FicWad

Red Dwarf Fanfic: Last Humans

Chapter 4 : Kochanski

Summary: Wherein Lister is miserable, Kochanski is horny and Kryten is appalled.

Warnings: Graphic sexual situations, heterosexual sex

Beta: Roadstergal, Rack, Cazflibs

Chapter Rating: MA(18+)

(ooo)

Kochanski

(ooo)

//Ship Serial No: Red Dwarf JMC66350

//Ship’s Time: 18:27-05.25-002.343

//AI-Holly-Executive: ENDOCRINE ANOMALY IN WET-WARE UNIT AJRIMMER023044

//AI-Holly-Executive: AJRIMMER023044 NO LONGER A GIT

"He's different, somehow," Kochanski whispered to Dave. He glanced up, looking distant. Kochanski eyed him. She'd stopped seeing her Dave whenever this scruffy scouser space-bum went quiet and thoughtful. It'd taken a while, and she'd been damn glad when it had stopped.

"Yeah," Dave said, chewing on a lock.

Kochanski wrinkled her nose at the habit but said nothing. "He moves differently."

"No kiddin'." Dave replied, dropping his plait. "Never seen Rimmer twat a man in the space of a heartbeat b'fore." Dave went quiet for a moment. Kochanski could feel something bubbling up to the surface, so she didn't jump in immediately. "Except once. In a game. He'd gotten these abilities, you see—bare-fisted fighting. He sort of moves like that, except—" Dave glanced at the other man, still eating alone and reading his book at the table furthest from them in the small NCO mess. "'Cept it's more real now."

"Yeah," Kochanski said, a little breathless. Her skin flushed hot as she watched Rimmer chew, his lips flattened and wiggling like the tip of a hedgehog's nose. He chewed again, and then flipped a page.

"Oh, no." Dave snapped his fingers in front of her face. "No, You don't."

Kochanski started, then turned to Lister. "What?"

"Yer not getting all breathless and blushy over... him." Dave jerked his thumb at Rimmer.

She laughed weakly, playing with the hair at the back of her neck. "I'm not. No. Of course not. The idea is... laughable. Still..." Her eyes wandered back to Rimmer. "He's got such nice shoulders."

"What? No, he hasn't! He's a git, a smeg-pot!"

"Yes, you're right, of course. But those arms..." She rested her chin in her hand.

"You've gone daft!" Dave tried to get her attention, then noticed that Rimmer had stripped out of his jumpsuit, down to his waist. He was wearing just a wife beater underneath. He hadn't noticed that before. "Oh."

Rimmer felt them both staring and turned to look.

Kochanski smiled and gave a little wave. Dave hid his eyes behind his hand. Rimmer lifted his palm, staring at her like she'd grown a second head. With a penis sprouting from the chin.

"I mean, theoretically, if he kept his mouth shut..." She nibbled at a chunk of sautéed chicken. "Theoretically, he'd be... Oh, what am I saying? He's a bastard." She turned away and kept turned for a moment. Her eyes crept back. "Still... everyone loves a bastard."

"You've gone mad, Kris." Dave shook his head, picking up a forkful of curry.

Kochanski looked down at her own sautéed chicken and veggies. She also had a side of cottage cheese with pineapple chunks, and a very good cup of tea. The new mess facilities were small, just two ten-seater tables, but well-appointed. They even had a menu to choose from, and could program in a few favorite simple dishes. No more weevil. Kochanski picked up a forkful of chicken. Still, she missed the taste. Somewhat. A little. After she'd gotten over the initial repulsion, she had actually found it rather unique; far less bland then chicken. She wondered, briefly, if she could program space weevil in orange sauce into the dispenser menu - then she squashed the thought roundly. Disgusting. Truly. Kochanski picked up a spoonful of cottage cheese and licked it clean. She put the spoon back and sighed. Had cottage cheese, even with pineapple chunks, always been this boring? "When are the rest of the Snakes back?" she asked, chewing a pineapple chunk.

"It's been a week. Any time now. Unless they're dead." Lister's eyes wandered back to Rimmer. "Shouldn't be more'n a few days. Rimmer'd know more but he..." He trailed off and sighed. "I need to talk to him." Dave threw his fork down on his tray beside his untouched meal.

Kochanski caught his hand. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Dave looked down at her, brown puppy dog eyes and all. Her heart melted a little. "I need to do something. It's makin' me go spare." He looked back at Rimmer.

Not for the first time, Kochanski wondered about Dave and Rimmer's co-dependence. They fought, bitched, screamed, wailed and snarked at each other, but whenever they weren't together, they were less alive. It hadn't been that way in her dimension. Her Dave had never cared for Rimmer, and hadn't once voluntarily spent time with the man. After Dave had been promoted out of the Technician quarters, she'd never seen him and Rimmer together again.

Kochanski stood. "I'll go talk to him, okay? I'll try to sort it out for you."

Dave glanced at Rimmer, looking about a single line of bad soap-opera dialog from crying.

Kochanski bit back a giggle at the sight. Her Dave hadn't been nearly as soppy. This Dave was so raw in his emotions that it edged into comical. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll try to work something out."

Dave nodded.

Rimmer had sat as far away from them as he could. Still, the room was not large, and it took only a moment for Kochanski to walk over and stand behind him.

"Good book?" she asked, pulling up a chair.

Rimmer pursed his lips, slipped a bookmark between the pages he'd been reading, and set the book down. He didn't turn to look at her. "What do you want?" he asked, with all the warmth of an ice chest filled with liquid nitrogen.

"I just wanted to talk." Kochanski stumbled a bit. Her face felt hot. She'd become rather absurdly focused on Rimmer's arm, how close it was to her own and how the closeness of it prickled her skin. He smelled of dollarpound store aftershave and that waxy type of soap that came in decorative animal shapes. "Um," she added.

"If it's about Lister, I'm not interested." Rimmer picked up a forkful of poached salmon.

Kochanski took a deep breath. "He feels really bad about what happened, Arnold. Really bad."

"I don't care." Rimmer picked up his book again, chewing as his gaze flicked over the pages.

"War Engines." Kochanski read the title of the book. "Looks... looks interesting." Her mouth felt dry. She couldn't think of another thing to say.

"It is," Rimmer said, in way that made it very clear to Kochanski that he thought she wasn't. He turned to look at her. "Miss Kochanski..." he began, leaving a long, contempt-filled pause. "Go away."

Kochanski's lips pressed into a thin line. Wasn't she brilliant, witty, personable and, if she did say it herself, hotter then two Latin porn stars practicing their craft while being burned alive on a ship with a deteriorating orbit around a sun? Why, yes, she was. How dare he be contemptuous! "Rimmer—"

"Go."

"I just wanted to—"

"Away."

Kochanski's hands clenched. "Lister—"

"Go."

She tried again, "He—"

"Away."

"Look—"

"Go. Away."

Kochanski bolted to her feet. "Look!" she shouted, slamming her palms down on the table. Rimmer took a breath to interrupt,. She lunged for him, placing her hand over his mouth. "Shut up. Okay?"

He blinked at her, stunned by the physical contact.

"I'm not going to go away until you let me finish what I have to say."

Rimmer caught her hand and did something to it that she couldn't quite follow. Then he rolled his palm, and she flinched. It hurt. She pulled her hand back, cradling her wrist and glaring at him.

He stood, not saying a word, not looking at her. He picked up his book and walked towards the exit.

Kochanski glanced at Lister, who looked at her with those same sad eyes, then followed, half-running to keep up with Rimmer's longer stride.

"Wait!" she called. The mess-hall door slid shut in her face. She waited a few seconds, shaking her hands impatiently, until it registered her presence and opened.

He was already halfway down the hall to the lifts by the time she got through. She sprinted to catch up.

Rimmer heard her footsteps on the metal floor and stepped up his pace, hitting the lift door button with his fist. It opened.

Kochanski cursed her luck and put on another burst of speed. She hit the lift doors just as they finished closing, thrusting her hand through and activating the fail-safe. They jerked open.

She jumped in.

Rimmer looked at her like she was the re-animated corpse of his most annoying dead relative.

"I told you I wouldn't go away."

"I'm not interested in whatever you have to say." Rimmer slouched against the lift wall.

Kochanski glanced at the lift display. "Going to the rec deck?" She eyed him. "How do you feel?"

"Why'd you follow me?" Rimmer lifted his head and returned her gaze, contempt at full force.

Kochanski's nostrils flared. A familiar desire to smack Rimmer twitched in her fingers.

"Not answering?" Rimmer's nostrils followed Kochanski's lead, over took them and took the gold. "What do you care, Miss Kochanski?" He turned towards her, crowding her with his taller frame.

She stepped back a bit. Then she took hold of herself. Who was she? She was Kris Kochanski, the best astronavigationist JMC had ever seen, and she was not about to be intimidated by a smeghead. She stepped forward, straightened to her full height, and looked up at him. "I do care."

"All you care about is getting back to your own dimension. And your own Dave. You don't belong here. You'd be the first to say that. As soon as you get your chance, you'll leave."

Kochanski opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Rimmer relented, his shoulders falling as he stepped back and turned away from her. The lift doors opened. "Look, it doesn't matter. What Lister did... it's not your concern. Just let it be." He stepped through.

She leaned back against the lift wall. She cupped her head in her hand, wrapping her other hand tight over her stomach. An odd mix of pain and anxiety rippled through her.

The lift doors started to hiss shut.

Kochanski looked up. "No!" She burst towards them, catching them before they closed and slipping through. "Wait!"

Rimmer turned back. She ran to a stop beside him. "Maybe you're right. I would leave if I had the chance. Maybe." She teased her fingers through her hair. "I don't know anymore. Dave..." She bit her lip. "I don't know if I'll ever have the chance. And you two... you've got me so confused."

Rimmer folded his arms, watching her with an expression that wasn't sympathetic.

She plowed on, anyway. "There's something about you. All of you. This universe—" She waved at the empty space, the pit, the tower. "My world is perfect. So perfect. Perfect childhood, perfect school, perfect career, perfect boyfriend who changed just for me. So perfect it makes your teeth ache. And this place is so imperfect. So bloody flawed. Everything is ugly and wrong. And yet." She looked at Rimmer. "And yet. It's so much more real. More honest. I feel like I've woken up. I'm always saying 'my Dave this' and 'my Dave that,' but..." Her eyes flicked to the ceiling.

Rimmer shifted his weight.

"But, in truth..." her voice became small, "in truth I think I respect you more. I mean, you and Dave. This Dave. You're both so boorishly, unrelentingly... you." Kochanski blushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk so much... I mean—"

Rimmer closed the distance between them, placing his hand over her mouth, mimicking the gesture she'd done to him earlier. "Then don't..." he leaned in closer, "talk so much."

She blinked, suddenly fascinated by his hazel eyes. Yellow and green and brown, with just a hint of blue. And now, with him leaning close, she could smell him under that ghastly aftershave and cheap soap. It reminded her rather sharply of Mr. Aimeson, her sixth grade biology teacher, the first man she'd ever had a crush on. A geeky, cardigan-clad man who was fond of allsorts and classic cars, and had strangely broad shoulders and long, lean hands. Something dusty and chemical, yet distinctly male, lurked under all that.

Rimmer held her gaze for a moment more, then turned and walked off down the gantry.

She gasped, startled. Then she felt angry. How dare he?

Kochanski dashed after him. "I told you all that about me, and you just walk away?"

Rimmer sneered. "What do you want, a medal? A commendation from the Captain? A parade welcome?"

She stopped dead at that, her fingers convulsing, her lips moving to in an attempt to articulate her fury. The contempt, the disregard, the casual sneering, the flaring nostrils... all of it was spinning inside her mind, tipping her into a rage. She wanted to smash something over the man's head.

Kochanski ran after him, caught his arm and spun him into a stop. She reached up to catch his neck. At that instant she flashed through her memories of mooning over Mr. Aimeson and being teased by the other girls for her crush. After all, the P.E. teacher was so much more dishy. All those times lingering at the man's desk too long. The one time she'd got up the nerve to bring in a pack of allsorts and give it to him. Most of all, his casual ignorance of all her feelings for him. Her first heartbreak, and the man hadn't even bloody well known.

Her lips were on his before she even realized anything had happened. His muscles stiffened; she could feel him moving his hands to push her away. She held tighter, unlocking the kiss for a moment. "Stop."

"I'm not doing anything." Rimmer looked baffled, his hands balled against her ribs.

She caught his face, pressing up against him. "You were going to push me away."

"Was I?" Rimmer relaxed his hands, holding her lightly.

"You were." Something about his resistance made her not want to stop. "Why?"

"I'd say I'm not experienced, but that isn't exactly true." Rimmer replied.

Kochanski glanced up at him. She expected to see false bravado, pompousness, some old-Rimmer full-of-himself-ness. Instead, she saw nothing but pale hazel eyes that looked at her with a certain mournful emptiness. "Did you lose someone?" she asked, inspired.

He didn't answer. Instead, he took her lead and ran with it, pressing her up against the wall. He leaned down to kiss her, and she ran her tongue over his lips, teasing them open. He tasted faintly of salmon and asparagus, strongly of black tea. She felt his hands tangle in her hair as he tightened his grip on her.

She could feel desperation radiating from him. Not for the sex itself, she realized, but desperate to excavate a trace of something within her. Something that reminded him of some else he'd lost. The thought of that made her feel cheap. And that thought aroused her even more.

He fumbled for the rec-room door control. It slid, open and he moved her through into the room beyond.

The rec room was a brightly lit large room— a wide gantry over looked the middle, a mixed use space with padded floors. They stumbled onto the second floor gantry, then down the stairs into the pit.

Kochanski looked around. "Where? It's all out in the open."

Rimmer didn't answer; he just drew her off to the side of the gym, past a row of stacked crates someone was using as target practice for the harpoon guns. Behind the crates was a space just large enough for two people. Rimmer pulled her into it, stripping off his jumpsuit top and wife beater.

Kochanski had never seen him without a shirt on before. She paused a moment as she was pulling off her top to gather up an eyeful. He was fit. She finished pulling off her top and slipped her arms around his chest, rubbing the tight muscles of his back. He, in turn, leaned down to nuzzle her neck and catch her around the hips, lowering her to the floor.

When her bare skin touched it, she hissed and flinched away. "It's cold!" she whimpered.

"Get on your knees." Rimmer commanded.

She did so, suddenly grateful for the awkward rubber knee pads on the canary smocks. His hands moved behind her, unzipping her jumpsuit further and slipping it down to her knees.

Kochanski shivered. She felt vulnerable and a bit uncertain. Suddenly, everything seemed too fast, too real. Rimmer stroked her back and fumbled with his own smock.

Kochanski bit her lip, about to protest, when she felt his hands between her legs and gasped instead.

Just like that, he was inside her. Kochanski realized with a start that Dave's constant teasing had been a bunch of bullocks. The man wasn't as big as Dave—who, admittedly, was suffering from more then a touch of porn-star-itis—but he was a good size, and that position made it a tight squeeze. She gasped and gritted her teeth, feeling all sorts of good as he started a steady rhythm inside her.

His breath was hot against her neck. He wrapped one arm around her side, and cupped one of her breasts with the other hand. His chest warmed her back, covering every inch of it. It had been a long time since she'd had sex with anyone so much taller then herself. Her Dave didn't have much height on her. She had to admit some part of her had craved the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. Although she had never thought that feeling could come from Rimmer. Somehow, the reality that she was fucking that emotional monster, that sneering smeg-head, made her even more aroused. She moaned and pressed back against him.

Rimmer convulsed against her, chancing a whispered groan as he came—more than a bit too quickly. She grinned to herself, feeling disappointed and, thank goodness, superior as he leaned on her, panting. She started to crawl out from under him. He caught her and wouldn't let her move.

"Arnold—" She began, a smug note in her voice. Then she felt him harden again inside her and she moaned in surprise. He resumed his steady rhythm. His hand slipped between her legs. She panted and arced against him; he took that moment to bite her neck rather hard.

As she whimpered, a distant part of her mind was impressed with his multi-tasking abilities. Another part realized that he was, in his mind, making love to a woman who was rather more particular about how she liked to be pleased then Kochanski—who was, to her continual shame, very responsive. She'd always wished to be one of those girls who was hard, so very hard, to impress. But, as an old boyfriend had said, 'hand on thigh, mouth on neck, home run imminent.'

And it was. She could feel a satisfying orgasm building up in her very quickly. And she'd so wanted to be disappointed. Kochanski bit her lip, stifling a moan as her body spiraled out of her control.

"Do yeh think they went in here?"

"I'm not entirely certain, sir. But I did see two people enter earlier."

Kochanski stiffened. Rimmer stopped moving, then hauled Kochanski back until she was sitting in his lap, away from the open end of the small enclosure. His hand was over her mouth. He resumed thrusting, now moving against her entire weight.

Kochanski's eyes were wide. The gall of the man. The nerve. They should stop. They should.

Kochanski gasped against Rimmer's hand, closing her eyes.

"Didjeh hear somethin', Kryten?"

Shock and fear and guilt and the steady rhythm of Rimmer's thrusts all combined to send her crashing over the top. She bit his hand rather hard and he hissed in her ear.

"There. I heard it again. Somethin's down there, Krytes."

"Er. Sir, it probably was a rat. A space rat. Very large, sir."

Rimmer lowered her from his lap, letting her sit down against the crate. He pressed a finger to his lips.

"I... I guess yer right." The gantry creaked as weight moved off of it. "Let's go check the movie hall."

The door slid closed.

Kochanski let out the breath she'd been holding and felt guilt constrict in her chest.

Rimmer pulled on his wife-beater, then his smock over the top.

With a start, Kochanski realized she'd just had sex in her boots. With a man who was still in his boots. She chewed on her thumb nail, working herself into a silent rage over the indignity of it all. She pulled her shirt back on, yanking it down rather harder then necessary. "You," she snapped, turning to Rimmer. "How dare you!"

Rimmer picked at a crust of dried semen on the front of his jumpsuit, his nostrils flaring in disgust. "How dare I what? Finish what you started?"

Kochanski lapsed into silence, still gnawing on her thumb.

He peeked around the crate edge, looking up at the gantry. Then he stood and started to pull on his jump-suit, getting it as straight as he could.

"Don't tell Dave, okay?" Kochanski's anger evaporated, and she fell into an echoing chasm of guilt. "Okay?"

Rimmer looked back at her. "If you didn't want Lister to know, you shouldn't have done it in the first place."

She bolted to her feet, pushing a finger into Rimmer's chest. "You bastard! You're going to tell him!"

Rimmer shrugged. "You've solved the problem, haven't you, Kris?" He leered at her. "Rather more vigorously then I suspect you were intending. But now that I've got something on him, there's no point in me not speaking to Lister anymore."

Kochanski grimaced in horror. "I can't believe you. Is there a human being somewhere inside you? Or have you already garroted him to death?"

"There was." Pain flitted across Rimmer's face.

Kochanski hesitated, "Who was she?"

Rimmer looked at her. "It doesn't matter. Thank you, Miss Kochanski, for a lovely evening." He turned back towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Kochanski raised her hand. "Is that it?"

Rimmer glanced back at her, "What more do you want? Shall we get married? You can have my babies?"

Kochanski blanched at that, stunned into silence.

Rimmer mounted the stairs three by three and was out the door before she could think of anything else to say.

Babies. Kochanski pressed her hand against her stomach, suddenly very frightened. She hadn't thought of that.

(ooo)

Kochanski lay on her bunk. She'd already worried her lip till it was bleeding. Now she'd set about tearing up her cuticles.

How could she have done that with Rimmer?

She knew, of course. It'd been a slow downward spiral but it'd begun when he'd taken that sexual magnetism virus. The virus showed her what she could find attractive about him, and then amplified it till it was overwhelming. The arrogance, the ridiculous sense of superiority, the caddishness. It was so different from her Dave's careful sensitivity and measured sweetness. And it made her unspeakably sweaty.

Now, with him different, somehow... Not being the astonishing git she knew so well. Superior, arrogant, caddish—but also mysterious and tragic.

She sighed and turned over on her side. She felt like a heroine in some ridiculous romance.

The door slid open.

Kryten shuffled into the room, starting when he saw her. "Oh... hello, Ma'am." He couldn't look her in the eye.

"Hello, Kryten." Kochanski sat up on her bed.

"Mr. Lister was looking for you earlier, Ma'am. He was curious where you and Mr. Rimmer had gone to." Kryten busied himself rearranging knick-knacks on Kochanski's table, still unable to look at her.

"What's wrong, Kryten?"

"What, Ma'am? Nothing."

"You're terrible at lying." Kochanski leaned her arms on her knees and sighed, "Just tell me, Kryten."

Kryten stilled, then turned in a burst of awkward motion. "Oh, Ma'am! How could you?"

"What?" Kochanski stiffened.

"How could you do that with Mr. Rimmer?"

She went pale. "How did you know?"

"I saw you, Ma'am." Kryten jiggled up and down, his hands hovering near his face. "All series 4000 mechanoids are equipped with infra-red vision. I saw you two-" He gulped. "I saw you two bumping uglies, knocking boots, sausing the clam, doing the mattress dance—"

"Yes, Kryten!" Kochanski threw her hands up. "I did it! I'm guilty!"

"But... but, with Mr. Rimmer?" Kryten dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. "Ma'am, were you temporarily blind? Insane? Epileptic?" Kryten wobbled over to her. "You had a seizure, didn't you, Ma'am? And he took advantage of you?"

She shook her head.

"A stroke then, Ma'am?" He hovered over her. "What's your full name, rank and birth date, Ma'am?"

"Kryten, I'm fine," Kochanski snapped, exasperated.

"Oh, Ma'am. How can you be fine? You willingly slapped skins with Mr. Rimmer. I insist you check yourself into medical bay, immediately." Kryten tried to hustle her to her feet. She slapped away his jelly-plast hands.

"Look." She was starting to feel defensive. "He's not that bad."

"Not that bad, Ma'am?" Kryten's voice was getting shrill. "The man who has tried to use you as a human shield no fewer then a half dozen times, Ma'am? He's the human equivalent of an e-book-tedious, self-serving and spineless!"

"I know. I know." Kochanski pressed her fingers to her temple.

"Did you forget, somehow, Ma'am?" Kryten's hands hovered over her head. "Are you concussed? Did you fall? Were you pushed?"

"No!" Kochanski shoved his hands away. "Look. Just drop it, okay, Kryten?"

"But, Ma'am. I can't help but worry when you're acting so odd."

She glared at the mechanoid. "You don't know me all that well, Kryten."

"So you usually are a woman with loose morals and no discernment, Ma'am?"

"Kryten!" Kochanski brought up her hand, her thumb and fore-finger close together. "You are this far from having your shop-class-assignment-shaped head shoved down the recyc chute. Drop the subject."

"Fine, Ma'am," Kryten huffed, and returned to his cleaning.

Kochanski leaned back in her bed, closing her eyes. She was tired. It was late. She tried to ignore Kryten as he puttered around the room.

She was just about asleep when Kryten spoke.

"Have you told Lister yet, Ma'am?"