Lost Boys
Title: Lost Boys
Prompt: Peter Pan
Wordcount: 133
Timeline: mid- to late-B5
A/N: A little drabbly thing that jumped into my head this afternoon at work. I'm choosing to make it December for holiday feel regardless of the real time frame. Call it artistic license (I live in the northland and can't ever tell what season it's supposed to be in SoCal anyway). Extra points for noticing the double entendre.
Disclaimer: Insert legally-meaningless disclaimer-- Joss' sandbox, no money exchanged for playing in it.
***
“Lose your shadow?” Buffy asked, strolling around the side of the porch. Spike leaned against his tree, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry as he dropped his spent cigarette and ground it out with his boot. Buffy couldn’t help but notice the little collection of butts near his heel. She sighed. “You know. Peter Pan. Wendy. Doesn’t grow up and lurks around girls’ houses in the night.” She shrugged toward her bedroom window overhead. Spike took a step toward her, leering, tongue between his teeth.
“You asking me to take you to Neverland, Slayer?” Buffy groaned, rolling her eyes. She’d walked right into that one.
“You’re a pig, Spike,” she said, turning away and pulling her leather jacket closer against the December chill.
“Nah,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Just another lost boy.”
Prompt: Peter Pan
Wordcount: 133
Timeline: mid- to late-B5
A/N: A little drabbly thing that jumped into my head this afternoon at work. I'm choosing to make it December for holiday feel regardless of the real time frame. Call it artistic license (I live in the northland and can't ever tell what season it's supposed to be in SoCal anyway). Extra points for noticing the double entendre.
Disclaimer: Insert legally-meaningless disclaimer-- Joss' sandbox, no money exchanged for playing in it.
***
“Lose your shadow?” Buffy asked, strolling around the side of the porch. Spike leaned against his tree, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry as he dropped his spent cigarette and ground it out with his boot. Buffy couldn’t help but notice the little collection of butts near his heel. She sighed. “You know. Peter Pan. Wendy. Doesn’t grow up and lurks around girls’ houses in the night.” She shrugged toward her bedroom window overhead. Spike took a step toward her, leering, tongue between his teeth.
“You asking me to take you to Neverland, Slayer?” Buffy groaned, rolling her eyes. She’d walked right into that one.
“You’re a pig, Spike,” she said, turning away and pulling her leather jacket closer against the December chill.
“Nah,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Just another lost boy.”