Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Challenge/Prompt: femslashbb: Proposal and prompt_in_a_box: River
Word Count: 1,130
Date Written: 31 July 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
“Blanche,” Dorothy hisses through gritted teeth, “you’re going to get us in trouble! Walking on board -- “
“Walkin’, Dorothy?” Blanche asks with a large, lust-filled smile. “We didn’t exactly walk.”
“Well, dancing then or whatever you want to call it! But coming on board is one thing! That’s bound to get us in enough trouble if we get caught! But this is the Captain’s quarters you’re breaking into!”
“Mah dear Dorothy, do Ah really need to remind you of mah proposal an hour ago, the one to which you so readily agreed?”
“No,” Dorothy says, blushing at the memory of the words Blanche had whispered into her ear as they’d dined together at the little cafe just across the pier. She wants what she promised, but she won’t get it if she winds up in the slammer!
“Besides,” Blanche teases with a shake of her head before Dorothy can further protest, “whoevah said anthin’ about breakin’ in?”
She turns the doorknob leading to the Captain’s cabin, and the door swings soundlessly open before them. Her green eyes sparkle as she looks back at her exasperated lover. Dorothy blusters almost as soundlessly for a moment before blurting out, “Who’d you have to sleep with for this?!”
Blanche smiles, not flustered by her sharp accusation at the least. “Nevah you mind, dahlin’. Now are you goin’ t’ be a proper gentleman, Captain, an’ invite me on board or not?”
“Me? You’re the one who -- “
“Details, details, shugah. Who cares about the details?” Blanche shrugs in such a way that her already low cut blouse is sent slipping further down her arms.
Dorothy’s body grows tight and warm, and her throat is suddenly dry as she eyes Blanche’s exposed flesh. Almost all of her breasts are showing now, and no matter how many times Dorothy has this woman, she knows she’s always going to want more of her.
“You hardly think Ah would be the Captain, now, do you?” Blanche asks, ignoring the way Dorothy’s gaping at her. “Why, Ah’d be th’ lady o’ course to whom he’d be showin’ his cabin -- an’ much more!” She grins triumphantly and wider still as Dorothy manages to bow.
“So, tell me, madam,” she asks in a deep, gravely voice, “is this your first time sailing down the river?”
Blanche’s eyes light up. She sashays into the cabin, her breasts passing just below Dorothy’s hungry eyes. “It’s hardly mah first, Captain,” she answers honestly, “but it does seem to get bettah every time Ah travel. It seems to me, though, that it’s far more the companionship than the actual place or boat that makes th’ journey.”
Turning, she backs against the steering wheel and motions with her hands for Dorothy to come after her. Dorothy shuts the door, and although it wasn’t locked before, she locks her now as she advances on Blanche. “And how is it that a lady such as yourself,” she continues in that deep, masculine voice, “is travelling alone?”
“Because Ah choose mah travelin’ companions very carefully, Captain.” She reaches out, wrapping her hands around Dorothy’s suit jacket, and tugs her closer. “An’ Ah can think o’ no one Ah’d rather travel with more than you.”
Dorothy grins. “You’re mighty kind to a stranger.”
“You’re no stranger, . . . Captain! Ah knew Ah knew you the moment our eyes met. Maybe not here, maybe not in this time or in this place or in these bodies, but Ah knew you. Our souls knew each other. We connected long before we first met here.”
Dorothy stares at her. She’s no longer certain of the game she’s playing. It sounds a little far fetched to her logical mind, but she doesn’t want to upset Blanche by saying so or giving up her character, especially not now as she’s so close and Blanche’s body is practically panting with her and Dorothy’s needs. So instead of speaking, she grips her waist and pulls her hard against her.
“Captain!” Blanche cries out in feigned surprise and true delight. This time, when she stretches, her breasts do pop free of her low cut blouse.
Dorothy lowers her head and rubs her cheeks against Blanche’s breasts, as though she has actual stubble on her face to brush against her. “I do believe, madam,” she declares, “that you must be the finest jewel the South has ever had to offer!”
“You bettah believe it, Captain,” Blanche nearly purrs with pride, her breasts bobbing against Dorothy’s face.
Dorothy can stand it no longer. She nips Blanche’s teat, taking her hard nipple between her teeth and sucking hard. Blanche doesn’t hesitate. She screams with delight as she jumps up behind the steering wheel and onto the actual controls. She spreads her legs wide and wraps them tightly around Dorothy’s waist, leaving barely enough room for Dorothy to slide a hand between them.
Blanche is already wet and ready when Dorothy touches her underneath the thin material of her skirt, but Dorothy takes her time, stroking her core and nibbling her breasts until Blanche’s sharp-pitched moans and gasps erupt in another scream, this one of pure frustration. Dorothy tilts her back, silences her scream by covering her mouth with her own, and curls her fingers inside of her. Blanche welcomes her and pushes down on her hand. At the same time, her tongue thrusts up into Dorothy’s mouth.
Dorothy herself wants to scream with the passion between them. Finally, she lets go of her careful control, pumping her fingers hard into Blanche, ripping her mouth free of hers, and bellowing her pleasure. The sounds of their screams float out across the river boat and Miami Bay.
But as they crash together through the sea of pleasure, Dorothy remembers Blanche’s words and thinks for the first time that maybe she wasn’t just making remarks stemmed from her wild imagination. Maybe there was something to her words after all. This remarkable, wonderful, passionate woman, after all, seems so often to be something straight from Dorothy’s dreams.
Except that she didn’t dream her. She is a real, live, breathing, loving woman, and of all the people she could have, which is practically any straight man or gay woman in all of Miami, if not the world, she chooses Dorothy at least once a night or day and sometimes even more often. And there was something between them from the very first moment they met.
Maybe Blanche is right, she thinks again as they tilt their heads back and scream in unison. Maybe they did know each other in a prior life. Maybe there is such a thing as reincarnation or, at least, fate. Regardless, she knows her lover’s right about one thing: There’s absolutely no one else with whom she’d rather sail down a river or float through life!