This is apology smut for xthetumblweedx. I promise never to fade to black again.
Anonymous prompt: can you do one with Cosima and Delphine as exes and they're in the same group of friends and every time they're alone together at a get together they end up fighting and then having really hot sex and they're like "we really need to stop doing this" but they can't and it keeps happening and it's rly hard bc they never rly got over each other even though they've tried and they just end up saying "fuck it I love you" and etc
It's exhilarating, really. The way her blood still rushes to her skin at the sight of her. The difference now, though, is that she feels the heat rising in her ribs and in her throat. Feels the tension balling in her fists instead of pooling in her abdomen, instead of settling in the space between her thighs. And it's expected, isn't it? That a feeling this strong would culminate in something like this. It makes sense. After all, it wasn't as if she could simply avoid her, what with their inextricably intertwined network of friends. What with that whole being-in-the-same-PhD-program situation. Yes, they would have to learn how to be civil with one another. Even after everything. Even though she still seethes at the sight of her.
Even though – currently – she can't stand to be near to her. Even though – at the moment – she can hardly manage polite conversation. Even though – not five minutes ago – they'd found themselves alone together, and scarcely seconds had passed before their terse pleasantries had devolved into bitter words laced with snap and bite and malice. Even now, Delphine still refused to apologize. Even now, she was still wholly insufferable. Even now, she was still so obstinately gorgeous.
Especially now, all sweaty and breathless and pressed against the back of a grimy bathroom door, her skirt rucked up over her thighs and her long fingers tangling themselves in dreadlocked hair.
So stubbornly, stupidly gorgeous.
"Co-Cosima," Delphine pants. "Please."
Cosima only smirks and continues to tease at the band of her panties, dipping beneath them to barely brush her clit before sliding her fingers slowly up her abdomen again.
Delphine groans and sharply arches her back when Cosima pulls away, smacking her head against the back of the door with a loud thwack. She whimpers, but whether it's from desperation or pain Cosima can't seem to bring herself to care.
This isn't for Delphine, after all. Isn't about Delphine.
She digs her fingers into the pale flesh of Delphine's arms, nails ripping crimson from soft white, and shoves her down to her knees. Spins around and rests her own back against the cold metal door, pulling her dress up over her thighs.
This isn't about Delphine, after all.
Delphine is nose pressed between thighs, lips pressed against heat even before she hooks needy fingers into lacy panties and tugs down hard. She's frantic, and there's no need to urge her on, but Cosima winds her fingers through wild blonde locks and pulls her in anyway.
It's not as if she can't get this elsewhere. It's not as if she needs Delphine – not that she misses her, specifically. She could have this from nearly anyone.
But there is something uniquely satisfying about holding Delphine's head down between her legs. When it's Delphine's long, greedy fingers grasping at the backs of her thighs. When it's Delphine's desperate moans that vibrate from bruised lips along the length of her tongue and against her throbbing center. And truthfully, she likes seeing Delphine like this: desperate and beneath her, dark mildewed tiles hard beneath her bare knees. Rickety old lights flickering a tired yellow across her skin.
That's what this is about, after all.
Delphine is rushed, eager, messy. There is no artistry to this, no affection. Not anymore.
And she can allow herself this, when it's Delphine who needs her. When it's Delphine's weakness that brings them together.
"Fuck, Delphine," she whines, hips jerking up and free hand flying behind her to meet the cool steel of the door in a resounding smack. Without warning, Delphine has easily slipped two fingers into her, and when Cosima snaps her head back down she can see the smirk on Delphine's lips. Hates her for it, but needs her for it all the more.
It had only taken a few drinks, the first time. Two glasses of wine, an Oyster shooter, and a poorly timed crossing of paths on the walkway alongside the back of that restaurant, and suddenly their quiet rage had flared and bloomed into a cacophony of biting words. Of hushed accusations turned shouted slurs until just like that the wind was knocked out of her – back shoved hard and sudden against the wall, Delphine's mouth on hers, frenetic hands slipping fast beneath her dress and tearing at lace.
That had been the first time.
And really, it was to be expected. It was not abnormal, after all, to fuck your ex-girlfriend a couple of times.
But maybe not, like, every time.
And this time? This time there was not even the flimsy excuse of alcohol. Cosima had scarcely set her glass on the table before ducking off to the bathroom, where poor luck found her in the dark, empty corridor – alone with Delphine. Alone with Delphine, who stood leaning against the wall. She hesitated a moment. Considered turning back on her heel. Considered departing before she was noticed. But then Delphine glanced up and met her gaze. Cosima stared back, face stone, before lifting her chin and striding resolutely forward.
She stood stiffly next to her, arms crossed over herself.
"Hi," she said curtly, lips pursed. She kept her gaze straight ahead, her back to the wall.
"Hello, Cosima." There was no warmth to her tone. She didn't even bother to turn her head to look at her.
The silence stretched long, and Cosima shifted uncomfortably. Uncrossed her arms. Crossed them again. The floor was sticky beneath her feet.
"So, is this it?" Delphine said, breaking the silence. She turned her head ever so slightly to look at Cosima. "We cannot even manage a conversation, now?"
Cosima's face hardened. She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Still, she refused to meet Delphine's gaze.
"I guess not."
The bathroom door clicked open, and some stranger stumbled past them without a second glance. Delphine slipped inside, abruptly shutting the door behind her. Cosima didn't lift her gaze from the grubby floor when she came back out again a few moments later. Saw only the heels of her boots striking the ground as she breezed past her and back to the safety that the company of the group afforded. They could be civil, with Scott and Alison and Felix around to diffuse the tension. They could present some pretense of friendliness, as long as they were not left alone.
She was surprised, then, when she opened the door to find Delphine blocking her exit several moments later.
"Why won't you talk to me?" Delphine demanded, her voice unsettlingly soft. She stood just on the other side of the threshold, arm an iron bar blocking Cosima's way.
"Because we don't talk," Cosima snapped. "We just, like, end up yelling at each other. I'm done."
"We are going to have to be around each other, Cosima," she argued, unrelenting. "We have to make this work."
"Seems to be working just fine to me," Cosima countered viciously, laying a hand on her arm and attempting to push Delphine out of her way.
Instead, Delphine bent her arm at the elbow, releasing the doorframe and clasping Cosima's forearm. She shoved against her a bit too hard, and the motion brought the both of them back into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind them.
"What the hell, Delphine?" Cosima snarled, and Delphine released her arm. She stepped back a pace, as if she were not altogether certain how they'd arrived in this position.
Delphine's eyes were molten, and Cosima felt that familiar heat rising in her again – only now it was everywhere. Roaring in her throat, her palms, her ears, her fingertips. Washing over the insides of her thighs and flaring in her chest, her groin, in the space between her eyes. And then, quite suddenly, it was Delphine's back against the door. Delphine's sharp little gasp echoing off cold tile. Delphine's fingers working frantically to twist the lock shut behind them as Cosima crashed into her.
It was hard to believe now that that had been only moments ago. Hard to believe now that Delphine's knees are already sunk into the floor beneath her. Now that her tongue and fingers are already working between her legs. Now, when Cosima is already so close.
Delphine licks at her, fingers still working a steady rhythm inside. Cosima can feel her legs beginning to tremble, and Delphine responds by urging one of her legs up over her shoulder, supporting her as best she can. Spreading her wider.
It's a quick thing, this time. Delphine's fingers curl just there and suddenly Cosima can no longer support herself on her own. Feels herself collapsing onto Delphine's shoulder, Delphine's hands digging into the backs of her thighs and ass. She's still trembling when Delphine slips her fingers out and shrugs her leg off of her shoulder. Still trembling when Delphine rises much too abruptly, nearly causing Cosima to crumple to the mildewed floor. But Delphine catches her and presses her flush up against the wall instead. She kisses her, biting hard at her bottom lip and pulling her still-shaking thigh roughly between her own legs. She whimpers as she grinds against her, and she's so beautifully wet and desperate that for a moment Cosima forgets what this is really about – forgets and loses herself in Delphine's need instead.
"J'ai besoin de toi," Delphine breathes hot against dewy skin, capturing Cosima's hand and pressing it against her own sex. Her fingers slot themselves between Cosima's own, palm pressing down to hold her hand there as she rocks against her.
Cosima can't separate her own groan from Delphine's. Doesn't care to make sense of any of this, just now. She slips quickly inside: two fingers, and then three, and then it's Delphine who can hardly stand. Delphine who's grasping at her face, kissing at her neck, and frantically whispering things in French that are beginning to sound all too familiar in the most dangerous of ways.
A different kind of warmth comes rushing back to Cosima as Delphine makes little noises that sound much too close to affection for this particular brand of encounter. Delphine is stroking her face and neck with fingertips that are much too light. She's kissing the corners of her mouth, kissing along her jaw, whispering softly to her and there's too much tenderness here. It's not right; not for what this should be. Cosima craves the fire, the bright-hot scalding hurt of this thing. Wants to stoke these flames wild and high now and then burn this all down to ash for good. The warmth? The warmth is too dangerous. The warmth burns too long. She needs fire.
It's now that Cosima is grateful for the familiarity of this thing. Is grateful that she knows Delphine's body so well; knows all of the little tricks to draw her out, to make her beg if she so pleases.
But this isn't about that.
So Cosima makes quick work of her instead.
She draws her up sharply, and Delphine cries out. It's a hard, strangled thing, and Cosima is glad of it.
Delphine's body wilts over her, and Cosima adjusts her so that most of her weight rests against the back of the door. They're both panting. Both still.
And it's this part that she hates the most. It's the gathering of the pieces, the rationalization of the thing.
How many times has it been now? Four? Five?
Just get out as fast as possible, she thinks.
When she's mostly sure that Delphine can stand on her own she turns her back sharply and strides away. Readjusts her dress. Disentangles her ripped panties from around her ankles and tosses them in the bin. She twists the sink on and lets the icy water wash over her hands. She wrings them together, vigorously scrubbing away any traces of Delphine's arousal. She allows herself one brief glance into the cloudy mirror – obscured with scuff marks and grime – and sees Delphine shakily readjusting her skirt and belt. She's still blocking her exit.
Cosima remembers her drink where she left it sitting on the counter just beside Felix. Can see the little beads of condensation that must have pooled around the glass by now, assuming Felix hasn't already drained it in her extended absence. But it's a fair enough excuse to make quick work of this part of the thing, and she'll use it.
But it's Delphine who speaks first. It's Delphine who speaks first, and Cosima finds herself boiling again.
"This cannot happen again, Cosima." She is resolute, but her voice still shakes.
"Yeah, well if you'd stop, like, dragging me off into dark corners and shit every time we're alone together –"
"Me?" Delphine interrupts, outraged. "You are the one who started this. You are the one who keeps looking at me as if… as if…"
"As if what?" Cosima snaps, advancing on her. "You pushed me in here."
"And you pushed me against the wall!" Delphine bites back.
"And you left!" Cosima shouts, her voice breaking a bit. She's struck something there, and they both stand paralyzed by the reverberation of the accusation. It's the first time either of them have brought up Delphine's departure since… well, since...
"I tried – I wanted you to come with me," Delphine counters lowly, her eyes downcast.
"Fuck," Cosima curses, and there's still venom there. "You still can't take responsibility for anything, can you?"
Her voice is acid, and Delphine bristles. Her back is pressed flat against the door, and Cosima is far too close. The anger radiates off of her in waves, and Delphine swears she can feel it pulsing against her own skin. She barricades herself behind folded arms, mumbling something in French that quickly devolves into exasperated laughter.
"C'est ridicule," she finishes, and that much Cosima understands.
"Okay, so what then?" Cosima presses, gesturing wildly and pacing around the fusty space. The yellow light sparks and flickers shadows across her features. "We just can't, like, be alone together? Or even around each other at all? Or we'll end up fucking?"
"I… merde. Yes?" Delphine offers, running both hands through mussed hair in frustration.
"Shit," Cosima says. She stops her pacing and their eyes meet.
"Cosima, I –"
But Cosima won't let her finish. Delphine's voice is too soft, her eyes too eager. She doesn't know how to deal with Delphine like this, without the anger. Without the hate. Doesn't want to understand. The anger is easier; the anger is safe. She's afraid of what might tumble out of Delphine's mouth next if it's not harsh words and biting insults.
"I'll go, okay? Tell everyone I'm, like, sick or something. I don't care."
"Cosima," Delphine begins, attempting to soothe her. "Please don't. We can both –"
But Cosima is already brushing past her.
"I'll see you around, Delphine."
Delphine is left with only the echo of the door's metallic slam as Cosima departs. She can hear the rusted faucet as it drips steadily into the mildewed sink, but it's the echo of Cosima's metallic words that rings in her ears.
She doesn't move for quite some time.