What It Gets

Giles, Clouds, Wesley, Popcorn

He's never really had much need for this beyond a rare and passing fancy.

Not something that was encouraged as a child.

Not something worth more than a passing intellectual curiousity.

And then, only enough to register it before turning his attention to more important matters.

Such an inconsequential thing.

He rarely even thinks of it.

Rarely remembers the time when he wished he could.

Be like a normal child.

Take pleasure in simple things.

He wants to kick back, relax, indulge in frivolous things.

He's never had time.

He's never had the freedom.

He can only wish, in the quiet moments that spare him the thought.

That he could someday have time to waste and the absence of more weighty, more urgent matters.

And indulge.

Savor the taste of popcorn.

Lie back and watch the clouds.


From isabeau - she got both because they were the same thing. :-)

A Rosebud By Any Other Name

I read a entry by laurakaye, where she swore never to write a fic with certain things. Which promptly gave me ideas for half of them. Two are included below.


A Rosebud By Any Other Name


"Hmm."

Xander waited, trying very hard not to move. When Spike didn't elaborate, he asked, "Well?"

Spike continued to eye him carefully, making more 'hmm' noises, and rubbing his chin with his finger.

"For god's sake, Spike, it can't be that difficult." Xander was getting restless, lying still, naked, being stared at, and being most assuredly not Done Anything To. Or with. He'd go for 'with'.

"Got it," Spike said, finally.

"Thank god." Xander let his head fall back, a tiny bit, before he raised it back to its previous position where he could stare at Spike.

"Looks like a throbbing rosebud," he announced.

Xander blinked at him. Maybe Spike was joking, and he was just waiting for Xander to respond, so he could laugh at him. But Spike was smiling, looking pleased with himself, and that made Xander think he was serious.

"Are you nuts?" he asked, anyway. Spike frowned a little, and Xander realised that yes, indeed, he had meant it. Throbbing rosebud. "Spike? You *are* nuts." He meant it in the nicest way possible, though, because he didn't mind Spike being nuts. Not as long as Spike got over his whimsical fancy for making poetic judgments about parts of his anatomy, and got on with things.

"It does," Spike insisted.

"Well, fine. You can rub some salve on it, later. Right now I want your attention focused something other than the elbow you made me smash against the wall."

the end