Fic: Ever After- R/L - PG-13
Jun. 16th, 2008 01:32 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kahvi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashTitle: Ever After
Rating: PG-13, for implications
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Red Dwarf. Nor do I make any money from this fannish venture.
Notes: A short little ficlet about communication.
It had taken a surprising amount of time to pack what meager belongings he had been able to hang on to over the years, but in the end, Lister had managed to compress it into an old duvet-cover. Giving the place one final, forlorn look, he heaved the makeshift bag onto his shoulder.
Something stared to drip down his trouser leg. "Smegging hell," he mumbled, seeing the red fluid running down towards his boots. On reflection, he probably should have screwed the lid tighter on those jars of sauce. He was desperately trying to wring the worst of the liquid out of the bag when Rimmer approached from behind, coughing in that overly polite manner that meant he wasn't trying to be polite at all.
"What are you doing?"
"Moving my stuff out. It was your quarters, and all. I tried to tidy up the bunk as best I could, but there's probably still some crumbs in the creases somewhere. Ye'll have to get Kryten to sort that out later." Lister looked at the floor, trying to keep an even monotone.
"Lister, what's going on?" The mockery was gone from Rimmer's voice. When Lister, against his better judgment, looked up to meet his eyes, they were filled with something that could very easily be badly concealed panic.
"I'm getting out of yer hair."
Total, utter confusion joined the panic. Lister sighed. He had been hoping to avoid any major conversations. "I'm leaving. You know. Like we agreed?"
"What?! When?!"
"Last night! Don't tell me you were too drunk to remember. You kept telling me holograms can't get drunk."
Rimmer had actually gotten paler. Lister hadn't thought that was physically possible, even considering the fact that the man was a holographic projection. "We... I... what?"
Right. Complete run-through it was going to be, then. Best get it over with. "After we got back in. Remember?"
"Well... yes." A blush filled the milky paleness like a tint of curry sauce, and Lister shook his head.
"No," Lister's cock stirred at the memory, and he willed it down, "after that."
"Oh. Right."
"I asked ya if you'd still love me when I was old and frail, and lost my looks, and you said you didn't know."
"Right."
"And I said; 'what d'ye mean ye don't know', and you said..." Lister rubbed his eyes. This was getting them nowhere. "Anyway, it went on like that, and in the end, I said it'd be best if I left. And you didn't say anything to that, so..." He shrugged in the general direction of his still-dripping sack.
Rimmer was just looking at him, bewildered now, eyes narrowing. "That's not what happened."
"Arn..."
"No; that's not what happened. I remember it distinctly." He pointed a finger right at Lister's nose. "You asked if I would still love you when you were old, and I said I didn't know. And then you asked me if I were sure this relationship would last, and I said no, I wasn't."
A headache, pounding and insistent was prodding its way into Lister's brain. "Arn, how is that any different?"
Rimmer seemed to be vibrating; his eyebrows wiggling up and down like they were attempting to become airborne. "There's a world of difference, Davey-boy, and you know it!"
"Assume I don't."
"Well..." Rimmer waved his hands in useless circles, making not a bad impression of a windmill on speed. "I can't know the future, can I?"
The bag was getting heavy. Lister let it drop, narrowing his eyes. "So?"
"So, there's no way I can tell you if I'm going to love you next week, let alone years into the future!"
Lister watched the wildly gesticulating man in front of him, nearly shaking with confused anger, so eager in his own way, as last night had proved before Lister had made the mistake of attempting communication. "It's a simple question. Do you love me, or not?"
Scowling, Rimmer turned his head. "Don't make me say it."
"So yeah, then?"
"Yes; of course!"
"But not in a week?"
Perhaps in an attempt to stop them from flailing, Rimmer crossed his arms, and began to pace, his feet picking up the excess energy. "Anything could happen in a week. Reality bubbles, timewarps, attacks by doubles from parallel universes..."
"Well, yeah. That's how we live." The sauce was making a little puddle on the floor. Lister moved his left foot to keep away from it.
"Right; exactly! So there's no telling, is there? I could be brainwashed, kidnapped, even killed in less than a fortnight. And you want me to promise that I'll still love you when you're old? I don't know if you'll get to grow old!" Desperation was setting in. Lister could always tell by the way Rimmer's voice grew higher in pitch until he flirted with the edges of falsetto.
"Is that it?" Lister muttered, trying to make this new mental map fit Rimmer's neurotic landscape. "Ye can't say you have faith in us, because you can't know if we'll live through next week?"
In mid-reply, Rimmer shut his mouth in surprise. "Yes. In a word, yes."
Not for the first time, Vindaloo sauce seeping into the soles of his much-mended boots, Lister wondered what it was he'd gotten himself mixed up in. But then he looked into Rimmer's confounded eyes, and remembered skin on simulated skin, and words that weren't quite words, and hands, and mouths, and a communication that, all in all, they seemed to handle much better than the words-and-phrases type, and he smiled. "Then why don't ya show me how you feel, rather."
And, looking utterly relieved, Rimmer did.
Rating: PG-13, for implications
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Red Dwarf. Nor do I make any money from this fannish venture.
Notes: A short little ficlet about communication.
It had taken a surprising amount of time to pack what meager belongings he had been able to hang on to over the years, but in the end, Lister had managed to compress it into an old duvet-cover. Giving the place one final, forlorn look, he heaved the makeshift bag onto his shoulder.
Something stared to drip down his trouser leg. "Smegging hell," he mumbled, seeing the red fluid running down towards his boots. On reflection, he probably should have screwed the lid tighter on those jars of sauce. He was desperately trying to wring the worst of the liquid out of the bag when Rimmer approached from behind, coughing in that overly polite manner that meant he wasn't trying to be polite at all.
"What are you doing?"
"Moving my stuff out. It was your quarters, and all. I tried to tidy up the bunk as best I could, but there's probably still some crumbs in the creases somewhere. Ye'll have to get Kryten to sort that out later." Lister looked at the floor, trying to keep an even monotone.
"Lister, what's going on?" The mockery was gone from Rimmer's voice. When Lister, against his better judgment, looked up to meet his eyes, they were filled with something that could very easily be badly concealed panic.
"I'm getting out of yer hair."
Total, utter confusion joined the panic. Lister sighed. He had been hoping to avoid any major conversations. "I'm leaving. You know. Like we agreed?"
"What?! When?!"
"Last night! Don't tell me you were too drunk to remember. You kept telling me holograms can't get drunk."
Rimmer had actually gotten paler. Lister hadn't thought that was physically possible, even considering the fact that the man was a holographic projection. "We... I... what?"
Right. Complete run-through it was going to be, then. Best get it over with. "After we got back in. Remember?"
"Well... yes." A blush filled the milky paleness like a tint of curry sauce, and Lister shook his head.
"No," Lister's cock stirred at the memory, and he willed it down, "after that."
"Oh. Right."
"I asked ya if you'd still love me when I was old and frail, and lost my looks, and you said you didn't know."
"Right."
"And I said; 'what d'ye mean ye don't know', and you said..." Lister rubbed his eyes. This was getting them nowhere. "Anyway, it went on like that, and in the end, I said it'd be best if I left. And you didn't say anything to that, so..." He shrugged in the general direction of his still-dripping sack.
Rimmer was just looking at him, bewildered now, eyes narrowing. "That's not what happened."
"Arn..."
"No; that's not what happened. I remember it distinctly." He pointed a finger right at Lister's nose. "You asked if I would still love you when you were old, and I said I didn't know. And then you asked me if I were sure this relationship would last, and I said no, I wasn't."
A headache, pounding and insistent was prodding its way into Lister's brain. "Arn, how is that any different?"
Rimmer seemed to be vibrating; his eyebrows wiggling up and down like they were attempting to become airborne. "There's a world of difference, Davey-boy, and you know it!"
"Assume I don't."
"Well..." Rimmer waved his hands in useless circles, making not a bad impression of a windmill on speed. "I can't know the future, can I?"
The bag was getting heavy. Lister let it drop, narrowing his eyes. "So?"
"So, there's no way I can tell you if I'm going to love you next week, let alone years into the future!"
Lister watched the wildly gesticulating man in front of him, nearly shaking with confused anger, so eager in his own way, as last night had proved before Lister had made the mistake of attempting communication. "It's a simple question. Do you love me, or not?"
Scowling, Rimmer turned his head. "Don't make me say it."
"So yeah, then?"
"Yes; of course!"
"But not in a week?"
Perhaps in an attempt to stop them from flailing, Rimmer crossed his arms, and began to pace, his feet picking up the excess energy. "Anything could happen in a week. Reality bubbles, timewarps, attacks by doubles from parallel universes..."
"Well, yeah. That's how we live." The sauce was making a little puddle on the floor. Lister moved his left foot to keep away from it.
"Right; exactly! So there's no telling, is there? I could be brainwashed, kidnapped, even killed in less than a fortnight. And you want me to promise that I'll still love you when you're old? I don't know if you'll get to grow old!" Desperation was setting in. Lister could always tell by the way Rimmer's voice grew higher in pitch until he flirted with the edges of falsetto.
"Is that it?" Lister muttered, trying to make this new mental map fit Rimmer's neurotic landscape. "Ye can't say you have faith in us, because you can't know if we'll live through next week?"
In mid-reply, Rimmer shut his mouth in surprise. "Yes. In a word, yes."
Not for the first time, Vindaloo sauce seeping into the soles of his much-mended boots, Lister wondered what it was he'd gotten himself mixed up in. But then he looked into Rimmer's confounded eyes, and remembered skin on simulated skin, and words that weren't quite words, and hands, and mouths, and a communication that, all in all, they seemed to handle much better than the words-and-phrases type, and he smiled. "Then why don't ya show me how you feel, rather."
And, looking utterly relieved, Rimmer did.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 07:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 09:42 am (UTC)I love Rimmer so much always have done...
What a guy
*sigh*
Great story love it...
no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 10:29 am (UTC)Thank you very much!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 06:10 pm (UTC)