// In which Antonio Alejandro Bartholomew IV comes to terms with himself  //

part 8 of the sugar daddy series (part 1)

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visions of the future

Philip wakes up out of a nice dream, and for some reason he’s halfway off the bed. He blinks slowly, rubbing his eyes, and feels the cold immediately. Instead of shifting closer to Lukas, Philip rolls out of bed the rest of the way. He yawns, shivering a little bit, and makes his way over to the window.

It’s still dark outside, the early morning splintering across the sky. The snow is falling in droves, and he stares over at the display in the apartment building across the street. They have three light-up snowmen balancing on the railing of their balcony. Philip watches it blink green and red, smiling to himself.

The cold starts to get to him almost immediately and even though he loves looking at the way the snow falls against the Christmas lights and the burgeoning morning, he knows he has to get back to bed before he freezes on the spot. He rushes back over and as soon as he hits the mattress he huddles up against Lukas’s back, trembling as the cold runs through him.

Lukas makes the smallest little tired noise, stretching out a little bit. His back arches and cracks and Philip smiles to himself. He loves the way Lukas feels moving against him.

“Why’re you awake, baby?” Lukas asks, looking over his shoulder.

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allsortsofsmeg  asked:

26. “I didn’t intend to kiss you.” Lister/Rimmer of course. :-D

(Written stream-of-consciousness with absolutely no logic and little editing …)

Lister kept his head down and read his textbook, concentrating too much on words to avoid having to make conversation should Rimmer try to institute it. He shoveled cereal into his mouth when the rotten prick strolled in and took a seat at the table … but nothing was said. And the harder Lister avoided and read, the more he began connecting what he was reading and kept reading as he finished his breakfast and swigged some water, and when the chapter came to an end, he marked the page, closed the book, and got up as normal, pausing to give Rimmer’s cheek a kiss as he passed.

The other man looked up, puzzled but maybe also - hopeful? “I didn’t intend to kiss you,” Lister snapped, scowling. “Habit. Bad habit.”

“Well, don’t think I wanted it, you lazy git.”

Lister barked out a “ha!” and added, “Jerk.”

“Cheating gimboid,” Rimmer muttered loftily, eyes pointed down at his own reading material.

“SHIP’S BASTARD,” Lister hissed, swiftly turning and exiting the bunkroom with his last word.


When he relieved Rimmer that afternoon in the drive room, the changeover was done in silence, so quiet that crickets would have been afraid to cricket. He checked the logs, adjusted the controls as he liked them, and, when a cup of boiling hot tea was set into the console next to him, automatically said, “Thanks, babe.”

Just as he frowned and did a double take, he heard, “I didn’t intend to bring you that tea. Both cups were there; long habit!”

“Yeah, well - see it doesn’t happen again!” Lister countered, annoyed.

“Oh, don’t you worry, curry-breath.”


It went on. That night in the quarters, Lister stretched his arms and tried to bow his back to get rid of his recurring side twinge. Getting old sucked lemons. Before he could climb to the top bunk, Rimmer shrugged off his robe, hung it smartly on its hook, and mounted the ladder. “Hey!” Lister stopped him. “Where’re you going?”

Rimmer paused halfway and started, “It’s hard for you to climb when your side’s doing that- Hold up.” He frowned and backed down the ladder. “It’s YOUR bunk, YOU sleep in it.”

“Arsehole,” Lister muttered, shaking his head as he approached the ladder after giving Rimmer a wide berth to move away. “Try to act all fake solicitous to ME,” he muttered under his breath.

“You know what’s NOT fake?” Rimmer stabbed a finger toward him. “Those pudgy gerbil cheeks.”

Lister squinted his whole face from the top bunk, which he’d managed to get into with a minimum of wincing. “At least they’re real, unlike balled-up socks.”

“Oh, ha ha HA,” Rimmer scoffed. Lister waited for something better, and actually felt bad for the hologram when he didn’t offer it, instead rolling into his bottom bunk.


The next day was no better. The aftermath of the Mineopoly scandal haunted corridors and rooms, clashing unattractively with longstanding habits like holding doors open, passing food at the table, and ducking out of rooms politely to pick one’s nose.

But at lunch, Lister caught himself rising to leave the table, instead planting his rear end firmly back in his seat and jamming his finger pointedly up his right nostril while staring at Rimmer. He pinched up his expression in disgust, so Lister rooted enthusiastically, even though there was nothing up there.

They kept this up for many seconds until Lister made the mistake of looking to the side and seeing Cat glaring murderously at him, like he was a fat mouse stuck in a drainpipe. “Real nice at the table, bud,” he scolded. “Classy!” Even Kryten was giving him the stink-eye, and that’s when Lister knew he’d flown too close to the sun, considering how many lines of code the mech probably had to violate to regard him so unpleasantly.

He wiggled his finger out and buried his hand into his napkin, wiping hard. “Sorry, fellas.”

Rimmer was shaking his head, eyes pointed down as he ate, scoffing, “Unbelievable.”

With the long-bred instincts of a hunter that also knows when to scram from danger, Cat announced, “Uh-oh!” and spun out of his chair. Kryten watched him dance toward the exit, then clambered out of his seat to follow. “Sir!” he called, lumbering quickly after. “I believe you forgot your 12:30 p.m. toe flossing!”

“You got a thing to say?” Lister demanded.

“First of all, it’s not ‘got.’ It’s have. It’s, ‘Do you have something to say?’“ Rimmer corrected.

“Do you like your hologram teeth?”

“And second, I’M the offended party here. I am the ONLY offended party.” Rimmer leaned back in his seat and tapped himself on the chest. “Me! I’m the one you cheated on with those stupid hidden cards.”

“That’s because you take it so smegging seriously! You take all the games seriously,” Lister pointed out. “Remember Apples to Apples, when you insisted the card you threw in for Hollister was absolutely the thing he WOULD have said if he was alive here to play?”

“Well, he WOULD have!”

“Rimmer, one, he’s dead, so how do you know, and two, the card was an N.W.A. lyric that had as much to do with a middle-aged white captain as you do with rastabilly skank! I mean, sure, it was funny, but then you took being voted down so personally, instead of rolling with it.” Rimmer said nothing. “Look, man,” he tried again, less shouty and in an even voice. “I just wanted to take the piss out of you. We weren’t playing for control of Pluto. And it’s not like you NEVER win. I mean, let Kryten have a chance.”

When Rimmer still said nothing, nostrils twitching, Lister slid out of his chair and approached, slowly. “I’m sorry I cheated. I forgot how much the rules matter to you, all right? I was just having some fun.” He turned his hands palms up and added, “Peace?”

The hologram glared at him for a long moment, arms crossed, then said, “I can’t believe you said you didn’t mean to kiss me.”

“I didn’t! Was just the truth.”

“But why not?”


“You’re the one who said we’re not supposed to go to bed mad!”

“So what were you doing the night before when you hid all my crisps packets?”

“Whoops,” said Rimmer, before biting his lips inward, eyes wide at the admission he’d strenuously denied earlier. Lister rolled his eyes. “Let’s just call it even, eh?”

It was quiet a moment. “I DID intend to bring you your tea, though,” Rimmer insisted.

“Yeah, and don’t think I didn’t appreciate the little chocolate you melted into it when I was spending late last night in the loo, too.” He narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Sleep with one eye open, Rimsey.”

“I usually do because I don’t have a gas mask, Listy,” he shot back, making a kissy-face. “Besides, it was just one Ex-Lax, you drama queen.” And like that, it was over.

Until it was on again five days later after an especially rousing night of Clue.


Nyack Fire Department Empire Hook & Ladder Co. No. 1 Ladder 10-98 by Triborough


Congers Fire District Alert Hook Ladder & Engine Company No. 1 3-Tanker by Triborough
Via Flickr:
2012 Spartan ERV


Metropolitan Fire 12-TRV by Triborough
Via Flickr:
1992-Ford F-350 Super Duty/Reading Ex-Pearl River Hook & Ladder Co. No. 1 12-TRV

September 19, 1738: For the first time, the Common Council appoints thirty “Strong, Able, Discreet, Honest and Sober” volunteers to be the ‘Firemen of the City of New York.“

Robert L. Bracklow, Hook and Ladder Co. No. 10 [with 3 horses, 6 firemen and dog], 1891. Gelatin silver photograph. New-York Historical Society PR 008, # 69059