They plagued him, a swarm of poison memories, and toxic dreams. He could feel it, laden in his skin, whites and blacks, peaches and pales which drowned into his own flesh like survivors unto a tempest. A breath became hitched
upon himself, or perhaps, something else; he couldn't exactly tell as of now but he could feel them there, delving deep beyond a boundary that he couldn't tell was his, or the other.
Then it became still.
He watched the rumbling die deep in its own gullet, and swallow itself like it couldn't have existed. And with so, a wild silence came to inaugurate itself Into the equation, like an ellipsis of the heart that triggered them all. Then,
the two became who they were destined to be. Electric blue, and Toxic green, naked and wild as the day he was born. One of peach, and the other pale like the porcelain of any china doll in the finest market. He examined them. Their eyes,
the hair that sprouted blacks and whites from the thresholds from their scalp. Their fingers, down to the callouses, and their sex, supple but modest in its own.
Then just like that, his body was on fire, their hands all over him, burning him with their touches and their tongues. A fleeting gasp left his lips and then he was as naked as they were, and their mouths upon his neck and jawline
suckling and licking like a calf with no sense. They were like animals, relentless and untamed as the two in tandem explored him from his knuckles to his ankles, brushing with their lips, rubbing with their smooth fingers, grinding into
him like a dire wolf that was ready for battle. Metaphorically, sparks flew when he allowed his hands to fall and caress the bare, bony hips, and grind along with the had his hands in his hair, entangling through silvers and
grays, and the other, pressed into his chest, not to distance, but to brace himself for what would come. One of them looked to the other, and looked into Vlad's eyes, and with a slight smirk, he opened his mouth to say something. But
nothing came out.
And that was about when Vladimir Masters had woken in his chaise, neck stiff and dress shirt rumpled uncomfortably through his sides and legs. The shock came like a freightliner to the face, and he sat up, wondering where exactly he was,
and embarrassingly, moved around the erection that pressed up against the fabric of his slacks. That dream, that godforsaken dream, rippling through him like tranquil waters disturbed for the hell of it. He could see it, because it was
burned beneath his eyes, playing back like an old movie in a dark room. Behind his eyes, he could see the solemn smirk of one, and the batting curiosity of the other, and the image burned so hot, he could feel their hands on the deeps of
his skin. Shaking, he gripped the sides of the chaise with emergency, looking in the direction of the window, and then, to the bed he usually woke in. Panic declined like stocks on the market, and he was able to sit up collectively, and
assemble his bearings.
The dream was still wild in his head, and his body, alive with the sickly sweet kiss of am ambiguously secular dream. He watch himself in the mirror across, thinking that he might see one of the figures from his dream, but gave no dice
nor accord to their existence. And even in so, what was he to do? Throttle them like a teenager who was bursting at the seams? He would do no such thing.
He felt disgusting and shameful. He felt angry and filthy, and in his mind, he felt alive.
The clock read 7:01. He sighed ceremoniously.
The stretching of the hallway was more than enough to make him not want to leave the room, and in conjunction with the fact that he had scheduled a breakfast that would be inevitably awkward between Danny and and he effectively pushed
the dream to to the back of his mind. He asked; How do you break through to a boy like that? He thought with intentions of the wise and wicked. how do you enact your will on a fresh teenage mind that ironically developed the powers of a
ghost through the means of Science. How could Vlad get him on his side? How could the man appeal to him?
Stumped, he relinquished the subject slowly down to the depths of his mind, and wildly, inaugurated himself into the hallway. He padded down, slowly but surely, the socks over the fabric kissing the floor with the most minimal of noise.
At the end of the hallway, there was a decorative chaise, and a window that viewed over the forest, starboard to the lake. Vlad turned to his heel, and tiptoed to it, trying not to have a run in with one of his live in workers, and cale
to the edge of the window like a king to his people. Externally, he lamented the dust on the corners of the sill, and the cracks of the paint that showed the weathering of age and years, but internally, he found the view, and the
perchance of a little peace to course through him like a breath of fresh air. Connotatively the affection that the peace brought only could remind him of his bitterness, and with so, he found himself rarely looking out to the edges and
ridges on a early morning.
And just as if it was one cue, the doorway at the end of the hallway a good bit down opened and closed ceremoniously, and a Heavy eyed Danny in his nightclothes stepped out, toothbrush and towel in hand.
The minute the two met eyes, Danny's eyes flashed and he began to resonate his power.
Clearly, he was telling Vlad to stay away.
Eyes locked like a door at nightfall, and the ice in Danny's gaze made his blood pump through cold, unforgiving veins. His guard was up, nobody was around, and the other halfa could launch at him full speed and nobody would need to know.
Vlad could parry him with a kneeblock, counter indefinitely with a ectoblast, and transform on the reel. Danny would rise like sun at dawn, and rocket back at the other, this time firing wild. A ecto-shield would trance from the thick of
Vlad's hands, and with skill he would absorb whatever Danny fired at him, and send it back tenfold. Danny would reel back, through the wall, perhaps phase through if he was fast enough, but collide with the wall after so, and the force
would knock him out cold. Then Vlad would lock him up in the brig, and experiment with his mind until it was malleable in his hands like high end putty.
But he didn't.
Danny's scowl was hot enough to be felt across the room, Vlad could feel him resonating across the room, but instead of starting the battle of ages, he found himself watching the teenage boy pad off into the bathroom, slam the door like
the was trying to have Vlad buy an new one, and turn on the water.
He prayed the boys tactics weren't getting to him.
XXX
Gently, would Danny take his seat at the foot of the table, cutting his eyes to Vlad who was adjacent to him at the Head, in front of a window which let a sinister amount of sun through, courtesy to the billowing curtains that rolled
behind him. He looked iconic, morning sun dancing off his pale skin, one hand holding a glass of something pale, and the other, tapping periodically on the Mahogany/Oak combination cut that he had imported from south america. In his
eyes, Danny could see rage, a quiet rage, but a rage nonetheless, and that shot the twinges of intimidation into the heart of the teenager, who was practically rattling in his seat at his counterparts demeanor. He was resonating, Just as
Danny had done in their meeting in the hallway this morning. Danny supposed it was a getback, and should have known not to bait the bull in the way he had. Vlad's power was much more formal and organized than Danny's erratic ocean of
power,. Danny, who was still demonstrating his power, struggled slightly to stand his ground, or what little bit of it he had left. He cracked a tad, and let a little in, and found the man's aura oppressive, organized, like an execution
date, or a firing squad. And as if he didn't already know, he repeated it to himself; Vlad was not to be taken lightly.
"How nice of you to join us. I take it You enjoyed your shower." Vlad asked as formal as possible as he tipped the glass to his lips and took a ceremonial sip of his water. His eyes glassed over to the boy, who was looking toward his
plate, still setting an example for his power for the young boy to quaver. His power poked and prodded at the other halfa's, but not to an extent to overtake him. He felt Danny's aura die down, not to let Vlad overtake, but to impart
upon him that he knew where he stood.
Danny looked up to the older man, and sighed. "Would it kill you to not ask creepy questions?" He took a sip of his milk, diverting his eyes to the kitchen and beginning to wonder when their food would make an appearance. He felt Vlad's
power die down a little, as the older man rolled his eyes. Danny shot him a playful smirk. Vlad wasn't all that up for it.
"Don't start with me. Its too early." Vlad replied, slightly defeated. He recalled his oppressive aura back into himself completely and shifted his positioning in his chair. He avoided eye contact, watching his mouth after that snide
comment from the other boy, which created such a thick awkwardness between the two he was almost able to cut it out of the air and spread it on some toast.
Almost on cue, the cavalry of the kitchen (as he like to call them) burst open from the double doors of the kitchen, in their arms, a three course breakfast. The First course was the general, down-home pancakes and Bacon, Which Danny
wolfed down like a starving man. Second course, The generic scrambled eggs and hash browns. Vlad watched the boy take to the food like a bat out of hell, and wondered if he'd have to buy out a buffet chain to feed the boy. Hell, how did
Jack and Maddie kept the boy fed?
Third course, cornets and fruit, and guiltily, Vlad's favorite part of the meal. He watched Danny with glassy eyes across the room, who was too busy trying to figure out how to properly eat the cornet. Did he eat the fat end first? or
did he eat the skinny end first. Vlad watched him take a deep breath after a minute or so and opt to take a bite out of the fat end, an internal gasp coming to him upon realization that there was chocolate on the inside.
Slightly disgusted and amused, Vlad ordered two more on his plate. They were gone before they touched the porcelain.
Ignoring Danny, who he hoped was occupied with his food for the moment, Vlad pulled his phone from his pocket to check his daily schedule.
He had a choice. On one hand, he could go to work alone, and sit at a desk all day and do something akin to signing papers and masturbating, or he could "Work from home." Like he would prefer, and overshadow a few employees to get them
to do his work for him. Vlad cut his eyes like vegetables for dinner, and examined the boy across the table from him, reading into his actions, and wild tendencies, exonerating slowly upon him to make a third choice. He remembered
talking to his receptionist, Nel, a Congolese woman who had taken care of him for the better part of seven years, that he was looking for an apprentice, purely for publicity. She narrowed her eyes at him, and murmured something in
french, before compiling a list of high end teenage boys, (a girl would cause too much media drama) from wealthy teenage families whose fathers and grandfathers he'd overshadowed to get some funding money for one of his products. But
now, thinking, why waste time, money and etiquette lessons when he was living with the soon-to-be perfect ghost son across the table from him, scarfing down chocolate cornets like a toddler.
But in then lied the problem. How well would Danny fare in the outside, under his jurisdiction. Granted, the teenager had not taken any openings to make a break for it yet, and that pleased him. But the city? Ghost or not Vlad's sensory
powers could only be stretched so far, and the last thing he needed was to have to chase down a rogue ghost boy while he was on his work schedule. Vlad threw his phone on the soft of the place mat, and watched Danny take another cornet,
and scarf it down like an animal.
Across the table, Danny, who had a mouthful of chocolate pastry, caught the eyes of the other man slicing into him from across the way. Carefully, he seized his glass of milk, and washed down the chocolate, wiping his mouth and meeting
eyes with Vlad.
"Don't stare. You're already creepy enough." Danny started.
Vlad rolled his eyes so hard he thought they were going to come out of his head, and then lightly, took a bite of his cornet from its waiting plate. "Come back when you have some new material." Vlad retorted proudly, watching Danny's
eyebrows go up in surprise. He could be snappy when he wanted to.
"I can't believe i got burned by a man in what, his late sixties? With all that gray…" Danny trailed off, hitting a soft spot with Vlad, who now had a hand on his head. Vlad in turn looked over to the boy, and cut his eyes again, using
his powers to lock onto his cup of water, and with a quick flick upward, sent it sailing onto Danny's shirt and pants.
Immediately, the boy got up, sopping wet and disgusted, while the millionaire stifled a laugh that rose in his throat of its own accord. Danny glared daggers at Vlad, who, with a smirk took another bite of his cornet, and watched Danny
turn intangible to dry himself off.
Maybe this could be interesting.
XXX
Late in the day, as the dusk came, Vlad sleuthed through the contours of the library, down through the steel of the laboratory, and he found himself in the back office, a leisure suite of loneliness wrapped in a cold steel exterior.
Behind him, was the only window on this level, a westward window that emancipated the small bits of sun that the day left in the sky as cracks along serrated purples and blues. Along his desk, the light found the glass top of his desk,
and cascaded along, giving the room a dimness that darkened, but illuminated at the same time. The office itself, was grand in any exposure. The desk, a complementary from the head of the Hexaco oil refinery, was a redwood/sweetgum
piece, taken right out of the office that the CEO sat in. The Chair, and Bookshelves, donations from some Cruise Line that he "Saved from bankruptcy. They gave him their finest pieces, which complemented the Persian rug and the Ottoman
that sat adjacent to his desk, that was a gift from the Glasgow corporation. He reclined, back into the curtains and the sunlight, and put his hands up to his nose, eyeing the wine flute that sat ever so tempting in his visage. It looked
to him, and he looked back, while a slight craving formed in the rear of his throat.
Should he? Would it make the coattails of that dream drown in the red of wrathful grapes, or would it absorb the vigor and vile and use it against him. He was at an impasse. Drink himself Dumb enough to function, or slump in his chair
and suffer.
He supposed he was only human. Well most of him, at least.
The flute came to his lips just as gracefully as he could set it down, and with a deafening gulp, the lukewarm wine coursed into him, and gave him his second wind.
He adored being right.
Ceremoniously, Vlad began with the tick-tacking at the weathered keyboard, slim fingers gliding over letters and numbers as he formulated a bullshit memo on proper procedure for the inauguration of the new "apprentice" into his workings
and such. Hmm, he would have Ashlee work and print a schedule that was ultimately, purely for show. Lawrence, he supposed could submit the linings and closings for Danny's measurements for a suit. Perhaps a mid slim, or a modern fit. He
didn't know and he didn't care much right now for that matter. Danelle could handle the boys passport, and papers, and a licence renewal was in order he supposed.
And just when he was deeply engrossed in his work, the dream came back, this time in flashes, before his eyes, blurring out the computer screen. They were there again, writhing, and naked, like a ghost of his past, like the ghost of
someone he had hurt. He almost came to cry out, but with the opening of his mouth, He could feel the lips on him, buying fiery holes in his skin, while pales and blacks, reached lower and lower , and in the nonexistent hands, he became
hard. A hitch appeared in his breath, and wildly, the pumping began. Along him, along his length he found a tepid, slightly hesitant, but admirably full stroking that made him shudder in his loafers. If he took the time to look up, one
would be smiling innocently, and the other, a deadpan from green orbs that pooled upon him like his pants at his ankles. Their hands rubbed through the prickle of hair on his thighs and chest, the stroking continuing, even becoming more
and more fervent as such went on. For a fickle moment, Vlad thought he could feel the lips of one of them, perhaps the black one, on his, but that thought was bet with a tight squeeze around his manhood, and wildly, a few deep strokes
that drove him closer and closer to a closure that he was so destined to meet. He begged with himself, hell, to imply that he pleaded would be right on point, and with so, he felt his climax draw into him like a rod to a reel. The
stroking because short and erratic, but alternated to a long, deep roll with the flick of a wrist that had him biting his lip, and his eyes rolling behind his eyes. He was close. Closer than close. The white one took his hands and lips
from Vlad's neck, to help his counterpart with his nether regions, and for a moment, he thought he heard them whisper something to one another, but like always, their eyes were the only thing that he could distinguish, one of ocean, and
the other of poison.
His chest hitched, and his toes curled, and a brooding silence came as black spots dotted his vision like bullets in a bad neighborhood, and for a moment, he felt his ears pop, and everything go as deaf as could be, before he released
himself all over the his slacks, and the console of his desk.
He was back in his right mind.
The two figures are gone.
And in the cooldown of the heat, he realized how wrong he was. How he had lied to himself.
The figures weren't there, they were never there, it had all been a fleeting masturbatory springing, rationalized by two sexual deviants that haunted his dreams. The reality? His pants were around his ankles, His manhood was being choked
by his right hand while his left was feeling along his stomach and lower chest. In the reflection of the table, was the thickness of white sperm that had been shed because he couldn't control himself. Disgusted, he let go of himself,
singing and wiping off his hands with some tissues that were placed to the right of his desk, while trying his best to get to stench out of the air.
Was he cracking? No, he was Vlad Masters; Billionaire extraordinaire. He Was Vlad Plasmius, soon-to-be ruler of all that ever was and all that ever could be. He wasn't cracking, he simply had a fault in himself. A fault that could be
fixed as easy as anything else; with a little training and a little wine.
Shameful.
At the foot of the stairs, one of the maids asks if he is okay, and if anything is wrong.
He replies with a venomous "Yes."
His mind can formulate but a single phrase as he comes down from his internal high, and with chapped lips he whispers it into the sperm stained reflection of himself in the glass mirrorage of his desk.
"Absolutely Disgusting."