Fic: Made For Action - R/L (imp) - PG
Title: Made For Action
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: To my knowledge, I don't own any fandom at all, nor do I make money from any of them. Pity.
Spoilers: Legion
Notes: Just a quickie with some innuendo-ish implications. Inspired by an aside from roadstergal, the quote blatantly stolen and used here without her permission. I beg forgiveness.
Turning the lights on with the kind of enthusiasm Lister could only guess was due to his not yet having gotten over the novelty of corporeality, Rimmer swirled around, and beamed. "So what did you think?"
Lister shrugged. "Dunno. It's Star Trek. Just like any of the Star Trek shows, you know? It was better than that one with the lady with the scary hair, but not as good as the one with that hot chick with that thing on her nose." He pointed to the bridge of his nose to illustrate. There had been less spandex, and very few hot alien women in this one. Two points heavily in its disfavor, to Lister's mind.
Rimmer snorted. "Women. That's all you ever care about."
"Yeah, well, what else is there?" Lister got up, yawning.
"What..." Rimmer huffed in indignation. "Adventure! Exploration! Brave men going where no other men have gone before!"
Taking the quickest route to the kitchen - Rimmer having refused him to drink more than half a sixpack during the screening - Lister shook his head. "Not my thing."
"I should say not indeed," Rimmer snapped, hot on his heels. He did seem very excited about this, Lister mused. Well, he got excited about the oddest things. Wars, strategy games, haircuts... "I wouldn't expect you for a moment to understand this sort of thing."
"Then why'd ye show it to me?"
"Who else is there? Cat runs away the moment he hears the viewer charging up, and Kryten keeps going on about not having enough heads left to risk." Rimmer leaned heavily against a cabinet, his lip twisting in displeasure. "I dunno," he added, as Lister fished out a can of lager from the fridge and popped it open, "maybe I keep thinking you'll learn something."
The beer gushed soothingly down his throat, and Lister instantly felt much better. "Like what?"
"Like the importance of a good haircut, for example."
Nearly choking on his next mouthfull of lager, Lister spluttered, "haircut?"
"Yes!" There was nothing but earnest seriousness in Rimmer's expression. "Sensibly short hair, practically styled. A good quality side-parting can make or break a military man. They need haircuts made for action."
Clearly, one beer would not be enough to get through this conversation. "Yer not serious."
"All of the great commanders of the past had left parts, miladdio! Look at Captain Archer. The first man to captain a human space ship on an intergalactic mission; obviously a brilliant commander," Rimmer pointed to the side of Lister's head, as if to indicate what wasn't there, "left side parting!"
Swallowing the rest of the can in one go, Lister hugged himself protectively. This was getting a little too weird, even for Rimmer. "Why left?"
"To air out the important part of the brain; the logical, rational, analytical part of it. That's on the left, you know." Rimmer pointed to his own head, which did not, of course, have an actual brain within it. His brain was in what appeared to be his gut, hidden inside the self-contained projection unit that was his light bee. Lister did not think, however, that this was a good time to make that particular point.
"Whatever you say." Lister tried to push past him, but Rimmer stopped him with by planting a palm straight on his chest. This was not good; Rimmer was not usually the touching kind. "Eh?"
Rimmer looked down on him with a look so imploring and helpless that Lister almost felt sick. "Just... stay for another episode, would you?" He blinked, as if trying to draw in oxygen (which he didn't need anyway) in through his eyelids. Realizing he was just a beat short of saying 'please', Lister spared him the agony.
"All right. It wasn't that bad. I quite enjoyed the bit with where the Captain had to share his oxygen with that plummy-mouthed Brit."
Instantly relaxing, Rimmer clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Reed is the only qualified officer that outfit has got! I certainly hope Archer apreciates him."
"Rimmer, they're fictional characters," Lister protested, sneaking out another sixpack in behind his back. Settling back into his seat, he did his best to look bored out of his skull, but as soon as the lights were off, he took a deep pull on his drink to hide his smile.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: To my knowledge, I don't own any fandom at all, nor do I make money from any of them. Pity.
Spoilers: Legion
Notes: Just a quickie with some innuendo-ish implications. Inspired by an aside from roadstergal, the quote blatantly stolen and used here without her permission. I beg forgiveness.
Turning the lights on with the kind of enthusiasm Lister could only guess was due to his not yet having gotten over the novelty of corporeality, Rimmer swirled around, and beamed. "So what did you think?"
Lister shrugged. "Dunno. It's Star Trek. Just like any of the Star Trek shows, you know? It was better than that one with the lady with the scary hair, but not as good as the one with that hot chick with that thing on her nose." He pointed to the bridge of his nose to illustrate. There had been less spandex, and very few hot alien women in this one. Two points heavily in its disfavor, to Lister's mind.
Rimmer snorted. "Women. That's all you ever care about."
"Yeah, well, what else is there?" Lister got up, yawning.
"What..." Rimmer huffed in indignation. "Adventure! Exploration! Brave men going where no other men have gone before!"
Taking the quickest route to the kitchen - Rimmer having refused him to drink more than half a sixpack during the screening - Lister shook his head. "Not my thing."
"I should say not indeed," Rimmer snapped, hot on his heels. He did seem very excited about this, Lister mused. Well, he got excited about the oddest things. Wars, strategy games, haircuts... "I wouldn't expect you for a moment to understand this sort of thing."
"Then why'd ye show it to me?"
"Who else is there? Cat runs away the moment he hears the viewer charging up, and Kryten keeps going on about not having enough heads left to risk." Rimmer leaned heavily against a cabinet, his lip twisting in displeasure. "I dunno," he added, as Lister fished out a can of lager from the fridge and popped it open, "maybe I keep thinking you'll learn something."
The beer gushed soothingly down his throat, and Lister instantly felt much better. "Like what?"
"Like the importance of a good haircut, for example."
Nearly choking on his next mouthfull of lager, Lister spluttered, "haircut?"
"Yes!" There was nothing but earnest seriousness in Rimmer's expression. "Sensibly short hair, practically styled. A good quality side-parting can make or break a military man. They need haircuts made for action."
Clearly, one beer would not be enough to get through this conversation. "Yer not serious."
"All of the great commanders of the past had left parts, miladdio! Look at Captain Archer. The first man to captain a human space ship on an intergalactic mission; obviously a brilliant commander," Rimmer pointed to the side of Lister's head, as if to indicate what wasn't there, "left side parting!"
Swallowing the rest of the can in one go, Lister hugged himself protectively. This was getting a little too weird, even for Rimmer. "Why left?"
"To air out the important part of the brain; the logical, rational, analytical part of it. That's on the left, you know." Rimmer pointed to his own head, which did not, of course, have an actual brain within it. His brain was in what appeared to be his gut, hidden inside the self-contained projection unit that was his light bee. Lister did not think, however, that this was a good time to make that particular point.
"Whatever you say." Lister tried to push past him, but Rimmer stopped him with by planting a palm straight on his chest. This was not good; Rimmer was not usually the touching kind. "Eh?"
Rimmer looked down on him with a look so imploring and helpless that Lister almost felt sick. "Just... stay for another episode, would you?" He blinked, as if trying to draw in oxygen (which he didn't need anyway) in through his eyelids. Realizing he was just a beat short of saying 'please', Lister spared him the agony.
"All right. It wasn't that bad. I quite enjoyed the bit with where the Captain had to share his oxygen with that plummy-mouthed Brit."
Instantly relaxing, Rimmer clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Reed is the only qualified officer that outfit has got! I certainly hope Archer apreciates him."
"Rimmer, they're fictional characters," Lister protested, sneaking out another sixpack in behind his back. Settling back into his seat, he did his best to look bored out of his skull, but as soon as the lights were off, he took a deep pull on his drink to hide his smile.