Fic: Blue - R/L - R, mild violence
Title: Blue
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If I owned Red Dwarf, I'd probably not be taking this home exam from which I am currently procrastinating. So no. Ditto on the making money thing.
Spoilers: Legion
Warnings: Some mild violence
Notes: For lady_draco, who gave me the idea for this one. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Ploink.
“Mmmm…” The rather pleasant voice shifted into a slightly higher register. “Mmmm….”
Ploink.
Some frantic noises, rather like the sound of cog-wheels grinding against one another sounded, and the voice rang out again; “mmmmmmmmm….”
Ploink.
There was a high-pitched half-squeal, half-scream, as Rimmer catapulted himself out of the sad plastic chair in which he had been sitting, looking catatonic, for the last hour or so. “Oh God,” he wailed, “I can’t stand it, I can’t bloody stand it one smegging second more! Lister,” he implored, turning towards the other man with arms outstretched, “that guitar doesn’t need tuning, it needs someone else playing it! For the sake of all that is good and holy, please, please stop!” Rimmer was almost bent over with the effort of shouting, because that was, of course, all he could do. He waved his hands uselessly in Lister’s direction, as though moving them quickly would make up for their insubstantiality.
There was a pause, in which Lister raised one eyebrow languidly, looking at Rimmer. Then he raised one finger, and plucked one of the strings.
Ploink.
Rimmer winced, his face screwing up like a dried out prune.
“Yeah?” Lister snorted. “And who’s gonna play it then; you? Think you could do it better than me?” He shook his head, adopting a mocking grin.
Rimmer glared, clenching his fists, moving aimlessly towards Lister, then taking a few steps back again. His nostrils contracted and expanded quietly, and he mumbled; “I want to hurt that guitar. I want nothing more than to grab it from your hands and beat you senseless with it.” It was true. Among other things. A vein on his forehead throbbed menacingly.
“Well, you can’t, can ya? All pretty lights and air you are; nothing but show.” Lister gripped his guitar more firmly, and struck a chord. A sound rather like a piano being crushed by a sledgehammer resulted, and Rimmer winced again.
“You really hate me, don’t you?” Rimmer looked to Lister for a reply, but the other man’s face could not be seen, as he concentrated intently on trying to arrange his fingers on the strings in some pattern or another. Nothing more was said between them, and the hologram promptly left, because what else could he do?
Lister sat on his bed in the room Legion had provided for him, strumming the guitar he’d found there with something akin to sexual delight. It hadn’t needed tuning, but Lister had done so anyway, just so he could marvel again at the fact that it didn’t need tuning. He loved the feel of a guitar in his hands; the wood smooth and solid against his palm, the metal hardness of the strings as his fingertips pressed against them, sliding back and forwards. The pleasing shape of the… Whatever it was called, the thingy, the resonating thing, pressed against his upper body. He sighed. Bliss. Chewing one of his locks thoughtfully, he paused, right hand poised above the strings, his left trying their best to assume the position of what he was fairly certain was B flat. What to play? There was so much to choose from… He frowned. Perhaps he should try to tune it one last time. Yes, that’d give him time to think. He only barely had time to deliver one or two echoing Ploinks, before the door sprang open, and Rimmer, screaming like a rabid Yorkshire terrier came running in, grabbed the guitar from Lister’s hands, and held it aloft like a weapon.
“Bastard,” he yelled, “Bastard! I can hear you, you know! My room is just next to this one; the walls must be paper thin! I could hear you, trying to torture me with your… Your…” He stopped, out of breath. His unfamiliar blue uniform contracted and expanded slightly around his chest as it heaved.
“Rimmer, man…” Lister swallowed, not liking the wild look in the other man’s eyes, “take it easy, eh?”
“Easy? Easy?? I’ve had it up to here with smegging ‘easy’, miladdo! I’ve had just about all I can take of ‘easy’ and ‘careful’ and smegging not smegging touching any smegging sodding thing for years and years and years and…” He swung the guitar around himself randomly as he raved, only missing Lister by about half an inch on several occasions.
“Oi,” Lister said, irritation giving way to anger, “relax, will ya? Chill!”
This had clearly been the wrong thing to say. Raising the guitar above his head, Rimmer smashed it heavily into the wall next to them, splinters flying, strings wailing in out-of-tune despair as they died, shriveling and curling up into parodies of themselves. He advanced on Lister, brandishing the sad remains like an absurd but frightening club. “Don’t…” he narrowed his eyes, getting right into Lister’s face, “tell… Me… To chill.”
Lister shook his head, breathing heavily. “I don’t want a stupid fight. Just re…”
“AND DON’T TELL ME TO SODDING RELAX!” Rimmer yelled. “God, you’re such a smugly cheerful bastard! ‘Relax!’ ‘Chill!’” He mimicked the scouser’s voice jarringly, and Lister winced. “Nothing fazes you, does it? My God, you’re three million years out into space, and you still think you can get back to Earth! Get back and be happy!” He faltered, running out of steam.
“So?” Lister glared. “Who says I can’t?”
“Because, you Dodo-brained little gerbil, they are all dead! Dead and gone! How can that cruddy mind of yours manage to hold on to the idea that there’s even a chance in hell that you’ll find your stupid planet, resurrect your dead girlfriend, have two kids by her and start raising long-extinct animals in a farm on a place that hasn’t even existed for millions of years?” He closed in on Lister and the bed, one knee poised on the edge of it, leaning over the other man.
Lister looked up with a cold smile, straightening his back. “Dead and gone, yeah? Well, so are you, mate. You’re not real. You just think you are.”
This did not have the intended effect. Rimmer had spent long hours reading all available literature on holograms, and further long hours angsting about the implications of various theories, until he had come to the conclusion, long ago, that all that mattered was how he thought, and therefore experienced, that he felt. And he felt like shit. He snorted. “Well, I’m not the only thing that isn’t real, am I Listy?” He bent forwards, simulated breath hitting Lister as an unpleasant surprise in the face.
“What do you mean?”
Rimmer moved back a little, keeping eye-contact, and Lister moved with him, both walking away from the bed to stand in the middle of the room, facing one another. Lister stretched himself to his full height and then some, as if daring the other man to be as tall as he observably was. “I mean your pathetic little show about pining away for Kochanski.” Imitating Lister’s voice again, he tilted his head, and quivered his lips; “Oh Kris, I miss you so much! I love you, I wish I’d’ve married ya, I want yer little babies.”
Raging, Lister took a quick step forwards, but Rimmer moved just as fast, and the stand-off resumed its balance. “What the hell are you implying,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh come on! You knew the woman for less than a month, and she’s been dead for years now Lister, millions of years and then some! You never pined for her this much when she was alive, but now she’s all you can talk about. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense to you because you’ve never loved anyone,” Lister fumed, hands twitching.
Rimmer swallowed, but kept his ground. “You’re not in love.” The words drifted coldly across the short space between the men, and suddenly they both felt they could see their breath, like cold frosty smoke from their mouths. “You just love the idea of love. If she came back right now, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’d be excited at first, but then you’d lose interest. It’d mean nothing to you if she was actually here, because you don’t love her. It’s just an idea to keep you going, give you something to wank…”
Rimmer was thrown back with the sudden punch, his hand flying to his chin, where simulated blood trickled slowly down, disappearing in blue, almost pretty sparks as it left the side of his face. “How are those pleasure and pain responses doing,” Lister jeered.
There was no scream or shout this time; Rimmer simply grabbed Lister by the biceps, throwing him hard against the nearest wall. To his frustration, Lister found that the hard-light drive must have given Rimmer more strength than he’d had before, because the grip was like steel. He had no hope of ever escaping from it, and he glared in frustration, hissing at Rimmer. Suddenly, he remembered his legs were free. He kicked the hologram hard in the shin, wanting to aim much higher, and almost whooped when Rimmer let go in surprise at the sudden pain.
Lister took advantage of the opportunity to hit Rimmer again, and again, and again, shouting what he thought must be obscenities, but his mind had more or less stopped working. It might as well have been the shopping list for their last raid on a derelict. Rimmer seemed to just stand there, allowing himself to be punched, apparently equally surprised by the fact that Lister was punching him as he was by the fact that it hurt. Simulated blood splattered and sparked in all directions around him, and anger rose in him anew. With a groan, he turned, and hit Lister with the side of his arm, putting most of his new strength behind the blow. The other man flew across the room, with no idea what had happened to him, landing hard on the bed, and just lay there, blinking, trying to identify the various sources of pain in his body.
When he saw Rimmer approaching in his peripheral vision, Lister got up on his elbows, and crawled back towards the headboard, ready to kick the other man away, claw at him, bite him; anything, anything to hurt him as much as humanly possible. Rimmer didn’t seem to be in any hurry, getting up on the bed on his hands and knees, crawling slowly across to where Lister now lay, murder and something feral in his eyes as he place an arm on either side of the other man, who, to his own surprise and horror, did not kick him off after all.
“I’ll kill ya…” Lister mumbled. “I swear, I’ll kill ya…” He brought a hand up to claw at Rimmer, tearing at the plush blue fabric, getting nowhere, and whimpering. The sound seemed off, but he didn’t care; something he had no control over was going on, and he was helpless to do anything but stand by and let it happen.
“Please do,” Rimmer breathed, swooping down and biting Lister’s lower lip, making the other man buck underneath him in suddenly realized mad desire. He drew blood, the taste of which mixed with the metallic flavor in his own mouth. He wondered, idly, if Lister could taste it too when he felt that long, agile tongue pushing his lips apart, and entering the cavern beyond.
Rimmer didn’t notice his jacket or undershirt disappearing, nor was he aware of the fact that he had made them do so himself; all he felt was a deep, full satisfaction, which was somehow a hunger at the same time. He felt Lister writhe beneath him, felt him break the kiss and pant like he’d done a three mile run, felt Lister’s teeth as they bit into his shoulder, which is when he lost control completely.
Lister ran his hands over Rimmer’s body, relishing the feel of the smooth skin taut over nicely defined muscles, shuddered as he moved further down, feeling buttocks under too-tight trousers, pushing his hands underneath, confused, suddenly, to note that the moment he had touched them, the clothes had disappeared.
Lost in another world, Rimmer tore away at Lister’s clothing, the collection of vaguely fitting together patches of leather that Lister’s laughingly referred to as his jacket amazingly failing to fall apart from his rough handling. He was about to tear open the overalls, his erection grinding against Lister leg, when he noticed that the other man was no longer moving. He looked up, suddenly seeing Lister’s; Lister’s eyes filled with lust and confusion and something else, and he panicked.
He realized he was naked, and reached entirely new levels of panic. Fortunately, his new hard-light drive interpreted this as a desire to be clothed, and promptly replaced that shiny new uniform around his panting, horrified body. “Oh God,” he choked, as he slid backwards off the bed, not hearing Lister’s words of protestation, worry… Concern. As fast as his upgraded legs could propel him, he was out the door and back in his own room, desperately struggling to put on those very handily provided nocturnal boxing gloves.
Damn, Lister thought, staring at the ceiling, I always thought that thing about your balls exploding if you didn’t go all the way was an urban legend. He wanted to look down at his crotch, but the dull pain made him uncharacteristically paranoid about doing so. He prodded the arm that had gotten the worst of Rimmer’s cross-the-room blow, and relished the relief from the insistent pain-yet-not-pain of his protesting erection. That would leave a mark. In fact, a lot of him would be black and blue for quite some time. He’d have to be careful for a while. Certainly, for quite a while.
Oh; but after that… He grinned, the soft light of the novelty neon lamps playing across his face. Now that he knew these feelings were mutual, he’d have… Fun.
Lister always got what he wanted, in the end.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: If I owned Red Dwarf, I'd probably not be taking this home exam from which I am currently procrastinating. So no. Ditto on the making money thing.
Spoilers: Legion
Warnings: Some mild violence
Notes: For lady_draco, who gave me the idea for this one. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Ploink.
“Mmmm…” The rather pleasant voice shifted into a slightly higher register. “Mmmm….”
Ploink.
Some frantic noises, rather like the sound of cog-wheels grinding against one another sounded, and the voice rang out again; “mmmmmmmmm….”
Ploink.
There was a high-pitched half-squeal, half-scream, as Rimmer catapulted himself out of the sad plastic chair in which he had been sitting, looking catatonic, for the last hour or so. “Oh God,” he wailed, “I can’t stand it, I can’t bloody stand it one smegging second more! Lister,” he implored, turning towards the other man with arms outstretched, “that guitar doesn’t need tuning, it needs someone else playing it! For the sake of all that is good and holy, please, please stop!” Rimmer was almost bent over with the effort of shouting, because that was, of course, all he could do. He waved his hands uselessly in Lister’s direction, as though moving them quickly would make up for their insubstantiality.
There was a pause, in which Lister raised one eyebrow languidly, looking at Rimmer. Then he raised one finger, and plucked one of the strings.
Ploink.
Rimmer winced, his face screwing up like a dried out prune.
“Yeah?” Lister snorted. “And who’s gonna play it then; you? Think you could do it better than me?” He shook his head, adopting a mocking grin.
Rimmer glared, clenching his fists, moving aimlessly towards Lister, then taking a few steps back again. His nostrils contracted and expanded quietly, and he mumbled; “I want to hurt that guitar. I want nothing more than to grab it from your hands and beat you senseless with it.” It was true. Among other things. A vein on his forehead throbbed menacingly.
“Well, you can’t, can ya? All pretty lights and air you are; nothing but show.” Lister gripped his guitar more firmly, and struck a chord. A sound rather like a piano being crushed by a sledgehammer resulted, and Rimmer winced again.
“You really hate me, don’t you?” Rimmer looked to Lister for a reply, but the other man’s face could not be seen, as he concentrated intently on trying to arrange his fingers on the strings in some pattern or another. Nothing more was said between them, and the hologram promptly left, because what else could he do?
Lister sat on his bed in the room Legion had provided for him, strumming the guitar he’d found there with something akin to sexual delight. It hadn’t needed tuning, but Lister had done so anyway, just so he could marvel again at the fact that it didn’t need tuning. He loved the feel of a guitar in his hands; the wood smooth and solid against his palm, the metal hardness of the strings as his fingertips pressed against them, sliding back and forwards. The pleasing shape of the… Whatever it was called, the thingy, the resonating thing, pressed against his upper body. He sighed. Bliss. Chewing one of his locks thoughtfully, he paused, right hand poised above the strings, his left trying their best to assume the position of what he was fairly certain was B flat. What to play? There was so much to choose from… He frowned. Perhaps he should try to tune it one last time. Yes, that’d give him time to think. He only barely had time to deliver one or two echoing Ploinks, before the door sprang open, and Rimmer, screaming like a rabid Yorkshire terrier came running in, grabbed the guitar from Lister’s hands, and held it aloft like a weapon.
“Bastard,” he yelled, “Bastard! I can hear you, you know! My room is just next to this one; the walls must be paper thin! I could hear you, trying to torture me with your… Your…” He stopped, out of breath. His unfamiliar blue uniform contracted and expanded slightly around his chest as it heaved.
“Rimmer, man…” Lister swallowed, not liking the wild look in the other man’s eyes, “take it easy, eh?”
“Easy? Easy?? I’ve had it up to here with smegging ‘easy’, miladdo! I’ve had just about all I can take of ‘easy’ and ‘careful’ and smegging not smegging touching any smegging sodding thing for years and years and years and…” He swung the guitar around himself randomly as he raved, only missing Lister by about half an inch on several occasions.
“Oi,” Lister said, irritation giving way to anger, “relax, will ya? Chill!”
This had clearly been the wrong thing to say. Raising the guitar above his head, Rimmer smashed it heavily into the wall next to them, splinters flying, strings wailing in out-of-tune despair as they died, shriveling and curling up into parodies of themselves. He advanced on Lister, brandishing the sad remains like an absurd but frightening club. “Don’t…” he narrowed his eyes, getting right into Lister’s face, “tell… Me… To chill.”
Lister shook his head, breathing heavily. “I don’t want a stupid fight. Just re…”
“AND DON’T TELL ME TO SODDING RELAX!” Rimmer yelled. “God, you’re such a smugly cheerful bastard! ‘Relax!’ ‘Chill!’” He mimicked the scouser’s voice jarringly, and Lister winced. “Nothing fazes you, does it? My God, you’re three million years out into space, and you still think you can get back to Earth! Get back and be happy!” He faltered, running out of steam.
“So?” Lister glared. “Who says I can’t?”
“Because, you Dodo-brained little gerbil, they are all dead! Dead and gone! How can that cruddy mind of yours manage to hold on to the idea that there’s even a chance in hell that you’ll find your stupid planet, resurrect your dead girlfriend, have two kids by her and start raising long-extinct animals in a farm on a place that hasn’t even existed for millions of years?” He closed in on Lister and the bed, one knee poised on the edge of it, leaning over the other man.
Lister looked up with a cold smile, straightening his back. “Dead and gone, yeah? Well, so are you, mate. You’re not real. You just think you are.”
This did not have the intended effect. Rimmer had spent long hours reading all available literature on holograms, and further long hours angsting about the implications of various theories, until he had come to the conclusion, long ago, that all that mattered was how he thought, and therefore experienced, that he felt. And he felt like shit. He snorted. “Well, I’m not the only thing that isn’t real, am I Listy?” He bent forwards, simulated breath hitting Lister as an unpleasant surprise in the face.
“What do you mean?”
Rimmer moved back a little, keeping eye-contact, and Lister moved with him, both walking away from the bed to stand in the middle of the room, facing one another. Lister stretched himself to his full height and then some, as if daring the other man to be as tall as he observably was. “I mean your pathetic little show about pining away for Kochanski.” Imitating Lister’s voice again, he tilted his head, and quivered his lips; “Oh Kris, I miss you so much! I love you, I wish I’d’ve married ya, I want yer little babies.”
Raging, Lister took a quick step forwards, but Rimmer moved just as fast, and the stand-off resumed its balance. “What the hell are you implying,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh come on! You knew the woman for less than a month, and she’s been dead for years now Lister, millions of years and then some! You never pined for her this much when she was alive, but now she’s all you can talk about. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense to you because you’ve never loved anyone,” Lister fumed, hands twitching.
Rimmer swallowed, but kept his ground. “You’re not in love.” The words drifted coldly across the short space between the men, and suddenly they both felt they could see their breath, like cold frosty smoke from their mouths. “You just love the idea of love. If she came back right now, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’d be excited at first, but then you’d lose interest. It’d mean nothing to you if she was actually here, because you don’t love her. It’s just an idea to keep you going, give you something to wank…”
Rimmer was thrown back with the sudden punch, his hand flying to his chin, where simulated blood trickled slowly down, disappearing in blue, almost pretty sparks as it left the side of his face. “How are those pleasure and pain responses doing,” Lister jeered.
There was no scream or shout this time; Rimmer simply grabbed Lister by the biceps, throwing him hard against the nearest wall. To his frustration, Lister found that the hard-light drive must have given Rimmer more strength than he’d had before, because the grip was like steel. He had no hope of ever escaping from it, and he glared in frustration, hissing at Rimmer. Suddenly, he remembered his legs were free. He kicked the hologram hard in the shin, wanting to aim much higher, and almost whooped when Rimmer let go in surprise at the sudden pain.
Lister took advantage of the opportunity to hit Rimmer again, and again, and again, shouting what he thought must be obscenities, but his mind had more or less stopped working. It might as well have been the shopping list for their last raid on a derelict. Rimmer seemed to just stand there, allowing himself to be punched, apparently equally surprised by the fact that Lister was punching him as he was by the fact that it hurt. Simulated blood splattered and sparked in all directions around him, and anger rose in him anew. With a groan, he turned, and hit Lister with the side of his arm, putting most of his new strength behind the blow. The other man flew across the room, with no idea what had happened to him, landing hard on the bed, and just lay there, blinking, trying to identify the various sources of pain in his body.
When he saw Rimmer approaching in his peripheral vision, Lister got up on his elbows, and crawled back towards the headboard, ready to kick the other man away, claw at him, bite him; anything, anything to hurt him as much as humanly possible. Rimmer didn’t seem to be in any hurry, getting up on the bed on his hands and knees, crawling slowly across to where Lister now lay, murder and something feral in his eyes as he place an arm on either side of the other man, who, to his own surprise and horror, did not kick him off after all.
“I’ll kill ya…” Lister mumbled. “I swear, I’ll kill ya…” He brought a hand up to claw at Rimmer, tearing at the plush blue fabric, getting nowhere, and whimpering. The sound seemed off, but he didn’t care; something he had no control over was going on, and he was helpless to do anything but stand by and let it happen.
“Please do,” Rimmer breathed, swooping down and biting Lister’s lower lip, making the other man buck underneath him in suddenly realized mad desire. He drew blood, the taste of which mixed with the metallic flavor in his own mouth. He wondered, idly, if Lister could taste it too when he felt that long, agile tongue pushing his lips apart, and entering the cavern beyond.
Rimmer didn’t notice his jacket or undershirt disappearing, nor was he aware of the fact that he had made them do so himself; all he felt was a deep, full satisfaction, which was somehow a hunger at the same time. He felt Lister writhe beneath him, felt him break the kiss and pant like he’d done a three mile run, felt Lister’s teeth as they bit into his shoulder, which is when he lost control completely.
Lister ran his hands over Rimmer’s body, relishing the feel of the smooth skin taut over nicely defined muscles, shuddered as he moved further down, feeling buttocks under too-tight trousers, pushing his hands underneath, confused, suddenly, to note that the moment he had touched them, the clothes had disappeared.
Lost in another world, Rimmer tore away at Lister’s clothing, the collection of vaguely fitting together patches of leather that Lister’s laughingly referred to as his jacket amazingly failing to fall apart from his rough handling. He was about to tear open the overalls, his erection grinding against Lister leg, when he noticed that the other man was no longer moving. He looked up, suddenly seeing Lister’s; Lister’s eyes filled with lust and confusion and something else, and he panicked.
He realized he was naked, and reached entirely new levels of panic. Fortunately, his new hard-light drive interpreted this as a desire to be clothed, and promptly replaced that shiny new uniform around his panting, horrified body. “Oh God,” he choked, as he slid backwards off the bed, not hearing Lister’s words of protestation, worry… Concern. As fast as his upgraded legs could propel him, he was out the door and back in his own room, desperately struggling to put on those very handily provided nocturnal boxing gloves.
Damn, Lister thought, staring at the ceiling, I always thought that thing about your balls exploding if you didn’t go all the way was an urban legend. He wanted to look down at his crotch, but the dull pain made him uncharacteristically paranoid about doing so. He prodded the arm that had gotten the worst of Rimmer’s cross-the-room blow, and relished the relief from the insistent pain-yet-not-pain of his protesting erection. That would leave a mark. In fact, a lot of him would be black and blue for quite some time. He’d have to be careful for a while. Certainly, for quite a while.
Oh; but after that… He grinned, the soft light of the novelty neon lamps playing across his face. Now that he knew these feelings were mutual, he’d have… Fun.
Lister always got what he wanted, in the end.