FIC: Casting Couch (M, HRS, Rimmer/Compere, Rimmer/Lister)
Title: Casting Couch
Author: Princess Lauren
Rating: M
Word Count: 1505
Written for beedekka for the Twenty Years of Dwarf Ficathon.
Characters or pairings you want: Rimmer/Compere (Backwards)
A brief prompt OR three things you want: The Sensational Reverse Brothers are a smash on the Nodnol comedy circuit, and Rimmer has caught the eye of one of the other acts. It seems that the neon-clad Compere wants to get to know him better...
Two things you don't want: Um, I'm pretty easy with this prompt - interpret it in any which way you like :o)
Maximum rating you'd prefer: NC-17
Red Dwarf characters belong to... well, let's look at this thing logically. Grant Naylor Productions may technically own the copyright, but let's face it: there are more fangirls than there are Rob Grants and Doug Naylors, and in a fair fight (or barroom tidy), who do you really think would win? I kid because I love. GNP and the BBC own 'em, folks, and any claim we poor wee fannish types have to them is simply that hey, at least we've had several attempts to write reasonable post-season-eight stories, whereas GNP have yet to come across with the promised movie.
Dedicated to the RDSS and RDHS, both to those who've been there with me since the beginning and to our newest members. You all make me so very happy with your continuing enthusiasm for the show and the characters and, of course, the pr0n. Long live the Dwarfers!
Rimmer followed the pub’s proprietor down a narrow hallway behind the loos and into a comparatively spacious area, meaning that there was at least a three inch gap between the chairs ranged around the cramped space. A couple of dozen luridly coloured suits hung along a rail on one wall, putting Rimmer in mind of the Cat’s wardrobe. A man wearing a loud lime green suit was sitting on the least battered of the chairs, intently removing polish from a scuffed black shoe. He looked up when Rimmer entered and smiled a smile that involved far too many teeth.
The pub owner said something incomprehensible and waved a hand towards the suits, and then trotted off backwards, presumably to see if Kryten had finished puzzling out their contracts yet. Rimmer wandered over to the rack of suits and began flipping through them, noting with a sinking heart that all the ones that were an even remotely wearable colour and cut were too small for his lanky six-foot frame. In fact, the only matching pair that could possibly fit both him and Kryten were a quite hideous shade of pink, featuring several thousand spangly sequins and - of course - matching hats. He hadn’t yet entirely formulated a plan for exactly what their act would consist of, but surely these suits could not possibly fit into any act except possibly some sort of lewd one accompanied by several drag queens.
He heaved a huge sigh and his fingers were at his throat, reaching for the buttons holding his shirt closed, when he remembered that the other man was still in the room. ‘I’m sorry, but could you possibly excuse me for a minute?’ he said before remembering that the other man wouldn’t understand him. The only response he received was a politely puzzled gaze, but when he mimed removing his shirt and trousers, the man nodded enthusiastically, his ridiculously poufy hair bouncing as he did so. Rimmer turned his back to change, wanting to at least avoid giving the man a full-frontal look at his tighty-whities, and his shirt was halfway down his arms before he felt the man’s lips nuzzling at the back of his neck.
Reconciling Rimmer’s forwards actions with the man’s backwards ones initially seemed to be an act so close to impossible that it would have fallen off a probability curve and landed on a pile of discarded suits on the floor, which coincidentally was what happened to Rimmer. There were a couple of minutes of confusion before Rimmer found himself on his knees bent forward over a very uncomfortable couch, trousers around his ankles, the shirt still tangled at his elbows effectively immobilising his arms, a feather boa (accidentally) draped around his neck, oh, and the one unmissable accessory to the whole outfit, the strange man’s cock firmly ensconced within his anus.
Then...
Then things seemed to even out somewhat. The man grunted with effort and Rimmer felt the unmistakable sensation of what was definitely an orgasm, even if it was a backwards one, shuddering through the man’s body. Oddly enough the pulsing within him felt the same as if it had been a forwards orgasm. The man’s jerky movements smoothed into a steady rhythm, and Rimmer shamefully felt his own cock twitching and hardening. He tried to dissuade it from doing anything by thinking very hard about how embarrassing it would be for Kryten to catch them like this, and about how convoluted backwards physics could get, and then the man shifted position within him and started toying with Rimmer’s nipples, and Rimmer stopped thinking about anything else and instead concentrated very hard on whether or not he was going to add to the years of stains on the green velour couch seat.
He did.
Disentangling himself from the other man and his clothes at the same time, Rimmer reluctantly pulled on the pink sparkly trousers; his own had a hole in the knee and an unspeakable smear decorated the sleeve of his shirt. The man smiled at him, said something garbled, patted him on the shoulder, and then straightened his own clothing and left the room. Rimmer attempted to mop up the blotch on the couch before realising that wiping it with a tissue was only making it worse, and instead dropped the feather boa over it to hide it.
As he was shrugging into the pink suit jacket, Kryten came bustling in, looking as pleased as his plastic face could manage. ‘We’ve got the job, sir!’ he said. ‘I don’t know what turned the trick - the pub owner was reluctant to hire us without any solid act on the agenda - but then another fellow came and spoke to him and that settled it.’
‘What other fellow?’ Rimmer asked, settling the pink hat atop his unruly curls.
‘You must have seen him, sir. He came from in here. He’s the compere, sir. He’s the one who will be introducing us every night.’
Rimmer’s heart sank. Every night. What else would the man do every night? He wasn’t sure his knees could take the pressure.
Rimmer’s eyes sprang open and he almost screamed in terror, heart racing, before he realised that he was safe in the sleeping quarters aboard Starbug. There was no pub, no man, and most assuredly no couch. He remembered the couch, a metal-backed thing that properly belonged outside, or on the tip, which was probably where it had been nicked from. He remembered, too, that he hadn’t been able to sit on it properly because he’d been sure bits of his hologrammatic form were going right through the curlicues that made up its back. And if sitting on it was difficult, being rampantly fucked over it was patently impossible, whether forwards, backwards, or sideways. Contemplating that last option made his anus attempt to hide up his rectum, though, so he tried not to think about it.
‘Rimmer, man? You awake?’
‘Not really, Listy.’
‘I thought I heard ya say somethin’.’
‘It’s not important. I had a nightmare.’
He could practically hear Lister rolling his eyes. ‘Nightmares aren’t real, Rimmer. They can’t hurt you.’ A pause. ‘What was it about?’
Rimmer debated what to say and settled on, ‘None of your business.’
Lister rolled over and Rimmer felt the weight of his arm go across his chest. The hard-light technology that Legion had given them made it perfectly feasible for Rimmer to be touched by other people, and very specifically to be touched by Lister... Lister, who had been near-crazy for the lack of human contact, real, physical human contact. ‘Of course it’s my business. You sleep badly enough as it is without nightmares.’
‘Only because of your snoring, you smeghead.’
Lister laughed and softly nipped the side of Rimmer’s neck, sending a pleasant shiver through him. ‘So what was this nightmare about, then?’
Rimmer’s arm slipped under Lister’s back, pulling Lister atop him. ‘Nothing that a few kisses won’t make go away.’ He suited the action to the words, hooking one leg lightly behind Lister’s knee to hold him in place as his mouth pressed against Lister’s, tongue darting. Lister made little mmmming sounds and kissed him back, one hand brazenly wriggling in between their bodies to grasp and stroke Rimmer’s cock. Sex this way was so much better, with both parties aiming for the same goal in the same temporal direction, with the intimate closeness that had become theirs over the last year, a closeness that was the logical physical conclusion to spending so long alone together...
Rimmer’s eyes sprang open and he hastily swept his hand across the mattress until it banged against the wall, well and truly not hitting any comperes, Listers, or any other men on the way. He scooted across the bed, flattening his backside against the wall as best as he could.
‘Rimmer, stop bloody thumping,’ Lister’s sleepy voice said from the top bunk.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Rimmer snapped. ‘As if me merely rolling over could be noisier than your snoring, you insufferable warthog.’
‘I wasn’t snoring. You kept me awake. Moanin’ in your sleep... what the hell were ya dreamin’ about?’
‘None of your smegging business.’
‘We might be able to salvage a nightlight from the next wreck if you’re havin’ nightmares.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Maybe you should have a drink of hot milk.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I hear a little lavender sachet under your pillow’s good for sweet dreams.’
‘Lister, shut the smeg up before I strangle you with your own intestines.’
‘Just tryin’ to be helpful. If you’re gonna keep me awake all night with your stupid dreams, I might as well...’ Lister’s voice stopped when Rimmer got up and walloped him with the pillow, but only temporarily. ‘It’s not like they mean anythin’.’
Rimmer flopped back onto his bunk with an exasperated sigh, curled up against the wall, put the pillow over his head, and attempted to go back to sleep, hoping like hell that his subconscious wouldn’t choose to spit out anything quite like that again.
Author: Princess Lauren
Rating: M
Word Count: 1505
Written for beedekka for the Twenty Years of Dwarf Ficathon.
Characters or pairings you want: Rimmer/Compere (Backwards)
A brief prompt OR three things you want: The Sensational Reverse Brothers are a smash on the Nodnol comedy circuit, and Rimmer has caught the eye of one of the other acts. It seems that the neon-clad Compere wants to get to know him better...
Two things you don't want: Um, I'm pretty easy with this prompt - interpret it in any which way you like :o)
Maximum rating you'd prefer: NC-17
Red Dwarf characters belong to... well, let's look at this thing logically. Grant Naylor Productions may technically own the copyright, but let's face it: there are more fangirls than there are Rob Grants and Doug Naylors, and in a fair fight (or barroom tidy), who do you really think would win? I kid because I love. GNP and the BBC own 'em, folks, and any claim we poor wee fannish types have to them is simply that hey, at least we've had several attempts to write reasonable post-season-eight stories, whereas GNP have yet to come across with the promised movie.
Dedicated to the RDSS and RDHS, both to those who've been there with me since the beginning and to our newest members. You all make me so very happy with your continuing enthusiasm for the show and the characters and, of course, the pr0n. Long live the Dwarfers!
Rimmer followed the pub’s proprietor down a narrow hallway behind the loos and into a comparatively spacious area, meaning that there was at least a three inch gap between the chairs ranged around the cramped space. A couple of dozen luridly coloured suits hung along a rail on one wall, putting Rimmer in mind of the Cat’s wardrobe. A man wearing a loud lime green suit was sitting on the least battered of the chairs, intently removing polish from a scuffed black shoe. He looked up when Rimmer entered and smiled a smile that involved far too many teeth.
The pub owner said something incomprehensible and waved a hand towards the suits, and then trotted off backwards, presumably to see if Kryten had finished puzzling out their contracts yet. Rimmer wandered over to the rack of suits and began flipping through them, noting with a sinking heart that all the ones that were an even remotely wearable colour and cut were too small for his lanky six-foot frame. In fact, the only matching pair that could possibly fit both him and Kryten were a quite hideous shade of pink, featuring several thousand spangly sequins and - of course - matching hats. He hadn’t yet entirely formulated a plan for exactly what their act would consist of, but surely these suits could not possibly fit into any act except possibly some sort of lewd one accompanied by several drag queens.
He heaved a huge sigh and his fingers were at his throat, reaching for the buttons holding his shirt closed, when he remembered that the other man was still in the room. ‘I’m sorry, but could you possibly excuse me for a minute?’ he said before remembering that the other man wouldn’t understand him. The only response he received was a politely puzzled gaze, but when he mimed removing his shirt and trousers, the man nodded enthusiastically, his ridiculously poufy hair bouncing as he did so. Rimmer turned his back to change, wanting to at least avoid giving the man a full-frontal look at his tighty-whities, and his shirt was halfway down his arms before he felt the man’s lips nuzzling at the back of his neck.
Reconciling Rimmer’s forwards actions with the man’s backwards ones initially seemed to be an act so close to impossible that it would have fallen off a probability curve and landed on a pile of discarded suits on the floor, which coincidentally was what happened to Rimmer. There were a couple of minutes of confusion before Rimmer found himself on his knees bent forward over a very uncomfortable couch, trousers around his ankles, the shirt still tangled at his elbows effectively immobilising his arms, a feather boa (accidentally) draped around his neck, oh, and the one unmissable accessory to the whole outfit, the strange man’s cock firmly ensconced within his anus.
Then...
Then things seemed to even out somewhat. The man grunted with effort and Rimmer felt the unmistakable sensation of what was definitely an orgasm, even if it was a backwards one, shuddering through the man’s body. Oddly enough the pulsing within him felt the same as if it had been a forwards orgasm. The man’s jerky movements smoothed into a steady rhythm, and Rimmer shamefully felt his own cock twitching and hardening. He tried to dissuade it from doing anything by thinking very hard about how embarrassing it would be for Kryten to catch them like this, and about how convoluted backwards physics could get, and then the man shifted position within him and started toying with Rimmer’s nipples, and Rimmer stopped thinking about anything else and instead concentrated very hard on whether or not he was going to add to the years of stains on the green velour couch seat.
He did.
Disentangling himself from the other man and his clothes at the same time, Rimmer reluctantly pulled on the pink sparkly trousers; his own had a hole in the knee and an unspeakable smear decorated the sleeve of his shirt. The man smiled at him, said something garbled, patted him on the shoulder, and then straightened his own clothing and left the room. Rimmer attempted to mop up the blotch on the couch before realising that wiping it with a tissue was only making it worse, and instead dropped the feather boa over it to hide it.
As he was shrugging into the pink suit jacket, Kryten came bustling in, looking as pleased as his plastic face could manage. ‘We’ve got the job, sir!’ he said. ‘I don’t know what turned the trick - the pub owner was reluctant to hire us without any solid act on the agenda - but then another fellow came and spoke to him and that settled it.’
‘What other fellow?’ Rimmer asked, settling the pink hat atop his unruly curls.
‘You must have seen him, sir. He came from in here. He’s the compere, sir. He’s the one who will be introducing us every night.’
Rimmer’s heart sank. Every night. What else would the man do every night? He wasn’t sure his knees could take the pressure.
Rimmer’s eyes sprang open and he almost screamed in terror, heart racing, before he realised that he was safe in the sleeping quarters aboard Starbug. There was no pub, no man, and most assuredly no couch. He remembered the couch, a metal-backed thing that properly belonged outside, or on the tip, which was probably where it had been nicked from. He remembered, too, that he hadn’t been able to sit on it properly because he’d been sure bits of his hologrammatic form were going right through the curlicues that made up its back. And if sitting on it was difficult, being rampantly fucked over it was patently impossible, whether forwards, backwards, or sideways. Contemplating that last option made his anus attempt to hide up his rectum, though, so he tried not to think about it.
‘Rimmer, man? You awake?’
‘Not really, Listy.’
‘I thought I heard ya say somethin’.’
‘It’s not important. I had a nightmare.’
He could practically hear Lister rolling his eyes. ‘Nightmares aren’t real, Rimmer. They can’t hurt you.’ A pause. ‘What was it about?’
Rimmer debated what to say and settled on, ‘None of your business.’
Lister rolled over and Rimmer felt the weight of his arm go across his chest. The hard-light technology that Legion had given them made it perfectly feasible for Rimmer to be touched by other people, and very specifically to be touched by Lister... Lister, who had been near-crazy for the lack of human contact, real, physical human contact. ‘Of course it’s my business. You sleep badly enough as it is without nightmares.’
‘Only because of your snoring, you smeghead.’
Lister laughed and softly nipped the side of Rimmer’s neck, sending a pleasant shiver through him. ‘So what was this nightmare about, then?’
Rimmer’s arm slipped under Lister’s back, pulling Lister atop him. ‘Nothing that a few kisses won’t make go away.’ He suited the action to the words, hooking one leg lightly behind Lister’s knee to hold him in place as his mouth pressed against Lister’s, tongue darting. Lister made little mmmming sounds and kissed him back, one hand brazenly wriggling in between their bodies to grasp and stroke Rimmer’s cock. Sex this way was so much better, with both parties aiming for the same goal in the same temporal direction, with the intimate closeness that had become theirs over the last year, a closeness that was the logical physical conclusion to spending so long alone together...
Rimmer’s eyes sprang open and he hastily swept his hand across the mattress until it banged against the wall, well and truly not hitting any comperes, Listers, or any other men on the way. He scooted across the bed, flattening his backside against the wall as best as he could.
‘Rimmer, stop bloody thumping,’ Lister’s sleepy voice said from the top bunk.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Rimmer snapped. ‘As if me merely rolling over could be noisier than your snoring, you insufferable warthog.’
‘I wasn’t snoring. You kept me awake. Moanin’ in your sleep... what the hell were ya dreamin’ about?’
‘None of your smegging business.’
‘We might be able to salvage a nightlight from the next wreck if you’re havin’ nightmares.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Maybe you should have a drink of hot milk.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I hear a little lavender sachet under your pillow’s good for sweet dreams.’
‘Lister, shut the smeg up before I strangle you with your own intestines.’
‘Just tryin’ to be helpful. If you’re gonna keep me awake all night with your stupid dreams, I might as well...’ Lister’s voice stopped when Rimmer got up and walloped him with the pillow, but only temporarily. ‘It’s not like they mean anythin’.’
Rimmer flopped back onto his bunk with an exasperated sigh, curled up against the wall, put the pillow over his head, and attempted to go back to sleep, hoping like hell that his subconscious wouldn’t choose to spit out anything quite like that again.