Alphabet Soup Table - 11. Knife - Golden Girls
Title: Miami Heat
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: TamingtheMuse #552: Cut A Figure and FemSlash100100 Alphabet Soup: Knife
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,181
Date Written: 22 February 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Blanche opens the door and sighs in luxury as an icy blast of air directly hits her beautiful face. "God, Ah needed that!" she moans, just hanging in the freezer door for a moment.
"Keep doing that," Sophia cackles from where she's working on one of her Italian creations that takes hours to cook right, "and they'll start calling you Slush Puppy instead of Slut Puppy!"
"They don't call me that, Sophia," Blanche retorts, retrieving the carton of her favorite ice cream and finally shutting the door. "Only you do that, an' Ah overlook it for Dorothy's sake, old woman."
Sophia grins broadly as Blanche sits the ice cream down and goes back to the refrigerator. "Keep telling yourself that, Slut Puppy," she says, stirring her soup with a long, wooden spoon.
Blanche rolls her eyes. "Only you would want soup in this heat," she mutters.
"It's Miami."
"It's February in Miami! It's not supposed to be this hot, not even here, in the Winter time!"
"You'll still want my soup when it's done," Sophia retorts, laying her spoon down. She leaves the kitchen, knowing her show is coming on. She'll check on her soup again after she watches somebody lose.
Blanche sighs, hesitating in the cool air from the refrigerator for a long moment before finally retrieving the cheesecake. She slices herself a piece of cheesecake with a knife before moving to the carton of ice cream. She's just scooping some out for herself when she hears Dorothy behind her.
"Blanche!"
"What?" she responds dully.
"Cheesecake and ice cream?"
"You say that like it's the first time we've evah done it, Dorothy." She smirks. "That was a long time ago." And too long, she thinks, casting a glance over at the taller woman, since they've done it again. "Leave me alone," she mutters. "Mah date just canceled. Ah thought Ah'd be out on th' water tonight."
"It's not too late," Dorothy returns, picking up the knife Blanche used and cutting a piece of cheesecake for herself. "You've got plenty of other people you can call," she reminds her of the same fact of which Blanche is always reminding everybody else. "You've got practically the whole male population of Miami in that datebook of yours!"
"Maybe Ah don't want a male," Blanche mutters.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," she answers. "Absolutely nothing!" But her betraying eyes trail to Dorothy's long fingers as the school teacher licks chocolate from them. She bites her bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud, remembering what that tongue has done to her in the past.
"Besides," she continues, taking her ice cream back to the freezer, "what's the big deal? Ah'm always gonna cut a figure no matter what Ah eat! It's you an' Rose who have to worry about y'all's figures."
Dorothy glowers at Blanche, but her gaze seems to almost freeze as Blanche picks up an ice cub and starts sliding it over her smooth skin. She moans in delight, trailing the ice lower into her already low cut blouse. Watching her, not only does Dorothy have to agree that the Southern belle will always successfully cut a beautiful figure, she also suddenly finds her mouth feeling as hot and dry as if they were standing in the desert! "Bl-Blanche!" she manages after a moment of gawking at the friend who, only on rare occasion in their past together, has also been her lover.
"What?" Blanche moans, sliding the ice cube over the tops of her breasts now.
"Blanche!"
"What, Dorothy?"
Setting down her own saucer of cheesecake, Dorothy summons her courage and walks over to Blanche before she can change her mind. "Nothing," she retorts, grabbing another ice cube from inside the freezer and trailing it along the back of Blanche's neck, dipping below her collar. Blanche sighs and tilts her head back. "Ah swear, Dorothy, if it wasn't for mah youthful figure, Ah'd be concerned Ah was goin' through th' change o' life!"
Dorothy starts to make a comment about Blanche's supposed youth but stops herself just in time, pressing her lips tightly together instead. Blanche may not be young, but she certainly is still beautiful, still hot, and makes Dorothy want to melt just watching her. Her hand's come to a stop with the cube over her breast. Dorothy reaches down, closes her fingers around Blanche, and takes the cube. She resumes rubbing the ice in the same circles in which Blanche had been moving it only a moment before. "I can think of better ways," she whispers as Blanche between the two cubes of ice Dorothy's running over her sticky skin, "to cool off than this."
Blanche's eyes flutter back open. She looks at Dorothy. Their eyes lock. "Ah don't know about coolin' down, Zbornak," she murmurs, "but . . . " She won't say she wants her. She won't tell her she's starting to value every minute they have together, and she most certainly won't admit, not to her or even to herself, that she's beginning to prefer spending time with her rather than any of endless contacts Dorothy mentioned in her little, black book of names and phone numbers. Her book indeed contains every phone number of every eligible, and not so eligible, man in Miami, but she doesn't want any of them tonight.
"Ah've had worse offers," she concludes, leaning closer to Dorothy as Dorothy leans down.
Dorothy starts to pull away at Blanche's remark, but Blanche reaches up, wraps a hand around the back of her neck, threading her fingers into her gray hairs, and stops her from moving. She leans up, presses her lips to Dorothy's, and surges up against her. Her tongue slides into her mouth, thrusts, pass the angry set of Dorothy's teeth, and swirls around her tongue. Just as Dorothy begins to moan, Blanche pulls back. "Bring that ice tray," she orders and sashays from the kitchen, knowing Dorothy will obey and follow her.
She knows, too, in the back of her mind, that her ice cream and cheesecake both are going to go to ruin quickly in this wretched heat, but she can always get more of them. It's not so easy to get Dorothy Zbornak back into her bed, although it would be if she'd only tell her the truth. The problem there is that she'd first have to admit it to herself.
Blanche may yet one day admit her true age to herself, but she's never going to admit that she needs a woman more than she needs a man. She just hasn't found the right man, Blanche tells herself, who can please her even more than Dorothy can, but she's always gotten what she wants and right now, she wants Dorothy Zbornak. She pauses, one hand closing around the doorknob to her boudoir, listens, hears Dorothy coming, and slips inside. She disrobes immediately and waits for the one person who can make her forget the heat, make her forget that she's not a man, and bring her more pleasure than any man she's ever known.
Within minutes, Blanche is screaming that person's name: "DOROTHY!" Back in the living room, Sophia turns up the volume.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Golden Girls
Character/Pairing: Blanche/Dorothy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: TamingtheMuse #552: Cut A Figure and FemSlash100100 Alphabet Soup: Knife
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,181
Date Written: 22 February 2017
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Blanche opens the door and sighs in luxury as an icy blast of air directly hits her beautiful face. "God, Ah needed that!" she moans, just hanging in the freezer door for a moment.
"Keep doing that," Sophia cackles from where she's working on one of her Italian creations that takes hours to cook right, "and they'll start calling you Slush Puppy instead of Slut Puppy!"
"They don't call me that, Sophia," Blanche retorts, retrieving the carton of her favorite ice cream and finally shutting the door. "Only you do that, an' Ah overlook it for Dorothy's sake, old woman."
Sophia grins broadly as Blanche sits the ice cream down and goes back to the refrigerator. "Keep telling yourself that, Slut Puppy," she says, stirring her soup with a long, wooden spoon.
Blanche rolls her eyes. "Only you would want soup in this heat," she mutters.
"It's Miami."
"It's February in Miami! It's not supposed to be this hot, not even here, in the Winter time!"
"You'll still want my soup when it's done," Sophia retorts, laying her spoon down. She leaves the kitchen, knowing her show is coming on. She'll check on her soup again after she watches somebody lose.
Blanche sighs, hesitating in the cool air from the refrigerator for a long moment before finally retrieving the cheesecake. She slices herself a piece of cheesecake with a knife before moving to the carton of ice cream. She's just scooping some out for herself when she hears Dorothy behind her.
"Blanche!"
"What?" she responds dully.
"Cheesecake and ice cream?"
"You say that like it's the first time we've evah done it, Dorothy." She smirks. "That was a long time ago." And too long, she thinks, casting a glance over at the taller woman, since they've done it again. "Leave me alone," she mutters. "Mah date just canceled. Ah thought Ah'd be out on th' water tonight."
"It's not too late," Dorothy returns, picking up the knife Blanche used and cutting a piece of cheesecake for herself. "You've got plenty of other people you can call," she reminds her of the same fact of which Blanche is always reminding everybody else. "You've got practically the whole male population of Miami in that datebook of yours!"
"Maybe Ah don't want a male," Blanche mutters.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," she answers. "Absolutely nothing!" But her betraying eyes trail to Dorothy's long fingers as the school teacher licks chocolate from them. She bites her bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud, remembering what that tongue has done to her in the past.
"Besides," she continues, taking her ice cream back to the freezer, "what's the big deal? Ah'm always gonna cut a figure no matter what Ah eat! It's you an' Rose who have to worry about y'all's figures."
Dorothy glowers at Blanche, but her gaze seems to almost freeze as Blanche picks up an ice cub and starts sliding it over her smooth skin. She moans in delight, trailing the ice lower into her already low cut blouse. Watching her, not only does Dorothy have to agree that the Southern belle will always successfully cut a beautiful figure, she also suddenly finds her mouth feeling as hot and dry as if they were standing in the desert! "Bl-Blanche!" she manages after a moment of gawking at the friend who, only on rare occasion in their past together, has also been her lover.
"What?" Blanche moans, sliding the ice cube over the tops of her breasts now.
"Blanche!"
"What, Dorothy?"
Setting down her own saucer of cheesecake, Dorothy summons her courage and walks over to Blanche before she can change her mind. "Nothing," she retorts, grabbing another ice cube from inside the freezer and trailing it along the back of Blanche's neck, dipping below her collar. Blanche sighs and tilts her head back. "Ah swear, Dorothy, if it wasn't for mah youthful figure, Ah'd be concerned Ah was goin' through th' change o' life!"
Dorothy starts to make a comment about Blanche's supposed youth but stops herself just in time, pressing her lips tightly together instead. Blanche may not be young, but she certainly is still beautiful, still hot, and makes Dorothy want to melt just watching her. Her hand's come to a stop with the cube over her breast. Dorothy reaches down, closes her fingers around Blanche, and takes the cube. She resumes rubbing the ice in the same circles in which Blanche had been moving it only a moment before. "I can think of better ways," she whispers as Blanche between the two cubes of ice Dorothy's running over her sticky skin, "to cool off than this."
Blanche's eyes flutter back open. She looks at Dorothy. Their eyes lock. "Ah don't know about coolin' down, Zbornak," she murmurs, "but . . . " She won't say she wants her. She won't tell her she's starting to value every minute they have together, and she most certainly won't admit, not to her or even to herself, that she's beginning to prefer spending time with her rather than any of endless contacts Dorothy mentioned in her little, black book of names and phone numbers. Her book indeed contains every phone number of every eligible, and not so eligible, man in Miami, but she doesn't want any of them tonight.
"Ah've had worse offers," she concludes, leaning closer to Dorothy as Dorothy leans down.
Dorothy starts to pull away at Blanche's remark, but Blanche reaches up, wraps a hand around the back of her neck, threading her fingers into her gray hairs, and stops her from moving. She leans up, presses her lips to Dorothy's, and surges up against her. Her tongue slides into her mouth, thrusts, pass the angry set of Dorothy's teeth, and swirls around her tongue. Just as Dorothy begins to moan, Blanche pulls back. "Bring that ice tray," she orders and sashays from the kitchen, knowing Dorothy will obey and follow her.
She knows, too, in the back of her mind, that her ice cream and cheesecake both are going to go to ruin quickly in this wretched heat, but she can always get more of them. It's not so easy to get Dorothy Zbornak back into her bed, although it would be if she'd only tell her the truth. The problem there is that she'd first have to admit it to herself.
Blanche may yet one day admit her true age to herself, but she's never going to admit that she needs a woman more than she needs a man. She just hasn't found the right man, Blanche tells herself, who can please her even more than Dorothy can, but she's always gotten what she wants and right now, she wants Dorothy Zbornak. She pauses, one hand closing around the doorknob to her boudoir, listens, hears Dorothy coming, and slips inside. She disrobes immediately and waits for the one person who can make her forget the heat, make her forget that she's not a man, and bring her more pleasure than any man she's ever known.
Within minutes, Blanche is screaming that person's name: "DOROTHY!" Back in the living room, Sophia turns up the volume.
The End