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The Report Factor

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Rimmer gathered up an armful of papers and turned to his bunkmate who was lying on his side in his t-shirt and boxer shorts drinking lager. "I'll see you later then, Lister. Try not to make a complete mess of the place while I'm out," he said briskly.

"Yeah, see ya', smeghead," Lister muttered with feigned disinterest and watched as Rimmer let himself out, locking the door behind him.

It was only a casual technician meeting, where the heads of the various maintenance shifts could keep the officers up to date on what was going on with the ship at the basic level but, naturally, Rimmer had spent days compiling a hundred-plus page report.

Lister finished his lager and sent the empty can flying directly into the bin with a practised flick of the wrist. He set the lights to the dim setting and settled comfortably on his back. When he judged Rimmer to have reached a safe distance away, he pushed his boxers down to his knees, licked the palm of his hand and began to slowly stroke himself. He got such little time to himself that this seemed almost an obligation on the rare occasions that Rimmer was out.
Not that it wasn't always Rimmer he was thinking of.
Smeg, he'd grown to fancy the bastard. That had been difficult to accept to begin with, being attracted to your superior was one thing, being attracted to your superior when said superior was somebody like Rimmer was something else altogether but he'd eventually come to terms with it. And it wasn't like Rimmer would ever find out.

It would be nice if he could smell him. Picturing his face and imagining his voice was no difficulty even when he hadn't only just spoken to him but the smell would make it more real and was harder to conjure up.
Rimmer's bunk would smell of him, Lister realised, and as Rimmer wasn't due back for a while..., He wrestled with his conscience, it seemed wrong, a violation of Rimmer's personal space; but, then again, what Rimmer didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Mind made up, Lister slipped out of his own bunk, dropping lightly to the floor, and slid onto Rimmer's. Rimmer's bunk was marginally more comfortable than his own, he noted, apparently the mattress was in better condition.

Lister rolled over, buried his face in Rimmer's pillow and inhaled the scent, Rimmer's own natural smell mingled with the hairgel and cheap aftershave that he always smelled of.
Letting the smell fill his nostrils, Lister took his cock in hand and began to stroke himself again, gradually settling into a steady rhythm. He pictured Rimmer's face, looking as it usually did, twitching its lips and flaring its nostrils at him in annoyance at some new slight. Rimmer's taut, firm arse, encased in his tight trousers. Rimmer's long, slim fingers waving warningly in Lister's face and fishing his omnipresent report book out of his jacket pocket. He could feel wetness spreading beneath his own fingers as his cock responded, fluid slowly oozing from the tip. "Rimmer," he groaned quietly and bit down on Rimmer's pillow.

Rimmer was halfway down the corridor when Holly appeared on the next monitor along. "Meeting's been rescheduled, Arnold," he announced. "Supplies meeting over-ran. They're having your's tomorrow instead, same time. Frank sent me to tell everyone."

"Great!" Rimmer grumbled. "No, that's fine! It's not like I gave up an evening of revision for this."

"Well, you didn't, Arnold," said Holly, baffled. "You've got the evening back now, you can spend it revising if you want."

Rimmer made the rude gesture he always made when he couldn't think of a reply and stalked back to his quarters.

He palmed open the door and entered, the lights were dimmed and Lister was on Rimmer's bunk, writhing against Rimmer's sheets and pillow with one hand clearly wrapped around his nether regions. Rimmer was about to announce his presence with an indignant complaint about the use of his bunk for Lister's alone time when Lister gasped out his name.

Rimmer froze to the spot. He'd misheard, he told himself, he must have misheard.

"God, Rimmer," came Lister's voice again between moans of pleasure. "What you..., gonna do, Rimmer?..., Put me on report?"

Rimmer's eyes almost fell out of his head, the bundle of papers slid from his arms and scattered unheeded across the floor.

Lister still hadn't noticed he was in the room, Rimmer palmed the door closed and stood silently, considering matters for just a brief second. Then, mind made up, he slipped off his boots so as not to make any noise and padded across the room in his socks. Silently, he reached his bunk and crouched down beside it.

"Rimmer!" Lister cried out again, his eyes tightly closed, lips parted, one hand frantically working himself, the other clenching and twisting at a handful of Rimmer's sheets as he pictured Rimmer slowly unzipping his trousers.

Rimmer unconsciously moistened his lips at the sight. His eyes travelled from Lister's beautiful face, alight with ecstasy, to his long, thick, hard cock, dripping fluid down its rigid length.
He took a deep breath, then reached out and closed his fingers around Lister's wrist, stilling his frantically pumping hand.

Lister's eyes flew open with a yell of surprise. "Rimmer...," he stammered as if about to launch into an explanation.

Rimmer gave him his best severe look. "You're on report, miladdo," he said, his lips twitched at the corners as he tried not to smile.

Lister swallowed heavily. "Rimmer?"

Rimmer released Lister's wrist, batted Lister's hand away from his groin and replaced it with his own.

Rimmer's fingers, smooth and cool against his hot skin, enveloped his cock and slid slowly down his full length, then back up again, a thumb running over the head, smearing fluid further.

"You're on report for jerking off on a senior technician's bunk."

Lister moaned and tangled his hands in fistfuls of Rimmer's sheets as the long, slim fingers, fingers he'd fantasised about, dreamt about, continued to stroke him slowly. He arched his body upwards, pushing into Rimmer's hand. "God, Rimmer," he pleaded. "Don't stop! Faster!"

Rimmer increased his grip, quickened his pace. "I'm going to write you up for this, Listy," he said again. "You're on report. You're on report for being a dirty boy."

Lister came with a loud cry that was muffled by Rimmer's pillow, spilling sticky fluid across his stomach and all over Rimmer's hand. Rimmer guided him through his orgasm, stroking every last drop from him and then stilled his movements and Lister lay back, panting for breath, and struggling to believe that this had really just happened.

Rimmer removed his hand from Lister's spent cock and looked at his messy fingers wondering where to wipe them, then had a better idea. He held his hand out to Lister's mouth. "Lick it off," he said.

Lister obeyed, his eyes fixed on Rimmer's. Rimmer felt the warm, velvet tongue running across his hand, wiping away all traces of the sticky semen, and his index finger being drawn into Lister's mouth as Lister gently sucked.

God, he loved Rimmer's fingers, long and smooth and always so clean, even if the cheap soap Rimmer used did have a slightly unpleasant taste. His eyes went to the obvious tent in Rimmer's trousers and he reached out a hand and very slowly unzipped them.

Rimmer groaned softly at the feel of Lister's fingers inside his trousers, stroking him through his boxer shorts. He quickly fumbled with his belt and trouser fastenings, getting his trousers opened properly.

Lister's fingers worked their way inside his underwear, fondling his testicles before wrapping around his rigid cock. Lister was pleased to discover Rimmer's cock was like his fingers, long and slender.

"Oh, yes," Rimmer sighed as Lister began to stroke him. "You ought to be written up for this..., conduct, miladdo, but..., I might be..., willing to overlook...," His knees started to give up in his crouched position and he steadied himself with one hand against the bunk. "Overlook your...," he struggled to find words. "Behaviour..., if you prove..., dammit, Listy!" He decided to give up trying to talk dirty and just enjoy it.

Lister continued working Rimmer for several seconds, then he had a better idea. He released him and slid out of the bunk to the floor, grasped Rimmer's trousers and boxer shorts and tried to tug them down his legs.

Rimmer fell from his crouch into a sitting position, freeing his trousers enough for Lister to pull them down to his knees. His soaking cock felt a sudden bite of cold air, replaced almost instantly with warmth as Lister's mouth engulfed the tip, he made a very undignified sound, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the metal flooring.

Lister slowly worked his lips and tongue up and down the full length, his mouth was filled with the taste of Rimmer's nasty soap again but he decided to try and ignore that for now. He looked up, met Rimmer's eyes and briefly released him to ask, "like this, Rimsy?" A helpless moan escaped Rimmer's lips in reply.

Rimmer watched transfixed as Lister slowly pleasured him with his soft, full lips and warm, wet, pink tongue, Lister's mouth was gorgeous. He felt his orgasm building at the sight and feel, God he was going to come in that wonderful, incredible mouth. Lister gave him an encouraging glance and he let himself go.

Lister quickly swallowed and wiped his face on his t-shirt, then grabbed Rimmer and hauled him up into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around Rimmer's neck and covering his lips with his own.

Rimmer clasped the back of Lister's head, threading his fingers through Lister's dreadlocks and kissed back, trying not to gag on the taste. He supposed the remnants of his own semen was in there somewhere but mostly it was cigarettes and lager and curry, Lister badly needed to clean his teeth.
Lister was using his tongue, Rimmer realised in shock, he hadn't expected that. He attempted to use his own in response but the results were undeniably clumsy.
Until now, Rimmer's sex life had consisted of masturbating in increasingly creative ways and one quick roll in the sack with a woman who had only agreed to it because she was concussed enough to think he was someone else and who had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards. Which had at least left him with the majority of a two person pizza to himself. But Lister actually wanted him; for the first time in Arnold Rimmer's thirty years alive, someone actually wanted him, and Lister, Rimmer wouldn't deny it anymore, was beautiful, even if he was also the most unhygienic person Rimmer had ever met. He intended to make the most of it.

Eventually they had to break apart for air and sat, sweaty foreheads together, breaths warm on each other's faces.

"So, what the smeg just happened? Since when did you have some sort of authority kink, Listy?" Rimmer wondered, as he gently toyed with the ends of Lister's dreadlocks. Pleased as Rimmer was about that, it was about the last thing he would have expected from Lister and he still wasn't entirely sure it wasn't some sort of joke.

"I don't," Lister told him firmly. "If anyone else tried it, I'd tell them to smeg off. It's just...it's different if it's you."

"Just me?" Rimmer liked that idea even more, actually.

"Just. You." Lister insisted, he caught hold of Rimmer's tie and used it to pull him into a kiss.

Rimmer eventually extricated himself from Lister's arms and hauled himself across to the sink where he cleaned up with a fistful of tissues and splashed some cold water over his face and hands.

Lister climbed back onto Rimmer's bunk and sat watching him. "So now what happens?" he asked as Rimmer fastened his trousers. "What does this mean?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Rimmer admitted. "But the next time you feel horny, I want you to tell me, okay?"