The Porcelain Doll

The Dismemberment of Moran

"How far is the drive?" John wondered a bit apprehensively, just realizing that the country seemed incredibly far away. As far as his eyes could see there were buildings, and it may take a concerning amount of time before they reached open land.
"About two hours if I don't get caught breaking the speed limit." Victor decided.
"Oh wonderful." John muttered, wishing that he had managed more breakfast when he had the chance. His eyes were becoming awfully heavy, and he wondered if the sound of the engine would be too distracting for a nice nap against the side of the door. Perhaps these hours could be put to use, making up for lost time?
"I never asked you, John, if you had any plans to return to the Dollhouse." Victor began, interrupting John's sleepy state and erupting quite a bit of nervous energy into his veins. John hated when Victor brought up their singular visit, for he felt the servant was not a good man to trust a most delicate secret. He was still embarrassed by his actions that night, even if he wasn't too hesitant to repeat them.
"Return for the...for the company?" John clarified nervously. Victor chuckled, though he nodded his head with a grin.
"The company of one particular man." He agreed. John shivered, drawing ever nearer to the door as if he was trying to keep his unconscious mind just about as far away from victor as he could manage. For some reason he felt as though every thought going through his head had already been examined or anticipated, he felt as though nothing he said would come as any surprise at all.
"I hadn't made any plans, no." John admitted.
"Do you want to? Certainly you enjoyed yourself, I would not believe you if you tried to deny it. What good are life's greatest pleasures if they are not enjoyed again?" Victor wondered with a tempting smile.
"Well I'm not sure I should. Not only could I not afford it, but it feels rather...well rather strange." John admitted. "I hadn't known what to expect the first time, and I went along with it to be...polite."
"Liar." Victor snapped.
"I'm not lying! You never told me it was going to be a man!" John defended.
"That part is true, though I kept that information deliberately. But to say you were only being polite, that you of all people would throw away ten dollars just to protect the feelings of some masked whore, well it's perfectly incomprehensible. You wanted it, and you liked it, and you'll do it again." Victor declared, stealing any hidden emotions right out of John's trembling heart. John whimpered in defeat, though he allowed himself to fall silent for a moment, trying to recollect himself before he tried to defend his position upon the matter. Evidently Victor understood his stance better than he did, and to be honest there was no point in defending his character from it any longer. What crime was it really, to enjoy something that was designed to be so wonderful? He had only given into the most common vice of man; certainly he should not be embarrassed to admit it? Furthermore, he was sitting next to a man who was unapologetically addicted to the man behind the stage door. Certainly it would do no harm to admit to sharing the same feelings?
"I suppose I'm just waiting for another invitation." John admitted at last. Victor smiled, daring to clap John upon the shoulder in his pride.
"That's precisely the attitude I was hoping for. We shall go again, then, once we get back to the city." Victor proposed.
"I would like that." John admitted, feeling as though he ought to just spill out his utmost feelings. No matter his feelings towards Victor he had to at least appreciate that he had a companion who was so transparent. Emotions were best understood if they were spoken about out loud, and if John would try to discuss his feelings towards the Porcelain Doll with Mary Morstan he may very well end up with a beaded purse smacked into the side of his face. Yes, perhaps John should appreciate this little interrogation, for he was never going to say any of it on his own. With his heart empty of all secrets John began to nestle into the door once more, finding that the window was a very bumpy pillow but managing to settle his head upon the leather cushion that protected the passenger from the bumpy rides. This felt much better, and just the luxury of a head rest began to make John feel very tired.
"You can sleep if you would like to." Victor offered. "I don't think I could hold a conversation for two hours anyway."
"Will you be okay driving for that long?" John wondered nervously.
"What choice do I have? If we switched off our journey would last much longer, for we would have to continue on foot after you slammed this thing into the Hudson River." Victor chuckled.
"Fair point. Well then, if you are not opposed." John muttered, snuggling even more into the door and daring a small smile upon his exhausted face. For a while he stayed quiet and still, trying to fall asleep despite the bumpy roads and the noisy engine spewing exhaust from under his feet. All the while he pretended that he was not awake, just for the luxury of not maintaining any sort of conversation in these most precious moments of relaxation. Or a while the car was silent, interrupted after about ten minute with Victor beginning to hum popular radio tunes. This quiet music, set in his deepest baritone, was enough to finally draw John into dreamland. It was a strange time to dream; for the uneven roads were shaking his body back and forth even throughout his deepest sleep. This motion was worked into his recent memories, and in the midst of his brain somewhere there was a nerve firing, producing just one image, one feeling, and compensating for all of the external interference from the automobile. In his dreams he was in the arms of a man, a familiarly constructed body with a delicate touch, soft skin brushed against his own and limbs intertwined. John could feel the cold mask pressed against his cheek, the leather of the car door becoming the closeness and the pressure, he could feel the soft breaths of the man with the gaps between the poorly fitted glass windowpanes. And they were moving, together, in synchronized motions, jolting back and forth, pinned down and tangled, pressing themselves closer and closer so as to merge their bodies into one. John could feel his heart racing, he could feel his lips parting, he could feel his breaths gasping. And he could move, he could move along, he could keep up. He could merge with this man's movements; he could go along for the ride. But of course he could not control every aspect; perhaps he was safe within his dreams, though he had left his living body behind in the car. His brain was occupied by a single man, though the rest of him was still being observed within the real world. It was something Victor would never mention, even with his most uncomfortable modes of communication. He did not think it right to comment upon poor John Watson, who was balled up against the door of the car and moaning in his sleep.