Title: The Boy in the Bottle
Pairing: Vlad Masters/Danny Fenton (Maybe more…?)
Summary: Vlad Masters is marooned on a deserted island, that is until he finds a strange bottle. And what should be inside but a teenage boy? Alternate universe to the tune of I Dream of Jeannie.
Warning: Slash.
Rating: T?

Chapter One: I Dream of Danny

Like many fics I "write" this was only going to be something that I typed out in notes and then never did anything with. Ever. However, I ended up liking where it went so much that I decided to actually write it. I hope you enjoy it as well. Though I must warn there's no promise that it will ever be finished. Read at your own risk.

Beginning is slow and much like the series I Dream of Jeannie (if you've ever watched). Because of differences in the characters of the two shows though, it will quickly derail from my initial inspiration- aka: watching too much I Dream of Jeannie.

The smooth and tender skin of his feet scraped against the unforgiving stone beneath them. What remained of his toenails that did not chip away painfully with his climbing, piled with the dirt of the small mountain. His left shoe had been lost to him during the tiring swim to shore late the previous night. The right mate to it had been discarded early on for symmetry. Now he longed for the return of both.

He paused on a small landing and undid the buttons of his cuffs, rolling the sleeves of his shirt past his elbows. The heat of a midday's sun was becoming quite unbearable on the tropical island he now unwillingly inhabited. After noticing the tears around the bottoms of his suit pants, he rolled them up as well, just to his shins to prevent further ripping.

At last, some five minutes later, the man finally reached the top of his own private Everest. Holding his hands above his eyes— the long fingers of each shading them at least a little from the sun— he surveyed the terrain of the island, watchful for any sign of civilization.

"Uninhabited," he sighed as he realized that there was nothing in his line of sight save for trees, sand, and ocean. The man sat down after another hopeful moment of scrutiny and dug his palms into his eyes. He was in no hurry to walk back down the mountain, not with the still throbbing pain in his feet. "If I make it out of this alive," he promised himself, "I'm going to buy this island and make a… hotel, or something. I suppose I should be thankful for its saving me, but I believe… it could do with a few more people."

When high noon became too harsh and unbearable upon the heated rock below him, the man decided that it was time to descend. He had seen the occasional movie in his free time and could not imagine himself as the eventual wild man that being stranded had done to the actors' characters. Thus, when he reached the shore again and wanted nothing more than a rest in its sea breeze, he pushed himself instead to work towards his rescue.

He retook his spot on the clear space of beach he had first crawled onto the preceding night. That had been when he was exhausted beyond all reason, but still somewhat hopeful. Maybe he wasn't the only survivor of the plane crash. The pilot or co-pilot could have been near. And perhaps the sand he had collapsed upon belonged to some beach resort that rested just beyond the tropical trees. However, when he had awoken that morning, it became increasingly aware that he was alone, an unfortunate concept only cemented into place by his mountain climb.

Now he would retake what hope could be had though. The man began by grabbing any and all fallen limbs and logs that were not too terribly sun bleached and would better stick out to passing planes or ships. The smaller ones he threw to the side, only wanting to create the biggest writing of "S.O.S." in the sand that he could.

"If this doesn't work," he told himself, "I'll burn the entire island as a smoke signal." He would not see himself growing an unruly beard and unkempt, tangled hair. Either he would leave the island or die in his attempt.

When he had taken all he could from the beach, the man moved further in, under the canopy of trees. Walking for a second or so, he came upon a thick and dark branch nestled between two trees that would work perfectly. It was almost as big as a tree itself. The thing looked to have been dead for some time, and it was his underestimation of its weight that strained his arms and made him drop the wood almost as soon as he had picked it up. As it fell back into its long occupied space, however, there was an odd noise that struck the man's ears. It was the sound of two hard, solid objects hitting, a sort of clinking hum. However, one of the objects causing it was most decidedly not a tree.

Curious, he rolled the heavy log away as best he could. His toes then shuffled through the vine-like foliage that grew along the ground, covering the sand. It didn't take long until his foot met the rounded end of something. Kneeling down, he pulled the entire object from its bed in the sand and examined it. He was at once excited yet forlorn at the discovery of what appeared to be some old decanter of alcohol. The good news in it came from the fact that there must have once been people on the island. Of course, the bad news that held its hand unwaveringly with the good was that the bottle he had just found had rested under the ground, under perhaps years of undergrowth. There was truly no telling how long ago its past owner had left it there.

When he looked to it again though, he noted the vibrant colors upon the bottle and how they had not diminished in its forgotten hole. There was a wider, rounded base to it that carried a theme of green and black all the way to its narrowed opening. Loops and swirls and fans of the colors spread along the bottle, occasionally with the besprinkling of white here or there. The still darkened black, bright vibrant greens, and pure whites made the man think that perhaps the bottle had not been there long at all, not and having preserved its colors in the dirt so well.

At once inquisitive upon the length of its stay, he decided to remove the stopper and sample the smell of however few drops of liquid might still be inside. It would surely give him at least an estimate and whether he should put his faith in it further.

It took three good pulls to finally remove the corked lid from its home. When he had, his nose was almost to its opening when a small stream of smoke began to spring forth. There was no time to even wonder about it, however, when the cloud erupting grew in magnitude and fierceness, adapting a garishly vivid green hue. The bottle fell from his hand, both from his shock and the force pushing against it as smoke continued to bellow forth.

As if the peculiar nature of the wispy smoke could not increase, the man noticed that instead of wafting away and into the sky, the smoke emitted by the bottle floundered over, falling to the ground in a small arc from its source.

Slowly, it began to dissipate, rolling away leisurely like a thick fog stuck in the air. As each tendril detached itself from the rest, however, there became the increasingly apparent and undeniable form of a person's silhouette. The man stared into the smoke, trying to pierce it with sight alone. Then, what seemed like all at once, the air cleared and in its wake there stood before him the form of a young teenage boy, looking back at him with a face caught between unwarranted annoyance and overflowing joviality.

A million and one questions were on the man's tongue, but before he had even been given the chance to voice a single one, the bubbling happiness in the boy won out. He ran to the man— who was still stuck to the spot, baffled. His eyes, as green and luminous as the smoke that had born them, closed in delight as he charged the other, capturing him in a surprisingly snug embrace as he muttered excitedly in a beautiful foreign tongue.

It wasn't until the man had managed to pry the teenager off that he was able to take his appearance in a little better. His hair was a stark white, bright as sun shining on snow, and lighter even than the man's own that had prematurely turned gray some years ago. The short strands fell around the boy's tanned face, framing it in a brilliant contrast. His dark skin, likewise, went on to stand against the white trim of his vest, which itself was a deep black whose satin material barely caught the light. As he continued to hold the mysterious figure at arm's length, he noticed the overall peculiarity of the outfit. It looked like some costume belonging to a Persian harem or the likes. The man was just noticing its completeness, all the way down to the slippers, when the boy's enthusiasm overpowered his fairly tired frame and pounced again, wrapping his thin arms around him tightly.

He tried to pull the boy off once more, glad that his indignant attitude towards the strange person and his continued invasions of his personal space finally helped him settle on a question, a simple one: who are you? When he at last had the other off him a small bit, he opened his mouth to speak. Only he had no sooner taken the breath to do so that teen covered his lips with his own in a startlingly passionate kiss.

The surprise that usurped the man's body stalled him from action for so long that by the time he had the thought to push him away, the boy had already extracted himself and was darting from under the trees. He didn't seem to be necessarily running away from the older man, as evidenced by the animated display he made prancing back and forth along the sand. It was quite a confusing, but endearing, sight to its onlooker.

When finally he stopped in one place for a moment, basking in the sun and extending his arms up to meet it, the man pulled him aside, trying once more to sequester some answers. "Who are you? And what, may I ask, was all of that with the bottle there?"

The irritated expression that had been upon the boy's face for a short time before returned, and he glared at the man before answering in a brief, curt reply, a language that was in no way English. Growling in frustration, the man stared angrily as the teen breathed the fresh sea air greedily into his lungs and massaged his arms as if he could rub the coveted sunshine into them.

A minute or so of this action went by before realization presented itself to the man, reached by remembering the farfetched stories from his childhood. He looked quickly to the grove of trees they had left and ran to it, recovering the painted bottle that had been dropped there.

"You," he called as he raced back, noticing the contented smile as the boy dug his now bare toes into the wet sand of the beach. "You are a genie, aren't you?"

The exotic teen looked at the man in passive annoyance, as if he was lucky to be spared a glance, and pointed to himself before crossing his arms. "Djinn."

Suddenly, a light was turned on in the man's newly bleak existence. Just when he thought that life could not possibly become more cruel for him, the world turned and showered him with good fortune. What luck! Here before him was a genie, his genie. He was more than saved; he was blessed. Anything he wanted was now his with but a couple of words.

In his excitement, it took the man several minutes to work through his priorities. He would need to be rescued first, yes. After that, he could begin wishing for frivolities. "Genie, I wish for a plane," he stated. The boy looked at him and then back out to the sea. "A plane… you know." He sat the bottle down in the sand and extended his arms like the wings of an aircraft. "A plane." His arms raised up and down to simulate flight.

Sighing in a bored manner, the teen looked to him. He muttered something that did not sound at all polite before blinking his eyes purposefully. At once, there appeared a great vulture on the man's outstretched arm. He almost fell back in surprise as a yelp escaped his throat. It took a good many shakes of his arm to do away with the foraging bird, and by the time it was gone, he noticed that his genie had been laughing mercilessly at him the entire duration.

"Not funny, boy," he scolded angrily, his tone forcing the other to somber up. "I want off of this island. I don't care how, just do it." The other only stared at him in confusion, and so he tried hand signals again. "I want me," he pointed a finger to his chest, "off of this island." He then pointed out to the waves and away from where they stood.

The ends of the boy's lips grew upwards in a terribly sly smirk, and the man at once realized his mistake. He did not have even a second's time to take his words back, however, before the teen blinked his green eyes once more. And then he was off of the island, only… he was hovering above the salty waves of the ocean. They came to meet him all too soon as he was dropped into them, fighting at once to swim up. He spit the foul water from his mouth and took in the sweet air as he broke the surface. Looking around, he noticed that he was not too far from his previously occupied island. It was simply further than he felt like swimming, again.

After what must have been several long moments of kicking his legs and tearing through the water, the man finally managed to drag himself back to the sandy shores. He took only a second to catch his breath before charging up to the teen that rolled along the beach, kicking up sand in his fit of hysterical laughter.

Terribly angered, the older man summoned the remnants of his strength and dug his fingers into the boy's vest, hauling him to his feet. "Listen here, son," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "I know you're twisting my words. It ends here." He paused for a minute, wondering how to back up such a severe statement, before it dawned on him. Deviously happy, he said, "I wish you spoke English."

Realizing at once that the joke was over, the boy pushed away from him irritably and crossed his arms, blinking angrily. "What more would you have me do… Master?"

…I just wrote a whole chapter without using a single name. o_o I just like to formally introduce characters before I use their names. Weird, I know. But it's not like you don't know who they are. Haha.