Disclaimer-Rocky Horror does not belong to me, as I was born in the early nineties. It belongs to Richard O'Brien the lucky bastard.
A/N: Magenta was always my favorite, but everything I've read about her has to do with her an Riff, so I decided to give her a little fic of her own.
A/N#2: I may or may not add a second chapter, depending on feedback. So, if you want more, hit that little review button and make me happy!
It was just sex...
An observation really. Humans stripped down to their most primal urges and instincts. That was all sex really was, wasn't it? One of the four most basic needs brought to life in a sweaty, dirty, screaming climax. The cavemen were doing it millions of years ago, grunting and thrusting, and humans were still doing it today, hiding under the trappings of romantic music and slow burning candles. But for the most part, Earthlings had this peculiar habit of covering these desires with petty emotions. Transylvanians had long since evolved past the need for the strange Earth emotion known as "Love". Aesthetic appreciation and sexual activity brought pleasure to the senses, why they would bother with small talk was beyond most other creatures. In fact it was often looked down upon.
What then, are these feelings?
Cigarette ash was beginning to form a mound on the carpet beside the small day bed in the middle of the room. A pale slender hand flicked the smoldering butt god-knows where, not really caring where it landed or what happened when it got there. Magenta, domestic to Dr. Furter, and native Transylvanian lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to rationalize what events she could put together from the previous night. She knew Frank'd had another one of his strange parties, inviting all his so-called "colleagues" for drinks and a dance. Magenta had snarled in disgust when Riffraff informed her, but decided to try and have a good time in spite of herself. Frank had brought out some of his expensive Transylvania rum, a strange and powerful alcohol, even for the most experienced of drinkers. That was where things started getting hazy. For once in her natural life, Magenta could not remember precisely what had happened the night before. Despite her demented behavior, she prided herself on being a cool and calculated observer of human life. It was unlike her to lose control like this.
Maybe, just maybe you wanted to lose control.
Lighting another cigarette (her one vice on this wretched planet), Magenta strained for anything that resembled a cognitive recollection of the night before. All that were present were glimpses of full lips and a wicked smile, eyes golden as sunlight, and pale skin like silver silk in the moonlight. Still unable to put together a timeline, Magenta shivered, left with evanescent sensations of strong, calloused hands and soft lips kissing and caressing a path down her body. A path her brother would dare not follow. Magenta tensed at the thought of her brother. Careful, cautious, courageous Riffraff. Always biding his time, waiting for things to be "just right." The fool. Watching the hatred boil and bubble for the "Master" simmer just below the surface of his skin killed her, knowing it was eating him from the inside out. But there were other matters to consider at present.
Faint movement beside her interrupted Magenta's reverie. A single arm slid from its original position to encircle her waist comfortably. The body beside hers shifted, head now nuzzled directly under Magenta's, breath now sending a strange, tickling feeling across the Transylvanian's collarbone. A contented sigh rose up and the body relaxed back into sleep. Before she could stop herself, indeed, before she even realized it, Magenta felt her own arm rise and come to rest gently on the body's back, stroking the shoulders lightly.
It's just sex. Right?