Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

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
- 57
- 58
- 59
Words are such interesting things.
Intangible, invisible unless written, impossible to contain. Akin to a force of nature, some things just can't be chained or controlled. In the right assembly, in any assembly, words can do many things, both good and bad.
They can hurt. They can heal. They can inspire. They can bring laughter to the point of tears.
A plain and unassuming arrangement of lines and dots on a piece of paper can free a man or execute him. They can classify animals. Label groups of people, and even draw border lines. Context and inflection can alter interpretation and delivery. And thus, the sway of their phrasing. But above all, such simple little scribbles, whether written, spoken, or imagined, can also drive one to madness.
Madness.
Now, there's a funny little arrangement. To the illiterate, a few splotches of ink. Colored water that stains. Nothing more. But to the well-learned, a frightful little collection of letters. Either swirling or jagged, its power is nearly limitless in its applications.
But here, now, in this poorly lit room, as it smothers a core of ice with unbearable heat, its use is far more primitive. It is a symptom of realization and acceptance. As a child chases its mother's footsteps, so too does it follow behind a particular clutter of letters. And these, uttered internally and aloud. In unison. In approval.
"Yeah. We can work with this."
'Yeah. We can work with this.'
...how dangerous an array, staining the mind two-fold.
The moment they were conveyed, inside and out, with the activity preceding it, something in Danny just kind of...snapped.
And now he's mad with a craving. A need. A lusting that's feral and ugly in its strength. He tried stomping on it for a few weeks, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he would succeed. Until the plea came.
'Stop holding us back.'
And then he caved.
...his teeth have sunk into the meat of his right arm to keep quiet. Blood is welling to the surface, cooler than human, slower than living. Thickened by his deathly temperature. His spine protests to the position, a strange twist on the balasana pose, in that he's bleeding onto his sheets. His denim-clad knees dig into his mattress with each violent twitch of his hips. His tail is wrapped around his cock, coils tight and cinching, but made easy to pass through by his own production.
He's been forced to shuck his t-shirt aside. Too hot. Thick droplets of white ooze freely from his slit, despite the vice grip he's made on himself. The muscles seize and flutter repeatedly, pulling in all the wrong ways and if he weren't so lost in himself, he'd feel the pain.
Eyes wide, glaring cyan in the dim, charcoal staining their whites, he's not focused on anything in particular. He doesn't care that his nose is just millimeters from his sheets, or that it occasionally brushes the fabric if he pushes forward hard enough. He growls low all the same, in a chord no human can emit.
His computer screen casts a dull glow over his form, no longer required for the current task at hand. A colorful search history exposes the source of this latest bout of false copulation. The sparks that lit this particular fire. There's no videos presently open. Nothing to see or hear or read. Just a vast sea of desperate attempts to give him better clarity of what he wants. Numerous search results that yielded nothing. Or worse, disappointment.
Somewhere in the heat, a vision supplies what he craves. It's almost as if it's been gifted to him. To them. Driving them both insane with only one body to expell the energy. But they embrace it. So they don't see the claustrophobic distance of the sheets.
They see a head of silver hair tangled and splayed across a wooden surface. Black horns accented in a strange hue of red. Large pale hands brace against the wood on either side of it as Danny's body jerks forward. They hear a sound that's distant. Muttered in between breaths as the body shifts and he thrusts into the hold of his tail again.
There's a phantom sensation of pressing against warm thighs that are shuddering under the onslaught. He...they can feel them quivering. Threatening to give out. They shift a little, attempting to spread further so they can accommodate him. Give him more room to move. In response, he wraps his arm around a torso clad in only a white shirt. And a firm pillow is clutched close to help the sensation along. The ghostly touch of plastic buttons that aren't really there bite into his skin.
He ruts more wildly into his tail, stimulating sounds of choked gasps. The sweet musk of reproduction is nearly there. Nearly in the room with him. But it's just not there enough. The weight of a ribcage struggling for air presses into him and his nails sink into the pillow. And he's moving as fast as he can. As hard as he can. Pounding into it. But no one can quite reach the cliff.
Another noise echoes into his ears. A frustrated whine. Not his own, he knows what he sounds like. It strangles free from the body he's holding onto, and that shaking, shuddering, spasmodic mass gives a loud huff. A hand reaches up and grabs onto the scruff of his neck and pulls, trying to force him down.
And though it's slightly muddled, it's somehow familiar...
"God damn it, it opens, Daniel! Do it right!"
His jaw clamps harder on his arm with an over eager snarl and he shoves forward into his tail one last time. The coils jerk and tighten in just the right way and his eyes roll back. He hears a high pitched cry, and then hears a body collapse against wood. Phantom legs strain and tremble against his own, streaks of white trail down the inside of tanned legs, just as it all fades.
There's more. He knows there's more. There's always more. But he's been cut off from the feed, and frankly, he's had enough. His back hurts from bowing too much, his legs hurt from tensing too much, and his arm ices over to seal the self-inflicted wounds. He'll have to scrap the sheet. He doesn't care.
Danny manages to lift himself up onto wobbling arms and uses his discarded shirt to cover his mess. Flopping like a cheap doll being tossed onto the bed, he barely gets a blanket pulled up over himself. His eyes drift shut as the charcoal clears. He falls into his head rather easily, onto a nest of blankets and pillows lined in frost.
The imp chitters and crawls in next to him, curling its tail around his leg. He sighs softly, returning the gesture by wrapping his own tail around its arm.
-
Finish high school, go to college, graduate, move out of his house, move into Vlad's manor. This is the plan.
He can't voice any of this, of course. Certainly not to his family, definitely not to his friends yet, and if he even starts to pronounce any word beginning with the letter "V," his sister's nails start rapping against whatever surface will offend his hearing the most.
The remaining months at Casper High mercifully blow right by. Though he's of the impression of walking on eggshells whenever he's around his sister, Danny somehow gets through it.
When graduation was just days away, he started hoping that Vlad would be there. To be fair, they hadn't actually discussed him being there for the ceremony. He knew his parents would be, not that he cared. At this point in his life, while they still occasionally try, he's essentially done with them and their nonsense. Danny also quickly decides that based on how his sister is handling everything, it's probably for the better if he doesn't show up. Even though it would be a lot of fun to see them at each-other's throats, it's much more likely he'll jump the man. Which is not how he wants to end the school year. No matter how appealing the idea is.
And for her part, as the ceremony drew closer, Jasmine became more agitated. Tensing tighter than a bowstring, a grenade without its pin. Every dinner screamed with danger and yanked at every feral fiber of his being, her riled mother wolf snapping at his unclassified creature within, with both of them taking some minor offense to her attitude. Realistically, there are far worse arrangements that could have been made, that could have been acted upon years ago. Really, the way he warned her was the nicest way.
But her temper, flaring as it is, with her eyes burning holes into his back on a regular basis, it's a wonder she hasn't blown her top. The very palpable tension between them seems to go right over their parents' heads, too, which suits them just fine in this instance.
Following an overheated ceremony, the college pamphlet is in Danny's hands before he even leaves the school. He doesn't know what he's going to do, doesn't have any specific courses in mind. Amity Park Community College is rather low on the totem pole, largely offering the most basic courses. A few stand out as something unique, but there's very little to work with, otherwise. He's tempted to ask Jasmine for advice, but the slightly tinted cheeks and blue glare of death suggest his inquiries would be better directed towards a rabid squirrel.
He takes a few days to settle following graduation. A few nights to self-entertain, too, and dredge up the memory of that vision because he's just finished high school and he's entitled to some extracurricular activities.
'Nice joke, Vlad.'
And maybe, in the heat of the moment, of several moments, be they in the shower or his room, he replays that vision over and over because it's just that appealing to him.
Over several weeks, they came to an easy understanding. An agreement between him and the imp circling the chandelier in his head.
He'll bend for Plasmius. Readily. Eagerly. It wouldn't even have to ask. As far as Danny's concerned, it could pin him down in the middle of breakfast and he wouldn't fight it. And at some point down the line, he knows it's coming. So, yes, he'll happily drool over the practically pre-determined idea of getting plowed. He's even planning on falling down the rabbit hole of ways to explore himself. And the creature inside is fine with that.
But they both want Vlad. In any way they can have him, so long as he's beneath them. They have a score to settle, after all. Ideally...
'Him first.'
'Him first.'
Finish high school, go to college, graduate, move out of his house, move into Vlad's manor, lock the door, and move into Vlad if they can.
-
"When?"
"Soon," Vlad answers, shoving a book onto a shelf.
"How soon?"
Vlad sighs. "He just graduated a month ago. Let him have at least a little bit of his summer first."
"...how much?
The groan the resonates through the library is frustrated and felt from the depths of his core, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
He's trying to be patient. Trying be a good little half-dead demon bastard and wait. Patience is not without its challenges. But Plasmius has been pacing the mindscape incessantly since the day they sent the boy home. Echoes of its footsteps have been pinging against his inner ears. Sometimes lulling him to sleep as white noise because they're so consistent. But for the most part, his nerves have been getting jangled this way and that since the pacing started.
"I want my little невеста."
"As do I!" Vlad snaps, "But I don't want interrupt his education! If we're really do this, then I want a wife who can think!"
"..."
"I don't think that's an unfair requirement."
"No, I suppose not."
"Thank you!"
"On the other hand, he's had all this time alone. Without a playmate."
Vlad nods slowly, eyeing the shelf but not really reading the spines that line them.
"Just himself. And his own hands."
Vlad feels his heart jerk in anticipation and his blood shifts a little.
"What do you suppose he did first?" the beast purrs.
"I... I don't know. There's so many options... So...many..."
So many colorful pictures to paint. So many different shades of red to use, and some of them not even in existence yet.
"What did you do the first time?"
Vlad struggles to think. That part of his life is an unholy blur. A flurry of sweat and lust he still can't navigate. His fingertips crackle with the phantom memories of tangled fabric and wet heat. Which is deliberate. The gargoyle is intent on riling him up to break him faster. A conniving plan, one that even he would use if necessary.
"Well?"
"I don't remember. I did a lot, honestly."
"Call him. We both know it's time."
Vlad's shoulders slump in defeat even as blood rolls south. "I don't want to rush him."
"We did not attend the ceremony. He'll be fine. Call him and then we can reminisce."
-
The knife collides with the glass cutting board violently. Scratchy and high pitched, stabbing his ear drums while he tries to read through the pamphlet. He's going to college, he has to. He doesn't really have much of a choice. He suspects Vlad won't take him until he's sure his education is complete. A stance he can understand, but damn it, he hates waiting.
A particularly brutal screech of metal on glass distracts him.
'Maybe I shouldn't have told her after all.'
The carrot in its path doesn't have the sentience to plead for mercy on his behalf. He really wishes it did.
There's a fire in Jasmine's eyes, rendering her glare so brightly blue that he almost likens it to ice. Not an unfair comparison when he thinks about it.
"Keep looking at me like that and your face is gonna freeze," he mutters quietly.
The knife scrapes against the glass deliberately, making him physically wince in pain. Because offending her isn't going to help his case, he stiffens his jaw before his next piece breaks free.
Suddenly, her phone rings.
Jasmine pauses in her prep work, taking a moment to consider whether or not she should answer it.
'It's giving me a headache.'
'It's giving me a headache.'
She slams the knife down on the table and digs it out of her pocket. Looking at the little screen on the front of it doesn't change her expression.
"Ah. The Wisconsin Cradle Robber. It's for you," and she slams the phone down on top of the pamphlet.
Danny rolls his eyes to mask the spark of joy in his chest and answers.
"Congratulations. You got promoted."
Vlad's voice audibly stumbles, "I- I... what?"
Jasmine glares at him and he quickly vacates the kitchen. "You got promoted. From billionaire and savior to cradle robber."
"...I'm not so sure that's a step up, Daniel."
Danny smirks. "So, what's up?"
"You've graduated high school, Plasmius hasn't shut up since the day you left, and we're both bored. Where do you want to go tonight?"
Danny pauses to process the sentence, his expression twisting into mild horror. "...you suck at this."
"Daniel, I'm an eternally thirty-year-old recluse with no social skills, nothing but time on my hands and a hormonal sky-rat living in my head. What do you expect?"
Danny winces, but he smiles, too. "Well, when you put it like that, not much."
"Where would you like to go?"
Moving over to the stairs and sitting down, "How are you in movie theaters?"
"Really? You want me in an enclosed box with pounding speakers and a bunch of sniveling blatherskites?"
Danny blinks, "What the fuck is- Y'know what, nevermind. Yes. I think."
There's a barely audible, strained attempt to hold back a sigh.
"Alright, which movie?"
"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull," Danny replies eagerly. He could sneak into a theater, but it wouldn't be any fun on his own. So he's been keeping from walking down the same street as the theater to avoid the temptation.
"Oh, gods. Another one?"
"Please?"
"Daniel..."
"You can choose where we go for dinner, and next time we'll swap!"
"...oh, alright. Fine. I'll be there in an hour. Try not to dress like a little street urchin. The fewer holes, the better."
"Funny, guys usually ask for more."
The sigh Vlad held in practically screams through the microphone and he hangs up, leaving Danny to snicker. He goes back into the kitchen against his better judgement and gives Jasmine her phone. He settles back into his chair and opens the pamphlet again.
"When is he picking you up?" She growls.
Danny resists the urge to sigh as he looks at the clock above the kitchen doorway. "In about an hour."
Turning her eyes back down to the produce, "And where are you going, exactly?"
'Interrogation.'
'Fantastic.'
"We're gonna go see a movie."
"Where are you going to see a movie?"
Danny swallows. "In a movie theater."
"...fine."
"And then we're gonna go out for dinner."
"Where?"
Danny closes his eyes for a minute because he really doesn't want to scream at her, "I don't know. He's choosing."
The cutting board is picked up and the morsels of carrot are scraped into a pot.
"So, public theater and, knowing Vlad's preferences, a public restaurant. Fine. You can go."
Danny folds the pamphlet and stands, heading for the living room, "Wasn't asking for your permission."
Just as he approaches the doorway, air whistles past his ear as something thuds into wood...and the knife that was just mutilating root vegetables juts out of the door frame. He stops, staring at the implement in newfound terror. He looks back at her slowly, almost expecting another blade to land right between his eyes. Or worse, a lot lower.
But she's already turned her back and is stirring a pot on the stove. Her movements are calm and calculated, she's at ease with herself. She's even humming a slight tune.
"Ya know, it's not like he's gonna take advantage of me."
'Not yet, anyway.'
'Shut up.'
The spoon beats against the rim of the pot harder than necessary.
"...what makes you so sure he won't?" she asks quietly.
"What makes you think he will?"
"Well, to a certain degree, he's developmentally constipated, socially inept, he's a billionaire, and he's an eternal, ageless entity largely unbound by the laws of physics and no cell can hold him. What's actually stopping him?"
Phantom rumbles within, tail lashing violently. It stomps a hoof against the floor of the foyer while Danny refuses to let his spines tear through the back of his shirt.
"Oh, that's easy. You," Danny answers, and walks away, "You, and the fact that they flipped a fucking coin on me," he mutters.
He doesn't say anything else for risk of being heard. Instead, he goes up to his room and changes. Pulling on his least ratty pair of black skinny jeans and a gray t-shirt. It's as good as he's going to get. He grabs his star-print hoodie for comfort and ties it around his waist. It fits like a glove now, where before it was incredibly loose and swallowed him whole. He won't need it. But he likes having the fabric there for him to touch.
When he's done, he fusses at his hair, pinning a few strands back with a blue barrette he snags from the bathroom and goes back downstairs. Opting to pass the time as smoothly as he can, he turns on the television.
So late in the day, there's really nothing of interest to him. He gets bored with the news and doesn't enjoy much of the older reruns. Ultimately, he settles for M.A.S.H. because it's at least mildly amusing. The shallow adult jokes seem to ring with the imp within, and who is he to deny it?
By some rare, bizarre luck, he's caught a double. Two episodes back-to-back. He doesn't watch the clock, too busy entertaining both sides of himself and jerks in surprise when smoke slips free from his throat. And then someone knocks on the door. He rushes to turn off the television and fumbles with the remote. Just as his finger touches the power button, Jasmine storms right past the screen...and something glints in her hand.
'She wouldn't.'
"She would. Uh, Jazz?" He gets to his feet just as she rips the front door open hard enough to rattle the hinges and lashes a hand out.
"Ah, Miss Fenton. How nic-"
"-Give me one good reason why I shouldn't repaint this doorway right now."
Vlad swallows around the edge of the knife.
"Uh, well, I was intending to eat tonight."
She presses the blade a little harder. "Not good enough."
"Jazz, please," Danny begs. He wants to pull her away, he has the strength to do so. But he might injure her in the process. He might injure Vlad, too.
"Jasmine, dear, sweetheart, I've always recognized your rather rabid mother hen syndrome," he gulps when the edge just pierces the first layer of flesh over his esophagus, "and I imagine it's what has allowed you to raise Daniel all these years, and I applaud you for your labors. But, personally, I haven't actually done anything yet."
"What do you mean, 'personally?'"
"Uh, well... I..."
Danny heaves a breath. "He hasn't done anything, Jazz. Just, please, put the knife down."
The redhead breathes evenly, considering them both. It takes a moment, but she pulls away.
Vlad gulps again and rubs at his throat. "Thank-you. Now. What in the names of all the Ancients has gotten into you, young lady?"
Jasmine stands firm and points the knife at him, "Do not patronize me. I know everything."
Vlad looks at Danny. "Everything?"
The teen fidgets and struggles to meet his eyes, but he does. "I gave her the journal," he says quietly.
"...I see," he answers, tone low and distinctly disapproving. Though, he knows it was bound to happen eventually. He can't really be mad at the boy. Not too much, anyway. He just wishes they discussed it first.
"Is there anything you'd like to add?" The man asks lightly, trying to defuse the situation.
Jasmine holds the knife steady, "Put a ring on him first."
"Well, technically, it's a little late for that," the younger halfa mutters.
"What?!"
"Daniel!"
- 57
- 58
- 59
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Kindred Spirits