reddwarfslash | Fic: Normal

Fic: Normal
Rating: PG if that.
Info: A look into Rimmer's view of his own and other's sexuality.
Disclaimer: Aint mine *sadness*

Rimmer refused to admit he found Lister attractive. Not attractive in the least. No sir, not one single iota.

But then again, Rimmer was always so insistent to argue so. On the few occasions when Rimmer allowed himself to chip away at the layers and layers of crystallised lies, social pretences and rigorous upbringing, exposing his true self - weak and whimpering from years of abuse - then and only then would he entertain the notion that he was gay.

Such occurrences were rare. Very rare. Usually, Rimmer would systematically and fervently remind himself that he was straight.

Straight. Hetrosexual. Normal.

After all, what else could he be? Being gay and from Io wasn’t an option. It wasn’t the ‘done thing’. Besides, his parents had a front to maintain: proud parents of three high-flyers...and the reluctant parents of one world class flounderer. Rimmer had the unsettling suspicion that if he turned out to be...that way inclined, it would finish his parents off. Kiss it all goodbye, AJ. You’ve got no chance of being written into the inheritance now – you’re one big, bad, unnatural blot on the Rimmer family copybook.

In those few dark seconds during the scarce times when Rimmer would admit who he was, he contemplated being gay and just not telling his parents. He quickly dismissed such fanciful thoughts.

They’d know.

No matter how secretive he was, no matter how many women he brought home, no matter how many lads mags he’d meticulously leave ‘carelessly’ around – they’d know. His mother would smell it on him and his father would say there was something “funny” in his walk. There would be no escaping the accusations and condemnations.

Better to live a lie. Much better.

As time pressed on, Rimmer got very good at playing it straight. A gruelling regieme of self-deprication was to thank for that. Although the lack of attractive men, by Rimmer’s standards, onboard Red Dwarf helped him along a little. In his more bitter moments, Rimmer would snigger at the ‘eye candy’ Red Dwarf had to offer. Hollister? Urgh. Toddhunter? Oh please. Petrovitch? Hardly...although Pretrovicth did have really nice – NO! No. That was a sentence Rimmer never let himself finish.

Rimmer’s pretence proved so successful, he even found himself hitting on some of Red Dwarf’s more aesthetically pleasing females – but he always felt relieved when they rejected him. McGruder hadn’t knocked him back and that ended messily. The sex was cruel and confusing as far as Rimmer was concerned – she grinded him into the thin mattress, luring bodily control away him, crying out Norman’s name over and over as her head bandages slipped over her eyes. Rimmer recalled the unsettling feeling he’d gone when he realised he’d permitted himself to be more straight than...than what he was. Thankfully, once McGruder realised that the curly haired, Second Technician she’d gone to bed with wasn’t Norman, she was off, leaving Rimmer to take a long shower and feel ashamed.

All in all, Rimmer felt perfectly content to coast along, leading the world to believe he was perfectly straight. Or was. Until Lister came along.

That first day is etched onto Rimmer’s memories, the pair of them eternally youthful, preserved by nostalgia. Rimmer had taken against Lister from the very start, even when he was just a name on a piece of paper – ‘Lister, D’ – very unacceptable. The first time he saw him though...

He was sitting at the table, Rimmer’s table, his feet propped up on the meticulously polished surface. He wore scruffy shoes with peeling souls, crinkled combats (also scruffy) and a heavily stained t-shirt that Rimmer wouldn’t hesitate to describe as scruffy. His back was to the door. Rimmer noted with disgust the length of this lads hair, it dangled down his back in thick strands, wiggling lazily as he lifted his head to blow out a puff of smoke. A smoker. Rimmer had specifically requested a non-smoker. Was it not bad enough he was expected to share his home with a new recruit, let alone pollute his lungs with their second hand smoke?

Rimmer coughed as lightly as his politeness allowed, making his ship-sanctioned interloper jump and turn around. His nearly finished cigarette was back between his lips and when he spotted Rimmer, a smile cracked open like an egg behind it. A thin trail of smoke curled through the air, pooling around the boy’s – because that was what he was, a boy – head. His eyes were the worst part; they grabbed Rimmer’s attention and refused to let go. Big, brown, shining with some untold joke.

Those eyes reminded Rimmer of the artificial summer nights back on Io. Warm and dark, enticing and terrifying. Those eyes were staring straight at him and through him. Plucking his dwindling cigarette from between his lips, the stranger stood up and extended his hand to Rimmer. “David Lister”

“Yes. I’m aware” said Rimmer, scowling “I’m Arnold J. Rimmer, Second Technician”

“Yeah. I’m aware” replied Lister, grinning all the more.

What was so funny? Rimmer demanded to know.

Lister’s hand was still extended, wavering slightly as he waited for Rimmer to shake it. After several, sordidly awkward moments Rimmer relented with a barely audible sigh and shook his new bunk-mates hand. The warmth struck Rimmer with the ferocity of a heatwave. He’d been a loner for so long, he’d forgotten how...human other people felt.

His family was never big on physical displays of affection. That meant no hugs, no cuddles and certainly no kisses. Naturally, his mother frequently flouted this rule with anything in a uniform – but then again, a quickie with a wayward postman in the privacy of an alley was more acceptable than kissing other people in public, wasn’t it?

Up until now, the only physical affection Rimmer had enjoyed came from his old Aunty Mollie (who always smelt of gin and had enough facial hair to perm), Josh Hewitt (a rather slow boy, built like a bike shed who insisted on hugging people who had the misfortune to be next to him in class), McGruder (the less said about that the better) and now this guy. Lister, who to his credit actually gave a proper handshake rather than a limp-wristed wriggle.

Lister’s familiarity always annoyed Rimmer and what annoyed him even more was the little goit’s insistence at showing it. Even when it became painfully apparent that Rimmer and Lister were destined and determined to hate each other, Lister still had all these little touches for him. Nudges on the shoulder, jabs in the back, poking him in the head – each touch sizzled and stung and Rimmer secretly craved them. As a hologram, the loss of the only human contact he could depend on made him ache.

Rimmer watched Lister grow up. Yes, true, he was 25 when they first met. But back then he was a young man, clinging to his adolescence with cartoon t-shirts and a consistently laid-back demure. Years passed and Rimmer watched the khaki and colour be replaced by leather and black. Lister frowned more and Rimmer was forced to admit that being miserable just didn’t suit the Scouser. Thankfully (or unfortunately, whichever way you looked at it) Lister’s smegging chirpy optimism always shone through in the end.

Just when Rimmer was adamant he knew everything he needed to know about Lister, something happened which challenged all of Rimmer’s presumptions.

He couldn’t recall how the conversation had started as in the manner of most of their talks, the topics escalated and diverted far beyond their starting points. Rimmer had sniffed at something – he couldn’t for the life or death of him remember what had earnt his derision, but he knew exactly what he said next. “Frankly, I never could understand what the women of this ship saw in Petrovitch...”

Lister had laughed “C’mon Rimmer, Petrovitch was so good lookin’, even I would’ve shagged him”

Rimmer performed a double take “What?” – he was convinced he was mishearing things. Lister always did have that unintelligible accent at times...

The repeated response was even clearer than the first “I’d’ve shagged him, he was that lovely”

The silence seemed to singe the air. Rimmer found himself openly staring at Lister, his hazel eyes wide and frantic. Lister gazed back, amused at first but he quickly became obviously concerned with the holograms reaction.

“What?” said Lister, breaking the silence for his own sake.

Rimmer licked his lips nervously. His mouth opened but it took a few seconds for the words to actually come out “...you’re straight...” and to bring the emphasis home, he made a manic gesture towards Lister with his hands, like sexuality was something you could easily mime.

“So?”

Damn that Lister and his infuriating nonchalant retorts!

“So? So! Straight men do not say they want to have sex with their male superior officers!” he was pacing around the room, his unease fuelling him with nervous energy “Or is that your thing, eh? Is that what you like? Sex with your superiors?” he snorted, though he was finding all of this profoundly unfunny “So, what – you want to have sex with me? Is that it?”

“Well, not when you’re like this no” came Lister’s deadpan response.

This damn near finished Rimmer off.

“Lister, straight people” he corrected himself “normal people do not say that they’d have sex with members of the same sex...it’s not” he searched for the right word. A word his parents often used. “...normal”

Lister had to raise an eyebrow at that. “And you think you’re the best judge on what’s normal?”

“I’m more in tune with normalcy than you, it appears” Rimmer was still flabbergasted. As far as he and his upbringing was concerned there were two settings: straight or...not straight. You can be one or the other. Take your pick.

Yet here was Lister – Lister. blokey, women-loving, footballer supporting Lister saying he would have sex with a man...Petrovitch at that. Rimmer briefly wondered whether it was a power thing. Did Lister get off on the thought of thrashing around under the sheets with an Officer? This idea was quickly dismissed, when Rimmer recalled how unimpressed Lister was with Rimmer’s medals of service.

“Why you makin’ such a big deal outta this?” asked Lister, half-irked, half intrigued. “I mean, everyone’s had a bit of an encounter with the same sex, right?”

“Wrong” snapped Rimmer, doing his best to suppress how nice to felt to be hugged by Josh Hewitt back in 8^th Form “You either like women or...” he took a breath to try and steady his nerves “or you like men and you’re a disgrace to your family and yourself at that”

His comment was met with silence. This silence was uncomfortable or bitter (Rimmer could have handled that) – it was the silence that came with Lister looking at him. Not staring. Looking.

Rimmer twitched under that brown-eyed gaze. For a second, he though he saw pity in the Scouser’s eyes.

Fearing the conversation would continue, the hologram turned on his heels and left the bunkroom.