I presume?" he then asked with an unusually high-pitched voice.
"Er, no, just one of the hounds guarding the property. She's my favourite bitch..." Frank chuckled and ran his tongue on his inner cheek. "Jealous much?"
"Not in the least!" Brad gasped. After a few seconds, he regained some composure and changed the subject. "For an alien, you sure know a lot about our history."
"You'll learn that I'm a keen student when the topic arouse my curiosity! Speaking of which…"
He removed one of the cushions of the daybed he was sitting on earlier, and picked up a thick brownish folder. At the same moment, Scott began to writhe in his wheelchair and opened his eyes. He was still wearing the fishnets and heels he'd been decked out in for the floor show.
"Ah, right on time," Frank said calmly.
"Frank N. Furter!" He turned his head and gazed at his former student. "And Brad! What's the meaning of this?"
He was about to reply, but Frank raised his hand, indicating that now was the time to stay silent.
"Good morning Herr Doktor ! Now that you're back with us, may I inquire as to why you intended to leave in such a hurry?"
"You, erm, seemed to have a lot on your plate and…"
"Bollocks!" Frank cut, an ominous twinkle in his eyes. "You were on your way to warn your employers, were you not? I can hardly blame you because wow, actual aliens! This is big news, much more exciting than those lame UFO hunts."
"Brad, I can't believe you're condoning this abuse!" Scott cried out. "What are you doing with that… man?"
"Look Scotty, I want this to be over as much as you do," Brad finally uttered while he avoided his gaze.
"Abuse ?" Frank growled. "That's a tad rich coming from you… right Edmund ?"
"That's not his name," Brad corrected.
Deep down, he knew that something was off. Frank wasn't accustomed to that type of gross mistake, which could only mean one thing…
"Everett, Edmund… It's not easy to keep track." He bit his lip and fiddled the folder he was carrying. "Shall we look it up to know where we stand?"
Scott turned crimson while Brad struggled not to be submerged by painful obviousness.
"What's in this file?"
"Ignore him Brad, it's another one of his tricks. You'd better leave," Scott said, clinging to the arms of his wheelchair.
"I'm not going anywhere, and I won't ask twice."
He got nearer to Frank, whose presence he found strangely soothing, and couldn't repress a quiver when he felt his deft fingers trailing up and down his spine. He met his green eyes, which had something of gold under this light, and his vision became blurred.
"He really got into your head, didn't he?" Scott hissed. "That fiendish breed…"
"My my, leopards don't change their spots!" Frank grinned as he looked his rival up and down.
"So it's true," Brad said, swallowing laboriously. "You were a Nazi."
"And a good one at that," Frank added, going one further and handing the precious folder to Brad. "Behold the life of Edmund Von Schotte! Born and raised in high nobility, at least we have one thing in common…" he began to list.
"I'm sorry, what?" Brad cut, unsure whether he heard correctly.
He'd already established that Frank was probably someone important in his own world. Otherwise he'd never been allowed to lead that mission — whatever its purpose might be— on a foreign planet… but the information he'd just let out was something else!
"And one of the most promising scientists of his generation! Though I must say, doing a round of all the concentration camps in Europe to try your hand must definetely help," Frank went on, ignoring the interruption, and turned to Scott. "Why do you look so grim, Liebling *? I'm giving you the recognition you never got! Because you see Brad, that's where the story gets tragic…"
"Enough!" Scott burst, slamming his palms against his thighs.
"Our little prodigy here was working in erm," he stopped and opened the folder to check, "Dachau when he was cut in the prime of life, just a few days before the war ended. My copy of your death certificate's all blurry, so tell me… What killed you, Ed?"
"Everett. It's Everett now."
"Tomayto, tomahto… Spit it out!"
"Smallpox," he sighed, eyes filled with tears. "Listen, I faked my death, but there was some truth in it. I really was in Dachau when the Allied came. Three soldiers found me, but I bribed them to smuggle me out. Afterwards, I managed to reach America, where my sister had been living for a couple of years," he confessed, head down.
Brad collapsed on the daybed to allow that information to sink in. Frank on the other hand was determined to get at the heart of the matter.
"Two more things now, for academic purposes. When you say 'bribe', do you mean 'blowjob'? And if you did blow those lads, what was your approach : altogether or one at a time?"
"It was a watch."
"Like when you focus on the tip and you move your tongue clockwise? Doesn't answer my question, but damn, you really know your stuff!" He exclaimed, puzzled. "To be honest, I had no idea it was called that way. Feel free to take down notes, Brad."
The concerned one's cheeks turned to fire while Scott retorted :
"No I … I gave them my watch , alright?! Probably the most expensive thing they'd ever their laid eyes on, by the way!" He stared at Frank for a while and eventually enquired : "What do you want, Furter?"
"Your silence. It's pretty simple really : should you ever say a word about an extraterrestrial presence here - and if you do, believe me, I'll know - I'll make sure the compilation of your dirty deeds arrives on the desk of every intelligence agency on Earth."
"I reckon finding myself exposed would be rather distasteful, indeed."
"Why that's the spirit of blackmail! I can't threaten you with something nice."
"Alas, as resourceful as you maybe, you lack pragmatism," Scott snickered. "Nowadays Hitler himself would be granted amnesty if he brought the proof that we aren't alone in the universe!"
Frank narrowed his eyes and blinked twice.
"Brad honey, I'm not fluent in bottom so maybe you could help me translate… Did he just call me stupid?
In a fit of panic, Brad shook his head no vigorously as if he intended to unscrew it.
"Let's take a look at the bigger picture," Frank picked up, sitting down on Scott's lap. "The Transsexualite civilization is much more advanced than yours, with enough firepower to obliterate that spunk stain you call a galaxy. We came here in peace, but wrong me in any way and I promise you sparks will fly!"
Brad immediately jolted out of his chair, half shuddering (that was one scary speech…), half enraptured (...but it also sounded quite arousing, in an odd sexy fashion of which Frank alone held the secret) and exclaimed :
"Timeout! No need to go that far. You heard him, Scotty?"
"You came in peace!" he repeated as he tried to wiggle free of Frank's weight. "My late nephew would probably find fault in that statement."
"Just so we're clear, I literally have zero regrets about what happened with Eddie, that cunt had it coming!"
"Geeze Frank, we're trying to de-escalate things here!"
"However…" He paused and breathed in and out, seemingly doing his best to keep it cool. "I'd lie if I said it was part of the roadmap. A heat of the moment kill!"
Diplomacy was definitely not his forte. Brad facepalmed and decided to go all in.
"What do you say Scotty? Shall we call it quits?"
"On one condition."
"Are you perhaps short of a marble?" Frank chuckled, punctuating each word with a tiny slap on Scott's cheeks. "You don't get to make demands!"
"Eddie's remains, of course. You'll get them back." Brad said, certain he'd guessed what Scott had in mind. "Couldn't we do that as an act of good faith?" he enquired directly to Frank.
He nodded, completely unbothered.
"Whatever, knock yourself out! It's not as if I could feed his dead junkie ass to the dogs, the poor beasts would overdose in a minute."
Brad almost choked himself hearing this and crossed his arms in sign of disapproval.
"Seriously, you worry about the dogs ? Need I remind you what you served us for dinner?"
"Pfff, come on, it was a prank! None of you ate human flesh. I thought you knew."
Scott cleared his throat. From that moment on, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
"Returning the corpse would be awfully kind of you, but I was thinking about something erm, more delicate. Actually I… I would like to keep the heels."
He pointed to the red shoes on his feet.
"Hell no! The heels are staying here!"
"Hum, Frank, can we talk for a sec? In private?" Brad intervened.
Frank rolled his eyes to the ceiling but they exited the parlour together, whispering and bickering.
"A pair of shoes in exchange of intergalactical peace? Not the worst deal in history. For Christ's sake, let him have it!"
"But… couture stilettos, Brad! What's he gonna do with those anyway? Take tango lessons?"
His last words were poorly enunciated as he struggled not to giggle.
"So much for not stigmatising disabled persons, huh."
"You're right, you're right, that was a petty thing to say," he acknowledged with a contrite frown, much to Brad's surprise. "Let's hope he doesn't get blisters though!"
This time he burst into laughter and covered his mouth with his palm to muffle the sound. While the situation was undeniably stressful, Brad realised this was perhaps the most genuine reaction he'd ever witnessed coming from that man.
"That's not even funny! I'm sure you can do better."
"Mmh," Frank shrugged with mock innocence before pinching Brad's side. "Like this?"
The touch was gentle, but intense enough to make his skin come alive.
"Haaa…haha… stop it!"
"Or what?" he taunted as he continued his merciless tickling. Without his freakishly big platforms, he was a full head shorter than Brad, who had no difficulty to grab his wrists and pin him against the wall nearby. "Tempting fate, are we?"
"I-I…" Brad stammered as he measured what he'd awakened.
However his upper limbs were currently harmless, Frank wasn't deterred in the least. Worse, he seemed all the more lustful now that he was being restrained, his poisonous prettiness radiating brighter than ever. In a state of complete rapture, Brad gazed down to see one of the lean legs he'd come to worship slither between his thighs. The greedy demon's endeavour — perfect balance between pressure and friction soon came to pay off, bringing him nearer and nearer to the bursting point. He dug his nails into Frank's flesh, biting tiny half-moon shapes on his wrists, and cocked his head down, burying his face in the black snare of his hair. Then came the relief when he faded against the warm frame of his torturer, surprised by his own guttural moan with surprise as if it came from another mouth.
"Good boy!" With a satisfied purr, Frank freed himself and stepped backwards to take in the view of Brad's transport and its wet expression, barely containing his relish. Just when it seemed the moment couldn't get any filthier, he added : "Scott can keep the shoes. Right now, I'm dying to slip in something else."
He strolled back in the parlour without further ado, leaving a very dizzy and bewildered Brad in one of the many lonely corridors of the castle.
*Liebling : darling