reddwarfslash | The uncanny valley part 3

This bit is slightly more explicit, though not too much happens that might frighten the horses. The anecdote that Rimmer tells Lister is adapted from a conversation in series 8, which is one of the little clips that is still up on Youtube here.

part three

Lister had opened his own pyjama top and was caressing himself uninhibitedly. The associated rushing sensation of warm pressure up and down Rimmer's chest and even - Christ - his stomach was like being bathed in fire. Lovely, lovely fire.

Rimmer was momentarily overcome by the feeling (the simulated feeling) of Lister's hands running across his torso. Oh god, he thought, I can't let him see what this is doing to me. His eyes closed for a second or two and he forced them open. He clamped his lips shut to prevent Lister from hearing an audible drawing in of breath. He was staring at Lister with a severe expression like a rather disapproving owl. Some part of him wanted to shout out 'Stop!'. Stop, this is unbearable. But he couldn't risk the possibility that Lister might actually stop, because that really would be unbearable, if the long years of darkness and solitude were to begin again, this time with no prospect that they would ever end.

Rimmer's burning loneliness and his crippling self-consciousness were momentarily in stand off, like two armies so closely matched they were not able to commence battle. He didn't want Lister to stop, ever, but he couldn't bear to let him see what his touch was doing to him. This was Lister for god's sake. So, his thoughts rushing wildly between confused fantasies of fire and battle, and his fear of the dark light years, Rimmer dredged from his memory some humiliating anecdote which would allow him to complain about Lister, and criticise his many failings as a room mate and a human being, and restore the natural order of things.

So he launched into recounting the first memory that came to mind. As usual his blind emotional panic did not allow him to stop and think things through, and his need for self-sabotage started him off on a story which - if he had thought about it for a second - he would have realised was going to get him deeper into trouble. Much deeper.

'Do you remember that time I got into that stupid drinking competition with Peterson?'

'Yeah', said Lister without any pause in the inexorable progress of his hand up and down his (and Rimmer's) naked skin. 'You were convinced that your 'superior mental discipline' meant you could resist the effects of alcohol. You were totally out of it, Rimmer; that Ganymedean tequila is wicked.'

'Never again. Nev-er ag-ain me laddo,' said Rimmer, in smug voice, feeling (quite erroneously) that he was getting back onto safe ground.

His composure faltered almost immediately as further memories of that time he got drunk with Peterson flooded back to him, mixing the remembered overwhelming and unfamiliar physical sensation of drunkenness with the loosening and intoxicating sensation of Lister's unfamiliar touch that was overwhelming him right now in real life.

'I can't remember how I got back to the cabin that night

my whole body was on fire

I felt as if I was burning up

it was sort of terrible

and wonderful

I didn't know where I was and

and I stripped off

it felt great

like I was finally at one with my body

I was floating high above myself

for the first time I was at peace

and

I passed out on my bunk, naked

like a baby'

It might have been the longest, and was certainly the least coherent, thing Rimmer had ever said to Lister.

'You're not used to the booze, man. You have to work up to these things. Peterson's had years of practice: nothing to be ashamed of.'

'Nothing to be ashamed of? You took a digital photo of my cock, Lister. And digitally added a mouth and eyes.' (these had been added above and below the startlingly shaped, flaccid, 'nose') 'I didn't even realise you'd done it until I saw the picture posted on the Shipnet bulletin board with the caption "Missing Persons: have you seen this man - believed to be a French movie star"!'

Lister couldn't help grinning at the memory.

'As if your todger with a couple of eyes drawn on it would look like a French movie star!' He chuckled at the memory. 'It's way too good lookin'

There was an awkward silence between them, during which in his own mind Rimmer kicked himself up the arse repeatedly. 'Why the smegging why did I even start on this stupid story,' thought Rimmer desperately to himself. And 'Did Lister just say he thought my cock was good looking?' Oh my god.

to be cont'd