Fic: Beginnings - R/L - PG
Title: Beginnings
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. And this doesn't make me money.
Spoilers: Better Than Life
Notes: I don't write Rimmer well, but he insisted on telling this story. I appologize for any typos, as this was written in a hurry at work. Please let me know, so I can correct it. This bunny jumped up and bit me as I was watching my spanking new Series II DVD. Lister POV to follow... At some point. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Good things never happened to Arnold Rimmer. He didn't understand this; it didn't make sense.
Being able to touch things after more than a year of insubstantiality was incredible enough, but the game just kept throwing pleasures at him at such a rate that he didn't even have time to think about that small miracle. All he could do was let the sand run through his fingers, marvelling at the somewhat dream-like but oh-so-sweet realism of it all, thrilling quietly as his hands touched - touched! - the edges of the Cat and Lister's clothing. He felt rather embarrassed and ashamed about that later of course, but at the time... Well, he just didn't have the time.
It really was just like a dream. Only in his dreams had McGruder ever been so eager and willing. He could only vaguely remember their single, awkward encounter, but he knew it had been nothing like this. She hadn't called him "Tiger", for one; in fact she'd insisted on calling him "Norman," even after he'd corrected her five times. He would have corrected her a sixth time, but it hadn't lasted that long. It didn't last all that long this time either, but still - it was sex! Actual sex with an actual human person! All right, so she didn't exist, technically speaking, but then again, technically speaking, he was dead! How many people had sex after they had died? Some, presumably (he'd heard disturbing rumors about Davies in Maintenance), but he doubted they enjoyed it half as much as he had.
Of course, on the subject of technicalities, the encounter had seemed kind of odd. Somewhat blurred and out-of-foucs, rather like the fevered dreams he sometimes had of what he would have done to her had he been given a second chance. Still, he supposed sex was probably like that. Quite nice and satisfying, but a little confusing; mostly figuring out what was meant to go where. He supposed one got the hang of it after a while. By God, how he wanted to have that while!
He felt alive. He realized the absurdity in this, but he didn't care. And what was more, he seemed to be having a better time than Lister! The little git looked practically miserable when Rimmer sauntered into the restaurant, seemingly disgusted with the Cat's choice of lunch. Rimmer allowed himself an internal chuckle. Had any of them bagged any women yet? Nosiree; that pleasure was reserved for Arnie J, sex god! Yes, let Lister look at him like that, jealous goit that he was. The shoe was on the other foot now, wasn't it? Smirking, Rimmer looked into those jealous eyes, enjoying it far too much.
Nothing could distract Rimmer from enjoying every minute of this experience, not even the Cat's stupid, immature prank. Shaking off his irritation as he would a light film of water from his overcoat coming in after the rain, he ran up the three flights of stairs to his room. It felt like flying. He felt a ridiculous urge to start skipping as he reached the top, and stamped his feet slightly to discourage them. He didn't quite trust them not to start doing it on their own. He couldn't remember when he'd last been this happy. He couldn't remember when he'd been happy. With a contented sigh, he glanced at the key the game's slightly disturbing host had handed him; it was one of those old-fashioned cards that you'd wave in front of a sensor to open the lock. Antique probably; very classy. There was no number on it, but apparently that wasn't supposed to matter; this was artificial reality, after all. He needed only to imagine a door being there, and it would be. Closing his eyes, he concentrated.
If the door had been meant to be impressive, Rimmer's imagination had let him down. Well, that wouldn't be the first time. It was oak, true, but not the sort of oak you'd show off to guests when they came to your house-warming. It was a simple, straight-forward wooden square. The gilded card-reader on the side of it seemed almost out-of-place. Shrugging, he waved his card at it anyway, stepping inside gingerly.
Something was wrong.
The floor was sticky. He absolutely hated sticky floors. He didn't particularly want to know what it was that made it sticky, but he couldn't help thinking about it. He started obsessing about the fact that thinking about what made them sticky would make whatever he imagined real. And the walls - he'd tried to imagine a sort of calming, soothing military/ocean grey combination, but these walls were absolutely obscene in their bright cheerfullness. It wasn't as much the color; the color was impossible to make out due to the mass of posters, pictures and random odds and ends that had been stuck to them. It all seemed scarily familiar, but he wasn't able to put his finger on where he'd seen it before until he glanced towards the other end of the room, where a gigantic leopard skin waterbed in the shape of a guitar loomed menacingly.
He was in Lister's room. Lord smeg him, he was in Lister's room! Before his brain had time to process this information, however, there was a knock on the door. Rimmer spun around, but the sound wasn't coming from behind him. There was another door on the other side of the room; a proper, elaborate, impressive one. Rimmer suddenly became aware of the sound of running water, mainly because it was stopping.
"Hey, hurry up, bud!" came a cry of discontent from outside the impressive door.
"I'm coming, Cat! Relax, will ya," answered a voice from what must be the bathroom, the door to which was just about to open. Rimmer just had time to duck behind a gigantic zero-G football poster that was hanging loose off the wall, hiding him, but not hiding the full frontal view of a naked Lister from him.
Something started happening inside of Rimmer. He couldn't begin to describe it if he tried. This was nothing like that vague sort of pleasing feeling he'd get when thinking about McGruder; this was closer to the feeling he got when actually sleeping with McGruder. He pressed himself against the wall, alternately trying desperately to think, and desperately not to. There were two doors. Logically, the other door was the one Lister had been given a key two. Rimmer's key also opened this room, but not by the same door. Logically (curse the logic, curse it); he wanted to share Lister's room. And given the insistent feelings stirring inside him, that wasn't all he wanted to do with Lister.
Oh smeg. Oh sodding smeg. Good things never happened to Arnold Rimmer. But now they were? Was this a good thing? What on Io did that mean? What did it mean?? Rimmer's brain, in a last-ditch effort to save itself from complete breakdown, did the only thing it could. It decided to stop imaging good things.
Half-way into this trousers, Lister frowned. He was sure he heard a door slam behind him, but there was no door on that side of the room. He turned around. Nothing. Just the faint sound of some crazy woman in the hallway complaining that she was pregnant. Well, who wouldn't be, eventually, in a place like this? Shrugging, he finished dressing, picking up the golf-clubs that materialized by the door. "Hold yer horses, Cat, I'm coming!"
As he left, the room promptly ceased to exist.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. And this doesn't make me money.
Spoilers: Better Than Life
Notes: I don't write Rimmer well, but he insisted on telling this story. I appologize for any typos, as this was written in a hurry at work. Please let me know, so I can correct it. This bunny jumped up and bit me as I was watching my spanking new Series II DVD. Lister POV to follow... At some point. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Good things never happened to Arnold Rimmer. He didn't understand this; it didn't make sense.
Being able to touch things after more than a year of insubstantiality was incredible enough, but the game just kept throwing pleasures at him at such a rate that he didn't even have time to think about that small miracle. All he could do was let the sand run through his fingers, marvelling at the somewhat dream-like but oh-so-sweet realism of it all, thrilling quietly as his hands touched - touched! - the edges of the Cat and Lister's clothing. He felt rather embarrassed and ashamed about that later of course, but at the time... Well, he just didn't have the time.
It really was just like a dream. Only in his dreams had McGruder ever been so eager and willing. He could only vaguely remember their single, awkward encounter, but he knew it had been nothing like this. She hadn't called him "Tiger", for one; in fact she'd insisted on calling him "Norman," even after he'd corrected her five times. He would have corrected her a sixth time, but it hadn't lasted that long. It didn't last all that long this time either, but still - it was sex! Actual sex with an actual human person! All right, so she didn't exist, technically speaking, but then again, technically speaking, he was dead! How many people had sex after they had died? Some, presumably (he'd heard disturbing rumors about Davies in Maintenance), but he doubted they enjoyed it half as much as he had.
Of course, on the subject of technicalities, the encounter had seemed kind of odd. Somewhat blurred and out-of-foucs, rather like the fevered dreams he sometimes had of what he would have done to her had he been given a second chance. Still, he supposed sex was probably like that. Quite nice and satisfying, but a little confusing; mostly figuring out what was meant to go where. He supposed one got the hang of it after a while. By God, how he wanted to have that while!
He felt alive. He realized the absurdity in this, but he didn't care. And what was more, he seemed to be having a better time than Lister! The little git looked practically miserable when Rimmer sauntered into the restaurant, seemingly disgusted with the Cat's choice of lunch. Rimmer allowed himself an internal chuckle. Had any of them bagged any women yet? Nosiree; that pleasure was reserved for Arnie J, sex god! Yes, let Lister look at him like that, jealous goit that he was. The shoe was on the other foot now, wasn't it? Smirking, Rimmer looked into those jealous eyes, enjoying it far too much.
Nothing could distract Rimmer from enjoying every minute of this experience, not even the Cat's stupid, immature prank. Shaking off his irritation as he would a light film of water from his overcoat coming in after the rain, he ran up the three flights of stairs to his room. It felt like flying. He felt a ridiculous urge to start skipping as he reached the top, and stamped his feet slightly to discourage them. He didn't quite trust them not to start doing it on their own. He couldn't remember when he'd last been this happy. He couldn't remember when he'd been happy. With a contented sigh, he glanced at the key the game's slightly disturbing host had handed him; it was one of those old-fashioned cards that you'd wave in front of a sensor to open the lock. Antique probably; very classy. There was no number on it, but apparently that wasn't supposed to matter; this was artificial reality, after all. He needed only to imagine a door being there, and it would be. Closing his eyes, he concentrated.
If the door had been meant to be impressive, Rimmer's imagination had let him down. Well, that wouldn't be the first time. It was oak, true, but not the sort of oak you'd show off to guests when they came to your house-warming. It was a simple, straight-forward wooden square. The gilded card-reader on the side of it seemed almost out-of-place. Shrugging, he waved his card at it anyway, stepping inside gingerly.
Something was wrong.
The floor was sticky. He absolutely hated sticky floors. He didn't particularly want to know what it was that made it sticky, but he couldn't help thinking about it. He started obsessing about the fact that thinking about what made them sticky would make whatever he imagined real. And the walls - he'd tried to imagine a sort of calming, soothing military/ocean grey combination, but these walls were absolutely obscene in their bright cheerfullness. It wasn't as much the color; the color was impossible to make out due to the mass of posters, pictures and random odds and ends that had been stuck to them. It all seemed scarily familiar, but he wasn't able to put his finger on where he'd seen it before until he glanced towards the other end of the room, where a gigantic leopard skin waterbed in the shape of a guitar loomed menacingly.
He was in Lister's room. Lord smeg him, he was in Lister's room! Before his brain had time to process this information, however, there was a knock on the door. Rimmer spun around, but the sound wasn't coming from behind him. There was another door on the other side of the room; a proper, elaborate, impressive one. Rimmer suddenly became aware of the sound of running water, mainly because it was stopping.
"Hey, hurry up, bud!" came a cry of discontent from outside the impressive door.
"I'm coming, Cat! Relax, will ya," answered a voice from what must be the bathroom, the door to which was just about to open. Rimmer just had time to duck behind a gigantic zero-G football poster that was hanging loose off the wall, hiding him, but not hiding the full frontal view of a naked Lister from him.
Something started happening inside of Rimmer. He couldn't begin to describe it if he tried. This was nothing like that vague sort of pleasing feeling he'd get when thinking about McGruder; this was closer to the feeling he got when actually sleeping with McGruder. He pressed himself against the wall, alternately trying desperately to think, and desperately not to. There were two doors. Logically, the other door was the one Lister had been given a key two. Rimmer's key also opened this room, but not by the same door. Logically (curse the logic, curse it); he wanted to share Lister's room. And given the insistent feelings stirring inside him, that wasn't all he wanted to do with Lister.
Oh smeg. Oh sodding smeg. Good things never happened to Arnold Rimmer. But now they were? Was this a good thing? What on Io did that mean? What did it mean?? Rimmer's brain, in a last-ditch effort to save itself from complete breakdown, did the only thing it could. It decided to stop imaging good things.
Half-way into this trousers, Lister frowned. He was sure he heard a door slam behind him, but there was no door on that side of the room. He turned around. Nothing. Just the faint sound of some crazy woman in the hallway complaining that she was pregnant. Well, who wouldn't be, eventually, in a place like this? Shrugging, he finished dressing, picking up the golf-clubs that materialized by the door. "Hold yer horses, Cat, I'm coming!"
As he left, the room promptly ceased to exist.