Fic: Lightening - R/L (imp) - PG-13
Title: Lightening
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13, for the darkness of it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf or its characters, and writing this makes me no money.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper, Blue and Epideme.
Notes: Probably the darkest thing I have ever written, but I think this would probably have been the darkest time in Lister's life. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here. As always, please bring me concrit!
Less than half an hour later, Lister emerged from the bathroom. There, he could hear his old self chirp optimistically, that wasn't so bad! Didn't take even close to forty five minutes, that did! His old self, Lister decided, was a gerbil-faced twonk. What did he know? He still had both his arms.
He kept trying though, that stupidly grinning git inside him. Kept trying to lighten a mood that could not be helped with even the strongest of bleaches. Look at the bright side, happy-two-armed-Lister would insist, Kris seems to feel sorry for ya, don't she? Of course Lister had noticed that. Pity from the woman he loved; what a stroke of luck! Oh, he could play the sympathy card, and might even win the jackpot with it, but what good would that do him? He'd often bragged of being able to drive a woman insane with both hands tied behind his back, but he'd never actually tried it. Taking someone's bra off with your teeth was fun when you did it by choice, but when you had to do it, with her watching in silence and trying not to offer any help... how would that feel? And then, assuming he managed to get her clothes off, how much fun wouldn't it be to fumble his way through the act like some smegging teenager?
No.
He'd tried masturbating, after about a week, when he couldn't stand waiting any more, and could finally stomach the sight of himself naked. He'd tried using his left hand before, back when he was young and hormonal enough that his right hand would cramp up before he was fully satisfied, and that had been fine. It had actually been a little exciting; feeling almost like it was someone else touching him. Now, however, the oddness merely emphasized why he was doing this, his erection soon wilting in his hand. He'd felt like crying, then, but he hadn't. Instead he'd just felt numb, like his flaccid cock.
It would get better. He knew this, because Kris kept telling him, her voice mingling with the one inside his head, both of them urging him on like a pair of demented cheerleaders. They meant well. Even Cat meant well with his self-centered ramblings that always ended up comparing Lister, unfavorably, with himself. Cat was always happy. If he'd lost an arm, he'd probably end up welcoming the excuse to create an entire new wardrobe for himself. Kryten was... Kryten was too much help. The troble was, Lister couldn't stop thinking about it. It was hard to stop thinking about something that was part of your body, or rather, not anymore. He needed something to distract him. Something that would lure his thoughts away from these dangerous patterns. But there was nothing. No one.
The AR peripherals didn't fit him anymore. The feedback got all wonky when you tried to maneuver around with one less limb, and you needed both hands to be able to clap yourself out of the game anyway. Kryten had busied himself with a work-around, but meanwhile, all Lister could do was watch in passive-mode. This he prepared to do now, flicking though the on-screen selection of programs clumsily. There was a severely limited selection of sims that allowed for view-only. Most were sports-sims; he browsed through, with growing annoyance, tennis, handball, smegging zero-g football, water polo, rugby... he pushed the selector screen away in frustration. They couldn't have regular football, of course. Couldn't have the only game where you weren't allowed to use your hands. Excepting the sports sims, his only options were a cooking program, and that horrible Rimmer Experience thing Kryten had made. Lister looked at it, lips quirking.
Well. What the smeg.
He sat through the whole thing, silly song and all, blinking at the unfolding, absurd scenes without comment. There was Rimmer, looking nothing like he did in real life; pushing around a Lister who looked nothing like he did in real life. Without the feeling of sitting in a cart, it was a somewhat detached experience, and when it was over, Lister felt nothing at all.
Well out of it, he unplugged himself as best he could, kicking the ejected disk into a corner. Running his hand (singular; always that singular) through his hair, he stalked out of the AR suite to go... wherever his feet would take him. What did it matter, after all? He was over-reacting. So he'd lost an arm. Things were not permanent. Everything changed. Everybody changed. You lost things. Earths; humanites, Kochanskis. Rimmers. Arms. Same old, same old.
As he walked down the corridor he noticed, with grim contentment, that the voice in his head had finally gone quiet.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13, for the darkness of it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf or its characters, and writing this makes me no money.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper, Blue and Epideme.
Notes: Probably the darkest thing I have ever written, but I think this would probably have been the darkest time in Lister's life. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here. As always, please bring me concrit!
Less than half an hour later, Lister emerged from the bathroom. There, he could hear his old self chirp optimistically, that wasn't so bad! Didn't take even close to forty five minutes, that did! His old self, Lister decided, was a gerbil-faced twonk. What did he know? He still had both his arms.
He kept trying though, that stupidly grinning git inside him. Kept trying to lighten a mood that could not be helped with even the strongest of bleaches. Look at the bright side, happy-two-armed-Lister would insist, Kris seems to feel sorry for ya, don't she? Of course Lister had noticed that. Pity from the woman he loved; what a stroke of luck! Oh, he could play the sympathy card, and might even win the jackpot with it, but what good would that do him? He'd often bragged of being able to drive a woman insane with both hands tied behind his back, but he'd never actually tried it. Taking someone's bra off with your teeth was fun when you did it by choice, but when you had to do it, with her watching in silence and trying not to offer any help... how would that feel? And then, assuming he managed to get her clothes off, how much fun wouldn't it be to fumble his way through the act like some smegging teenager?
No.
He'd tried masturbating, after about a week, when he couldn't stand waiting any more, and could finally stomach the sight of himself naked. He'd tried using his left hand before, back when he was young and hormonal enough that his right hand would cramp up before he was fully satisfied, and that had been fine. It had actually been a little exciting; feeling almost like it was someone else touching him. Now, however, the oddness merely emphasized why he was doing this, his erection soon wilting in his hand. He'd felt like crying, then, but he hadn't. Instead he'd just felt numb, like his flaccid cock.
It would get better. He knew this, because Kris kept telling him, her voice mingling with the one inside his head, both of them urging him on like a pair of demented cheerleaders. They meant well. Even Cat meant well with his self-centered ramblings that always ended up comparing Lister, unfavorably, with himself. Cat was always happy. If he'd lost an arm, he'd probably end up welcoming the excuse to create an entire new wardrobe for himself. Kryten was... Kryten was too much help. The troble was, Lister couldn't stop thinking about it. It was hard to stop thinking about something that was part of your body, or rather, not anymore. He needed something to distract him. Something that would lure his thoughts away from these dangerous patterns. But there was nothing. No one.
The AR peripherals didn't fit him anymore. The feedback got all wonky when you tried to maneuver around with one less limb, and you needed both hands to be able to clap yourself out of the game anyway. Kryten had busied himself with a work-around, but meanwhile, all Lister could do was watch in passive-mode. This he prepared to do now, flicking though the on-screen selection of programs clumsily. There was a severely limited selection of sims that allowed for view-only. Most were sports-sims; he browsed through, with growing annoyance, tennis, handball, smegging zero-g football, water polo, rugby... he pushed the selector screen away in frustration. They couldn't have regular football, of course. Couldn't have the only game where you weren't allowed to use your hands. Excepting the sports sims, his only options were a cooking program, and that horrible Rimmer Experience thing Kryten had made. Lister looked at it, lips quirking.
Well. What the smeg.
He sat through the whole thing, silly song and all, blinking at the unfolding, absurd scenes without comment. There was Rimmer, looking nothing like he did in real life; pushing around a Lister who looked nothing like he did in real life. Without the feeling of sitting in a cart, it was a somewhat detached experience, and when it was over, Lister felt nothing at all.
Well out of it, he unplugged himself as best he could, kicking the ejected disk into a corner. Running his hand (singular; always that singular) through his hair, he stalked out of the AR suite to go... wherever his feet would take him. What did it matter, after all? He was over-reacting. So he'd lost an arm. Things were not permanent. Everything changed. Everybody changed. You lost things. Earths; humanites, Kochanskis. Rimmers. Arms. Same old, same old.
As he walked down the corridor he noticed, with grim contentment, that the voice in his head had finally gone quiet.