It's the little things she enjoys, now that she's better.
After the tearful reunion, the months spent on edge, barely breathing, barely surviving, the research and the trials and the building her health back up bit by bit, after the surgeries and the new tissue and the drugs and the drains, after the physical and occupational therapy and finally being still in her life long enough to take up yoga, it's the small things, like waking up to the sun on Delphine's golden highlights, or her hands remaining steady as she prepares a slide, or Kira falling asleep against her side, that bring home to Cosima that she is happily, blessedly alive.
And sometimes people, even Delphine, don't get how exciting the little things can be.
Like shopping for clothing. When was the last time she got to do that? Sure, it's not in some cute side-street store or flea market where she can find something unique, just the right thing, but just being able to think "alright, I've been in denial about how cold one's feet can get while in Toronto as opposed to San Francisco, and I'm still regaining muscle and fat," and then decide to get up and go shopping for socks and tights with nothing holding her back, more than makes up for being at a mall, excuse her, shopping centre, ten times over. Plus, she's doing it with Delphine.
And Delphine is enjoying her enjoyment, she can see in the way her girlfriend smiles at her, the way she very thoughtfully steps back and analyzes each item Cosima holds up to give her considered opinion, the way her eyes glisten as Cosima throws on anything — a scarf, a cardigan — and she says "you are so beautiful."
But Delphine is getting tired, Cosima can tell. And Delphine is not quite the shopper she expected her to be. While Cosima can have just as much fun mocking the items she would never buy in a million years as finding things she likes, it turns out Delphine is much more practical. Maybe it's her underlying seriousness, how she decides what's important, or her easy beauty and willowy shape that make purchasing clothes a very direct operation for her, but Cosima realizes Delphine has a method. Delphine knows her own body, knows by glancing at a garment if it will fit, if it will flatter, if it will be serviceable for a certain occasion, and she picks what she wants quickly, without questioning, without having to retreat to the changing rooms to try an armful of items at a time. She is shrewd, no-nonsense, with an infallible scale in her mind weighing usefulness versus appearance versus cost. And maybe it's just because she's being led through an endless stretch of mid-rate chain-stores, but Delphine is finding very little she likes, has basically picked up one pair of black pants she knows will go with several outfits to wear at the office, and since trailed Cosima, getting increasingly quiet, looking more and more weary of being trapped in this epicenter of casual consumerism.
They've stopped for some frozen yogurt once and then gone through a gaming shop ("c'mon, Delphine, we've got to find Scott a good birthday present,") when Cosima sees the store. She can actually feel Delphine's feet starting to drag, even if she's trying to be amenable and supportive as she can be, when Cosima quickens her pace, pulling on Delphine's hand, and grinning over her shoulder "ah, this is the place. There's just one more thing I need."
And suddenly they're surrounded by pink and black and rayon and mood lighting, and Delphine's face draws into a skeptical look as they weave through racks of nighties and babydolls and Cosima starts poking through lacy underwear.
"Cosima," Delphine says, in that way she does when she's countering an argument, all syllables separate and emphasized with her accent, "if you want to buy underthings, I know a little boutique in Yorkville…" In that, she is French. Bras and panties may even be casual, but they should always be impeccably made and tailored.
"I don't want to take another trip," Cosima denies her, and draws her to another rack, "besides, I can use a few things here, and we can have some fun." Her smile is broad, showing her sharp eyeteeth, the ones that make her mischievous grin look predatory.
Delphine furrows her brow and pokes at a rack of sleepwear as Cosima whisks from one area to another. This trip has been long, and she still worries about Cosima taking good care of herself, even if, to all appearances, Cosima's energy is back and firing on all cylinders. Maybe I've been working too hard in the lab, she thinks to herself, let her enjoy herself a little longer, even if… she rubs the edge of a hem in her fingers, revealing poor stitching, and nearly scoffs out loud.
Suddenly, Cosima again envelopes her hand with warm fingers.
"Come here," she tells her, pulling her along, and into the dressing room area.
They pass a bored-looking man sitting in a chair and poking at his cell phone outside the outer doorway, and hear the sounds of a woman fiddling with hangers behind the door of one of the separate chambers. Cosima pushes Delphine lightly into one such changing booth and commands her to "wait here," then ducks out. Delphine bemusedly looks at the bundle of bags Cosima has pressed into her hands and then at herself in the three-angled mirrors. The lighting in here is surely meant to sell underthings, she notices, shadowed, and not enough to see any flaws. Delphine prefers evaluating what she buys in shops with windows and full daylight. Then she really knows if something fits and flatters or doesn't.
She's just hung the bags on the hooks on the wall when Cosima zips in through the door again, leaning back against it with a sly look. Delphine blinks as she takes in Cosima's body, framed now not by a flowing skirt and a sweater, but a fitted bustier in a deep burgundy with embellishments of embroidered roses on black and a matching set of clinging panties, and all thoughts about fine craftsmanship fly out of her mind in a rush as she absorbs the sight of her girlfriend.
She's… Delphine thinks, eyes rising to take in Cosima's legs, her hips, a flash of navel, and her breasts, pushed up in that way that makes them look like they long to escape their bounds, she's definitely getting better, she's… she has filled out.
Cosima's tongue flickers behind her teeth, and she raises one hand above her head, posing, teasing, as she asks coyly "you like?"
Delphine feels her fingers tremble. They have been together, yes, all the time Cosima was healing. They were able to move into sharing a bed with each other some nights within a few months, then slowly became more comfortable with holding each other, snuggling, without constant fear that touches might hurt Cosima, break or exhaust her. They had kissed, softly, and moved into long makeout sessions, increasing the periods between when Cosima had to pause for breath. Their hands had roamed over one another, gently, Delphine's cautiously, testing, her expression a repeating question. It was almost like being budding teenagers, carefully exploring, over the clothes in long, slow, strokes, tentatively under their night shirts, skirting closely around erogenous zones. Cosima had moved from being too sensitive, pained, to accepting, and then leaning softly into Delphine's touches. She had convinced Delphine to kiss her longer, to let go, to pleasure herself with Cosima watching, eyes locked, Cosima determinedly controlling her breath as her lover edged closer, closer, everything in Delphine's gaze, her body, telling Cosima she loved her, that she ached for Cosima's hands to be the ones to replace her own, and meeting Delphine in a kiss full of yearning just before and after Delphine shuddered in orgasm.
But the orgasms had not been release, not fully. And taking in Cosima now, as she makes a little turn, her eyes full of sass and teasing, makes Delphine realize just how much she's longed for a full bodily connection with her, and that Cosima might, finally, be strong enough.
"Mon dieu…" she whispers out loud, "so beautiful…"
Cosima's eyelids drop slightly, her look becoming pleased, confident, languid, as she steps forward, taking Delphine's hands and bringing them to her hips, and moves her lips close, so close to Delphine's, drawing each other's breath, lips tingling, aching, but not quite touching.
"Yeah?" she asks, her tone low, almost a whisper. "You think?"
And Delphine moves forward, grasping at her hips, biting her own lip and then reaching to press their mouths together. But Cosima pulls back, quickly, smirking, before their lips can meet.
"Good," she teases. "Now your turn."
She holds up a merrywidow of lace in pure white. Delphine's eyes take a moment to pull away from her lips, to react. Then she mutely takes the hanger and stares as the object of her desire quickly opens the door, backs out, and shuts it, giggling, then moves back into the adjacent changing room.
Delphine is still for a moment, flustered, then shakes her head, moving quickly, almost as if shaking off rust. She pulls her clothes off in a rush, fumbling, tossing them on the small bench rather than hanging them neatly. The lingerie is off the hanger and working its way up her legs almost before she knows it, and finally she straightens, looks up into the mirror, and watches herself as her hands adjust the bra cups, check the fastenings, and straighten the garter belt slings against her thighs. Her face in her reflection is breathing heavily, mouth open, eyes dilated, her hair mussed. She touches her own neck, tracing down her sternum and ghosting along the lace front on her chest and belly. Her brain is operating in fits and starts, rushing, halting, throbbing in disbelief as her heart flutters. I want to look good for her, she thinks, I want… and a full, all-over bodily rush comes over her, a feeling of anxious hope and desire so strong that even mental words fail her.
And then there is a soft knocking on the door.
"Ready? Can I come in, now?" comes Cosima's voice. And Delphine nods, more to herself than in response, and flips the latch.
Cosima is back in her street clothes, which leaves Delphine surprised and disappointed at first, but her eyes widen as she takes in her girlfriend in the lingerie, bright white against creamy skin, and her tongue slipping across her lower lip makes up for it. She pauses, latching the door behind her, drinking the sight of Delphine in.
"Delphine," she whispers, releasing a small groan, "you're perfect."
And then she's pushing, pinning Delphine against a mirror, their mouths coming together in hungry gasps and her hands clutching at the creamy lace at Delphine's waist. And Delphine doesn't care if the material is cheap, or if the situation is trite if it means the woman she loves, she needs, is looking at her that way. She throws her head back as Cosima moves down to her neck, biting, Delphine's skull making a noisy thud as it hits the mirrored wall behind her. She bites her lip and grabs Cosima, trying to hold her still, while Cosima snakes a hand behind her head to cradle it and looks at her with concern and then near-silent laughter as Delphine tells her "I'm fine. Just… be still."
They hear the door across from them open, as the woman in the other changing room steps out. There is a pause, the lovers clenched and frozen, until an unfamiliar voice rings out, moving away, "Brad, none of these are right. I'm gonna look for some other styles."
Then the area is empty, and Cosima's giggling, holding back against full-throated laughter, and Delphine pulls up one hand, swiping a gentle slap against Cosima's shoulder.
"Shh! I'm almost sure she heard us! Let go of me and I'll change and we can get out of h—"
Before Delphine can finish the sentence, Cosima's mouth is on hers again, tongue probing, teeth tugging at her bottom lip.
"Shh, yourself," Cosima shushes her, one hand moving to her hip and the other ranging up to cup her breast. "We're alone now, and I'm not letting you go, so just try to be quiet."
Delphine tries to protest, but one of Cosima's hands is slipping fingers into the leg hole below her hip and the others dip into one cup of the merrywidow, stroking her breast, her nipple, making her knees go weak. One of her arms flies up, reaching above and behind her, until her hand grasps the top edge of the mirror, clinging to hold herself upright. Cosima's mouth begins working its way down her neck again, pausing at where it arcs into her shoulder and slipping down across her collarbone to lick hungrily at the hollow of her throat.
"Do you have any idea," Cosima rasps, pushing one of Delphine's thighs aside, apart from the other, with her own, "how fucking good you look? How fucking sexy you are?"
Delphine gasps again. She realizes vaguely that she should be silent, but she feels like she's about to blow apart. She grasps Cosima's shoulder and pushes her mouth into it, gripping it with her teeth, stifling a moan.
"Cosima…" is all she can whisper, as her lover pulls down on the corset, freeing her breasts and taking one into a hand, the other into her mouth. Delphine throws her head back again, just barely avoiding slamming it once more. Her body writhes and rucks, undulating as Cosima's hand slips from her hip to the inside of her thigh, the garter belt straps sliding aside and tickling her faintly. Delphine tries one last time to regain control, to pull herself together.
"Cosima, we can't…" she breathes, but she doesn't really mean it, not enough, and as Cosima's fingers slide under the fabric, pushing the crotch panel aside and stroking insistently against the lips of her cunt, Delphine shoves her knuckles into her own mouth and bites, trying not to cry out.
There's a sudden noise outside the door, footsteps whisking on the carpet, again, the rustling of bags. Both women grow still and Cosima rises, sliding up Delphine's torso, to press her face into her neck. The door opposite them opens, rattles, thunks and creaks at the hinge again. More rustling. The woman across the aisle clears her throat, and Delphine takes a quick gulp of air, Cosima's fingers digging into her hips again. Then another rattle, and the woman's voice again, moving past them and out of the area, "okay, Brad, I wanna look at Express."
They don't move for a moment, quiet, and then Cosima raises her head to look into Delphine's eyes, a smile playing around her lips. They both let out a sigh.
"That was a close one," Cosima chuckles, and Delphine nods.
"Yes," she answers, taking a full breath, "we should —"
But Cosima interrupts her again. Her gaze becoming penetrating, her hunger evident in her eyes, as she snakes one hand up Delphine's front, then touches her fingers to Delphine's lip. Delphine trembles for a second, and then let her lips drop open, allowing Cosima to slide two fingers into her mouth and sucking, licking at them with a moan as her lover moves them gently in and out. Cosima is watching her, rapt, as Delphine's tongue slides down along her palm then up gain, suckling greedily at her fingers, while Cosima moves her other hand up to rub her thumb against her girlfriend's nipple. Cosima seems shaky, now, too, her breath quick and vibrating, but her look determined, as she slowly pulls her fingers from Delphine's mouth, allowing her one, last, full length stroke with her tongue, and then pushes those fingers expertly between Delphine's skin and the clothing material, again, stroking her folds with a an increasingly firm pressure.
Delphine feels her fingers clawing into Cosima's back almost absently, her hips curling as she throws one leg around Cosima and rocks her center to meet her amour's hand. She feels Cosima's now-slick fingers slide her nether lips apart and glide into the greater wetness dripping from Delphine's sex. Cosima's thumb moves against her clit and Delphine thinks she's going to lose her mind right then and there, completely, letting out a breathy, high-pitched cry without even remembering to muffle it. And then Cosima's fingers are sliding in, all the way to the last knuckles, filling her, and releasing something in her that had been held back so long she'd been afraid it would never return again.
Cosima strokes her slowly, but Delphine can't take it. She presses her mouth against her lover's, devouring her lips and tongue with deep, hungry kisses, and rocks against the hand between her legs, thrusting into Cosima's fingers harder and faster, again and again.
Cosima meets her rhythm, groaning and kissing her back eagerly, sloppily, their teeth clicking, tongues slipping and clashing and lips getting bruised. She has pressed her pubic bone against the back of her own hand, now, and is pushing, slamming her hips against her girlfriend, her thumb sliding and crushing against Delphine's clit, as Delphine moves one hand so quickly up and under her skirt to the junction of her legs that she feels long fingers sliding under her panties and through the hairs of her sex almost before she understands what's happening. Cosima shifts slightly backward until Delphine can use her long arm to and supple wrist to awkwardly reach and press her fingers into her cunt, in return.
It's just movement, pulsing, humming, now. They're pressed so close together, so in synch that they're almost one person, each tiny shift of muscle prompting the other to adjust almost seamlessly in angle and pressure, as if one nervous system links right into the other, each getting pleasure from the other being touched. Cosima is repeating Delphine's name now, in a moaning whisper, between each thrust, each kiss, and Delphine is releasing small grunts, huffing "huhn, huhn, huh"s as everything melts around her except the feeling of her lover's hands, her body against her, the slick warmth of her flesh enveloping her fingers.
Delphine leans her head back once more, her eyes rolling upward under her lids, her hips stuttering, moving into a spasm. A high, keening note, held just barely under her breath, escapes her as she reaches her shuddering climax, the walls of her sex clenching, claiming Cosima's fingers as their own. Cosima gasps with her, her eyes caught, riveted to her lover's face as she watches her come, a feeling of hot need and depthless tenderness clutching at her heart. She moves quickly against Delphine's hand, reaching down to press her lover's thumb against her clit, vibrating, until she, too feels a quick, relieving release — perhaps not as deep or as long as she wants, but it is enough, at least until they get home.
As they sag against one another, Delphine inhales the smell of Cosima's skin, squeezing her close, eyes tight, and then loosening, reassured that Cosima is well, fully with her again. Cosima looks up at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then gently to her lips, smiling. They both ease their fingers out and slip both arms around each other, coming down.
"Je t'aime," Delphine says, and Cosima feels it in every bone of her body.
"I love you," Cosima replies, and Delphine feels whole again.
It's then that another noise startles them from outside their door, as a changing room door is opened and closed, and a woman begins humming softly to herself, the whisper of fabric against skin signaling her trying on clothes.
Cosima and Delphine both stifle a giggle and pull gently apart, a bit sticky and moist. Delphine clings for a moment to Cosima's shoulders, regaining the strength in her legs.
"You realize," she says quietly, but with a wryly pointed tone, "that now we're going to have to buy this?"
She gestures to the merrywidow, now damp with sweat and juices. Cosima chuckles, picking up Delphine's underwear and bra and offering them to her.
"That's alright," she answers, "I have a feeling I'm going to want to frame it by the time the night is over."
Delphine grins around biting her own lip and swats her playfully again. She takes a breath and gives her one more squeeze.
"My Cosima," she whispers, "you're really well again."
"My love," Cosima murmurs back, breath tickling her ear, "I'm better than well, better than I ever was… and I'm going to make you feel that way, too."
They have never exited a store in such a hurry, and with such embarrassed, fumbling attempts at going unnoticed.