If Wishes Were Hobbits
In retrospect, Spike's decision to have a drink with Halfrek the evening after they had finally gotten out of the Summers' place was a bad one. The decision to get pissed and rant about Buffy to Halfrek, particularly to Halfrek, was even worse. But Spike had never had any sense where women were concerned.
"I wish I was a million bloody miles away from here! I wish I was in some other world altogether."
"Are you sure? You might not like it," said Halfrek
"Are you kidding?" replied Spike, taking another swig of his beer, " Even if it was full of elves and goblins it wouldn't be much different from Sunnyhell and at least the Slayer wouldn't be there. No, I'll take another world any time."
"Done."
"Oh, fu..."
The Bronze disappeared and suddenly he was standing in a small room, inhabited by two rather short individuals seated in comfy chairs, who seemed surprisingly unsurprised by the fact that he had just materialised in their sitting room. The two regarded him for a long moment before one took his pipe out of his mouth and remarked to the other: "Pippin, if I'm not very much mistaken, a large something has just appeared on our hearthrug."
"What do you think it is, Merry?" asked the one called Pippin.
"Well," said Merry, "its hair is very blond..."
"Very, very blond," added Pippin.
"...but it's got the wrong ears for an elf and it's much too thin for one of the Rohirrim."
"Maybe it's a wraith?" suggested Pippin.
"The big black coat would seem to suggest that," agreed Merry, "but the fact we can actually see him is a point against."
"This is true," said Pippin.
Spike was getting right royally pissed - bad enough that no one took him seriously on his home turf, but two little shrimps like this?
"I'm a vampire, dammit, " he said.
"Are not," came the response.
"Bloody am," said Spike, assuming his game face, "grrr!"
"If you're a vampire, then where are your wings?" asked Pippin.
"I'm a vampire, not a sodding bat. Vampires don't have wings."
"They do around here," replied Pippin.
"Did," corrected Merry, "I don't think there's been one around since the First Age."
"Enough with the history lesson, shorty, I'm evil... dammit!" Spike stamped his foot petulantly.
Alas, it had little effect. Merry shrugged, saying: "We've seen worse than you. Seen it and killed it."
"Seen it and shagged it," chimed in Pippin.
"Speak for yourself," said Merry.
"I was," replied Pippin.
"OK. OK," growled Spike, "since I'm stuck here for the time being I guess we ought to call a truce. First up - who are you and where the hell am I?"
The two stood and bowed to him, before one said: "My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck and this is Peregrine Took."
Those names rang a bell. Spike took a sharp look at the pair's feet. Hairy - definitely hairy.
"Well, bugger me," said Spike
"It'd be a pleasure," said Pippin.
"You're hobbits," continued Spike, studiously ignoring him.
"We are indeed," said Merry, "and we've introduced ourselves, so now it's your turn."
Feigning nonchalance, Spike stuck his hands in his pockets and drawled, "William the Bloody, known as Spike."
"Spike?" said Pippin. "Now there's a promising name!"
"So, Spike," said Merry, " how long will you be with us?"
"Damned if I know," said Spike.
"Well," said Pippin, "how ever long it is, we'd better make it memorable."
"What do you do for fun around here?" asked Spike.
"How about we go to the Inn?" suggested Pippin.
"Sounds good to me," said Spike, "I could kill for a beer."
"No need," said Pippin, " I have money."
Merry shook his head. "You can't take him to the Inn, Pippin," he said, "big folks aren't supposed to be in the Shire any more - you know that as well as I do. We'll just have to do our drinking here."
"Oh, that's no fun, Merry," cried Pippin, "I want to show him off."
"Gentlehobbits never brag about their conquests, Pip," chided Merry. Turning to Spike, he asked: "So, what's your poison?"
"Well, blood mainly," replied Spike.
"Sorry, no blood in the house, how about a nice drop of red wine?"
"That'll do nicely," said Spike.
Some hours later, Spike had to admit that he admired the hobbits' heads for alcohol. They'd each drunk at least as much as him yet seemed to be in much the same state of inebriation despite the fact that they were half his size. They could certainly hold their drink better than a certain Slayer of his acquaintance. That thought, of course, triggered off his memories of how he had got here in the first place and, as drunks are wont to do, it seemed vitally important that he shared this with his new buddies.
Staggering to his feet he announced: "I, my friends, have quite definitely given up on women." He was totally unprepared at the response that this somewhat unexceptional declaration inspired.
"Excellent, " said Merry, taking a flying leap out of his chair at Spike's chest as Pippin simultaneously hit him behind the knees - a move they had honed to perfection on the late, lamented Boromir. The three of them landed in a tangled heap on the floor.
"Um," said Spike, from somewhere behind Pippin's left foot, "the fact that I've given up on women doesn't mean that I've taken up with short blokes."
"We," said Merry, pausing for a moment from wrestling with Spike's buttons, "are not just any short blokes."
"No," said Pippin, writhing against Spike's thigh and nipping at his ankle, "we are heroes of legend, and more to the point we're famed across the Four Farthings for our energy and enthusiasm. You should be flattered."
"Flattened, more like," said Spike, "being as how I'm on the bottom of the pile," though it was clear - particularly to Pippin, given the position he was in - that whatever struggle he was putting up was now merely for show.
Merry had finally triumphed over Spike's shirt buttons and dove for his skin, before flinching back with a squeak. "Cold!" he said.
"All over," said Spike.
"Reminds me of that time with Boromir on Caradhras," said Merry, smiling at the reminiscence, "nearly froze my balls off, but it was worth every second."
"Anyhow," said Pippin, who was busy trying to work out how the zip on Spike's trousers worked, "I think there's one part of him at least that's warming up nicely." Finally figuring out the mechanism, he slid the zipper down, freeing Spike's urgent flesh.
"Now there's one thing you and Pippin have in common," said Merry, noticing the absence of smallclothes, "stripped for action at all times, just like a Took."
"Never heard you complaining before," retorted Pippin, who made haste to ensure that Spike's flesh did not lose any of the warmth that had so far been coaxed into it.
"He's not a natural blond, either," observed Merry, as he assisted in shoving Spike's trousers down past his hips.
All of Spike's misgivings faded under the ministrations of two talented mouths and four equally talented hands. After all, he reasoned, it wasn't like anyone back home would ever know, so he might as well enjoy himself. At least here he didn't have to get himself beaten up in order to get laid. As the pleasure built to a crescendo, he closed his eyes and thought of England.
Suddenly the world went away again, and when it came back it was noisy and brightly lit.
"I repented," said Halfrek.
"No need," said Spike," it was fun"
"Evidently, " said Halfrek, eying Spike's dishevelled form with disapproval, "I suppose that explains why your trousers are round your ankles."
Back in Crickhollow, Spike's erstwhile partners were rather less satisfied. "He didn't stay long, did he?" said Pippin.
"No," replied Merry, reaching for him, "but it was very good while it lasted. Maybe he'll come back again."
"So long as we get to come next time, I'm all in favour," said Pippin, returning the favour. "What do you think I'd look like with hair that colour?"
"Daft," said Merry, "but his clothes' taste wasn't half bad."
Hobbiton was all admiration when Merry and Pippin next paid a visit to Bag End wearing identical leather coats.
"I don't know about a coat, but it might be nice in trousers," said Sam, thinking of Frodo's pleasantly rounded behind a trifle wistfully before domestic duties claimed him once more.