Categories > TV > Red Dwarf


by Roadstergal 0 reviews

A Bodyswap gapfiller. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Category: Red Dwarf - Rating: PG - Genres: Humor - Warnings: [!!!] - Published: 2006-09-06 - Updated: 2006-09-07 - 619 words - Complete

The cigar in the Better Than Life game had felt like rubber and tasted like cloves. It had, after all, merely been a prop, a symbol of Rimmer's divine officerhood, a small phallic scepter to indicate to all his eminence, his potence. I Am An Admiral, it sang as he held it nonchalantly in two fingers. It had no need to taste and smell like a real cigar - which Rimmer had never held, anyway.

The cigars that lay in the captain's humidor had a sharp, almost acidic smell, and the one he pulled out felt like rough paper. Rimmer held it slightly away from him as he snipped off the end - he had seen it done, by those with rank, over and over again - and put it gingerly in his mouth. The taste was vague, worrisome - but what he was contemplating would probably taste even more foul, wouldn't it? He had never actually asked anyone - dear god, what reciprocal questions would that bring up? - but he could not imagine that it would be an epicure's delight. The captain's lighter flicked on with a narrow, steady blue flame, and Rimmer touched it to the tip of the cigar while sucking in on the end and blowing out around it. The cigar came to glowing, smoking life. Rimmer shut off the flame and sucked in a lungful of thick smoke. It did, indeed, taste rancid, strongly foul, and Rimmer coughed out the lungful. But there was a certain thrill in how close it was to what he was contemplating, and the taste was a key part of that. Rimmer cautiously sucked in a smaller lungful, then picked up the humidor and lighter. Just the perfect shape, the humidor, to stash under a regulation bunk, Rimmer thought as he snuck back to their nicked quarters.

About a day and many cigars later, Rimmer's own face flopped down in front of him, nostrils flaring irately. /He has no idea how to flare them properly/, Rimmer noted absently, as he exhaled. "Oi," the vile accent sounded odd, coming out of his own mouth, "can't yeh read?" One lean, pale finger pointed to the No Smoking sign Rimmer had made the skutters slap over his bunk as soon as he had moved.

"I'm not sm..." Rimmer buried the sentence in a hacking cough. "Well, miladdio, I wouldn't want your poor, abused body to suffer the additional pangs of nicotine withdrawal, would I?" He tried to arch an eyebrow, but his face just twisted in what must, he was sure, be an inane expression; those eyebrows were not made for condescending arches.

"Yer welchin'," Rimmer's face snarled back at him. "You'd better get me in shape pretty smegging quick, or I'm calling this off. Off, Rimmer!" Lister swung back up into his bed, falling onto the sheets he could not feel, breating out an unnecessarily loud, angry sigh.

"Better shape than ever," Rimmer said, calmly. With Lister no longer staring at him, he could once again go back to licking the cigar up and down the sides, with long, slow strokes, then sucking the thing into his mouth. He could pull it in almost to the glowing tip, now. True, it was significantly slenderer and a mite bit shorter than what he had all too good a view of, these days, but no substitute is perfect. Rimmer lay back with a sigh on sheets he could feel, wiggling slightly to relish the sensation of silk pajamas on skin, still thrilling after days of it. As was the thought of what else he might be doing as he sucked the cigar into his mouth again, running his tongue along what was inside to taste the acrid end.
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