Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. All characters, settings, etc. are not mine to claim.
General Author's Notes: This takes place before the movie/play at around the time of the holidays. Warning: If you're not open to lesbian relationships, I'd advise you to leave this story alone. Any form of constructive critisim is welcomed here, but I will not tolerate flaming, especially anonymous flaming.
Glistening scarlet, much like her smudged lipstick, the seemingly innocent plant taunted her with its promises of unkempt kisses and drunken embraces. For in the reflection of its red berries, she watched her kisses landing on him. He was the one she wished she could be, the object of her affections.
She barely knew love, the faceless whore. She was, however, experienced in the ways of its duality; she had slept with pleasure and awoken in pain. She belonged in the arms of a rebel, and she liked it there. To her, it was the home she never knew. But lately, lately she'd wanted to wander. Familiarity grew ever so boring, at least, to her. Oh, but she loved him still. No, she wasn't one to deny that. But remaining bound to a lover who refused to settle down had begun to take its toll, and Columbia was certain she'd had enough.
She glanced dismissively at the necklace sprawled out over her vanity, the latest of tokens received through the mail. She was certain she wasn't the only woman to know his embrace. The sudden arrival of gifts reassured this belief. He had never before given her anything, nor had she granted him any material symbols of their love…affair.
Yes, she sighed. Theirs was a love of rock and roll, of partying. She prided in that, for it was that distraction that provided a shelter for her away from the world she'd been born into. But as she sat there, miserable on her broken mattress, meeting the gaze of the holiday's most beloved plant, she realized it wasn't enough. Yes, she cared about him. Yes, she worried as the days without him passed her by. But as she remembered the countless nights spent in secluded corners of the castle, the numerous amounts of sex that they'd had, she realized that lately, at least, on her part, they seemed to fuck just for the sake of fucking.
But she needed more, and that, he couldn't give to her. No necklace, no half-hearted love song could satisfy the hunger within her. She enjoyed their adventures, but as she looked back on the past couple of times, she no longer trusted the sincerity of his screams, of her orgasms. She was lonely without him, but as time moved on, she was beginning to think she should too.
"Why?" She pondered, picking up her beloved tap shoes and tossing them across the room. Again, she was answered by the twinkle of hanging berries. She groaned. She never understood Magenta's newfound obsession with mistletoe. It had only begun that year, that Christmas.
"Why must you mock me?" She whispered, mostly to the images of her that came to mind as she continued to stare at the evergreen and bitter red of the holiday tradition.
- - -
He nodded to her before walking away. So very typical, and so very…human-like, leaving her to sleep while he left to find something to drink. So very like him, and yet so very unwanted, in her eyes. She needed a lover willing to lay in bed beside her, a body willing to be caressed after the heat of the sex became naught but ashes.
She let her eyes wander, musing over the possibilities. That night, Riff hadn't seemed much into making love with her. She could see the distance in his eyes; sense the distraction in his touch. That, and the name he had shouted instead of hers. It didn't come as a surprise to her, the name he screamed. She'd be damned if every one of the castle's inhabitants hadn't slept with Frank. Sex, and the human anatomy, of course, were what Frank did best. He made it seem as though sleeping with him were a privilege.
She, of course, stopped believing him. She refused to remain dominant, after awhile. After he gave up on her, Frank went to her brother. Their master knew Riff was willing to obey, for a price.
But she couldn't blame him, exactly, for the incident that evening. She didn't accuse him as he left for a drink, an excuse she sincerely doubted. No, everything that happened, it was all okay. If he could have a caught a glimpse of her mind, he would've discovered that it wasn't his image embedded there. No, the portrait gracing the walls of her thoughts was not Riff, nor was she even male. Instead of time-worn, bleached-like blond hair, she boasted a cropped, nearly orange shade of a mane. Instead of an increasing submissiveness, she came with a pair of tap shoes, and a mind of her own.
Magenta bit her lip, trying to tame the feral lust stirring within her at the thought of her roommate. More than likely, she was off fucking that biker boy of hers, that plaything that had once belonged to Frank, as she once had. More than likely, she would have to rely on herself for pleasure, once again.
The velvet darkness was smothering. She couldn't resign herself to the company of solitude, not in the resounding ebony. Clenching her fists, she made a decision. She wasn't going to lay there like some helpless rag doll. No, she was going to spend her time attempting to seduce her close friend. No matter what means she had to resort to, no matter how long it took, she was going to succeed.
- - -
Columbia threw back her head in reckless pleasure, savoring the liquid burn of the alcohol flowing down her throat. Honeyed wine was her absolute favorite drink in the world, though more often than not she could be seen with a glass of champagne. Tonight, however, she'd managed to sneak more than a few bottles up from the wine cellar. She planned on draining every bottle dry.
The rhythm of footsteps startled her from her reverie, abruptly drawing her attention towards the doorway. Columbia had to struggle not to gasp. Framed by the doorway, haloed by the dim light of candles, was Magenta. The shadows gracing her curvaceous figure gave her a demonic appearance, almost.
"What? Not busy assisting the master with his latest experiment?" The sarcasm in Magenta's voice helped to inspire her smile.
"No, I'm sure he's doing just fine on his own." She replied, cheekily grinning all the while. A moment later, the pair of them dissolved in fits of typically girlish laughter. Columbia put down her wine glass, for fear of what would happen if she let it fall.
That thought sparked others like it, sobering her immediately. The master was, at some point, bound to notice that a good portion of his wine collection had mysteriously 'vanished.'
"What?" Magenta had noticed her hesitation.
Columbia sighed. Magenta was the one resident of the place she couldn't lie to. "I'm just…worried that Frank N Furter will find out I raided the cellar again."
- - -
Magenta rolled her eyes. Columbia, for all her spunk, was still rather submissive to the master. But she didn't retort. Instead, she offered up sympathy, giving her time to calculate her next move.
"I doubt he'll care. He never goes down there anymore. He's always sending someone else to fetch his hard alcohol." She masked her face in disgust. Like Columbia, she was more of a wine person, whereas Frank, and Riff Raff, preferred the likes of Jack Daniel. At the thought of her beloved sibling, Magenta swore she could still smell his perfume of booze. Interesting, considering he hadn't been drinking.
She shrugged it off, not caring at the moment. She had more important matters to attend to, anyway. She moved from her position by the doorway, closing the door behind her. Finally stopping as she reached her own mattress, she reached out to Columbia with a gesture.
"Hand me one of those, will you? It's been a long evening."
- - -
He felt bad for leaving her with yet another empty night. He hadn't been putting much effort into their affairs as of late. Guilt hung around him, almost a noose over his neck. And yet, he couldn't stop his desire, his lust. Experimentation was in his nature, so it was no surprise that he'd wanted to explore the planet they arrived on.
That night, and many more before it, his guilt wasn't due to his nature. Rather, his sexual appetite had been expanding, and he'd found he couldn't control it. He only wished he was as good as her. She remained faithful, while he dabbled in luxurious nights of pleasure with their master. He only wished he was as good as her.
- - -
Minutes, hours, days, it seemed, had passed. Time meant absolutely nothing when the two women were intoxicated, both with wine, and each other. It hadn't taken long for them to engage in a drinking game of sorts. Both wanted to see who could intake the most alcohol, and neither would hesitate, nor back down, from any challenge offered.
Their current state had been reached far earlier. It was only now that they began to partake in wine-influenced gestures. Magenta made the fist move, naturally. She'd gotten up, staggered, fallen down, and made her way over to Columbia, who was shivering with drunken laughter.
"Hold me." She giggled, her formerly sensual accent rendered meaningless with slurs. She fell right across Columbia's lap, looking right up into her glazed expression.
Columbia giggled, almost like a giddy school girl. "You can be my ragdolly!" She managed to hiccup out, clumsily picking up her friend and embracing her.
Magenta made no verbal reply, only tilting her head upward to plant a kiss on Columbia's cheek, her lips missing their desired target.
"You missed." Columbia whispered, her tone hushed with lust. She moved so that Magenta lay sprawled out beneath her on the bed. "Here, let me…" She said, making her own attempt at a kiss. Her efforts were far more successful than Magenta's, elicting soft gasps from the woman in her arms as their passion sparkled, like the stars, in the midnight hour.
- - -
The familiar rosy-fingered dawn made her appearance as usual, only to be stunned into silence at the sight of entwined lovers. Their different shades of red glowed in the morning air as they clutched onto sleep and each others' kisses, blissfully unaware of the twinkling berries grinning above them.