A/N: This was prompted by TypeyTypeyTypey on tumblr like 2 weeks ago and I finally got around to writing it. Hope you enjoy.

"I don't think I feel it."

You're laying spread eagle on your bed, naked, with Cosima's head resting on your stomach. She laughs, breath hot against your skin.

"Oh really?" Her eyes dart over to the ashtray by your lamp and the butt of your shared blunt.

You hum an affirmative but it feels weird in your mouth, sounds different than usual. You hum again, this time trying a different inflection. It feels funny, the way your throat vibrates. Is that really how vocal cords work? You think about asking Cosima but when you manage to lift your head she's already looking at you and the amused concern in her eyes is the most adorable thing you've ever seen. You lose it, giggling for god knows how long because what even is time anymore and the fact that Cosima is just watching you, completely unperturbed, only serves to make things worse.

"You done," she asks when your fit finally subsides.

"Yes," you manage, hand trying to hide the smile still plastered on your face.

"Good."

You watch as she climbs out of bed, walking stark naked to your kitchen, and suddenly you find yourself stumbling after her.

"Cosima," you call across the room. She turns. "What are you doing?"

Instead of a reply she moves to your cupboards, opening them one at a time until she finds what she's looking for. You watch her through barely open eyes as she pulls out sugar, flour and chocolate and it takes you a minute but you finally realize what's going on: she's hungry. And so are you.

"Cupcakes," you declare, surging forward and moving Cosima out of the way. "I will make you cupcakes."

"Delphine?"

You hear her say your name but you're too focused on finding other ingredients to acknowledge her at the moment.

"Delphine," she says again, the laughter barely hidden behind her smile. "Do you want some help?"

She's far more sober than you, of that you can be sure (she made sure you smoked a majority of the blunt, plus her tolerance is ridiculous after so many years of use), but you're determined to prove you're not as much of a lightweight as you appear. You try and force yourself into sobriety, eyes straining to open wider as you grab bowls and ingredients and lay them out haphazardly.

"Merde."

You swear out loud as you stare down at yourself, naked in your own kitchen. You turn and rummage through a drawer, finding an apron and slipping it over your head with a satisfied grin.

Cosima regards you from where she's leaning against the counter and the hunger you see in her eyes sends a chill down your spine. That's one way to sober up.

You go about your business, mixing this, adding that, pausing every so often to admire the ingredients as you combine them.

"Science is so… beautiful," you declare, staring down into the bowl, watching as the dry ingredients mix with the wet to become a glorious batter. "It's so many things, but then it's just one." You look up at Cosima and can't fight the smile that spreads across your face, mirroring hers. "You must feel like this often."

She laughs softly and nods her head, her answer a simple, "yeah."

"Taste," you command, dipping your finger into the bowl and holding it up as Cosima sidles up to you. You hold her eyes as she sucks your finger into her mouth, tongue sweeping the batter from your skin. You've never been more turned on in your life. It takes you a moment, once she's returned to her perch, for you to remember what you were doing but you pull yourself together and get the first batch in the oven.

When you turn around Cosima is hovering over the bowl, finger scooping up unused batter on it's way to her mouth.

"I'm going to use that," you scold, attempting to shoo her away but the batter on her finger finds your face and neck instead of her mouth and you stop in your tracks. You stare at Cosima for a moment, mouth open in shock. She just smirks and leans forward, her tongue making it's way along your jaw, gathering the batter smeared there just seconds before. You know what she's doing and your eyes narrow, "You are such a brat."

"Am I?"

Her words are muffled against your throat and you try to respond but between the weed and your growing arousal you can't remember how to formulate words. You lose yourself for a moment, enthralled by her touch, and when you finally come back to yourself you're sitting on the kitchen table, Cosima standing between your knees, making out in nothing but your apron.

She kisses you slowly, almost like the first time, her tongue exploring your mouth as her hands explore your body. It feels like hours are passing as her lips map your neck and your eyes keep flicking over to the oven, worried you'll miss the buzzer and burn your snack.

"Stop," she mumbles, drawing your attention back. "You'll hear it. It's fine."

"Hmm."

She pulls back, though not too far, and looks you in the eyes, "You're being paranoid."

"I am not," you counter, but your eyes travel back to the oven timer against your will.

"Oh yeah, obvs."

You can hear the sarcasm in her voice but your eyes remain fixated on the timer, curiously moving slower than you think time should.

When the oven finally beeps it feels as if no time at all has passed – thanks mostly to Cosima's distraction of eating you out on your kitchen table – and you practically glide to the oven to remove your perfectly risen cupcakes. You set them out to cool and put the second tray in the oven, setting the timer and promptly ignoring it in favor of the woman waiting patiently for you on the counter. You step into her arms and meet her lips with a smile.

"Can I have one," she asks when your kisses drop to her neck.

"Oui, but they must cool first."

"Are they better cool?"

You pull away, eyes narrowing, "I cannot frost them until they are cool."

"So, what you're saying is, I can have one now without frosting and one later with frosting?"

"You are-"

"A brat, I know. Feed me?"

You roll your eyes but grab a cupcake for her anyway because really, you'd never deny her anything. Her eyes light up as you peel back the wrapper in front of her, breaking off a small piece and holding it to her lips. She takes it from you, humming happily as she chews, and you take a bite yourself, reveling in your handiwork.

"Delphine," Cosima mumbles around another bite of cupcake. "You know what would make these even better?"

Your brow furrows, didn't she like them?

"If we put the weed in the cupcakes. I'll totally make you some butter to cook with."

She nods triumphantly and you throw the wrapper at her face, "You are trouble, Cosima."

"But you wouldn't have me any other way."