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So chaps, I have decided to share with you this silly story I've been having fun with since the middle of November.

I would like to thank Hails and Prisma for inspiring me, Richard O'Brien for writing this thing and my parents for not busting in too many times while I was writing. heh.gif

I would also like to warn everyone (and also excuse myself for the same reason) that this story contains minor violence, a dirty word here and there (having in mind that any kind of bad language is used to express the anger or being upset, so the f-word doesn't really mean an intercourse), really small hints on an intercourse itself, and incest which doesn't go into the details. Sorry guys, but this is "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", right?

And also, I would love to write about Riff, but he didn't seem to fit in. if anyone wants me to write a sequel and t

And I would also like to wish Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it. hug.gif

So, to the story!

~The winter-themed rocky horror picture show fetish fic without the proper name~

On the ground floor of the scary castle just outside Denton, Ohio the big clock was showing 11:47 PM. At that same house, in the big Victorian dining room, the rather unusual folk was sitting by the coffin-shaped table: Riff Raff, the hunchbacked butler, Magenta, his sister and lover in her exposing maid uniform and Columbia, the groupie, who was unusually quiet. All the eyes in the room looked at the big bowl of soup. Which was boiling hot. Maybe. Some time ago. They were patiently waiting for the master of the castle, Dr Frank-n-Furter. Suddenly, the sound of the high heels stomping against the cold surface of the floor in a tempo which was maybe faster than usual could be heard by the elevator. “Godot finally arrived,” mumbled Riff Raff in disinterest.

Frank finally showed up at the door, looking more excited than ever. As he realized that he has been noticed, he lifted his head and fixed his hair, trying to look as noble as he possibly could and approached the table. He took the crystal glass off the table, knocking it gently with the tip of his nail, drawing the attention to himself. He cleared his throat and said: “I have some news. The lungs I have transplanted to torso of my baby are functioning properly. With a bit of stronger effort, this time next year Rocky will be sitting with us by this table.” His servants lifted their arms and started to applaud him as he went to sit down. Clap, clap, clap.

“Oh Frankie, you are so smart!” squealed Columbia, jumping into his lap. Magenta rolled her eyes: how exactly foolish the person can be? Frank, who seemed to enjoy the attention, didn’t seem to notice nor the one of the acts by the female occupants of his castle. After the clap continued, Frank lifted his finger, shooing them. “The agents will be thrilled to find out,” Frank continued, “That’s why we are going to organize a Christmas Convention.” Riff Raff and Magenta looked at each other in confusion. Fuck. Another convention? The Christmas convention?

“Um, Master… Christmas is a pagan Earthling holiday and…”

“We will organize it. That’s an order,” said Frank while he was standing up, almost causing Columbia, who was still sitting in his lap, to fall down. “Frankie?” she called him carefully. Frank was already leaving the room. “I am very sorry Columbia, but I have a lot of work to do,” he said without even looking at her.

Bam. All the interest in the cold dinner on the table was lost. Columbia was terribly upset. The fact her lover cared more for the lower breathing system of his yet unfinished sex toy then for her was killing her. She rapidly left the room.

Riff looked at his sister: “I hope he was joking.”

“He was not. He is a lunatic,” she bent over to kiss his brother and added: “And now it is official.” They both made a half-circling sign with their arms, causing their elbows to touch. Magenta took the untouched meatloaf from the table and went to feed the dogs.

Frank was most certainly not joking. During the next week, the house went through

the drastic transformation: the ornaments were hanging on the every inch of the ceiling, there was a Christmas tree in every room. The people who sell the fake cotton snow have probably proclaimed them as their costumers of the month.

The random Earthling, after seeing the statue of baby Jesus wearing tiny fishnets would *maybe* think that Frank didn’t really get the point of the Christmas.

But in the castle, no one seemed to care.

It was a Sunday morning. Riff Raff and Magenta were hanging ornaments in the ballroom when Frank got in, proud as always. Magenta almost bit her lip off desperately trying not to laugh when she saw him . He looked like the one of the idiots that seem to hit the streets at the same time the snow does and then sing carols: he was dressed in the bright green corset with thousands of little colourful lamps glued to it. He even had a Santa hat on the top of his head. She somehow tamed the laugh, but her brother didn’t seem to be as successful. Frank turned for the 180 degrees on his heel. He approached his handyman with his raised eyebrow and almost a teasing grin:

“Riff Raff?”

“Yes, Master?”

“What is so amazingly amusing?”

“Nothing, Master.”

Frank didn’t seem to be content with the answer. He took his whip out of somewhere (where the fuck does he keep that thing?) and hit Riff across his back, causing him to fall off the ladder he was standing on. The silent moan came out of his mouth. Magenta was on her knees by him that very second. Frank gave Riff one “I-told-you” look and then left the room. Magenta grabbed her brother’s shoulders, gently looking for any signs of the blue colour, or maybe a swollen area. The way his keybone looked didn’t leave her satisfied. “I think it’s broken,” she whispered while softly rubbing the shin above the injured area, “I want you to rest for the couple of days.”

As she was saying the last words, her voice got a bit more depressing tone: not only she has just lost his protection for the couple of days, but she will have to do his chores. Joy.


“Magenta, will you please be so kind and stop spreading the germs around the food we are eating?”

Frank stared at his maid with disgust for another couple of seconds, then drew all his attention back on the Friedrick’s catalogue in his lap. Magenta rolled her eyes as she covered her mouth as she coughed. “Well, it’s easy for you to say,” she thought, “you weren’t hanging the lamps on the roof in 32 degrees Fahrenheit wearing nothing but your lingerie.”

She could hear his voice in her head, in the voice which was so jolly it was disgusting: “You don’t need your overcoat, it’s the wonderful sunny day outside!”

She remembered she was happier then ever that they don’t have any close neighbours. She could easily picture the sight of some balding, overweight Earthling sitting in his couch some 20 years from now, showing the photo album to his little Earthlings: “And this, my dear children, was taken in winter ’73, when some insane girl climbed the roof nearly naked.”

Anyhow, today she woke up with something which seemed like the beginning of a terrible cold. She sniffed as she went to put the kettle back on the counter. When she wanted to sit back by the table, Frank confronted her, naming her duties for today: “Magenta, I want you to wipe the ground floor today… Are you listening to me?” She nodded weakly, but didn’t look directly in his eyes since she felt like she had boiling oil in her head so looking up would take extreme effort. Frank lifted her chin with his finger, pretending he doesn’t feel the unhealthy heat from her skin and continued: “Then you will take the chemicals from the basement and clean the pool and then come upstairs and clean the lab…” Magenta wasn’t listening to him anymore, since she started to feel a strong tickle in her sinuses. “Oh fuck. Not now. I mustn’t sneeze in his face, he is going to kill me!”

He continued to talk as she took the sharp inhale, her nostrils flared. She turned away from him just in time and sneezed a loud, wet sneeze towards the floor.

“Hai- thshoo!” Frank stepped back like a scared animal. Magenta sneezed again, covering her mouth with the corner of her apron. She looked Frank and said: “Excuse me, Master.” Frank looked at her visibly disgusted and carried on: “And this…” he walked to the counter, sweeping it with his finger and showing dust on it to Magenta: “I want it to be gone before today evening. Did you understand?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

Columbia has seen that Magenta wasn’t well, and she felt a sudden urge to help her: “Um, Frankie? You said she has to clean the lab today. She is sick, so don’t you think the germs will hurt Rocky?” Wow. She was impressed by the rapid way she has thought of the excuse.

Frank was thinking for a second. “Well, of course…” he pulled something made from pink rubber out of the pocket in his leather corset, “…I want you to wear this mask while cleaning the lab. It will be safer that way.”

Columbia sighed: well, at least she tried. Magenta gave her a grateful look as she exited her room to start with the chores. It is going to be a loooong day.


Frank was sitting in his bedroom on his bed with black satin sheets, surrounded by framed pictures of Fay Wray. There was an underwear catalogue next to him, opened on the page 17, with a name and a phone number written by the picture of a blonde, muscular model. Frank touched the picture in desire: yesss, those were the groins he wanted for his baby.

The plan was quite simple: he will introduce himself as a girl who is madly in love with him and compliment him over the phone about this and that in hot voice. Then he will propose a blind date in the forest near the castle and murder him with a pick axe. And voila, he will take what he needs and than bury him somewhere. Hopefully the guy wasn’t too bright.

At first, he wanted one of the girls to do a phone call, but soon he realized it wouldn’t be such a great idea: Columbia would probably sound like an eight year old girl making a prank call. Magenta’s voice would be much better for this occasion: it was deep and a bit harsh and almost slutry in a way; but as she got ill she got terribly congested, so this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Frank sighed: this means that it’s all up to him. He walked across the room and looked at his reflection in the mirror: what kind of voice does he actually want?

He inhaled deeply and tried: “Hello, my name is…”

He shook his head. No… too high-pitched. He lowered his voice for two octaves, then tried again.

“Hello, my name is…” here, much better now. What will his name be? He looked around. Savannah…. Savannah Jones. Sounds realistic enough. Frank even thought that he has slept with a woman of that name once.

He walked back to his bed, lied down, lit himself a fag and made a phone call.


Frank was walking across the lab: the body was in a freezer and he just threw away bloody gloves. It was even easier than he expected. With a bit of luck, no one will know what he has just done. Actually, there was no such possibility that someone would knock on his door and ask if they know any details about the murder that occurred near their home- they were the first occupants of this lot since 1943, and at least 80% of the people in Denton still thought it was deserted. And if somebody will come close to the truth, the oubliette was waiting, good and ready. So why to bother?

Frank sat by Rocky’s tank. He sniffed while he was observing the notes he has made. He has been doing that a lot recently. That can’t be good. He rubbed his nose and turned the page. Suddenly, an itch began to build inside of his nose. He inhaled and sneezed on the side as quiet as he possibly could. For the first time, he didn’t want the attention.


He sniffed once or twice. Gosh, he just hated sneezing: it is a sign of vulnerability, absolutely disgraceful and it makes his make-up smear. He looked across the room to see his domestic cleaning the lab with her surgical mask on.

“Magenta, I’m sneezing. What does that mean for you?”

“That you expulsed the air frob your ludgs due to ad irritatiod id your dasal passages, Master?” she asked sarcastically. Well, at least it was an attempt of sarcasm. Sarcasm requires a certain amount of energy, which she didn’t have.

Frank grabbed a chemical from the floor and hit her over the back: “No! It means you gave me your cold, for the fucks sake.” When something goes wrong, it is the best to blame others.

Frank sniffed again only to find out he was getting stuffy. He should get some nose drops or something before anyone else notices. He left the lab, holding his hand under his nose.

Once in his room, he found the nose drops and tilted his head back. He was just about to pour liquid in his left nostril when a sneeze overcame him.


The sound of the footsteps came closer to the door of his room. The groupie peeked through the door: “Frankie, are you allright?”

Oh shit. Frank quickly hid the nose drops behind his back like a teenager trying to hide his cigarettes from his mother who has just busted in.

“Yes Columbia, I am all perfectly fine. Just… all this dust here…” He waved his hand through the air like he was trying to shoo a fly.

Columbia entered his room and raised her eyebrow: “I don’t believe you.”

Frank opened his mouth to say something. He let out the another sneeze on air, almost spraying Columbia. “Haeshoo!”

He realized that this is not going to end well, so he quickly added: “Gosh. It is really terribly dusty in here. In will have to talk to Magenta about this.”

Columbia put her hands on her hips: “I’ve heard you talking to her in laboratory.”

Frank laughed like it was the funniest thing he has ever heard and said in his beautiful accent: “Oh, that! I want you to know that I am not really getting sick, I just wanted to punish her for her… antisocial behaviour. And what are you doing here, anyway?”

Columbia smiled seductively, snapping her fishnets as she was talking: “Well… I wanted to check if you were busy, so we could… you know.” She looked away while saying the last two words.

Frank stood for a moment. No, he couldn’t go back to the laboratory, not as long there is a danger for germs to come in touch with his beloved creation. He looked back at his groupie: well, okay. Better her then Rocky.

He smiled as he pushed her gently on his bed.

At about that same time Magenta entered her brother’s room with a silver tray in her hands.

Riff turned his head in her direction: “Why the hell are you wearing a surgical mask, if I may ask?”

Magenta sighed: “I dod’t wadt you to get sick.” Riff Raff said nothing, but his sapphire blue eyes looked a bit worried. She put the tray on the improvised night table. “How are you?” she asked. “Better,” he said and continued, “come and lay by me. And take that shit off, please.” Magenta did what we asked: she was too tired to argue. And the thought of laying down, even if it’s only for a minute, sounded way too attractive to refuse. She laid by him, facing him with her back, trying to breathe shallow. Riff put his right arm around her waist, almost getting freaked out by the heat she was radiating, gently unzipping her dress and patting her on a back.

“What happened to your back?”

Magenta felt he touched the spot where Frank hit her. She probably got the bruise by now. She rolled her eyes: “I had ad accidedt id a laboratory.”

Riff did understand what she wanted to say by that, but decided that acting ignorant would be smarter: “You should be more careful next time.”

Magenta tried to smile: “Believe be, it worth it.”

They spent a couple of moments in silence, when Magenta felt a tickle in her nose. She bent over, almost causing herself to fall of the bed and sneezed in her cupped hands, not wanting to spray her brother.


Riff opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but Magenta wasn’t done yet; she sneezed twice more towards the floor as she was pushing him away and getting up.

“Heh-nghxt! Hai-gshoo!”

She tried to put on her surgical mask, sneezing once again into it.


Do Riff- Heightshoo!... I cad’t.”

She finally put on her mask and turned away. As she was leaving the room, she nodded at the direction of the tray: “Add you dod’t be ad arsehole add eat.”


Frank was laying in his bed, more then a little bare, feeling aching everywhere in his body. Okay, just in case someone was trying to find an ultra-fast cure for a common rhinovirus he can feel free to cross out “having sex” from the list. He felt the phlegm from his sinuses dripping down his throat. He tried to clear it, only to find out his throat was sore. He sighed and turned on his stomach.

At that same time, Columbia was walking down the stairs looking more then furious.

She was everything but content with her experience today. Frank was literary lying on her in disinterest, although she was trying to satisfy him. And when she finally did, whose name did he cry out? The name of that abdomen downstairs, of course!

She was grabbing her coat, in wish to take a long walk to clear her head. Just as she approached the front door, she heard the doorbell. There was Eddie, their delivery boy with a cardboard box in his hands. He smiled when he saw her on the door.

“Hey Collie, how are ya doin’?”

Columbia knew that everyone expects the words “Fine, and you?” to be the answer on that question. It was most certainly what she wanted to say, but just when she tried to say it something blocked her throat. She could feel her eyes getting wet and heavy and soon she burst in tears. Eddie looked puzzled for about a second and then he craned his chubby arms. She accepted an offered hug, burying her face into his shoulder.

“I-i t-think F-frankie doesn’t like me anymore,” she finally said, her voice muffled in his jacket.

Eddie started to think of something nice, polite and intelligent he could say to her, but truth to be spoken, none of these words really described the way he usually communicated with people. So he decided to be honest.

“Well… I like ya.”

Close enough. Columbia looked at him, smiling trough the tears: “You do?”


Her face got a determined expression when she said: “I will have a serious conversation with him. I won’t let him to throw me away. No man should treat a woman that way.” She shrugged her shoulders and added: “At least that’s what I’ve read in some feminist book my mother left on the toilet when I was a little girl.”

She hugged him once again and said while she was leaving: “Thanks!!”

She left Eddie with a puzzled expression at the front door. Magenta, who was swiping the floor in the hallway would enjoy the scene if she didn’t feel that bad.

Columbia climbed the stairs, wishing to find Frank. When she finally found him in his bedroom, all the wish to have a “serious conversation” with him left her.

Holly ghost, he looked dreadful.

His skin, which was usually so healthy and peachy, looked for at least two shades lighter, his nose was pink and he was obviously breathing through his mouth.

“Frankie?” she called him, drawing his attention: when he looked at her she could see his eyes were glowing in the way that cannot be healthy under any known circumstances.

“Frankie, are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t look like that.”

Frank stood up and approached her: his step has lost its familiar bounce.

“Colubbia, that’s a lot of dodsedse,” he became aware of how congested he was so he sniffed and added: “I am fine.”

Columbia tried to check his temperature, only to see him quickly take a step back.

“Hold on Columbia, I have to…”

He stood in front of her with his jaw relaxed and his head tilted back, expecting to sneeze. But it went away. Damn.

Well, he does have to end the sentence. What does he have to do?

“I have to write the speech for the convention. And I hope you will be so kind and leave me alone so I can do it in peace.”

Columbia sighed: he won this time. She left the room, but decided to stay in front and spy on him.

Well, he did draw a piece of paper out of somewhere, and he was sitting by his desk. But he was also far, far away from being “fine”.

He sneezed and coughed all the time and after a half an hour or so, he covered the biggest part of his desk’s surface with used Kleenex.

Columbia watched him with compassion, but couldn’t do anything.

At one moment, she felt a strong tickle bugging her, and she ran to the bathroom in order to not be discovered.

She closed the door, fanning her face like she wanted to make the sneeze come out faster that way, and sneezed.

“Hitchoo! Heh-choo!”

She grabbed the roll of toilet paper, sneezing two more times with the piece of it covering her mouth, trying to stifle them.

“Hnxt! Hnsst!”

She blew her nose softly, praying to God Frank didn’t hear her. She tried to go back to the door on tiptoe, and she continued to watch him.

Frank knew she was watching him. She was watching him for at least an hour. Precisely, which a quick glance to the clock confirmed, for an hour, 13 minutes and 38 seconds. She did leave at one moment- in the direction on bathroom, for a reason which was unknown to him. He could shoo her, but he was too exhausted.

He could have lied down, but he couldn’t breathe that way; and, kids, breathing is important. heh.gif

“Colubbia, cobe id or fuck off, but dod’t stadd there staridg at be.”

Columbia came in blushing. She sat on the edge of his bed.

“How is the speech going?”

“Very well id fact, I thidk it is the best ode I have ever writted.”

Columbia sceptically took the paper from the desk.

“Ladies and gentleman”- it was written on the top of the sheet. And absolutely nothing else. Columbia raised her drawn eyebrow: “You call this good?”

Frank was too occupied with sneezing to answer. Columbia sighed and hugged him: “Frankie, you go and rest and I will write the speech for you. Or I could try to make you some tea and then lie beside you. Or…”

Frank rolled his eyes. That’s why he didn’t let her to stay in the first place: when she starts to talk, she doesn’t stop. He pushed her away and stood up, almost tripping from feeling lightheaded. He grabbed the blanket from his bed and a packet of Kleenex. He has already left his room when he realized the packet is empty.

He came back to take an another one, hoping he doesn’t look as stupid as he felt like.

When he left for the second (and final) time, Columbia sighed and picked up the pen. Well, if there’s one thing she can do for him…


Frank has “settled down” on the sofa in the living room, wrapping his shivering body into the blanked. He rested his head against the cold leather of the sofa, which made it not-that-cold for a less then a minute, but he was to tired to move his head, even when the phlegm started to block his sinuses even more since he was lying down. He felt so helpless, which almost made him angry. “Helpless” isn’t the personality trait he would like the people to associate with him.

Magenta entered the room with a vacuum cleaner, but she was soon overcame with a coughing fit. Definitely not the first one that day, so she felt like she had a bleeding wound inside of her chest. She sat down on the edge of the sofa without bothering herself with turning the vacuum cleaner off, catching her breath. She was aware of Frank’s presence and she knew that she will probably get shooed in no time. But on her great surprise, she felt his hand on her shoulder and realized that he has just covered her with the other side of his blanket.

She closed her eyes thinking: yes, this was the nicest thing he has ever done for her. She looked at him, trying to smile: “Thadk you, Baster.”

The room was quiet for a while, but then Frank sneezed.


Magenta turned around. The tissues were on the side of the night table which was closer to her, so she handed the box to him.

The scene which was almost sentimental was cut with Columbia entering the room. When she spoke, her voice sounded almost hoarse. The one couldn’t believe her voice can sound like that, right?

“Frankie, I have finally found you. I have finished writing your speech and-Hitchoo!”

She rubbed her nose, which was getting pink, with the palm of her hand. She sounded almost embarrassed when she remarked: “I think I have caught your cold.”

Fuck everything, misery likes company. So Frank and Magenta just looked at each other. And made more room for Columbia on the sofa.


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Thank you very much. I think I could try and write a sequel, but first I think I'll try to finish that drawing I've promised you (it is hard to draw such things when you have no privacy at all).

I am glad I made you happy. :yes:

And also, I would love to write about Riff, but he didn't seem to fit in. if anyone wants me to write a sequel and t

and damn, what was that?

NOTE TO SELF: don't try to write after 10 PM.

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