Fic: Tattoo - PG13

[sunny-bexster.livejournal.com]

Title: Tattoo
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Disclaimer: Aint mine
Rating: PG13
Notes: I had this idea wriggling its way around my head for some time now! 

(Also - I'm quite proud of myself, this if the first slash fic where I've brought myself to write the word 'erection' - I'm a novice yes....)

If there was one thing that Rimmer found really off-putting in bed, it had to be Petersen.

Well, not Petersen per say - he was long dead, his lanky, hairy Danish body reduced to a pile of radioactive power. It was Lister’s tattoo, the inky black proclamation of ‘I love Petersen’, complete with a blood red heart, that made Rimmer stop in his tracks. Every time! Just when things has reached that crucial moment, just when the passion and energy between the pair had reached fever pitch, he’d catch sight of that bloody tattoo!

‘I love Petersen’.

Rimmer remembered the very first time it had happened, it was rather memorable, especially seeing as it had been the first time he and Lister had sex.

Clothes had long been discarded, their bodies were entwined, limbs wound their way around torsos, hands meandered across flesh as the kissing continued with mounting ecstasy. Rimmer’s hands had groped their way up Lister’s thigh, trembling at the warm touch of soft skin when suddenly his fingers brushed against something rough, slightly raised, a little colder to the touch. Still locked in the fervent activity of playing tonsil tennis with Lister, Rimmer cast his eyes downward and promptly pulled away in horror.

“what’s up?” panted Lister

Rimmer said nothing, he was staring at the tattoo. ‘I love Petersen’ glared back at him in big, black, bold letters.

Lister had by now figured out what had made Rimmer recoil, he had to decency to look sheepish. “I was drunk” he explained “Y’know what it’s like man, you love everybody when you’re pissed”

But still Rimmer did not speak. In all honesty, he now felt rather sick. That drunken, slobbering, moronic Dane had tarnished his Lister, disfigured his mocha coloured skin and brought Rimmer worryingly close to loosing his erection.

He felt Lister’s fingers fold themselves around his hand and give it a little squeeze “I didn’t love him y’know…I never did”

Rimmer sighed “Sorry, it just all seems so weird….here I am, getting frisky with you but you’ve got another mans name on your thigh!” He paused “why did you never get it removed?”

“Rimmer, I never buy toiletries, what makes you think I’d waste money on having a tattoo removed?”

Deep down, Rimmer knew he was overreacting he couldn’t help it! It was, after all, only a tattoo. Perhaps it was made worse because of firstly who it was (Rimmer had always despised the touchy-feely, friendly albeit blokeish relationship Petersen had shared with Lister) and secondly, where it was - his thigh for God sake! Barely two inches away from his crotch! What was Rimmer supposed to do? Fumble his way through foreplay with his eyes shut!?

There was simply no way he could ignore it, but Lord how he had tried. He’d struggled in vain to avert his eyes, to stop his fingers gliding over the patches of artificially coloured skin but still, every time he’d know it was there. It was if there were three of them in the bed: himself, Rimmer and the ghost of Petersen, immortalised forever in the arty hand of some shaven head tattoo artist on Lister’s thigh.

Each time he’d remember it was there, he’d freeze, often in mid-kiss, his body would clench and it would take Lister several seconds to convince him there were more pressing matters at hand, namely sex. But it would still bother Rimmer something rotten.

On night, as they lay in the afterglow of their fornications, Rimmer suddenly rolled onto his stomach and dived beneath the covers. “I really, really, really do not like that tattoo” came his voice from somewhere around Lister’s groin.

This was old news to Lister, he was fully aware of it and wholly sick of it! “I know….but while you’re down there” he joked.

Rimmer surfaced, frowning “Lister, how on Io do you expect me to get all ‘horned up’ when barely two inches away from my face is the name of that Danish bastard!”

“Give it a rest man, will ya?” sighed Lister “I can’t believe you’re getting jealous over a man who’s been dead over three million years and who I never did anything with anyway!”

“It’s the principle, Listy” explained the hologram as he pulled himself up toward his lover “I like to think that you and I are exclusive - special…how the hell am I supposed to do that if you’ve got that foreign chronic alcoholic resting near your nether regions!”

Having heard enough for one night, Lister shook his head, pulled on his boxers and climbed out of bed. Rimmer blinked in surprise - he’d never seen such energy from Lister after such a prolonged period of love making. He normally liked to lounge in bed for a few hours before attempting anything as strenuous as getting out of bed “what are you doing?”

“getting summat to eat” explained Lister, pulling a t-shirt over his head “and then, maybe in a few hours when you’ve realised how childish you’re being, I’ll come back and we can have sex without you pulling faces at my tattoo” and with that he left, leaving Rimmer to stew.

He wandered down to the midsection, where Kryten was sat rather contentedly darning some socks. Lister didn’t even bother with any form of greeting

“Krytes, have you got a spare five minutes. I need somethin’ removed”

“Do you really think that’s wise sir? After Rimmer’s found such a profitable use for it?”

“I meant my tattoo…”

“Apologies sir, I’ve just updated my comedy chip and I’ve been looking for an excuse to try it out” he began to clear away his sewing equipment

“Keep that needle out though Kryten, we’re gonna need that - have you seen my lighter anywhere?”

True to his word, Lister returned to the bunkroom some time later, he couldn’t help but smile when he spotted Rimmer sat fully clothed on the bed, still in a sulk.

“hey” said Lister

“hey…”replied Rimmer, he waited till Lister had sat next to him before he spoke “I’ve been thinking…and, well….you’re right. It’s childish that I’m getting jealous over a couple of lines of ink - I’m sorry.”

Lister grinned “s’okay man”

“Can I…make it up to you?” asked Rimmer casually, sneaking a sideways glance at Lister

“Depends what you have in mind” his lover whispered in return, leaning in for a kiss, to which Rimmer was more than happy to oblige. Within seconds the pair become locked in their embrace, things were raring to get raunchy. Rimmer greedily lowered Lister back onto the bed, and straddled his hips. Kissing deeper and slower, Rimmer’s hands began to fondle their way towards all his favourite bits of Lister, when suddenly, Lister winced. That had never happened before, not even in the early days.

“What’s the matter?” asked Rimmer worriedly.

Lister nodded to his thigh and Rimmer cautiously slipped his hands under Lister’s boxers and pushed them further up his legs, revealing the tattoo. “Oh Listy” he moaned, casting aside all inhibitions and diving right back into the kiss, taking care to avoid putting any pressure on that thigh.

That’s the thing with new tattoos, for a few days afterwards the area is sore to the touch, little pin pricks of blood mingled with the fresh ink of the word ‘Rimmer’ that completed Lister’s newly edited tattoo, his thigh forever bearing the words ‘I love Rimmer’.

Comments

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

With a sewing needle no less! But there's something very Dwarfian about the concept. He did remove Lister's appendix and does some dentistry in the novels.

[sunny-bexster.livejournal.com]

My dad, in his infinite wisdom once shared with me the story of how he once get caught attempting to give himself a tattoo in the middle of art class. He said all that was needed was a needle, a lighter and some ink - given that Starbug barely has a medibay fit to equip a teddybear hospital, I figured there'd be nothing along the lines of tattooing equipment - then again, y'never know - it is Red Dwarf!

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

In one story, I had Petersen getting a tattoo with a utility he'd found .n some moon's entertainment quarter. "That thing that looked like a cross between a porcupine and a pen?"