My Angel, by Cordy69
Cordelia had to be a Princess. No, she has to become my Princess. Not that Irish men often believes in Fairytale but look at this healthy glow!
I am not a man used to ponder on details, but she is simply made of awesome. Her luminous eyes sparkle with intelligence and mischief. And that, any Irishman will stand behind. And her mouth, so beautifully adorned, no matter the time of day has to have been made for me... I come just thinking of it on me, any part of me, you disgusting bastards!
Come on Man! Give me a pint and I'll tell you more about my own personal Angel... Well if you're jealous you don't have to stay asswipe.
Yeah, as I was saying, she also have these long fingers, nails painted firetruck red, you can't miss them. And when she touches you, you wish she'd apply more pressure, you want to see the marks those nails will leave on your naked skin. Okay, I may take my dreams for reality but honestly you'd do the same.
Just picture yourself spending days on end looking at her magnificent legs, and the fuck me pumps encasing her little feet and strenght of a cheerleader at the top of her shape behind it and tell me you don't want to be in the cradle of her tighs... Come on, say it. I knew you wouldn't. No, I don't want to place a bet. Every hour or my life is a stupid bet. I never know how much time I have, I do not want her to be entangled in my mess.
Now, if we were to have a one night stand, every night, and not call it a relationship; that's what I'd call a win-win situation. Of course it's not going to happen, my Cordy is way to classy for this.
And Doyle finally shut up. He stares at his beer, imagining the sexy girl in his arm, as she is in his heart. And, he prays that one day she will be his personal Angel.
Written for my 10th entry in the Spring Story Tree 2011 at Whedonverse and Beyond (http://www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php?p=84135#post84135)