Chapter Text
"If you keep rubbing that fuckin' thing you're gonna go blind and grow hair on your palms."
Herc dropped the bottle he had dug out of the ground while he was pitching his tent. He had left the Shatterdome for three days to go clear his head in the Outback, something he had long needed. And now he found himself ass down on the ground with sand creeping into the crack of his behind staring at a young, shirtless man with too much jewelry and...pantaloons?
"I wasn't rubbing it. And who are you anyway?"
"If you hadn't been rubbing it, I wouldn't be here right now, would I? And I'll bet that's what the tissue box beside your bed says every night, yeah?"
The soldier shook his head, mentally vowing to forego scotch from now on -- or at least add water when drinking it until 4 in the morning. "Yeah, you're a real poster boy for manliness, you are. Scare the piss right out of me. What are those? Silk trousers? And are those panties or a speedo underneath?"
The young man went flaming red in an instant, no surprise given his completely ginger appearance -- ginger hair on his head, freckles dappled all over his shoulders and chest, and, Herc couldn't help noticing, what looked to be soft ginger hair defining a trail leading from his navel on down into those...panties?
"Diaphanous silk, you caveman. The fabric of emperors. Second stall on the right once you enter the central market in Marrakesh. Half price on Tuesdays, by the way."
"Ummm, good to know next time I'm in Marrakesh on a Tuesday and looking for see-through trousers. Bet those emperors didn't produce many heirs, know what I mean? Kind of a leading indicator for end of a dynasty and all, I would think."
"..."
"So you're supposed to be what, a genie or something?"
"It's amazing you've lived this long with that kind of acuity, old man. What are you, like 45 or something?" as the younger man raked his eyes approvingly over Herc's shirtless torso.
Herc felt his own face flame and replied, "I'm 40, you shit," as his left hand reached inside the tent and sought out the t-shirt he had discarded earlier so he could put it back on. "Aren't I supposed to get three wishes then?"
"Yes, it's my unfortunate but necessary duty..." Pausing, the genie looked up toward the sky and groaned out to someone or something unseen, "All right, all right, Stacker," before continuing. "It is my distinct honor to offer you three wishes. Anything you wish for can be yours. Your heart's desire is my command. Blah, blah. Blah, blah."
Herc snorted, "That's easy, lamb shanks. I wish for a hundred more wishes."
"You can't wish for more wishes, old man. So obvious. AND against the rules. And 'lamb shanks'? What the fuck?"
"Is sex, drugs and rock n roll one wish?"
"..."
"Again with the eye rolling! Really? Is that supposed to be a genie super weapon or something? If it is, excuse me while I go change my shorts."
"Can we get on with this so I can grant you your three wishes and I can get out of here?"
"What, big tea dance on Fire Island this afternoon?"
"Oh, keep 'em coming, arse wipe. Centuries of bullshit and this is how I'm supposed to enter my twenties? Can we please now get down to business so I can vamoos? Then you can crawl into your little tent here in the desert and drink yourself to sleep again tonight thinking about all the things you could've had."