“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.
He didn't like the idea of living here, but he did.
“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.