Delphine has decided she hates this stairwell. "Hate" is not a word she uses lightly, either. She often finds things distasteful or disappointing, perhaps even upsetting or infuriating. But hate is not a concept she lobs around for fun. Hate means something.
And this stairwell, it has more than earned the designation.
She hates the way the soles of her shoes stick to the floor as she walks, making them groan and squeak disgustingly with each step; she hates that half the steps are broken, despite the fact that they're made out of concrete; she hates the graffiti that covers the walls—the graffiti which doesn't even have the decency to look pretty. Instead, it's the drunken scribbling of teenagers with paint pens, experimenting with the illicit, writing their names to be immortalized until the building is taken down by a wrecking ball or a massive infestation of termites. Whichever gets to it first.
But most of all, she hates that Cosima is on the other side of this stairwell, probably smoking and laughing with Sarah and Felix, probably telling them how much she hates Delphine. And Delphine has been sitting in this shithole, chainsmoking cigarettes and trying to figure out what to say besides "I'm sorry," because the truth is she's not. Not even the slightest bit. What kind of person would lie about being sorry about lying?
She pulled the final cigarette from her pack and lit it with the butt of the last one, feeling the smoke begin to burn the back of her throat.
Get out.
When she'd said it, it had frightened Delphine, and she'd scampered off. Cosima didn't yell often, barely ever raised her voice, but she'd spoken it with such a poisonous tinge it bounced off the walls of their lab—no, Cosima's lab—and infused itself in every piece of equipment, hued every memory of their working hours together. She'd never be able to look at that damn extractor hood the same way again, now that it held the echo of both Cosima's cynicism and her ire.
She heard the sound of scuffing boots, the same sticky suctioning she despised so much, and she rose, dropping the cigarette, now just a butt, as Cosima and Sarah rounded the corner. Cosima shook the rain from her dreads, Sarah leaning away to avoid the droplets and pulling down her hood in one seamless action. Cosima froze in place, and Sarah's smile faded fast as she glanced from Cosima's drawn lips to Delphine standing there, stock still.
"Delphine." The word was flat on Cosima's lips. Sarah took a step toward Delphine, but Cosima grasped onto her arm to stop her.
"Yes. I'm here." She knew it was a ridiculous thing to say as soon as she'd said it, but she wasn't prepared for this. She was prepared for yelling, for 'what do you want,' for 'what are you doing here,' but not for the emptiness of her own name in this ridiculous, grimy stairwell. And Delphine felt stupid. Stupid for her response, for being here. Stupid for wanting Cosima's forgiveness and her warmth, stupid for thinking she could fix things again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Yeah. Well, that's your job isn't it? To always be there, to watch me?" Cosima's nostrils flared. "Who sent you? Rachel or Leekie?"
The truth was, it was neither. Because they didn't really need Delphine to draw Cosima to Dyad anymore, didn't need her to hold her there. They didn't even need her to monitor her activity anymore, because the cameras she was sure Rachel had installed in the lab could do that job as easily as she could. No, her entire usefulness now rested on Cosima's wanting her there. But she didn't, did she?
"I came because I—" She sighed, shaking her head. "Because I wanted to talk."
"Well, she don't want to talk to you." Sarah snapped, rage coiled plainly in her tensed muscles, waiting to be released so she could finally give Delphine what she deserved. Delphine wasn't opposed, necessarily; she almost wanted Sarah to hit her and make her bleed, so that Cosima would coo over her, stroke her hair, wipe the blood from her face and kiss her softly again, would love her again.
"I've got this, Sarah." Cosima said, a gentleness to her tone Delphine ached for. "I'll meet you upstairs in a little bit, okay?"
Sarah glanced between the two of them again before nodding. "All right, but you know where to find me if you need me."
Cosima nodded and Sarah walked away, intentionally shoving her shoulder hard into Delphine's and making her stumble back—almost sprawling onto the stairs before she caught herself with a backward step—just to show how much stronger, how much more aggressive she was than Delphine. Just because she could.
She turned back to face Cosima, opening her mouth then shutting it again when the words didn't come.
"What?" When Delphine still didn't speak, she added, "you wanted to talk, so talk."
"I never meant to upset you, Cosima." Her voice was subdued, but still so loud in the cramped, empty hall.
Cosima laughed, shaking her head. "Nope, try again."
Delphine huffed out a breath. "Cosima, please. I don't want things to be this way, I—" she ran a hand through her hair, "I can't stand it."
"There's a whole lot of what you want in those sentences, Delphine, and not a lot of reasons why I should give a shit."
"You should give a shit because I care about you." She brought her eyes up to meet Cosima's gaze again, holding it though she felt her heart withering beneath its glare.
"Maybe I don't care about you." Cosima looked over at the wall where the word 'jizzturkey' was scrawled in awkward, unpracticed cursive, frowning at it.
"I don't believe that." She took a step forward, then thought better of it and stopped before getting any closer. "I know this hurts you. It hurts me, too."
"Poor you." She remembered when the words had been said with a mixture of distrust and affection, remembered distinctly the way Cosima had played with her fingers, remembered the way it had sent tingles through her body, awakening the want that had been well and fully sated not fifteen minutes before. "I'm going upstairs."
Delphine caught her by the bicep as she moved to pass her, and she turned her head, their eyes connecting again.
"Let me go, Delphine."
"No. I'm sorry I hurt you, Cosima, but I will not apologize for doing the right thing."
Cosima scoffed. "And that's the fucking problem. You still thinking making decisions for me is the right thing. You still treat me like a lab rat." Her voice started to rise, and Delphine fought the urge to let her go, to shrink back into herself and run home with her tail between her legs. "If you cared about me, you would treat me like a person and let me decide what happens with my body!" She was full-on yelling now, though they were a foot away from one another, and Delphine tightened her grip on Cosima's arm to keep from letting go.
"I will not watch you die!" She shouted, matching Cosima's volume. She dropped it down low, leaning in closer for emphasis. "Hate me for the rest of your life, if that's what you must do, but I would rather know you're alive and healthy without me than live the rest of my days with your corpse on my conscience and in my heart."
Cosima wavered back slightly, sucking in a harsh breath through her clenched teeth. All she knew after that was that she was pressed against those stupid walls, Cosima's lips harsh and painful against her own, Cosima's hands grasping at her breasts through her button-up. She whimpered as the palm brushed a nipple, already hard and pressing against the layers of material between them, already missing Cosima's touch. She felt it begin to build again, a familiar heat that consumed her entire body in one overwhelming flash. The tightening and squeezing of organs tuned to the frequency of Cosima's skin rubbing against hers.
She presses back against her, matching force with force, but did not overtake her, did not try to touch her, because she knew Cosima neededit—this semblance of control, and she cannot take it from her again. So when fingers tugged at the button of her jeans, she didn't stop her, didn't tell her 'not yet,' because she was not ready for it, but she wanted it. More than anything before in her life, with her whole body, she craved it.
Cosima moved her lips to low on Delphine's neck, biting hard into it and making her cry out and tighten her hands into Cosima's top, so hard she thought she might tear it right off. She is not copyrighted, her genes do not mark her as property, yet Cosima's teeth can. Can tell everyone who looks at her that she is owned by another, that she does not want anyone else. She hoped Cosima would leave them all over her neck, all over her chest, because her heart is no longer hers and she wants the world to know it. She wants Cosima to know it.
Fingers slipped gracelessly against her clit and she pressed her hips forward, wetter than she'd thought she was, grinding into the feeling, letting it take over every last semblance of sense and awareness she'd been holding onto. She opened her eyes to look at Cosima, who was looking right at her, lips drawn tight and eyes dull, damp, and dark. Her heart beat a chill through her body that was quickly forgotten when Cosima pushed two fingers inside of her and she tightened around them, wanting to feel their friction against every millimeter of sensitive skin. It was incredible. Breathtaking. And so, so empty of affection it spread an entirely different sort of ache in her chest.
"Cosima." She managed through strained vocal chords, hand scrambling up to grasp at her hair, to bring their eyes together again. It wasn't supposed to go this way, not at all. So many scenarios in her head, so many words she'd mulled and considered, but not this. This was not even a spot on the horizon.
Cosima kissed her again, to keep her quiet perhaps, free hand tugging harshly on her curls, sending shots of pain that jumbled into pleasure somewhere on her spine between her head and her clit. She shifted, feeling another shock of pleasure at how her new position placed Cosima even deeper, even flusher up against her g-spot. It was the perfect place, in fact, and she rocked into the stroke of Cosima's hand, forcing it harder and harder into her with each thrust of her hips.
Random muscles began to twitch, and she knew it was almost over. She pulled back from Cosima's lips, placing her mouth to her cheek instead, gasping hot moist breaths onto the side of her face. "Oh. Oh, merde. Cosima." It was a whimper, would have been a sob if she didn't have the pure will to not cry. It felt amazing, as always, because Cosima was an amazing lover, but the orgasm washed through her gently, with none of the force of the tidal wave it usually was, and she found herself back in reality quicker than ever.
Cosima pulled her fingers away, looking at them with a sour frown before wiping them on her own pants. She looked up at Delphine, messy and leant against the wall, breath still coming in shallow gasps, then turned and walked wordlessly up the stairs.
Delphine's legs began to falter and she slid down the wall, landing harshly on her tailbone. Yes, she hated this hallway and all of its grime, all of its thoughtless scrawls—mistakes of wasted youth. Most of all, she hated thatshe belonged here.
I have a second part to this sorta sketched out in my brain, if y'all are interested in reading it. No promises on my follow-through abilities, though. Let me know what you think!