Warning: This chapter contains incest. Read or skip accordingly.
Disclaimer: RO'B owns everything, etc, see previous chapter.
It had been a combination of boredom, revenge, and sheer frustration that had driven her to Columbia's room that evening. She and Riff had been unable to find an opportunity to fuck with Columbia in the house, as the girl spent all of her free time following Magenta around. Magenta had thought that they could spend at least a few minutes together when Frank was…diverting his groupie's attention, but Riff was convinced it wasn't safe as long as the girl was in the house.
She was unpredictable, he said, after Magenta had attempted a fruitless seduction the night before. He'd then proceeded to offer a very long and complicated explanation regarding exactly why they would be found out. She hadn't understood his train of thought, only that she wasn't getting any.
Since Riff was being such a prude, she'd found herself with a lot of extra time of her hands. She'd taken to cleaning, having absolutely nothing else to do. The castle had never been less dank and musty (clean wouldn't ever really apply), and she was entirely ready to kill herself. She thought that first she might try to remedy the situation. Suicide was plan B.
None of the other groupies had had this effect. Usually, they would move into Frank's room with a small suitcase for a couple of days. The prince would be completely occupied by his new lover, and it was actually much safer for Riff and Magenta at these times. They were able to hole themselves up in Magenta's room for hours on end without having to keep one ear open for the telltale click of stilettos outside the door or an angry, shouted order. Once he had tired of his new toy, he would not so subtly tell them to get the fuck out. Magenta would pack for them as they sobbed next to her, and she liked that job – if she found something she liked, she could take it and replace it with an item of clothing she had tired of. It was like shopping without having to go outside.
But this groupie had broken the pattern. Magenta remembered well the evening that she had nearly skipped up to her room, aware that Frank had brought a new girl home and happily anticipating the night she would be able to spend with Riff. It had been a rude shock to open the door and see the mousy-looking thing sprawled out on the bed as if it had always belonged to her. "Hi!" the girl had chirped, and Magenta immediately felt the beginnings of a headache. She'd slammed the door without a word and stalked off to sleep in Riff's room. There was no question of sex there, though. His "room" was, in fact, a storage room adjoining the lab and therefore the prince's chambers. It didn't even have a proper door, just a curtain that she had hung herself.
(It did have a door that the prince didn't know about that allowed Riff to sneak out for their usual midnight trysts. But that wasn't any help in this situation.)
It was coming up on a month of enduring the high-pitched squeak of a voice every time she turned around, the overpowering scent of her cheap perfume, the mess of tacky clothes spread out over her room, and the incessant tap dance practice. All without any sex to take the edge off of her frustrations, and it was too much to handle anymore.
That evening, Riff had slipped into the kitchen while she was preparing dinner. It was one of their routines – when he would be working late they could sneak in some kisses and a bit of fondling while she ruined the evening meal. The kitchen was a room that Frank never felt the need to visit, so they felt relatively safe from discovery.
She was feeling frazzled and harried and dinner was looking worse that usual (somehow, she'd managed to set a loaf of bread on fire) (not that Frank wouldn't eat it anyway), so she nearly jumped on Riff when he came in. She said a silent prayer of gratitude that he was clearly as horny as she was; her legs wrapped around his waist and he clutched her firmly against him as they kissed so she could feel how hard he was already. Quickly, he moved them so that she could perch on the countertop, and though he glanced back once at the door that led to the dining room, clearly worrying about being caught, she would not let him get away. He wasn't in a hurry to escape anyway. He pressed against her, and she against him, and they fell into a rocking rhythm as their mouths met again, open and needy, allowing their tongues to push and stroke as their bodies were doing.
It had been far too long since they'd last fucked, and, while this wasn't quite the same things, it was working for her. They had no time or patience for thorough lovemaking – Magenta felt her climax building almost immediately and could tell from the vigor of Riff's thrusts that he was close as well. So, of course, just as she was about to reach the brink of orgasm, she heard Frank's peeved yell from the next room.
"Magenta! Where the hell is dinner?!"
Riff jolted away from her so suddenly that she didn't have time to unwrap her legs. They ended up tumbled in a pile on the floor as she yelled, "One minute!" and tried desperately to return to the sensations of the moment before. But Riff was pushing her off of him and getting to his feet and no matter how she clung to him, he seemed determined to get out of the room.
"I'm sorry, that was too risky," he muttered as she pleaded at the same time, "Riff, just wait, I'll bring out the food and be right back – "
"They're right there – "
"They're not listening for it."
"They weren't, but now – "
"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed in utter frustration and he made a violent gesture for her to shut up. "I mean," she continued in a strained whisper, "that we can finish in a few minutes while they eat and they will not know. I need you, Riff, please don't leave me like this…well, damn you all to hell then!" She shouted that last phrase as her brother slunk out of the room without looking back at her.
"Mags?" came Columbia's squeak. "Do you need help?" She heard Frank chuckle and assure the groupie that there was no need to assist. When she emerged from the kitchen a moment later, carrying the platters of overcooked food, he rolled his eyes at her disheveled appearance. "Did the pot roast attack you?"
Magenta stared blankly at him, then at the supper. "It's chicken." Columbia looked skeptical about that statement. "What is pot roast, anyway?"
"I saw it on the television. Oh well," he waved his hand in dismissal, "we'll have it tomorrow. You may leave now."
She walked away, half wondering what pot roast was (pot was a drug, wasn't it? Why would you roast it?), half hoping Riff would have come back to fuck her properly. He hadn't. The kitchen was empty except for the stack of dirty dishes left from her cooking attempts. She gave them a glare and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer.
Thoroughly pissed at her brother, Magenta didn't even try to search him out this evening. Instead, she made her way to her room, the room that had been taken over by that squealing ball of energy. She hadn't slept there since Columbia's arrival, and she found herself lonesome for her own bed. Curling up on the sheets, Magenta was dismayed to discover that they no longer smelled like her (or, her and Riff). Instead, the tacky floral scent of the groupie's perfume was embedded in the fabric. She let out a moan of distress and stood up, pacing around the messy chamber.
Something had to be done. Frank was oddly attached to this girl. He had to either let her go, or make her a permanent resident of the castle. If the latter happened, Magenta could surely get a new room, and things would settle into some kind of routine and she would get sex again. There would be the added bonus of not having to sleep with Frank. And it might be nice to have a girl friend to talk with and fool again with again.
An idea started to form in her mind as she continued to drink and skim a magazine the girl had brought. She could makeover the groupie – make her look more like a Transsexual than an Earthling. That would shake Frank up and would probably force him to decide between giving her the boot and extending a permanent invitation. Her hair was awful, anyway. It needed a new cut and color. The girl would be easily swayed - no spine to speak of – and then…well, with a few drinks in them, who was to say they couldn't have a little fun? A grin spread across the domestic's face. That would get her some revenge against Frank, and a lot against Riff.
It would be a fun evening, Magenta decided as she settled back on her chaise longue to await the groupie's arrival.
A/N: There's more, I'm not sure how much yet, but it will probably be posted within a month. Thanks for the reviews!
