A/N: Something that just came out in the middle of the night. Magenta's random musings about her life on Earth and with Riff. R&R please!
Disclaimer: I don't own Rocky Horror, unfortunately, the insanely wonderful Richard O'Brien does.
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Sometimes, she'd catch herself thinking of his hands a lot.
Like when he'd come back to the room which she (secretly, of course) shared with him, exhausted after running like a good little puppy after Frank's every whim, she'd just cradle him in her arms, feeling his breath ease out, warm against her neck, as he dozed off. But her attention would then totally be taken away from his slightly rough, but always gentle hands, running instinctively up and down the small of her back, his fingertips slowly caressing her naked skin, warm and homecoming. Sometimes they'd tangle in her frizzy red hair, slowly stroking as he'd try to search for her, even in mid-sleep, just to make sure that she's near touching distance. Then she'd touch the inside of his arm gently and he'd calm himself down and drift into a deeper sleep.
At other times, she was absolutely mesmerized by his eyes.
Pale blue, reminding her of the sea back on Transsexual in a dusky morning, she'd catch them exploring her body, silently watching her and making sure she was safe, burning into her own when he was angry, darkened with desire when they had their own stolen moments to enjoy each other's touch. Every single time, when he'd whisper words of love and devotion into her ear, while they were in the heat of the moment, the tension and friction of their bodies driving them both insane and sending butterflies flying through her skull, she'd imagine his eyes and the look she knew was there, even though she couldn't see them. It was only that way that she could believe in his words, because the blue of his eyes spoke more than any words ever could.
As she lay next to him, smoking her cigarette and listening to his calm and steady breath, with a little whim of snoring peeking out here and there. Magenta felt her lips twitch in a smile on their own. She had no idea why she was smiling – their situation was far from glorious. They were alone, on an unknown planet full of violent and confused little beings. They had to put up with Dr. Furter's insane musings about his new 'creation', how it would be the greatest thing ever created. Riff had to work endless hours in the lab, bent over a table, reading at a poor light, almost sticking his nose in his papers, which, Magenta had noticed, had started to cause his back to become slightly hunchback-y. He had dark circles in his eyes and her hands hurt almost always from mopping and sweeping at least 12 hours a day. Yet, that smile didn't want to go off Magenta's face. She stood up slightly, careful not to wake Riff, slipped a simple black dress on and sat on the window frame to finish her cigarette. Moonlight peeked from the window, illuminating their room in silver-y tones that brought her a sense of melancholy and nostalgia. She felt almost guilty. Their greatest longing was to leave this goddamn planet for good. To go back to the moon-drenched shores of their beloved planet, to run, hand in hand, on the beaches, the sand cold against their bodies, as they'd roll in it until early twilight, then watch the sunrise together, as the three suns of Transsexual illuminated the sky in earthly colors, cutting through it with an orange knife. Riff'd say that the sky at morning looks like her hair – untidy and red, yet beautiful. She wanted this back, so badly. Yet, it was those beautiful moments on Earth too, filled with weirdness that was literally alien to her. They were new, something she had to discover and learn about. She didn't want to leave yet. Not just yet. Not before they'd discovered and tried everything that the earthlings cherished.
Magenta sighed. She bummed her cigarette and threw it out the window, staring out at the sight unveiling in front of her. Black clouds slowly clouded the moon, making it disappear from sight. A cold breeze flew past her and she shivered, slightly cold in her not-so-thick attire.
She felt a familiar hand creep slowly on her waist. Magenta didn't even have to turn her head – she knew perfectly who it belonged to. Warm lips collided with the cold skin on her neck.
'Are you not cold,' Riff asked; sleep still stumbling through his words. 'my most beautiful sister?'
Magenta chuckled. He knew perfectly well how she secretly loved it when he called her that. It was strangely arousing.
'Do you want me to take you back to the bed?'
She nodded, finally turning her green eyes to collide with his blue sleepy gaze, which glinted in mischief and yet there was something that made her warm on the inside. Riff picked her up, she wrapped her hands around his neck and they nearly crashed on the bed, he was above her, staring right into her eyes with in such a loving and sensual way, she thought she might have melted. It was then when she understood it: fuck tomorrow. Fuck next week. Fuck next year, next decade. All that mattered was now. Here. Them. Magenta raised her head slightly to place a gentle and chaste kiss on his lips.
'You know that I love you. Right?'
Riff answered her with a deep kiss, his hands trailing under her black dress. She felt herself melt into his touch and her last thought before the white sparks of pleasure flooded her mind was, yes, she could definitely addicted to some parts of him. But that was totally okay.