FicWad

Rimmer stared up at the ceiling of his bunk. Five hundred years and change trapped in a cell will leave you hungry for a change of scene, but he was not sure if a change of scene back to the Starbug's crew was truly what the doctor ordered. They were all highly amused by his... adventure. He was in no mood to take it.

A glass of water sat on the floor nearby. He had been without any kind of food or drink for five hundred years (his myriad clones stopped feeding him in the hopes he would die; when he didn't, they just ignored him). The first sip of water he took, once back on board Starbug, had given him a thrill that was almost sexual in its intensity, and he thought that was the most pathetic thing he had ever heard of. An intense emotional sharing with a glass of water.

He twiddled his worry balls in his fingers. They just did not grind together satisfyingly anymore. After about two hundred and fifty years, they were only nominal - and it was all downhill after that. He had tried to get another set from Kryten, but the metal eunuch had assured him that those were the only pair on the ship. Space Corps regulation... something or other: In the event that more than one set of worry balls is required on a scout ship, commanding officer should plot an alternate route. And so he was stuck with a worryingly small set of worry balls.

Lister sat in a chair with his legs up on the folding table, reading a comic book with an intensity better suited to a political treatise. At the sound of the metal spheres clinking in Rimmer's fingers, he looked up. "Feel bad that you got no balls left?"

"Piercing wit, Listy. I thought that was a pretty good line about two hundred years ago."

"It's true, though. I never saw anyone do anything so cowardly."

They'd been through this before. Many, many times. These were the conversations that left Rimmer wanting the cell back again.

"Well, I think I've paid for it," he said shortly.

"You know..." Lister put down his comic. "I think you have. And I hope you've learned summit from it."

"What? Avoid simulant spaceships? Never clone alone?"

"Stick with your friends," Lister said, seriously. "You've always used people as stepping stones, Rimsy. We're not. Friends look out for each other, come what may."

Rimmer grimaced and tried again, unsuccessfully, to grind his worry balls. They slipped through his fingers and bounced to the floor. "Smegging hell." Rimmer flopped back on his bunk with an aggravated sigh.

"Time to find another stress release."

"Fire away."

Lister shrugged. "Physical stuff. I'd say runnin', but you do that anyway. Hot bath. Backrub - Kryten used to do that for the birds on the Nova 5. I'd say masturbatin', but you do that any..."

"Listy."

Lister giggled.

"Backrub? I wouldn't trust that Fullerene-headed gimp to knead a loaf of bread."

"It don't have to be him. I know a little massage. I read about it in a book."

"This wouldn't happen to be one of those books on naughty ways to please women?"

"Nah, it's all straight and level. Some ancient Earth relaxation techniques - called tantra, or summing. Lemme show you."

Three reactions passed rapidly through Rimmer's mind. First - No smegging way. Second - Kryten's caution about possible death via stress. Third - The little BBs that had been his worry balls, now rolling around somewhere on the floor.

"Fine. Show me."

Lister had turned back to his comic after the pause, and looked back up with some surprise. Evidently, he had gotten as far as Rimmer's first thought and stopped there. "OK, man, I'll try. Er... you have to lie on yer stomach, I think. And get rid of the pillow." As Rimmer, with what he hoped was obvious discomfort, pushed the pillow and blanket onto the floor and turned onto his stomach, Lister tossed his cap aside and scratched his wooly head. "Hrm - we need some oil, or the friction will rub yeh raw." He thought for a moment, and then, struck by lightning inspiration as if with a ballpeen hammer, started to root through the box that held his private stash of curry sauce, hot pickle, and chutney.

"Listy, no/. I am /not going to have a tripe-hot madras backrub."

"Don' worry, man, I got it." Lister held up a small glass bottle. "Found it on the Simulant ship. Just fer you - Extra Virgin."

Rimmer dropped his face back onto the bunk with a loud thunk.

Lister walked over and sat on the edge of the bunk. Rimmer felt him tug at the neckline of his uniform jacket. "Gotta take yer kit off, man."

Rimmer concentrated and willed away his jacket and undershirt. Lister prodded at his back. "If you wus any stiffer, mate, you'd be dead." There was a pause, and Rimmer felt a cold drizzle on his back. He yelped.

"Easy, man," said Lister. He started to run his hands up and down Rimmer's back. Despite himself, Rimmer felt himself start to relax. The touch was just heavy enough to be past the point of tickling, but was still very gentle and superficial. As he relaxed, Lister probed harder, his fingers running over knots with a twang disturbingly reminiscent of his guitar playing. He moved back from one to the next and then back to the first, wearing them down slowly. Rimmer felt Lister's hands start to move outside of the back, traveling up Rimmer's neck to the hard knots at the base, over the shoulders, down the lower back to that horribly tense muscle below where the ribs terminate.

"Better?" Lister's voice seemed to drift in from somewhere far away.

"Murrrphle." It felt like a great deal of effort to be even that eloquent. Rimmer felt like a boned fish.

Lister's hands moved back to his neck. They were very, very gentle, now, almost soft, with warm breath behind them. They were, in fact, lips instead of hands, and Rimmer was too blissfully relaxed to do anything more than take in stride the fact that Lister was kissing the back of his neck with butterfly kisses.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Robinson?" he mumbled.

"Yes," said Lister, the kisses began to move around to the side of Rimmer's neck; hands were running up and down his sides. When Rimmer put up no resistance, he felt the hands turn him over gently onto his back, and Lister pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was much as he remembered it from that one time before; a pervasive taste of nicotine, a light dusting of lager, and a very solid base of fiery curry. It was definitely the most interesting mouth Rimmer had ever kissed - not, he had to admit, that it took very long to line up the other contenders and compare them all. And he had to admit, if only to himself, that he had no knowledge of whether he was capable of delivering a good kiss - although, if he had to guess, it would be that this fervent mashing together of lips that he had instigated by taking Lister under the armpits and pulling him closer was not it. But what the smeg; he was relaxed, he was excited, and this was Lister's idea anyway.

Lister certainly didn't seem to mind; he had crawled awkwardly into the bunk without letting go, and now straddled Rimmer with his hands moving up and down the hologram's bare and oily back. He pulled back slightly and opened his mouth. Rimmer started to ask a question, and Lister stuck his tongue into Rimmer's now open mouth. Well, that was an interesting development. Rimmer fiddled with the tongue while Lister's lips moved over his, and his hands moved lower, from the bare back down to the velour-clad buttocks, squeezing them together and grinding his own hips into Rimmer's. He was very obviously erect. But despite his relaxed state, and the unexpected fun of all of this, a small cold pit of worry and fear still sat in the base of Rimmer's stomach - somewhere around the colon or appendix, he judged, and it kept him soft. He tentatively ran his hand through Lister's tightly curled hair, and Lister began to move madly against him, jamming his tongue deep into Rimmer's mouth. It was exciting in the uncontrolled manner of a rollercoaster - where one trusts to some benevolent deity who knows the laws of physics and humanity better than oneself that the fun will not turn into pain or death at any point. After a short while of this, Lister put his cheek to Rimmer's - an unexpectedly soft cheek, pleasant to the touch - and gasped, his whole body shuddering. He then lay still on top of Rimmer.

"Relaxed, man?"

"Yes," Rimmer was surprised to reply. He was tingly, and somewhat nervously thrilled, but he was not, strictly speaking, stressed out anymore.

"Good." Lister fished the pillow out from where it sat, discarded, on the ground, stuffed it under Rimmer's head, grabbed the blanket, threw it over them, and promptly started to snore.

Rimmer grimaced. The goit actually was going to fall asleep in his bunk? Next to him? Rimmer started to fish for the energy to get his dangerously relaxed and limp body out of the bunk.

Lister grumbled, turned, flung an arm over Rimmer's chest, and started to snore again.

Well, if he told Lister off now, the goit would miss out on it. Besides, if he waited until Lister woke up, that would give him more time to compose a really good rant. Satisfied, Rimmer settled next to Lister's warm body and drifted off.