A/N: The name of this fic came from the song Thumbelina by the deliciously goregous group Nightmare of You. The song is so delightfuly dirty that I couldn't help but name my fic after it (that...and the song probably made my fic more..dirty.).

Anywho, this is my first fanfic in the Danny Phantom fandom. I've wanted to write this for a long time, but I never could get my bum in gear. Couldn't until the most fantabulous Du-lady (Discordian Samba) and I talked over aim and I bothered her about EVERYTHING.

Thanks for putting up with me, Du-lady. This one-shot is dedicated to you.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Danny Phantom...let's just say it wouldn't be PG. XD

Thumbelina

And every morning she would wake up beside him, hair tangled and sticky with sweat.

She would sit up, cringing at the sunlight streaming through the split in her velvety curtains, pulling some of the violet sheet they had been wrapped up in over her chest as she looked down at him. He would be beside her, curled next to where she had been lying, dark hair fanning over her pillow. Her heart would tighten as she watched him, in this rare moment of relaxation for him.

It would quicken, her ungreatful heart, the unsatisfiable appendage beating wildly as her eyes would trail down his musculature, his arms, his stomach, trailing to where the smooth flesh would disappear beneath the folds of purple fabric. Her memory would be jerked back to the previous night, and a fiery blush would spread across her cheeks.

He would have come into her room, broken, bruised, exhausted. She would set him on her bed as he went through the de-transformation of his other self, white replaced with black, green with blue. His injurys were never too bad, a few bruises, a few scrapes, things that would be cleared up by morning. She would dab the open wounds with alcohol, trying to make herself useful. He would reach up, his fingers catching her wrist, drawing it away from his cheek, or whichever part of his body that it had been pressed at.

Her eyes would always be averted, her cheeks red in embarassment or shame at her inability to provide adequate help in his fights. He would touch her chin gently with a finger, drawing her face up to his. His eyes would catch hers, the deep blue that made her feel as if she were drowning cutting into her own violet, and she would flush deeper than before.

Slowly, he would whisper soft words to her, his voice a low murmur that made the room seem hot. The air would still as she would, and she would whisper back, stuttering, her body aching. His lips would catch hers midsentence, and her eyes would slide shut as he drew her close.

And soon, they would be on her sheets, fingers roaming, her offering her body up in love, providing comfort to the one whos battles she wished she could fight. She would feel tears stream down her cheeks as they lost themselves in each other, sometimes only hers, sometimes mixed with the salty sweet tears of her lover.

Afterwords, they would lay together, curled together, whispering once more. Talking, touching, tasting. And it would be like that they would drift off together into a dreamless absolution, bodies pressed close. That was the way she would find herself every morning. Pressed together.

And so she would sit up, watching him, waiting for him. And he would wake slowly, eyes fluttering open, half lidded and cloudy with sleep. He would look up at her, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he would whisper her name in that raspy sensous voice that would make her want to fall back against him and stay forever, though they both know she had to be at work in an hour.

"Sam..."

-END