Categories > TV > Red Dwarf > Forwards0 Reviews
The natural followup to a night of drinking.
Lister stirred. He felt rather comfortable and relaxed; he could sleep for another hour or two.
He could sleep for another hour or two if Rimmer would shut up. Lister grabbed the pillow and pulled it over his head. "Shaddup, Rimmer," he yelled at the wall. He felt the barest twinge of hangover, but it was barely even noticeable. He hadn't gotten terribly drunk, after all. Rimmer's pillow, Rimmer's bunk; it didn't come back in a rush, but had been nestled in his awareness since he had woken. He hadn't gotten terribly drunk, after all.
"Lister," Rimmer groaned, "you're breathing too loudly."
The smegger really couldn't take his alcohol, could he? Lister had poured maybe a quarter of that bottle out, and maybe half of that had actually made it down Rimmer's throat. Lister had gone through a bottle of that himself, along with the swig from the last one and what he had licked off of Rimmer, and it had just been enough to get what Lister liked to think of as Nicely Drunk. Enough to toss all of the little inhibitions and neuroses that civilized life slap on you, enough to let the real him come out and have a night of unrestrained fun. Apparently, enough to have sex with Rimmer, as well.
He had been guilty of premeditation with that one, no doubt. His twentieth birthday - that was the one to get drunk and get laid on, for sure. Well, the first time around, that had been every birthday from puberty to the death of the human race, but he was a little more constrained by circumstance this time around. Lister lay in the bunk, listening to the groaning and wondering what the two of them would do, now. The mental image of him lying around on his bunk chatting and looking at the stars or watching It's A Wonderful Life with Rimmer, as he had with Kochanski, came to mind, and Lister snorted and spat out a giggle.
"Lister!" Rimmer cried in a weak, plaintive voice.
Well, that question was answered. He would leave this nice comfy bunk so he would not have to listen to Rimmer have a hangover. Lister sighed and sat up, gaping his jaw in a yawn and stretching until his back popped. Rimmer sat at the table in the middle of their room, wearing his (now sadly wrinkled and wadded) silk pajama bottoms, his head pillowed on his (now sadly ripped and wadded) silk pajama top. His face was locked in a rather interesting meld of disgust and misery, and his hair stuck out frizzy spurts of curl. He looked at Lister with glassy eyes.
"I'll just leave yeh alone," Lister said, cracking his back as he stood. He picked up his boxers - he must have kicked them and his trousers off during the night - and stepped into them as he walked towards the door, fumbling into his boots once the boxers were high enough to stay put. Rimmer closed his eyes and moaned.
Lister ordered a simple breakfast from the nearest vend-o-mat. It stared silently back. Lister frowned and repeated his order more loudly.
"Oi," Holly said, popping into view on a nearby monitor. "Sorry 'bout that. The vend-o-mat's on holiday. I said I'd take over. Shouldn't have done it right after a party!" She did look the worse for wear, Lister thought; she had purple bags under her eyes, and her hair was up in soft pink rollers. "Too good, Dave, that party! I haven't gotten that jiggered since..."
"Holly, can I have me food?" Lister asked, petulantly. His stomach grumbled to emphasize the point.
"Oh, yeh, sorry. Here." The vend-o-mat blinked to life, and delivered his breakfast tray - correctly, for once. Holly still was good at one thing, at least. Lister put one hand under the tray as he walked to the control room, freeing the other to drop the small cup of espresso into the stein of lager, and to upend the curry paste over his oatmeal. He sat down in one of the control chairs and put his feet up on the console as he dug in with gusto.
Holly's head reappeared over the console. "You're lucky I'm on watch. You just pushed the self-destruct button with your boot."
Lister raised his eyebrow as he looked. His boot was sitting on an innocuous grey button. "That's the self-destruct?"
"Yep. Not the best design, I know, but nobody asked me/, now, did they?" She blinked. "Whot's with Rimmer? I just tried to give him his wake-up, and he called me somethin' /very rude. Not in the least bit true, either. I've never even seen a badger in person."
"He's got a hangover," Lister replied, through a mouthful of spicy oatmeal.
"Oh, fer cryin'..." Holly sighed. "He doesn't know smeg about that drive, does he?" She disappeared.
Lister took a sip of caffeinated beer and chewed it into his mouthful of oatmeal. Thoughts were flicking around in his head, and with the distractions of Rimmer's moans and Holly's nannering gone, they were settling into the zone responsible for rumination. Events had not exactly followed premeditation. The thought had entered his mind, while he and Cat were playing pin-the-brassiere-on-the-president with Y-front blindfolds, that it might be fun to end the evening with something other than a drunken stupor, and The Event had come to mind. Enough time had passed since then that it had actually seemed like a good idea to get Rimmer a little drunk, do some tongue-kissing, stroke each other off, call it a night. He had been a little startled at how eager Rimmer had been, however - and yes, that was where things had gotten a bit out of hand. Heady kisses, ripped clothing, and then it had gotten completely out of hand, and into somewhere else.
Lister took a deep breath, draining the last of the beer, throwing his head back until the porcelain of the espresso cup slid down to bump his lips. It had felt far too good - hot, almost maddeningly tight, dragging a mind-bogglingly good orgasm out of him. But the look on Rimmer's face - it had been hypnotizing, and he must have been staring, to remember it so clearly. He had never seen that man look anything other than snarky and mean, excepting that creepy look of waiting Lister would sometimes catch, back when he first landed, and that slack-jawed, idiotic look Rimmer had sported when he had first gotten that hard-light drive. But when Lister had been doing what Lister himself would not have taken lying down, so to speak, Rimmer had looked lost, sad, needing - expressions Lister did not think the hologram's face capable of forming.
The black screen in front of him formed fascinating reflections as Lister moved his head slightly back and forth, and he did so, gently rattling the now-empty glass against his tray. He could not say how long he had been doing so, lost in thought, before the tap-tap of regulation Space Corps boots (and the man had never made it into the blasted Space Corps!) came up the corridor, pausing just behind Lister.
Rimmer straightened his spotless red uniform. His hair, too, was immaculately parted, beaten into submission with whatever holograms used in place of gel. "Having a good morning's layabout, you disgrace to the noble engineering of this command centre?" Rimmer asked, sniffing.
"Mornin', Rimmer," Lister said, scooping up a spoonful of cooling, congealed oatmeal. He popped it into his mouth and grinned at Rimmer, chewing with his mouth open. There was a certain delight in watching Rimmer's look of disgust, one that made the remainder of his breakfast just a little bit tastier.