Cigarette's and Memories

The air waved gently before his eyes as he lit his cigarette, staring out of the open window as the hessian drapes whipped lightly at his body. Princess Bonjella breathed a heavy sleep in the four-poster behind him, but he ignored her; she was more a habit than a hobby.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply, the smoke from his lungs dancing a ballet in the night breeze. A different sky, a different planet, a different life. He stood in the light from the three moons and finished his cigarette, before flicking it out of the window into the street below.

In the distance he could hear caterwauling and guffawing from the tavern down the street, where the locals drank in celebration. The foes of their world were vanquished, and Ace Rimmer felt no pride or pleasure.

It had been five years since Ace had left Red Dwarf to live this life of heroism. It had started out great – once he’d began to know what he was doing – and the money, the women, the fame were a welcome by-product. But now it was old and he wanted what he once had aboard that scrapheap in the sky.

Sighing deeply once more, Ace retrieved his flight suit from where it had been discarded hours before and pulled it on lazily. With his belt equipped and his projection remote tucked safely away, Ace stole off into the night, leaving his folly for another time.

*

As he wandered the lamp-lit streets, Ace’s mind drifted back to the good old days. It seemed funny to him now that he recalled those times with such revelry – at the time he’d have given anything to be anywhere else, and to be as loved as he was as Ace.

Strange, now, that he would come to see in perfect, twenty-twenty hindsight just what he could have had, had he let it happen. That soft, brown skin and doughy physique, the round face with eyes like toasted hazelnuts, set into a face so cherubically carved out of sumptuous bronze. He’d revoked in curses every toying insult he’d ever thrown at the man.

Never had Ace admitted this to anyone but himself; he regretted it every day. He’d wished in a thousand prayers he’d let him know, and it was just like him to realise it all after the fact. Barn door before the horse, he constantly told himself.

He’d learned years ago that spewing abuse at himself was an illusion and solved nothing. It was a crutch, a coping mechanism against what used to be a worrying notion. There was no denying now that he was not completely the heterosexual he’d had everyone – and himself – believe.

And the one man who’d ever made him realise this was a hundred million light years away, in some long lost and long forgotten dimension.

Ace wandered down a back alley, where the only light that came in was residue from the gas lamps on the main trail. His eyes adjusted to drunken pass-outs and silent prostitutes, beckoning him closer so he’d spend his credits wisely. As he passed each one, he shook his head, apologising smoothly and turning their knees to jelly.

At the end of the alley, he turned right onto a dead street. Houses with thatched roofs were boarded up and what looked like an old tavern was burned beyond recognition. There was one lamp, barely blaring, to shed light on the deficit and decay.

“Hello, Ace,” came an alluring whisper.

Ace sighed. “Not today, old love.”

He faced away from the voice, blind to all but the words it spoke. The disembodied tones continued, changed in pitch, in accent, in gender.

“Come on, Rimsy. Just one night.”

He gasped and whipped around. Out of the shadows stepped the short, squat figure, the vague light casting starkly upon that face that until now had been only a memory.

“But... how?”

“Shh,” the figure whispered, stepping towards him and placing one finger to his lips.

Ace sank to the touch, his eyes flickering closed.

“It’s not you,” he whispered. “You’re just a pleasure GELF.”

“I’m a very close approximation, Rimsy; I’m the closest you’ll ever get,” the GELF returned.

Ace opened his eyes and gazed down at the figure. The GELF was right – it would never get any more real than this because he couldn’t go back. The dimension was locked, and Dave was lost forever.

“How much,” Ace said, deadpan and emotionless.

“Hundred and fifty credits.”

Even the accent he’d so recoiled from so long ago before made his stomach knot. Without hesitation, he handed over the money, and the GELF took his hand.

He was led through the streets of the town whose name he cared not enough to remember, to a squat, quaint little inn in the backwash of the place. With a flicker of conversation, he was whipped to a room, which was briskly locked.

No words needed to be exchanged.

The GELF wandered over to him, a look in its eye that killed Ace into kissing back. The lips, simultaneously soft and chapped, meshed against his own with a tenderness that escalated quickly to ferocity.

The leather jacket went first, hitting the floor with a thud that was quickly forgotten. The brown, chewed fingers fiddled with the clasps and zippers of his flight suit as Ace fumbled at the dark jeans. They were gone as fast as the jacket, hitting the floor at the same time as his own clothes.

“Dave,” Ace moaned as the GELF ran its fingers along his raging erection.

There was a dark chuckle that sent a bolt of arousal through Ace, and the pair stumbled dangerously towards the bed.

The GELF pushed Ace fiercely onto the bed and kissed him hard, ripping his boxers down to reveal his rock hard cock. The GELF left a trail of kisses from his throat to his navel, drawing it out until Ace couldn’t resist pushing it down.

There was another dark chuckle, and the GELF took him into his mouth. Ace gasped and the GELF grinned as best it could, and then began moving up and down in a slow rhythm. Images of the past burst behind Ace’s mind as the GELF licked, pumped and sucked him, images that took on a whole new meaning now.

As Ace thought about Lister, his mimic continued pleasuring him, quickly bringing him closer to his climax. The picture of their final goodbye exploded to front and centre, and Ace came hard.

Within minutes, the GELF was gone and Ace was alone again. He lay naked on the bed, smoking a cigarette and feeling considerably heavier. His regrets burdened densely upon his soul and his shoulders, and he drifted back once more to the man he could never love.

He would die one day, and his pain would be over. Heroics were a fine distraction, as were women and money and fame, and they lasted a while. There was nothing he could do but remember and regret.