Fic: If - R/L - R
Title: If
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R (mild)
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. I make no money from this. Otherwise, I'd be rich.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Fits into the timeline of my "Teammates" and roadstergal's "Choice". Which is to say, it's more fun if you've read those, but I think it can stand on its own. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Already shivering from top to bottom in anticipation, Lister steeled himself, and stepped into the ice-cold shower. He couldn’t go on like this, it was ridiculous. They’d run out of water.
Freezing droplets hit his head, meekly, and started to run down his naked back and sides with agonizing slowness. There wasn’t much pressure in the shower to begin with, and he’d reduced it a little every time he’d gone in there, in a futile effort to conserve water. The agony was good though; it took his mind off things, which was the entire reason he was there in the first place. Of course, that line of thinking made him remember what he was supposed to forget, and he groaned helplessly, leaning back against the slick wall, eyes closed.
There were other ways of dealing with his now near-constant horniness, of course. He just didn’t like the idea of any of them. His frequent experiments in novel and interesting means of self-love were getting frustratingly boring, because what precious release he did get from it just wasn’t enough. He’d sworn off AR sex shortly after turning 28, mostly to prove to himself that he could. Besides, Rimmer’s jibes about it were getting tiresome.
Oh smeg, he’d managed to twist his line of thinking round to Rimmer. Well done, Dave. He groaned again, slightly louder this time.
The pipes nureeked and rotutted merrily, supplying the pathetic sprinkling of water Lister had allowed himself access to. He wondered, idly, giving up all hope of distraction now, whether Rimmer could hear him through the thin walls. His room was right next to this one, and smeg knew the pipes made enough noise to wake the dead. He chuckled a little, despite himself. No pun intended, he smiled at the wall. He could vividly imagine the look on the hologram’s face as he twisted and turned, probably cursing Lister in his state of non-sleep. Lister wondered what he slept in now. He’d seemed to favor starched pajamas while alive, but there was nothing like that on the ship. Maybe his bee could generate some for him. Or maybe, Lister swallowed, leaning forwards into the trickle of water, he slept naked now.
Lister put his hands behind his back, and leaned against them in a last-ditch effort to prevent sore genitalia and further calluses on his palms, when he suddenly heard a noise that was not plumbing related. It was a slightly nasal, drawn-out groan, growing in intensity as he listened. Rimmer? No one else could make a sound like that. But what was he doing? Part of Lister knew instinctively, and wanted to jump straight out of the shower and see if there was any ice on this ship that he could stash in his boxers, but instead, he kept listening. The groan gave way to a sort of choked whimpering, and Lister could no longer fool himself into thinking he didn’t know what this was. He pressed one ear against Rimmer’s wall, waiting breathlessly, burning both in shame over what he was doing, and with a lust intensified by those very actions. Presently, he heard a familiar voice;
“God… Yes!”
The words hit some button in Lister’s hind-brain, and he hunched over, the water - such as it was - forgotten, hands darting to his groin of their own accord, falling into the same rhythm as the faint, forced mutterings on the other side of the wall. He must be making noises himself, he reasoned, but with any luck those goited pipes would drown out, or at least disguise them. This was not his proudest moment, he thought, as he felt a climax approaching; imagining Rimmer’s hands reaching, somehow, through the flimsy barrier between them; Rimmer’s hands stroking him; Rimmer’s body pressed against him, not these sodding, dead, cold tiles. The cries that were not his own were coming quicker now, sounding louder, more intense; there was a desperation to them that seemed to crush something inside Lister’s chest, and he let go of his own erection in disgust. This was nothing but degrading for the both of them.
He didn’t wait for the crescendo to come to an end, didn’t even finish himself off; just jumped out of the shower, cold, shivering, wet, and horny to the point of madness. This would not do. This just would not do any more. Rimmer had made it perfectly clear he wasn’t interested, so what the hell was Lister doing carrying on like this? Why couldn’t he let go of that smegging if? If Rimmer would just get over himself, if he’d just come in here, lick the cold wet droplets of Lister’s skin, tell him everything was all right, and… He stood still for a while, a rather lengthy while, willing his aching cock to simmer down and just take it like a man, before rushing into a frenzied search of every inch of the tiny quarters. He had to find that smegging book of AR cheats. Now.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R (mild)
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. I make no money from this. Otherwise, I'd be rich.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Fits into the timeline of my "Teammates" and roadstergal's "Choice". Which is to say, it's more fun if you've read those, but I think it can stand on its own. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Already shivering from top to bottom in anticipation, Lister steeled himself, and stepped into the ice-cold shower. He couldn’t go on like this, it was ridiculous. They’d run out of water.
Freezing droplets hit his head, meekly, and started to run down his naked back and sides with agonizing slowness. There wasn’t much pressure in the shower to begin with, and he’d reduced it a little every time he’d gone in there, in a futile effort to conserve water. The agony was good though; it took his mind off things, which was the entire reason he was there in the first place. Of course, that line of thinking made him remember what he was supposed to forget, and he groaned helplessly, leaning back against the slick wall, eyes closed.
There were other ways of dealing with his now near-constant horniness, of course. He just didn’t like the idea of any of them. His frequent experiments in novel and interesting means of self-love were getting frustratingly boring, because what precious release he did get from it just wasn’t enough. He’d sworn off AR sex shortly after turning 28, mostly to prove to himself that he could. Besides, Rimmer’s jibes about it were getting tiresome.
Oh smeg, he’d managed to twist his line of thinking round to Rimmer. Well done, Dave. He groaned again, slightly louder this time.
The pipes nureeked and rotutted merrily, supplying the pathetic sprinkling of water Lister had allowed himself access to. He wondered, idly, giving up all hope of distraction now, whether Rimmer could hear him through the thin walls. His room was right next to this one, and smeg knew the pipes made enough noise to wake the dead. He chuckled a little, despite himself. No pun intended, he smiled at the wall. He could vividly imagine the look on the hologram’s face as he twisted and turned, probably cursing Lister in his state of non-sleep. Lister wondered what he slept in now. He’d seemed to favor starched pajamas while alive, but there was nothing like that on the ship. Maybe his bee could generate some for him. Or maybe, Lister swallowed, leaning forwards into the trickle of water, he slept naked now.
Lister put his hands behind his back, and leaned against them in a last-ditch effort to prevent sore genitalia and further calluses on his palms, when he suddenly heard a noise that was not plumbing related. It was a slightly nasal, drawn-out groan, growing in intensity as he listened. Rimmer? No one else could make a sound like that. But what was he doing? Part of Lister knew instinctively, and wanted to jump straight out of the shower and see if there was any ice on this ship that he could stash in his boxers, but instead, he kept listening. The groan gave way to a sort of choked whimpering, and Lister could no longer fool himself into thinking he didn’t know what this was. He pressed one ear against Rimmer’s wall, waiting breathlessly, burning both in shame over what he was doing, and with a lust intensified by those very actions. Presently, he heard a familiar voice;
“God… Yes!”
The words hit some button in Lister’s hind-brain, and he hunched over, the water - such as it was - forgotten, hands darting to his groin of their own accord, falling into the same rhythm as the faint, forced mutterings on the other side of the wall. He must be making noises himself, he reasoned, but with any luck those goited pipes would drown out, or at least disguise them. This was not his proudest moment, he thought, as he felt a climax approaching; imagining Rimmer’s hands reaching, somehow, through the flimsy barrier between them; Rimmer’s hands stroking him; Rimmer’s body pressed against him, not these sodding, dead, cold tiles. The cries that were not his own were coming quicker now, sounding louder, more intense; there was a desperation to them that seemed to crush something inside Lister’s chest, and he let go of his own erection in disgust. This was nothing but degrading for the both of them.
He didn’t wait for the crescendo to come to an end, didn’t even finish himself off; just jumped out of the shower, cold, shivering, wet, and horny to the point of madness. This would not do. This just would not do any more. Rimmer had made it perfectly clear he wasn’t interested, so what the hell was Lister doing carrying on like this? Why couldn’t he let go of that smegging if? If Rimmer would just get over himself, if he’d just come in here, lick the cold wet droplets of Lister’s skin, tell him everything was all right, and… He stood still for a while, a rather lengthy while, willing his aching cock to simmer down and just take it like a man, before rushing into a frenzied search of every inch of the tiny quarters. He had to find that smegging book of AR cheats. Now.