Work Text:
Dave Lister awoke at around lunchtime. It may not have actually been lunchtime, but he woke up and he was hungry. Following the call of his stomach, he rolled out of his bunk and towards the table, hoping there was something edible on it.
Smeg, his head hurt. How much had he drunk last night?
Devouring half a stale poppadum, Lister recalled [well, attempted to recall] the events of last night. He remembered drinking. A lot of drinking. It was starting to come back to him…
They had just completed a successful trade with a small GELF tribe, and were celebrating with shots. He assumed that Kryten had just sloshed together all alcohol [drinkable or not] into one pot; that’s what his tongue tasted like, with just a hint of Dutch lager to balance out the fine spirits. But what had happened after they got well and truly sloshed? No matter how far he pushed his mind past the pain barrier, everything was decidedly fuzzy.
A movement behind him, and rustle of material, snapped him out of his reverie, and he looked over to the bed he had recently crawled from. The duvet bulged at one point; a curled body was obviously underneath. Lister ran the evidence through in his mind:
Alcohol + Person + Bed
This wouldn’t have been the first drunken one-night stand he’d had, but being the last human in the universe made it unlikely that he wouldn’t regret anything.
A head appeared from under the bedclothes.
A groggy head.
A familiar head.
A head that belonged to a certain Second Technician.
‘Oh smeg.’