Title: "Christmas Surprise"
Author: Pirate Turner
Dedicated To: My beloved, wondrous, and always inspirational and amazing Jack, and our darling babies - Merry Christmas and Happy Solstice, my loves! This is the twelfth story in my 12 Days of Solstice/Christmas for my beloved Jack and our darling babies of the year 2011.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dorothy reads Blanche's letter to Santa Claus - only it's not for Santa at all.
Warnings: Femme Slash, Established Pairing
Date Written: 24 December, 2011
Word Count (excluding heading): 2,937
Disclaimer: Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, Rose, and the Golden Girls are οΎ© & TM their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Everything else except the public domain characters used within belongs to the author. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Dorothy put the letter she'd just finished reading down to her side and reached for the next one. The first letter had been the stereotypical letter from Rose to Santa. Her dear, sweet, and blessedly naive friend always asked for impossible things, like world peace and every child and animal in the world having a warm and safe home and a present, before humbly requesting one little something that actually was achievable for herself. Dorothy smiled. Rose would get the Mouseketeer memorabilia she wanted. She always made sure of it and let Rose believe that it had come from Santa himself as in response to the letters she always pretended to mail for her, and this year would be no different in that aspect.

What was different, however, was that she'd had two of her friends ask her to mail their letters to the North Pole this year. Rose still believed in Santa Claus with all her heart and every bit as much as any purely innocent four year-old still could in today's world. Actually, Dorothy thought, her grin twisting, she believed in him more so with the untainted belief of the land from whence she had come. A lot of bad things could be said about Minnesota. Minnesotans were definitely different, stupid even, Dorothy admitted, but every one she had ever met had shared Rose's same optimism, constant cheerfulness, and vast imagination. There, Dorothy reflected sadly, was undoubtedly the one place in the whole, wide world where everybody still believed in Santa Claus, flying reindeer, and other impossible dreams come true, like the world peace Rose had asked for in her letter.

Yet the other letter, Dorothy knew, was written by some one completely different from Rose. She didn't believe in Santa Claus except for the fake Santas that came down her chimney in her bedroom. She hadn't believed in him in years and had always been too obsessed with sex to spend much time thinking about Christmas, reindeer, Elves, or world peace. Although, Dorothy admitted, she'd probably had both deer and Elves in her boudoir at some time or another over the years.

Blanche didn't believe in Santa, so what was she doing writing him and asking Dorothy to mail her letter for her while she was out and about? For that matter, why hadn't she mailed it herself? Dorothy always offered to mail Rose's letters so that she could open them and find out what Rose truly did want for Christmas, but Blanche mailing a letter to a man that was no more likely to exist than Dorothy herself was to spot a flying deer was definitely something new.

She fingered the pink envelope as she considered all these questions but could find no answers. She shrugged slightly as her fingers brushed over the kiss of lipstick that Blanche had applied to the envelope's seal. She'd gone every bit as far out for this letter to Santa as she did for all her love letters, and it reeked of her favorite perfume.

Dorothy sniffed the letter, and her eyes drifted shut as she remembered other times she had smelled Blanche's scent so closely. She recalled holding her in her arms, dancing with her across the living room floor while every one else had been out, and every kiss and stolen caress they had shared over the years they had been each other's best friend, most loyal confidante, and so much more. The scent drifted into her nose and opened mouth, and Dorothy recalled Blanche's taste so vividly that she began to feel hot. Even Miami was not truly hot at this time of the year, but yet Dorothy soon found herself so heated that she had to loosen her collar and roll down her window. It was a wonder the glass wasn't steaming up from her memories alone.

Settling back down from opening her window and still breathing somewhat laboredly, Dorothy turned back to Blanche's letter and opened it with the same careful maneuverings that she always used on Rose's. She didn't know why she was so careful with the letters to Santa Claus for they would just end up being trashed, but Dorothy didn't want any one to know that they had been opened at any point. Just in case, she always told herself. Just in case a policeman looked into her car and saw her opening another person's mail or in case one of her room mates happened to be in the same parking lot she had pulled into and tried to surprise her before she could get rid of the letters.

There was always a chance her caring deceit could be found out, and Dorothy didn't want Rose to ever discover that her letters were not actually making it all the way up to the North Pole and the jolly, old Saint Nicholas that she believed in so whole-heartedly. Dorothy often chastised Rose for believing in so many things that she herself had stopped believing in when she had still been just a child, but Christmas was the one time of the year that Dorothy admired Rose's naivety. She wished she could be that innocent again. Heck, she wished she could have been that innocent while she'd still been young, but it had never been meant to happen for her, not growing up in Brooklyn with the parents that she had. Not, of course, she thought with a sad smile, that she would have given anything for either of them.

She pushed the jumbled thoughts to the side as she opened Blanche's letter. The paper was as pink and soft as the envelope that had contained it, and it, too, was covered with lipstick stains from ruby red lips kissing it all over, ruby red lips that Dorothy yearned to feel kiss her willing, if not so supple, body all over again. "Dear Santa," the top of the letter read, and Dorothy could hear Blanche's voice in her head crooning out the words. Her tone was every bit as seductive as Marilyn Monroe's had ever been. Indeed, Dorothy thought as she continued to read, it was even more so by far. Comparing Blanche to any other woman, even Marilyn, was like comparing the fullest, reddest, and most luscious rose that had ever existed to a mere daisy. She read the letter and listened to Blanche's sultry, Southern voice reading it aloud in her mind.

"Ah know it's been a long time since Ah've written ya, an' Ah know ya didn't get those lettahs an' ya won't get this one either." The indignation of the English teacher inside of Dorothy rose to the front at the run-on sentence, but she pushed it back down. This wasn't a time for correcting grammar. It was an opportunity for her to earn a little more insight into the woman with whom she'd fallen madly, passionately, insanely, and completely in love years ago.

"Ah know ya didn't get those lettahs Ah wrote then, because ya nevah answered me an', to be perfectly honest, Santa, who would've gotten those steamy, little love letters Ah wrote ya back then an' not answered? Mrs. Claus would've just had to wait another year; ya would've been comin' down mah chimney every time ya got one o' mah lettahs, 'specially with those pictures Ah included o' mah buddin' youth."

Dorothy had started to roll her eyes, but reading of Blanche's budding youth set the heat back to rising inside of her body. Nervous laughter bit out of her throat. She had no reason to be nervous, and yet whenever Blanche started to heat her up in public, Dorothy always found those old nerves becoming unsettled again. She pushed them down as she thought to herself that only Blanche would have ever dared to send naughty pictures in to Santa. She wondered what lucky postmaster had received those letters and knew their wives had gotten the surprise of their lives when they'd come home early on those evenings. Enticing images of first Blanche's bared and luscious breasts and then her entire, naked body began to float temptingly through Dorothy's head, but she pushed them away and continued to read.

"Ya would've been a lucky man if ya'd actually gotten those letters, Santa, but we both know ya didn't an' we both know th' time for men is ovah." Dorothy's mouth fell open. Her eyes bulged. Quickly, she read on. "Ah know what ya thinkin'. Blanche Deveraux is done with men? What planet did Ah fall off o' Rudolph onto? Well, th' simple truth is, Santa, that Ah've now been brought more pleasure an' happiness than any man, even mah dear George (God rest his soul), ever gave me. Ah'm happy now, Santa, happier than Ah've evah been before in mah whole life, an' Ah don't have any need o' ya comin' to see me."

"Do still come to our house, though. Come for Rose. She needs ya. Th' poor child will always need ya, even if she is every bit o' sixty or seventy years old now. Bring her whatever she wants, an' bring Sophia somethin' too. Maybe a new cookbook or an award winning recipe for some Italian food that's been forgotten about. Just make her happy."

"An, Santa, ya bettah be sure, shugah, to bring th' best present o' all ta mah dearest friend, Dorothy. Ya see, she's th' reason Ah don't need ya any more. Ah've got everythin' Ah could evah want now that Ah've got her. When Ah'm with her, nothing else mattahs. It doesn't mattah that Ah'm growin' older an' maybe losin' just a tad o' what makes me me. Just a little bit of mah beauty may be goin' now, but it doesn't mattah."

"There's been so many people o'er th' years who've tried ta tell me that it doesn't mattah what Ah look like, but it's only with Dorothy, that that's true. Ah could always beat her in a beauty contest. That's true, too, but it doesn't mattah. She loves me for me. For th' first time in mah whole life, Ah've got somebody who loves me not for mah looks or for mah money or for th' prestige o' being with Blanche Deveraux but who really, truly loves me for me, an' Ah love her."

"It's a wonder really. Ah've been lookin' for love all mah life, an' just like that ol' song, Ah've been lookin' in all th' wrong places. Ah nevah would've thought that Ah could feel th' way Ah do about her about any woman. Ah nevah even looked at a woman before Ah met her, but that first time she kissed me . . . Ah was lost, Santa, an' Ah was found, too, at th' same time. Ah was found, an' Ah've been in love evah since!"

"Ah love her! Ah love her more than anybody who's ever come before her, an' there won't be anybody after her! It's not like what Ah had with George. Not at all like what Ah had with him. Why, Ah thought he was th' one at th' time, but then Ah couldn't even get pass his funeral that Ah wasn't havin' at that preacher man. Ah nevah hardly spoke another word to him after that, but it didn't matter. Ah'd done th' deed. Ah was a free widow, and George's death just gave me time to play some more."

"Don't get me wrong. Ah missed him; Ah still do. He was a really bright part o' mah life for such a long time, but he wasn't th' one. Ah didn't love him. Ah nevah really knew what love was until Ah got mah Dorothy, an' Ah've been playin' around with her, too, for some years until now. Th' last many dates Ah've been on without her just weren't fun. They weren't at all like they used to be, an' despite what Ah said, despite th' braggings Ah made, Ah didn't have any o' those men ta mah bedroom. They weren't good enough for me. No one else is now except for mah Dorothy."

"Ah love Dorothy! Ah really do! Ah've been tryin' to fight it for so long, but there just ain't no fightin' it an' there ain't really any sense in tryin' to do so. So what if she's a woman? Ah'm a woman, she's a woman, an' we make beautiful music together! Th' love that we share is far brighter an' more beautiful than anythin' Ah've evah had with a man an' anythin' Ah've evah seen in any other couple Ah've evah known! We're meant to be together! We're destined to be together!"

"Ah love Dorothy, an' Ah don't care who knows it! Let th' whole world know Blanche Deveraux is done with men! They're yesterday's trash; all Ah want now, all Ah need, all Ah love is Dorothy! So ya see, Santa, shugah, Ah don't need ya any more. Ya can just mail back all those keys Ah sent ya, an' be sure ya send Dorothy hurryin' on home to me. Ah'm right here in mah bedroom waitin' for her to get back home after mailin' this here little, ole letter for me, an' Ah'll be here waitin' every time she goes out, waitin' just for her to get back to me so we can continue our lovin'."

"An' that love, Santa, baby, is th' best present Ah could evah have, so Ah have no need o' anythin' else outside o' mah Dorothy under mah tree, in mah stockin', or in mah bed, but y'all go ahead an' have yoahself a merry, little Christmas. Dorothy an' Ah certainly will be down here in Miami."

"An' thanks, Santa. Thanks for readin' mah letter finally, if ya did get this an' have actually read t' this point. Thanks for lettin' me tell ya how Ah really feel an' lettin' me find th' words to describe these wonderful feelings mah beloved Dorothy captures in mah heart an' soul. Ah still don't know how Ah'm gonna tell her, but this, Ah figure, is a pretty good start. Merry Christmas, Santa!"

The letter was signed with X's and O's and Blanche's name scrawled across the bottom, but Dorothy barely glanced at it. Her hands shook with her hurry as she put the letter back in the envelope in which it had come. She left it laying between her seats and grabbed her purse and Rose's letter. She wouldn't be mailing Blanche's letter to Santa, but unlike Rose's, she wouldn't be tossing it either. She'd keep that love letter that really hadn't been meant for Santa at all as a part of the few cherished treasures she'd collected over her years forever.

She dashed into the mall, and that year, Dorothy Zbornak shopped faster than she'd ever shopped before. She grabbed the Mouseketeer memorabilia Rose had requested, a new set of cookware for her mother, and a matching diamond necklace and bracelet for Blanche. She didn't bat an eye at any of the prices. She just shopped as swiftly as she could, selecting the best presents for each of the women in the small but wonderful family of which she was lucky to be a part and knowing that each present, but especially Blanche's, was just a very small token of how much they meant to her. Blanche's jewelry especially was just a proverbial drop in the bucket, but it didn't matter. She had to get them something, and she had to get home as quickly as possible.

She made one last stop on her way home, and it wasn't even for cheesecake. Cheesecake could come later, but what she was searching for could not. She wore the red, white, and black costume right out of the shop and ran to her car, ignoring all the looks of the passer bys. Let them condemn her, if they would. Let them look upon her and see a silly, old woman playing a child's game. It didn't matter what they thought; all that mattered was that she was loved by the one woman who truly owned her heart!

She sped so swiftly back to her home that it was a wonder the cops didn't pull her over. Rose was still at work, but Sophia was in the living room when she burst through the door. Her mother shook her head. "I don't want to know," she stated and turned pointedly back to the television set.

Dorothy ran with all of her gifts jostling along against her padded, red jacket and bobbing, white beard. She ran until she reached Blanche, and Blanche's face lit up as she all but blasted through her bedroom door. "Dorothy!" she cried in delighted surprise.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" Dorothy shouted in character, dropping her packages onto the floor and freeing her arms to catch the beautiful woman running to them.

Blanche threw herself into her arms. Dorothy caught her and spun her around, but then Blanche pulled her beard down. "Ah told ya," she said sternly, gazing up into her beloved's beautiful eyes as her own lovely orbs twinkled happily, "Ah have no further need of Santa Claus. Ah want you, Dorothy Zbornak, an' only you, an' Ah love you alone forever!"

"I love you, too, Blanche Deveraux," Dorothy breathed against her love's perfect, lush, and ruby red lips, and then she kissed her long and deep. They had no need of Santa Claus or mistletoe. They had only need of each other and the wonderful, passionate, and steamy love they shared, and that was the hottest, merriest, and most wonderful Christmas Blanche and Dorothy ever had!

The End