A/N: Some sexy Riff/Magenta I wrote a long time ago, because I felt like it.

Warning: Not very bluntly suggested sex.

Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien owns those two. Title from a U2 song.

:::

Another bite. Another stroke. Another thrust. More, she thought. More is good. More is better. More love. More wine. More everything.

It had been a while since they had had the night off to themselves. It would either be him working too late hours on the lab, or her feeling way too tired to do anything. Or both. They would get as far as snuggling and kissing, cherishing the warmth of their bodies, as sleep took over both of them.

But not tonight, Magenta had promised herself. Tonight was theirs. All theirs.

She still couldn't believe it how they'd gotten away. Somehow, Frank hadn't been feeling so well that night and had gone to bed really early, Columbia had wandered off somewhere with Eddie and probably she wouldn't be back until tomorrow. They had managed to sneak out four bottles of wine out of the kitchen. Two of them were over by the time they reached their room. They entered it in a frenzy, a mess of limbs and hair, kissing, biting and lapping at each other's mouths. Magenta desperately clawed at his clothes, as he pushed her up against the wall, silently whispering a hush, now against her ruby lips. She understood. He wanted to cherish tonight; she shared this wish. She wanted to run her hands over his marble skin, mark his body with her teeth. The alcohol in her system was making her head feel dizzy, Riff's face was all that she could clearly see. Right now, that was quite enough. She desperately clung to his shirt, almost ripping it off his body along with the butler vest he wore, desperate to feel skin on skin contact. His hands were already moving under her little black dress; before she knew how it had happened, her bra was first unclasped and then gone. Riff's hands ran over the small of her back, fingertips teasingly touching her bare skin, making her shiver and want him even more. She may have said that out loud, because he chuckled slowly in her ear, a sound that drove her nearly on the brink of insanity.

'So greedy, my darling.'

Yes, she wasn't ashamed to admit it. She was greedy. Greedy for his hungry touches, the feel of his skin against hers, so warm, so sensual, to feel his mouth and his kisses all over her body. She would never get tired of that. It was probably the alcohol, but she kind of hadn't realized that her dress was off. So was his shirt.

Riff picked her up into the air, Magenta wrapped her long and slender legs around his waist, never wanting to leave his mouth. They crashed on the bed, she could feel his warm breath, mixed with the liquor he had drank, it moved down from her lips, kissing, sucking, biting, everything he could do to mark her, to show the world she was indeed his. Frankly, she didn't mind that, not one single bit. Just because she would have the chance to do that to him in round two. But now, he had the upper hand and she liked melting into his touch, leaving his hands guide her through blissful sensations, under the soft light of candles. One if his legs kicked a wine bottle and it fell on the floor with a crash. For a second, Magenta thought of the stain that will be left and how she would get rid of it, but Riff's mouth was back, low on her stomach, biting at the lace of her knickers. She dug her nails in his hand, hoping that he got the point. Apparently, he did, as she felt his lips and tongue slowly making their way up her thigh, she nearly moaned, the need of him, of his warmth echoing throughout her body, releasing white sparks of pleasure into every fiber of her being and butterflies through her skull. He leaned into her, whispering promises, whispering love and affection in a hushed voice, something which made Magenta dig her claws into his back and try to pull him closer. Finally, their bodies collided, sending both of them into a frenzy. She caught up on his rhythm and heard his hitched breaths and heavy panting. Her moans couldn't be restrained, so she had to bite hard on his shoulder, muffling the sounds.

The warmth and harshness of their touches sent both of them together over the edge. They stayed like that for a little while, breathing heavily, not being able to come down from their high, and crashed onto the bed, wrapped into each other's arms. Magenta lit a cigarette, Riff frowned at her but said nothing; he understood. Soon, his eyes started drooping and his breathing evened. Magenta couldn't fall asleep so quickly, though. She finished her smoke and then spent at least an hour staring at his sleeping form, watching the moonlight illuminate every single part of his slightly worn out yet still perfect features. It was an hour before he would wake up, smiled at her, blue eyes shining with warmth, affection, passion. Love. Such a trivial word, but so accurate for them. That was all it ever was – love. They loved, they were being loved back – nothing could ever change that.

As Magenta was staring at her brother's sleeping form, one single thought flew through her brain and stuck itself on repeat, as if her own voice was whispering it to her, over and over again.

I need him in my life, she thought, just because he is able to hold me do I manage to cope with everything that piles up on my head. How did I ever get so lucky?

But she had. He was here. He held her.

And it was truly beautiful.