AN: I just wanted to write some Rocky Horror headcanons that I had. This pretty much disregards and sequel/ planned sequels, since none of them completely fit the continuity of the original.
EDIT: I rewrote a bit of this and am working on the next chapter. Not sure how long I will continue it, but expect more in the near-ish future.
Frank stood in front of the large mirror in his room and spun around, admiring himself. He wore a black, iridescent dress, which he had found in his mother's wardrobe. The garment shimmered like a serpent's scales, reflecting the silver rays of moonlight that streamed in through the window. Frank was only thirteen, so the dress was somewhat ill-fitting on his small frame, but he couldn't care less. Dressing up was one of the few things that brought him true joy. On his rare days off from working in his father's laboratory, he would often spend hours trying on outfits and makeup. Of course, this was his well-kept secret. In public, he rarely wore anything more daring than a plain suit, and to go out in a dress was entirely unthinkable. Still, that only made these brief moments of freedom all the more tantalizing.
After another glance, Frank turned his attention away from the mirror. Laid out on top of his dresser was an array of makeup, also pilfered from his mother. He selected a particularly ornate-looking container of charcoal eye shadow and applied it delicately. A thick coat of mascara followed, accentuating his already dark lashes. Finally, some eyeliner and blood red lipstick completed the look. In makeup and a dress, he was nearly unrecognizable. His entire posture shifted and there was something magnetic and enchanting about him that had been entirely absent before. His eyes seemed to practically glow with newfound confidence, like a butterfly bursting forth from its cocoon. An ecstatic grin spread over his usually serious face. He felt absolutely beautiful. But, perhaps more than anything, he felt powerful. It was an intoxicating, foreign feeling, and he loved it.
These thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the front door being unlocked. Frank's heart skipped a beat and all of his earlier bravado vanished. He wasn't expecting anyone and his father shouldn't have been back from the laboratory for several hours. Frank darted to his dresser and hurriedly shoved the pile of makeup into a drawer. The sound of heavy boots entering the house quickly confirmed that his father, the great Dr. Furter, had indeed returned early.
"Frank!" Dr. Furter called, "Come downstairs and assist me with something."
The boy didn't respond at first. He hastily grabbed a towel from his closet and made a rather unsuccessful attempt to wipe his face clean.
"Frank!" Dr. Furter called again, more than a hint of impatience in his voice.
"One moment, father!" Frank replied, desperately searching for something he could put on to cover the dress.
But it was too late. He could already hear footsteps coming up the stairs and then down the hall. In what seemed like an instant, the door to his room swung open and there stood his father. Frank froze, paralyzed by a sickening combination of terror and shame. Dr. Furter cast an imposing figure in the doorway. He wore a long, black lab coat with matching gloves and a pair of green-tinted goggles around his neck. His jet-black hair dramatically framed his pale face, and his eyes were piercing. Father and son stared at each other, neither sure of what to make of the strange situation they found themselves in. This did not last long, however, as Dr. Furter strode into the room and grabbed Frank roughly by the arm.
"What are you doing in that absurd outfit?" he spat between gritted teeth.
"N-nothing. It's just a game. Just for fun." Frank stuttered, trying to pull away.
"You are an embarrassment." Dr. Furter's voice was now dangerously quiet. "And to think that I raised you. I have never been so humiliated in my life."
Frank attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. He felt the sting of tears welling up in his eyes. A wave of panic overtook him. He managed to free his arm and duck past his father, taking off down the hall. But Dr. Furter was close behind. Frank didn't even make it to the stairs before his father caught him again, pinning him against the wall. Frank's heart was racing now and he had the desperate look of a cornered animal.
"Go back to your room and change, immediately," Dr. Furter hissed, "While I decide what to do with you."
"No. Leave me alone." Frank's voice wavered, his whole body trembling with fear.
"What did you say?" Dr. Furter's voice was icy and measured, concealing his growing rage.
"Leave me alone!"
With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Frank drew back his fist and swung at his father, striking him squarely on the jaw. Dr. Furter stumbled backwards, dazed, but quickly regained his composure. Without a word, he advanced towards the boy, seizing him by the throat. Frank struggled frantically but was powerless.
"Please, no. Stop! I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" Frank pleaded, tears now streaming down his face.
He continued to beg hysterically, but his cries fell on deaf ears. In one violent motion, Dr. Furter tightened his grip and slammed Frank's head against the wall with a sickening thud. The boy collapsed in a heap on the floor. He tried to get up but his limbs felt impossibly heavy and his head throbbed as though it had been split in two. He reached his hand to the back of his scalp and it came away wet with blood. He could feel the color drain fro his face. The edges of his vision grew dark as he slowly stopped struggling and lay still. Using the last of his remaining strength, he turned his head towards his father, a look of utter betrayal on his tear-stained face. Then, everything went black.