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reddwarfslash2006-09-09 08:55 pm
kahvi.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2006-09-09 08:55 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Interface - Ace/Computer, R/L (imp) - PG-13
Title: Interface
Pairing: Ace/Computer, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't make money from it.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roadstergal for the beta, and contributing the arguably funniest line in the story. Concrit always more than welcome!
There had to be a way of phrasing this, Rimmer thought desperately, that wasn't some variant of 'look, I've been chasing trouble around the multiverse for months now, and thus far no girls have thrown themselves at me or my naughy bits, and frankly, at this point I'm ready to shag a smegging computer!' But if there was, it eluded him. If only she didn't sound so smegging sultry all the time, like she was stuck on top of a spin-dryer with no panties on while some male stripper shampooed her hair! What on Io had her programmers been thinking?
“We've reached dimension 340^29Xapple, Ace darling,” the artificial intelligence in question cooed. "You have a few hours before we'll be in range of the damaged orphanage station. Is there... anything I can do for you to make the journey more pleasant?" The air in the tiny cockpit was noticeably warmer and moister when her bright mezzo-soprano tones faded into seductive nothingness.
“Oh, for smeg's sake", Rimmer fumed, in a voice that couldn't be further removed from his Ace-persona, "If you want to bonk my brains out, just come out and say so, you daft silicone slut!” He leaned back abruptly, surprised at his own words. Apparently, he'd reached some sort of breaking point.
The computer, however, merely paused for a minute, her lights pulsing with a level of intensity Rimmer could have sworn he'd never seen before, before cooing huskily "Oh, Ace... I thought you'd never ask!"
"Could you run that by me again?" Rimmer mumbled nervously, his Ace-voice slipping as he fidgeted with the rather dodgy-looking leads the computer had instructed him to dig out of one of her harder-to-access maintenance panels. He had felt awkward enough having to slither into that cramped space. It always made him think about how a man just a little bit shorter than himself say five centimeters or so could slide in there quite easily to make repairs, and probably had, at some point in ancient history. He shook those annoying, irrelevant thoughts away, and concentrated on the wires in his hands. He was supposed to connect these directly to his bee? The old Rimmer would have laughed in the computer's absence of a face. The old Rimmer had not, however, spent ages trapped in a tin can with the voice of a phone-sex operator, nor had he learned through combat and sadly-lacking-in-sultry-virgins rescue missions, that some chances – to his horror and surprise – were actually worth taking.
“It really is quite safe.” The tones were soothing, and so much more, and Rimmer found himself desperately wanting to believe her.
“Is it now?” He twirled one wire between thumb and forefinger, his brain and his libido arguing furiously with one another. They were rapidly approaching the breakable-object throwing stage. Unsurprisingly, this interface was not standard JMC issue. The 53rd Ace had installed it, apparently, with other incarnations updating the system from time to time. Rimmer had not asked which number in line he was, but visions of tiny, blinking coffins couldn't help but cloud his mind as he kept on twirling, pretending to listen to the gentle reassurances he had asked for. Somehow, the idea of plugging what was arguably the most intimate part of himself into the same thing countless others had, even if they were his alternate selves, seemed about as appealing as the idea of borrowing a pair of Lister's underpants. He shook his head, shuddering at that particular mental image.
The computer had nearly reached the end of her sales-pitch. “...And if you want to get out, at any point, all you have to do is call for an exit. The hardware and software will both automatically disconnect at the verbal command.” She paused, sounding almost smug. Rimmer nodded.
“Right.” He swallowed. Oh, who the smeg was he fooling? His libido rejoiced, holding his brain in a leg-lock and giving a thumbs-up. Rimmer took one lead in each hand, and slowly, very slowly, pressed them into his solar plexus. It didn't hurt, of course, but his brain, which still thought that it was human, tried to insist very strongly that it should hurt. To distract himself, he tried some nonchalant banter, that tripe Ace was supposed to be so goited good at. “You know, you never told me what you like like.”
The computer seemed to consider this. “I'm not sure I can answer that question accurately,” she admitted, finally. “My appearance within the interface is based on a series of calculations and extrapolations designed to provide maximum enjoyment for,” and here her voice dropped nearly an octave, “you.”
“Quite,” Rimmer squealed, slotting the second and last wire into place. It felt awkward and unnatural, like he was wearing a brace on his liver. “Let's get to it, shall we?” Despite everything, he was quite ashamed to notice he already had quite a sizable erection. Shame quickly melted away, however, as the computer flashed her lights at him in apparent enthusiasm, and the world went momentarily dark.
The computer didn't understand. It had never been like this before. True, some of the Aces she had been with found initial contact somewhat eerie, conducted as it was in an Artificial Reality limbo-space without much in the way of scenery. So yes, some had flinched, or grimaced, or had been unable to get any kind of serviceable erection, but none had, to her rather extensive memory, frozen stiff for several solid minutes until she had managed to calm him down, before falling into a sudden, frenzied fit of touching, groping and trying to scrape her simulated tonsils out with their tongue whilst muttering 'smegging hell, what am I doing?' in a desperate voice. Furthermore, they had not then gone on to undress her and get well on their way to being orally serviced by her before looking down, screaming, and yelling for the exit. No, she truly did not understand. Turning her vocal sensuality enhancers to maximum, she dimmed the lights in the sleeping-section of the cabin, where Ace was lying curled up into a small, gibbering, shaking ball, and whispered; “Ace, love?”
Rimmer gave a startled, high-pitched yell, and hugged his knees. “What the smegging fuck was the point of that, you sick, perverted bitch!” He caught the end of his pillow with his teeth, and tried his best to eat it. He had to distract himself. Had to stop smegging thinking!
“Ace?” She upped the sensuality quotient another few notches, just to be safe. It had never failed her before.
Rimmer winced. “Stop it! Stop using that voice!”
This was making less and less sense, the computer thought, as she reset her voice to its regular parameters. “I don't understand. Was something not to your liking?” Soft whimpers, but not of the good kind, drifted towards her audio-sensors from the cot. She felt an almost irrational need to explain herself. She knew she shouldn't, but this was all highly irregular. “I merely used the extrapolated information from your subconscious to generate the persona and looks that would appeal the most to you.” Had something gone wrong with the calculations? Or the visualization subroutines?
“Twonking bitch,” Rimmer mumbled into his pillow. The sick, most probably computer-senile to have done something like this, bitch! He could still see the stocky, light-brown-skinned frame before him, could taste the almost spicy sweat coating that oddly soft skin. Could see those deep-brown eyes gazing lovingly at him, and by Io, how it made him want to puke his guts out! Oh, smegging, smegging hell, he thought, I want to have sex with Lister. Lister.
Smegging hell.
Well, he wasn't going to run back there with his tail between his legs. A. J. Rimmer had his pride! Yes indeed. He was going to stay right on this cot. Feeling miserable. He stretched his legs out, looking at the ceiling. It stared back sullenly.
“Was something wrong, Ace?”
“Oh, shut up!”
“I can change any parameter, you know.”
“How abso-smegging-lutely wonderful!” This seemed to have shut the damned thing up. Rimmer turned over in smug satisfaction. For a moment, only the faint hum of engines drifted through the tiny cabin.
“I could simulate a penis, if you like?”
Rimmer would, he realized, be needing a new pillow.
Pairing: Ace/Computer, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't make money from it.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Thanks to
roadstergal for the beta, and contributing the arguably funniest line in the story. Concrit always more than welcome!There had to be a way of phrasing this, Rimmer thought desperately, that wasn't some variant of 'look, I've been chasing trouble around the multiverse for months now, and thus far no girls have thrown themselves at me or my naughy bits, and frankly, at this point I'm ready to shag a smegging computer!' But if there was, it eluded him. If only she didn't sound so smegging sultry all the time, like she was stuck on top of a spin-dryer with no panties on while some male stripper shampooed her hair! What on Io had her programmers been thinking?
“We've reached dimension 340^29Xapple, Ace darling,” the artificial intelligence in question cooed. "You have a few hours before we'll be in range of the damaged orphanage station. Is there... anything I can do for you to make the journey more pleasant?" The air in the tiny cockpit was noticeably warmer and moister when her bright mezzo-soprano tones faded into seductive nothingness.
“Oh, for smeg's sake", Rimmer fumed, in a voice that couldn't be further removed from his Ace-persona, "If you want to bonk my brains out, just come out and say so, you daft silicone slut!” He leaned back abruptly, surprised at his own words. Apparently, he'd reached some sort of breaking point.
The computer, however, merely paused for a minute, her lights pulsing with a level of intensity Rimmer could have sworn he'd never seen before, before cooing huskily "Oh, Ace... I thought you'd never ask!"
"Could you run that by me again?" Rimmer mumbled nervously, his Ace-voice slipping as he fidgeted with the rather dodgy-looking leads the computer had instructed him to dig out of one of her harder-to-access maintenance panels. He had felt awkward enough having to slither into that cramped space. It always made him think about how a man just a little bit shorter than himself say five centimeters or so could slide in there quite easily to make repairs, and probably had, at some point in ancient history. He shook those annoying, irrelevant thoughts away, and concentrated on the wires in his hands. He was supposed to connect these directly to his bee? The old Rimmer would have laughed in the computer's absence of a face. The old Rimmer had not, however, spent ages trapped in a tin can with the voice of a phone-sex operator, nor had he learned through combat and sadly-lacking-in-sultry-virgins rescue missions, that some chances – to his horror and surprise – were actually worth taking.
“It really is quite safe.” The tones were soothing, and so much more, and Rimmer found himself desperately wanting to believe her.
“Is it now?” He twirled one wire between thumb and forefinger, his brain and his libido arguing furiously with one another. They were rapidly approaching the breakable-object throwing stage. Unsurprisingly, this interface was not standard JMC issue. The 53rd Ace had installed it, apparently, with other incarnations updating the system from time to time. Rimmer had not asked which number in line he was, but visions of tiny, blinking coffins couldn't help but cloud his mind as he kept on twirling, pretending to listen to the gentle reassurances he had asked for. Somehow, the idea of plugging what was arguably the most intimate part of himself into the same thing countless others had, even if they were his alternate selves, seemed about as appealing as the idea of borrowing a pair of Lister's underpants. He shook his head, shuddering at that particular mental image.
The computer had nearly reached the end of her sales-pitch. “...And if you want to get out, at any point, all you have to do is call for an exit. The hardware and software will both automatically disconnect at the verbal command.” She paused, sounding almost smug. Rimmer nodded.
“Right.” He swallowed. Oh, who the smeg was he fooling? His libido rejoiced, holding his brain in a leg-lock and giving a thumbs-up. Rimmer took one lead in each hand, and slowly, very slowly, pressed them into his solar plexus. It didn't hurt, of course, but his brain, which still thought that it was human, tried to insist very strongly that it should hurt. To distract himself, he tried some nonchalant banter, that tripe Ace was supposed to be so goited good at. “You know, you never told me what you like like.”
The computer seemed to consider this. “I'm not sure I can answer that question accurately,” she admitted, finally. “My appearance within the interface is based on a series of calculations and extrapolations designed to provide maximum enjoyment for,” and here her voice dropped nearly an octave, “you.”
“Quite,” Rimmer squealed, slotting the second and last wire into place. It felt awkward and unnatural, like he was wearing a brace on his liver. “Let's get to it, shall we?” Despite everything, he was quite ashamed to notice he already had quite a sizable erection. Shame quickly melted away, however, as the computer flashed her lights at him in apparent enthusiasm, and the world went momentarily dark.
The computer didn't understand. It had never been like this before. True, some of the Aces she had been with found initial contact somewhat eerie, conducted as it was in an Artificial Reality limbo-space without much in the way of scenery. So yes, some had flinched, or grimaced, or had been unable to get any kind of serviceable erection, but none had, to her rather extensive memory, frozen stiff for several solid minutes until she had managed to calm him down, before falling into a sudden, frenzied fit of touching, groping and trying to scrape her simulated tonsils out with their tongue whilst muttering 'smegging hell, what am I doing?' in a desperate voice. Furthermore, they had not then gone on to undress her and get well on their way to being orally serviced by her before looking down, screaming, and yelling for the exit. No, she truly did not understand. Turning her vocal sensuality enhancers to maximum, she dimmed the lights in the sleeping-section of the cabin, where Ace was lying curled up into a small, gibbering, shaking ball, and whispered; “Ace, love?”
Rimmer gave a startled, high-pitched yell, and hugged his knees. “What the smegging fuck was the point of that, you sick, perverted bitch!” He caught the end of his pillow with his teeth, and tried his best to eat it. He had to distract himself. Had to stop smegging thinking!
“Ace?” She upped the sensuality quotient another few notches, just to be safe. It had never failed her before.
Rimmer winced. “Stop it! Stop using that voice!”
This was making less and less sense, the computer thought, as she reset her voice to its regular parameters. “I don't understand. Was something not to your liking?” Soft whimpers, but not of the good kind, drifted towards her audio-sensors from the cot. She felt an almost irrational need to explain herself. She knew she shouldn't, but this was all highly irregular. “I merely used the extrapolated information from your subconscious to generate the persona and looks that would appeal the most to you.” Had something gone wrong with the calculations? Or the visualization subroutines?
“Twonking bitch,” Rimmer mumbled into his pillow. The sick, most probably computer-senile to have done something like this, bitch! He could still see the stocky, light-brown-skinned frame before him, could taste the almost spicy sweat coating that oddly soft skin. Could see those deep-brown eyes gazing lovingly at him, and by Io, how it made him want to puke his guts out! Oh, smegging, smegging hell, he thought, I want to have sex with Lister. Lister.
Smegging hell.
Well, he wasn't going to run back there with his tail between his legs. A. J. Rimmer had his pride! Yes indeed. He was going to stay right on this cot. Feeling miserable. He stretched his legs out, looking at the ceiling. It stared back sullenly.
“Was something wrong, Ace?”
“Oh, shut up!”
“I can change any parameter, you know.”
“How abso-smegging-lutely wonderful!” This seemed to have shut the damned thing up. Rimmer turned over in smug satisfaction. For a moment, only the faint hum of engines drifted through the tiny cabin.
“I could simulate a penis, if you like?”
Rimmer would, he realized, be needing a new pillow.
no subject
Guh... the images. Damn SMAC... The ending was hilarios. Well done!
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no subject
*falls over laughing* Hee. =D
Ah lovely stuff matey. That ending cheered me up =) Hurrah to you!
no subject
It had to be written. Ms. C. is all to blame for the ending goodness.
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Thank you, and thanks for feeding back. :)
no subject
Oh, I'm so happy you did it. It's very rightly wrong, in a good RD way. Lovely computer-voice, lovely highly-frustrated-Rimmer.
no subject
And I couldn't not, after your story put the idea in my head.
no subject
The old Rimmer would have laughed in the computer's absence of a face. The old Rimmer had not, however, spent ages trapped in a tin can with the voice of a phone-sex operator, nor had he learned through combat and sadly-lacking-in-sultry-virgins rescue missions, that some chances – to his horror and surprise – were actually worth taking.
Perfect!
no subject
Post-SMAC Rimmmer is quite lovely to work with, actually. I really like him.
no subject
I agree with everyone else: If only she didn't sound so smegging sultry all the time, like she was stuck on top of a spin-dryer with no panties on while some male stripper shampooed her hair! What on Io had her programmers been thinking? is the funniest line in there. ;)
Well done!
no subject
I do try for a nice blend of funny/sad/serious. :)