Disclaimer: Yeah, if I owned these characters, "Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Me" would have involved much more nudity.
Frank was the reason she had come to to castle. He was charming, alluring; she thought that he was what she wanted. He had shown her pleasures that she had never experienced, and taken her in ways that she had never imagined. Then he abandoned her in one of the guest rooms with nothing but a pair of holey pyjamas.
Yes, Frank had been the reason she had come to the castle. But Magenta had been the reason she'd stayed.
Her first encounter with the enigmatic redhead had been two days after she had been shoved off into a far corner of the house and out of sight of Frank. Night time, naturally, when the moon was out and peeked through the boards that covered the castle windows, illuminating the cobwebbed halls in haphazard patterns. Columbia had wandered these halls, bare feet hardly rustling the coarse carpet, sleep an elusive mistress when she heard it. The faintest sound, a small groan, the movement of cloth. Silently she had followed it, peeking around the corner. The domestic was pressed up against a wall in the throes of pleasure, illuminated by the moonlight as her partner thrust into her; rutting, fucking. It was primal, carnal, an explosion of need and want. Their clothes weren't even off. Columbia's gasp was small, an outward manifestation of a small spark of jealousy that had ignited within her; and she grabbed at the air as though she could snatch the sound back. Only the domestic heard; her eyes had snapped open and fixed themselves on Columbia's grey ones even as her fingers drew her lover's head tighter against her neck.
Columbia should have looked away, should have run away, back to her room or out of the castle, but she didn't. She watched, fixated, as the redhead's eyes rolled back into her head with silent pleasure, as her body shook and spasmed uncontrollably against her orgasm, as her nails scored down the back of her partner's jacket. And he came with a groan, loud, too loud, one that sent Columbia running back to her room as quickly and quietly as possible, locking the door behind her and hiding under the covers.
She made a point to avoid the domestic wherever possible. Surely, in a castle, there was a place to hide? Perhaps, but not for Columbia.
Magenta found her three days after while she was burning pancakes in the kitchen. She snuck up and pinned the younger woman to the counter from behind with her hips, leaning forward to whisper in deep, dulcet tones.
"Did you like vhat you saw, Miss Columbia?"
The groupie had gulped, her mouth suddenly dry and her tongue thick with words she couldn't speak. "I.. I didn't m... I'm so-"
Magenta silenced her with a press of her hips, her lips and tongue tracing the shell of Columbia's ear. "Hush. If I vanted your excuses or apologies zere are ozzer vays to procure zem. Less... sensual vuns," she added, rolling her hips, earning a groan from the younger woman. "You vant me, don't you?"
Columbia had turned and slapped the domestic across the face before storming out of the room; leaving the pancake batter sizzling pitifully in the pan. Not because she was offended, that is, but because Magenta's words were so close to the truth that it frightened her. She didn't see the domestic lick the blood from her split lip, a predatory smile forming across them.
"She vill come to me."
In the nights following the altercation, Columbia's dreams were plagued with images of Magenta, more to the point, images of Magenta fucking her, taking her on every surface of Frank N. Furter's castle. After five nights of the same images, the same torture, the same promise, the groupie's desire was nigh unbearable. The coffin-clock in the atrium had yet to strike twelve when Columbia began prowling the halls, a huntress searching for her prey. Opening and slamming the door to Magenta's room behind her in one fluid movement, she had found the domestic perched on her bed, slender legs crossed and a smirk adorning her blood red lips. Columbia pounced.
The next minutes-hours-days- had been spent in a haze of pleasure, from the moment Columbia had kissed the smirk off of Magenta's lips and slid her hand into her pyjama pants, begging her to "Fuck me. I need you to fuck me and GODS, fuck me hard. Please..." until the moment they had both collapsed, naked and tangled in a mess of sweaty limbs and sweatier bedsheets, their bodies too exhausted to keep up with their libidos. As hands tiredly traced over soft skin and gentle curves, eliciting memories of more desperate touches: hands sliding over breasts and between legs, the desperate grinding of hips and the melding of mouths; weary eyes met each other with an understanding glance. Columbia raised her head from Magenta's shoulder to press her lips against the domestic's once more, murmuring soundless, beautiful words against her mouth before settling down for a hopefully dreamless sleep.
Yes, Frank was the reason she had come to the castle, but lying in Magenta's arms, she had found her reason to stay.