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reddwarfslash2006-03-08 01:19 am
kahvi.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2006-03-08 01:19 am
Entry tags:
Fic: "Lunch" - R/L - PG
Title: Lunch
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Do I own Red Dwarf? Well, ask yourself this; is there a lot of hot mansex? Then the answer is probably "no". Sadly, I make no money off this either.
Spoilers: Legion.
Notes: The Rimmer inside my head insisted I write this. Written as part of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It was well into the late afternoon when Rimmer heard that all-too-familiar fleshy thud of Lister letting himself slump out of bed. He almost caught himself smiling, but remembered in time, and resumed his regular, disapproving smirk as he entered the sleeping quarters.
"'ng," the half-slumbering form nodded to him by ways of a greeting.
"And a very pleasant and delightful 'ng' to you too, Listy me old chum," Rimmer replied cheerfully. He was rewarded with a grunt, and a half-hearted two-fingered salute. Rimmer snorted.
“Early to bed, Lister, early to rise. It’s not a proverb for nothing.”
“Grfxnpfh,” Lister opined, having squirted most of the contents of the tooth-paste tube into his mouth. Looking around half-heartedly for the sink, which was currently buried under a mountain of empty cans of tomatoes from last night’s curry cook-out, shrugged, and grabbed one of the half-empty cans of lager strewn about the table, rinsing his mouth with the liquid happily. There was no room to spit it out in the sink, so he swallowed noisily. Rimmer shuddered.
“Not showering today either?” he asked, with a note of worry.
“Later,” came the mumbling reply.
“After lunch, mayhap?” Rimmer eyed the collection of items on the table with some degree of suspicion. “Or some time next month?”
“’s not lunch,‘s breakfast,” Lister protested.
“Au contraire. Ship’s time is now well after noon, progressing rapidly towards early evening, and so the meal you are about to no doubt slobbily enjoy must, in fact, be lunch.”
Lister sat down, and experimentally sniffed his T-shirt. “’Ship’s time’,” he snorted. “More like ‘Rimmer Time’, with you being the only one actually following it.” Satisfied that the shirt would hold up for another day, he began a thorough scrutiny of the items on the table in front of him. “It’s me first meal of the day; it’s breakfast.” Finding nothing remotely edible, even from his admittedly charitable point of view, he grunted. “Where’s Kryten? He usually has a tray ready for me before I even get out of bed.”
“Off exploring that luxury liner we raided yesterday, with Cat. It appears they’ve got an entire deck of beauty-parlors, spas and hair-dressing salons. It was in that On Board magazine you brought from there. We just dropped them off.” He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder with a calculatedly nonchalant look. “We’re picking them up in about eight to twelve hours time.”
“Yeah?” Lister said, suspiciously. “Why’d Kryten go with?”
“Do you honestly think the Cat would ever return if we left him there on his own? He’d starve to death in front of a mirror.” He shook his head with a look of disapproval. “Besides, we hadn’t completely explored their kitchens. Kryten thinks there might be some salvageable herbs and spices there.”
“Lot of good that does me now,” Lister sighed, a look of absolute dejection on his still-sleepy face.
“Yes, quite tragic really,” Rimmer said, in mock sympathy. “It does appear as though you will be forced to prepare your own meal this après midi. Unless, of course… But no, you wouldn’t be interested.” He turned around, mentally counting the seconds it took Lister to rise to this bait. He didn’t quite get to “one”.
“What?” He really did look like an eager puppy sometimes, Rimmer thought, as he swiveled round to face Lister again. Perhaps it was the vacant expression, or those soulful brown eyes, but he almost felt sorry for the little git. Ah, but no, this was too much fun to give up. In so many ways…
“Oh, just a minor detail.” He started walking in Lister’s direction, quite causally. “Theoretically, someone might have convinced Kryten to prepare a breakfast tray, complete with onioned corn-flakes and extra-hot orange juice with a vindaloo-sauce chaser.” He stopped behind the other man’s chair, and leaned over his shoulder. “Theoretically.”
Lister was almost jumping in his seat. “Give it here, man!”
“Ah, yes, well, that’s the trouble, isn’t it? It’s a breakfast tray. And as I’ve already established, we’re now well on our way past lunch-time. So as much as I’d like to oblige you, I’m afraid there nothing doing.”
“Rimmer, give it here!”
Still hunched over Lister’s shoulder, Rimmer leaned in close. “Can’t be done, I’m afraid,” he beamed. “So sorry, I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.”
“Yes, you smegging well do,” Lister spluttered. “You’re the only one who makes them, and the only one who follows them; now give… It… Here!” He banged his fist on the table in frustration. When Rimmer did not respond, he moaned, and rose, tagging a long string of expletives with him into the kitchen area. As he opened the door to the fridge, there came a deep, frustrated sigh.
“Anything the matter?” Rimmer chirped, following him.
“Where’ve you hidden it, you cold-hearted pile of smeg?”
Rimmer pressed a long, lean finger against his mouth, and winked exaggeratedly. “I’m afraid that’s strictly confidential.”
“You know, man,” Lister said, slamming the fridge-door shut, “you’re starting to really get on me nerves.” Approaching the hologram, he began to tie his locks back with an elastic band he for some inexplicable reason must have worn around his wrist in his sleep, menacingly. “I’m going to ask you one last time…”
“All right, all right,” Rimmer raised his hands in apparent defeat. “How about this: I’ll tell you where the tray is… If you take a shower.”
Lister’s jaw dropped to the level of his knees. “You what?”
“I think you heard me.”
“You…” Lister waved his arms about desperately, trying to come up with a fitting description. “You… I shower!” he said, giving up. “I’m not filthy, don’t make it out like I’m filthy!”
“Perhaps not entirely filthy,” Rimmer admitted, “but there it is. No shower, no lunch tray.”
“Breakfast!”
“Lunch.”
“Breakfast, man! Gah!” Rimmer couldn’t help but allow a hint of a genuine smile shine through as Lister tore off his t-shirt in defeat, and glared at him with fuming eyes. “Right, he said, pulling one of Rimmer’s pristine white towels out of the closet, and headed towards the shower-cubicle. Turning around in the doorway, he pointed a finger straight at Rimmer. “Shower; then food. Deal?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly…” He paused. “However…”
“What? What is it now?”
“In the interest of fairness, I really do think I should get in there with you. Just to make sure you hold your end of the bargain up.” Rimmer leaned back a little, enjoying the look on Lister’s astounded face. Finally, the scouser grinned, and shook his head.
“You…. You are something else, man! Get the smeg in here, then; I’m hungry, and I haven’t got all morning!”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Rimmer replied pleasantly, and strode towards the shower. Lister disappeared inside, and Rimmer, entering, closed the door behind him.
Presently, the sound of falling water filled the sleeping-quarters.
“You know,” Rimmer said, “I think we’d be better off if I were naked, don’t you?”
Lister sighed. “Honestly, yer getting too confident by far. I should’ve never shagged ya.”
“Indeed,” came Rimmer’s voice, somewhat incoherently, “indeed.”
And then there were no other sounds to be heard for quite some time. Well. Not the kind you’d mention in polite company, at any rate.
And then, there was lunch.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Do I own Red Dwarf? Well, ask yourself this; is there a lot of hot mansex? Then the answer is probably "no". Sadly, I make no money off this either.
Spoilers: Legion.
Notes: The Rimmer inside my head insisted I write this. Written as part of the
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.It was well into the late afternoon when Rimmer heard that all-too-familiar fleshy thud of Lister letting himself slump out of bed. He almost caught himself smiling, but remembered in time, and resumed his regular, disapproving smirk as he entered the sleeping quarters.
"'ng," the half-slumbering form nodded to him by ways of a greeting.
"And a very pleasant and delightful 'ng' to you too, Listy me old chum," Rimmer replied cheerfully. He was rewarded with a grunt, and a half-hearted two-fingered salute. Rimmer snorted.
“Early to bed, Lister, early to rise. It’s not a proverb for nothing.”
“Grfxnpfh,” Lister opined, having squirted most of the contents of the tooth-paste tube into his mouth. Looking around half-heartedly for the sink, which was currently buried under a mountain of empty cans of tomatoes from last night’s curry cook-out, shrugged, and grabbed one of the half-empty cans of lager strewn about the table, rinsing his mouth with the liquid happily. There was no room to spit it out in the sink, so he swallowed noisily. Rimmer shuddered.
“Not showering today either?” he asked, with a note of worry.
“Later,” came the mumbling reply.
“After lunch, mayhap?” Rimmer eyed the collection of items on the table with some degree of suspicion. “Or some time next month?”
“’s not lunch,‘s breakfast,” Lister protested.
“Au contraire. Ship’s time is now well after noon, progressing rapidly towards early evening, and so the meal you are about to no doubt slobbily enjoy must, in fact, be lunch.”
Lister sat down, and experimentally sniffed his T-shirt. “’Ship’s time’,” he snorted. “More like ‘Rimmer Time’, with you being the only one actually following it.” Satisfied that the shirt would hold up for another day, he began a thorough scrutiny of the items on the table in front of him. “It’s me first meal of the day; it’s breakfast.” Finding nothing remotely edible, even from his admittedly charitable point of view, he grunted. “Where’s Kryten? He usually has a tray ready for me before I even get out of bed.”
“Off exploring that luxury liner we raided yesterday, with Cat. It appears they’ve got an entire deck of beauty-parlors, spas and hair-dressing salons. It was in that On Board magazine you brought from there. We just dropped them off.” He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder with a calculatedly nonchalant look. “We’re picking them up in about eight to twelve hours time.”
“Yeah?” Lister said, suspiciously. “Why’d Kryten go with?”
“Do you honestly think the Cat would ever return if we left him there on his own? He’d starve to death in front of a mirror.” He shook his head with a look of disapproval. “Besides, we hadn’t completely explored their kitchens. Kryten thinks there might be some salvageable herbs and spices there.”
“Lot of good that does me now,” Lister sighed, a look of absolute dejection on his still-sleepy face.
“Yes, quite tragic really,” Rimmer said, in mock sympathy. “It does appear as though you will be forced to prepare your own meal this après midi. Unless, of course… But no, you wouldn’t be interested.” He turned around, mentally counting the seconds it took Lister to rise to this bait. He didn’t quite get to “one”.
“What?” He really did look like an eager puppy sometimes, Rimmer thought, as he swiveled round to face Lister again. Perhaps it was the vacant expression, or those soulful brown eyes, but he almost felt sorry for the little git. Ah, but no, this was too much fun to give up. In so many ways…
“Oh, just a minor detail.” He started walking in Lister’s direction, quite causally. “Theoretically, someone might have convinced Kryten to prepare a breakfast tray, complete with onioned corn-flakes and extra-hot orange juice with a vindaloo-sauce chaser.” He stopped behind the other man’s chair, and leaned over his shoulder. “Theoretically.”
Lister was almost jumping in his seat. “Give it here, man!”
“Ah, yes, well, that’s the trouble, isn’t it? It’s a breakfast tray. And as I’ve already established, we’re now well on our way past lunch-time. So as much as I’d like to oblige you, I’m afraid there nothing doing.”
“Rimmer, give it here!”
Still hunched over Lister’s shoulder, Rimmer leaned in close. “Can’t be done, I’m afraid,” he beamed. “So sorry, I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.”
“Yes, you smegging well do,” Lister spluttered. “You’re the only one who makes them, and the only one who follows them; now give… It… Here!” He banged his fist on the table in frustration. When Rimmer did not respond, he moaned, and rose, tagging a long string of expletives with him into the kitchen area. As he opened the door to the fridge, there came a deep, frustrated sigh.
“Anything the matter?” Rimmer chirped, following him.
“Where’ve you hidden it, you cold-hearted pile of smeg?”
Rimmer pressed a long, lean finger against his mouth, and winked exaggeratedly. “I’m afraid that’s strictly confidential.”
“You know, man,” Lister said, slamming the fridge-door shut, “you’re starting to really get on me nerves.” Approaching the hologram, he began to tie his locks back with an elastic band he for some inexplicable reason must have worn around his wrist in his sleep, menacingly. “I’m going to ask you one last time…”
“All right, all right,” Rimmer raised his hands in apparent defeat. “How about this: I’ll tell you where the tray is… If you take a shower.”
Lister’s jaw dropped to the level of his knees. “You what?”
“I think you heard me.”
“You…” Lister waved his arms about desperately, trying to come up with a fitting description. “You… I shower!” he said, giving up. “I’m not filthy, don’t make it out like I’m filthy!”
“Perhaps not entirely filthy,” Rimmer admitted, “but there it is. No shower, no lunch tray.”
“Breakfast!”
“Lunch.”
“Breakfast, man! Gah!” Rimmer couldn’t help but allow a hint of a genuine smile shine through as Lister tore off his t-shirt in defeat, and glared at him with fuming eyes. “Right, he said, pulling one of Rimmer’s pristine white towels out of the closet, and headed towards the shower-cubicle. Turning around in the doorway, he pointed a finger straight at Rimmer. “Shower; then food. Deal?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly…” He paused. “However…”
“What? What is it now?”
“In the interest of fairness, I really do think I should get in there with you. Just to make sure you hold your end of the bargain up.” Rimmer leaned back a little, enjoying the look on Lister’s astounded face. Finally, the scouser grinned, and shook his head.
“You…. You are something else, man! Get the smeg in here, then; I’m hungry, and I haven’t got all morning!”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Rimmer replied pleasantly, and strode towards the shower. Lister disappeared inside, and Rimmer, entering, closed the door behind him.
Presently, the sound of falling water filled the sleeping-quarters.
“You know,” Rimmer said, “I think we’d be better off if I were naked, don’t you?”
Lister sighed. “Honestly, yer getting too confident by far. I should’ve never shagged ya.”
“Indeed,” came Rimmer’s voice, somewhat incoherently, “indeed.”
And then there were no other sounds to be heard for quite some time. Well. Not the kind you’d mention in polite company, at any rate.
And then, there was lunch.
no subject
The dialog was totally in character, the plot nicely developed, and a shag at the end. What more could I ask for?
"And a very pleasant and delightful 'ng' to you too, Listy me old chum,"
For some reason, that's the line that got me...
immer pressed a long, lean finger against his mouth, and winked exaggeratedly.
OK, OK, that one got me, too. But they were all good.
no subject
I'm quite pleased with contrast in the "'ng" lines; kind of sums them up in a way. And I'm glad you liked that description, I had a hard time figuring out how to put the movement I saw in my mind
onto paperinto words.Glad you enjoyed it! :D
no subject
That captured the movement perfectly - it is up there with The Lick as one of CB's "Oh my!" recurring gestures. This one, ja?
http://www.roadstergal.info/images/finger1.jpg
http://www.roadstergal.info/images/finger2.jpg
http://www.roadstergal.info/images/finger3.jpg
The books include many references to his "lean fingers," and I have to say, if they make a pair of straight men take note, you can't really blame us. :p
no subject
That finger to lips (it's always his mouth, isn't it) gesture is definitely an "Oh My!" or "SQUEE" moment. And yes,
*stares around*
Hmm ... I'm off now. Toodle loo!
*skips down the garden path*
no subject
no subject
It's a lovely gesture. The guy is very expressive with mouth and hands, and that gesture brings the two together in a rather... nice... way.
no subject
And yes - that's it exactly! As for Grant/Naylor... Well... Having re-reading the books after getting involved with fanfic, I have to say, they write like fangirls. Seriously. And this is where I wish you'd read "Last Human", because, yeah... *must get to writing that fic*
no subject
Oh, yes, filling in the blanks. *fills in the blanks* *comes back an hour later*