Fic: Flesh - R/L - PG

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

Title: Flesh
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I still don't own Red Dwarf, or any of the characters thereof. I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Slight, for Fathers and Suns
Notes: Just a little vignette. I'm behind, as I'm watching with m'colleague roadstergal, and, well TIMEZONES. :/ And, being the canon-nazi that I am, I can't bring myself to fic until I know exactly how things all fit together. But this ep - well, it called to something my aforementioned partner has oft pointed out. OK, stopping now before the A/N gets longer than the actual fic. FSS. Sorry, this isn't very good. </ Rimmer>




"But why, though?"

Champagne couldn't provide much of a buzz after gallons of GELF-hooch; Lister might charitably describe its effects as a mild, background hum. If he were drunk at all, he was drunk like his gran after a few Sunday lunch sherries. Which, to be fair, was its own unique and no less impressive brand of 'drunk'.

"I mean, why," he repeated, circling Rimmer like a nervous labrador. Perhaps a nervous labrador puppy, given the unsteady state of his feet, but Lister didn't feel much like a whelp. "That's what I don't get."

By the bunkroom's cluttered (except for one corner, the one currently occupied by holographic elbows) table, Rimmer sighed, audibly. "Do tell me again, Lister."

"I don't get it."

"Oh, good. One more time?"

"I don't-"

"What is it that you don't smegging get!?"

"Women."

Rimmer snorted, putting down his book. Now that Holly wasn't there to act as snotty librarian, all of Red Dwarf's considerable e-book library was available to Rimmer instantly in holographic form, and it seemed to Lister like he was working his way through them from 'least interesting' upwards. Currently, he was slogging through a volume on French 17th century military strategy. "I'm surprised to hear you admit it, but I'm glad you came to me for advice."

"Stop taking the smeg; you know what I mean." Lister sat down heavily in the chair opposite. "I mean you and women."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Yer always..." Lister waved his hand about, but soon found it took exhausting to be going on with. "I don't know."

"Well if you don't, I certainly don't." Rimmer reached for his book, but Lister waved him off.

"No, hear me out! Yer always talking about them like they're some sort of object."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Oh great space; not this again..."

"I don't mean like that; I've fairly given up on making you understand that women are human beings like the rest of us," Rimmer rolled his eyes again, but Lister kept on, "but actually, that just underlines my point, doesn't it?"

"Lister," Rimmer straigthened, looking down his nose at him, "What.
Smegging. Point."

"Well, look at yerself! Ye've never had a girlfriend; you've been on exactly one date, and that's only if you count the pizza you had afterwards as 'dinner', 'cause mostly it was just you being dragged into a room and shagged up against the sink."

"If you're here to recount my sexual exploits..."

"Exactly. That's your one and only sexual exploit in life; we'er not counting death, we've had that argument before! You've never been in love. You've never shown an interest in women at all, outside AR sims and the odd holo-flick."

Rimmer started, pointing an angry finger. "That is my private
collection of vids, Lister; I'll mind you to keep your dirty paws off it!"

"I don't want yer twonking vids!"

"Then why are you going on about them?"

"Because they're all the same."

Rimmer's considerable nostrils twitched. He sat back, his attention clearly caught. "What do you mean?"

"The women. The girls in them. They're all the same. Blonde. Tall. Breasts like zero-G footballs." Small waists, thick hips; not too skinny, any of them. It was like someone had taken a wiktionary entry on 'stereotypical female porn actress' and mass produced it in the flesh. "Always the same."

Rimmer shrugged, but his eyes flickered. One of them a little too far to the side, his bee clearly not keeping up with his movements, a sure sign he was preoccupied with whatever passed for his deeper thoughts. "So I have a type."

"Rimmer, that isn't a type. It's a parody. Real people don't look like that."

"Of course they do; where do you think the actresses come from? They're not holo-constructs!"

"They might as well be! Listen; you go out of an evening anywhere in solar system, and you wouldn't find anything near what those girls make themselves up to look like. They don't look that way on their days off!"

"How would you know?"

Lister, who had once dated a soft holo-porn actress, shook his head. "It doesn't matter. All right; I'll play along - that's your type. Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, what do you like about it; what is it about busty, basket-ball player height bleached-blondes that you like so much. What turns you on about them?"

Rimmer rose. "I'm not having this conversation."

"Aw, go on! Just tell me; what's the appeal? What's it you like about them?"

Rimmer's knees bent slightly, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he should sit down again. "Um."

"See, that's what I don't get. If anyone asks what you like, you're always so quick with an answer, but dig a little deeper..."

"I just like it, all right?" Rimmer snapped, his knees still bouncing. "Why your life-long love affair with curry? You can't explain preference; why do you like bitchy brunettes?"

"I don't; I like sassy green-eyed girls who talk back to me." Lister raised his eyebrows in challenge. "Ask me why."

Rimmer swallowed, grabbing the chair, presumably for support. "Why?"

"Because it's something different. A lot of girls will act dumb, which is stupid-"

"Obviously-"

"Shut up, Rimmer; I'm trying to make a point." Lister took another swig of champagne. "When they talk back, it lets me know they've a mind of their own, and that's sexy. And green eyes, that's different too. It's rare."

"Is it."

"See what I mean, though? I can't explain it, but I can have a conversation about it. You just like ridiculous porn parodies because that's what you think you should like!"

Lister realized the following silence had gone on for too long when he noticed the Cat sneak past them both, near-unseen, feeling, as he always did, any tension in the air quite keenly, and eager to avoid it. Lister could have sworn his hair bristled as he scooped a bag of kibble out of the kitchenette cupboard and hurried back out again. Lister cleared his throat. "Just an observation," he muttered, before following Cat's example.

He couldn't hear what, if anything, Rimmer replied, and he didn't look back, but the next morning, Rimmer's murky eyes avoided his.

Comments

[bayliss.livejournal.com]

Lovely. This was so nice to come home to. It's nice to see you writing again. :-)

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

Thank ye kindly. :)

I've been writing mainly for other fandoms, so I haven't been idling. ;)