Red Dwarf belongs to Grant Naylor... sadly, the only thing I own is a small collection of bongos and this fanfiction, so enjoy!
btw: I had a thought about Rimmer walking through walls. If e walked through walls, his light bee would get stuck the other side of the door and he'd just dissapear. Just thought I'd clear that little fact up!
Be nice, people, read and review.
There's only so long a man can go without sex. For some, a few weeks, others, months, maybe even years. Blue balls aren't a medical condition, but he was sure that his sperm count must be derelict from disuse by now. Masturbation was out of the question; the thought of relieving himself in the company of his bunkmate made his belly heave. And anyway, it rarely worked. He needed something more, something real.
As you can imagine, nostalgia began to creep in. Nights were spent reminiscing about past girlfriends. The feel of their skin, so soft and almost velvet-like beneath his rough, calloused fingertips. How the fat on their thighs would ripple with pleasure when he explored them with fascination. And their breasts! My god, wonderful, wonderful breasts. He loved how the skin on them would be even softer than the rest of their bodies, how he understood why god had created them for his gender's offspring. It gave him a massive ego trip to know that these attachments were effectively his. But especially, he loved their backs. How they arched inwards at the point of climax, so much so that their flexibility would surprise him, how they swayed to and fro to tease him, dare him to touch and to take.
Of course, he wouldn't say this in as many words. Usually, he crudely muttered "Pound 'er man!" Whilst watching the ship's supply of dirty films on his times alone. He'd try, but in the end he'd find himself on the edge of his seat, cheering the male lead on, or turning over onto a zero-gravity football game. Anyway, his bunkmate was obsessed with anything along those lines. He only had to have a leisurely scratch whilst watching "Hot Mercury Babes" and the hologram would usually quip "Worried it's going to fall off, Listy?" or "You're going to go blind, you know," How hilarious.
One night was very similar. He'd popped one of his personal favourites (Ganymede's Gorgeous Jugs) into the large computer screen that dominated the room and had just settled down onto his bunk, a Leopard lager balancing precariously on one knee. He had came to the conclusion that no-one was in sight, Kryten was dusting the cockpit, Cat as far as he knew was leafing through his personal collection of hankies, and Rimmer? He'd already taken care of him. The telly flickered into life and a marvellous pair bounced comically onto screen amid a musical score of god-awful smooth jazz.
"Ah... yes," He smiled to himself, and took a deep swig of lager, the amber liquid bubbling bitterly down his eager throat. "Heaven. Just you and me, girls, just you and me,"
Rimmer was not having a good day. In fact, he was well and truly pissed off. Why? He knew smegging why. He'd lost something... something bloody important. His footfalls even sounded angry as he marched up the long grey corridors, the stomps echoing furiously down the capillaries of the ship.
"Holly? Have you found it yet?" He growled at the screen in the cockpit. Kryten blinked at him and lowered his candy-coloured feather duster.
"Found what, Mr Rimmer sir?"
"My smegging books on Napoleonic War Manoeuvres! That scouse smell factory has hidden them somewhere! I just know it,"
Rimmer pouted and crossed his arms sulkily. Kyten buzzed quietly as he returned to dusting; silently trying to figure out what on earth would Mr Rimmer want with information about a midget with a size issue.
"Hang about! Rimmer, I think I just found your books," Holly's voice piped up suddenly, causing everyone in the room to jump slightly.
The hologram's eyes lit up in expectation. "Where, Holly? Where?"
"You ain't gonna like it,"
"Just tell me," Rimmer was almost on tiptoes now.
"They appear to be in orbit around the last planet we passed," She stated matter-of-factly. "You know, that purple spotted one... oh well, that's nice, he's gone," Holly looked about, the sound of stamping growing steadily faint.
"I dunno Kryten, you try and try but you never get any thanks," She mumbled to the mechanoid, who had stopped dusting and was fixing a hoover attachment to his groinal socket.
"I know, Miss Holly. Why, they never seem to like it when I do the hoovering for them!" He shook his head resignedly, and pressed the "start" button on his left buttock cheek.
"LISTER!!!" He roared as he marched to their quarters. Boy, wasn't he going to wring his neck, stretch it from the highest point he could think of (the beams in the cargo hold seems like a satisfactory place) and put HIS guitar into orbit around the purple spotted planet. Yeah, that'll shut that gerbil- faced git up. Maybe he'll even put his dreads into the garbage disposal.
It was then he realised that the quarter's door would not slide open.
"Open!" He demanded, but the door just stood and stared back at him, unanswered and unopened.
"OCCUPIED!!!" A desperate voice yelled back. It sounded awkward and hurried, not he cared. Occupied? It was his bunk! It was his space and room and he should be allowed to enter whenever he wanted.
"YOU BASTARD LISTER! LET ME IN!"
"In a... a... aaaAAaaahhhh..." was the strangled answer. Rimmer had had just about enough of this nonsense.
"I'M COMING IN!"
At this point Rimmer switched to soft-light and poked his head through the white panelled door, his eyes furiously scanning the room, his cheeks practically glowing purple with rage. Lister grinned at the face, his smile a little too wide, and greeted this vision of loveliness growling at him with the calm phrase "Door, unlock,"
The hologram stood motionless at the door, his eyes practically popping out of his sockets onto the floor. On the top bunk was Lister, an almost manic grin on his face, a pool game playing nonchalantly on the telly screen. A small, quiet "flap" sounded from in-between Lister's legs.
"My books? I thought they were in orbit! What are you still doing with them?" Rimmer's eyes narrowed as he stepped forwards, grabbing at his precious tomes. Lister jumped down from the bunk and strode his way past him, the paperback books flopping side to side as he held them upright at shoulder height.
"Very interesting reads, Rimmer. I think I may just borrow them another time," He practically laughed in Rimmer's face as he held them out to him, their pages flapping in abandon. Arnold was taken aback, and after switching back to hard light, snatched them from the offender's hold, gripping them in a protective embrace as though they were priceless antiques.
"But... but Holly said..."
"Sorry, my bad," said a sheepish female voice from the television screen above their heads. "Turns out I had grit on my screen again... book-shaped ones," She giggled embarrassedly.
Rimmer eyed the smaller, darker figure in front of him with an aching suspicion. Eventually he coughed, and turned to walk in the door, tucking the book safely between his torso and the crook of his arm.
"Wait... Lister, what have you done to these? You been eating syrup sandwiches again?" Rimmer inspected his fingers; a slight stickiness curiously coated them. But Lister was gone, casually singing his way back to the cockpit.
Lister giggled to himself unashamedly. He'll be doing that a little more often, he thought.