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Candela's golden eyes were soft and fond as she watched her two lovers dance together. She cared deeply for both of them, but she had to be honest; she loved Blanche. Spark was a good friend and a good lay, but that was all. Candela burned for Blanche.
But watching them dance was a lot of fun. Spark wasn't the best at it and stumbled a lot. Blanche was doing the leading.
Candela sat at the bar, languidly sipping on a glass of dark red wine; the same glass she'd been nursing for over an hour. Normally she liked to drink, but this gala was full of Rockets and she wanted to be sharp if anything happened.
Beside her at the bar were the assistants; Carl, Annie, Go, Amelie. All buzzed and working on drunk, and trash talking their bosses, which Candela largely ignored.
Mostly because she was distracted by Blanche. Blanche, wearing a lovely blue evening gown that flowed with their movements like a river, sapphires dangling from their ears. Tonight Blanche was all elegance a rare occurrence in private, let alone somewhere surrounded by paparazzi and Rockets.
Candela watched her lovers spin together on the dance floor; her breath caught in her throat when Blanche made eye contact with her. The group of assistants glanced at her at the sound. Candela gripped her wine glass a little tighter, suddenly trembling under the power of Blanche's piercing jade eyes.
The music was shifting from a high energy number to a softer, slower jazz. Candela licked her bottom lip, tasting her burgundy lipstick. She stood.
“Charles,” she said to Carl. He looked at her. She handed him her wine. “Please watch this for me.”
“Of course, Miss Candela,” he replied, but she was already walking away.
She easily moved between the dancing bodies, intent on her target. She tapped on Spark's shoulder; “May I cut in?”
He grinned at her. “Of course.” He stepped back and let his fellow leaders wrap their arms around each other, and he quickly vanished. The flash of paparazzi cameras went off wildly as Candela and Blanche danced together.
Unlike the dance with Spark, Candela and Blanche swayed slowly together, eyes locked in fondness. With their heels, Blanche was almost as tall as Candela, but the Valor leader still had room to press their foreheads together.
The singer started his lyrics, and Candela knew the words; she sang along, her voice soft, so only the object of her affections could hear, sweet dripping honey,
“It had to be you
It had to be you
I wandered around and finally found, that somebody who
Could make me be true
Could make me feel blue
And even be glad just to be sad, thinking of you”
Blanche’s eyes were closed. They liked the attention and rare tenderness of Candela in this moment and was savoring the experience. Candela was so rarely like this, usually she was as harsh and grating as the fire inside of her.
“Do you know how much I love you, Blanche?”
Blanche smiled. “Maybe. Are you going to tell me?”
Candela gave a lopsided grin in return. “Maybe.” Her eyes glinted with sudden mischief. “Your dress looks amazing.”
Blanche raised a thin, white brow. “Don't say it.”
“It would look better on my bedroom floor.”
A sigh. “You said it. The moment is over. Ruined. Also, we share a bedroom, asshole.”
Candela laughed, a great, long belly laugh. When she calmed down, she whispered sweetly, “I do love you. More than I think you know.”
Blanche moved their hands from Candela's shoulders to her cheeks, “I do know. I love you too, Candela.”
And they kissed, and it was the slow, sweet, building kind of kiss. Flashbulbs went wild, people whistled.
In the morning Blanche would find a string of increasingly infuriated text messages from their outraged twin, and a copy of the local tabloid with a photo of them and Candela wrapped in a kiss on their kitchen counter.
They have the magazine framed, just to annoy Noire whenever they came over.