Author's note: I love this ship. And I got an idea - thanks to that wonderful community 15minuteficlets Live Journal - for a ficlet for them from Goldie's perspective. Not overtly shippy, but still shippy. Hope you enjoy, please review.
Disclaimer: I do not own, please do not sue.
She strode into the bar, golden locks, crimson and jet black satin covering a curvy form, greenish blue eyes innocent somehow despite where she was, pale skin flawless and smooth alabaster, while her lips were colored the same crimson as her coat.
She was a male fantasy wrapped up in a too die for package, seductive without even trying, something in her movements and demeanor almost frightened or shy or nervous or all of the above. She wasn't painted up or dressed like she should be up there dancing with Nancy, but she certainly wasn't dressed like a nun either.
She had that perfect mixture of everything that men liked, and she was walking towards him - the ugliest, toughest brute of the male bunch in Kadie's. She met his eyes, came right up to him, that male fantasy, and she made her intentions plain and clear without coming off like a horny hooker.
She was sweet and beautiful, her smell a pix of perfume and natural scent, and her taste could only be even more divine, and he couldn't resist. She knew how to play her cards just right or she was just a perfect amateur, but he didn't care, couldn't anymore.
She looked at him like she wanted him, like she cared, like she needed him, only him, and he was hers. She gave him the faintest, sweetest of smiles, her hand gentle around his, urgent and gentle, and he was hers.
She led him out, her fingers intertwined with his, her head slightly bowed. She stayed close to him, always near him, almost leaning into him, but it was too subtle to be that. She seemed almost frightened, but he was too gone and too drunk to pick it up. She hid it, leaning into him just slightly, her eyes every so often meeting his and that smile would return to her lips.
She was a male fantasy come to life, and everything more, and she needed him. She needed him more than he knew, and she would prove herself to be better than a fantasy. She did her job well, and tonight would be her best one ever, and she wouldn't regret it.
She was his tonight, free and fully. She was fantasy personified, and she was his, her life in his hands, for the rest of her life, should she die, should she survive. She gave him another smile and saw him return it, nervously, his expression mirroring the feeling in her stomach.
But she was his.