FicWad

Red Dwarf Fanfic: Last Humans
Chapter 8: Jitterman
Summary: Wherein Lister is horrified, Ackerman is horny and Bloopy Bear is injured.
Warnings: Language, strong sexual content, slash and het
Beta: Roadstergal & Zekass (with many thanks)
Chapter Rating: MA(18+)


Jitterman

Rimmer woke up with the itch.

It was still night. Lister snored below him, a rasping, abrasive sound that made Rimmer want to tear out his ear-drums and snap them in half.

He sat up in bed. He was sweating, and the itch had collected in his jaw. He wanted to scream. Instead, he jumped down from the top bunk and paced into the darkness beyond Lister's Wilma-Flintstone-shaped night light.

He sat down at the table, his hands skittering over the top. The itch was in his knees, now, and his shoulders.

He tried to breathe deeply. He tried to relax his muscles. He cracked his knuckles, flexed his arms.

Nothing helped.

The itch spread, and he jumped to his feet, the folding chair clattering to the ground behind him.

Lister paused in his snoring, then turned over to face the wall, muttering something about lawn flamingos and fire crackers.

Rimmer had to move.

In a half-jog, Rimmer left his quarters and skittered to a halt beside the railing separating A-Tower from a 200-foot drop.

He looked down the length of the pit. Fiber optics traced the edges of square bulkheads protruding from the walls. They pulsed with waves of blue light. A soft wind ruffled Rimmer's hair and made his sweaty skin flush cold. The wind stank of metal and grease.
He leaned over the railing and stared hard into the darkness. Eventually, he noticed a sheen of light almost a hundred meters below him. It was so faint that it could barely be seen.

He needed to touch it.

The itch flared up, making his fingers shake. He felt dry, desiccated like a corpse, and he knew if he tried to touch that light, the trying would fill him with everything he needed.
Rimmer clambered over the railing and stood, his arms threaded through the metal bar, his heels on the metal grating, balanced over the pit.

The wind gusted harder and his vision spun. Some part of him screamed in terror, and his whole body stung with fear.

He panted, drinking in the air and the fear.

The itch and the dry subsided for a moment, then roared through him. He needed more.
Hooking one arm through the metal railing, he leaned forward, letting the other arm and one foot dangle in thin air.

His skin was lit a faint blue; wind pressed hard against his fingers.

More.

He knelt, grabbed onto the lowest crossbeam of the railing behind him, and freed his feet to dangle in the dark air. For a long moment, he watched the glow far below him, the only thing keeping him from falling his grip on the metal bar. Terror throbbed in him, sending tides of nausea and pain through his body. His mind became disjointed; parts of it fell away, leaving a razor sharp clarity.

He let go of one arm, reaching out to touch the glow. Not close enough.

He looked up, looking at his straining hand, and released a finger.

Fear slammed into him again. He felt his face crack into a grin. If he let go... those few seconds before he hit would feed the dry itch like nothing else ever could.

He started to unwrap another finger.

Hands scrabbled over his wrist.

Rimmer glanced up, furious.

"What the smegging hell do you think you're doing!" Lister watched him with wild eyes, scrabbling at his wrist.

Rimmer smiled. "Hi, Listy." Then he let go.

The jerk when he hit the final reach of Lister's arms nearly tore him out of Lister's panicked grip. But the man held on with stubborn strength. "Get up!" Lister shouted, pulling until Rimmer could see the muscles of his neck straining. "Help me, you goited son of a goit!"

Rimmer smiled. He'd never felt so good. The itch was gone, replaced by a warmth that radiated through him, a warmth that felt like every one of his nerves had been swaddled in its own little down comforter. Out of generosity Rimmer grabbed the railing and hauled himself up into Lister's shaking arms.

"Hi," he said to Lister's thick rasta plaits.

"You... you..." Lister stammered for a long moment. He tried a different tactic. "Why?"
"Hi," Rimmer repeated, grinning. "I feel good."


###


Lister kept his hand on Rimmer's forearm as the man jittered through dinner in the mess hall. It was only a light touch, but it was enough to give Lister time to grab Rimmer if he bolted.

Rimmer fretted, cycling through eating, shoving his plate away, then pulling it back and eating some more. Every part of his body that wasn't involved in that alternating rhythm was vibrating with nervous energy.

Lister slurped his soup awkwardly with his injured left arm. "What's wrong, man?" Lister asked around a mouthful of soup cracker.

Rimmer shook his head.

"No, really. I want to know." Lister squeezed Rimmer's arm.

Rimmer chewed and swallowed another hunk of rare steak. "I don't remember."

"Really? Or are you hiding something?"

"Hi," Kochanski muttered as she slipped her tray onto the table and sat down beside Lister. She shielded herself with her hand and stared down at her food, looking like she was trying to burn a hole in her cranberry muffin by force of will.

"Are you okay, Kris?" Lister asked, concerned.

"Oh." She glanced up at Lister as if she'd just noticed him. "Oh, yeah."

"I'm gonna go get a glass of madras sauce." Lister stood. "Could you keep hold of him?" He nodded at Rimmer.

"What?" Kochanski choked on her milk.

"Um," Lister began. "Well, I've been trying to keep hold of him. You know, like this?" Lister demonstrated by grabbing Rimmer's arm. Rimmer flared his nostrils in disgust.
"Why?" Kochanski managed between coughs.

"He's been acting a bit... strange, Kris. It'd just be peace o' mind for me if you'd make sure he didn't bolt."

"By holding his hand?"

"Er... is it that much trouble?" Lister grimaced. "I mean it wouldn't be for long. Just till I get me drink."

"Yeah, Kochanski. How much trouble could it be?" Rimmer offered her a shark's grin. "I don't bite."

Kochanski opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

"Please?" Lister grabbed her shoulder.

She didn't answer, just slipped over the bench to Rimmer's side and caught his wrist in her hand without looking at him.

"Thanks! Weight off me mind!" Lister turned and walked the few meters to the food dispenser. As his glass filled with cool madras sauce, the mess door slid open. Lister glanced over, bringing his glass to his lips.

Sergeant Briggs stepped though the door.

Lister's former commander said nothing. He just stared at Lister, who stared back. "Er, sir?" Lister offered after a moment.

Briggs grimaced and stepped forward to the dispenser. "Don't call me sir. You outrank me. And I haven't been knighted by royalty."

"Oh. Right." Lister bit his lip. "Sorry about that, s-er... I mean sorry about that."
Briggs tapped in his code. Lister walked back to Kochanski and Rimmer, sipping his madras sauce nervously. He slid onto the bench opposite them. Kochanski cleared her throat and inclined her head at Rimmer. Lister shook his head. What did she want? She pointed to her hand, still cupped over Rimmer's wrist. "Relieve me. Now."

Lister shrugged. "What does it matter, Kris? He's not going to do anything to you."

"Yeah. I'm not going to do anything to you." Rimmer winked at Kochanski.

She turned away in disgust. Lister snorted.

Briggs walked up to their table. "May I have a seat, sir?" he asked Rimmer.

Rimmer grinned. "What was that?"

"May I sit down, sir?" Briggs repeated, eyes narrowed.

Rimmer cupped his ear. "One more time - there's just a bit of background noise drowning you out."

Briggs glanced around the empty, silent mess hall. "Please, may I sit down, sir." The muscles of his cheek twisted under his skin.

"I almost got it that time-"

"Rimmer!" Lister snapped, kicking at him under the table. "Sit down," he added.

Sergeant Briggs sat. Rimmer smirked at him, eating up his discomfort.

"Did you have something to say, Briggs?" Lister asked.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you that I know it's entirely Ackerman's doing, you being promoted over me. I'm not going to hold it against you and I'm going to make sure my men don't either."

Some part of Lister, some muscle he didn't realize he'd been tensing deep inside his body, relaxed.

"But I want you to listen to what I have to say. I also want you to follow my instructions to the letter."

"What?" Rimmer sneered. "Who's in charge here? I'm not about to follow the orders of-"

Lister lunged over the table and shoved his hand over Rimmer's mouth. "Excuse us a moment." He smiled at Briggs and motioned for the man to leave the table. Briggs did, standing at a respectful distance, not watching them.

Lister leaned over to Rimmer. "I don't know which you you are right now, but I want you all to listen up. Briggs is being very reasonable. He could easily not be reasonable, and we'd end up having a little friendly fire accident. So before you piss him off further, think about how long you want to survive down there." Lister eyed Rimmer meaningfully as he lowered his hand; he then stood and walked over to Briggs.

"Don't mind him, s... er... Don't mind him. He's a bit out of it." Lister circled his finger around his temple to indicate Rimmer's mental state.

"Right," said Briggs, unconvinced.

"I'll keep him in check, yeah? Don't worry about that."

"I'll keep that in mind."


###


Rimmer panted, straining against the wall of the tight, dark space. Kochanski tried arcing into his thrusts, but the movement of his hips had become erratic. She let go of the side wall and grabbed up for his shoulder to get some control. Instead the automatic vacuum she was sitting on skidded, and she smacked the back of her head into a rack of mops. The motion dislodged one and it slid into her face. "Rimmer!" she gasped.

He just re-positioned himself and continued.

She spat out mop fibers, torn between the disgusting taste in her mouth, the filthiness of it all, and the warm glow rapidly spreading through her pelvis.

Now that her back was hard against the wall, she didn't need her hands to help hold her up; she slid them down Rimmer's back, feeling the tenseness of his muscles; she gripped his buttocks firmly and pulled him deeper in.

Some part of her quibbled, what am I doing?

She hissed as Rimmer caught the small of her back and angled her slightly, hitting another achingly sweet note deep inside her. The room was getting hot; she was sweating all over. She wondered if it was proper etiquette to kiss the unctuous bastard one found unbearably attractive as he took one roughly in a supplies closet. She wanted to, and that quibbly part of her mind noted that that was probably a bad sign.

As if reading her mind, Rimmer's mouth moved over Kochanski's, and his cool tongue slid between her lips. She tasted Baxter's moonshine. She could tell from the signature sharp, chlorine stink. Kochanski grabbed Rimmer's head and jerked him closer. Their teeth slammed together. She winced, but kept on grinding against him, feeling the warm glow tighten and tighten.

The motion of his hips was still erratic and rough. It was unsettling. Even more so when he slammed her up against the wall and pounded into her. "Rimmer-" she squeaked.
He slapped her.

Kochanski was stunned. He'd hit her! She was about to scramble away from him when she felt his hand slip between them and his fingers do something rather ingenious. The glow exploded and she rocked against him, riding through a series of bright bursts.
He came in complete silence a few thrusts after her and leaned over her, panting.
"You hit me," she said, affronted.

He didn't respond, tucking himself back into his smock and brushing off charcoal dust. It had leaked from one of the chemical spill containment satchels. He stood up and barked his head on the shelf above them. "Smeg!" he hissed, and stumbled into the door.
It spilled open. Kochanski scrambled to fix her smock in the sudden light.

"Hi!" someone out of sight called.

Lister. Kochanski felt her world twist at the edges.

Rimmer turned around, still half crouched, his hand against his head. To her relief, he caught the door and closed it.

Kochanski was thrust into darkness. She continued scrabbling back into her smock.
"How are you feeling, Rimmer?" Lister.

"Ah... oh... okay," Rimmer stammered. Wow, thought Kochanski - he was still human after all. She carefully pulled her undershirt on, trying not to knock anything over.
"That's good, yeah! I was really worried about you." Lister again.

"My nostril hairs are doin' a tango. Something just happened here..." The Cat. Kochanski's stomach clenched. "Did you just-"

"Masturbate! Yes, that's right, I was wringing the ol' weasel." Rimmer laughed, his voice nearly falsetto.

Lister chuckled. "In a cleaning supplies closet?"

"I like the smell of pine fresh cleaner. Is that a crime?"

"Get a bucket! I'm going to be sick!" Cat's fingers scrabbled against the closet door.
Kochanski held her breath.

"No!" Rimmer screeched. Kochanski heard a thump.

"Get out of my way, unless you want a regurgitated salmon detailing all over your shirt, buddy!"

"You can't go in there! It's... it's a mess!"

"It's going to be a mess out here unless you let me through!" Cat wailed.

"Come on, Cat, there's a bathroom down the hall. Leave Rimmer to his closet." Lister.
Their footsteps retreated. Kochanski let her breath go.

"Wait! I forgot!" Lister again.

Kochanski nearly bit her tongue through as she heard the man pad back. "Kryten told me to get a chemical spill satchel. The coolant conduit's leaking all over his and Kris's quarters. It's already eaten half way through Bloopy Bear-"

"WHAT?" Kochanski shrieked, then covered her mouth in horror.

Silence. And then more silence.

"Who's in there?" Lister asked.

"No one. Nothing." Rimmer laughed. "Probably a pipe."

Kochanski flattened herself against the back of the closet, trying to bury into the metal bulkhead. Outside, she heard a series of thumps and muffled shouting.

The closet door was wrenched open. Cat grinned down at her. "It's Officer Bud-Babe!"
Kochanski blinked in the brightness. Rimmer was holding Lister off of the floor, his long arms wrapped around the shorter man's waist.

"Hi." Kochanski waved.

Cat sniffed deeply. "Ewww. You and... him?" He jerked his thumb towards Rimmer, then turned towards Lister with a wide grin. "Hey ape-boy! Officer Bud-babe was doin' the nasty with pubic-hair head!"

Rimmer let Lister down, defeated. Kochanski picked herself up out of the closet and pulled her smock on over her shoulders.

"Did you?" Lister began, moving towards her. "Did you two really...?"

Rimmer caught her eye, then dropped it, staring fixedly down at the floor. The Cat draped his arm over Rimmer's shoulder. "You have to tell me your secret, bud. I always thought you had all the charm and sophistication of a rectal thermometer, but now-"

"Shut up, Cat." Lister grimaced. "You two...?"

Kochanski couldn't take it any more. "Yes! We did."

Rimmer was silent.

"So this is what you meant...?" Lister looked at Rimmer and waved at Kochanski. "You fucked her?"

Kochanski looked from Lister to Rimmer. Rimmer was immobile, still staring at the floor.

"And you." Lister rounded on Kochanski. "You said you were staying faithful to me. I mean, your me. Your Dave. You said that... and then you have sex with him. Over me." Lister threw his hands up in the air. "Well, congratulations Navigational Officer Ms. Kochanski. He," Lister pointed to Rimmer, "only had sex with you out of revenge"
"What?" Kochanski turned to stare at Rimmer.

"Didn't you know, yeah? Rimmer's always had a thing for me. And he thinks I rejected him."

Kochanski's head spun. "What?"

"He's a poof, Kris." Lister jerked his thumb at Rimmer.

"I'm not." Rimmer's voice was low and dangerous.

"What?" Kochanski repeated.

"You aren't?" Lister turned to face Rimmer. "Then what do you call fucking your best mate's girl as revenge for him rejecting you?"

"What?" Kochanski took a step back.

"Did you ever consider that I had sex with her because I wanted to?"

"I thought I was your best mate, buddy!" Cat interjected.

Rimmer turned to Cat. "Go screw yourself, you narcissistic fashion-victim! No, wait - you'd enjoy that too much. Go screw a light socket."

"Fashion victim? I don't have to take this abuse from a man who thinks holographic fabrics aren't last week's toilet rag!" The Cat turned on his heel and stalked off.

:Lister ignored Cat's departure. "You had sex with her? The woman you called a stuck up, frigid bitch?"

"WHAT?" Kochanski thrust her hands on her hips, glaring at Rimmer.

Lister jammed his finger into Rimmer's chest. "You've always hated her and you know it. The only reason you did this was to get back at me."

Rimmer laughed. "Once again, everything revolves around Listy."

"You know what? Screw this, mate." Lister shoved Rimmer. "Jump over the goited railing. See if I care."

"What?" Kochanski blinked.

Rimmer backhanded Lister. Lister staggered, looking up at Rimmer through his fingers. Rimmer advanced, his face contorted. "You smegging gimboid. Do you know how much I suffered for you? I could have died a hundred times. I could have let it end. But I didn't. I came back. For you."

Lister blinked at him, fingering his bleeding lip.

"Always for you. Everything for you. I was resurrected for you. Do you know why Holly did it? He calculated the length of time it would take for every single one of your friends to commit hologrammatic suicide if he resurrected them to keep you company." Rimmer snorted. "Living like a ghost, can't touch, can't feel, can't eat, can't even read. Boredom so profound you begin to notice its shifts in personality. Sunday morning boredom is lonely and depressed. Wednesday evening? Ominous and brooding. Friday night? Like a bunch of caterpillars stoned on downers clawing up your spine on the inside."

Lister stared at him, unable to say a word.

"Do you want to know how long Petersen lasted? 3 and a half weeks. How about Selby? 5 days. And her..." Rimmer nodded at Kochanski. "She managed four weeks."

Lister glanced at Kochanski, hurt. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Four years, Listy. I lived for you for four smegging years." He caught Lister's lapels and shoved him back. "You-" shove, "were-" shove, "all-" shove, "I-" shove, "had!"
Lister was backed up against the wall. Rimmer finally let him go, stepping back. "Do you remember those ridiculous wildlife adventure documentaries you made me watch? 'Krikey! Look at this insanely vicious and venomous mongoose-cobra! It could kill you just by nesting overnight in your underpants! Isn't it be-a-u-tiful!' Remember that one about the man in the cave with the moss? Four years he lived with a handful of lichen. Four years. And when they finally found him he was making plans to marry it." Rimmer grimaced. "With you? Year one? I was maintaining. You were disgusting, repulsive and foul. Year two and three? Ghastly, revolting, nauseating. And then I hit year four." He lifted his hand, four fingers outstretched. "I remember staying awake at night watching you sleep and thinking you were the most beautiful thing in the universe. Then I'd realize what the hell I was thinking and I'd dry heave for the next thirty minutes. The day I watched you scarf your third curry of the morning and felt so horny I thought my fillings would fall out I knew I was space mad."

"I... I thought you were a coward. That's why you didn't... switch yourself off." Lister whispered.

"I thought so, too. Then I spent two years wanting to die more then... anything. And I still lived. For you." Rimmer covered his mouth with his hand. He gagged, his eyes watery. "I can't believe I said that. I've got to go wash my mouth out with lighter fluid." He turned and half ran down the hall.

Kochanski stared at Lister. "I can't believe you."

"What?" Lister looked back at her, affronted.

"No wonder he hates you. You've spent years fixated on me while he sacrifices so much for you. And you can't even give him the time of day."

"Oh no! No, no, no..." Lister brought up his hands. "You are not takin' 'is side over mine."

"I'm not taking anyone's side. Both of you are unbelievable..." She jerked her hands back and forth, trying to pump the right word out. "Unbelievable... Smeg-heads! But did you listen to him? Do you have any idea how much of himself he gave for you? And what do you do in return? Treat him like scum."

"The man wanted to fuck me! What am I supposed to do? I'm straight, Kris!"

Kochanski narrowed her eyes. "Straight as a cork screw."

"Hey! Don't you dare! Don't you dare make me the bad guy, here! I found you and him," he jerked his thumb in the direction of Rimmer's hasty retreat, "doin' the horizontal mambo. I think that makes me the injured party!"

Kochanski shook her head, her lips pressed tight together. "I can't believe you, Lister." She turned and walked away.

Lister called after her, "Don't walk away like I'm the one in the wrong. Get back here! I'm still furious at you!"

Kochanski rolled her eyes and kept walking. The nerve of the man. Besides, Bloopy Bear needed her.


###


Rimmer sat on Lister's bunk. He was jittery. His confrontation with Lister had soaked him with adrenaline, and that had started up the itch. His legs vibrated as he clutched at his head to stop it from flying off his body. He knew he wouldn't be able to maintain. Pretty soon he'd be dangling off the railing again, and then... The thought terrified him, and that made the itch scream even louder, which terrified him even more, which made the itch stronger...

Smeg.

He stood and walked to the door. Then he walked to the elevator. Each step sent little flutters of itch through his body, making his movements jerky and uncertain.

The elevator started to hiss open. Rimmer slipped in sideways before it had opened all the way.

He pulled himself up short when he saw who was inside.

Ackerman.

"Sir." Rimmer bit the inside of his cheek.

"Mr. Rimmer." Ackerman replied. "How is life as a convict NCO?" Ackerman grinned, showing entirely too many teeth. The grin didn't reach his eyes. They stayed sharp and accusing.

Rimmer started to sweat. He could never tell if he'd done something to warrant Ackerman's accusing glare, or if it was just Ackerman's natural expression. "Er. Can't complain, sir. Can't complain." Rimmer turned to the elevator pad and punched in the number for the NCO L-facs floor.

"Ah, getting in a spot of exercise?" Ackerman loomed closer, crowding Rimmer.

"Er," said Rimmer, inching away. "Yeah. I have some nerves I need to work off, sir."

"I've heard that you've been spending a lot of time in the gym and in the range." Ackerman nodded. "Getting ready for your first drop as an NCO?" Ackerman inclined his head towards the floor. "Word is, you'll be going to the Cassandra complex with Hollister. Your first command is a very important mission. Very important." Without a touch of irony, Ackerman added, "Escorting our valiant Captain."

Rimmer choked, then coughed.

Ackerman thumped him on the back. "Bit of a chest cold?"

"You could say that." Rimmer gasped.

"I'm going down to the gym as well."

"Ah."

"Perhaps we can spar together. I've heard you're quite the fighter. Strong, fast, agile."
Ackerman eyed him.

Rimmer's skin crawled. "Er."

"Come now," Ackerman threaded his fingers together and flexed his arms, cracking his knuckles. "You won't need to go easy on me."

"That isn't what concerns me, sir."

The elevator doors slid open. Ackerman sashayed through. Rimmer followed after a pause.

As they walked to the gym, Rimmer tried to think of excuses. Something that would make sense. A sprained jaw. A dislocated toe. Space mumps.

The itch coiled between his shoulder blades, waiting. Rimmer settled on telling Ackerman he'd just contracted instantaneous interstellar flu and his intestines felt like over-inflated inner tubes.

Ackerman slid open the doors to the hand-to-hand combat training gym. Rimmer thought the padded walls and floor must make Ackerman feel right at home. "Sir, I-" he began.
Ackerman brought up his hand with a flourish. "I can handle myself. And if you say another word to the contrary, I'll demote you back to convict and put you on sewer duty." He pulled off his boots, then slipped out of his uniform smock and folded it very neatly into a square. Underneath he wore a thin white undershirt and boxers.

Rimmer did a double take over the boxers. They'd been embroidered with little kitty-cats. He shook his head and knelt to unlace his boots.

As Rimmer slowly unwound his laces, Ackerman bounced from one foot to the other and flicked his hands. "Bare fisted?" he asked as Rimmer stripped his smock.

"Gloves, please, sir." Rimmer scratched at his chest hard enough to sting his skin. A pair of leather gloves, padded over the knuckles but leaving the fingers free, slapped down on the matt beside Rimmer. He sighed and pulled them on. As soon as the nano-fabric had sealed itself around his wrists, Ackerman's fist slammed into his jaw and he fell sprawling.

"What the hell?" Rimmer sputtered.

"In play!" Ackerman grinned. "Get up."

Rimmer didn't get up. Instead he sat, one knee folded against the floor, the other folded up into his chest. He leaned his arm over that knee and watched Ackerman dance.
Ackerman snorted and dove in for a left cross.

Rimmer caught the Warden's arm and fell back; his foot rammed against the man's hip as he rolled and swung the Warden over his head. Twisting, Rimmer landed on top, mounted on Ackerman's side.

"Tricksie," Ackerman gasped.

Rimmer said nothing, the itch spreading through him like a swarm of wasps. It was telling him how much it loved this, loved the feel of the fear coursing through him, loved how unpredictable Ackerman was, loved the threat of potential pain. He panted hard.
Ackerman wasn't done yet. The man bucked Rimmer up and drew his knees between them, working himself into guard. Rimmer let him. Testing him.

From his guard, the Warden pushed Rimmer's hips away hard and got his feet under him.
Doesn't like ground, Rimmer thought as he followed the man up. He'll give me a better fight on his feet.

Rimmer kept his hands close to his face as they circled. The Warden didn't waste time; he was on Rimmer in a flash with a flurry of jabs and then a kick. Rimmer blocked successfully, but the Warden swept his knee into Rimmer's kidneys.

Fast, Rimmer thought as the pain thrilled through him. The itch flared. Rimmer slammed his fist past Ackerman's guard, right into the man's gloating face. Ackerman staggered back, his eyes growing dark with fury.

The Warden started to strip off his gloves.

Rimmer watched him. "Sir?" He dropped his hands.

Ackerman slammed into him, scoring a stinging right cross and an uppercut. Rimmer's mouth filled with blood. He spat it out and kicked at Ackerman to make distance. In that space, Rimmer tore off his own gloves. The itch was overwhelming. He felt his perception shift. He was in pain, he was frightened, yes, but it felt good. It felt like Risk and Hammond organ music and Morris dancing used to feel all rolled into one. He wanted more.

Rimmer barreled into Ackerman, his elbow hitting the man's jaw squarely. With barely a pause, Ackerman kneed him in the kidneys again.

They broke apart. Rimmer felt sweat streaming down his face, slicking his pits and knees.
They circled again, catching their breath.

Rimmer was the first to see an opening, and he set upon Ackerman again. The itch was swallowing his mind, turning his world into a blur of blood and sweat, the ache of punches connecting and received like a throbbing rhythm. He didn't know exactly when he and Ackerman fell to their knees, dripping blood onto the mat, still shoving and grunting and slapping. He did know the moment that Ackerman slid his hand down Rimmer's chest in a way that was entirely not combative, because it made his hair stand on end, and everything came into sharp focus.

He caught the back of Ackerman's head and pulled him into a kiss. The Warden snarled, biting hard on Rimmer's lip and yanking out of his grip, spitting blood into his face.

For a brief moment Rimmer looked at Ackerman, the Warden hissing like some feral thing, and realized his own humanity was just as tenuous. The moment passed and Rimmer cuffed Ackerman, hard, for biting his lip. The Warden whimpered. Rimmer boxed his ears and caught one of his hands, shoving it against his own crotch. Ackerman caught on, pulling Rimmer's erection out of his thin boxers and digging in with his nails.
Rimmer bit Ackerman on the shoulder until he could taste the man's blood, his own hands scrabbling to find the Warden's cock. They leaned into each other, straining and pulsing like an exposed. Rimmer drank in the stink of Ackerman. Acrid, ugly, tarry, bloody, and absurdly minty.

Rimmer climaxed quickly, his come splattering against the mat to join the spit and sweat and blood. As he knelt and watched the disgusting soup congeal, he thought briefly about the poor sod who would have to clean it up in the morning.