I saw my girl with the golden touch,
Give them a taste but not too much,
I just can't listen to the words of fools,
But don't give away too much,
Someone will need your golden touch,


The First Golden Touch

He didn't remember their first kiss, not really. He could recall that it had been at her birthday party and that she had been beyond drunk, happy and sad at the same time. But that was it. The taste of her lips or the feel of her mouth were details he just couldn't recall no matter how hard he tried.

How she had been that day at the ice rink though, that he could remember. The way she had moved and acted, the way she had brushed her lips against his cheek. Her expression more one of sadness than anger, as if she blamed herself more than him. And she hadn't screamed or yelled, when they had broken up or, as he saw it, drifted apart. She had just told him that he was still in love with someone else and then walked away.

He'd let her because he had though that she might be right, and by the time he had worked out that she wasn't it was too late. The gap between them had grown too wide. She could be sitting right next to him and be as out of reach as if she were on the other side of the world. Close enough to touch while at the same time being completely outside his grasp.

So at night he would lie awake and try to remember the details of that first kiss. That one perfect moment that, even though he hadn't known it at the time, had been the start of something. Except that it hadn't really been the start, that had come long before with her hand warm and soft against his cheek.

The first kiss they had shared might be a blurred haze, but he could recall that first touch with crystal clarity. How she had followed him, called him on the way he had behaved. She had mocked him with serious eyes and a laughing mouth. Then her hand first on his arm and then on his chest, asking him to tell her in ten words or less how it made him feel.

He told her that it made his skin crawl, and that had been true as far as it went. His skin had tingled under the light cares and suddenly felt two sizes too small as goose bumps prickle up and down his spine. Her hair was whipping in the breeze stray golden strands falling into her face and the urge to brush them away made his fingers buzz and it was only strength of will that kept his hands lightly fisted and held at his sides.

"What about that?" She'd asked, her hand moving to touch the side of his face, her palm cupping his chin. Her hand warm and supple but callused from years spent at the bar and the scent of her skin unlike anything he'd ever known before.

There was amusement dancing in her eyes and something else, something warmer that at the time he couldn't name but now recognises as the spark that has the power to grow into love. He couldn't help the shudder that ran through him as the warmth of her touch seeped into his skin.

He'd wanted the warmth, wanted to cling to it, hold it close and never let it go. He'd wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from his face, her smile was light and teasing, as if he had done something she found amusing.

Then she had been moving away, her hand falling from his, telling him that he was people phobic but not to worry, she didn't think he was incurable.

But she was wrong and the truth was he was incurable because the only thing he wanted was to feel the warmth of her touch again. No one else, just her. He wanted to hear her laugh and feel the silkiness of her hair run through his fingers just one more time.

But he can't because she won't let him close enough anymore. So instead he lies there reliving that first touch and trying to convince himself that if he closes his eyes he can still feel her fingers against his skin.


(A/N) So I've just found Dance Academy, binge watched all three seasons in a shockingly short space of time and now just have to write something for the fandom. Shipping Kat and Christian all the way. Please let me know if you like it as I might have a few more ideas.

Lamanth xx