smallfandomflsh | Golden Girls, Blanche/Dorothy, #124: Shower, KatLeePT

Title: Merry Christmas, Pussycat
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Characters/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy, Blanche/Men, Sophia, Rose
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: #124: Shower
Word Count: 1,732
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.

"Blanche, I don't believe you! This is low even for you!" Dorothy almost shrieked.

"Oh, don't worry, Dorothy. I'm sure somebody will put their keys in your stocking."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what point are you trying to make? You're too angry over a little, ole game to make sense!"

"A. Little. Ole. Game?!" Dorothy repeated every word through hissing, clenched teeth. Her eyes blazed. "This is degrading, Blanche, and I will not be degraded in my own home!"

"Oh, I don't know, Dorothy. It sounds kind of fun to me." Rose hid her mouth behind her hand as she hiccupped again. The eggnog Blanche had made for their party was delicious, but it oddly made her hiccup more than fizzy sodas. "Although I am confused."

"Like that's anything new," Sophia interjected with a roll of her eyes.

"What are we supposed to do with the man when we go home with them?"

"What do you think, Rose?" retorted Sophia. "Build a gingerbread city! Sing Christmas carols! Play Strip Candy Land!"

Rose looked at her, even more bewildered now. "Strip Candy Land?"

"Shut up, both of you!" Dorothy snapped.

"Sheesh! Pardon an old woman for having fun! Come on, Rose! Let's get out there and get us some men! That doctor's going to be surprised when his key ends up in my stocking!"

"I don't know, Sophia," Rose lamented. "I don't think I want to play Strip Candy Land. Doesn't that mean whoever loses will be playing in their . . . their, hum, birthday suit?" Still, she followed behind her, leaving Dorothy and Blanche alone in the kitchen.

"Now you're getting the picture!" were the last words Dorothy heard her mother say as the door swung shut behind them. She turned on Blanche, who clearly wasn't getting the picture.

"You don't like th' stockings, Dorothy? You can hang yoah own, you know."

"This isn't about the stockings, Blanche, or the nude decorations on your Victoria's Secret Christmas tree -- "

"It didn't come from Victoria's Secret."

" -- or even about this stupid game!" Dorothy threw her hands up into the air. "Every year, it's the same thing with you!"

Blanche blinked. "Ah already promised ya, Dorothy, ya ain't gettin' another calendar this year."

"Not that!" Dorothy groaned, whirled around, and sank into the nearest chair. Her aching head dropped into her hands.

"Then what is bothering you?" Blanche asked, sitting across from her and reaching out for her hand.

Dorothy pulled away. She shook her head sorrowfully as she looked at Blanche. "You really don't get it, do you?" Blanche slowly shook her own head; the massive baubles she was wearing on her ears jingled with the movement. Dorothy sighed. "Every year," she said, "every holiday, you have to have a man."

Blanche let out a breath. Anger flushed her face; her eyes flashed. "Dorothy Zbornak, you knew what you were getting into when you first came to mah boudoir."

"I didn't know you were going to have a man every damn night of the week, even on Christmas, Blanche!"

"Ah always had. Why wouldn't Ah continue to be th' way Ah am? Th' world can not know that Blanche Deveraux beds women!"

"Why not?" Dorothy asked. "The world doesn't have to know, but why can't you put me first even for one night? You didn't even make love for me on my birthday! You were too busy with that fleet of sailors!"

"They'd just come in from th' war, Dorothy."

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me again you were doing your patriotic duty."

"Well, Ah was! When yoah body's a national treasure, it's yoah duty to show America's men what they're fightin' for!"

"That's bull, and you know it!" Dorothy rose to her feet.

Blanche watched her as she paced back and forth several times through their small kitchen before coming to a stop at the counter. She hung her head, and for the first time that night, true concern touched Blanche's eyes. "Dorothy -- "

Her secret lover didn't let her get more out more than her name as she shook her head with great sorrow yet again. "I didn't want to do this. Especially not tonight. Especially on Christmas. This is why I waited so long before I came to you, Blanche, but I can't live with you and see you every day and not want you." She turned slowly to face her. "And I can't keep living like this, either. Ma and I will leave in the morning."

She started to exit the kitchen, but Blanche was on her feet and at her side in an instant. She grabbed her wrist and tried to pull her back into the kitchen. Dorothy pulled back, just as determined not to spend another moment alone with her heart open on the proverbial floor before a woman who would never love her like she loved her. "Dorothy, no, you can't -- "

She shook her gray head. "My mind's made up, Blanche. There's nothing more I can do."

"Isn't there somethin' Ah can do?"

Dorothy's teary eyes met the Southern belle's despairing gaze. "Nothing you're willing to do."

Sophia's laughter suddenly cackled through the air. "That's my daughter standing with Miami's biggest whore under the mistletoe! Dorothy, I know you can't get a man, but if you're going to go Lesbian, you can still do better than Blanche!"

"Ma -- " Dorothy started to say.

"She's right," Blanche spoke with sudden determination in her voice. Dorothy looked curiously back over at her. "It is tradition." Blanche shook her herself, took a deep breath, drew her bosom up higher and tighter, and leaned closer to her lover. "An' Ah would be a bad Southern belle to dismiss tradition." She pressed her lips to Dorothy's. Her tongue slipped smoothly into her mouth and teased her own tongue into reluctant action.

Whistles went up through the crowd of men. "Man," one said, "I need two keys so I can get in both of their stockings!"

Dorothy forced herself to tear her mouth from Blanche's. "Dorothy," Blanche tried to speak to her again as she ripped her hand free from hers. She grabbed at her arm as she moved to flee. But then Blanche cut her eyes at her own men, amongst whom a shower of applause was going up. "This isn't part of the show."

"It isn't?"

"Then why are you kissing her?"

"Yeah! She's not even beautiful!"

"You tell 'em, Glamour Puss!"

"At least get a young, hot thing if we're going to have a threesome, honey!"

"Sophia, it's not very nice to call Blanche a -- a -- that!"

Only Dorothy remained silent as she stared into Blanche's eyes. In her deep orbs, she saw a myriad of emotions flash: despair to make her stay, or at least she hoped that was what was causing that particular emotion, anger at the comments being thrown their way, lust for more of the taste of Dorothy's mouth that still lingered on her lips and in her mouth, hope that she could talk Dorothy into staying again, and, finally, fury as one of her men remarked on Dorothy's age and lack of beauty.

"That. Is. Enough! Yes, Ah kissed her! Ah kiss every night! Ah make hot, passionate love to her while you idiots are laying alone in yoah own beds, touchin' yoahselves, thinkin' o' me, an' wishin' Ah was th' one touchin' y'all! An' maybe Ah have often been that one, but maybe Ah've done it too much. Ya see, funny thing," she continued, glowering at the lot of them, as Sophia and Rose watched in silent, open-mouthed shock and Dorothy stood and gazed in pride, relief, honor, and gratitude, "Ah've been wit' every one o' y'all. Every one o' ya's tried to outdo th' other ones, tried yoah best t' make me want you forever, t' be th' best Ah've evah had, but while you've all been tryin' t' outdo each othah, Dorothy here has always just been tryin' t' please me. She's touched me deeper, gentler, an' in more ways than any o' y'all evah will alone or combined!" She looked to Dorothy, and at last, the men seemed to disappear from before her. "She's touched mah very soul." No man had ever done that as deeply, not even George.

"Blanche, what are you saying?"

"Are you saying you're queer?"

"You're choosing her over me?!"

"Look at her! She's ugly!"

"She's old!"

"She's beautiful," Blanche declared, shooting furious glances at her former suitors, "an' Ah will thank every one o' ya who'd say otherwise t' get outta here an' never set foot in mah home again!"

"That won't be a problem."

"Wait 'til the guys back at the dock hear this!"

Every man in the room quickly left. Sophia slammed the door behind them. Rose stood, still staring at Blanche in shock. Dorothy smiled. She reached out, took Blanche's hand, and felt her trembling. She pulled her against her.

Sophia grinned at the couple. "Merry Christmas, Pussycat and Glamour Puss. Come on, Rose," she instructed, taking the blonde by her hand. "Let's go make some hot chocolate and find out if we have any cheesecake left."

Rose pulled against Sophia's hold, still staring at Blanche. "You mean -- ? Did she -- ? Are they -- ?"

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"But how does that -- "

"I don't know, and I don't want to know. I'm just happy my Pussycat's happy."

Blanche looked up at Dorothy the moment they were alone. She was still trembling from head to foot. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. When she found her voice, it was almost a squeak. "Did I -- Did I really just do that?" She already knew the answer. She had, and she would never live this one down! No man in all of Miami was going to want her now!"

Dorothy cupped her cheek and softly caressed her. She gazed at her with all of the love in her heart. "You did," she said, beaming. Then she pressed her lips to hers softly at first and then with growing power and passion. Blanche melted into their kiss. No one had ever did to her insides what Dorothy did with a single kiss, and as she melted, she realized she no longer cared about those men who had left. As long as she still had Dorothy, her Christmas, her heart, her life was complete.

The End