Stop

[felineranger.livejournal.com]

I think I finally worked out how to post fic here...It's a short little Rimmer POV full of smut. Hope you like.

Stop – Pairing L/R

FelineRanger

Rated R





Stop it. Please. Just stop it! I want to scream it at you, not because you’re playing that god-awful guitar, or even because you’re spilling lager all over the floor again or doing something equally slobby or irritating. If that was all then I would be shouting, not sitting here with my nails digging so hard into my palms that I’d be bleeding if I was still alive. That’s the easy stuff – I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is the way you insist on sitting there looking so damn cute.

And you must be doing it on purpose, although I’m not sure why. Logic tells me that you can’t know what it’s doing to me, but surely it’s not humanly possible to be that gut-wrenchingly adorable without trying. The sweetness of your smiles, the innocence in those big brown eyes; and I know that you’re far from innocent. I sometimes wonder if you wear those clothes to disguise your cherubic appearance or emphasise it. And whose benefit is it all for my beautiful bundle of contradictions, my choirboy in tight black biker leather? It must all be calculated, but why? There are things that you can’t know; things that I‘ve worked hard never to show; thoughts and feelings that I never even wrote down in my diary for fear of the inevitable day you’d get bored and start snooping through those pages.

In my head I’ve composed sonnets about the perfection of your button nose and the glorious lustre of those long, thick eyelashes. I’ve written rambling, fifty- page love letters about the delicious curves of your round delectable ass. Whether you know it or not, you are my eternal muse, my bambi-eyed bunkmate. It’s all stored away neatly in my head; the dreams, the fantasies, all of it. Locked up in carefully labelled folders that you can’t get at, even with your uncanny knack of finding things you shouldn’t. I imagine if you ever found a way to gain access to those secret files in my psyche you’d get the shock of your life to discover what your prissy bunkmate really thinks about. Or what I was really doing that time I tied you to the bed by your locks. If only that smegging fire alarm hadn’t gone off. It was easier to let you think I’d sounded it on purpose than to tell you the truth.

And you’ll never know half of what I did with your helpless body for that one blissful week when it was mine. Doughnuts are all well and good, miladdo, but nothing compared to the pleasure of watching myself masturbate in the mirror and seeing you come at the end of it. A pathetic substitute for the real thing perhaps, but the closest this soft-light body will ever get to being inside you – in more ways than one. And Listy, Listy, if you only knew how badly I want to be inside you.

And yet...if you really don’t know...if you truly are oblivious to all my longings and desires, then why? Why the tight trousers that display to me so clearly, and with such an absence of shame, everything that I want so badly? Why the heartbreaking tenderness in your voice when I tell you all the horror stories of my life? Why don’t you hate me, even though I’ve done everything in my power to make it so; I’d rather that you hated me than have you know the truth.

Why do you sit here with me, day after day, forever just out of reach, being so goddamn cute? Stop it, Listy. Please stop. I can’t keep you sane when every moment we’re together you’re slowly driving me crazy.