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Title: A Stroke of Genie
Genre: AU
Rating: PG
Pairing: not quite domlijah
Summary: Dom's a genie, and Elijah's a not so happy master with a fashion disaster on his hands.
Disclaimer: lies, all lies! Author doesn't know these people, made everything up in sick sick brain. No harm intended, no money made.
Author's note: this is a snippet written in a verse I am currently working on, and which may or may not one day be finished and posted. Think I Dream of Jeannie, but with Dom as the Genie and Elijah instead of the Astronaut...
For [livejournal.com profile] thepsychicclam, who a long time ago asked for a domlijah ficlet with the sentence "I have no clue what that is."
Thank you everybody who helped, [livejournal.com profile] sparktastic, [livejournal.com profile] rynalwyn, [livejournal.com profile] silme711, [livejournal.com profile] kisahawklin most particularly. :-)
Feedback: always welcome, good or bad.



A STROKE OF GENIE




Dom had decided weeks ago that commuting wasn’t for him, and that the LA weather was better for his health than Manchester’s foggy winter. It had taken Elijah a while to understand what Dom meant by commuting, though. It was already difficult to accept the fact that genies really did exist, so when Dom had explained that he didn’t live in the lamp, but rather used it to travel from Manchester—where he had a cozy little flat—to wherever the lamp was…

Elijah was still confused, most days.

Unfortunately, Dom not commuting meant Elijah had to deal with genie mischief and pranks on a more regular basis. Not surprisingly, that grated on his nerves; he’d gritted his teeth through pretty much everything so far, from waking up inches from the ceiling, floating on thin air, to eating what he’d thought was expensive caviar only to find out later that Dom had switched the cans with the cat food ones. But this… this was the last straw.

“Dom!”

Elijah surveyed the disaster, fuming at the sudden disappearance of his collection of vintage T-shirts and corduroy jackets; his closet now looked like a boy band’s entire wardrobe had exploded all over it. The only decent things he was left with were the boxers and wife beater he’d gone to bed in, but that wouldn’t really be acceptable attire for his upcoming meeting with Viggo.. Not that Viggo would necessarily notice if Elijah wore a pink frilly shirt and bell bottom pants to their lunch date, mind you, but they were meeting in public, and the press would have a field day. Elijah was a serious actor, thank you very much, and he needed to dress for the part.

Throwing another lacy outfit on his bed with an exasperated sigh, Elijah picked the blue lamp off the night table and stomped out, intent on finding Dom and putting an end to this situation.

“Dom! Get your fucking ass out here! Dom!”

“Yes?”

It also annoyed Elijah how Dom could be such a smug bastard—which when you were a genie, Elijah guessed you had every reason to be. Still. Being the punch line to every single one of Dom’s elaborate jokes had worn Elijah’s patience thin, and Dom’s current self-satisfied smirk was a punch line Elijah had the sudden urge to return with his fist.

“Care to explain why there’s so much pink and lace bursting out of my closet?”
Walking straight (ha) into Dom’s trap was certainly one way of trying to fix this fashion disaster. The glint in Dom’s eyes was positively evil, though, and discussing the matter likely wouldn’t help. Elijah knew it was rather hopeless, and decided to start mourning for his dorky casual style. He’d see what he could do with the purple shirt and the excessively shiny leather pants later, but for now, he had to ensure that Dom wouldn’t have a chance to be a repeat offender.

He scowled and thrust the lamp forward, hoping his attempt at looking stern and immoveable wouldn’t be ruined by the fact that he was standing around in his underwear. Despite the obvious threat that Elijah was silently waving with the lamp, Dom crossed his arms over his chest casually, smiling with all his teeth and looking about as innocent as a cat in an aquarium. Mind you, a cat in an aquarium would probably just look mortified. Instead, Dom raised an eyebrow and pointed his chin at the lamp in Elijah’s hand, his voice singing with glee.

"I have no clue what that is."

Elijah huffed. “Yeah, and I’m Dave Navarro. I swear, Dom, I’m showing you in here, I don’t care if it’s raining in Manchester!”

Dom looked like he was considering this a bit, tilted his head to the side and frowned, looking at Elijah through lowered lashes. Elijah refused to be intimidated. He was the master here. He was in charge. He may have set a mad genie loose in his own closet; it didn’t mean he wasn’t in control. He could lift the lid on that lamp any time and force Dominic in. Best of all, when he rubbed the lamp again, Dom wouldn’t have any other choice but to do his bidding.

“Did I get it wrong with the frills and pink? Should I have added chains and more leather, maybe?”

Elijah growled—or maybe wailed—and snapped, lifting the lid off the lamp, forgetting to hold his breath as Dom suddenly disappeared in a loud pop and a big cloud of patchouli scented smoke. Elijah wheezed and coughed, wiped at his eyes and tried to regain some composure, muttering under his breath.

“I’m the man, damnit. I rule, I’m fucking king of the world! No fucking genie’s going to change that…”

He walked back to his room, mentally kicking himself for having sent Dom back without ordering him to fix his wardrobe first, and bracing himself for the onslaught of pink frills waiting for him in his closet. He pushed open his bedroom door and stared.

No pink.

No frills, either.

Just… a never-ending sea of rainbow. Socks, boxers, shirts, pants and even shoes, now looking like the wardrobe for a Pride march . And peeking insolently from under the previously shiny but black leather pants, a pair of fuzzy purple handcuffs.

Looking down at the lamp in his hands, Elijah roared.

“Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom!”

Three houses down, Robbie Williams’ dogs started to howl.



THE END
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