Late Night Writing is Weird

[lady-dae.livejournal.com]

Title: Alphabetti Spaghetti
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own, make money off of, etc etc...

I always wondered why Rimmer got so angry at the mention of Alphabetti Spaghetti in Polymorph, so here's my take. 

I just wrote this, so apologies for any stuff ups, be they major or minor.  Anyway, it started off dark, then got a little cutesie... I don't know what happened really. 

 

She looked old and worn without her austere dress and stern, red lipstick.  Some part of his mind wondered idly if this was what she had looked like in her later years, back on Io. 

The thought was ripped from his mind as she traced a languid circle around Lister’s nipple, her acid grin all for Arnold. 

“Darling, I wish you could have seen him in action.  He was like a set of pistons in an ocean liner engine room.”

All he could do was stare at that finger, making its torturous journey around Lister’s hardening nipple.  He wrenched his head away from the sight. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Clenching his hands by his sides, his arms began to shake from the strain.  Holly shouted something but it was all background static to Rimmer. 

“Lister and mother.  It’s a dream come true.”

The polymorph sensed a weakening in its prey and drew its form towards it. 

“The positions he bent me into!”

Rimmer could feel his mothers gaze piercing him, even as he strove for balance.  She crept closer, the lust shining through the thin veneer of humanity.  Vainly, he turned to the only sadly inadequate weapon he had. 

“Terrific,” he said sarcastically through gritted teeth, “that sounds enchanting.  Well done.”

Holly’s voice rose again in the background, her tone more insistent, more desperate but Rimmer’s head was too full of nightmarish imaginings to let anything else in.  A thought flickered into life in his head and left just as suddenly but it was enough. 

Satisfaction blazed in the monster’s eyes as she crouched on all fours, hands flexed like claws. 

“The things this boy can do,” she purred in languid ease, “with Alphabetti Spaghetti…”

Holly screamed at him but Rimmer was lost in a red haze of rage and pain. 

“Alphabetti Spaghetti?!”

The polymorph shrieked in triumph and regained its true form before launching itself at Rimmer and smashing him to the ground as it drained his anger dry. 

 

The two blue orbs shot out of the lift and towards the polymorph with cold, calculated efficiency, blasting it apart.  Its dismembered corpse splattered onto Rimmer and the rest of the crew as their emotions returned to them.  Kryten immediately began to commit suicide as Rimmer stared at the pipe he held in his hands.  Lister lunged at Kryten and wrenched the bazookoid out of his rubbery hands. 

“Hey,” he said, his thick Scouse accent reverberating around the massive cargo bay walls, “we were all a bit whacked out there.”

“You can say that again,” Rimmer replied, his eyes still glued to the pipe. 

 

Rimmer’s sleep that night was filled with images.  He lay, as he sometimes did in his dreams, on the freezing floor of the ‘Bug as it lay stranded on the ice planet, the never ending wind moaning around the metal hulk.  Another body lay beside his, shivering in the cold that Rimmer could not feel.  He had so little time left, this one.  The dog food was long gone, swilled down with the bottles of vinegar to get rid of the taste.  Even the Pot Noodle had been eaten.  There was nothing left, nothing except for the small tin of Alphabetti Spaghetti that Rimmer had found that morning, acting as a prop for a dodgy table leg.  He had been saving it as a last resort but his companion was now so cold and weak, he doubted he had the strength to eat it.  It was here that Rimmer’s dream always veered away from reality.  In reality, Rimmer had pointed out the tin to Lister and he had downed the lot, without a single thought for tomorrow.  In his dreams - always in his dreams - Rimmer reached out to Lister, his hand landing softly on his arm.  Lister would turn to him, his mud-brown eyes showing no hint of surprise at the contact.  In his dream, Rimmer could help his bunkmate; the long-dead fire was no longer Lister’s only form of heat. 

So Rimmer would hold him, as they lay on the cold metal floor.  No words were ever spoken in his dream but things were always said.  In the end, as the shivering lessened and then disappeared, Rimmer would bring out the battered tin of spaghetti and they would both smile as they wrested the can opener around the lid.  Then, ever so gently, Lister would unfasten Rimmer’s dark green jacket and, finding nothing underneath but smooth skin, would push him back down to the ground and trail his dark fingers over that pale expanse of flesh.  Then Rimmer would close his eyes tight until a cold, wet sensation would shock them open.  Trails of red sauce and letters ran across his chest, with Lister’s fingers dancing lazily around as he rearranged them.  He would finish and Rimmer would struggle to read the two words spelled out across his chest like a bloody banner.  A groan and a playful cuff to Lister’s ear and then they would be kissing, the letters pressed into both of them as the sauce ran down Rimmer’s torso and into his pants.  Later as they lay there, Lister would re-assemble the letters to once again spell out ‘smeg head’ before resting his head below them on Rimmer’s belly. 

After that, Rimmer would wake up, as he did now, disoriented for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the quarters.  Lister was still up, sitting at the table, picking his teeth clean with an icepick. 

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?”

Lister startled at the noise and nearly took out his eye with the pick. 

“Rimmer man,” he whispered, “thought you were asleep.”

“I was, for a bit.”

He sighed and got out of his bunk, heading for the door. 

“Whatever that polymorph did, it’s stirred some stuff up in my head.  I’m just going for a walk, ok?” 

“Kay,” Lister replied, returning to his bodily hygiene, “I’ll leave the porch light on for you.”

“Git,” Rimmer said as he padded to the door. 

“Smeg head,” Lister replied. 

Images of runnels of red sauce running down skin swam into Rimmer’s mind.  He smiled. 

The things that boy could do with Alphabetti Spaghetti… 

Comments

[fearcat.livejournal.com]

This bit made me smile

“Git,” Rimmer said as he padded to the door.

“Smeg head,” Lister replied.

That was cute...

[lady-dae.livejournal.com]

Thanks :)

[queen-fiend.livejournal.com]

Hehe...this made me giggle. I always wondered about that line in the show, too. ;)

[lady-dae.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I was watching it again recently and I just couldn't get the idea out of my head :P