Fic: Oh Don't Give Me None More (Of That Marijuana Gin) - R/L/C, R/L (impl)

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

Title: Oh Don't Give Me None More (Of That Marijuana Gin)
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister/Cat, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This story should make it pretty clear why I don't own Red Dwarf. I don't make money from it either.
Spoilers: Legion, to some extent Thanks for the Memory
Notes: This is very, very, silly. And a little serious. But mostly just silly. Take it as it is. ;) Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.



"For the last smegging time Lister, no!" Rimmer, lacking as he did, a means of escape in the cramped, grotty confines of Starbug, had settled for walking rapidly and angrily back and forwards across the mid-section. "I am not touching that stuff again, not ever! You remember what happened to Brown and McCole; I'm sure I don't have to remind you."

Lister followed him like an eager puppy, one step behind, a sheepish grin on his face and a suspicious-looking bottle under his arm. "I know, you made me clean up afterwards."

Rimmer sighed. "Look, Marijuana gin is illegal for a reason!"

Lister nodded. "Yeah, it's got Marijuana in it. Takes away all the aggressive behavior induced by alcohol, that does; you'd think they'd be wanting us to drink it."

"You tell that to Brown and McCole." Rimmer waved a finger, turning before he hit the wall. Lister turned with him.

"So what; they went on a little bender. No harm done; they were grown women. Got engaged, didn't they? I heard they got shared quarters in the good part of D deck, close to the showers; got a robot dog."

Rimmer sighed, and started walking a little faster, hoping Lister would run out of breath, out-of-shape chain-smoker that he was, and just leave him alone. No such luck, it would appear. "That's a very charming little story, Listy, but I have no intention of getting engaged nor purchasing small robotic animals with either of you." He glanced in the direction of the cockpit, where Cat was explaining the intricacies of his latest outfit design to Kryten.The mechanoid had, to Rimmer's annoyance, agreed to take a double shift, allowing the rest of them a night of celebration. "Just what are we celebrating anyway?" Rimmer didn't feel like there was anything worth shouting "hurrah" for on this god-forsaken dingy smeg-hole.

"The fact that I found this bottle of Marijuana Gin," Lister grinned. "Come on Rimmer, man, live a little!"

Rimmer sneered. The little twit seemed to be doing it on purpose. "Maybe I would, if I was actually alive, you gibbering little chipmunk!"

Rather than get upset at this righteous, well delivered insult, Lister, to Rimmer's infinite annoyance, seemed to become even more animatedly cheerful, and started gesturing towards Rimmer's torso. "Well, that's reason to celebrate, ain't it? You've got a body now, haven't ya? A proper one." Lister stuck a semi-gloved finger out to poke Rimmer's arm, but the hologram pulled it away, almost straining a muscle. He stopped, abruptly, turning around; fury oozing from him like the simulated sweat dripping down his brow.

"Did it ever occur to you, Listy, that I might not want to spend time with you because I sodding well don't like you? That I, in fact, try to avoid your sickly optimistic face as much as possible, because I smegging hate everything about you? Do you understand, smeg-for-brains; I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

* * *


"Look, what I want you to understand... And this is verreh, verreh important;" Rimmer slurred, pointing an unsteady finger at Lister's semi-sober face, "is that I really like you, Lister. I really, rlly do!" He swayed closer, as if to give the other man a peck on the cheek, but swayed back again to what appeared to be his surprise. The laws of physics were providing many of them with unexpected surprises at the moment.

"That's nice, man," Lister replied solemnly. He was draped across the folding-table, in the sleeping quarters, trying not to drool. He was only semi-sober compared to Rimmer, who was impossibly drunk, and the Cat, who had fallen asleep after his third shot. At least, that was what Lister had assumed, but when Rimmer's finger moved across the table, the feline, who had been sleeping with his head on Lister's lap, jumped up and tried to take a bite out of it.

"Nice kitty," Rimmer mumbled, petting the Cat on the head. This was greeted with a mellow purr.

Lister watched Rimmer’s hand move back and forwards across the Cat’s head, feeling almost hypnotized. “Y’got lovely hands, y’know,” he mumbled.

“Thank you, thur m’own,” Rimmer said, unnecessarily.

“What I want to know,” said the Cat with impressive diction, “is why do we still have more than half a bottle left?” He raised his head to the level of the table, and squinted at the offending item.

“I recon,” Lister said, “That’s cuz we havn’ drunchkck it yet.”

Rimmer licked his lips, concentrating. “I think,” he said, slowly, “that there might be smthing we c’d do aboutthat.”



* * *


“I tnik Imgoin’ blin’” Lister complained from his vantage point on the table, his head resting wobbily behind the now just one quarter full bottle. He couldn’t see. Everything was just a blurry, vaguely green mess.

“Open yr eyes,” the Cat suggested.

“I have!” Lister rolled uselessly from side to side. The blurriness continued unabated.

“Nuh, t’other one…s.”

Lister concentrated, and opened his other eye. Now Rimmer appeared on one side of what was apparently the gin bottle. When he squinted, the two sort of merged into one, and he giggled, making the table shake. “Ur on t’othersidf tbl,” he observed.

Rimmer nodded sagely. “Yes,” came his eventual answer. For some reason, he seemed to have progressed beyond the realms of slurred speech, and had emerged on the other side, completely eloquent, albeit very, very slow. “I seem to have…. lost my glass… somewhere.” He looked helplessly from side to side, finding nothing. It would probably help if he actually moved his head, he thought, but when he’d tried that he’d almost fallen out of the chair in which he’d carefully propped himself up.

Lister wanted to help solve this problem, but he had other things on his mind. He managed to lift his head from the sticky surface, and swayed it in the direction of the Cat, who was now curled up in the chair between him and Rimmer. “Wy’re u nekd?”

The Cat looked back with an impressively steady gaze. “Why are yuh wearin’ clothes?”

Fumbling around for his own glass, Lister frowned. “Idunno,” he replied, eventually, giving up his search. Oh well; who needed one when you had a mouth? Pleased to have come to this conclusion, he grabbed the bottle, and gulped down a good measure of the pale green liquid.

“Can’t find my glass,” Rimmer said, laboring through the sentence as though he had to construct the vocabulary and grammar from scratch as he went along.

“’s no prblm,” Lister enthused, eager to share his discovery. With tremendous effort, he hobbled over to where Rimmer sat, eyes still searching the room, and poured a fair measure of gin into his own mouth. He hesitated, suddenly. This probably wasn’t the right way to do it, he mused. How would Rimmer get at it now? Suddenly, inspiration struck, and he leaned down towards the hologram, who opened his mouth in slight surprise. Lister opened his own mouth, green gin pouring messily onto Rimmer’s lips and over them, to the combined delight and confusion of the other man. Rimmer swallowed the alcohol, and, driven by several kinds of thirst, rose slightly, and pressed his open mouth against Lister’s.

Thrilled and delighted at the sensations this brought, Lister let Rimmer drain every ounce of liquid still hiding there, his tongue exploring every crevice of Lister’s mouth. Lister broke contact for a moment, pouring a new drink, this time into Rimmer’s mouth. The hologram made incoherent gargling-noises as Lister began to drink from his mouth, his tongue far out-performing Rimmer’s earlier explorations. None of them noticed or cared that the Cat had moved in between them, lapping at the liquid spilling from their faces. When he eventually registered the raw scraping of feline tongue on his cheek, Lister just giggled, and poured more gin into and onto his face.


* * *


Rimmer’s tongue was stained green by the gin, and left a little colored trail as he moved it across Lister’s naked chest. Lister wanted to moan, because it felt beyond incredible, but he found there was something in his mouth. It was rather large, whatever it was, and oddly knobbly. The feeling was not unpleasant, and he prodded it with his tongue as it seemed to slide back and forwards. He moved his hands to get a better grip on Rimmer’s buttocks, and closed his eyes, feeling a surge of thrilling delight building within.


* * *


The lights had been turned off in the little room, and the subtle, quiet movements of shadowy figures on the floor was the only sign of life within. That, and the soft, almost musical sighs, moans and whimpers, steadily increasing in magnitude and strength, reaching, finally, a dramatic crescendo as a single voice rang out;

“Geronimo!”


* * *


The tiny black cylinder flew out of the garbage cannon, and spiraled helplessly into the white hot heart of the sun. The three silent figures in Starbugs cockpit watched it disappear, grimly. They had learned their lesson; with the tracking device and every single piece of the goited black box disintegrated into its component particles, there would be nothing for them to find even if they ever realized what had happened, and went looking for it.

The Cat cleared his throat. “I’ll go re-set the chronometers.” Expecting and getting no acknowledgement from the other two, he skulked out, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“That should be it, then,” Rimmer said, in an eerily calm voice. “Let’s go get our memories erased.” He very pointedly did not look at Lister.

As the hologram turned to the exit, Lister’s hand caught his sleeve. When their eyes met, there was something very much like a prayer in his expressive brown eyes. “Look man…” Unspoken words and repressed memories hung in the air between them in the short space before Lister continued, “we don’t have to erase it all…”

Despite himself, Rimmer smiled, weakly. “Lister, he had his tongue in my…”

“All right, all right!” Lister held up his hands, as if trying to swat the mental images away. He sighed. “I see yer point. Still…” He gave the hologram’s arm a gentle stroke, finishing the sentence with his look.

Rimmer, not knowing what else to do, took Lister’s hand in his, and squeezed it. “I can’t do this,” he mumbled, desperately. “Not like this.”
Squeezing back, Lister flashed Rimmer a version of his cure-all grin. “Don’t worry, man. We’ll find a way back to one another. We’ll find a way.”

And so, hand in hand, they walked into the medi-bay, and sweet oblivion.

Comments

[shaychana.livejournal.com]

i got one word for you:

GERONIMO!

[squiggle-bat.livejournal.com]

Well there goes my breakfast

[kahvi.livejournal.com]

I couldn't not. I just couldn't not. ;)