Leave That Lamp Alone (Spike/Buffy. PG)
Title Leave That Lamp Alone
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG
Setting post-Chosen, in a Spuffy-friendly world
Words 265
Prompt Aladdin - let's rub that lamp, kids!
The genie hovered, provocatively. Spike couldn't quite believe it was real, nor what it was offering.
Three wishes. The old classic.
What do you wish for, Spike?
Long life and happiness? Pretty much guaranteed to any vampire already, so long as he stayed away from the Slayer and her buddies. So, not top of Spike's agenda, really.
Besides, he'd signed away simple happiness the day he asked for his soul.
So, of course he should wish for Buffy, eternally his.
No. He wanted her all right, but by her own choice, not some magical whammy. And he had her, right now, freely. Foolish woman thought he was the best thing in her life, most days, and assuming he didn't do something too idiotically violent too often. Not going to give that joy up in favour of enforced togetherness at the behest of a bloke in a string bikini and fifteen yards of gauze.
He didn't trust magic. Not at all. Wishes were worse.
So in the end, Spike looked back at the old lamp he probably shouldn't have rubbed, and wished for:
1) A couple of bottles of Jack. (Never hurt.)
2) Directions to the demon lair he'd been hunting when the whole rub-an-old-oil-lamp-for-a-laugh thing went up in his face
3) For the genie to go back into his lamp and never come out again.
That wiped the smile off the guy's moustachioed face.
Spike went off to slay the demons and go home to his love. Free and clear of magic, and two bottles of bourbon to the good.
He'd had worse days at the office.
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG
Setting post-Chosen, in a Spuffy-friendly world
Words 265
Prompt Aladdin - let's rub that lamp, kids!
The genie hovered, provocatively. Spike couldn't quite believe it was real, nor what it was offering.
Three wishes. The old classic.
What do you wish for, Spike?
Long life and happiness? Pretty much guaranteed to any vampire already, so long as he stayed away from the Slayer and her buddies. So, not top of Spike's agenda, really.
Besides, he'd signed away simple happiness the day he asked for his soul.
So, of course he should wish for Buffy, eternally his.
No. He wanted her all right, but by her own choice, not some magical whammy. And he had her, right now, freely. Foolish woman thought he was the best thing in her life, most days, and assuming he didn't do something too idiotically violent too often. Not going to give that joy up in favour of enforced togetherness at the behest of a bloke in a string bikini and fifteen yards of gauze.
He didn't trust magic. Not at all. Wishes were worse.
So in the end, Spike looked back at the old lamp he probably shouldn't have rubbed, and wished for:
1) A couple of bottles of Jack. (Never hurt.)
2) Directions to the demon lair he'd been hunting when the whole rub-an-old-oil-lamp-for-a-laugh thing went up in his face
3) For the genie to go back into his lamp and never come out again.
That wiped the smile off the guy's moustachioed face.
Spike went off to slay the demons and go home to his love. Free and clear of magic, and two bottles of bourbon to the good.
He'd had worse days at the office.