Disclaimer: I own nothing. Butch Hartman, the crazy genius, owns it all.
Author's Note: I'm not promising anything, but due to Netflix and a recent surge of re-interest, I've found myself writing Danny Phantom fic again. This is going to be a collection of however many short ficlets and one-shots I feel like writing. At any given time it can be complete, but I hope to entertain you even just a little bit before the fire is pushed down again. Enjoy!
Rekindle: A Series of One-shots
October 17, 2010
"I still can't believe you agreed to this, much less planned it," Danny said, his words being breathed into her ear as they swayed slowly to the music.
"I didn't do much of the planning, as you know," she replied softly, sure that he could hear her over the dull murmurs of their guests. The flashes of cameras were going off, she could see the brightness behind her closed eyelids. She ignored this.
"Still," he replied, smiling. "It means a lot more to everyone, don't you think? That we're sharing this with them?"
"Yeah," she replied, a bit reluctant in tone. She reflected the arguing that had beaten her down to agreement. "For my mother to see me in a dress even remotely close to the color white… I think she can die happy, now."
Danny chuckled. He moved back to press a kiss to her forehead, which brought on another onslaught of flashing cameras. So many cameras.
They kept their intimacy behind doors, so to see all of these cameras flashing… it was uncomfortable to say the least. They tried not to kiss in front of family or friends, for saving face or avoiding playful teasing, who knew; however, it seemed more important to let them in on their life as a couple rather than independent people. It was their wedding, after all.
Despite not being able to get some sort of rock band at their wedding—if her parents were paying for it, at least some things would go their way—the music was nice. It wasn't distasteful, nor was it country, so she was able to cope. She had to pick her battles during the planning stages, and this was one of them.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
Sam replied, "The music. The everything. You. Me. How all of this used to be such a pipe dream for me."
"We've talked about this before, you know," he replied.
"We should be dancing, not talking." She knew where this conversation would go, and by doing so they would break the magic between them during their first dance as a married couple. If no ghost dragons crashed their wedding, it would be a grand occasion, however absurd the thought was to a normal human being. Of course a ghost or two would sneak in. She had grown to be almost as famous as he in the Ghost Zone. "The woman that tamed the halfa," they joked. She smiled.
Danny slowed his steps, from the traditional waltz they had been moving in—he had learned after much harassment from the mother of the bride—to sway slowly back and forth. He ignored the catcalls when his hands moved to her lower waist, but grinned when he saw Sam raise a brow at the action.
Sam continued to grip his hand, wrapping her free arm around his neck to pull him closer. She felt as if they were one being, slowly swaying. The feeling was wonderful.
"Mrs. Fenton," he almost purred into her ear.
She knew that tone well, but feigned innocence with a light tone. "Yes, Mr. Fenton?"
Their sultry looks were interrupted by the clinking of wine classes and champagne flutes.
"It's tradition," he sing-songed, leaning in to bestow a kiss upon her lips. She grumbled something about how they weren't supposed to follow tradition down to every little, last detail, but gave in as she smiled into the kiss once his lips reached her own.
The music ended.