Author's note: I wrote the first draft a long time ago. Around march of 2010. It's not to be taken too seriously (as it is a bit of a crack-fic) and it's written in present tense because Rocky horror show can never die!

It's based on the original RHS/RHPS with the Timmy Curry.

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to The Rocky Horror Picture Show or the play, the Rocky Horror Show but God knows that I wish I did.

Rating: T for very light, suggestive content, use of tobacco and drug reference. More or less, the rating is more of a cautionary step than anything else.


It's early summer and the breeze has begun to stir warmly through the streets. The sun has set and the stars have come out, peering down on the sleepy, little town of Denton, U.S.A with a coy twinkle.

Across town, on some lonely stretch of dirt road, the wind travels as well, Faster and faster. Over ponds and brush, though white, picket fences and hair. Black hair, too. Thick with glossy curls and the scent of cigarettes.

The head from which these locks have sprouted, sports a pair of lips so full and fine that the wind pries them apart just so it can tremble in his lungs.

Doctor Frank-N-Furter is wound up as tight as a clock, inhaling the thankful breeze to soothe his rigid nerves. Not all is well here in Denton.

Since about 2 am, Columbia and Eddie have been having the most uproarious fight, issuing various thumps and screams of terror from their room which just so happens to be a few doors down from Frank's. It's been driving the poor thing up the wall. He simply had to come out onto the balcony to get some fresh air.

He shifts comfortably in his sexy, silk teddy, translucent robe and pom-pom kitten heels (all in matching peach). Feeling those delightful goosebumps pop from his flesh before sighing. He's content enough to sip from an equally sweaty can of cola and press it to his forehead, gasping slightly from the shock of icy-cold aluminum.

It's 5 am and they're still going at it. As if matters couldn't get worse, the whole castle's A.C. is on the fritz so multiple fans have been set about. Anything to tax Frank's delicate composure.

Another scream. This time it sounds as if Eddie's face is being pressed against their bedroom door. Frank squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip. The disgusting ruffians have no consideration.

Well, Frank figures that he's got to go back in, sometime. It might as well be now.

Frankie had stayed up all day long. He needs an impromptu cat nap or else he may bite somebody's head off.

"Too hot to sleep. Too loud to sleep." He mumbles weakly and shuffles back inside.

Such things as strapless heels were not made for comfort.

All of the lights have been shut off. A projector night-light sits on the floor, throwing ghostly constellation shapes over the room, buzzing in constant rotation. Aside from that, the only other sources of light are the moon and the hallway light, leaking through from under the door.

Sitting gracelessly upon the edge of the bed, Frank kicks of his heels and places the cola on the nightstand; slipping beneath the cool, black silk sheets-murmuring with pleasure-to smoke in bed. Columbia throws a leaden object in the direction of Eddie as Frank remembers the box of cheap chocolates that he left on the floor a few days ago. They've become a bit runny, but Frank tackles a vanilla cream, nonetheless


About 15 minutes slowly roll by and now -in addition to the quarrel in the other room- somebody has begun to rummage about in the kitchen, downstairs with several pots and pans. One of Riff-Raff's nocturnal dinners, no doubt.

"Good lord," Frank laments.

He had given the fools explicit orders not to disturb him for any reason, whatsoever.

Apparently, the Master had been quite busy the entire day, locked away in his chambers without any explanation.

These are those who make their homes in the dark.

Frankie pops another chocolate in his painted mouth. He is splayed out as lazy as can be, uncovered because the sheets had grown warm.

Voices approach, coming from down the hall but he takes no heed. Perhaps the two will move their fiasco to another level and give Frank the peace he deserves.

Abruptly, the door is barged open and Eddie comes crashing through. Frank slowly moves his head toward the source of the noise, bleary-eyed and puffs out a billowing cloud of smoke.

"Oh... you're awake," Eddie states the obvious. Eddie had hoped he could have broken in undetected and searched through Frank's things for something.

Frank-N-Furter remains unchanged, barely moving his mouth as he speaks. "What?"

"Hey, since you're up, you wouldn't happen to have a little somethin' just layin' around,would ya?"

"No," Frank answers without understanding what it is Ed's asking for.

Eddie smiles. "C'mon, Frank. I need a fix real bad. Cantcha' help a guy out?"

The hulking rock-a-billy is drenched with sweat, wearing only black jeans and an open vest. His hair is a mess and bruises blotch his skin.

"Beat it," Frank said dismissively and looked back up to the ceiling.

Eddie becomes even more frantic. "OH, COME ON, MAN! I NEED IT BAD! Now, I know you've got some, now. Where is it?" He feverishly begins to go through the nearest thing: Frank's dresser.

Doctor Furter jumps up and yells "GIT OUTTA HERE!" Preparing to give the idiot a good slap before Eddie grabs Frankie's robe and tugs it, pleading "Whadda 'bout a loan? I'm a little short, here."

"GET LOST!"

"But I promise I'll pay ya ba-" Frank strikes Ed across the face, shutting him up. Now, Frank will give him a piece of his mind.

"I've taken you in. Kept you fed and clothed, haven't I? Given you what you've wanted. What you NEED?"

"I guess-"

"I know now that I have been too generous. Letting an ungrateful leech stay in my HOUSE!"

"Oh, come on! Be fair, man!"

"YOU BUM!" Frank explodes in a rage.

Eddie is seared by the truth. "A bum, am I? After all I've done for you."

"DONE?" Columbia screeches behind Ed, who had previously been eavesdropping. "Done what? What else have you been doing with him?"

"Oh, lemme alone, fer the love of-" Ed started. Columbia didn't let him finish. "WHAT DID YOU DO, YA BIG LUG?" She screams and beats his back brutally with her fists as he wails "GET OFFA' ME!" and stumbles back into the hall, assaulted. "You great, big, lousy..."

"STOP IT!"

Frank urgently slams the door after they're out and bolts it, fuming.

He tries to recuperate, sighing, "Oh, my God."

Then, their voices fade. Frank takes a drag of his cigarette and stares at the carpet, his hand on his hip.

He decides to go back to bed once more, sitting on it a mere second before darting up, saying. "Oh, what the hell..."


Frank carefully makes his way down the steps, keeping watch for Columbia or her hulking beau. But they are no where to be seen.

When Furter is just outside the kitchen door, he spots Magenta, poised with a heavy stewing pot in her hands before letting it fall to the tile floor with a resounding clang. A delirious grin on her face. She wears a yellow, baby doll nightie.

Riff-Raff is wearing an off-white shift as he stirs something in a tall pot on the stove.

Frankie ambles in, heels scuffing the floor as he heads to the refrigerator. Riff-Raff is not pleased by his presence or at the fact that he hasn't complained about all of the racket they have been making and watches his master retrieve a Popsicle from the freezer. If he's not going to complain, then he should leave.

Frank sits demurely upon the delectably cool counter top and swings his little feet, taking a few licks.

Magenta looks to her brother, who is seething darkly as he stirs and coughs but Frank ignores them and sucks lewdly on the Popsicle. He lets a strap of his teddy fall down, exposing his chest a little.

Regardless whether or not the sauce the decrepit man was stirring was done or not, Riff-Raff wrenched it from the burner and rushed with his skagged out sister to the dining room.


Magenta and Riff-Raff tear off chunks of bread from french loafs and dip them angrily into the pot of marinara sauce before gnawing on them voraciously. Frank has won this time.