Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy, Miles/Rose, Sophia
Challenge/Prompt: femslashbb: First Kiss
Word Count: 1,478
Date Written: 19 September 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She’s been planning this moment for over a month now, but she’s shaking inside just thinking about it. Still, she knows the deadline is fast approaching. Actually, the deadline to fulfilling the promise she made to the woman she truly does love has already passed, and Blanche isn’t likely to give her many more dates before she brings it up. She’s rubbing her stockinged foot across her ankle now, trying to silently persuade Dorothy to do something.
Not just something, Dorothy knows. She knows what Blanche wants, and she’d promised over a month ago that she would do it. She glances around the tables and the various people sitting at them. She thinks she recognizes one as a reporter. She knows several from when they’ve dated Blanche. If she makes her move here, all of Miami will know about it before the night is over.
But then, they’ll know Blanche is now with her. They’ll know a woman is the reason why Blanche hasn’t been being seen out on the town with so many eligible bachelors as she has for the last several years. They’ll know Dorothy is the luckiest woman in the world.
“Dorothy?” Blanche calls in a sensual voice that would surely melt butter. Her foot glides a little higher on Dorothy’s leg underneath the table.
Taking a deep breath, Dorothy stills herself. She’s trying to gather all her courage when Blanche’s foot reaches even higher. She jumps forward suddenly and presses her lips against Blanche’s. She moves to pull away as swiftly as she moved to kiss Blanche, but Blanche reaches up, curls her fingers into Dorothy’s collar, and holds her steadfastly against her. “Oh no, you don’t,” she murmurs and kisses her harder, longer, more passionately until everybody in the crowded restaurant is staring at them.
Finally, Blanche releases Dorothy. Dorothy sinks back into her chair, her wrinkled face as red as Blanche’s sequin blouse. Miles coughs. Everybody is still staring. He flicks open the menu. “Now that that little display is over -- “
“What do you mean now that that little display is over?!”
“Yeah! I want more!”
“Forget that! What the Hell is Blanche Devereaux doing kissing a woman?!”
Dorothy’s face is slowly coloring a darker red as her embarrassment fades and her anger rises. Rose’s eyes are as big as dinner platters. Miles reaches over and pats her hand. Blanche simply stays where she is, grinning like a very well satisfied cat.
“There’s need for such language. We live in a free country, after all.”
“That’s what everybody’s always liked about Blanche!”
Miles calmly lays his menu down on the table. More men are gathering around their table. Dorothy’s anger is fueled. She moves to stand her hands curling into tight fists. Out of the side of his mouth, Miles whispers, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
“What you gentlemen have just witnessed is one of the greatest blessings anyone can possess on the face of God’s green Earth. Love knows no gender, no age, nor any other properties by which it should define itself other than that which is shared between two hearts. Blanche and Dorothy have chosen to share the secret of their greatest treasure with us tonight -- “
“What?! That they’re two fucking Lesbians?!”
“Honey,” Blanche drawls slowly, having just touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip, where Dorothy’s taste still lingers, “Ah am many things, but Ah am not a Lesbian.”
“Blanche, he means -- “
“Ah know what he means, Rose,” Blanche says, cutting eyes at her friend, “an’ Ah am not that. Ah am bisexual who just happens to have a woman as th’ love o’ her life.”
Rose hushes. This conversation is going a little deep for her, but she does blush lightly in her comprehension that none of this was a misunderstanding at all.
“Yeah,” the man snaps, “like I said, a fucking Les--” His words are cut off by a sudden strike. The first hit is followed immediately up with two more. He staggers backwards as Sophia, having just hit him with her bag three times upon her return from the bathroom and hearing his ugly words aimed, she believes, at her daughter, calmly retakes her seat.
“Ma!” Dorothy cries.
“Hush, Pussycat,” Sophia orders while folding her napkin. “I’m your mother. It’s my place to protect you.”
“Actually, Sophia,” Blanche remarks softly, “he was talkin’ ‘bout me.”
“About you?!” Sophia’s head jerks up; her wide eyes dart between Blanche and Dorothy. “What did I miss?!”
“Only a depiction of one of the most beautiful things in the world,” Miles replies.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that, English teacher? A perfectly spelled word?”
“Hum,” Rose pipes up again, “I think Blanche and Dorothy just came out of the closet, Sophia.”
“What?!” the old woman cries. “And I missed it?!”
“You didn’t miss much.” The man starts toward them again.
“That’s it!” Dorothy pushes her chair back and slings her fist, striking him right in the mouth.
The older of the restaurant runs up to Blanche, sputtering in Spanish, but two burly men grab the arms of man Dorothy just punched and drag him away. Dorothy wipes her hands off on her napkin and takes her seat. Miles’ eyes dart around them. He’d expected other displeased suitors to follow the first, but now that they’re no longer alone, none of the others seem in such a rush to get carried away.
“Are we in trouble?” Rose asks Blanche.
She shakes her head. “Not at all,” she says, beaming. “Ricardo here is gay, too. He loves what just happened, and he rather fancies your Miles.”
Rose quickly places a possessive hand on Miles’. “Well, he can’t have him!” She looks at Miles. “That was very sweet,” she tells him, her blush returning, “and kind of hot!”
Miles grins at her. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it, tickling her fair skin the way she likes with his white mustache. “I’m glad you approve, darling, but it’s only the truth. Love doesn’t see any gender or age, and it’s beautiful in all its forms when shared equally.”
After Ricardo and his men have left their table, Dorothy speaks up rather shyly, “I’m sorry it took me so long, Blanche, to kiss you in public like you wanted, but I was afraid that would happen.”
“You mean you’re the reason why you two haven’t come out of the closet before, Pussycat?! Have I taught you nothing?! When you have a prize, shove it in everybody else’s faces!”
“Sophia,” Blanche cuts in, “please.” She reaches across the table for Dorothy’s hands. She takes them and squeezes them gently. “It did take you long enough,” she agrees, beaming, “but it was worth it. But that’s only the first kiss of what’s going to be many, many more.” She begins kissing Dorothy, making her words true.
“Sophia,” Rose reprimands, “we can’t order the check yet!”
“We haven’t even ordered our food!”
“Besides, Sophia,” Miles interjects, “I think you have an admirer.”
Sophia stops. “Really? Where? Who?”
The professor indicates an elderly man sitting alone at the bar. When Sophia meets his gaze, he raises his glass in a silent toast to her and smiles brightly before sipping his wine. “And he looks like he actually has all his own teeth still!” Sophia whispers in surprise. She leaves the table, moving slowly to join him.
Blanche immediately jumps from her chair to Sophia’s and keeps kissing Dorothy. Their hands are as entwined as their lips, and they pay notice to noone.
Rose snuggles closer to Miles. “I like that, and you know, she might have the right idea: Maybe we should go without ordering.”
“Not tonight.” Miles promises, “Tonight, you can have anything your heart desires. We’ll follow it up at home later.”
“You bet we will!” Rose exclaims and, proudly, she kisses him. The night may just be starting, but it’s been perfect already. Being with him makes it perfect for her, but even more so, seeing her friends happy for a change, loving each other out in the public, makes her practically glow with more happiness. Remembering an argument they’ve had often when she’s talked or hummed too much, she adds quietly, almost humbly, “I should listen more often.”
“If you do,” Miles responds, smiling brightly, “I promise to talk more often, but especially in defense of love. Love is wonderful and abounds tonight.”
“You should be a poet!”
“Ha! Hardly!” Lowering his snowy head, he kisses her hands again. “But let me tell you how much I love you.” He recites the only love poem he knows just loud enough that they, Blanche, and Dorothy can hear him. The couples cuddle closer together and resume kissing on this, a perfect night for love which, in truth, Miles knows, is any night.