Title: Inoculate
Fandom: Danny Phantom
Rating: R
Genre: Romance / Drama
Word Count: 1717
Summary: She was his disease, a filthy little secret he couldn't have her knowing… He didn't have to remember her name, she just had to make him forget about her. VmxEm
Timeline: Pre-Series
Warnings: Nudity / Language / Violence / Angst / The weirdness of the 70's and the fashion disasters of the 80's / Non-cannon continuity / THE MAN IS AN ASS!!
Disclaimer: Danny Phantom belongs to the awesomeness that is Butch Hartman, and not to the fangirlishness that is moi. The sick and contrived plot of this story, however… Well, that belongs to me, and not to Butch Hartman. But you already knew that, right?
Notes: Not for the easily sickened. Even though it isn't ridiculously descriptive, it still might make you blush, so you've been warned, damn it! Anyway, many thanks to the peoples who inspired me to write this – Mostly, I believe, would be my newfound addiction to late night Danny Phantom episodes and even later run-ins with the folks at the Danny Phantom Livejournal Community. This one-shot – And it's going to stay that way – Was written on a late Thursday night whilst watching Blood+, and was conceived in a phone call between me and my younger brother, whom I believe would laugh at my inane attempts at a seriously twisted romance not involving two men. That said, I wish I could find more college!Vlad centered fanfiction to read late into the night… sigh Up next, expect something with the Hunter and the Pop Diva. 333
Coming Up Next: Clockwork is a real fink, giving in to bouts of aural voyeurism, with poor Daniel not having a clue he whacked off to an omnipotent audience.
Listening To: "RemEmber" – Ember McLain / "Lithium" – Evanescence / "Last Kiss" – Pearl Jam
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He had been looking at her, looking at her far with more intensity than anyone in her entire eighteen years of existence ever had.
"Looking" wasn't even enough to cut it now, what with all that burning attentiveness and chilling intent those icy blue eyes were pouring onto her presence. Was this what being famous felt like?
Not that she was famous, not by a ridiculously long shot – But that was what she was aiming for, wasn't it? To be famous? It was terribly difficult to concentrate with that freezing blue gaze being directed at her…
September night air had nothing to do with the sudden chills running down her spine now…
"You should be careful what you play on a campus like this," She had shivered, of course, at the closeness of the voice and at the warmth of the breath brushing lightly against the back of her neck. Fingers danced lightly against the length of her arms, coming to rest on her pale exposed shoulders. Her grip on her guitar loosened drastically, and a new sense of foreboding was drilled into her head that very moment.
He was dangerously close, in more than one sense of the word, and she wasn't doing anything to stop him. Dangerous, and incredibly stupid. She'd never get famous like this…
"You almost sound like a clingy teenager with your choice of words, my dear…"
Damn him! What was he…
"And you know how I despise clingy."
He was making her stomach hurt. And while the aggravation in her inside was a welcome distraction form his overbearing masculinity, it was also a stark reminder of just how impossibly far she was from being famous. What she wanted was to be famous. Famous.
"Fuck you," She snarled, but the whole damn concept of her snarling at him in a place like this was overrated.
"Now now my dear… Language. No one will want to listen to you sing if nothing but such bitter and clingy," He stressed the word 'clingy' by snaking a hand down the front of her tight black top and squeezing her breast – Damn it, when had he…? "Words come pouring out of that sweet little mouth of yours."
Unhindered, she made to snarl at him again, but the feeling of his other hand coming to rest upon her exposed midriff caused her to loose her breath in a near-silent hiss instead. She was growing to hate the feeling of the male behind her, but while her mind screamed at her to kick his sorry little Wisconsin U attending ass all the way back to campus, her body was stubbornly refusing to cooperate and was, at that very damn moment, rubbing against him in a heated frenzie.
…Fucking shit.
"Well aren't you just in such a rush today…" He murmured a small, annoyingly condescending chuckle against the back of her neck. "Why, I almost think you didn't really wish to sing to me,"
"Shut up. I don't want to sing for you. You just came here uninvited, asshole."
He ignored her. "Of course you didn't… You wanted this," She gasped loudly, arching her back and roughly grinding the back of her head against his chest. He was smirking, she just knew it, and caught somewhere in between the white-hot feeling of pleasure that attacked the place between her legs and the white-hot feeling of royally pissed off that was slowly pulling at her mouth, the pop diva wannabe came to a sudden conclusion.
A sudden conclusion that explained why this man was so damn difficult to ignore.
She was…
"Like that, do you?" He shifted slightly, pulling her closer to him and onto his lap. "But of course you do, I'm terribly good at this, after all." He trailed his tongue over the length of her shoulder, eliciting another moan from the wonderfully sexy blue haired vixen squirming on his lap. Not that he would ever admit to her face that he thought she was sexy, hell no.
"Mas… Mast–" She attempted to choke out his name, but his fingers coming to rest on her nipples and promptly giving them an almost painful pinch quickly made her give up on that endeavor all together. She wanted him to burn in hell so damn bad…
"I certainly hope you don't need to sing tomorrow,"
The raven haired man – Although he did have a single solitary strip of grey running the length of his head – Carelessly turned her over on his lap, ignoring the growl of protest and the flashing emerald eyes wrapped in eyeliner that narrowed at him, slipping the fingers on his other hand into the waistband of the singer's equally tight black pants and wrenching a sharp gasp from her throat. "Because I plan to make you scream."
"I hate you."
"Of course you do." And the devious smile on his face was the last thing she saw before her senses were assaulted by the feeling of the Physic student's lips roughly and almost desperately pressed up against her own, his tongue poking at her mouth and demanding entrance.
She refused him, of course, but a quick flick from the fingers in her pants made her change her mind, and his tongue was soon happily exploring every inch and crevice of her mouth, marking her out as his.
His hands crawled slowly up her stomach, earning themselves a delicious shudder from the owner, and came to rest brazenly on her breasts. He loved feeling her up – Not that he was ever going to tell anyone just how much he liked breasts – And of course now was no damn exception.
He pulled her top off and smiled while she blushed furiously, not wearing a bra at all. "Hmm… Aren't we brazen?" He pulled her closer by her waist and pressed his face against the space between her breasts, sighing in an almost comically contented way.
She squirmed fiercely on his lap, trying to find some way to pull away from the cruel joke playing out in front of her, but all her wriggling did was force the slightly older boy to deftly shift from his sitting position to a more grope-friendly one. She would have rolled her eyes, if they weren't screwed tightly shut.
She didn't have to look at him, at least.
He pulled away abruptly, removing his hands from her all together. She hadn't been expecting it, and found herself falling over backwards. Her head hit the floor with a crack, and she yipped at the sudden sharp pain. He didn't even look at her. No, he was too busy with her pants. The damned asshole!
"I hope you're ready to scream now."
She opened her mouth to tell him to "fuck off", but the sound that escaped from her ruby tinted lips were hardly intelligible at that point. He had dipped his head down and grasped her thighs, the longer locks of his mullet tickling her stomach. Oh God, he was making her scream. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, and her hips bucked to meet each damn thrust of his tongue, despite her earlier reservations.
He finished quicker than she would have liked, and was soon looking up at her, panting and gasping, with the most insufferable smirk dancing on his lips. "Enjoying yourself then, I see." He smiled and placed his hands on his waist. "Now wasn't that better than a song?" He didn't bother to let her answer, instead opting to pull his own trousers off, humming a tune as if giving the Prima Dona some head was a completely normal thing to do.
She looked up at him, emerald eyes barely able to focus on the man before her. Not that she needed to see what he was doing to know what would come next, of course, but…
Another scream wretched itself free from her vocal cords when the college boy rammed himself into her, forcing his manhood into her and proceeding to ram her roughly at an almost leisurely pace, as if this whole damn thing was some sort of bizarrely sick dance. To him maybe, but she was…
He thrusted this way and that, shallow and deep pumps to mix up the pace, before he found the spot that made both he and the rocker chick under him see stars. This was the best, with her screaming under him, her legs draped over his shoulders and her lovely lovely breasts bouncing up and down for his own entertainment.
He savored the mild sensation of pain as she dug her long nails into his arms, her hands clutching onto him as though she would die, her unbridled screams mixing in perfect harmony with the sound of sweating flesh slamming against flesh, the expletives pouring form her mouth…
He was beginning to see white at the edge of his vision, and knew it was about time for him to pull out. She had reached her climax a moment ago, screaming out his first name and almost crying near the end – Beautiful, really – And with a few last thrusts, pulled out from between her legs and shoved himself into her still partially open mouth just as he found release.
He watched as her eyes widened in alarm before shoving him off and coughing violently, in which he took the opportunity to smash his lips against hers and taste himself.
It was positively scalding.
He pulled himself off of her then, having finished his business, and began to whistle as he pulled his pants back up. "Lovely as usual, Amber."
She glared at him form her heap on the floor. "My name isn't Amber, asshole."
She was…
Realization was a bitch. As he walked away without so much as a semblance of regard for her, she realized that he would never know her name, much less remember it.
She was in love with him, and he didn't even remember her name.
He stopped suddenly a few feet down from the road back to campus, and turned to check the watch on his wrist. He had managed to pass the time away until he needed to return to the lab with his dear fat friend, and found himself with a quarter of an hour of free time left.
Maybe, he would tell the third in their group just how much he loved her.
After all, he always remembered her name.
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And there we have my intentionally cruel but very hot one-shot. Feel free to shoot me now, but make sure you review this piece of shit before you stuff me full of lead. Please and Thank you! 333 And in case you couldn't figure this out yourself, here we go!
Characters: college!Vladimir "Vlad" Masters / Ember McLain
Pairings: VmxEm
And like I said earlier, VLAD IS AN ASS. …But I'll love him anyway. sigh Anyway, am I the only person who thinks Ember and Vlad could have had something going on back in their youth? I mean, seeing as Ember must have died around the seventies / eighties, and she appears to be in her late teens to early twenties, and Vlad, who incidentally is also in his late teens to early twenties in the eighties when he went to college… Well, you do the math. 333 Forgive me, Butch.