Fic: Dinner - R/L, C/Koch (imp) - PG-13
Title: Dinner
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister, Cat/Kochanski implied
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own it, it just makes me happy. Alas, happiness is all it gives me; there's no money in this.
Spoilers: Legion, Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Just a little piece that didn't quite fit into a story roadstergal and I are working on. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
“So tell me something,” Lister said, leaning upwards slightly. “How come you don’t eat anymore?”
There came a grunting, displeased sound from Rimmer, who lifted his head, giving him a pursed-lip, narrow-eyed look. “Listy,” he began, in a voice sounding like he was about to quote three dozen Space-Corps directives to underline his point, “I am currently situated between your legs, licking my way up your inner thighs.” He would, perhaps, have paused to take a breath here, had he needed oxygen for the lungs he didn’t have. As it was, he did so merely for effect. “It seems to me a, shall we say, odd time for you to bring up matters of gastronomy.”
Lister sighed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited; hell, he could probably open bottles with his erection. But he just had the sort of mind that wouldn’t stop being curious, even when in the throes of passion, and the question had been praying on his mind for days. Still, much as he hated to admit it, Rimmer was probably right. Wrong place, definitely wrong time. “Never mind, he said, settling back down. Rimmer could do things with his tongue that even Lister had never imagined was possible. He didn’t have a lot of experience, but Lister just supposed that meant he’d had more time to think about things. His tongue wasn’t as long as Lister’s by a far, but they did say it wasn’t size that mattered, but rather what you did with it. Lister sighed impatiently, turned on even more by this train of thought.
Rimmer, however, had propped himself up on his elbows, rising above Lister just enough to avoid touching him at all. “No, no; by all means! It must have been frightfully important for you to have asked at a time like this; do go on!”
Did he deserve this? Probably. Still, Lister couldn’t help but groan deeply, and bang his head against the pillow, in a frustration fueled more by anger than sexual want. “Come on, Arn…”
There was a slight twitch of Rimmer’s lips, but he remained where he was. “Come on? Come on what? Come on, tell me about your eating habits? Or come on, lick your way up my,” a breathy quality invaded his voice, and he trembled just a little, “gorgeous legs and suck my brains out?”
“Smeghead,” Lister managed, his underwear now under serious stress.
“Language,” Rimmer mumbled, but he licked his lips. Slowly. Very slowly.
“Never should have shagged ya,” Lister fumed, trying to press Rimmer closer to him by hooking his legs around him.
“Yes, well, you did.” There was that shadow of a smile again. “And now you’re stuck with me. He leaned forward, just a little. “And I’m not going anywhere, so ask any question you like.”
Lister folded his arms across his head, and muttered a string of expletives long enough to knit a serious swear-word sweater for those long winter nights out of. He could just barely hear Rimmer giggle - giggle! Through this makeshift shield, and that was the final straw. “Fine!” He sat himself up, leaning against the wall in the alcove, moving his crossed arms to his chest, glaring. “Why don’t you smegging tell me why you don’t smegging eat!”
This seemed to have taken Rimmer a little by surprise, and Lister felt a sense of childish triumph. The hologram frowned, all the teasing and sarcasm drained from his voice. “Well… It’s just inconvenient, really.”
Lister scooted even further up against the wall, his eyebrows moving up and down in incredulity. “Inconvenient?”
“Well… Yes.” There seemed to be a certain apprehension in Rimmer’s eyes, complimenting the annoyed confusion of the rest of his face. “I don’t need to, really. Why bother?” Seeing Lister move further away, he sat back, his clothes reappearing on his upper body almost hesitantly.
“Why…” Lister couldn’t even shake his head, and settled for moving his eyes around, mouth half-open, all sexual activities forgotten. “Rimmer, food isn’t supposed to be convenient! You don’t eat because you have to - “ Rimmer raised his eyebrows at this, about to reply, but Lister trudged on,“- you eat because it tastes good; ‘cause you enjoy it!” Warming to his subject, he reached for his trousers, which were bunched somewhere around his left leg, and pulled them up resolutely.
Looking bewildered, Rimmer moved to give him the room to do so. Not for the first time, Lister wished he could read that face; know which one of those familiar expression signaled which emotion or mood. Right now there was a hint of a smile on the hologram’s lips, but it did not reach his eyes. Some obscure facial muscles were twitching, making the lower part of his nose do odd things, and those unsmiling eyes were cast in a direction somewhere between the floor and the door to their once-again shared quarters. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but closed it again rather abruptly, moving around to sit facing outward towards the room.
“I mean, what about drink? What about lager, or that stupid tea yer always drinkin’, ya do that still, I’ve seen ya!”
The smile made a little dance on Rimmer’s lips as he turned his head slightly. “I like tea.”
“Well, we don’t need to drink that, none of us; I can get by on water, and you don’t need anything at all, so why do we?” Lister tossed his braids behind his back and jumped off the bunk and doing up his trousers in the same fluid movement. He turned towards the still-seated Rimmer, who was looking up at him again with that incomprehensible stare. Sighing, Lister hunkered down and rested his arms on Rimmer’s thighs, meeting his gaze. “Food, drink; it’s part of what makes the difference between livin’ and just existing, ya know.” But in Rimmer’s eyes there was no answer, and Lister got to his feet again, snorting.
“Where are you going?” The slightly nasal voice was flat, even.
“Dinner,” Lister said, making a point of it. He flashed Rimmer a quick grin before sauntering out the door, and after a few seconds contemplation, Rimmer followed him.
“We have to tell them at some point,” Lister hissed, as the two of them neared the mid-section table.
Rimmer winced. “Shout that out a little louder, why don’t you, I don’t think they heard you back on Earth,” he hissed back.
Lister let out a quiet chuckle, then sat down at the table, looking around eagerly. “Hey Krytes, how’s dinner coming?”
The mechanoid was bustling to and fro, obviously taking great pleasure in his actions. “Oh, Mr. Lister, it’s going to be absolutely exquisite! I managed to find that crate of chilies we thought had been lost in the fire last week.” He stopped for a moment, leaning down conspiratorially. “Curry night is back on!”
This resulted in a synchronized display of exuberant joy and depressed resignation from Lister and Rimmer respectively. Rimmer, shoulders down, slumped down in the chair next to Lister, placing his elbows firmly on the table, his head in his hands. A deep sigh emerged from somewhere within him, like a geyser erupting for the first time in centuries. “Wonderful,” he groused.
Lister rubbed his hands together, eyes locked on Kryten’s retreating back as the mechanoid returned to the kitchen to make the final preparations. “Where’s Kris and the Cat,” he yelled after him.
“I’m afraid to say I think they were rather upset by the idea of tonight’s repast,” Kryten replied apologetically. “In fact, they both disappeared into Ms. Kochanski’s quarters looking slightly flustered some time after my announcement of tonight’s menu.” He paused, head peeking back through the door. “I do hope they’re not plotting mutiny.”
Lister tried to exchange a look with Rimmer, but was met only with a blank stare, and Lister rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like he was the only person who knew what was going on around here. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Kryten,” he grinned, grabbing the fork already laid out in front of him, and started turning it round and round in his hands, impatiently. With Kryten out of the way for a precious moment, he risked reaching out quickly, grabbing Rimmer’s hand resting on the table with his own and giving it a quick squeeze. When Rimmer glared at him in return, he just smiled, and blew him an exaggerated kiss.
As Kryten returned carrying an elaborate tray and several cans of lager, Lister couldn’t help but let out a small whoop of triumph and glee. “Yer the man, Krytes, I’m tellin’ ya,” he enthused, grabbing the tray before the mechanoid could even put it down, and started digging in.
Kryten smiled like a proud mother on her child’s first day of school. “Oh, Mr. Lister, I’m so glad you’re eating well again.” There came a quick sniffle, which made Rimmer look up questioningly.
“He didn’t eat well?”
Kryten shook his head, his eyes not leaving the oblivious Lister, who was now lost in the enjoyment of his favorite dish. “Poor Mr. Lister went into rather of a funk shortly after we thought you had died, Sir. He was really quite confused.” With that, he shot Rimmer a rather puzzled look the latter did not understand, then went on. “And ever since then he just hasn’t taken the same pleasure in his food. Oh, it was all right for a while in prison, but then, well…” A sad look crossed his face, but quickly faded as Lister broke off a piece of poppadum and started scooping up excess sauce that had splattered off the side of the tray from the table. “He’s fine now though; has been ever since…” His voice faded. He looked towards Rimmer again, the ridges where his eyebrows should be rising high above his horrified eyes. He desperately tried to bite his lip (an impossible task, given that he had no teeth), and squealed; “I’ll be in the kitchen,” in unnaturally high tones, rushing off.
Rimmer looked at Kryten’s retreating back thoughtfully. He turned towards Lister, who was now trying to lick sauce off the far side of his cheek with his tongue. A small shudder went through him as Lister managed to do so quite easily, but the look on Rimmer’s face was not one of disgust.
A forkful of rice and curry-drenched mutton half-way to his mouth, Lister noticed he was being observed. He closed his mouth, feeling just a little silly. Rimmer looking at him like that made him want to hurry this meal on so they could get back to what he’d so stupidly interrupted earlier. Not that he wasn’t enjoying himself right now. “What?”
The smile which had been wandering aimlessly around Rimmer’s lips finally managed to sneak its way into his eyes, where it seemed to grow into something Lister had never seen before. The smiling lips were licked rather deliberately by a pink, darting tongue, before parting, to ask; “May I have some of that?”
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister, Cat/Kochanski implied
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own it, it just makes me happy. Alas, happiness is all it gives me; there's no money in this.
Spoilers: Legion, Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Just a little piece that didn't quite fit into a story roadstergal and I are working on. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
“So tell me something,” Lister said, leaning upwards slightly. “How come you don’t eat anymore?”
There came a grunting, displeased sound from Rimmer, who lifted his head, giving him a pursed-lip, narrow-eyed look. “Listy,” he began, in a voice sounding like he was about to quote three dozen Space-Corps directives to underline his point, “I am currently situated between your legs, licking my way up your inner thighs.” He would, perhaps, have paused to take a breath here, had he needed oxygen for the lungs he didn’t have. As it was, he did so merely for effect. “It seems to me a, shall we say, odd time for you to bring up matters of gastronomy.”
Lister sighed. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited; hell, he could probably open bottles with his erection. But he just had the sort of mind that wouldn’t stop being curious, even when in the throes of passion, and the question had been praying on his mind for days. Still, much as he hated to admit it, Rimmer was probably right. Wrong place, definitely wrong time. “Never mind, he said, settling back down. Rimmer could do things with his tongue that even Lister had never imagined was possible. He didn’t have a lot of experience, but Lister just supposed that meant he’d had more time to think about things. His tongue wasn’t as long as Lister’s by a far, but they did say it wasn’t size that mattered, but rather what you did with it. Lister sighed impatiently, turned on even more by this train of thought.
Rimmer, however, had propped himself up on his elbows, rising above Lister just enough to avoid touching him at all. “No, no; by all means! It must have been frightfully important for you to have asked at a time like this; do go on!”
Did he deserve this? Probably. Still, Lister couldn’t help but groan deeply, and bang his head against the pillow, in a frustration fueled more by anger than sexual want. “Come on, Arn…”
There was a slight twitch of Rimmer’s lips, but he remained where he was. “Come on? Come on what? Come on, tell me about your eating habits? Or come on, lick your way up my,” a breathy quality invaded his voice, and he trembled just a little, “gorgeous legs and suck my brains out?”
“Smeghead,” Lister managed, his underwear now under serious stress.
“Language,” Rimmer mumbled, but he licked his lips. Slowly. Very slowly.
“Never should have shagged ya,” Lister fumed, trying to press Rimmer closer to him by hooking his legs around him.
“Yes, well, you did.” There was that shadow of a smile again. “And now you’re stuck with me. He leaned forward, just a little. “And I’m not going anywhere, so ask any question you like.”
Lister folded his arms across his head, and muttered a string of expletives long enough to knit a serious swear-word sweater for those long winter nights out of. He could just barely hear Rimmer giggle - giggle! Through this makeshift shield, and that was the final straw. “Fine!” He sat himself up, leaning against the wall in the alcove, moving his crossed arms to his chest, glaring. “Why don’t you smegging tell me why you don’t smegging eat!”
This seemed to have taken Rimmer a little by surprise, and Lister felt a sense of childish triumph. The hologram frowned, all the teasing and sarcasm drained from his voice. “Well… It’s just inconvenient, really.”
Lister scooted even further up against the wall, his eyebrows moving up and down in incredulity. “Inconvenient?”
“Well… Yes.” There seemed to be a certain apprehension in Rimmer’s eyes, complimenting the annoyed confusion of the rest of his face. “I don’t need to, really. Why bother?” Seeing Lister move further away, he sat back, his clothes reappearing on his upper body almost hesitantly.
“Why…” Lister couldn’t even shake his head, and settled for moving his eyes around, mouth half-open, all sexual activities forgotten. “Rimmer, food isn’t supposed to be convenient! You don’t eat because you have to - “ Rimmer raised his eyebrows at this, about to reply, but Lister trudged on,“- you eat because it tastes good; ‘cause you enjoy it!” Warming to his subject, he reached for his trousers, which were bunched somewhere around his left leg, and pulled them up resolutely.
Looking bewildered, Rimmer moved to give him the room to do so. Not for the first time, Lister wished he could read that face; know which one of those familiar expression signaled which emotion or mood. Right now there was a hint of a smile on the hologram’s lips, but it did not reach his eyes. Some obscure facial muscles were twitching, making the lower part of his nose do odd things, and those unsmiling eyes were cast in a direction somewhere between the floor and the door to their once-again shared quarters. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but closed it again rather abruptly, moving around to sit facing outward towards the room.
“I mean, what about drink? What about lager, or that stupid tea yer always drinkin’, ya do that still, I’ve seen ya!”
The smile made a little dance on Rimmer’s lips as he turned his head slightly. “I like tea.”
“Well, we don’t need to drink that, none of us; I can get by on water, and you don’t need anything at all, so why do we?” Lister tossed his braids behind his back and jumped off the bunk and doing up his trousers in the same fluid movement. He turned towards the still-seated Rimmer, who was looking up at him again with that incomprehensible stare. Sighing, Lister hunkered down and rested his arms on Rimmer’s thighs, meeting his gaze. “Food, drink; it’s part of what makes the difference between livin’ and just existing, ya know.” But in Rimmer’s eyes there was no answer, and Lister got to his feet again, snorting.
“Where are you going?” The slightly nasal voice was flat, even.
“Dinner,” Lister said, making a point of it. He flashed Rimmer a quick grin before sauntering out the door, and after a few seconds contemplation, Rimmer followed him.
“We have to tell them at some point,” Lister hissed, as the two of them neared the mid-section table.
Rimmer winced. “Shout that out a little louder, why don’t you, I don’t think they heard you back on Earth,” he hissed back.
Lister let out a quiet chuckle, then sat down at the table, looking around eagerly. “Hey Krytes, how’s dinner coming?”
The mechanoid was bustling to and fro, obviously taking great pleasure in his actions. “Oh, Mr. Lister, it’s going to be absolutely exquisite! I managed to find that crate of chilies we thought had been lost in the fire last week.” He stopped for a moment, leaning down conspiratorially. “Curry night is back on!”
This resulted in a synchronized display of exuberant joy and depressed resignation from Lister and Rimmer respectively. Rimmer, shoulders down, slumped down in the chair next to Lister, placing his elbows firmly on the table, his head in his hands. A deep sigh emerged from somewhere within him, like a geyser erupting for the first time in centuries. “Wonderful,” he groused.
Lister rubbed his hands together, eyes locked on Kryten’s retreating back as the mechanoid returned to the kitchen to make the final preparations. “Where’s Kris and the Cat,” he yelled after him.
“I’m afraid to say I think they were rather upset by the idea of tonight’s repast,” Kryten replied apologetically. “In fact, they both disappeared into Ms. Kochanski’s quarters looking slightly flustered some time after my announcement of tonight’s menu.” He paused, head peeking back through the door. “I do hope they’re not plotting mutiny.”
Lister tried to exchange a look with Rimmer, but was met only with a blank stare, and Lister rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like he was the only person who knew what was going on around here. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Kryten,” he grinned, grabbing the fork already laid out in front of him, and started turning it round and round in his hands, impatiently. With Kryten out of the way for a precious moment, he risked reaching out quickly, grabbing Rimmer’s hand resting on the table with his own and giving it a quick squeeze. When Rimmer glared at him in return, he just smiled, and blew him an exaggerated kiss.
As Kryten returned carrying an elaborate tray and several cans of lager, Lister couldn’t help but let out a small whoop of triumph and glee. “Yer the man, Krytes, I’m tellin’ ya,” he enthused, grabbing the tray before the mechanoid could even put it down, and started digging in.
Kryten smiled like a proud mother on her child’s first day of school. “Oh, Mr. Lister, I’m so glad you’re eating well again.” There came a quick sniffle, which made Rimmer look up questioningly.
“He didn’t eat well?”
Kryten shook his head, his eyes not leaving the oblivious Lister, who was now lost in the enjoyment of his favorite dish. “Poor Mr. Lister went into rather of a funk shortly after we thought you had died, Sir. He was really quite confused.” With that, he shot Rimmer a rather puzzled look the latter did not understand, then went on. “And ever since then he just hasn’t taken the same pleasure in his food. Oh, it was all right for a while in prison, but then, well…” A sad look crossed his face, but quickly faded as Lister broke off a piece of poppadum and started scooping up excess sauce that had splattered off the side of the tray from the table. “He’s fine now though; has been ever since…” His voice faded. He looked towards Rimmer again, the ridges where his eyebrows should be rising high above his horrified eyes. He desperately tried to bite his lip (an impossible task, given that he had no teeth), and squealed; “I’ll be in the kitchen,” in unnaturally high tones, rushing off.
Rimmer looked at Kryten’s retreating back thoughtfully. He turned towards Lister, who was now trying to lick sauce off the far side of his cheek with his tongue. A small shudder went through him as Lister managed to do so quite easily, but the look on Rimmer’s face was not one of disgust.
A forkful of rice and curry-drenched mutton half-way to his mouth, Lister noticed he was being observed. He closed his mouth, feeling just a little silly. Rimmer looking at him like that made him want to hurry this meal on so they could get back to what he’d so stupidly interrupted earlier. Not that he wasn’t enjoying himself right now. “What?”
The smile which had been wandering aimlessly around Rimmer’s lips finally managed to sneak its way into his eyes, where it seemed to grow into something Lister had never seen before. The smiling lips were licked rather deliberately by a pink, darting tongue, before parting, to ask; “May I have some of that?”