Fic: Hours - R/L - R
Title: Hours
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. And this doesn't make me money.
Spoilers: Legion
Notes: Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It was the night they never talked about. The one categorized in their minds only as “that night”; the one alluded to only in gestures and looks, and they each resented when the other person did so. Funny what a few hours could mean. Funny that.
“I assure you, Mr. Lister, it will only be for a few hours.” Kryten attached a new set of electrodes to Lister’s head, all the while making sure he was sitting comfortably, as though that was going to matter in a little while.
“Are you absolutely certain I have to remain conscious while we’re there?” Lister asked for the eleventh time.
“Absolutely, Sir. They will be able to access our records, so they’ll know there’s someone named ‘David Lister’ on board. However, there is no way for them to ascertain whether you are a living, breathing human being or not.” He tightened the restraints around Lister’s wrists and ankles.
“But can’t you just tell them I’m dead?”
Kryten shook his head, sadly. “They’d demand to see a body. And while the medi-bay is perfectly capable of masking your life-signs more or less indefinitely, upon closer scrutiny the fact that you were only in an induced coma would be obvious even to a rhododendron.”
Lister swallowed, and nodded, admitting defeat. How bad could it be, he thought, desperately trying to lift his own spirits. He’d been a hologram before, it wasn’t as bad as all that. And this time he’d be in his own body, not stuck inside Rimmer’s. At least that was something. Kryten mumbled a few more reassuring words, and lowered a cap onto his head. He just barely had time to hear the mechanoid mutter something about feeling a small sting, and not to be alarmed, before the excruciating pain seared through his body, and consciousness left him.
This isn’t really me, Lister thought, as he pinched and prodded his overall-clad arm experimentally. It’s just a hologrammatic simulation of me that’ll be integrated into my memory when all this is over. Funny. It feels just like me.
“We’ll be within range of the ‘KillNazi’ within thirty seconds, Sir,” Kryten said as they entered the cockpit.
“Charming name,” Rimmer mumbled, seated behind his usual console, an unreadable expression on his face. Lister had asked Kryten how they’d be able to generate two holograms at the same time, and the answer was of course that they couldn’t. Or rather, they couldn’t for very long. They were down to the bare minimum of power on absolutely everything, with all non-essential functions switched off. The thermostat was set to “minimum-necessary-for-survival” mode, making the Cat shiver. Lister wasn’t bothered by it, he was amazed to find. He knew it was cold, but only in the same way he knew his boots were black. He glanced briefly at Rimmer, but the hologram seemed to be avoiding his gaze.
The ‘KillNazi’ loomed before them like a small, menacing moon. As it grew ever closer, the Cat started shifting in his seat, narrowing his eyes. “Why aren’t they talking to us?” he growled. “I thought you said these guys were like the simulant equivalent of hippies.”
“Oh, indeed Sir,” Kryten hastened to reply, “they are! Why, they’ve not only restricted themselves to killing only living human beings, but they also refrain from attacking anyone who doesn’t try to attack them first.” He paused, hesitating. “Erm… That is, unless they’re in a bad mood.”
“Well, let’s hope they’re in a good mood today,” Rimmer said, looking intently at the readings in front of him.
“Why aren’t they greeting us, though?” Lister remained standing, unwilling to sit down just yet. He found it hard to remember where he was supposed to end and the chair was supposed to begin.
“Just because they don’t want to kill us doesn’t mean they like us, Sir,” Kryten explained. “If we’re lucky, they’ll let us pass, then send a probe out to follow us for a while. When it has satisfied itself that we aren’t harboring human life, it will return to their ship, and we can wake Mr. Lister. I mean, the real Mr. Lister. Erm, that is…”
“I know what you mean, Kryten,” Lister interrupted gloomily. He didn’t like this one bit.
They had been out of the simulant’s ship’s range for quite a while when the Cat smelled a probe approaching. It wasn’t registering on any of their instruments, but Kryten noted that he hadn’t really expected it to. As predicted, it accelerated until it reached their speed, then followed them from what it seemed to consider a safe distance. All they had to do now was wait, which was easier said than done.
Feeling decidedly uncomfortable in his insubstantial body, Lister had decided to try to sleep through it all. This was proving to be difficult, however, as Rimmer had chosen this particular moment to update his personal log. Lister found himself cursing the day they’d found that voice-activated recorder, as Rimmer’s nasal twang kept him hovering on the wrong side of unconsciousness.
“And so, it is with great confidence - no, erase that - and so it is with great determination and fearlessness that I surmise we will escape - erase - come out - no, erase - abscond from this great - erase that…”
“Rimmer, I’m trying to get some sleep!”
“And I’m trying to record this event for posterity, which’d be a lot easier if someone didn’t keep interrupting me all the time, thank you very much.” The words were angry, but Rimmer’s tone was monotone and dull, as if his heart wasn’t really in it.
Giving up on sleep, Lister swung his legs out over the edge of the bed, and rubbed his head. It felt somewhat reassuring to touch something that at least had the appearance of solidity, even if it was just part of his body. Grimly, he moved his hand forwards until his fingers grazed his forehead, and finally, the “H” embossed on his skin like a warning sign - beware of the dead guy! He sighed. It struck him, not for the first time, that this was what Rimmer felt like all the time. At least Lister knew the situation wasn’t permanent. He looked at Rimmer, who was standing, arms crossed, in the middle of the room, and a thought occurred. Awkwardly, he jumped out of bed, making sure his feet didn’t go through the floor, and approached the other hologram. Swiftly, before he had time to question himself, he reached out, and put a hand on the hologram’s shoulder. It was as stiff as a board made out of particularly solid mahogany.
“Please don’t do that.” Rimmer’s voice sounded wooden. He hadn’t turned around.
Lister kept his hand in place a little while longer, then dropped it. “Sorry… I was just going a little crazy, you know, not being able to touch anything but meself…” He smacked his forehead with his palm, realizing what he’d just said.
“Really.” Those wooden tones again, now mixed with gravel.
“Ah, I’m just making a fool of meself!” Lister started pacing up and down, wringing his hands. “How can you do it, man? How can you keep on like this and not go completely spare?”
Now Rimmer did turn, and Lister found himself wishing he hadn’t. The look on the permanent hologram’s face was heartbreaking. If he’d been teary-eyed, that would have been one thing. That’d only be natural, after all. But what Lister saw was total and complete resignation. Fixing his eyes on Lister, he said: “I have to. Holly revived me to keep you sane. That’s my sole raison d’etre. So Arnold J. going bonkers is just not on the menu, is it? Simple as that.”
I’m sorry, Lister wanted to say; I wish none of this had ever happened; I wish you hadn’t died; I wish we got along better. I wish… He didn’t know what he wished. All he could manage to say was “Yeah.” As if that did any good whatsoever.
“Look, just leave me be. Go off somewhere and snooze, or play with the Cat or talk to Kryten until this is over. Just don’t…. Just… Don’t. OK?” He turned his back on Lister again, his arms still crossed over his chest, like a makeshift suit of armor.
And in retrospect, Lister thought, whenever this incident surfaced like a sinister ice-berg in his mind, that’s what he should have done. Absolutely. But for some reason, some bizarre reason, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d grabbed Rimmer’s arm, and squeezed it in a grip halfway between friendly and angry, and forced the other man to look at him. And that’s when the words had stopped, and both of them had lost any pretense of control, surrendering into the madness of what followed.
It hadn’t been a matter of Rimmer kissing him, or him kissing Rimmer; they’d both had the same idea at the same time. Rimmer’s mouth didn’t taste like anything, nor did he have much of a smell. Caressing him was a bit like trying to work the controls of a portable music-player with gloved hands; there was some feeling there, but it was hard to make out what was what. Rimmer embraced him with the fervor of a man who hadn’t been touched in years, and Lister frankly didn’t feel much different. They struggled with the clasps and buttons of various items of clothing, collapsing to the floor in a jumble of limbs, shirts and jackets. Rimmer was frantic, hardly giving Lister time to breathe, much less think. There was a feral gleam in his eyes when his gaze met Lister’s, ferocious and hungry; like a captive beast finally unleashed. Lister could do nothing except lie back helplessly, letting whatever Rimmer wanted to happen, happen.
With a guttural, strangled sound catching in his throat, Rimmer tore open the front of Lister’s longjohns, which had been faithfully recreated by the spare light-bee he was using, fading mystery stains and all. Lister gasped as he felt the permanent hologram’s lips and tongue on his abdomen, while desperate hands pawed at his thighs and buttocks, pulling him closer to that hot, eager mouth. Lister had never had much feeling in his nipples, but nonetheless, when Rimmer moved his attention upwards, licking and biting them wildly, electric shivers caressed his spine. Suddenly, Rimmer’s hands were on his groin, groping harshly through the threadbare fabric, almost painfully. In the end, he hoisted himself upwards, grabbing Lister by the hair, and kissed him brutally whilst unceremoniously ripping the longjohns open all the way down to the crotch, tearing the garment almost in two. Lister’s erection, now towering free and exposed, was soon grasped by the other hologram, who broke the kiss, leaving Lister gasping for air.
Lister felt his heart pounding, the back of his mind insisting that it was all just a simulation, that this wasn’t really his body. It wasn’t really his penis currently in Rimmer’s fumbling hand, not his chest slick from saliva. Above him, Rimmer paused, mouth half open, chest heaving. Licking his lips, he kept his eyes on Lister’s for what seemed like an eternity, then, without warning, ducked down and took Lister in his mouth.
Sensations he had almost forgotten what were like flooded every fiber of Lister’s being, as Rimmer awkwardly, but frantically sucked him into delirium. He felt close to orgasm already, his vision seemed to be going, and there was a strange thrumming sound - probably his simulated blood, making him dizzy and disorientated. The pleasure-pain radiating out from his groin was becoming more and more intolerable, and he sensed himself tethering on the brink of a climax, just needing that final push over the edge; longing for it, pulling at Rimmer’s hair in desperation, when suddenly there was a sharp, searing pain, a momentary blankness, and Kryten’s face suddenly appearing before him.
“Are you alright, Sir?” the mechanoid asked in concern. Lister couldn’t even begin to answer the question. Hormones were rushing around his body confusedly, not knowing what to do, sent forward by a brain that kept insisting he was on the verge of an orgasm, but this body didn’t even have an erection. He patted his clothes absent mindedly. They were whole; as were the longjohns inside, as far as he could tell. A feeling of nausea crept slowly up his esophagus.
“What…” He began, trying to think.
“The probe left fifteen minutes ago. I though you would want to return to yourself, so to speak, as soon as possible, Sir. It should be quite safe now.” Noticing Lister’s expression, Kryten got out a syringe gun and put it to the human’s neck. “Sometimes the brain has trouble adapting to the change,” he said in a reassuring voice. “It’s quite normal. This should help.”
Lister didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt numb. His hands wrapped around the sides of the bed, relishing the touch of something solid other than himself, or… “Where’s Rimmer?”
Kryten seemed somewhat perplexed. “In the sleeping quarters, I believe. I tried to get in there earlier to look for your light-bee, but he wouldn’t let me in.”
“The bee is still in there, then? Didn’t you need it to…” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right term, “…Download me, and that?”
Kryten shook his head. “That is done remotely via the link-up to the medi-bay.” He picked up the pillow Lister’s head had been resting on, and fluffed it thoroughly. “Feeling better now, Sir?”
“Yeah,” Lister lied. He sat up, flexing his fingers, trying not to look at the rest of his body, particularly anywhere below the navel. “It’s weird, yeah? Feels like it was me all along. Like my body was just suddenly turned into light, and then back again.”
“I’m glad, Sir; that means the process worked. But of course, that’s not what actually happened. Your hologram isn’t really you. It’s a simulation that thinks it is you. Like Mr. Rimmer. He’s not the actual Arnold Rimmer that died three million years ago on Red Dwarf, he’s a simulation of that…” he paused, looking reluctant, “man.”
“I know that, Krytes,” Lister said, swinging his legs over the side, and fishing in his pocket for a cigarette, “it just feels so real, is all.”
It had felt real. But of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been him with Rimmer, and he needn’t feel responsible for it. Besides, they’d both been starved for any kind of sexual contact; it was no wonder really. Best just to forget it all. Best pretend it never happened. And it wasn’t like it’d ever happen again - Rimmer couldn’t touch him now. Would never touch him again probably. Lighting his cigarette, only half-listening to Kryten’s reprimands about smoking in the medi-bay, he skulked out, trying not to think of anything in particular.
They never talked about it. There were only gestures, and looks, and resentment. And three weeks later, when Rimmer got his hard-light body, nights filled with the heavy silence of the absence of touch, and latent possibility.
And thus, the hours passed.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. And this doesn't make me money.
Spoilers: Legion
Notes: Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It was the night they never talked about. The one categorized in their minds only as “that night”; the one alluded to only in gestures and looks, and they each resented when the other person did so. Funny what a few hours could mean. Funny that.
“I assure you, Mr. Lister, it will only be for a few hours.” Kryten attached a new set of electrodes to Lister’s head, all the while making sure he was sitting comfortably, as though that was going to matter in a little while.
“Are you absolutely certain I have to remain conscious while we’re there?” Lister asked for the eleventh time.
“Absolutely, Sir. They will be able to access our records, so they’ll know there’s someone named ‘David Lister’ on board. However, there is no way for them to ascertain whether you are a living, breathing human being or not.” He tightened the restraints around Lister’s wrists and ankles.
“But can’t you just tell them I’m dead?”
Kryten shook his head, sadly. “They’d demand to see a body. And while the medi-bay is perfectly capable of masking your life-signs more or less indefinitely, upon closer scrutiny the fact that you were only in an induced coma would be obvious even to a rhododendron.”
Lister swallowed, and nodded, admitting defeat. How bad could it be, he thought, desperately trying to lift his own spirits. He’d been a hologram before, it wasn’t as bad as all that. And this time he’d be in his own body, not stuck inside Rimmer’s. At least that was something. Kryten mumbled a few more reassuring words, and lowered a cap onto his head. He just barely had time to hear the mechanoid mutter something about feeling a small sting, and not to be alarmed, before the excruciating pain seared through his body, and consciousness left him.
This isn’t really me, Lister thought, as he pinched and prodded his overall-clad arm experimentally. It’s just a hologrammatic simulation of me that’ll be integrated into my memory when all this is over. Funny. It feels just like me.
“We’ll be within range of the ‘KillNazi’ within thirty seconds, Sir,” Kryten said as they entered the cockpit.
“Charming name,” Rimmer mumbled, seated behind his usual console, an unreadable expression on his face. Lister had asked Kryten how they’d be able to generate two holograms at the same time, and the answer was of course that they couldn’t. Or rather, they couldn’t for very long. They were down to the bare minimum of power on absolutely everything, with all non-essential functions switched off. The thermostat was set to “minimum-necessary-for-survival” mode, making the Cat shiver. Lister wasn’t bothered by it, he was amazed to find. He knew it was cold, but only in the same way he knew his boots were black. He glanced briefly at Rimmer, but the hologram seemed to be avoiding his gaze.
The ‘KillNazi’ loomed before them like a small, menacing moon. As it grew ever closer, the Cat started shifting in his seat, narrowing his eyes. “Why aren’t they talking to us?” he growled. “I thought you said these guys were like the simulant equivalent of hippies.”
“Oh, indeed Sir,” Kryten hastened to reply, “they are! Why, they’ve not only restricted themselves to killing only living human beings, but they also refrain from attacking anyone who doesn’t try to attack them first.” He paused, hesitating. “Erm… That is, unless they’re in a bad mood.”
“Well, let’s hope they’re in a good mood today,” Rimmer said, looking intently at the readings in front of him.
“Why aren’t they greeting us, though?” Lister remained standing, unwilling to sit down just yet. He found it hard to remember where he was supposed to end and the chair was supposed to begin.
“Just because they don’t want to kill us doesn’t mean they like us, Sir,” Kryten explained. “If we’re lucky, they’ll let us pass, then send a probe out to follow us for a while. When it has satisfied itself that we aren’t harboring human life, it will return to their ship, and we can wake Mr. Lister. I mean, the real Mr. Lister. Erm, that is…”
“I know what you mean, Kryten,” Lister interrupted gloomily. He didn’t like this one bit.
They had been out of the simulant’s ship’s range for quite a while when the Cat smelled a probe approaching. It wasn’t registering on any of their instruments, but Kryten noted that he hadn’t really expected it to. As predicted, it accelerated until it reached their speed, then followed them from what it seemed to consider a safe distance. All they had to do now was wait, which was easier said than done.
Feeling decidedly uncomfortable in his insubstantial body, Lister had decided to try to sleep through it all. This was proving to be difficult, however, as Rimmer had chosen this particular moment to update his personal log. Lister found himself cursing the day they’d found that voice-activated recorder, as Rimmer’s nasal twang kept him hovering on the wrong side of unconsciousness.
“And so, it is with great confidence - no, erase that - and so it is with great determination and fearlessness that I surmise we will escape - erase - come out - no, erase - abscond from this great - erase that…”
“Rimmer, I’m trying to get some sleep!”
“And I’m trying to record this event for posterity, which’d be a lot easier if someone didn’t keep interrupting me all the time, thank you very much.” The words were angry, but Rimmer’s tone was monotone and dull, as if his heart wasn’t really in it.
Giving up on sleep, Lister swung his legs out over the edge of the bed, and rubbed his head. It felt somewhat reassuring to touch something that at least had the appearance of solidity, even if it was just part of his body. Grimly, he moved his hand forwards until his fingers grazed his forehead, and finally, the “H” embossed on his skin like a warning sign - beware of the dead guy! He sighed. It struck him, not for the first time, that this was what Rimmer felt like all the time. At least Lister knew the situation wasn’t permanent. He looked at Rimmer, who was standing, arms crossed, in the middle of the room, and a thought occurred. Awkwardly, he jumped out of bed, making sure his feet didn’t go through the floor, and approached the other hologram. Swiftly, before he had time to question himself, he reached out, and put a hand on the hologram’s shoulder. It was as stiff as a board made out of particularly solid mahogany.
“Please don’t do that.” Rimmer’s voice sounded wooden. He hadn’t turned around.
Lister kept his hand in place a little while longer, then dropped it. “Sorry… I was just going a little crazy, you know, not being able to touch anything but meself…” He smacked his forehead with his palm, realizing what he’d just said.
“Really.” Those wooden tones again, now mixed with gravel.
“Ah, I’m just making a fool of meself!” Lister started pacing up and down, wringing his hands. “How can you do it, man? How can you keep on like this and not go completely spare?”
Now Rimmer did turn, and Lister found himself wishing he hadn’t. The look on the permanent hologram’s face was heartbreaking. If he’d been teary-eyed, that would have been one thing. That’d only be natural, after all. But what Lister saw was total and complete resignation. Fixing his eyes on Lister, he said: “I have to. Holly revived me to keep you sane. That’s my sole raison d’etre. So Arnold J. going bonkers is just not on the menu, is it? Simple as that.”
I’m sorry, Lister wanted to say; I wish none of this had ever happened; I wish you hadn’t died; I wish we got along better. I wish… He didn’t know what he wished. All he could manage to say was “Yeah.” As if that did any good whatsoever.
“Look, just leave me be. Go off somewhere and snooze, or play with the Cat or talk to Kryten until this is over. Just don’t…. Just… Don’t. OK?” He turned his back on Lister again, his arms still crossed over his chest, like a makeshift suit of armor.
And in retrospect, Lister thought, whenever this incident surfaced like a sinister ice-berg in his mind, that’s what he should have done. Absolutely. But for some reason, some bizarre reason, he hadn’t. Instead, he’d grabbed Rimmer’s arm, and squeezed it in a grip halfway between friendly and angry, and forced the other man to look at him. And that’s when the words had stopped, and both of them had lost any pretense of control, surrendering into the madness of what followed.
It hadn’t been a matter of Rimmer kissing him, or him kissing Rimmer; they’d both had the same idea at the same time. Rimmer’s mouth didn’t taste like anything, nor did he have much of a smell. Caressing him was a bit like trying to work the controls of a portable music-player with gloved hands; there was some feeling there, but it was hard to make out what was what. Rimmer embraced him with the fervor of a man who hadn’t been touched in years, and Lister frankly didn’t feel much different. They struggled with the clasps and buttons of various items of clothing, collapsing to the floor in a jumble of limbs, shirts and jackets. Rimmer was frantic, hardly giving Lister time to breathe, much less think. There was a feral gleam in his eyes when his gaze met Lister’s, ferocious and hungry; like a captive beast finally unleashed. Lister could do nothing except lie back helplessly, letting whatever Rimmer wanted to happen, happen.
With a guttural, strangled sound catching in his throat, Rimmer tore open the front of Lister’s longjohns, which had been faithfully recreated by the spare light-bee he was using, fading mystery stains and all. Lister gasped as he felt the permanent hologram’s lips and tongue on his abdomen, while desperate hands pawed at his thighs and buttocks, pulling him closer to that hot, eager mouth. Lister had never had much feeling in his nipples, but nonetheless, when Rimmer moved his attention upwards, licking and biting them wildly, electric shivers caressed his spine. Suddenly, Rimmer’s hands were on his groin, groping harshly through the threadbare fabric, almost painfully. In the end, he hoisted himself upwards, grabbing Lister by the hair, and kissed him brutally whilst unceremoniously ripping the longjohns open all the way down to the crotch, tearing the garment almost in two. Lister’s erection, now towering free and exposed, was soon grasped by the other hologram, who broke the kiss, leaving Lister gasping for air.
Lister felt his heart pounding, the back of his mind insisting that it was all just a simulation, that this wasn’t really his body. It wasn’t really his penis currently in Rimmer’s fumbling hand, not his chest slick from saliva. Above him, Rimmer paused, mouth half open, chest heaving. Licking his lips, he kept his eyes on Lister’s for what seemed like an eternity, then, without warning, ducked down and took Lister in his mouth.
Sensations he had almost forgotten what were like flooded every fiber of Lister’s being, as Rimmer awkwardly, but frantically sucked him into delirium. He felt close to orgasm already, his vision seemed to be going, and there was a strange thrumming sound - probably his simulated blood, making him dizzy and disorientated. The pleasure-pain radiating out from his groin was becoming more and more intolerable, and he sensed himself tethering on the brink of a climax, just needing that final push over the edge; longing for it, pulling at Rimmer’s hair in desperation, when suddenly there was a sharp, searing pain, a momentary blankness, and Kryten’s face suddenly appearing before him.
“Are you alright, Sir?” the mechanoid asked in concern. Lister couldn’t even begin to answer the question. Hormones were rushing around his body confusedly, not knowing what to do, sent forward by a brain that kept insisting he was on the verge of an orgasm, but this body didn’t even have an erection. He patted his clothes absent mindedly. They were whole; as were the longjohns inside, as far as he could tell. A feeling of nausea crept slowly up his esophagus.
“What…” He began, trying to think.
“The probe left fifteen minutes ago. I though you would want to return to yourself, so to speak, as soon as possible, Sir. It should be quite safe now.” Noticing Lister’s expression, Kryten got out a syringe gun and put it to the human’s neck. “Sometimes the brain has trouble adapting to the change,” he said in a reassuring voice. “It’s quite normal. This should help.”
Lister didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt numb. His hands wrapped around the sides of the bed, relishing the touch of something solid other than himself, or… “Where’s Rimmer?”
Kryten seemed somewhat perplexed. “In the sleeping quarters, I believe. I tried to get in there earlier to look for your light-bee, but he wouldn’t let me in.”
“The bee is still in there, then? Didn’t you need it to…” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right term, “…Download me, and that?”
Kryten shook his head. “That is done remotely via the link-up to the medi-bay.” He picked up the pillow Lister’s head had been resting on, and fluffed it thoroughly. “Feeling better now, Sir?”
“Yeah,” Lister lied. He sat up, flexing his fingers, trying not to look at the rest of his body, particularly anywhere below the navel. “It’s weird, yeah? Feels like it was me all along. Like my body was just suddenly turned into light, and then back again.”
“I’m glad, Sir; that means the process worked. But of course, that’s not what actually happened. Your hologram isn’t really you. It’s a simulation that thinks it is you. Like Mr. Rimmer. He’s not the actual Arnold Rimmer that died three million years ago on Red Dwarf, he’s a simulation of that…” he paused, looking reluctant, “man.”
“I know that, Krytes,” Lister said, swinging his legs over the side, and fishing in his pocket for a cigarette, “it just feels so real, is all.”
It had felt real. But of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been him with Rimmer, and he needn’t feel responsible for it. Besides, they’d both been starved for any kind of sexual contact; it was no wonder really. Best just to forget it all. Best pretend it never happened. And it wasn’t like it’d ever happen again - Rimmer couldn’t touch him now. Would never touch him again probably. Lighting his cigarette, only half-listening to Kryten’s reprimands about smoking in the medi-bay, he skulked out, trying not to think of anything in particular.
They never talked about it. There were only gestures, and looks, and resentment. And three weeks later, when Rimmer got his hard-light body, nights filled with the heavy silence of the absence of touch, and latent possibility.
And thus, the hours passed.