Title: The Day After
Author: Chris L
Fandom: Red Dwarf
Series: 1) Smeggin' Christmas
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Grant/Naylor Productions and the BBC, not me.
Summary: A joke backfires on Lister.
Note: Originally written April 2, 2000
Lister ignored Kryten's latest attempt at dissuading his plan.
"But sir....this is a bad idea. Perhaps not if we had tried yesterday, but today? The day after? Unacceptable."
Cat strutted into the room, purring to himself over a discovered treasure of canned sardines. "What's unacceptable? Lister's fashion sense? Brother, I have been telling him that since day 1, and he's never going to listen."
Kryten shook his head frantically. "No! Mr. Lister wants to play an April Fool's Day joke on Mr. Rimmer, and I have been trying to tell him that day has already passed. Besides, we should know better than to deceive Mr. Rimmer, he is a mean and cruel man. A true weenie."
"He's not so bad once you get to know him." Lister smiled briefly, thinking of their past few months together. "And he does have a sense of humor." He rolled his eyes at the twin stares of disbelief pointed in his direction. "Alright, alright, it's really buried deep under the surface. But I wanna have some fun with him. And this is the best way, to get someone the day after, when they've let their guard down. Now where is that smegging mop.."
Cat quietly tiptoed behind Lister as he made his way into the broom closet, nearly scaring the life out of him when he tapped his shoulder. "What Cat?! Don't you know how to speak? Use the ol' vocal cords?"
Cat cleared his throat dramatically. "What....is....April....Foooooool's.....Daaaaaaaayyyyyy?"
"A day celebrated on primitive, 20th century Earth. Humans performed acts of joviality, and occasional cruelty, on other unsuspecting humans. After the act, a person usually cried, 'April Fool's Day' and on occasional ran like the dickens."
"Real nice explanation Kryten, you make my era sound juvenile, as usual. Come to think of it, we were. We still managed to have tons of fun. Like the time me and Tommy Dorchester threw out the lunches of every bloke and blokette in grade 3. All those faces when they opened the bags and found vinderloo containers! Worth every bit of punishment, it was."
Cat appeared both amused and disgusted by the story. "From sabotaging an entire class to pulling pranks on a pompous son of a shitzu. You've certainly fallen far sucker."
"I don't see you doing much better! What fills your life, other than tacky clothes and dance moves Little Richard wouldn't touch?"
Cat got on all fours, sniffing for a moment until he found the scent. Racing into the broom closet, he emerged with the mop. "A keen sense of smell, for one thing. My ancestors had a great saying to end unpleasant conversations. Bite it, dogbrain!" He left the room in a huff, hissing as he did so.
Lister dismissed the argument. This was a never-ending journey, they had to make up eventually. He had better things to do at the moment. "C'mon Kryten, and help me get everything ready."
Several hours later, Lister and Kryten were prepared. Lister attempted to stop his own snickers. Kryten wondered if mechanoids could blush.
"So you told Cat?"
"Yes sir. He wants no part of our plan."
"Party pooper." He heard brisk footsteps marching down the corridor. "Here we go."
"Lister, another day of finding your dirty undershirts mixed with my clean clothes and I shall......." His words and building fury stopped dead in their tracks. He could barely stop his jaw from hitting the hard floor. Lister had what looked like a shower cap attached to his head, trademark dreadlocks hidden underneath. Kryten wore a dyed-black mop over his usually bald head. Rimmer could take small relief in Kryten not opting for a shoe polished face. Both were wearing the other's clothes, obviously ill-fitting.
"Hey Arnie, watch out for flies!" Rimmer cringed at the sound of a mechanoid attempting hipster talk. Akin to Robbie the Robot attempting reggae.
Lister stepped forward slowly, his hands kneading together from concern. "Oh Mr. Rimmer, that meteorite storm we passed through a few days ago has produced an unexpected side effect. I am he, and he is me. Oh dear. I feel like such a smeeeg...smeeg..."
Kryten laughed coldly. "Still can't do it, can you! Bloody git!"
Lister smiled sheepishly. "Sorry sir." He relished the upcoming explosion, the slow sinking in to his lover that this was the real deal, and finally the chance to tell him what a massive joke the entire plot had been. Instead Rimmer put an arm around his shoulder, ashen-faced.
"Excuse us, Kryten. Lister. Kryter. How about Kryter? I have to talk to my bunkmate in private."
"But /I'm/ your bunkmate gimboid!"
"Yes, yes, but we'll deal with that later. Keep yourself busy, and don't eat too much curry."
Kryten squirmed as the two men walked out, grateful only that Mr. Lister allowed him to change into these alien clothes in private.
Lister did squirming of his own when they got back to their room. Was this a change of plan? Could Rimmer have guessed? The object of mystery returned to him with a beer can. "Drink up. Your master loves this sewage. Makes him bloated and blustery, but you know Dave, he's too stupid for his own good."
Lister halted the curses forming on his tongue by opening and gulping down the cheap liquor.
"A strange reaction for a service bot who rarely drinks anything stronger than motor oil."
Lister choked on the liquid. "Sorry Mr. Rimmer, I can no longer control myself." He began casually sipping. After a few minutes, Rimmer carefully plied the alcohol from his hand and put it on a nearby coaster.
"The feeling is mutual. Tell me, Kryten, have you ever thought about me?"
"In what way sir?"
"In a sexual way."
His question prompted a sputter. "No! Of course not. Such thoughts are far below expected standards for my service model."
Rimmer put his hands in his pockets. "If only my standards were as rigid. They used to be. Before the days and nights of enclosed spaces, seeing the same faces day in and day out. Now other parts of my being are rigid. Why do you think I treat you so shabbily? For the first time, I can admit it. I want to scramble your circuits."
Before Lister could react, Rimmer grabbed his hand, placing it on the outline of his slack-covered bulge. To make matters more confusing, Rimmer grabbed Lister's bulge, squeezing.
"So sad to think of all the time you've spent without one of these. Lister loves his. He'd want me to show you how much." Rimmer made fast work of the fastenings on the plastic pants Lister barely fit in, smiling at the exposed area. "Thank goodness this bizarre mental transformation didn't cause any shrinkage." He allowed a brief smile before inhaling the erection in front of him.
His eyes slowly opened. He blinked, recognizing the bottom of the top bunk above him. Lister had had a very strange night. His body felt sore from head to toe, and several other more delicate areas. He shifted his gaze over, noticing Rimmer washing himself in front of the mirror. His pale, toned skin only concealed itself underneath a pair of white cotton undershorts. Lister felt the strong urge to rip off those shorts and give that fine arse a little of what he got last night.
He dropped that plan when he couldn't move his hands. Or his feet. "What the smeg?"
Rimmer walked over to him, smirking. "Good morning Lister. Pleasant sleep? Or are we still pretending to be that ineffectual smegbot?"
It was Lister's turn to look out for a falling jaw. "I've known all along. Last night, Cat passed by our room, to inform me of this queer attempt at a joke you were cooking up. My first reaction was that the man I've spent the happiest months of my life with would /never/ be so underhanded. Then I remembered this man was a sod named Dave Lister, and it all made sense. You certainly must have raised the fur on that creature, if he chose to help me. And help he did. I cooked up my own plans."
"Ha-ha Arnold. Joke's on me. Now untie me, please."
"My scout days finally came in handy. Amazing. I never thought I could feel anything other than complete hatred for this so-called holiday, but you proved me wrong. You're always proving me wrong."
Rimmer reached out to absentmindedly run two fingers along the bottom of Lister's bare foot. His smirk widened at the sound of forced laughter. His other hand traveled upward, roughly grasping what had already been a morning hardon. Lister moaned at the sweet pain.
"You enjoy that? Tsk-Tsk." He moved his hand away. Contemplating, he removed his boxers and climbed onto the bunk. He straddled Lister's thighs, leaning back to rub his own erection against Lister's. Lister came alive again, struggling to have more access. Rimmer flashed him a sick grin and shoved his underwear into the unwilling mouth.
"What's that? A brilliant idea Dave. You read my mind."
Rimmer leaned over to pick a scrapbook off the floor. He turned the front page in the bound man's line of sight, pointing at a photo. "This is my favorite as well. A splendid trip to America in my late teens. See the little A.R. in the corner? I carved my initials into the wood. As long as I lived in the 20th century, I never saw another telephone pole with such majesty, such beauty. I could describe that manmade masterpiece for hours......."
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