Red Dwarf Slash

Good to see you - lovely vignette! :D

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zekkass.livejournal.com

Thanks!

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"Well, go on then! Hurry!" Kryten jumped into one of the stasis pods, where Cat was already curled up and sleeping. Rimmer met Lister's eyes, before they both turned towards the remaining pod. Finally, Lister stepped inside. His legs stretched out in front of him, he motioned for Rimmer with a sullen expression.

Those legs. Rimmer gulped at the position. The damned things were so short, so why did they take up so much space? No matter where Rimmer sat, they would be touching his.

Death, or intimacy with Lister.

Well. He was already dead. Shrugging, Rimmer eased himself inside.

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Shrugging, Rimmer eased himself inside.

Lister gasped and closed his eyes. Rimmer leant down and tentatively brushed his lips over the shut eyelids. He hoped he was doing this right.

It felt incredible. Tight, hot, almost painful.

“Are... are you okay?” He whispered brokenly.

Lister opened his eyes, nodded shakily and smiled. A classic Lister smile, all dimples and twinkling eyes. Rimmer placed it at about 4.5 on a scale of chirpy to ecstatic. He started to smile back as he thrust, gently. Lister's smile turned into an open-mouthed whimper. When the smile returned, it was up to 5.0.

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Check you out with your mad NC-17 writing skillz! :D *cheerleads excitedly*

That deserves a drabble in turn, I think... *gets to work*

Edited Date: 2008-01-28 12:34 am (UTC)

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Now I have a mental image of you with pompoms!

Thanks for the cheerleading :)

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Rimmer had been meaning to call it a night. Hard light holograms didn't sleep much, but the Snugiraffe-Seamongorilla conflict had escalated to full-on war, and he wouldn't have minded a kip before setting off head first into that. The man in the alleyway behind him had, however, followed him all the way from the bar. Best let him down easy. "Sorry, old chap. Love to knock boots and all that, but simply don't..."

The man smiled. A classic Lister smile, all dimples and twinkling eyes.

Rimmer sighed. It wasn't Lister. But beggars never could be choosers, could they?

Edited Date: 2008-01-28 12:49 am (UTC)

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This "Ace" thing was not so bad, Rimmer decided. He looked like a twink, for sure, but women loved it, and he had become rather adroit at avoiding conflict. The true test of a man, he decided, was not in how brainlessly he threw himself into the right fight, but how well he rallied other people into it before ducking out himself.

The man in the alleyway behind him had, however, followed him all the way from the bar.

Rimmer sighed, thinking about all of the ways to apologize to someone that large for calling his mother a wombat-faced galoot.

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This “Ace” thing was not so bad, Rimmer decided. He was finally a hero, he had standing in the universe, and he was getting more sex in one night than some people get in a lifetime. Sad, lonely people, of course. And the only price was the stupid hair, which he was thinking of changing anyway if that deranged stalker of a computer would let him.

Still, something was wrong. The last time he'd seen Bonjella he'd called her a chirpy, gerbil-faced smeg head just to see how she reacted. Try explaining that to the King of War World!

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Lister was about as carefree as he could get. Which, for Lister, was very carefree indeed. He leaned back in his seat, took a hasty sip of his beer and resumed plucking idly at his guitar. Another sip of beer. He giggled to himself.

“What's got into you?” Rimmer's voice was cold water.

“I'm just happy.”

“Happy?” Rimmer sounded suspicious.

“Yeah! It's good to be alive, isn't it?”

“I don't know Lister, you tell me.”

Lister smiled and strummed what he hoped was a G chord. “I'm writing a song for yeh.”

Rimmer stared for a moment. “Oh,” he mumbled.

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Lister awoke to Rimmer pacing the deck, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. He was even, Lister noted, to his shock and surprise, whistling. "What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong, Listy? Nothing! I have a parole meeting scheduled, that red-headed bird over on B-tower winked at me across the courtyard this afternoon, and this morning, if you'll remember, you broke your new guitar strings! It's good to be alive, isn't it?"

Lister snorted in disgust. "Alive? Aren't you always saying yer not..." He stopped, taking in the skinny, reedy form, the smooth, naked forehead...

"What?"

"Nothing."

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He stopped, taking in the skinny, reedy form, the smooth, naked forehead... It was himself! Only different. Too swaggering, too rosy-cheeked. And that hair! He looked like a gay pin-up. Rimmer was also sure the stranger's nostrils were far more flared, and his ears more sticky-outy than Rimmer's had ever been.

When the stranger spoke, he sounded like Rimmer's brother Frank.

“My God, it's me only much more handsome!” The stranger kept talking.

Rimmer's eyes drifted back to that forehead. In that moment, he hated him. The man slung his arm around Lister's shoulders. Rimmer felt sick.

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"So this is what you've made of yourself, eh?" When the stranger spoke, he sounded like Rimmer's brother Frank. Rimmer found that odd until he realized it was his brother Frank. "Mum sends her love."

“No, she doesn't. I suppose you came here to gloat. Why else would you be wearing your full Space Corps officer regalia?” Frank just grinned, and Rimmer fumed. “How's Howard?”

Frank stiffened. “He's not...”

“Got married, I heard. What was the groom's name... Kenneth? I'm very happy for him.”

Frank left, looking like he wanted to slap him. Rimmer watched, smirking.

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“I'm very happy for him. I told you.”

Rimmer snorted in disbelief. “Poppycock. There's a man in some dimension out there living the life you always wanted and you aren't jealous?”

“I'm not like you.”

“Obviously.”

They paused.

Lister grinned suddenly. “Hey, d'you think there's a dimension where you an' me... you know!” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Rimmer looked Lister slowly up and down, considering a dimension where would sleep with a man, this man, whose standards of personal hygiene would embarrass a pig. He grimaced.

So he wasn't Ace Rimmer, Space Adventurer. There were, obviously, far worse things.

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Love!

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Fantastic! I love some Rimmer family dysfunction! :B

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Gah!

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aww. I'd love to hear that song.

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I just tried to make something, but it's surprisingly hard to make a song made by someone with a guitar missing a string, who almost knows one chord.

Hm... That said, I do have a guitar with a missing string around... *idea*

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Try taping your fingers together :B

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Right; that's it, I'm putting my gloves on. *gets to it*

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(I got a little carried away and went over 100 words. I hope that is ok. You can't stop a brooding Rimmer.)

Well. He was already dead. His life had passed quickly in his memory, or perhaps that was just that the number of memorable events spicing his existence were few and far between. There were entire years in which Rimmer could honestly say that he couldn’t recall a single thing that set it apart from its fellow years, months, weeks, days in a row, all neatly and precisely crossed off the calendar one by one by one in red pen. An entire smegging lifetime, and he hadn’t managed to achieve one thing that would make anyone back on Io remember him fondly when he was gone, and be maybe just a little bit sorry that he was dead, maybe just a little bit regretful that they had not smiled at him while he was alive. Now that he was dead, there was no one left to care, anyway. Typical.

His fingers rested just above the railing of the observation deck, giving the illusion of a physical presence. It had become second nature by now. He sighed with breath he did not have as he gazed at the endless field of stars that he could not begin to navigate accurately and cursed softly to himself, wondering just how long a hologram’s artificial life was, and if his would end once Lister’s did, seeing as Holly had only justified his existence as an aid to his. He’d lose that argument when the time came, for as in life, Arnold Rimmer had no worth in death, either.

From below, he could hear the Cat making a nuisance of himself, and he grimaced. Rimmer made his way down the ladder and towards the noise, preferring to face the others in the corridor than to have his sanctuary disturbed.

How many years had it been since the day he was born? Despite his meticulous calendar, Rimmer simply couldn’t keep the years straight. He would agree with whatever number Lister came up with, he supposed; it might even be close. He had remembered the month and the date, after all.

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Rimmer looked down at Starbug's corridors. His fingers rested just above the railing of the 'observation deck', giving the illusion of a physical presence. Observation deck indeed! Lister's idea, of course. Never wanting to face up to reality or change.

Stepping back, Rimmer straightened his uniform. Then, because it was the time scheduled for his sleeping period, he headed off.

As he moved through the corridor, stepping carefully not to tread through the deck, Lister brushed up against him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Rimmer looked at his arm; reality, hard-light, and its consequences hitting him.

He ran to his bunk.

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I like this concept!

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Glad you're enjoying it - will we be seeing a drabble from you? :D

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Rimmer looked at his arm; reality, hard-light, and its consequences hitting him. The hologram stood, frozen in his tracks, for a moment as Lister locked eyes with him by chance. Lister furrowed his brow and gazed deeply and curiously into Rimmer’s hazel eyes, which always told him the truth when Rimmer could not, and cringed at what he saw.

There was fear in the other man’s eyes. The sort of untrusting dread Lister remembered seeing there when Rimmer would recount tales of his childhood with three sadistic brothers. A full month had passed since they had rescued him from that dungeon, and he still wasn’t himself. Every attempt to discuss the situation had been met with a snide remark.

The hologram spun on his heel and marched swiftly to his bunk, the sliding door locking behind him.

“Smeg!” Lister hissed, as he lashed out and punched a water pipe.

Throbbing pain brought him back to his senses. “But… but I’m not that sorta man.” he protested, looking down at his bloodied knuckles, ruefully. “I’m not.”

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The clothes fit. They didn't just fit, they slid on as though they had been tailored to him, which was probably the case, when Lister thought about it. So just maybe, that meant he wasn't Lister at all...

As they moved through the alleyways, he looked at the billboards, the armed guards stationed everywhere, and shuddered. He didn't like the idea of living here, but he did. And he was successful. What kind of person was successful in a world like this?

"But… but I'm not that sorta man," he mumbled. And Lister wasn't.

But he wasn't Lister.

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“You’ve never seen it proper.” Lister murmered against Rimmer’s bare shoulder. Rimmer could feel those soft lips curl into a smile against his hard light flesh. “I know you had an atmosphere on Io and all, but it was artifical, right? I mean, you never saw the rainforests, the coral reefs, the Grand Canyon, that sorta thing.”

“Neither have you.” Rimmer retorted, half heartedly, as he allowed himself to be pulled closer to Lister’s chest. Lately, he’d been hearing this story a lot, or some variation of it. In the cold and dark confines of Starbug, Lister would conjure up vivid images of Earth, devoid of humanity, yet bustling with life. Together, he declared, they would tame a few acres of land, and coax it into a farm. There would be sheep and horses, fruit orchards and rows of vegetables, and Lister swore he would even build a structure that Rimmer would find suitable to dwell in, even comfortable. After the first few weeks, Rimmer found he no longer had the heart to point out his lack of construction skills.

Rimmer’s hatred of Starbug grew fiercer by the day. He didn’t like living here, but he did. He longed for the familiar comfort of Red Dwarf, the miles of peaceful corridors and circuits that he had made his own. He grew fearful as Lister’s determination and optimism slipped away day by day under the harsh circumstances, so much so that these foolish fits of daydreaming had become as comforting to him as to Lister. Lister’s stubborn ways were the one constant in Rimmer’s existence, and he was a man who thrived on order and routine. As Lister droned on about dubious methods of crop rotation, Rimmer tried once again to make sense of what he had come to think of as the series of checks and balances that had developed between them. He laced his fingers into Lister’s, and wondered who was keeping who sane.

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I really like this one! I love the idea of Rimmer being homesick for Red Dwarf.

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Me, too. Starbug is such a limited environment. Thanks btw !

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This is beautiful. Lister's quiet desperation, which is probably quite frightening and unfamiliar too him, hence he doesn't know how to deal with it. Rimmer's... bastardly tenderness, to put it that way. Wonderful stuff.

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Thank you... I wanted to write both of them being clingy in their own ways, since neither one of them wants to admit that they are having a personal weakness of that sort, and they both express it so differently.

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This is another fantastic idea, and I love your drabbles. You get just the right amount of feeling in them!

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Thank you! :D

And your vignette was lovely too - the subtle implications by the end, and Rimmer only vaguely realizing what it means... So bittersweet.

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“Overrated, if you ask me.”

“Rimmer how can LOVE be overrated? It's just not possible.”

“The way you harp on about it makes it seem like the best thing since sliced bread. I can tell you, however, that it was awful.”

Lister paused. “So you loved her then?”

Rimmer exhaled sharply. “Oh I don't know Lister. Look, just smeg off and leave me alone.”

“What was so awful about it?”

The doubts, the insecurity, the lack of control, the burden of responsibility for something so fragile...

“Nothing. Everything.”

The fact that, for a moment, I thought I could understand you.

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“The way you harp on about it makes it seem like the best thing since sliced bread. I can tell you, however, that it was awful.”

"That's where yer wrong, Rimmer. It's fan-smegging-tastic. It's the most beautiful thing mankind has ever experienced. If anyone else had just felt what you did..."

"They would commit suicide. With an olive fork."

Lister snorted. "You don't want to admit that deep down, you really liked it. Let me show you one more time..."

Rimmer jumped atop Lister, grabbing the other man's arms. "For the hundredth smegging time, no!"

Lister wiggled, trying to reclaim his guitar. "Geroff! Just one more song!"

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