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Kindred Spirits	By : RedelliaValentinos Category: +1 through F > Danny Phantom Views: 206 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom, I don't own any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from writing this story, I write this purely for the enjoyment of writing. It's just me and a keyboard and my wild brain.

Chapter List
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- 52
They're so similar. And yet...
So different.
As Danny sits at the kitchen island, he marvels at the reflections and contrasts.
Their mannerisms are identical. How they move. How they tilt their heads. The way their hands gesture in conversation. The lilt of their voices, though Plasmius' is deeper, are equally soothing. A low baritone that he could fall asleep to if he wanted. In some sense, to some degree, they're carbon copies.
But the words they use, how they speak and think... the mirror shatters into a thousand pieces.
They're griping at each-other, snarling and huffing. That much he can tell. It's a combination of English, Russian and unearthly noises. What they're fighting over, Danny's not really sure. But he can guess, even with the language barrier.
There's basic food prep involved. And only one plate is out. Considering it's his first day vertical and conscious in just over a week, he figures the plate is probably for him.
A knife is being yanked back and forth in the process. Who's to cut and who's to cook. It might be a little more entertaining if not for the fact that Danny's stomach gives a particularly unpleasant growl. Almost painful. The noise goes unnoticed by the bickering pair.
So, as quietly as he can, Danny slides off of the stool he's sitting on and goes to the fridge. He opens it and immediately bends down for the crisper drawers. He knows there's always produce stored there. Rifling through his choices, apples or tomatoes or cucumbers, he finds himself favoring a tomato. Easier on the fangs.
The sound behind him stops at some point, and it takes Danny to pause and listen before he realizes just how silent the kitchen has gotten. The floor no longer buzzes beneath his feet with the lower reverberations of Plasmius' chords. The younger halfa stands, nightshade fruit in hand and turns. Just as his eyes level on both human and gargoyle, the human looks away, snatching the knife out of the gargoyle's hand.
Vlad seems a little tense, his motions to cut being executed rather stifly.
Plasmius seems far less shameless, head tilting in interest.
Danny doesn't know what to do with that. Other than blush slightly.
...he catches them looking throughout the day. Whether he's stretching, laying on the floor by a fireplace, lounging on a couch or nesting among a hoard of pillows in a corner of the library. There's an inkling of being on display. Like he's caught in a sniper's crosshairs. He's being examined. He's being studied. He knows it. He feels it in his bones. The stronger it gets, the more obvious they are, the more Danny focuses on the feeling, the redder he gets. It's not an unpleasant sensation, per se, just...new? He's never been ogled before. But it's nice to have those curious looks returned for a change, especially when he counts all the times he looked at Vlad in such a manner.
But, once again, the differences between Vlad and Plasmius stand strong and clear. Vlad doesn't want to be caught looking at him, Plasmius doesn't care. They both want to look. But where one shows blaring interest, the other shows apparent shame.
The implications of the stares also prove difficult for the youth, pushing his mind down roads that just seem to get more and more appealing as the day goes by. By lunchtime, he's considering trying another shower again. And there's another contrast between each end of that infernal chain that's playing hell on Danny's hormones.
For some reason, Vlad is overly hesitant to even brush elbows in passing. Plasmius has absolutely no trouble reaching out to touch. Plus, Plasmius is warm. It runs significantly hotter than Vlad does. The sheer difference in temperature between them has Danny's brain boiling. Fleeting contact and firm touches scatter themselves across the hours, solely for the purpose of adding to his insanity. This, Danny would swear to. But he doesn't give in.
He shouldn't even want the touch. He shouldn't want to feel his skin sear and steam and burn. Worse, he shouldn't want the touch to come from...
His mind halts sometime in the late afternoon.
Vlad and Plasmius. One and the same, two sides of the same coin, but the coin is forged from two metals. Having them separate is hard to wrap his head around. They go together. They're supposed to be the same entity. But it's the Plasmius half of that entity that Danny is currently favoring. Which he supposes makes sense. It's the Plasmius half that's honest with him. It's the Plasmius half that doesn't shy away. Plasmius doesn't radiate shame. Plasmius doesn't hesitate.
But Danny, despite wanting to just fall into that thermal embrace even if the temp might be bad for him, just can't. It was the idea of Vlad that he became attached to. Not a piece of Vlad. And while that piece is open and even eager to respond to him, eager to hold him in every possible meaning of the word, it just feels wrong. He's not sure how or why. It just does.
-
They're settled in the library, several hours after a distinctly quiet dinner and Vlad has rolled over on the couch. Danny is sifting through a shelf of books on ice based ghosts when he hears the chain jingle. At first, he doesn't think anything of it. Until a heated shadow casts itself over him.
"You are proving to be a frustrating case."
Danny blinks and turns around. "I'm sorry?"
"Well," Plasmius straightens, "most younglings at your age were already falling into foreign sheets at least a year ago."
Danny feels his face heat up, "I just turned eighteen a week ago! And I didn't even get to celebrate! I had to sleep through it! Cut me some slack!"
"Oh, please. A mere number counted by the passage of seasons has never prevented the youth from misguided attempts of procreation."
Danny holds a book to his chest and pushes past the beast. "If you're trying to sweet talk me into doing something we shouldn't, you could at least do it without sounding like a historian barfing on an encyclopedia."
"Your own choice of words is certainly colorful. Hardly eloquent, but...well arranged," its gaze travels down the other's form.
Danny rolls his eyes to mask a rush of heat in his body.
"And who says we shouldn't?" The gargoyle replies, and the teen can hear the smile, "you are of age, after all."
"Again, I just turned eighteen. Don't get me wrong, the attention is flattering. But, it's almost as if you were waiting for me to become legal."
"At the human's insistence, yes. He wanted me to wait. The very thought of doing anything untoward before then upset him."
"And did you ever think that, maybe, there's a reason for that?"
"Oh, I know the reason," Plasmius approaches him, "I'm well aware of the reason. But, mayhaps, you are not aware of the inner workings of the arrangements made prior to your coming of age."
Danny finds himself backed into a shelf.
He's touting hollow protests to cope. Because he knows what's down the road. He knows what turns he wants to take, he just doesn't know when. And the idea of cheating, of fooling around a little early, before they're in one piece again is starting to sound like a really, really good idea. The blood in his body is actively settling nice and low. If it's just a game to see how long Plasmius can tempt him before he caves, even accounting for the moral discrepancies of messing around with only half of Vlad, would loosing really be so bad?
Plasmius towers over him, red eyes falling on the book that appears to be clutched as a makeshift shield.
"What arrangements?" The youth asks.
"Oh, a myriad of simple things, really. Control of our temper, how long and how often he lets me out, who gets to lead for the day, who gets control of what parts of our mindscape," it reaches for the book held tight to the smaller chest, "when we get to play with you..."
Danny fights back a shudder as the hardcover is taken from him, without any resistance.
"How we play with you was a days-long discussion, and an absolutely miserable one, at that. You see, he's rather protective of you. Almost to a fault, and there were certain ideas I had in mind for you that are ultimately off the table unless you suggest them. There was also a rather heated argument over who would get to play with you first, and under what conditions, and then," the book is tossed aside, "there was the coup de grâce."
"And that one is?"
Plasmius stands tall, almost proudly, "Who gets your womb first."
Danny's core spins in overtime to cool him down as much as possible, he worries, for naught.
"Now, that one was a coin toss."
...the concept of asking who won makes his knees begin to shake. Though he can guess, he really doesn't want to. As if on cue and detecting the inevitable hormonal collapse to the floor, a warm hand is extended for him to take.
"I won't ruin you just yet. Part of that deal includes his supervision."
Danny gulps again.
"But, a little experimentation never hurts. What say you, little невеста?"
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Kindred Spirits