I Really Hope This Is True Because Then They Might Put The First Two Seasons On Demand And I Can Actually

I really hope this is true because then they might put the first two seasons on demand and I can actually watch them.

Cristobal Tapia de Veer just posted this video, proceeded to get a community note, and responded accordingly:

Ace is giving me performance anxiety guys

reblog if you’re a writer who feels guilt whenever they’re not writing and being productive, so I know I’m not the only one lol

You have all just witnessed the birth of a new kink.

Smegtober- Day 5 (Religion)

TW: Sexually Explicit Content and Adultry

“Forgive me, Father,” Lister began in a hushed tone, his voice feeling so much louder to himself,” for I have sinned.”

Playing with his hands, he twisted a ring off and on his left hand, a golden wedding band. The priest, Father Arnold Rimmer,  hummed from the other side of the screen window,” Tell me your troubles, my son.”

Lister's throat felt tight as he croaked,” I have been… struggling,” he swallowed,” with some thoughts.”

The wood of the confessional creaked as the priest sat straight, taking in a breath before enquiring,” What kind of thoughts?” 

Lister stirred in his seat, the booth creaked again. Compassion in his confidant's inflection was not enough on its own to fully vanquish the overwhelming sense of dread in his stomach. There was a lengthy pause. He focused on his own breathing, twisting the band on his finger over and over again until he could muster the will to speak. 

“Thoughts outside of my marriage,” he struggled  to admit,” I find my eyes wandering.”

“Have you acted on these thoughts?” the priest asked, voice still soft and gentle, almost too perfectly non judgemental. It made Lister shudder internally.

“No,” he swallowed again,” no, I haven't but given the chance…” he couldn't finish his sentence, the words he couldn't quite get out clogging his windpipe. 

“I see,” he paused to contemplate for a moment,” is this urge general?”

“How'd you mean?”

“Is there a specific person you're resisting?”

“...yes.”

“Does she know you feel this way?”

“No, he doesn't. Not exactly.” Admitting that much to Father Rimmer was further than he thought he would go. 

“Not exactly?” He echoed. Lister could practically hear the quirk of his brow in the tone of his voice.

“Well,” Lister fumbled his words,” I haven't told him what I want but he knows I'm struggling.”

“David, I think this is a personal matter you should discuss with him. Perhaps he can offer guidance.” 

Lister shivered at the use of his name. He thought Confession was supposed to be anonymous, not that they weren't already quite familiar with each other. 

“Well um, you see,” his hands all of a sudden became interesting again,” that's what I'm trying to do.”

“Oh.” He flatly vocalized. 

The air in his lungs felt stuffy; Lister let out a long sigh, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin as the red curtain of the booth was pulled to expose him. Father Rimmer looked down at him, his hazel eyes burning into Lister, expression cautious and curious.

“Come with me,” he softly beckoned, making his way past rows of pews and into a door on the other side of the sanctuary. Lister followed, meeting him inside of a modest room which resembled an office; it had a desk at the very least, which, in Lister's mind, was close enough. 

Rimmer sat the old navy blue couch that was pushed against the wall by the door, its fabric tattered and colour fading. He patted the spot next to him however Lister decided to sit at the opposite end; He knew this was going to be awkward. 

“I can't help you,” Father Arnold admitted plainly, taking in a deep breath and letting it go,” even If I wanted to, it would be wrong.”

Dave enqueried,” Do you want to?”

Silence fell upon them, thick and tense; Lister scanned the priest's features, shuffling closer to him. Gently, he cradled his face In his hands, connecting their lips slowly as though Rimmer was a startled doe who would bolt at any moment. To his surprise, he didn't, leaning into him desperately and shuddering as Lister gently ran his hand up his inner thigh.

Tenderly, he smiled against his lips, moving his other hand from Rimmer's face to his hip and pulling him into his lap so that he was straddling him. Running his hands up Rimmer's body, Lister settled on playing with his hair, threading his soft, brown locks through his fingers, playing with the looser curls at the base of his neck. 

Arnold's face flushed a shade of rose; he smiled as he pulled back, taking in the sight of the priest's kiss bitten lips and slack jawed expression, panting and flustered, chest heaving; his usually neat hair was tousled and displaced. Dave took the time to marvel at how beautiful the sight was, his lover's hazel eyes filled with lust and his professional demeanour entirely undone.

 “You're gorgeous,” Lister remarked, voice low as though he was sharing a secret, pulling him back in and grinding against him. Rimmer squeaked, feeling the erection of the man underneath him. The scouser moved from his lips to his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck, careful not to disorganize his Roman collar as he nipped and teased the skin above it. Father Rimmer craned his neck. Lister smirked into his jaw, inhaling his scent, noting the smell of his aftershave: sandalwood. 

Without warning, the priest withdrew, searching his features before pushing himself off Lister's lap and settling on the cold, wooden floor. Lister spectated in awe; Rimmer's dainty fingers traced the fly of his trousers, unbuckling his belt before he fiddled with the button, prying it open with more effort than expected. Avoiding Lister's gaze, he giggled nervously and awkwardly gulped, pulling his lover's erection from his jeans. 

Stroking it delicately, he watched Lister's head fall back as he let out a strained groan; he kissed the tip, taking it into his mouth; the warmth of his lips enveloped the head, earning a moan Lister muffled with his own hand. His right hand, his free hand, snaked through Rimmer's hair once more, grasping at his curls as his hips rutted into him. The priest gagged, eyes watering at the sudden reaction his body had though he kept going, taking as much of Lister's shaft as he could. He bobbed his head unskillfully, gradually building a steadier rhythm as he continued. 

All the while, Lister's head spun, the tingling sensation in his cock causing it to twitch in Rimmer's mouth. Rimmer flicked his tongue against Lister. Desperately, Dave moaned, hand still clasped firmly over his mouth. His legs shook. He felt tension build as the taller man continued, the grip on his hair tightening as his hips thrusted into his mouth more erratically, pushing Father Rimmer's nose into the patch of unkempt pubic hair at the base of his shaft. Dave quivered, coming with an animalistic grunt. 

Father Rimmer pulled back, spluttering and coughing as he choked uncomfortably on Lister's seed, face reddened and eyes wide when he finally regained his composure. Dave, light headed and unable to catch his breath, stuffed himself awkwardly back into his trousers, buckling his belt. His gaze traveled back to Arnold, hair tousled, eyes watery, cheeks tinted pink, lips puffy and utterly defiled.

“Forgive me, Father,” he attempted but no words came out.

Look, forty minutes and a family sized jar of Nutella. That's all I'm saying.

If your kinks intersect with Red Dwarf I will look at you like this.

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) dir. Blake Edwards

Just for my Lister fans.