Work Text:
Dynamite
by Pirate Turner
There was no denying that she was a woman of high maintenance, he thought as he watched her sensual walk that begged -- no, not begged, Sparkle had never begged for anything in her entire life -- demanded the attention of every male who even partially existed. She was the cream of the crop in every definition of the term when it came to females, but she would also sooner die than suffer the indignity of one broken fingernail. Her nails did not define who she was; they couldn't even begin to come close.
She was dynamite wrapped in a tight, little package of sensual curves and fatal seduction, and she was all his. Ganymede purred in contentment as he watched her walk, his long, gray tail swishing in time to her steps. She could tap dance on him at any time in their long existence, and he would always be appreciative even if she never knew just how much he did appreciate and lo-- care for her. His purr grew louder, calling her to him, as he refused to allow himself to think any more serious thoughts. Her every curve swayed as she walked toward him, and her rhythm was met not just by his tail's thumps but also those of his heart.
The End