Fetish

By Berry's Ambitions

A/N: I really wanted to write for this pairing and this is the outcome. XD I don't write a lot for Stinkie (although I do love the character) so I hope I managed to do him justice, seeing how popular he seems to be on here. The fic is intended to be set four years after the movie, so Amber's quite a bit older here and less of a judgmental bitch as a result.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Casper.

Subtle. Stinkie McFadden had to be subtle about this, and there was absolutely nothing subtle about staring like a deer in the headlights.

Oh, but how hard it was not to.

He'd shown up at Amber's doorstep by request of Kat, who was apparently missing an important piece of Spanish homework of which her friend had gotten hold of earlier that day. Stinkie had already been on his way out for some alone time in the sewers, and he didn't see the harm of doing the fleshie a small favour. Kat had her annoying moments, sure, but she really wasn't as bad as Stretch made her out to be. What was the harm?

Apparently being stunned into silence by when the door was answered by an an attractive young blonde wearing a short, sleeveless black nightgown that left nothing to the imagination.

"Can I help you?" Amber had asked, expectantly arching a brow at the flabbergasted phantom who was levitating before her.

Stinkie had dropped his gaze to the ground immediately, not wanting Amber to mistake him for some sort of pervert, when he noticed her bare feet.

Well shit.

After managing to stammer out his reason for being there, Amber had relaxed considerably, inviting him inside while she went to go retrieve the homework he'd come for.

And now she was back, feet still bare as bone. "Did Kat have any questions about the assignment?" Amber asked, peering at him with those large green eyes of hers.

"Nope," he answered immediately, pretending to look over the assignment. Her feet were clean and pale and smooth-looking, just like the rest of her skin. Stinkie couldn't help wondering what size they were. Eight, perhaps?

"Any reason you decided to pick it up for her?" The stark curiosity in Amber's tone bordered on outright suspicion. "I didn't think you two were all that close."

"We're not," Stinkie said defensively, lifting his gaze to meet the seventeen-year-old's. "But when ya live with someone for four whole years, they start to grow on ya. Half the time you don't even notice."

Amber smiled wryly. "I could say the same thing about you and your brothers."

Rather than processing the comment she just made, Stinkie found himself staring dumbly at her feet again.

Her toenails were trimmed near-perfectly and painted a vibrant shade of pink, while her ankles were slender, with sharply defined achilles tendons. The toes themselves were plump, but pleasantly so. Stinkie had never been a fan of bony toes and he wasn't sure he wanted to meet someone who was -

"Something on your mind?"

If Stinkie could have blushed, he would have, tearing his gaze away immediately. Could he have been any more obvious? Not wanting a confrontation, the ghost kept his mouth shut, letting Amber put two and two together on her own.

She stared at him in bewilderment for a while, crossing her arms. "What? Have you been dead for so long that you forgot what feet looked like?"

So she had seen what he was looking at. Shit, shit, shit. "I just..." Feeling very uncomfortable and wishing he had Stretch and Fatso to back him up, Stinkie searched for the appropriate words. "It's weird seeing you without shoes on because you're always wearing them."

Amber's posture relaxed slightly. "Oh," she said. "I love shoes and all, but they're not exactly comfortable when you're going to bed."

Stinkie let out a long sigh - half from relief that confrontation had been avoided, half from nostalgia. "Sometimes I really miss my feet," he stated forlornly, wiggling his tail to emphasize his point. "That's all. I barely remember what it feels like to have 'em. And yours are... nice."

She glanced at her aforementioned feet, amused. "Nice to see that someone appreciates them."

That was one word for it, he supposed. "Amber," Stinkie sighed, leaning back in his seat, "you don't know the half of it."

~The End~