Stalkers and Scones

Twoshot. Lonely, bored businessman Vlad Masters came for the pastries and stayed for the cute cashier. Pompous Pep.

~*oOo*~

Huh, boy. I think I'm really gonna enjoy writing this one….;) I got the idea for it when I picked up a book called The Invention of Dessert. I haven't been able to finish it….it makes my sweet tooth perk up too much. :p Nothing to do with either Vlad or Danny…I just wanted to write about something sweet.

Oh, and I wanted to write about desserts, too. *Coughs* My jokes are never funny.

It's just a really brief story though, folks. Draw your own conclusions at the ending. *Shrugs*

Anyhoodle, hope you enjoy. Obviously don't own DP.

~*oOo*~

Vlad Masters' personal life had been moved to the backseat when he'd started making the climb uphill in the business world. Oh, he'd have a simple fling here, a one night stand there, but his focus remained almost wholly on his work.

It wasn't as though he got a particular thrill out of the more mundane tasks such as sitting at an office all day, but he quickly learned to appreciate the rush of risk-taking, of success, of profit. The money in his ever-expanding personal account was certainly nice, but it was only a by-product of success in the commercial industry.

Success meant power. It meant respect and recognition and dozens of people bending over backwards to please him, despite his humble origins. It meant that doors inaccessible to the vast majority of the public would be held open for him by bowing footmen.

If anything, success meant a solitary glass of wine as Vlad watched the sunset outside of his estate and supposed his existence was validated in some grand way. He was meant to do great things—had set out to do great things, and had accomplished himself far beyond his wildest dreams. There was hardly a man, woman, or child who did not know his name, of his world-renowned company, of his success.

Which meant almost nothing to him now. If there was success, fine, if there wasn't, well, there would be success again. The stock market was in a state of near-constant rotation, and with downs invariably came ups, if he worked hard enough.

He didn't especially care anymore, but that's beside the point.

When Vlad was a man of thirty, he woke up one morning to discover that those he once called co-workers—now called employees—were donning wedding bands, hanging up pictures of sweet, cooing babies in their cubicles, and laughing about disastrous vacations with their friends and family. These were people who worked hard, but typically enjoyed spontaneity and worked only so that they might play later on. Cards and flowers appeared on employees' desks on holidays, and men were forever gathered by the water coolers, discussing what gifts were "appropriate" for their wives on given holidays:

"I mean, do I give her chocolate? She'll tell me that I'm trying to make her fat! But I think she's expecting chocolate, I mean, c'mon, it's Valentine's Day—"

"Do I get her a pair of sexy underpants for our anniversary or will that make her annoyed?"

"Her birthday's next week…I'm thinking I might send her some of her favorite flowers at work, hire a sitter for the kids, and take her out for a picnic. That's plenty romantic, right?"

Vlad worked so that he could work later. For three years straight, he had not left the house past seven-thirty, and he had no spouse or family. He was a slave to routine, and every day was very much like the one before it; the only unknown variable in his day was "What do I have for lunch?" But it would almost invariably be the same sandwich he had his secretary pick up at the local bakery down the street, along with the same raspberry scone.

He knew he was in a rut, but he always wound up regretting the times he had tried to change, from things so small as ordering something else for lunch to buying big and grand cars so that he felt more attractive and desirable. He just so happened to really, really enjoy his favorite meal, and he just so happened to feel hopeless when he tried driving his expensive cars to work. Certainly these cars got a lot of attention, but he got the very strong opinion that men just ogled his car for ogling's sake, and the women interested in his cars were a great deal more interested in his pockets.

He had no one he could call friend, and the employees were afraid to chat with him as they would an equal—naturally, as he was their boss—and had very few people with whom he could relate to. He owned a yacht and had vacationed in nearly every country in the world, but his desk remained unchanged for holidays, from his birthday to Valentine's Day. There was no one for whom Vlad particularly wanted to spend his money on, to spoil, to plan surprises.

Work was humdrum. But home was worse, because there was never anybody waiting for him.

~*oOo*~

One day in early summer, a change came whether Vlad liked it or not, and he most decidedly did not; his secretary of nine years had requested a few weeks off for maternity leave. He hadn't liked it, but he'd had to agree to it; Desiree was the best assistant he'd ever had, and he didn't want her to seek employment elsewhere.

But the girl she had left him with—a young, stuttering intern whose name was Dora—was the most grossly incompetent woman Vlad had ever had to deal with. She was a nervous, twitchy girl who was very absentminded and would stop midway during one task in order to complete another, and would quickly forget her previous responsibilities. She got Vlad's usual coffee order wrong practically every day, and Vlad felt annoyed that he could not shout at her as he wished; the girl's eyes would well up at the drop of a hat.

She didn't file things neatly, and was forever digging through her desk or through her computer for some important document that was needed right that moment. She messed up Vlad's work schedule, so he had to struggle to complete deadlines, and perhaps worst of all (ridiculously enough), she could never remember Vlad's lunch order, even when the silly girl wrote it down.

The fourth time this happened, Vlad stared sullenly at the bag on his desk and considered walking to the office next door and telling Dora she was fired. Oh, there would be waterworks alright, but he was far past caring. This was silly and completely unprofessional; he needed Desiree, who knew what he wanted before he asked and was quiet and proficient at everything she did.

He turned the wrong, wrapped sandwich around in his hands, and it occurred to him that he had never once visited the shop which he so regularly ate from. His frustration turned to bemusement, and he glanced out of his window. It really was a rather nice day outside, and he supposed he might as well satisfy his curiosity about the little place Desiree had found while buying his preferred lunch. It might give him time to consider whether or not he should expel Dora from the company altogether.

With that settled, Mr. Masters tugged on his suit jacket and strode out of the building into the sunshine.

~*oOo*~

As soon as the hot air hit him, Vlad inwardly groaned. Splendid. He couldn't bring himself to take off his jacket however, even though he was sweltering inside of it. It seemed the universe was out to punish him every single time he strayed from his routine, which was comforting as it was annoying.

He didn't feel any better when he reached the place, checking the map on his phone to confirm. Yes. The place is really rather dingy, old, and homely—at first, Vlad's nose wrinkled at the sight of the little bakery/restaurant huddled among two brighter looking buildings. But he really was hungry, so he stepped inside, hearing a little bell quaintly ding! as he did so.

The place was nearly empty; there was only one youth on duty behind the counter, next to a glass display of several sweets and baked goods, all neatly lined up in rows. The boy's blue eyes swiveled upwards at the noise, and a smile lit up his face.

"Hey, there," said the employee, as if he'd been waiting for Vlad all day. "Welcome."

The earnestness took Vlad aback for a split second, then he stepped forward. He thought he could see a row of his usual raspberry scones. Before he could open his mouth to order, he noticed that the youth was staring at him, and he turned to look at him.

His mouth dried a little, but he brushed it off; the teen really, really wasn't that bad looking; peach-dusted skin with black spiky hair and tourmaline eyes.

But, as Vlad didn't make a point of ogling teenage boys, he let it go.

He realized that the boy was speaking and refocused his attention.

"Dude. Um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but aren't you melting out there?"

Vlad blinked and shook his head. "Well, I—it really isn't—"

"It's going to be a hot week, pal. Better dress lighter or you'll melt like a snowman!" exclaimed the boy. "You'll be nothing but a puddle and a suit lying on the streets, if you don't evaporate immediately. You know, I wonder if it's hot enough to actually fry an egg on the sidewalk—have you ever wanted to try?"

"I—"

"Going back to what I said about snowmen, you know I've only ever seen snowmen wearing a hat or scarf or tie or something. That makes me sad—I'd love to see a suit jacket on a snowman, but I guess you'd wreck it pretty quickly that way…maybe if you bought one from the thrift store or something it wouldn't be so bad, but I guess you'd only go to that trouble if you liked your snowmen particularly well dressed. But anyhow, you look hot mister—real hot," he drawled out playfully. "I mean, you're sweating and stuff. I hope you have AC where you work."

He turned expectantly to face Vlad, who was still gaping at him. His heart had dropped into his stomach with the boy's teasing.

"So, what can I get for ya?"

Vlad gawked at him for a moment more, and then shook his head. Funny, the boy had been rambling so much about nothing, he was having trouble voicing his order, though he knew it by heart.

"Ah…turkey on whole wheat, tomato, spinach, onion, white cheddar, and mayo on one side, no pickles. And one raspberry scone, if you please."

"Someone knows what he wants," mutters the boy, and Vlad sees that the name on his badge says 'DANIEL.' Smiling, he rips off the paper with Vlad's order and bustles into the deli side, humming slightly as he prepares the meal. "Raspberry scone, huh? Personally, I like the orange ones the best, though nothing beats the éclairs. You gotta try one sometime. Best thing ever."

Vlad smiled slightly; he couldn't help it.

"You sample the desserts?"

"Hey, only the ones that are broken!" exclaimed Daniel defensively. Then, he winked. "My co-workers think it's real funny how so many happen to be broken on my shift."

The smile grew, and Vlad chuckled softly as the clerk wrapped up his sandwich with the little scone. But it appeared he wasn't done; he approached the frozen cappuccino machine, and began to pour some out into a little cup.

"One sandwich, one scone, one iced coffee…"

"But I didn't order any coffee," Vlad said with a small frown. Daniel smirked.

"On the house today, buddy. I'm not about to send you out there so you can die of dehydration and stuff. It tastes pretty good with the scone, but again, I gotta recommend you try the orange scone. Though the chocolate chip muffie tastes even better and I'd live on 'em if I could." He winked again as he grabbed a black marker. "Name?"

Vlad just looked at him, still looking flummoxed. "Er…Daniel, I'm the only one here, so there' s no risk of you giving me the wrong order—"

"Don't care, still gotta do it," said Daniel good-naturedly. "And call me Danny. Everyone does."

No. "Surely you must know me," said Vlad with a smirk, deciding that it wouldn't hurt him to divulge in a little fun, especially since Daniel was playing. "Everyone does."

Danny whistled. "Wow. That's some big talk. But I never forget a customer," he said warningly, wagging a finger in Vlad's direction. "And I've never seen you before."

Vlad looked at him blankly. He had been on several magazine covers, hundreds of newspaper articles, was better known than the president of this country—and Daniel did not know him. He searched Danny's eyes to see if the boy were playing a trick on him, but what he saw was honest naivety.

Daniel did not know him.

"Masters," Vlad said at last, smiling contently. Daniel pouted.

"Aw, c'mon, are you really gonna make me guess?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Danny mock-huffed. "Uh, Aaron? Adam? Austin? Babar? Barney? Bartholomew?"

Vlad laughed. "If you insist on running through the alphabet, we will be standing here for some time."

"Oh…" Danny colored and shuffled slightly, looking away. "Uh, sorry about that. I'll ring ya up in a sec." He scribbled something on the coffee cup, then typed in the amount into the cashier. After Vlad paid him and Danny gave him his change, the boy gave him a cheery wave. "Come back soon and chat!"

The boy must have been truly bored…

But as Vlad walked back to his office with his lunch in hands, he found that he could not stop smiling broadly. His odd little exchange with Daniel had been rather…fun, in a strange way. The teen was something rather unusual, quaint even. He supposed that the boy was hardly like such when business was faster, but he somehow got the feeling that that wasn't the case. He supposed he'd have to visit again and see for himself.

When he reached his office and Vlad enjoyed his meal, he checked to see what Daniel had written on his cup and choked.

To Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome Business Guy Whose Name I Don't Know

Love From Danny ^o^

~*oOo*~

There had been a bit of spring in Vlad's step when he'd gone to work the next day. He'd traded Dora for another girl named Lydia, who was rather morose and gloomy, but she got the job done well enough, though she was nowhere nearly as effective as Desiree. When she'd asked him what he wanted for lunch, Vlad had told his assistant for the first time "No thanks, I'll go out and fetch it myself."

As Daniel had predicted, the day was hot, but Vlad had persisted in wearing his hot suit, wondering if the boy would rib him about it again. Then, he wondered whether or not the boy was working that day, and this worried him.

But his fears for naught; he entered into the bakery again with the bell dinging softly, and Danny's eyes lit up and he grinned when he noticed the businessman, though he was still speaking to his current customer, a fretful looking old woman.

"—they say it's good for your joints, so hopefully this will help some," said the boy gently as he pushed over a steaming Styrofoam cup over to her. "Get well soon, kay Ms. Britts? And be careful," he warned, wrapping a few napkins around the cup. "It's hot. Don't want to burn yourself now."

The woman smiled and said a soft word of thanks before she waddled outside; Vlad stepped forward and gave the boy a teasing smile. "Well now. And here I thought I was the only one in your life. I thought I was special." He was only half-joking.

Danny feigned fainting. "Oh! Oh, Mr. Something-or-other-Masters, you caught me. But it isn't what it looks like. She's just a friend, I swear!"

"Sure, sure…." Vlad snorted. Danny smiled.

"C'mon. Right now, you're the only guy I'm interested in. What can I get for ya, pal?"

Pal. Buddy. When was the last time anyone had spoken to him so nonchalantly? "Iced coffee," he purred, not missing Danny's grin, "Turkey on whole wheat, tomato, spinach, onion, white cheddar…"

"Same as yesterday? Not very adventurous, are ya?" asked Danny as he scribbled down the order. Vlad felt a momentary rush when he realized he remembered. "But what about the scone?"

"Raspberry, of course."

Danny feigned being stabbed. "What, again? You do realize we make other stuff, right?"

"Of course. But I'm a man of habit."

Danny leaned forward, looking interested.

"Then—uh, does that mean you'll be coming back?" he asked, eyes wandering to the floor for an awkward pause. Then, Danny's hand was on his hip and he had lidded his eyes sultrily. "Gotta warn ya, I get pretty attached to my regulars. And you come and visit two days in a row? That's as good as a commitment to me, buddy."

The boy was remarkably slender, but he had a decent bit of muscle…was he an athlete? "Considering this is my favorite place to dine, I am positive there will be no problem."

"Really?" asked Danny, a pleased smile appearing on his face. "Aww, now you're making me blush. But I gotta go fill your boring order, so I'll be a minute."

Vlad was about to argue that his order was perfectly fine, and not boring, but the boy had already wandered off to prepare the meal, quickly wrapping Vlad's usual in a bag before approaching the cash register. Vlad noticed that he scribbled something again on his coffee cup before he did so. "So, that'll be $5.28."

Vlad paid him. "Do you work here full-time?"

"Me? Mmm, sort of kind of—I don't work on weekends. Summer job. I got some bills to pay."

"What sort of bills?" Vlad asked with a laugh, expecting to hear that the boy was saving up for a game station or something of the sort, but was startled to see a hint of sadness and wistfulness enter the boy's eye. Before he could say another word, Danny had handed him his food with a bright "See you soon!"

Dismayed that he had done something wrong, Vlad slowly moved away, as he realized there was a line behind him. He turned around his cup to read To Mr. Hot-Hot-Hot Business Guy Dude Whose Name I Still Don't Know. Don't Melt Away, Now! ;)

Love From Danny. :D

~*oOo*~

It was pathetic, Vlad knew, to look forward to his brief little chats with the cashier the way he did. But when he got up in the morning, rather than thinking about the portfolios of work that needed be done and the phone conferences he had to finish, he daydreamed about tantalizing brushes of skin when Vlad paid for his daily meal, when Danny would nonchalantly tease him or comment about a bird he'd seen that morning or bring up some strange bit of snippet of conversation when the bakery wasn't crowded.

Vlad found himself impatiently wishing for lunchtime at work, and not typically due to a hungry stomach, though he supposed hunger played some sort of role in it. Though he was very often annoyed at the rush the business would get around noon—Vlad was not a man who was much accustomed to waiting for anything—he waited as long as it took for Daniel to serve him, occasionally allowing someone to cut in line so that they could go to the next available register, and he could get Daniel's attention for a moment.

But he wasn't the only one keen to chat with Danny; the boy had a naturally open, magnetic sort of pull to him that made people want to spill their guts around him and simply be around him. When a teary-eyed young teen had told Danny that she had just broken up with her boyfriend, Danny had actually walked out behind the register and hugged the girl before adding a scone to her meal, free of charge.

Vlad found himself glowering at the girl as he ate his meal later that day in one of the bakery's spindly chairs, heart consumed with jealousy. There was always the counter between the two of them, preventing Vlad from just reaching out and taking the boy home with him. He liked Daniel, liked the way the boy made him feel. He made him feel normal, liked, expected. He liked the sometimes strange little notes that Danny would leave for him:

To Mr. Can't Think Of Anything Else To Order But Still Has Well-Conditioned Hair So It's Probably Okay Business Guy

Love, Danny ^_^

To Mr. Business Guy With Hot Suit Though It Must Suck To Be You When Outside

Love, Danny 8)

To Mr. Business Who Still Won't Tell Me His Name But Still Has A Voice That Makes Me Crazy All Over

Love, Danny :)

To Mr. Slightly Tired Looking But Still Handsome Business Guy: Cheer up! :(

Love, A Concerned Danny

He kept the cups after he'd finished with them, tracing over the parts where Daniel had left his love.

It was a bittersweet feeling, realizing that Danny regularly wrote little messages every now and again to other customers. But on closer observation—not that Vlad was peering over the customers' shoulders or anything—Danny never wrote anything beyond the sweet little nothings to other customers, such as Get Well Soon or Have A Nice Day. The cups always wound up flung in the garbage, and it bewildered Vlad as to how someone could do that.

It cheered him when he realized that he was the only one Danny wrote messages for. No matter how busy the teen was, he always stopped when filling Vlad's order of iced coffee and scrawled him a quick little message.

How old was the boy? He didn't know, and that worried him, but he found himself thinking about Danny more and more often as the weeks went by. It seemed highly improbable that anything could ever come out of their little tryst—but if the boy were of legal age, than he was free game if there was no one Vlad had to chase away first.

~*oOo*~

Vlad now strode as quickly as he could to the restaurant, even as sweat dripped down his brow and he at last called it quits and took off the hot jacket.

His heart would pulse a little bit at the sound of the bell, and again when Danny's eyes would flash to him, and that smile would come. It made warmth blossom in the pit of Vlad's stomach and spread throughout his body, even after he'd stepped into the air-conditioned building. Seeing Daniel made his pulse surge before a distinct calm settled over him, making it easy to elegantly swagger in. Teasing him was fun, as Daniel was always full of coy and playful banter.

One afternoon, Vlad visited the shop, pleased to see that the bakery was having another fairly slow day. There was only a man and a little girl ahead of him, though Daniel was chatting to them animatedly, holding out two plates of cake. One of them had a lit candle stuck in it.

"—so blow hard and make a wish!" said Danny cheerfully. The man took the plates with a hearty thanks, but the little girl peered up at the teen from behind her father's leg.

"What's wrong with your face?"

"Daisy!" her father scolded. "That's not very nice."

Vlad frowned and stepped closer. Danny smiled, but it was not his usual warm, infectious grin. He turned slightly, and Vlad could make out a distinct purple bruise on his cheekbone and a slight puff to his lower lip, as if it were swollen.

"'snota problem," he said, as the two sat down. He snorted when he saw Vlad. "Hey, it's you again. Y'know, I'm startin' to feel like your wife, making you sandwiches every day."

Vlad ignored the warm rush of blood to his face. "Daniel, what happened to you?"

The boy glanced away. "Nothin'."

"Nothing?"

Danny still wouldn't look at him. "Just bumped into a wall last night. It was really dark."

The boy was lying.