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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
- 69
- 70
Vlad never saw it coming.
Neither of them did.
But after months of a peaceful coexistance, it finally came crashing down.
Laundry day.
Six months have passed and Danny has been through many laundry days with Vlad. Vlad insists upon doing the wash every ten days or so. Danny makes sure he doesn't need to chase him for his clothes; they're always contained in a basket off to the side in his room. When it's time, he places it just outside of his doorway. Vlad just has to pick the basket up and take it to the washing room down the hall. Often, Danny offers to help, but the laundry is one task that the man doesn't want him around for. Danny asked why only once.
To which, Vlad had replied, "Just let me have this one. Please?"
And Danny gave him an odd look. But he'd nodded and left it alone.
To his credit, Vlad did a pretty good job of hiding the reason. But there was always the risk of discovery.
He does the laundry while Danny is outside on his morning trek for one simple reason. He's left alone in the manor for those four hours giving him adequate time to run their clothing in separate loads. Vlad likes taking the time to fold everything. It plays to his obsessiveness and allows him to satisfy his need for order. There's an old table in the washing room where he can lay everything out. Neat stacks of shirts and pants and carefully arranged bundles of socks and other garments will cover the surface.
It's almost like meditation for him. The light scent of the detergent and warmth of the dried garments calms him no matter how angry or frustrated he is. While Vlad is sure that Danny would abide by his preference to perfect square stacks of clothing, evenly spaced apart as though there's a grid carved into the surface of the table, it's something he'd just rather do alone.
He's always done things a certain way. Hasn't strayed from the numerous routines since he set them in place. His reclusive lifestyle spawned each pattern and it's been over twenty years. He's not changing anything now.
But the reason, the real reason, at the end of the day is because he never got rid of the skirt.
Vlad kept it even after his clothing order was fulfilled. He only uses it on laundry days, keeping it clean so that he has something to wear while everything else is in the wash. It's convenient in that sense, and allows for more physical movement when he's lugging a basket around. It breathes better than anything else he owns and is more freeing than most garments. Sometimes certain fabrics bother his skin, constantly grating against his thighs and knees.
But there's a catch; he can't wear it without the spell active.
Actually, that's a lie. He can, but it's nowhere near as comfortable. He feels like he's half a breath away from being exposed if he does. And his hips, without the spell, don't curve the same way. The skirt will fit, just not correctly. He measured himself according to the spell, that's what it was intended for.
Since his habit with the laundry is consistent, it means he's activating the spell regularly. Based on Frostbite's words, Vlad doubts he was thinking every ten days. But he thinks there can't be any harm in it. Continuous activation means that the hormonal shift and arousal should reduce in severity over time, and it has, quite significantly. He's far from a wanton pile of lust when it's in use. But he still flushes bright red from the sensation of being empty and spends those four hours resisting the urge to humor himself. Danny's constantly wandering tail, with all of its promises and no fullfillment, really doesn't help his mental state when he's alone.
He doesn't wonder if constant use and refusing to give himself what he needs is counterproductive.
In retrospect, he should have known better.
-
It was so nice out when he first stepped outside.
Halfway into his morning tracking, the heavens decide he needs a bath. Thunder claps loudly overhead and sock him right in the eardrums. The animals have already been gearing up for the weather; he watched several small mammals retreat to their warrens and dens.
Normally, Danny doesn't care about rain. But thunder and lightning? He'll pass, thank-you. It starts pouring down on him and almost instantly, the dirt at his hooves softens and sloshes into mud. Ugly brown puddles of lukewarm wetness start pulling him down slightly. Not by much, only by a few inches. But he snarls anyway and turns around to go back.
They both know not to stand under a tree and wait it out. And they both know that water conducts electricity. He could just sculpt a dome of ice and wait it out. Ice makes for a very poor conductor of electricity. But anything he can make will start to melt almost immediately under the onslaught of warm water. He's been electrocuted once in his life already. Once is good. Once is enough.
He stalks across the field quietly, thought processes drowned out by the thunder and rain. His tail trails behind him and occasionally flicks water free. His clothing becomes drenched pretty quickly. But the scent of wet grass is a soothing one, easing them in his stride and capturing Phantom's interest. There's so much to see and scent and so much more to hear.
This part of the world is theirs. This little slice of heaven. The land and its bounty of nutrition and material is home. Far more ideal than the streets of Amity Park.
Phantom has been tempered by the change. Phantom was already easygoing to begin with and only rarely kicked up a minor fuss. Now, in the quiet, in a void where no human activity announces, save for the odd vehicle along the road, it's settled rather well. It no longer paces the halls. Instead, Danny will fall in to the scape to find it nestled among snow and crystals, curled into a ball and snoozing away.
If one had come to Danny years ago and told him what he'd turn into, and told him that he would be leaving everything behind, friends and family and his computer, he would've split his sides in laughter. To go from a city kid hating life and dreading the next morning to a half dead cryptozoological freak of nature with a split mind that loves the great outdoors?
He snickers inside and out in tandem with Phantom. It's funny how everything works out.
-
Vlad is not having a good morning.
The first load of clothing, his own, is already in the wash. But he's struggling. Struggling to focus, to stay upright, struggling to control himself. His routine had been no different than usual. Wait for Danny to leave, run upstairs, activate the spell and change, then run back down with his basket and start. From the very moment he dragged a finger over his naval, however, he's been feverish. More so than usual. He barely succeeded in getting his things into the washing machine.
Vlad hovers by the washer and fights to keep himself from falling over. His pelvic muscles are pulsing erratically. There's a deep thrumming in his core that's screaming for satisfaction. The water pours into the basin and he leans over for balance. To ground himself. When the agitator finally starts spinning, his walls are clenching and dripping wet, and his legs feel as if they're going to give out. And he wants to scream. His skin is pink with the heat of this strange state, a state that feels distinctly different from when he'd been tied down to Frostbite's table.
He doesn't want to give in to his body's demands because the concept of being so wound up by such a simple flick of the wrist is just ludicrous to him. He shouldn't feel this way. Certainly not after using the spell for so long.
Huffing a sigh of raw frustration, he staggers over to a window and pushes it open, hoping the fresh air will ease his suffering. Shaking fingers graze the glass panes in a shove.
This heat in his body, a foreign flare of temperature he's never known. Nothing at all like the meltdown years ago. It's not the same. His core is working harder than it should. His muscles are torn between burning and singing.
A particularly harsh clench in his pelvis sends juices overflowing, drenching his underwear unpleasantly. Sighing, Vlad phases a hand through the skirt and intangibly pulls the garment free, promptly pausing the washer and adding it to the load.
Something's wrong. He swears it. He feels weak and pulled taught. Every ounce of energy in his body is going towards the screaming emptiness. Plasmius is silent. When Vlad peers into the mindscape, it's nowhere in sight. There's signs of its presence, but it's clearly hidden away.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" and his thighs tremble and finally give out. He slumps against the washer in an exhausted groan.
Whatever it is, it's not getting better. He's getting weaker. Hotter. Wetter. There's an answer somewhere. Someone must know what's causing his state. Vaguely, he wonders if there's anything in his tomes about it. His brain can make the connection that it's related to his refusal to self-entertain, and he'll eventually come to understand the definition of an artificial heat. But the wires won't spark for a while.
Instead of drawing lines, he falls over, into a heap on the floor and finally caves in. His hands stray past the waistband of his skirt to answer for his denials.
-
Danny turns his nose up in the air despite the downpour and inhales deeply. Fresh air is fresh air. Undeniable, clean mountain air is a boon on any pair of lungs. Even the ones that don't technically need it.
..the scent is...so...sweet.
'Wait...'
'What?'
Danny blinks in confusion. He sniffs gently, nostrils flaring in the humidity as the strange aroma, that wasn't there when he left, wafts lazily in his direction. Or, maybe it was. It's kind of familiar. It seems intended for him. Taking its time in lingering over the fields. Dragging itself through his nasal passage and tickling his salivating glands. His mouth waters the more he inhales it. It's... Is it familiar? Or is it new? It has to be new. Brand new. Yet...
No. It's not new at all. He knows this scent. He's caught it before. Strawberries and fireflies. This is the same scent from that night. But why does it seem like it's so much more, suddenly? Why does it seem enhanced? Why is it coming through warmer and thicker than before?
He looks up at the manor looming in the distance.
'Must...'
'...home.'
'...home.'
He nearly breaks into a trot. But the slipperiness of the mud forbids it. So he stalks through it as quickly as he can, tail swaying through the falling drops. Following the trail. Following that sweet, sweet smell. It smells so right. So ripe. So perfect. So warm and comforting and he needs to get to it now.
He licks a fang on instinct as his back curves down to steady his walk. It feels like another hunt. But not for game. His spines twitch and itch. Two at a time, down his back and to the tip of his tail. He picks up a small amount of speed. His jaw hangs loose as he passes the gate's perimeter, sensing warmth on his tongue and more of that scent. And that warmth, welcome and strong, is spreading. Seeping into him and sluggishly soaking his bones.
The doors are shut when he gets to them. Which, they always are. It's not like they have guests coming. But... He decides it's good. No one has broken any of the boundaries. His fingers twitch, curled into his palms, and his nails sharpen. He passes through the solid wood easily. The moment his hoof steps down on the cold stone floors, the source of the scent becomes more clear. He follows a trail, stalking through dark halls and trailing ice behind him. Drooling the whole way. Like he's hungry.
Is he hungry? Is hunger the right word?
Danny stops briefly.
'Not hungry.'
'Not hungry.'
'Just...'
'NEED.'
'NEED.'
Red bleeds into his irises. Eagerly, licking his lips, drooling, lusting, craving, chasing the source.
A door hangs open at the end of the corridor. That sweet, sugary, delightful array, fireflies, strawberries, honeyed nectar and wildflowers, puts fire in his veins as his eyes behold the shuddering offering.
-
He's trying.
He needs something for relief.
It's not working.
He's so close and almost there and it's just not right.
It isn't what he needs. Not anymore.
Vlad's fingers are sore and tired as he whines into the stone. Rubbing hard circles over his clit, scraping his nails along the sensitive organ, his hips buck. Yet, there's no release. No matter how rough he gets or how hard he works.
Sweat gathers on his brow as he tries using his fingers differently. Slipping three in right away, easily loose enough to add more, he curls them to the best of his ability. His wrist cricks uncomfortably as he works himself open. The angle isn't right. He's not deep enough.
"Come on," tears streak down his face.
Skin darkening further with frustration, the warmth rapidly engulfs his horns. His hair tangles and snarls the more he fusses.
Giving a twist to it and pressing in his thumb and little finger, the hope was to push in and finally fill himself. It wouldn't be the first time he's fisted himself. But he's never done it laying on a floor before. The position is wrong and hinders his every effort. He only succeeds in stirring his production around and gets it all over his hand and thighs.
"Come on! Please!"
It doesn't work. He can't get there. Curled into the fetal position on cold stone is not the way to get it done.
Vlad's hands slow to a stop as exhaustion burns through his limbs. Turning in towards the floor, pressing his forehead against the stonework, he feels like crying. His shoulders rack and shudder with his emotions and the overwhelming failure to find that cliff every breathing creature knows. Dissatisfaction and hints of rage at running in circles, both metaphorically and literally with regards to his attempts, electrify every aching muscle. Telling him he's not done. That it's not over. And he knows it. Ancients be damned from the dawning of time to days not yet seen, he's very well aware that he got nothing out of it.
He'd scream if he thought it would help. He's ready to. He wants to. Pulling his hands free, he carefully plants his palms on the floor, wet strings of juice strung across his fingers as a lewd webbing, ready to push himself up so he can open his throat. He raises his head up...
"Fuck."
-
Danny snatches a handful of silver hair and throws him at the table.
Vlad grunts as his hips impact the hard edge, but doesn't have the time to check for bruises. The hand that grabbed him by his hair presses against the back of his neck, urging him down while the other runs claws up his leg and phases his skirt off. He'd normally be inclined to protest, but the promise of this hellish condition being chased away has him eager to obey.
It's still an embarrassing position to be put in, one that he's only vaguely familiar with. Last time he'd been bent over a table, there was no intent behind it. It was done purely to stun him and catch his attention. This time, it's not a joke. It's not a trick. It's real.
A brief moment of clarity shines through the heated haze. As he hears a larger torso rumble above him and the rustle of denim being undone, Vlad realizes what's coming. Eyes fixed forward at nothing in particular, he realizes that his spell is going to be active for a while. This agony will stop. But he's going to be stuck as he is for quite some time.
He gets a glimpse at it beforehand. Hot and heavy and angry red. Ridged underneath and spines on the sides. Nothing too sharp, though. It has a distinct curve to it that will more than likely rub everything raw inside. Size-wise... He was right about the form granting the youth other benefits. He doesn't doubt it will fit. He's more than wet enough to take it. But he does wonder how much of it will fit.
His hips dig into the table as the boy simply plows forward without regard for his condition. And it's glorious.
...it should be much harder to love such a creature. It should be truly difficult, if not impossible, to find oneself drawn to such a monstrosity. But the moment his cervix is rammed by the head of Danny's enhanced cock, the world sparkles with diamonds. The imp doesn't waste anytime. Muscles and tendons unwind in rapid succession to flutter in time with each thrust. Each glide into his passage ends with a hard grind against his cervix and he chokes on his own air.
It's just what he's needed, for several months.
It's everything he didn't want to think he needed.
His body softens and goes limp against the table to just accept what he's denied himdself, accept his fate and his own poor decision making because the boy is proving to be a far better partner than he expected. His stance shifts, spreading his thighs just a little bit further apart so he can accomadate the size and weight of the onslaught. The hand pinning him down leaves his neck and both hands plant firmly on the wooden surface, beside his head so the younger halfa can brace.
Instincts drive each half living creature to obey the compulsions of the moment. Vlad opens his throat to gasp at each impact and stumbles into grunting at the table digging into his pelvis. Danny, mind gone, eyes wild and turned to a color that would worry him if not for context, knows only to claim and stop at nothing. Pounding relentlessly against Vlad's insides, grinding against every extra nerve his physiology grants him, consistently forcing his body open with each forward strike, it's as if it's suddenly all he knows.
Vlad tries pressing back to account for what's sure to be some ugly bruising on his hips, but it only prompts Danny to press harder.
Nails scrape into wood for a grip. Or to ground. Vlad groans into the table as a new tension coils in his insides. Those pretty little diamonds in his vision start to grow in size. He's getting closer to the edge of that familiar cliff, ready to free fall into whatever pit awaits him as the spell over his naval begins to buzz at each impact.
His lungs labor for air he doesn't need, air that Danny seems content to literally fuck out of him, but his human condition forbids he forget the muscle memory. His hair tangles from the base of his neck to all the way across the table, catching on the imperfections in the old wood and tugging at his scalp.
He can see his fate beyond the splotches of white in his vision, and he can feel his core just starting to cool down. He just needs a little more...
Vlad's forehead thumps against the table and he groans in frustration. Broken pleas pour into the wood grain as his release stalls. Not unlike being punched in the chest just before crossing a finishing line, there's new agony in the feeling of being cut off, or feeling like he can't go any further when he really should be able to.
He just needs more.
The pace set inside of him is increasing, and while certainly pleasurable, the speed is meaningless. He's suddenly kicking himself mentally and cursing Plasmius. Plasmius for the idea of leaving Danny's notes incomplete, himself for agreeing to it. The boy just doesn't know.
He tries tilting his pelvis again to adjust the angle. Just a little. Just enough. But the younger halfa's wild instincts misinterpret it as him trying to get away and he snarls in warning.
A strained rumble fed by his frustrations rattles his chest and he can't take it anymore. Vlad lashes a hand up, grabs him by the scruff of his neck hard enough that his nails draw blood and pulls him down so he can scream in his ear.
"God damn it, it opens, Daniel! Do it right!"
Danny's hips sharply rear back, pulling out until just the head of his cock remains inside, leaving Vlad only a few milliseconds to question his decision before he plows forward and shoves past the tight ring of fibrous tissue in one fell swoop.
Vlad squeaks in disbelief as he blinks at the laundry room ceiling, mouth agape and fangs dropped. His spine curved sharply as he swears he feels the flesh of his naval contact the surface of the table, something cold slowly pours into him. Inside, his walls spasm and hot slick drips down around the shaft inside of him, quickly trailing down his thighs.
He hasn't felt this full in years...and he can still take more.
"Daniel..."
The younger halfa has slumped over slightly, curling his claws into the table because everything suddenly became so much tighter. He's laboring for air, breathing hard and hoarsely, trembling as he tries to ground himself. He shifts his pelvis a little, nudging the innermost walls of a womb his wild mind can't even comprehend and Vlad gasps.
He drops back down to the table, shuddering in time with Danny's breathing. He grabs onto a pale wrist and squeezes it, trying to urge him to move.
"...all the way. ...please. There's still...there's still room, Daniel. Please."
Vlad can hear his tail lashing. It strikes the side of the washer repeatedly, hard and unforgiving and denting the metal.
"Daniel, please..." he gives another squeeze to his wrist and even sinks his nails in, "I can take it. Just give it to me. Please... ...let me have you."
As if testing the waters, Danny moves forward slowly, pushing deeper into Vlad's body. Vlad whines and mewls, slack-jawed and drooling. His legs are pushed even further apart with each increment, and the walls of of his womb continue to give way until he feels denim touch his skin. When Danny finally starts moving, Vlad's body breaks.
He decides that heaven isn't golden gates and fluffy clouds or eternal harp music. And if either of them ever meet some old coot in a robe, Vlad will personally force-feed him all the harps in existence and then hold him down so Danny can eat him. No, heaven isn't nearly so cheap.
Heaven is getting railed by an ice imp in the laundry room and coming undone every five to ten thrusts.
Several rounds of release sluggishly run down his thighs, swirling with thick white streaks as the younger halfa makes his way to the finish. Sinking his nails in to hold on for dear life and pleasure is the only thought process left as Vlad's eyes roll further and further into the back of his head. He would later realize, that, once again, the boy was putting his needs before his own. But here and now, in the heat of the moment, he can't think that far.
Danny's pace falters, signaling the end in sight, and a particularly awkward thrust jams Vlad's hips into the edge of the table yet again. It catches his attention in between orgasmic flutters and oncoming dehydration. Blown eyes blink blearily at nothing specific while his brain tries to process the change, and then Danny hunches over him, crowding him against the tabletop. Bracing his elbows against the surface, pressing against the smaller body to trap him there, keep him there, don't let him get away, he pushes inward once more.
A low, gutteral growl, unholy and strange, rattles through him and buzzes its way through the body beneath him. Danny's teeth sink into the junction of his neck and right collarbone, earning a shout as he pours his frigid essence into the trembling form. Vlad shudders at the temperature.
Hooves scrape the stone floor, digging gouges into the surface while the imp tries to go deeper, even though he has nowhere to go.
Vlad is fine with the bite. He's fine with the blood. He's fine with signs of their activity being permanently etched into his floor. His stomach grows taught and heavy with the load within it and he still doesn't care. He's not even paying attention to the tightness or the scratching noises. What bothers him, what snaps him out of his senseless whimpering and drooling all over the table like a dog is the sensation of more. Of growth.
He yelps in Danny's hold, feeling his insides stretch. Eyes wide and alert under the dawning of the only thing it can be. The only thing it shouldn't be, that Danny shouldn't have.
"That lying son-of-b-AGH!" Vlad heaves a pained breath as his body does its best to accommodate the knot, "I'm gonna fucking kill him!"
In response to his distress and the shift in his scent, Danny gives a hard tug with his pelvis. Grinding up against every sensitive spot inside, Vlad's anger is quickly buried under a wave of stars.
His walls spasm and clench down around the knot.
The world blurs and tilts, fuzzy and blobby and in shades of white. Though he tries to stay conscious, his body rattles with a lazy release that's barely coherent and his head drops against the table with a dull thud.
-
He wakes every now and then. Randomly, inbetween unspecified lengths of near comatose sleep. Each time he opens his eyes, it's to more pleasure. He doesn't know when they moved from the laundry room to a bedroom. He can't keep his eyes open long enough to figure out which room they're in. But he knows they moved; his fingers tangle in sheets instead of scraping wood.
Sometimes he's moving when he wakes. Other times, he's being moved. Each glimpse of the waking world comes with sparks and sparkles and various aches in all of the right places, and he practically sings before the world darkens again. There's no sense of time passing. Just a literally blissful existence that leaves him chilled from the inside. Once, he thinks he feels his hip crack under the force of his leg being pushed aside and pinned to whatever bed is being ruined. But it's hard to raise hell when the earth is moving.
Occasionally the window shows darkness outside, marking days and hours. Vlad doesn't count.
For the most part, he lays there like a ragdoll, allowing the younger halfa's primordial behaviors to carry on without restraint or combat.
...when he finally blinks his eyes open properly, he finds himself stripped of his clothing entirely, which isn't really surprising. What does surprise him is the room he's in. It's his own, he realizes, upon seeing the clawed posters of his bed. He's never brought the boy to his room. Not once. He knows he should feel a little mortified that Danny chose it, should be even more mortified that Danny chose to take him in a bed he's never even slept in. But instead, all he feels is comfort.
The familiar touch of his own blankets is rather nice to wake up to. Synthetic fibers and all.
Trying to sit up reveals he's been put to bed properly. And his comforter has actually been pulled up to cover him and give back some of his dignity. When that thought comes through his mind, an amused snort echoes through his skull. Normally, he's offer a retort. Right now, though, he's just glad Plasmius is back where it's supposed to be.
He's alone. Danny is nowhere in sight. He'd worry, if not for the approaching hoofsteps in the hallway.
Danny phases through his bedroom door, hunched over and tail dragging low, not unlike a puppy that's just been disciplined. And he's holding a bottle of water in his mouth. Vlad stares in surprise. The red hue is gone from his eyes. They're just cyan, now. Sharp, alert, crystal clear and looking afraid as he approaches the bed slowly. Vlad swallows as he gets closer, craning his neck out just enough to offer the bottle to him.
Aware of the younger halfa's apparent discomfort, he's cautious when he extends his hand out, open and turned up so that the bottle can just be placed in it. He promptly chugs it down. Danny climbs onto the bed when he thinks it's finally safe. Vlad lays back, lets him settle on top of him, lets him rest his head against his chest and even drapes his arms around him to calm the poor creature.
The room flashes in negative light and the weight against his body lessens significantly. It reveals the boy isn't wearing much. Just an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. His tail drapes across the bedding. They lay together like that for a while, basking in each-other's company. Vlad runs his fingers through Danny's hair to help him relax.
"I think it took," the boy mutters after some time.
Vlad's eyes drift closed, "I know. I knew it would."
His heart kicks up as he concentrates on his core energy. There's a diversion in its path. A small one. An extra tendril of energy streaming towards something else.
"I'm sorry."
Vlad opens his eyes, "about what?"
Danny turns his head to the side and presses an ear to his chest. "We didn't talk about it. At all. We didn't... I don't know, I just kind of figured we were gonna go over that at some point."
"Mm. And how would you have addressed it? 'I'm bored, let's make one, who's carrying, let's toss a coin?'"
The youth laughs softly, "Probably."
"It's alright. Even I wouldn't have known where to start."
"How about 'I'm horny, you're carrying it, bend over?'"
"Rather late on delivery," he chuckles, ''I'm curious, why did you bring me to my room and not yours?'' Vlad asks quietly, "your room was closer."
"I remembered reading somewhere that most women prefer sex in their own beds," Danny replies.
The soothing hand in his hair tightens into a firm hold and Vlad pulls, making him wince and hiss and forcing him up onto his knees. He almost snarls at the man, but the deadly glare on Vlad's face stops him.
"I am not a woman, Daniel."
"I know! Ow!"
"I can appreciate that you've put so much effort into being able to please me properly-"
"-owowow-"
"-and I do appreciate your devotion-"
"-owowow-"
"-but don't you ever assume to know my preferences and needs based on just a few hours of online reading."
Danny pulls free and rubs at his head, "Okay, we'll just fuck in the same bed I slept in when I was fourteen, next time."
Vlad's face pales in horror at the implications.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Danny snickers.
"You're not allowed near my computer."
"That's fine, I got everything I could get, already. I gave my computer to Tucker. People online have no imagination."
Vlad's eye twitches, "Tell me, what would you have done prior to the internet?"
Danny tilts his head in thought, "...I think I would've asked Skulker."
Burying his face in his hands, "Please tell me you at least cleared your browser before parting ways with your friend."
"...my what?"
- 69
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Kindred Spirits