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missroserose · 4 years

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our hearts condemn us

I’m working on being more prolific and less perfectionist in my writing. Translation: this is unbeta’d as hell, and was meant to be a flash fic but I’m apparently incapable of writing anything under 1500 words. Enjoy anyway :)

~~~

Paul’s laughter shrieks through the lair, achieving a pitch that somehow manages to grate on every one of Michael’s nerves. “Oh, Michael,” he crows, smug as a seagull with a stolen french fry, “whatever could be wrong? Are you chicken?” He bends his elbows and flaps his arms, making clucking noises as he waddles around on bent legs, ridiculous. “Look, Mikey, it’s you!”

Michael’s cheeks burn. He should never have admitted his fear out loud, even to Star, even in an undertone—he knows by now how ridiculously good Paul’s hearing is, especially when it comes to juicy gossip. Knows he’s the newcomer, the youngest of them. “I don’t see you lining up to get holes punched in your body,” he says, defensive.

Paul just smiles, flicks at the small dagger that dangles from his left ear. “Already been through that one, Mikey-boy. I almost cried, it hurt so bad.”

“You cry listening to Jim Morrison,” Marko puts in, from behind the nudie mag he’s been flipping through.

Paul spins to face the poster that hangs on the back wall. “Is it my fault the cruel world extinguished such talent so soon?” He falls to his knees, a parody of worship. “’Twas inevitable, for the light that burns so bright must burn twice as quickly.” A moment later, he’s up and crowing with laughter, twirling around madly, knocking things about. “Burns like Mikey-boy’s ear is going to burn under that needle!” A rusted tin cup skitters between two piles of detritus, making a racket almost as loud as Paul himself.

“Don’t listen to him.” Star puts an arm around Michael, comforting, shoring him up. “It burns a bit, yeah, but just for an hour or two—”

“What’s going on?” David appears at the back of the lair, Dwayne silently looming behind him. His tone is relaxed, his eyes half-hooded, almost lazy—but Michael knows by now that this is when he is most alert, most ready for a challenge.

“Mikey-boy needs his mommy to hold his hand!” Paul’s rocking on the ground with laughter, now, and Michael begins to wonder with some bitterness exactly what was in the spliff he saw Paul smoking earlier.

David’s eyes flick over to Michael, to Star, holding a needle in one hand, a chunk of apple in the one that’s draped over Michael’s shoulder. Michael feels her tense—or perhaps feels himself tense, under the scrutiny. Resents it, a little, even as Paul finally starts to get his laughter under control.

“What’s the matter, Michael?” David’s mouth curves upward, knowing, before he straightens a little, addressing the second question more to the room. “Afraid of a little prick?”

It’s a weak joke, but it sends Paul into further paroxysms, and even draws chuckles from Marko and Dwayne—that strange collective laughter that Michael still sees from them now and again, like they’re all in on a joke that he’s not yet privy to. Even though they’ve been hanging out for weeks.

He shrugs off Star’s arm, stands up. “I’m not afraid.”

David’s eyes snap back to Michael’s, and there’s a sudden tension in the room. Paul’s laughter abruptly quiets, Dwayne sits up a little straighter; David’s smile melts away in the space of Star’s indrawn breath.

“Then I’ll do it.” David’s tone is still light, but his posture is straight, shoulders square as he steps forward

“No,” Star says, stands up herself, behind and to Michael’s right, a mirror of Dwayne and David. “I promised him I would.”

To Michael’s surprise, David doesn’t immediately shut her down. He glances at her, at Michael, at the others. “Very well. We’ll let him decide.” The flick of an eyebrow, almost too quick to be seen in the candlelight. “Who’s it going to be, Michael?”

Michael’s never been smart. Not in the way Sam is, pulling down nearly straight As in school without even trying. Not even in the way his mother is, able to ferret out people’s longings and desires and unfulfilled dreams. But he can sense the hidden currents here, knows this is about more than a piercing. Knows that he’s being baited.

Knows, even before he’s made the decision, that there’s only one way this can go.

Slowly, he turns to Star, holds out his hand for the needle and the apple. Hopes she can read the apology in his expression—but she refuses to look him in the eye, keeps her eyes cast downwards as she presses them into his hand.

When he turns back, David’s smiling again—a smile of victory, yes, but there’s something more to it. Something that sends a prickle of adrenaline up Michael’s spine. That makes him consider—briefly—turning tail and running.

But he stays. Straightens. Shows his teeth in an answering grin. Holds out the tools.

“Do your worst,” he says.

To his surprise, David comes to him, traverses the lair in measured steps. Michael can feel the tension in the air, knows even without looking that the others are rapt, watching this little drama play out. Realizes that he’s holding his breath. Forces himself to exhale, inhale, as David’s fingers brush his palm. Forces his eyes back up to meet David’s.

David’s expression is blank as he assesses Michael, eyes dark in the candlelight. His lips part, just for a moment, then he turns and moves to tarnished candelabra that sits by Star’s bedside. Holds the needle into the flame, lets it turn red-hot.

When he turns back, Michael sucks in a breath—for a moment, a flash, David’s eyes are yellow-orange. Deep in his gut, something primal twists, tells him to flee before he’s caught—and deep in his brain, something equally fundamental tells him it’s far too late for that. But then he sees it’s only the reflection of the candle flame, deep in David’s pupils. Relaxes a fraction as David smiles—promising, almost reassuring.

“Michael,” he hears Dwayne whisper, that haunting chant they’ve made of his name. Paul picks it up, and Marko. “Michael. Michael.”

“There’s no need to be afraid.” David holds his eyes for a moment, lets the truth of his words sink in before he steps close, holds the apple chunk behind Michael’s ear. “Just hold very...very...still.”

Michael. Michael. Michael. The chant is still barely more than whispered, but loud, so loud in his mind.

Michael closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe, to stand straight. Pictures those eyes, blue-hot on his, as David’s stubble brushes against his skin, as his breath mists against Michael’s neck, as the point of the needle presses against his earlobe.

It’s over in a flash. A prick, a searing pain—a shot of adrenaline—a disconcerting crunch—a gasp that could be from the pain, except for the sudden warmth deep in his gut, the heat pooling in his chest, below his waist. Except for the flash of images in his head. Blood running down his neck, David licking it up, heat against Michael’s skin. David’s tongue in his mouth, still tasting of copper and iron, the wall of the lair hard against Michael’s back as their lips press together, Michael gasping through his nose as David’s fingers slip beneath his belt, as needle-sharp teeth penetrate his lip. Michael’s own face, a little harder around the edges, a satisfied smile on his face as he stands behind David—

The chant bursts apart into cheers and whoops. Michael opens his eyes, the images dissolving as he glances around in the too-bright candlelight, half-wild with fear and adrenaline and something he can’t quite name.

David stands before him, still smug, still perfectly, pettily human. “There,” he says. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.” He takes his own earring out. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you your own. But for now, this will do.”

It should hurt, when he leans in, pulls the needle out, replaces it with the earring. But all Michael can feel is the heat deep in his belly as David leans forward. As his fingertip brushes Michael’s earlobe. As he pulls back, a drop of ruby blood—not a stream, merely a drop—resting on his finger.

David’s eyes flick down, smile fading—then back to Michael’s. For just a moment, they regard each other; again Michael feels those currents stirring, depths that he doesn’t understand swirling beneath him, power whose source he has yet to grasp suddenly thrust in his hands.

He finds he rather likes it.

“And now you know I’ll bleed for you,” he says. He means it to sound careless, flippant—but something in the words sends a tremor through the air, invocative of something far more ancient and primal than a sleepover game between friends.

David nods once. Reaches his finger up to his lips. Holds Michael’s gaze as he licks the blood away—his eyes flutter shut for just a breath before he opens them again. “I know.”

Paul throws an arm around Michael’s shoulders, lets out an uluating cheer; Marko gives him a thumbs-up. Dwayne even comes and claps him on the back. Their camaraderie is warming, enough to distract from the sudden throbbing in his ear—but even that is nothing compared to the heat of David’s eyes, burning a brand into his neck.

~~~

Stuck at home? Bored? Come yell with me about these boys!

#the lost boys #david/michael #my writing #cw: blood #lemon #well mild lemon #maybe just a dash of lemon juice?#vampires

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pinktintedmonocle · 4 years

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Blue Is Not The Only Colour - A Red Dwarf FanFic - Chapter 1 - NSFW

Red Dwarf is under attack. All systems are down with no hope of recovery. The crew is doomed. And all Lister can think about is Rimmer’s new purple uniform. Fluffy smut for all your Rimster needs! Set after The Promised Land – spoilers for that episode.

Inspired by one of my favourite fanfics that I’ve recently rediscovered after many years – Catcall by Kahvi and Roadstergal. There’s a bit in that fic where Rimmer briefly changes his uniform purple and Lister really likes it, and it got me thinking…

Chapter 1: The Lift

“Status report!” screamed Rimmer, bracing himself against the side of the lift as the ship lurched violently to one side.

Kryten’s face appeared on the screen in the corner of the lift. “All principal and auxiliary systems are down, sirs, and all doors have been sealed shut. Mister Cat and I are doing everything we can to reboot the engines but the GELF ship hit us pretty hard.”

Lister attempted to stand up just as the ship started to shake again. He wisely decided to stay on the floor of the lift. “When you say you and Cat are doing everything you can, do you actually mean that you are doing everything you can while Cat is preening in front of a mirror?”

“Oh no Mister Lister, Mister Cat is not currently staring at himself in a looking glass.”

“Really?” asked Lister, incredulous. “You mean he’s actually helping?”

There was a pause while Kryten glanced over his shoulder. “Well, not exactly. At the present moment he is making a rather fetching pair of earmuffs out of one of those fur rugs we extracted from that luxury liner we raided last month. And while that may not seem particularly helpful at present if we do crash it will likely be onto that ice planet directly below us, so at least Mister Cat will have something to keep his ears nice and toasty.”

Rimmer threw up his arms in frustration. “Oh, well, that’s just marvellous, isn’t it? The rest of us will perish in sub-zero temperatures, but at least if another crew ever stumbles across our frozen remains they’ll find a pair of perfectly persevered ears to take away as a memento.”

“Hey Rimmer man, just try and calm down OK?” said Lister. “We’ll get out of this, just like we always do. Isn’t that right Kryts?”

It wasn’t technically possible for Kryten’s face to turn the sickly green pallor that a human face often does in times of extreme peril, but as Lister and Rimmer watched the mechanoid they both thought that he seemed to be giving it a jolly good try.

“Well, actually sirs, I’m not entirely sure that we will be able to get out of this particularly sticky situation. In fact, I calculate that our chances of survival are roughly the same as the chances of the UK entry coming in first place in the Eurovision song contest.”

Lister slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. “So we’re totally and utterly smegged, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes sir, I’m afraid so. With no systems online we have no way of –”. Kryten’s image shuddered and disappeared on the screen.

“What’s happened? Where’s he gone?” Rimmer demanded hysterically.

Lister just groaned. “We must have lost contact with the science room. The missiles have probably fried the internal communication systems.”

Rimmer turned on Lister, nostrils flared to full capacity. “It’s your fault we’re stuck in here, you know. As soon as we got the attack alert I was prepared to take the stairs. It was you who said it would be quicker to get to the science room if we took the lift.”

“Well it worked last time on the Iron Star, didn’t it?” protested Lister.

“Barely! It was a miracle we got out of there.” Rimmer surveyed his surroundings, nose wrinkled in distaste. “You could have chosen one of the Xpress lifts rather than a bog standard service lift. At least then we’d have somewhere comfy to sit while the GELF fry my light bee and turn you into kebab meat.”

The screen flickered back to life and Holly’s gormless face appeared. “Hey dudes. What’s happening?”

The ship rocked dangerously and Rimmer was thrown off his feet, landing on his arse next to Lister. “What’s up?” he screeched. He managed to pull himself up into a sitting position and clung to Lister’s leg to stop himself from toppling over again. “You mean apart from being minutes away from certain death?”

“Oh yeah, I know about that” Holly replied calmly, looking somewhat bored. “I meant, like, apart from that.”

Rimmer tried and failed to look commanding from his position on the floor. He settled on just glaring at the computer screen. “Hang on; if all the systems are down why are you still running?”

Holly shrugged, which was impressive for a being without any shoulders. “Don’t know. Think I’ve just got lucky and the GELF missed my hard drive when they attacked.”

“Is there anything you can do to help us Hol?” Lister cried desperately. The lift was swaying back and forth continuously now and Lister was starting to feel very dizzy. He gripped Rimmer’s arm for some support.

“Oh, not really” said Holly. “I could play some chill out music though if you wanted. Or whale song; that is supposed to be very relaxing.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Rimmer. “Holly, can you access the Hologram Simulation Suite and change me from hard to soft light? That way I can get out of this smegging lift!”

“Hang on!” said Lister. “You can’t just leave me here to die by myself!”

Rimmer rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic Listy, I’d come back for you. But if I switch between hard and soft light I can go inside the systems that have been hit and see how bad the damage is. Then if it’s fixable, I’ll report to Kryten and see if he can do some sort of system repair from the science room.”

Lister had to admit that as plans went, it wasn’t too shabby.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually” agreed Holly.

“Well, get on with it then you senile floppy disk!” snapped Rimmer.

“Oh no, I can’t actually do it”, Holly clarified in his usual monotone. “The controls to do that were damaged by the missile. I was just saying that it was a good plan, you know, like theoretically.”

“Brilliant!” wailed Rimmer, throwing his hands up in the air before quickly grabbing back onto Lister’s leg as the lift shuddered. “I’m going to die on this smegging ship a second time, cowering in an elevator with a grotty spacebum who thinks cornflakes covered in grated onion and vindaloo sauce is a healthy and balanced breakfast.”

“Hey man, don’t take this out on me!” protested Lister. “It’s not my fault those crazy GELF goits decided to bomb us again!”

In fact, Lister thought a little guiltily, it probably was partly his fault. The GELF had never forgiven him for abandoning Hackhackhack Ach Hachhachac on their wedding night. He fully expected Rimmer to point this out and continue his snarking, but instead the hologram deflated visibly and let out a long sigh.

“This is it then Listy, after all these years. I’ll be dead and gone, rather than just dead. We both will.”

Rimmer leaned in a little closer to Lister, and Lister’s brain registered for the first time that Rimmer’s arms were wrapped around one of his legs, while he was clutching one of Rimmer’s arms with both hands. The soft thrum of electricity emanating from Rimmer’s light bee was oddly calming, and holding onto Rimmer’s hologrammatic body made his hands tingle pleasantly. He had just started to think about how well defined Rimmer’s arm felt beneath his grasp when Holly interrupted.

“I can change the colour of your uniform though, if that helps.”

“What?” Rimmer asked, bemused.

“Well, I can’t change you to soft light, but I can send a signal to your light bee to change the colour of your uniform from blue to red.”

“And how the smegging hell would that help?” snarled Rimmer.

“Well” said Holly with all the enthusiasm of a sixty year old Geography teacher on the verge of retirement who had just been told they had to teach fourteen year olds about sedimentary rocks for another five years before they could draw their pension, “When you’re soft light, your uniform is red. So even though I can’t make you soft light so you can go and save the ship, I can make your uniform red so you can look like you’re soft light. That way you can at least pretend to be soft light and helpful so you can feel a bit better about the whole situation, like, psychologically.”

Rimmer fixed the monitor displaying Holly’s face with a venomously seething glare of such intensity that it would cause any sane sentient computer to immediately start wiping its hard drive just to be rid of the memory of such a glare. Holly however, being about as sane as an MP for UKIP, just smiled pleasantly back.

“See?” said the computer. Rimmer’s uniform shimmered from blue to red. A tiny jolt of electricity went through Lister as the change took place. It was actually quite pleasant and just slightly arousing, which, combined with Lister’s grip on Rimmer’s nicely muscled arm and the fact that the hologram’s hands seemed to be making their way slowly up Lister’s leg as Rimmer clung on for support, caused the beginnings of a stirring in Lister’s groinal region that made him very thankful that he was wearing his baggiest trousers.

“And it’s not just red I can do”, continued Holly, completely oblivious to the reactions of the occupants of the lift. “I can turn your uniform any colour you want actually.”

Rimmer’s uniform started to shimmer it’s way though the rainbow and every shade in between, from reds to oranges to yellows to greens to blues to purples-

“Stop!” yelled Lister, startling Rimmer. “Stop on that purple, Hol.”

“Alright”, said Holly. The flickering stopped and Rimmer’s uniform settled on a deep amethyst shade. “It’s a nice colour that. Good choice.”

“Yeah, it is.” agreed Lister, somewhat breathlessly. In that moment Lister thought it was probably the most alluring colour he had ever seen, and given the Cat’s penchant for beautiful fabrics he’d pretty much seen every other colour under the sun. But there was just something special about this colour; it complemented Rimmer’s pale complexion perfectly and brought out his soft brown eyes. That and the fact that Lister had received several dozen tiny electric shocks every time Rimmer’s uniform had changed colour meant that he was now as hard as a rock.

Rimmer stared at Lister as if he had a polymorph stuck to his face. “Have you gone completely loopy? Has space rot finally taken hold of your brain after one too many beer milkshakes? We’re on the verge of certain death and all you can think about is the hue of my clothes? I expect this kind of behaviour from that imbecile”, Rimmer jerked his head in the direction of Holly, “but I wasn’t expecting you to go completely senile for at least another five years or so.”

Lister shifted in a way designed to bring Rimmer’s hand slightly further up his thigh. “Can’t I pay you a compliment before we die?” he asked huskily.

The lift shook again and Rimmer grabbed Lister’s other leg to stop himself from being thrown against a wall. Lister felt quite faint; he honestly didn’t know how much more contact he could stand with the hologram before he either passed out or came in his pants. Or both.

Rimmer frowned. “You’ve never paid me a compliment like that before.”

“I must have done,” said Lister, barely holding on to consciousness.

“You definitely haven’t. I would have remembered.” sniped Rimmer.

“Well, I’m paying you one now.” The lift shook again and although Lister wasn’t unbalanced by this particular shudder he still took the opportunity to grab hold of Rimmer’s other arm. They were properly holding each other now and Lister couldn’t help but be aware of how close their lips were. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I’m just saying that that colour really suits you. It really, really suits you. Although maybe not quite as well as the diamond light suit.”

“Oh?” asked Rimmer, who had been distracted from thoughts of impending death by the incredibly rare occurrence of someone saying something nice about him. “And what was better about the diamond light suit?”

The whacking great codpiece thought Lister, although he didn’t say it out loud. “It looked good, is all.” And you looked good in it. So, so good. “Hey Hol, give us a moment will you?”

“Ok”, replied the computer. He paused for a second. “There. That was a moment.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “I meant give me and Rimmer a moment alone Hol. In other words, smeg off!”

“Oh right”, said Holly, sounding a little offended. “You could have just said. You didn’t have to be so rude about it.” The screen went black.

“You’ve annoyed him now.” stated Rimmer. “He’ll probably wake you up tomorrow at six with those cockerel sounds he loves so much.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow”, Lister said distractedly, thinking about the word ‘cockerel’. In particular the first syllable.

“Oh God, I almost forgot!” Rimmer exclaimed. “I’m going as mad as you. Must be my memory files shutting down. I’ll probably be nothing but a drooling mess in a few minutes!”

Lister could tell that Rimmer was on the verge of a full blown panic attack, so he removed his hands from the hologram’s arms (somewhat reluctantly) and grabbed his face instead. The lift gave another shake and somewhere in the distance several alarms started to sound. It was amazing that the cables holding them in the lift shaft hadn’t snapped yet and sent them plummeting to their deaths. Lister tried not to think about that. Or the word ‘shaft’.

“Rimmer”, he said softly, letting his thumb gently rub circles on the hologram’s cheek. “I know we’ve had our disagreements over the years-”

“We have disagreements every day, Listy”, Rimmer said, although he didn’t try to move away from Lister. “Most days we’ve had at least seven before you’ve even had your mid-morning curry.”

“Yeah, I know man”, said Lister. The lift was shaking uncontrollably now. Lister titled his head forward slightly, his lips only an inch away from Rimmer’s. “But there’s a reason I like to wind you up so much. There’s a reason I tease you until you get all flustered and your cheeks turn red and you stomp off and I watch your lovely arse as you walk away.”

Rimmer blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just refer to my arse as ‘lovely’?”

“Yeah, Rimmer, I did. Because there’s something I need to tell ya, something I should have told you a long time ago but I was just too much of a coward. Because the thing is Rimmer, I lov-”

All of a sudden the lift stopped shaking, the distant alarms grew quiet and the lights in the lift turned back to full brightness. The screen flickered back to life and Holly’s face re-appeared. “Is this a good time, or are you two still having your moment?”

Rimmer pulled away from Lister’s embrace and stood up, leaving Lister’s arms feeling horribly empty.

“What the smeg is going on Holly?” Rimmer demanded. “Why aren’t we dead yet? What about the GELF missiles?”

“What missiles?” asked Holly, looking puzzled.

“The missiles that hit the ship and were in the process of killing us, you goit!” Rimmer shrieked. Lister couldn’t help think that he looked very sexy when he got all worked up.

“Oh right”, said Holly. “See, the thing is that there weren’t actually any missiles in the first place. Or any GELF ship.”

Holly’s words hit Lister like a ton of bricks and snapped him out of his lustful reverie. He scrambled to his feet to stand beside Rimmer. “Hang on a minute, Hol! What the smeg do you mean there weren’t any missiles or a ship?”

“It’s probably best I let the others explain”, said Holly.

The screen flickered and Kryten’s face appeared on it, looking guiltier than OJ Simpson. “Oh Mr Lister sir!” exclaimed the mechanoid. “It’s so good to see you again. When we lost contact I was terrified you might have been knocked unconscious, what with the ship shaking so violently and things flying everywhere.”

“I’m fine, Kryts. But what did Holly mean when he said there were no missiles or no attacking ship?”

“Hang on!” interrupted Rimmer. “Why did you only ask Lister if he was OK? What about me? Why does no-one care about me?”

I care, thought Lister. His cock, still half hard, gave a twitch of agreement. In fact, one part of me seems to care about you very much.

Kryten pretended not to hear the hologram. “Well, you see, Mister Lister sir, what we thought was an attack from a GELF ship turned out not to be a real attack at all but in fact just a very realistic simulation. It seems that when Red Dwarf was being built it was fitted with newly designed emergency protocol simulation software. The idea was that once every few months the immersive simulation would be activated so the crew could practice what to do in case of a GELF attack, like the fire drills I believe they used to have back on Earth.”

“Hang on”, said Rimmer. “I’ve never even heard of an immersive emergency drill before, let alone done one aboard Red Dwarf. When we did a practice drill there just used to be a little alarm that sounded and we all pretended an attack was taking place and lined up in a corridor so a man with a clipboard could tick our names off on a register.”

“That’s because the idea was scrapped before Red Dwarf ever launched”, Kryten continued. “There was another ship built to the same specifications that took off just before Red Dwarf, but tragically all crew members were killed during the first week of their voyage. You see, they were so busy doing the simulated attack that they failed to realise that they were actually under attack and the ship was blown up. So the function was never used on Red Dwarf, although the controls to activate it remained.”

“So how the smegging hell did it get activated after three million years?” asked Lister.

Kryten shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I believe Mister Cat may have been responsible for that, sirs. You see, the button to activate the simulation is very large and red and shiny, and I believe he just couldn’t resist pressing it.”

The Cat’s face appeared next to Kryten’s on the monitor. “Actually, I was trying to prise it off the wall to use as a brooch. Pressing it was just an accident.”

“So all that panic and stress we just went through was so the Cat could get a twinkly new accessory?” Rimmer threw up his hands in disbelief. “I nearly had a heart attack just so that feline imbecile could deck himself out like Liberace?”

“Well, sir, as you don’t actually have a heart you aren’t technically capable of having a heart attack –”

“Shut up Kryten!” Rimmer snapped. “No one cares about your technicalities! Holly, can you please just open the door to this damn lift.”

Holly’s face reappeared on the screen. “Can do, Arnold.” The doors of the lift slid smoothly open and Rimmer stalked out.

“I’ll be putting you all on report for this!” Rimmer said as he started to walk down the corridor. “There’s going to be so much paperwork to fill out. It’s going to be marvellous.”

Lister watched the hologram’s retreating figure with mixed emotions. It would be so easy just to let him go, to go back to their usual routine of sniping and gripping and repressed feelings. But did he really want that?

“Hey Rimmer”, he called out. The hologram stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Lister.

“What?” Rimmer said. Lister hesitated, trying to find the right words. Rimmer tapped a foot impatiently. “Well, spit it out. I haven’t got all day. Those forms aren’t going to fill themselves out.”

“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” Lister blurted out.

Rimmer blinked. “What?”

Lister took a deep breath. “Dinner. With me. Tonight. Seven-thirty. Parrots on G deck.”

“But I don’t eat, Lister, what with being dead for the last three million years. Or had you forgotten?”

“We can get Holly to programme some hologrammatic food for you. Something dead fancy, like lobster or something. I’ll avoid soup though, promise, hot or cold.”

Rimmer’s face creased in confusion. “But why go to all the bother of creating fake food for a dinner that I don’t even need to eat? Why would you-”

“It’s not about the smegging food Rimmer!” Lister cried, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“Then what is it about?” asked Rimmer, looking utterly perplexed.

“The fact that I’m smegging in love with you!” screamed Lister.

The silence that followed Lister’s statement was so absolute you could have heard a skutter drop a pin.

Rimmer went very still. “What did you just say?” he asked slowly.

Lister sighed. There was no going back now. In for a penny, in for a pound as his Gran used to say. “That I love you, you smeghead, alright? I have done for a while now, but I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. But when we thought we were gonna die back there in the lift I realised that there is never going to be a right moment. So I’m telling you now; I, David Lister, am in love with you, Arnold Judas Rimmer. And I think that you might feel the same way about me. And it’s time we talked about that.”

Rimmer opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out. He opened and closed it for several seconds as if doing an impression of a guppy before he just let it hang open and stared at Lister in shock.

“So seven-thirty, yeah?” asked Lister. “Then we’ll talk about it?”

Rimmer regained enough motor function to nod mutely.

Lister wasn’t sure if the nod was an acknowledgment of Rimmer’s feelings for him or simply an indication that he would see Lister at seven-thirty. Hopefully it was both. Lister smiled. “Ok, see you then.” As he walked away, he had a thought and called back over his shoulder. “Oh, and wear that purple uniform. It’s very sexy. And maybe see if you can add a codpiece to it.”

As Lister turned a corner he heard Rimmer make some sort of high pitched choking sound. As he sauntered away, grinning from ear to ear, he wondered if that was the kind of noise Rimmer might also make in bed. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before he found out.

#Red Dwarf #reddwarf #arnold rimmer #david lister #dave lister #kryten #the cat #holly #reddwarffanfic #red dwarf fan fic

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goodgoodpolypals · 7 years

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Boyhood Bravery || Chapter Three

Summer heat reaches an apex and the boys find a way to cool off. An injury cracks Nick’s brave facade. Griffin feels alone. Nick struggles with visiting family. Something feels oddly familiar to Griffin.

THEN

When the boys are six, summer is a three month long period of unbearable heat. Even the children, who are unnaturally resilient, hunch like panting dogs in any morsel of shadow they can find. It is a heat that turns the concrete into a hot plate that burns the bottoms of bare feet, that melts an ice pop before half of it can be eaten, that has the grass standing still, like even it is too heat-fatigued to move. Staring long enough at anything will play tricks on your mind, making the heat tangible and create illusions of heat wavered images. Loose t-shirts cling to their backs and their hair is shades darker from being sweat soaked, wrapping around their heads like sweaters and frying their brains.

It’s Justin, who is twelve at the time, who convinces their father to let them go down to the local river. At first they go as a family, loading up the car with lawn chairs and beach blankets. They’d squeeze in, warm skin sticking together as they chattered excitedly, the smell of sunscreen tickling nostrils. They’d come back and fall asleep during the drive, Griffin’s head on Travis’s damp shoulder.

By the time summer is half over though, the river is no longer a fun day vacation to look forward to, rather it’s a last ditch effort to survive the baking heat. It’s almost a daily escape. The day starts with Nick, knocking on their door as soon as the sun is up, everyone dressed in shorts and shirts they will soon ditch, it’s four bikes of varying size, they lug lunch boxes packed with ice and bottles of water, and if they are lucky, coke. Someone packs them sandwiches, so they don’t have to cycle home for lunch. They only sometimes remember the sunscreen, and often come home with sore, burnt skin that eventually gives way to tans, pausing just above the knee and resuming at their waists.

The river itself isn’t anything special. The bank is just deep enough to reach Justin’s chest, and the water is murky, ridden with water bugs and spiders trapped on the surface. But it’s cool. The heat that ripples off the surface like a molten mirror are but another illusion, for the water was a cool caress for anything you’d dip in it. It’s a miracle it stays so crisp in the face of the hellish heat, but back then luck seemed to always be on their side.

Nick and Griffin weren’t allowed to wade any farther than a few feet, just until the water lapped at the tops of their knees, or if they sat it would reach their chests. It was a game to them, one that Nick would test the limits of first, of course, to see how far they could actually go before Justin or Travis would notice, and when they would finally say something.

Sometimes they would sit at the edge of the water dipping in only their feet, digging at the mucky dirt with their toes, trying to skip stones on the surface. Sometimes they would talk and joke, other times it would be silent. Sometimes it was enough to enjoy the reprieve of heat. And the water always seemed cooler when the other was around.

Lunch that day was, like always, simple. It was a balogna and cheese sandwich, small bags of chips and a cookie. Justin and Travis would sit apart from the other boys, they had older friends that would join them, and Nick and Griffin didn’t mind being alone. They used an oak tree as a backrest, talking about some cartoon they watched or the level of Super Mario World they beat.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live out here?” Nick asks, wiping his orange fingers on his wet shorts, having eaten his cookie and chips before his sandwich, although his mother would scold him if she found out.

“Probably not fun. Maybe just camp.” Griffin offers instead, eating his food in the correct order, still uncomfortable with breaking habit and rules.

“My dad has a tent!” Nick is immediately excited, clinging to any droplet of adventure he can find, easily bored but just as easily ignited. “But, they probably wouldn’t take us.” Nick’s mood drop is blatant. He’s always been jealous of the attention he lost when Porter was born, though he would never say so, especially not to Griffin.

“Maybe my dad will take us, then.” The skin around Griffin’s eyes crinkle with an optimistic smile that is always on his face. It’s something that draws Nick to Griffin, he’s like sunshine, even when it’s so hot that any more is excessive.

“We can swim at night,” Nick agrees.

“And catch fireflies!”

They make up plans, some they know will never happen, while they finish their food, and even when they are done they stay on the shore. Nick climbs the tree, hugging it as he leans down until his face is in Griffin’s, chatting about all the possibilities of a camping trip together, not limited to: s'mores, staying up all night and ghost stories.

Nick swats at Griffin every so often as he hangs from a limb, and Griffin runs around the tree to half-assedly try to evade him. They are laughing so hard Nick almost falls from the tree, the times so good and light-hearted that, at first, neither boy notices the blood. Griffin doesn’t even feel it. Who knows how long he might have went without noticing, if it hadn’t been for Nick going pale and unwinding himself from the tree. The maneuver is ungraceful that he lands on his hands and knees, out of breath as he pulls himself up. “Griffin, you’re bleeding!”

Griffin is still laughing as he looks down and it dries up almost immediately. There is so much blood that it’s soaked the dry dirt at the base of the knotty tree, coloring it dark red. Griffin lifts his foot only to immediately fall down. The gash is deep and long and just looking at it makes him dizzy. It’s a cut made from glass that Griffin hadn’t even realized he’d stepped in when running away from Nick.

And suddenly, all the pain he hadn’t been feeling rushed into him at once. Tears immediately collect in his eyes as he begins to sob, holding his foot in his hands, getting them slick with blood. “Nicky!” His words are nearly choked out by his wailing, but Nick understands, “Get Juice!”

Nick runs off towards the lake, and when he returns, Justin and Travis are in tow, followed by a small horde of boys around their age. It is chaotic as everyone debates what to do, screaming at each other as Griffin hiccups in uncomforted pain in the back. Eventually Justin carries him on his back as they all bike home as fast as they can, Nick, who is one of the slower ones pumps his legs extra hard to keep up, panic of his own coursing through his small veins.

The next time Nick sees Griffin his foot is bandaged tightly. He had to get stitches. Despite it all, he smiles at Nick brightly when he turns up, still sunshine. He doesn’t get to go to the river anymore. Justin offers to take Nick, but he declines. Instead they sit on the back steps, baking in the heat that doesn’t seem to be that bad anymore, in comparison.

“That was scary,” Nick admits, even though he is never keen on showing his fear, wanting to be brave in the face of danger. And he usually is, when he’s dealing with himself. But seeing Griffin in pain had been something else. Nick loves Griffin in a way that he never wants to see him so seriously hurt, even if he can’t understand that love at his young age.

“Yeah. But it was fun before.” He lifts his foot so Nick can examine it, while Griffin recounts in all gory detail about his stitches and being in the hospital. “Guess we aren’t going camping.”

Of course that’s what Griffin is thinking about. Nick laughs and wraps his arm around his shoulder, even though any contact makes their body heat burn hotter. “Next summer, then.”

NOW

Griffin detests going outside in the sizzling heat of Austin’s summer, usually barricading himself inside with enough food and games to last him a month. He’s lucky enough to have a job that can be done from the inside of his air conditioned office, but now, with his AC broken, the inside is no reprieve. Instead Griffin drives around town, listening to the same five pop songs the radio plays, or finds excuses to go to the store, sometimes not even buying anything, just enjoying the moments where his skin isn’t melting off.

Those moments are never long enough. He always ends up back inside his apartment, forcing open old windows that stick and groan with protest, hoping, always fruitlessly, that the breeze will offer some solace; however the breeze is just as warm as the air outside, sending dust motes in heat-carried circles and bakes Griffin like a hairdryer, or a convection oven. He records content in a less than enthusiastic manner, and he’s down right aggravated in parts, and he hates he’s being this way, but at least if he edits the videos he can make it less obvious.

Maybe it’s the heat that makes the next few days seem to drag on for too long. He learns to tell time by the moments that pass between the trickles of sweat that track down his back, or how long it takes an ice cube to melt on his tongue.

Or maybe it’s the late summer dissatisfaction. He’s bored. Nick has been busy, or so Griffin has gathered from the short texts he’d send after long chucks of a silence that seems almost hostile. ‘Too busy to talk now’, ‘Visiting family’, ‘Still can’t talk’. When Griffin receives these texts, it’s a moment when he’s not thinking about the unbearable heat or his unrelenting boredom.

Sure he could text Pat, Russ, or even Simone; and of course there was always Justin or Travis who could ease the loneliness for a bit, even if he had to disguise it as a want to work on a podcast or video. Yet, all of those people felt incredibly distant. Not literally, even though that too was true, but Pat, Russ and Simone were all closer friends with each other, Juice was busy with his own family and Travis too seemed to be growing up in a way Griffin still wasn’t. They were all operating on different wavelengths.

But not Nick. It was a puzzling thought for Griffin to have, because he’d been just fine without Nick in the years prior, but after working with him, especially after the other night, seemed to have reawakened something in Griffin. He likes having a friend, someone who was similar to him. And after spending almost all night talking to Nick until they both fell asleep, well, it felt like Griffin has known him forever.

When Nick finally breaks his silence it’s the middle of the night. Griffin would have missed it, nearly did, but he was up working on something for The Adventure Zone. When he sees it’s Nick that is calling, Griffin almost forgets to save before minimizing Garageband, answering. The second Nick’s picture materializes on Griffin’s screen, a grin overtakes his face.

The boy is messy, his hair lying in disarray, eyes heavy with the baggage of not enough sleep, and Griffin can tell, just from looking at him, that he’s been drinking. It’s a feeling so strong that he almost feels like he can smell the alcohol through the screen. But Nick is smiling, a smaller, closed lip smile, compared to Griffin’s radiant, toothy one. Nick’s fingers are curled up in the sleeves of a long-sleeve shirt that makes Griffin sweat just looking at it. His stubbly chin is resting on the heel of his hand as he blinks blearily at Griffin.

“Hey bud,” Griffin greets, leaning back in his office chair.

“Sup’.” His speech is more tired than slurred like Griffin was expecting it to be.

“Trying to work, getting distracted.” For a moment it seems like this is all he is going to say, but then he adds, “But you’re a welcome distraction.”

The words that Griffin thought were kind, makes Nick run his hands down his tired face. It’s a little sign of annoyance, but it’s enough to make Griffin wonder why Nick even called. Maybe Griffin’s initial feeling that the silence for the last few days really was hostile, this reaction, no matter how small, sure supports the theory. Maybe it’s the heat playing with his head again. Instead of calling him out, Griffin asks, “What’s up?”

“Ah,” He expels a large breath through his nostrils, “Just been busy with my family. Been drinking a bit. I just wanted to talk to you. Kind of miss you.” It’s the kind of thing that Nick wouldn’t have had the courage to say sober, even though it was hardly inappropriate for friends. However, missing him had been Nick’s fault, he’d been avoiding him ever since they had stayed up at that night. His ego is bruised and even though it was stupid, he is hurt. His family is visiting, that part was true, but they aren’t nearly as busy as he made them out to be.

“Well I’m right here!” Griffin opens his arms theatrically, adding in a voice coated with over-feigned hurt, “I mean, I’ve been here the whole time, but whatever.”

It’s the kind of thing that makes Nick automatically feel good. It makes his heart beat at a slightly elevated pace, for a few moments. It’s oddly satisfying to be missed, to be noticed. By Griffin McElroy of all people. “Here you are.” Nick’s voice is a soft whisper, almost like he’s talking to himself. Louder, bolder, he says, “Hope you haven’t missed me too much.”

Griffin shrugs nonchalantly, “I’ve still-- uh-- I’ve still been baking in hell over here, but it’s okay because the devil and I are actually good friends.” He nods enthusiastically, in a way that makes Nick laugh. “It’s true. We go way back.”

Nick leans back in his chair now, and Griffin notices how much Nick’s mood has seemed to improved since they began talking. It makes Griffin happy to know it was because of him. He always got a kick out of making someone laugh, and just feel happier in general.

Nick uses a toe, digging it into the plush carpet in his room, to spin his chair in a quick circle, his eyes adjusting back to the picture of Griffin. “You get your AC fixed tomorrow though, right? I, on the other hand, have to live in my own personal hell for a few more days.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sibling bonding.” Nick’s joking, mostly, but Griffin still finds it interesting that Nick isn’t close with his siblings, but then again, Griffin and his brothers have a unique relationship. Not many are so lucky.

“What, they don’t like your constant Sonic weed jokes and anime references?”

“Nah--- actually that’s probably the thing we most have in common--- but I think we’ve all kind of grown apart a bit? I dunno how to explain it. Like we’ve just changed, like you might expect adults do, so it’s kind of dumb to even be complaining about it. But especially Porter. Like he’s, like, famous now.” The words are too serious for the mood, giving away Nick’s actual feelings about his situation. It’s a lacking of self confidence, a sibling jealousy that is deeply embedded. To Griffin, it’s all oddly familiar. And that name…

Griffin nearly gasps, but he swallows it, the surprise he’s feeling is still given away by his eyebrows shooting up though. “Wait-- sorry, hold on, uh what...did you say Porter?” Porter Robinson. Nick...Robinson… “Wait, where did you grow up again?”

Nick, who is still swiveling back and forth in his chair, stops as soon as he realized what he’s done. All this time he’s been fretting over how, or if he even should, bring up their past and of course, of fucking course, it happens to slip out when he’s drunk. Almost like he’s anticipating Griffin’s reaction, Nick presses the palm of his hand to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. “Um, funny thing, Huntington, actually.”

There is a stunning moment of silence and then...The line clicks dead and Griffin is gone.

#softboys #shipboys #whew!#Here we go friends #Oh I loved writing this scene #Hot hot summer heat

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