People Will Say That We're in Love

A D/S Songfic

By Prescited Entity

Disclaimer: For the sake of having this here. You ought to know what this is if you are reading this. So as not to spoil the story for the uninitiated, I'll put the lyrics and proper disclaimer (in case you are a stickler for them) at the end.

Note: No ghost fights. I can't write them well enough to meet even my low standards, and it'd ruin the mood, anyway.

"ARGH!" A girl, dressed in what would convince most that Halloween came early that year, slammed the door to her room on her way out. "Stupid gloves! Why - won't - you - fit!" she vented, tugging at her articles of clothing, emphasizing her words in an ever increasing volume on each vicious pull. If this luck continues, prom is going to suck like a vacuum, she fumed inwardly.

Giving up on getting them to fit properly, she inspected herself in the mirror. Sam sported a gothic look, with dashes of vampiric influences. Her parents had attempted to make the counter-cultural teen wear something "normal,"; a pink, frilly, generic, and utterly characterless dress that proved their lack of fashion sense. Even she knew that puffy dresses had gone out several centuries ago. So, by threatening to boycott the event, she managed to gain control her outfit choice, though she was forced to concede some points. For the occasion, Sam chose a sleek, black, strapless knee-length dress, with a low back and a dark purple satin sash crossing at the front, looping around her neck and waist. Over it, she wore a violet shawl of the same color, black sequin design on top. Fishnet armbands covered her arms from her shoulder to her elbow, and, of course, the stubborn wrist high black gloves. I may not be the most beautiful girl in the school, Sam thought, but I think I've done a fair job fixing myself up. Her jet-black hair, unlike it had been for her first high school dance, was left down, and framed her face, pinned back on one side by an amethyst clip.

"My first dance..." Fond memories flowed into her mind. Sure, she had to drop a million inconspicuous hints to get invited, had been turned into a vengeful dragon, and was involved on the wrong side of a ghost fight, but what happened after more than made up for it. The thought of that brought a blush to her face, contrasting her pale complexion. What in hell's name am I thinking, she asked herself. Not wanting to confront the strange turn in her chain of thoughts, she hurried out.

Danny stood outside on the Manson's doorstep, clutching a bouquet of blood red roses in his left hand. Leave to a girl to keep a guy waiting, even if she doesn't usually give a damn about what others think of her appearance, he thought. He immediately chastised himself; Sam doesn't deserve any such mean thoughts. He yanked compulsively at the collar of his white dress shirt, tucked under his black tuxedo. Why was he acting like this, anyway? Because I'm as nervous as hell, his mind responded.

Two weeks ago, Danny asked his best friend, Sam, to the prom. He rationalized this action by convincing himself that he needed to ask her first, lest Tucker does so and leave him strapped for a date. Yet, he couldn't make that compulsive twinge in his heart go away. Now, it was twitching as though in seizure.

"If she doesn't come out soon, I'll-"

"You'll what, Danny?" inquired a feminine voice, "drive off and go to the prom dateless?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Uh...uh..." All of what Danny had planned to say became jumbled in his mind. He hid his bouquet behind his back. His mouth dropped open involuntarily, and the boy felt the drool begin to accumulate, much to his chagrin. He knew she was pretty; he'd perceived that in his freshman year. But now, she was a gothic goddess.

"You can stop your dog imitations anytime, Danny. And answer my question," Sam said, smirking. However, as her mind fully processed the scene before her, she turned away quickly, feeling her cheeks begin to burn.

Finally regaining his wits, Danny retorted, "Yeah. What with my good looks, I'd have no trouble breaking some handsome couple up and stealing the dude's date."

"Haha, Danny. Ha. Ha." Sam was at once happy with and disappointed by her date's blaise response. At least nothing embarrassing happened, she reasoned.

"Hey, I- Ow!" The roses reminded Danny of their existence by jabbing into his thumb as he shifted his grip toward the opened bottom of the bouquet.

"What's wrong?"

"Um...here!" The young man, nerves shot, threw the bouquet at Sam, who barely managed to catch it before it struck her on the face. Stunned, the girl stood there silently for a moment.

"Thanks, but it didn't have to be airmailed to me."

"Right. Now who has a lame sense of humor?" Danny lightened up at the change in the mood.

Their interchange, which was just becoming comfortable, was abruptly interrupted by two looming figures' appearance at the door.

"Danny Fenton, is it?" The scrutiny in the dad's voice sent shivers up the teen's spine, and worsened when both parents scanned him up and down. However, he'd been prepared for this, and quickly recovered.

"Yes, Mr. Manson, Mrs. Manson. Pleased to see you again," Danny replied, with a hint of sophistication, and a subtle bow.

"Hmph." Sam's mother seemed taken aback, especially as her eyes fell on the spray of roses her daughter was clutching, but her father was a tougher sell.

"Will you get my daughter back before curfew?"

"Absolutely."

"And take good care of her?"

"Yes. I will make this night the best of her life, Mr. Manson, I promise. And no hijinks."

"Well," the father said, after finding himself unable to come up with anything wrong with Danny's presentation, "You'd better be being truthful, young man, or we'll see to it that your life is miserable forever."

"Yes, Mr. Manson." With that, Sam's parental units withdrew into the home.

"Sorry, Danny." My parents are out to ruin me, Sam thought, I'll be lucky if he doesn't skip town.

"It's okay, Sam. They're just worried for you."

"By the way, since when have you been trying to please my parents?"

"Since I had the nerve to ask you out. Didn't you hear what they said?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Are we going anytime today?"

"Yep," replied her date, walking over to the black limousine he'd rented, holding open the door and making an extravagant sweeping gesture, "Your carriage awaits."

"My carriage?"

"Yeah, the surrey with the fringe on the top."

AN: So, how was it? Man, I find myself writing D/S stuff, and I don't even like D/S. A testament to its power, I suppose. Props to anyone who knows where the song came from. The last line is a dead giveaway. I went overboard with the description of her dress, I know. That was an exercise in descriptive writing, which I probably failed. And the prolific use of pronouns was intentional; I hate using phrases like, "the gothic girl." This is a sappy romance story, and well out of my normal domain (angst, mostly), so it is of a lower quality; please don't rat on me for that. I know this probably sucks. Flames will be used to melt plastic and emit noxious fumes. If I don't get reviews, I won't post any more.