Fic: Delayed Reaction - R/L (imp), a hint of L/P - PG-13
Title: Delayed Reaction
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), and a smattering of Lister/Petersen
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, or any of the characters thereof. I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Ouroboros.
Notes: Thanks to roadstergal for the idea of Europa as an opposite to Io. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
As always, please bring me concrit!
"Where are you going?"
Caught in mid-step, Lister swore under his breath, and turned to face an irate-looking Rimmer. "Out."
"Out? What do you mean; out? Out of this room? Out for an EVA stroll outside the ship? Out to do smeg knows what depraved things with Kristine whatever-her-name-is from Navigation? You shouldn't be galavanting about with officers, Listy; she's above your station. It'll never work out."
"Kochanski." Lister winced at the unwelcome reminder. "And I can't anymore, can I?" As the words left his mouth, he wished he could reel them back in again. There was no need to go telling Rimmer that. He could already see a gleeful smirk start to form on the man's face.
"Oh, reeeaaally?"
Lister tried to ignore the smeghead and just leave, but Rimmer moved between him and the door, leaning meaningfully against the frame. "I'm right, aren't I? She broke up with you!"
"None of yer smegging business," Lister sneered, debating whether it was worth it to just deck his bunk mate and take whatever punishment that would bring when Rimmer would obviously report him later. But no; he couldn't risk that. Not now. He could be the better man. Smeg it all; was there any question he was a better man than Rimmer?
"She did." Rimmer pointed a long, accusing finger. "Finally gave you the old heave-ho! No wonder you've been so mopey these last few days."
"What finally; we've only been going out two weeks!"
Rimmer shook his head, chuckling in that disconcerting way that was the only way he could. "It was inevitable. I kept telling you, didn't I? I was only looking out for your interests, Lister; I don't like to see you hurt."
Like smeg, you don't, Lister thought. Rimmer was enjoying every second of this like a fine cigar; puffing away at it like a connoisseur. "Whatever, man. D'ye mind? The shuttle leaves in half an hour."
Rimmer frowned. "Shuttle?"
"Yeah; for planet-leave! In case you haven't noticed, we're docked at Europa. It's been a month since I've been off ship, and I'm getting out of here first chance I get, which is now. So move!" As long as he'd had Kris, Lister hadn't given a goit's ass about planet leave. He hadn't cared for much anything except for her, and now she was gone, and he had to fill that hole with something, right quick. If he hadn't been on a crowded ship, surrounded - with the painful exception of Rimmer - by friends and amicable co-workers, he would probably just have spent all his time curled up in his bunk, hiding from the world.
"You're going on planet-leave."
"Yeah!" Lister, who was starting to think that a little slap might be worth whatever he would get for it, pushed a finger against Rimmer's chest. "And if you don't move, I'm pushing through and taking ya with me."
Ignoring the finger, Rimmer narrowed his eyes. "To Europa."
"What; yer so full of smeg it's gotten into yer ears now too? Yeah; to Europa."
For a few, confused seconds, Rimmer's face didn't seem to know what it wanted to look like. It settled, however, on a certain smug satisfaction. "You must not know, then."
Despite himself, Lister backed off a little. Rimmer being satisfied, much less smugly so, did not usually bode well for anyone else in the room. "Know what?"
"It's gay." Rimmer raised an eyebrow conspiratorially.
"It's what?"
"Europa. It's the gay capital of the solar system. If you wrap Brighton up in San Francisco, spray it with glitter glue, throw rainbow flag confetti on it and fling it into orbit around Jupiter, that's what you get. G. A. Y."
"What; a gay club?"
Rimmer flushed from head to toe, in as much as Lister could tell. His hands and face became beet red. "No, you... you..." Vocabulary failing him, he detached himself from the door frame, and began to pace. "Actually, I take that back. It is a gay club; a huge, smegging moon-shaped one. Imagine Mars, but with shirtless men and
provocatively named fruit cocktails instead of sand, and you're close."
Lister glanced at the now unguarded door. He should flee; it was the sane thing to do. Of course, sane wasn't always interesting. And this conversation was suddenly very interesting. Maybe he could squeeze in some Rimmer-torment before he left. "Good. I could use a drink."
Rimmer shook his head effusively. "You're not listening! It's a den of rampant homosexuality. I had an uncle who ran away to Europa. Twenty five years now, he's been living with the same man there. That's how serious this is. I mean, can you imagine anything more depraved?"
"Hardly," Lister mumbled, watching Rimmer sweat. He was definitely uncomfortable. Yeah, Lister could work with this.
"Well, no. Exactly." Rimmer paused, extending a finger in warning. "If you go down there, Listy, some sleazy, grotty, topless man will be trying to pop your cherry in the men's room before you're even out of the space port."
Lister watched the finger, following it with his eyes up Rimmer's shaking arm to his equally shaking shoulders. Extending his own arm, he pushed Rimmer's down, gently. "It's OK. I'm not going alone."
This didn't seem to calm Rimmer, which was, of course, exactly as planned. "You're not?"
"No. Petersen's taking me."
"He is?"
"I just said, didn't I? And he's taking all sorts of precautions, so don't you worry none." Driving the point home, Lister sidled closer, and gave a wink.
"Is he... he's..." Rimmer's brain appeared to have shut down. His mouth flapped open and shut, his eyes shifting from Lister's grin to his groin. Lister had never seen him so out of it. He almost started to feel sorry for the git, but then he remembered how gleeful he had looked when he had kept Lister busy with nozzle-cleaning duty three nights in a row, when he knew he was going to see Kochanski. The goit deserved everything Lister could throw at him.
As though on cue, a reddish-blond head appeared in the doorway, looking at them both irritably. "Come on, Lister," Petersen complained, irritably. "What's taking you so..." He got no further, Lister having thrown himself at him, pulling him close and whispering in his ear.
"Play along with it," Lister hissed, feeling the Dane nod, slowly. When they parted, Lister made sure Rimmer was watching, then dove at Petersen, mouth open. Before he knew it, their tongues were intertwined, which didn't feel that bad, all things considered. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rimmer carefully. The man hadn't moved. Odd, that. Nevertheless, when the kiss ended, Lister was grinning. "Be seeing ya," he chirped, stopping just short of slapping Rimmer's bottom. The way Rimmer was looking, Lister was afraid if he touched him, he might fall over. Stiff as a board, and not in a good way. Maybe, he thought, his eyebrows lowering, his mouth relaxing, he had gone too far... but then Petersen was pulling on his sleeve, and soon he was on the shuttle, laughing and joking and drinking from Petersen's secret stash of schnaps.
When he came back, dazed from too much alcohol and too little sleep, he couldn't figure out why Rimmer kept looking at him oddly. But after a time, things were back to normal, and he never thought about it again.
Until he stood, years later and with Rimmer forever gone, watching a holographic alternate of himself kissing some version of the woman he had pined after for milennia, and recognized the look he felt on his own face.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), and a smattering of Lister/Petersen
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, or any of the characters thereof. I make no money from this.
Spoilers: Ouroboros.
Notes: Thanks to roadstergal for the idea of Europa as an opposite to Io. Written for the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
As always, please bring me concrit!
"Where are you going?"
Caught in mid-step, Lister swore under his breath, and turned to face an irate-looking Rimmer. "Out."
"Out? What do you mean; out? Out of this room? Out for an EVA stroll outside the ship? Out to do smeg knows what depraved things with Kristine whatever-her-name-is from Navigation? You shouldn't be galavanting about with officers, Listy; she's above your station. It'll never work out."
"Kochanski." Lister winced at the unwelcome reminder. "And I can't anymore, can I?" As the words left his mouth, he wished he could reel them back in again. There was no need to go telling Rimmer that. He could already see a gleeful smirk start to form on the man's face.
"Oh, reeeaaally?"
Lister tried to ignore the smeghead and just leave, but Rimmer moved between him and the door, leaning meaningfully against the frame. "I'm right, aren't I? She broke up with you!"
"None of yer smegging business," Lister sneered, debating whether it was worth it to just deck his bunk mate and take whatever punishment that would bring when Rimmer would obviously report him later. But no; he couldn't risk that. Not now. He could be the better man. Smeg it all; was there any question he was a better man than Rimmer?
"She did." Rimmer pointed a long, accusing finger. "Finally gave you the old heave-ho! No wonder you've been so mopey these last few days."
"What finally; we've only been going out two weeks!"
Rimmer shook his head, chuckling in that disconcerting way that was the only way he could. "It was inevitable. I kept telling you, didn't I? I was only looking out for your interests, Lister; I don't like to see you hurt."
Like smeg, you don't, Lister thought. Rimmer was enjoying every second of this like a fine cigar; puffing away at it like a connoisseur. "Whatever, man. D'ye mind? The shuttle leaves in half an hour."
Rimmer frowned. "Shuttle?"
"Yeah; for planet-leave! In case you haven't noticed, we're docked at Europa. It's been a month since I've been off ship, and I'm getting out of here first chance I get, which is now. So move!" As long as he'd had Kris, Lister hadn't given a goit's ass about planet leave. He hadn't cared for much anything except for her, and now she was gone, and he had to fill that hole with something, right quick. If he hadn't been on a crowded ship, surrounded - with the painful exception of Rimmer - by friends and amicable co-workers, he would probably just have spent all his time curled up in his bunk, hiding from the world.
"You're going on planet-leave."
"Yeah!" Lister, who was starting to think that a little slap might be worth whatever he would get for it, pushed a finger against Rimmer's chest. "And if you don't move, I'm pushing through and taking ya with me."
Ignoring the finger, Rimmer narrowed his eyes. "To Europa."
"What; yer so full of smeg it's gotten into yer ears now too? Yeah; to Europa."
For a few, confused seconds, Rimmer's face didn't seem to know what it wanted to look like. It settled, however, on a certain smug satisfaction. "You must not know, then."
Despite himself, Lister backed off a little. Rimmer being satisfied, much less smugly so, did not usually bode well for anyone else in the room. "Know what?"
"It's gay." Rimmer raised an eyebrow conspiratorially.
"It's what?"
"Europa. It's the gay capital of the solar system. If you wrap Brighton up in San Francisco, spray it with glitter glue, throw rainbow flag confetti on it and fling it into orbit around Jupiter, that's what you get. G. A. Y."
"What; a gay club?"
Rimmer flushed from head to toe, in as much as Lister could tell. His hands and face became beet red. "No, you... you..." Vocabulary failing him, he detached himself from the door frame, and began to pace. "Actually, I take that back. It is a gay club; a huge, smegging moon-shaped one. Imagine Mars, but with shirtless men and
provocatively named fruit cocktails instead of sand, and you're close."
Lister glanced at the now unguarded door. He should flee; it was the sane thing to do. Of course, sane wasn't always interesting. And this conversation was suddenly very interesting. Maybe he could squeeze in some Rimmer-torment before he left. "Good. I could use a drink."
Rimmer shook his head effusively. "You're not listening! It's a den of rampant homosexuality. I had an uncle who ran away to Europa. Twenty five years now, he's been living with the same man there. That's how serious this is. I mean, can you imagine anything more depraved?"
"Hardly," Lister mumbled, watching Rimmer sweat. He was definitely uncomfortable. Yeah, Lister could work with this.
"Well, no. Exactly." Rimmer paused, extending a finger in warning. "If you go down there, Listy, some sleazy, grotty, topless man will be trying to pop your cherry in the men's room before you're even out of the space port."
Lister watched the finger, following it with his eyes up Rimmer's shaking arm to his equally shaking shoulders. Extending his own arm, he pushed Rimmer's down, gently. "It's OK. I'm not going alone."
This didn't seem to calm Rimmer, which was, of course, exactly as planned. "You're not?"
"No. Petersen's taking me."
"He is?"
"I just said, didn't I? And he's taking all sorts of precautions, so don't you worry none." Driving the point home, Lister sidled closer, and gave a wink.
"Is he... he's..." Rimmer's brain appeared to have shut down. His mouth flapped open and shut, his eyes shifting from Lister's grin to his groin. Lister had never seen him so out of it. He almost started to feel sorry for the git, but then he remembered how gleeful he had looked when he had kept Lister busy with nozzle-cleaning duty three nights in a row, when he knew he was going to see Kochanski. The goit deserved everything Lister could throw at him.
As though on cue, a reddish-blond head appeared in the doorway, looking at them both irritably. "Come on, Lister," Petersen complained, irritably. "What's taking you so..." He got no further, Lister having thrown himself at him, pulling him close and whispering in his ear.
"Play along with it," Lister hissed, feeling the Dane nod, slowly. When they parted, Lister made sure Rimmer was watching, then dove at Petersen, mouth open. Before he knew it, their tongues were intertwined, which didn't feel that bad, all things considered. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rimmer carefully. The man hadn't moved. Odd, that. Nevertheless, when the kiss ended, Lister was grinning. "Be seeing ya," he chirped, stopping just short of slapping Rimmer's bottom. The way Rimmer was looking, Lister was afraid if he touched him, he might fall over. Stiff as a board, and not in a good way. Maybe, he thought, his eyebrows lowering, his mouth relaxing, he had gone too far... but then Petersen was pulling on his sleeve, and soon he was on the shuttle, laughing and joking and drinking from Petersen's secret stash of schnaps.
When he came back, dazed from too much alcohol and too little sleep, he couldn't figure out why Rimmer kept looking at him oddly. But after a time, things were back to normal, and he never thought about it again.
Until he stood, years later and with Rimmer forever gone, watching a holographic alternate of himself kissing some version of the woman he had pined after for milennia, and recognized the look he felt on his own face.