reddwarfslash | Fic: Touch - R/L/L

Title: Touch
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Red Dwarf owns me, not the other way around. No money is made from this.
Spoilers: Timeslides
Notes: This is what comes of staying up all night capping Timeslides. Written in a hurry at work, so concrit, while always welcome, is particularly welcome this time! Written as part of the

fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.

"So you really liked the song, then?"

Hearing the hopeful tones, and knowning the begging, puppy-dog eyes that would accompany them, Rimmer turned his head in dismay. What was the blighter blabbering on about now? "Of course not, you goit! I was being a bastard." What I do best, he added, watching Lister's face fall.

"Oh, eh..." He did look pathetic moping like that, Rimmer thought, trying to muster disgust, and largely failing.

Taking a few steps closer, Rimmer suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and the fact that this should have been impossible didn't have time to hit home before he felt two other hands coming in from the front to take hold of his hips, as he turned to see who was behind him. "Now wait a minute," he mumbled, his head spinning dizzily back to its original position without having gotten as much as a glimpse of the assailant behind him.

"Liar," a youthful voice chirped in his ear, sending thrills that no sane, heterosexual man should be feeling down Rimmer's holographic spine.

"Lister..." Rimmer croaked, wondering why the face in front of him now seemed so utterly cheerful.

"Yes," came the chorused reply from front and back; one softly into his ear, the other moving in as soft lips landed on his, and oh god - his legs were melting! But he didn't fall, because someone standing nearly as tall as himself held him up, caressing his arms gently in that steady grip.

Common sense went the way of his legs and fine motor-control, and Rimmer reached out with hands that shouldn't be able to touch, dammit, grabbing the body in front on him and pulling it closer as an eager, agile tongue licked his neck. "Smeg you both to hell," he moaned, feeling something dig into his back as the Lister in front of him kneeled down, feeling those unsteady legs as he decended, working his way towards Rimmer's trouser fastenings. Rimmer gasped, but at the same time, an eager hand grabbed his hair quite violently, pulling his head back, the owner sticking his tongue inside. A long, skinny arm wrapped around Rimmer's waist as he tasted alchohol and cigarettes and brash youth, and then the world exploded in pleasure somewhere in the vicinity of his groin.

"I knew you liked it," his penis said, but surely it couldn't talk, not even if he could touch? Or was it the lips surrounding it, making him feel this... this... thing that he couldn't even articulate in his mind? And then, because it was Rimmer, and because he could finally, finally feel, he came with a whimper and a shudder, sitting himself bolt upright in shock, bathed in sweat that had not - could not - soak through his sheets, looking around, panting, his hand and groin sticky with unreal come.

His mouth opened, trying to form the syllables of a word that could express what he was feeling, but there was no air in his lungs, because he wasn't breathing. He didn't need to, and that wasn't how he spoke. Nothing made sense anymore, and Rimmer didn't want it to make sense, because when it did, he would realize, and then, and then... "Smeg."

He had lost it again. Gained and lost and nothing to show for it. Nothing, except an over-wound libido feeding off those few moments of solid-form existence, and pushing these nightmares on him. Yes, nightmares. Rimmer whimpered, and pulled the blessedly holographic blanket around himself tightly. From the bunk above came the now quite disturbing sounds of Lister, sleeping.