Fic: Choices - R/L - R
Title: Choices
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I doubt very much that I will get the rights to Red Dwarf in my Easter egg. And I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Bodyswap.
Notes: A prequel to roadstergal's Green. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
A fortnight. Fourteen days, and no - as Lister had so eloquently put it - welshin'. Easy. As easy as those goits at the career advisory office had claimed the first level astronavigation exam was. And all he had to do was get Lister's body fit! Rimmer could do that with his eyes closed, which he suspected he would have to quite often anyway. There was no way, for example, that he was willing to look at this body naked. He'd have to shower blindfolded. Perhaps he could get away with not showering at all? He sniffed an armpit gingerly, and recoiled in disgust. No. That was not an option.
Rimmer had never understood why people found it so hard to keep fit. All he did was go for a light run now and then and do the odd sit-up, and he'd never gained any weight. Granted, he hadn't built up a lot of muscle mass either, but he had always meant to start doing weights at some point. It wasn't like it was hard to stay in shape. Take Lister, for example. Yes, Rimmer had gone on about how pudgy he was getting, but that had been a ruse to get him to agree to give up his body. In actual fact, he didn't look that bad at all, and when you considered the fact that the man slept all day and spent his nights drinking and smoking while eating and watching junk... well, it boggled Rimmer's mind to think of what a person would have to do in order to get really fat. What did fat people do; sit around all day washing down cream buns with eggnog? Well, no matter. Rimmer was going to get Lister's body in a shape like he'd never seen before, and Lister, awestruck and thankful, would beg Rimmer to do it again. And again. It would be like time-share. He had it made.
Getting this body toned up would be easy. It was smaller than his own, so it seemed logical to Rimmer that it would take less effort to maintain it. He'd start each day with a run, then work out for a while, and that would be all that was needed, assuming he watched what he ate, and didn't go overboard with alcohol. That would hardly be a problem. Rimmer had never been much of a drinker, and food didn't really interest him. He enjoyed it fine, but he would easily forget to eat unless prompted to do so, and never really snacked. He just didn't understand the appeal. Yes, there would be plenty of time for other things. A multitude of choices, and Rimmer had some very specific activities in mind... He was a man, after all; a masculine, sexually potent man, who had been forced to satisfy himself in thoroughly unsatisfying ways these last few years. And even just walking around he could feel the difference in how a real body responded to touch and stimuli. So many choices... he would have to set up a schedule. Late afternoon: Masturbation until his hands cramped up. Early evening: Recuperation. Light supper. Late evening: Date with Rachel. Tomorrow he would have to see how the AR games felt when he had a real body for their peripherals to stimulate.
Grinning - which felt strange now; the smile didn't seem to stop where his brain insisted the boundaries of his face were - Rimmer headed towards the nearest men's room. First things first, unfortunately. One of the disadvantages to having a physical body, but it was a price he was happy to pay. Yes, he thought, opening the door - even that action thrilling after years of intangibility, it would be a glorious two weeks. Walking gingerly over to the urinals, Rimmer turned towards the mirror... and froze. “Shit,” he hissed at the mocking image staring back at him; a too-wide face with gerbil-like cheeks and a ridiculously tiny nose, the wings of which were now twitching impotently. He really hadn't thought this all the way through, had he? Oh, certainly, he would rather have Lister's body than none at all, but smeg it all to hell, it was Lister's body! Oddly proportioned, with the face of a gawping idiot, its hands having been smeg knows where; what was he expected to do with all this? How was he going to manage anything at all without constantly nauseating himself? He was going to have to devote a full evening just to clean it up before anything else. There was no way he was touching any part of Lister without disinfecting it first. And yet... blast! The insistent pressure in Lister's bladder told him he would have to find a way to empty that first of all. But how? He could hardly be expected to touch... dear god, he couldn't even finish that line of thought!
Mercifully, an idea struck. Rushing out of the men's room, Rimmer headed straight for the research lab two corridors down from the medi-bay. He had been there once or twice when he first signed on; all the recruits were sent to clean up the messy chemical and biological wastes a couple of times, just so they could get a proper appreciation of their position on the ship. All it had done for Rimmer was make him crave that promotion even more. It had also, however, left him with the knowledge of where the safety equipment for handling hazardous materials was stored. He practically ran to the locker and rummaged through the contents. Dammit! All he could find was a pair of sturdy rubber gloves. That was far from enough. In a rising panic, he grabbed a pair of tongs from a nearby table, and tried to think. He'd need some sort of blind-fold. Of course! He tried to snap his fingers, but they were the wrong shape and size, and merely rubbed against one another unimpressively. There were sleeping masks in the medi-bay! Gathering his collected items up, Rimmer went off in a rush.
Some time later, he was back at the urinal, calmly preparing himself. He tried to hum in a suitably carefree manner, as if to impress upon himself just how unaffected he was by all this. Gloves on, like so. Slightly comforted by this, Rimmer realized he was still wearing that ridiculous hat. Off with that. He would have to see to the rest of his wardrobe later. Next, the blindfold. There was no need for him to see more of Lister than absolutely necessary. There. He felt much better already. If he stood perfectly still, he could almost pretend he was back in his own body; his real one, before the accident. No time for that, however. Working quickly, humming like he was training for the annual all-ship humming championship, Rimmer reached into his back pockets for the tongs, then unzipped those grotty pants in front. He tried to distract himself with the logistics of the situation; how to get the.... the... well, the penis out through a narrow fly using thongs and massive protective gloves. It didn't help that Lister's hands were so huge and blunt-fingered that Rimmer felt like he was wearing cricket gloves just using them normally. Yes, think about that; the man's misshapen hands and disgusting body. There was no need for Rimmer to speculate on other parts of Lister's anatomy, despite the curiosity he felt prodding at the back of his mind. After all, there were those macho leathers and all the beer and cigarettes; the topless boxing vids; the man had to be compensating for something. Yes, Rimmer thought as he tried to maneuver the tongs through the open fly, it was probably small, sad and shriveled. Nothing that could ever arouse anyone. Why even the thought of Lister and arousal was... he swallowed. Finally, the tongs caught a hold of something. Rimmer stopped humming. This wasn't right. This was very, very not right. Tearing the sleeping-mask off, Rimmer looked down at the thing in his grasp.
He kept looking. And kept looking, in case the sight might go away if he just kept at it. But no. It was a fairly impressive specimen, much longer and thicker than his own, but Rimmer could deal with that. What worried him to the point of complete mental breakdown, however, was the fact Lister's body had a solid, hefty erection.
It took Rimmer several hours to calm Lister's body to the point where he could actually pee without spraying down the walls of the urinal. The erection would not subside completely, however, stubbornly remaining just hard enough to make itself noticed. Did Lister always have a hard-on? That would certainly explain a few things. Nevertheless, the incident had brought Rimmer to his senses. He had expected to wank in this body? By god, it would be like having sex with Lister, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, now he found himself dangerously horny. He had no idea why. It must be the anticipation; he'd worked himself up thinking about what he could possibly do now that he was corporeal. Yes, that had to be it. The problem was, he had no willpower. No matter how disgusted he was by it, the first time he got the chance, he would pull down his trousers, grab that gargantuan member and stroke it to orgasm until he collapsed. He just knew he would, and then he would hate himself afterwards. He didn't want to leave the men's room. He was afraid to. Anything could happen out there. Of course, as it slowly dawned on him, anything could happen in here too. In an effort to disgust himself, Rimmer turned towards the mirror and tried to screw Lister's face up into one of those inane grins. It didn't work; he had no idea how to work these facial muscles, and the result was a sad parody of his own vulture-like grimace. Worse than that, seeing those eyes look back at him without scorn or annoyance or indifference, but with fascination... that was oddly appealing. And before he knew it, the top button was unbuttoned on the fly of Lister's trousers, the zipper slowly unzipping as he stared into a face that was not his own, and saw desire. That was too much.
Gasping, Rimmer pressed his face against the cold, clammy mirror, one shaking hand trying to stroke Lister's cock through his underpants. “Yes,” he groaned, pushing a hand inside, nearly convulsing at the feel of skin against skin. Rimmer knew the kind of bacteria build-up there would be on the bathroom mirrors, and he didn't want to speculate what would happen to it after three million years, but nevertheless, he stuck out his tongue and licked at it, desperately. The cock in his hand was warm, throbbing slightly, and very, very hard. Rimmer squeezed it, whimpering. Both it and the hand touching it felt so unfamiliar, as did the sensations the touch elicited; it was like someone else was stroking him. Someone else... With a choke, his eyes widened. What was he doing? Staggering backwards, he held his trousers together with one hand, and ran from the room.
Rimmer was losing it. There was no way he was going to let that happen again, but it would, it would! He needed something to distract himself; something that could serve as a substitute. But what on Io could that be? His cock - had to think of it as his, that would help, surely that would help - was aching, protesting the interruption of the treatment it had just been given, and Rimmer didn't know what to do. Running was difficult; he didn't seem to have the same stamina he was used to, and his legs kept moving in odd ways. His feet hit the ground all wrong, and there was an odd sort of pain in his left knee. All of this left him unaware of where he was going, and when the smell of food slammed into his brain suddenly, he was quite unprepared. It was... it was delicious! That word took on a new and unexpected meaning in Rimmer's mind. Abruptly, he was... not really hungry, but craving food. That made no sense at all; why would he want food if he wasn't hungry? It had to be Lister's brain, he reasoned. Rimmer's mind was in Lister's body, yes, but it was occupying Lister's physical brain, and that brain had an entirely different reaction to this smell than the one Rimmer was used to being in. Lister's brain wanted to eat, and Lister's body wholeheartedly agreed, leaving Rimmer's mind scratching itself confusedly in a corner. And then it hit him - he was no longer thinking about having sex with himself. The moment that thought hit, of course, the image of Lister's throbbing cock was back, but it didn't matter; he had found an out. “Kryten,” he yelled at the top of his voice, cringing at the sound it made coming out, “how many potatoes do you have at hand?”
With the prospect of the food to distract him, even the shower went surprisingly well. Of course, there Rimmer was also helped by the fact that Lister seemed to consider only select parts of his body worthy of cleaning. Other areas, like between his toes, behind his ears and underneath his fingernails, was Terra Incognita as far as soap and water was concerned. It was hard to become aroused by a body when you saw the sort of things that had collected in its navel. Nevertheless, Rimmer had done what he could, before proceeding to bury his face, quite literally, in the feast that had been prepared for him. It was indescribable. Rimmer had been used to eating holo-foods for several years now, but that only partially explained the pure ecstasy his senses were experiencing. Was it always like this for Lister? It would certainly explain the way the man ate. Even as he enjoyed himself, a note of worry made itself known at the back of his mind. Yes, he'd brushed Lister off when he commented on the feeding-frenzy, but the man did have a point. If he kept going like this, Lister's body would increase in size, and not in a good, manly, muscle-y way either. Then again... He glanced up at Lister, sitting there in his body, forcing his face into the most ridiculous inane expressions, no doubt sniggering every time he went to the bathroom and saw what he had been given in trade. That image of Lister, in his body, holding his penis, looking at it with curiosity, perhaps beginning to stroke it very gently... Rimmer realized he was staring, and turned back to his meal in a light panic. More food. He needed more distractions - now!
In retrospect, Rimmer mused, sulking in the corner of the medi-bay, it had perhaps been inevitable. Putting his mind in Lister's body - what insanity! And not just once; again and again! He hated to admit it, but Lister had been right; he'd gone off the deep end. Those odd, unnatural desires he'd been having - a product of his mind's unnatural position in that bum's grotty brain, no doubt. Lister probably masturbated all the time, unlike Rimmer, who only did it at night, with the lights off and his sock in his mouth to keep Lister from hearing him moan. That's what Rimmer had felt the echoes off, no doubt; that constant desire to abuse his grossly over-sized member. Yes, he'd gone well and truly bonkers. The cigars should have been a dead giveaway. Rimmer hated smoking almost as much as he hated smokers themselves, with their lack of regard for their own health and those of others. But of course, Lister's body smoked all the time, and it had forced Rimmer to lie around for a good number of unproductive hours, just sucking on those long, foul oblongs, and finding it actually pleasant. Not just pleasant, but oddly satisfying, like an evening of excellent scheduling. It was positively perverse! Well, Rimmer was glad to be rid of all that. It was a pity to lose that corporeal body though. Despite everything, that had been like paradise. If only there was a way for him to have a body that wasn't Lister's! It only there was someone else... As the metaphorical cogwheels of his mind turned, Rimmer burst into a particularly vulture-like grin.
This was perfect. In Cat's body, Rimmer was freed from the constant desire to fondle himself, while having the full benefits of a physical body. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was a little odd being in what was essentially an alien body, but it was no more strange than being in Lister's, which was, as far as Rimmer was concerned, more or less an alien himself. A not terribly evolved one, at that. This body was a pleasure to be in. Its senses were sharp, clear, always alert. It was athletic and clean, and there were no odd aches and pains. And since there was no reason for him to over-indulge in eating now, he would be able to return it in pristine condition. Well done Rimsy, he congratulated himself. Swaggering just a little, he headed towards his and Lister's shared quarters to gloat... when he caught a glimpse of Lister sitting in his bunk, bruised and miserable. He had complained about being fat, but seeing him now, Rimmer couldn't even notice the extra pounds. Even hunched over, brooding and frowning, with a huge bandage across his head, Lister looked very... Very. And it occurred to Rimmer that right now, he was in a physical body that was not Lister's, which meant he could go over, just like that, and touch the man. He could... he could...
With an unfamiliar heart in his throat, Rimmer turned about quickly, and ran to the kitchens.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I doubt very much that I will get the rights to Red Dwarf in my Easter egg. And I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Bodyswap.
Notes: A prequel to roadstergal's Green. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
A fortnight. Fourteen days, and no - as Lister had so eloquently put it - welshin'. Easy. As easy as those goits at the career advisory office had claimed the first level astronavigation exam was. And all he had to do was get Lister's body fit! Rimmer could do that with his eyes closed, which he suspected he would have to quite often anyway. There was no way, for example, that he was willing to look at this body naked. He'd have to shower blindfolded. Perhaps he could get away with not showering at all? He sniffed an armpit gingerly, and recoiled in disgust. No. That was not an option.
Rimmer had never understood why people found it so hard to keep fit. All he did was go for a light run now and then and do the odd sit-up, and he'd never gained any weight. Granted, he hadn't built up a lot of muscle mass either, but he had always meant to start doing weights at some point. It wasn't like it was hard to stay in shape. Take Lister, for example. Yes, Rimmer had gone on about how pudgy he was getting, but that had been a ruse to get him to agree to give up his body. In actual fact, he didn't look that bad at all, and when you considered the fact that the man slept all day and spent his nights drinking and smoking while eating and watching junk... well, it boggled Rimmer's mind to think of what a person would have to do in order to get really fat. What did fat people do; sit around all day washing down cream buns with eggnog? Well, no matter. Rimmer was going to get Lister's body in a shape like he'd never seen before, and Lister, awestruck and thankful, would beg Rimmer to do it again. And again. It would be like time-share. He had it made.
Getting this body toned up would be easy. It was smaller than his own, so it seemed logical to Rimmer that it would take less effort to maintain it. He'd start each day with a run, then work out for a while, and that would be all that was needed, assuming he watched what he ate, and didn't go overboard with alcohol. That would hardly be a problem. Rimmer had never been much of a drinker, and food didn't really interest him. He enjoyed it fine, but he would easily forget to eat unless prompted to do so, and never really snacked. He just didn't understand the appeal. Yes, there would be plenty of time for other things. A multitude of choices, and Rimmer had some very specific activities in mind... He was a man, after all; a masculine, sexually potent man, who had been forced to satisfy himself in thoroughly unsatisfying ways these last few years. And even just walking around he could feel the difference in how a real body responded to touch and stimuli. So many choices... he would have to set up a schedule. Late afternoon: Masturbation until his hands cramped up. Early evening: Recuperation. Light supper. Late evening: Date with Rachel. Tomorrow he would have to see how the AR games felt when he had a real body for their peripherals to stimulate.
Grinning - which felt strange now; the smile didn't seem to stop where his brain insisted the boundaries of his face were - Rimmer headed towards the nearest men's room. First things first, unfortunately. One of the disadvantages to having a physical body, but it was a price he was happy to pay. Yes, he thought, opening the door - even that action thrilling after years of intangibility, it would be a glorious two weeks. Walking gingerly over to the urinals, Rimmer turned towards the mirror... and froze. “Shit,” he hissed at the mocking image staring back at him; a too-wide face with gerbil-like cheeks and a ridiculously tiny nose, the wings of which were now twitching impotently. He really hadn't thought this all the way through, had he? Oh, certainly, he would rather have Lister's body than none at all, but smeg it all to hell, it was Lister's body! Oddly proportioned, with the face of a gawping idiot, its hands having been smeg knows where; what was he expected to do with all this? How was he going to manage anything at all without constantly nauseating himself? He was going to have to devote a full evening just to clean it up before anything else. There was no way he was touching any part of Lister without disinfecting it first. And yet... blast! The insistent pressure in Lister's bladder told him he would have to find a way to empty that first of all. But how? He could hardly be expected to touch... dear god, he couldn't even finish that line of thought!
Mercifully, an idea struck. Rushing out of the men's room, Rimmer headed straight for the research lab two corridors down from the medi-bay. He had been there once or twice when he first signed on; all the recruits were sent to clean up the messy chemical and biological wastes a couple of times, just so they could get a proper appreciation of their position on the ship. All it had done for Rimmer was make him crave that promotion even more. It had also, however, left him with the knowledge of where the safety equipment for handling hazardous materials was stored. He practically ran to the locker and rummaged through the contents. Dammit! All he could find was a pair of sturdy rubber gloves. That was far from enough. In a rising panic, he grabbed a pair of tongs from a nearby table, and tried to think. He'd need some sort of blind-fold. Of course! He tried to snap his fingers, but they were the wrong shape and size, and merely rubbed against one another unimpressively. There were sleeping masks in the medi-bay! Gathering his collected items up, Rimmer went off in a rush.
Some time later, he was back at the urinal, calmly preparing himself. He tried to hum in a suitably carefree manner, as if to impress upon himself just how unaffected he was by all this. Gloves on, like so. Slightly comforted by this, Rimmer realized he was still wearing that ridiculous hat. Off with that. He would have to see to the rest of his wardrobe later. Next, the blindfold. There was no need for him to see more of Lister than absolutely necessary. There. He felt much better already. If he stood perfectly still, he could almost pretend he was back in his own body; his real one, before the accident. No time for that, however. Working quickly, humming like he was training for the annual all-ship humming championship, Rimmer reached into his back pockets for the tongs, then unzipped those grotty pants in front. He tried to distract himself with the logistics of the situation; how to get the.... the... well, the penis out through a narrow fly using thongs and massive protective gloves. It didn't help that Lister's hands were so huge and blunt-fingered that Rimmer felt like he was wearing cricket gloves just using them normally. Yes, think about that; the man's misshapen hands and disgusting body. There was no need for Rimmer to speculate on other parts of Lister's anatomy, despite the curiosity he felt prodding at the back of his mind. After all, there were those macho leathers and all the beer and cigarettes; the topless boxing vids; the man had to be compensating for something. Yes, Rimmer thought as he tried to maneuver the tongs through the open fly, it was probably small, sad and shriveled. Nothing that could ever arouse anyone. Why even the thought of Lister and arousal was... he swallowed. Finally, the tongs caught a hold of something. Rimmer stopped humming. This wasn't right. This was very, very not right. Tearing the sleeping-mask off, Rimmer looked down at the thing in his grasp.
He kept looking. And kept looking, in case the sight might go away if he just kept at it. But no. It was a fairly impressive specimen, much longer and thicker than his own, but Rimmer could deal with that. What worried him to the point of complete mental breakdown, however, was the fact Lister's body had a solid, hefty erection.
It took Rimmer several hours to calm Lister's body to the point where he could actually pee without spraying down the walls of the urinal. The erection would not subside completely, however, stubbornly remaining just hard enough to make itself noticed. Did Lister always have a hard-on? That would certainly explain a few things. Nevertheless, the incident had brought Rimmer to his senses. He had expected to wank in this body? By god, it would be like having sex with Lister, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, now he found himself dangerously horny. He had no idea why. It must be the anticipation; he'd worked himself up thinking about what he could possibly do now that he was corporeal. Yes, that had to be it. The problem was, he had no willpower. No matter how disgusted he was by it, the first time he got the chance, he would pull down his trousers, grab that gargantuan member and stroke it to orgasm until he collapsed. He just knew he would, and then he would hate himself afterwards. He didn't want to leave the men's room. He was afraid to. Anything could happen out there. Of course, as it slowly dawned on him, anything could happen in here too. In an effort to disgust himself, Rimmer turned towards the mirror and tried to screw Lister's face up into one of those inane grins. It didn't work; he had no idea how to work these facial muscles, and the result was a sad parody of his own vulture-like grimace. Worse than that, seeing those eyes look back at him without scorn or annoyance or indifference, but with fascination... that was oddly appealing. And before he knew it, the top button was unbuttoned on the fly of Lister's trousers, the zipper slowly unzipping as he stared into a face that was not his own, and saw desire. That was too much.
Gasping, Rimmer pressed his face against the cold, clammy mirror, one shaking hand trying to stroke Lister's cock through his underpants. “Yes,” he groaned, pushing a hand inside, nearly convulsing at the feel of skin against skin. Rimmer knew the kind of bacteria build-up there would be on the bathroom mirrors, and he didn't want to speculate what would happen to it after three million years, but nevertheless, he stuck out his tongue and licked at it, desperately. The cock in his hand was warm, throbbing slightly, and very, very hard. Rimmer squeezed it, whimpering. Both it and the hand touching it felt so unfamiliar, as did the sensations the touch elicited; it was like someone else was stroking him. Someone else... With a choke, his eyes widened. What was he doing? Staggering backwards, he held his trousers together with one hand, and ran from the room.
Rimmer was losing it. There was no way he was going to let that happen again, but it would, it would! He needed something to distract himself; something that could serve as a substitute. But what on Io could that be? His cock - had to think of it as his, that would help, surely that would help - was aching, protesting the interruption of the treatment it had just been given, and Rimmer didn't know what to do. Running was difficult; he didn't seem to have the same stamina he was used to, and his legs kept moving in odd ways. His feet hit the ground all wrong, and there was an odd sort of pain in his left knee. All of this left him unaware of where he was going, and when the smell of food slammed into his brain suddenly, he was quite unprepared. It was... it was delicious! That word took on a new and unexpected meaning in Rimmer's mind. Abruptly, he was... not really hungry, but craving food. That made no sense at all; why would he want food if he wasn't hungry? It had to be Lister's brain, he reasoned. Rimmer's mind was in Lister's body, yes, but it was occupying Lister's physical brain, and that brain had an entirely different reaction to this smell than the one Rimmer was used to being in. Lister's brain wanted to eat, and Lister's body wholeheartedly agreed, leaving Rimmer's mind scratching itself confusedly in a corner. And then it hit him - he was no longer thinking about having sex with himself. The moment that thought hit, of course, the image of Lister's throbbing cock was back, but it didn't matter; he had found an out. “Kryten,” he yelled at the top of his voice, cringing at the sound it made coming out, “how many potatoes do you have at hand?”
With the prospect of the food to distract him, even the shower went surprisingly well. Of course, there Rimmer was also helped by the fact that Lister seemed to consider only select parts of his body worthy of cleaning. Other areas, like between his toes, behind his ears and underneath his fingernails, was Terra Incognita as far as soap and water was concerned. It was hard to become aroused by a body when you saw the sort of things that had collected in its navel. Nevertheless, Rimmer had done what he could, before proceeding to bury his face, quite literally, in the feast that had been prepared for him. It was indescribable. Rimmer had been used to eating holo-foods for several years now, but that only partially explained the pure ecstasy his senses were experiencing. Was it always like this for Lister? It would certainly explain the way the man ate. Even as he enjoyed himself, a note of worry made itself known at the back of his mind. Yes, he'd brushed Lister off when he commented on the feeding-frenzy, but the man did have a point. If he kept going like this, Lister's body would increase in size, and not in a good, manly, muscle-y way either. Then again... He glanced up at Lister, sitting there in his body, forcing his face into the most ridiculous inane expressions, no doubt sniggering every time he went to the bathroom and saw what he had been given in trade. That image of Lister, in his body, holding his penis, looking at it with curiosity, perhaps beginning to stroke it very gently... Rimmer realized he was staring, and turned back to his meal in a light panic. More food. He needed more distractions - now!
In retrospect, Rimmer mused, sulking in the corner of the medi-bay, it had perhaps been inevitable. Putting his mind in Lister's body - what insanity! And not just once; again and again! He hated to admit it, but Lister had been right; he'd gone off the deep end. Those odd, unnatural desires he'd been having - a product of his mind's unnatural position in that bum's grotty brain, no doubt. Lister probably masturbated all the time, unlike Rimmer, who only did it at night, with the lights off and his sock in his mouth to keep Lister from hearing him moan. That's what Rimmer had felt the echoes off, no doubt; that constant desire to abuse his grossly over-sized member. Yes, he'd gone well and truly bonkers. The cigars should have been a dead giveaway. Rimmer hated smoking almost as much as he hated smokers themselves, with their lack of regard for their own health and those of others. But of course, Lister's body smoked all the time, and it had forced Rimmer to lie around for a good number of unproductive hours, just sucking on those long, foul oblongs, and finding it actually pleasant. Not just pleasant, but oddly satisfying, like an evening of excellent scheduling. It was positively perverse! Well, Rimmer was glad to be rid of all that. It was a pity to lose that corporeal body though. Despite everything, that had been like paradise. If only there was a way for him to have a body that wasn't Lister's! It only there was someone else... As the metaphorical cogwheels of his mind turned, Rimmer burst into a particularly vulture-like grin.
This was perfect. In Cat's body, Rimmer was freed from the constant desire to fondle himself, while having the full benefits of a physical body. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It was a little odd being in what was essentially an alien body, but it was no more strange than being in Lister's, which was, as far as Rimmer was concerned, more or less an alien himself. A not terribly evolved one, at that. This body was a pleasure to be in. Its senses were sharp, clear, always alert. It was athletic and clean, and there were no odd aches and pains. And since there was no reason for him to over-indulge in eating now, he would be able to return it in pristine condition. Well done Rimsy, he congratulated himself. Swaggering just a little, he headed towards his and Lister's shared quarters to gloat... when he caught a glimpse of Lister sitting in his bunk, bruised and miserable. He had complained about being fat, but seeing him now, Rimmer couldn't even notice the extra pounds. Even hunched over, brooding and frowning, with a huge bandage across his head, Lister looked very... Very. And it occurred to Rimmer that right now, he was in a physical body that was not Lister's, which meant he could go over, just like that, and touch the man. He could... he could...
With an unfamiliar heart in his throat, Rimmer turned about quickly, and ran to the kitchens.