You smile at the sound of running water, digging a little faster for the corkscrew in Felix's disorganized drawers. It's only been two weeks since Alison cleaned it spotless and he has managed to mix everything up already. And normally you wouldn't care; your apartment is a very similar state of disarray, but it's keeping you from your naked girlfriend(?). That's not okay in your book.

Finding it, you practically rip the cork from the wine bottle, hastily pouring two glasses and nearly running for the bathroom.

You move the beads aside slowly with the back of your hand, not wanting to disturb her.

She has her eyes closed, head tilted back to rest on the lip of the tub. Even with the water swirling and slightly distorting your view, you blush, because her body does things to your body and it sometimes feels like you share a vascular system.

It appears she does not know of your arrival, so you take a few steps closer and gently nudged the neck of the wine glass between her fingers. They tighten around it and she opens her eyes, smiling small even though you know she wants to grin. Her eyes then drop to the glass.

"White?" she asks in surprise, her eyebrows rising as she looks back to you.

Your cheeks get hot and you dip your chin to try and hide it. "Yeah. You…you like it better than red, right?"

You sneak a glance back at her, and her eyes soften before she smiles. She smiles like you've just carried her up Mount Everest. "Oui, c'est vrai."

For a moment, you stand awkwardly beside the tub. She gives you an impatient look to go with her impatient words. "Well? Are you getting in?"

You smirk and take a sip of your wine. "Yes. But only if you scoot forward."

"No." Her answer is instantaneous along with a firm shake of her head. "I want to hold you."

That is new.

So very new.

Never have you been the little spoon. People always assume because you are bisexual that you flip with spoons too. You don't. You don't like when men hold you. It feels restrictive. Hard and locked and heavy. You've just never thought to let a woman try. You love collecting all the warmth and softness and good smells into your arms.

"I'm newer at this," she argues, even though you had failed to give her any response. "So I should get to try what I want."

You consider fighting her, but then she gives the smallest pout, a crease forming in her brow, her lip protruding just a little. All fight leaves you, along with any firm support in your back. You don't even care where your spine has gone. You like the loose sort of mushy tingling that it left behind.

And all your thoughts are of how you want to kiss her pout away. You do.

You lean forward slowly, so she sees you coming, and her eyes fade darker. She bites her lip as you hesitate millimeters away. The touch of your lips to hers is minimal, barely even brushing together, but you love the way your heart stutters, protesting. Telling you something so incredibly perfect cannot possibly be good for you. Like artery-clogging chocolate cake you make with twelve sticks of butter or singing at the top of your lungs even with the windows open or running out in the rain when just rain turns to thunderstorms.

But you've never cared about that. You've always indulged in junk food and slightly dangerous activities and silly little embarrassing things. Never have you cared if something is bad for you, so long as it feels good.

You know right then Delphine is one of those things. Even though you trust her completely, you know you would still be with her, even if youdidn't trust her. Because she is something you want to indulge in.

So you give her what she wants, slipping into the warm water in front of her and settling yourself between her legs. She pulls you backwards with her free hand, and you lean back until you feel her shoulder behind your head, her breasts firm against your back.

Both her and your right hands hang over the side of the tub, mirror images holding wine glasses. You inspect the way her fingers hold it so daintily, like she's holding up air. Her knuckles are not locked like you see with most people. They look loose and comfortable hanging there holding the drink, like that is how her fingers would have been, even if the glass was not there.

"Oh!" she breathes excitedly by your ear. "She looks shady, does she not?"

You smile and roll your head. To get a good view out the window, you have to press your cheek firmly to hers, and it feels so, so good to have that warmth.

Not to mention the warmth of the rest of your body. To say you've been missing out is an understatement. The way her inner thighs press to the outside of yours, subtle but present. The way her left arm floats around you. It is like you are holding her there instead of she holding you. You can feel her heartbeat thudding against your back, loving the way you move with her expanding and relaxing chest, until you find that your breathing has synced with hers.

Finally you are able to really look out the window, and you know exactly who she is talking about. A woman is looking around nervously, fiddling with anything her hands can reach. She fixes her hair and checks her phone and adjusts her shirt. Eyes over her shoulder and paces.

"Hooker," you guess, turning your head back toward the bathroom to sip your wine.

"What?"

You rack your brain. You are positive of all the French you learned in high school, all the street language is what you retained. "Putain," you offer.

"You think so?"

You lick the wine from your lips as you look back out the window, taking in the woman's far too short skirt and overdone makeup, glancing quickly at the skyline to catch a glimpse of the now falling sun.

"Yeah. Definitely."

Her legs tighten slightly around you unconsciously as she further inspects. You follow suit, leaning your head against hers and staring out into the alley.

Just simply being with her is wonderful. It's a feeling you have trouble placing. Your chest feels lighter somehow, and your body is loose. You feel…at ease.

Never in your life have you felt comfortable around people. It's not that you dislike people. Quite the contrary. You find them fascinating. But that does not mean you can relate. You give them easy humor and casual smiles and they all fall into step with you, waiting to pull witty sarcasm or a light laugh from you, but in the back of your head you are always a little nervous. Never genuinely scared or anything enough to make you any less chill, but you still get that little pull in your head, telling you you're not doing something right.

Not here.

The itch at the back of your skull is gone. You are not worried, because Delphine does not care.

You can sit here and do absolutely nothing and it is… It's is exactly as she had said. Oddly entertaining. Sipping your wine, lying in her arms, creeping on people outside and making light conversation in between long spans of silence is just about the best thing you've done. In twenty minutes alone, you both witness a handful of joggers, two families carrying groceries, eight men with leather briefcases, and a drug deal.

Eventually, though, after the wine glasses were emptied and discarded, you cannot focus on the people outside. Her thumb has started to gently caress your inner thigh. You glance at her and she seems to have no idea she's doing it, still so enraptured with the urban life going on outside. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, her eyes curious. Nothing about her incredibly honest face tells you she has even the slightest clue.

It's a-freaking-dorable.

But those fingers.

They continue. Up and down and up and down. Every time, the little shocks that jolt through your skin and veins go a little higher until it is going through your whole body. On her down stroke, your feet and legs tingle and on her upstroke, you feel it tangle all the way up your spine. It's distracting to say the least, but it is distracting in the best way possible.

She leans a little further toward the window, exposing her neck, and you stare at it for a long time. You do not know why it fascinates you so, but your eyes trace over the slope of it, back and forth, watching the muscles work as she strains to see.

But then the hand on your thigh distracts you again, reminding you of the slowly building heat collecting in your gut, a gentle throbbing between your legs. It is too much for you to handle. You kiss her throat first, and you feel the vibrations of her surprised little mewling sound, running delicious fire up your chest. She turns her head a little further away, her finger stopping its lazy patterns on your thigh to grip your hip. You let your tongue dart out to taste her skin, moving closer to her vein.

There, her pulse beats strongly against your lips, so rhythmic you almost want to stay there forever. You love how you can actually feel it speeding up in anticipation, just like yours is.

You suck a little, and her breath hitches, her exhale wavering.

She turns so her lips find yours. She kisses you languidly, parting your lips with her tongue and bringing life to your body. You kiss her back firmly, your hand lifting from the water to find her cheek, to pull her closer. She obeys, her hands gliding over your body to find a better hold. One wraps firmly around your stomach, the other traveling bravely over your center.

A moan slips out your mouth, and you twist your torso to really face her, sliding your fingers through her hair. She pulls your bottom lip between her own, sucking lightly and scraping her teeth over it before releasing it.

"Out," she whispers, her accent heavy on the 'u'. Your skin crawls and a deep itch forms in your lower stomach. "Now, out."

But you can't do much about it. You both hear the metal door sliding open and you cringe. You're pretty sure Sarah does too because you hear a frantic, "No, monkey! Felix is gonna take you to Bobby's for a Shirley Temple!" Overly sweet to hide the panic.

"Why—OH. Yes, c'mon Kira, let's go."

Delphine tenses, and if she could, she would probably cower behind you. She settles for tightening her hold around you and sinking a little further into the tub. You put your hands atop hers on your stomach, squeezing them reassuringly.

"Merde," she whispers, her breath tickling down your back.

You scrape your teeth over your lip as she had just done, but it does not feel the same. When she did it, you thrilled. When you do it, you just feel as worried as the gesture suggests.

"Alright," Sarah calls angrily from the other room once the metal door slides shut again. "All fingers and tongues as far away from nether regions as possible. I'm comin' in."

Delphine's hands slide out from under yours and out of the water to grip the tub's edge. You lift yours playfully up and above your head like you're about to be read your Miranda rights just as Sarah enters. She shoots you a glare. You just grin at her.

She tosses your underwear onto the ground between you and her. Delphine's cheek burns against your shoulder blade.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" Sarah asks, fuming.

"I dunno about her," you say, "but I wasn't doing much thinking at all."

"We live here with Kira, Cos. You can't just go around doing each other like—"

"Jesus, Sarah. You're going off like we planned it!" you laugh easily.

Her mouth opens in shock.

"We're sorry? Alright?" you continue, standing up from the water.

Immediately, you can tell she has no idea what to do. Her eyes stay on your body for a moment before she physically jerks herself away, turning around. "What the hell, Cos?"

You chuckle and shrug, stepping from the tub, water going everywhere as you reach for a towel. "What? It's not like you haven't seen it before."

At this she seems almost relieved and a little intrigued, and actually sneaks another glance at you as you pull on your underwear. A crease is set between her eyebrows, and you give her a curious look back. "What?"

"How do you have a bigger rack than me?"

You glance downward at yourself as you towel your top half dry. "Surrogates actually do have a role in fetal development."

She shakes her head, as if appalled the question had even slipped from her mouth. "Never mind. Just…be dressed when I get back, yeah? Or go to a fucking hotel."

She storms out before you can really protest or apologize, both of which you were considering. A giggle resonates behind you, and you turn around to see a pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, still very naked Delphine trying desperately not to laugh.

"Are you all so cheeky?" she asks and another small laugh comes up with another shy smile.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. She sees the joking in your eyes before you actually speak. "Yeah. Yeah we're all pretty screwed up, narcissistic, witty kinda woman, huh? 'Cept Alison. I don't think she has a sarcastic bone in her body."

"I like it," she admits, regaining some composure.

"Oh do you?" you ask smugly, walking over and gripping the tub's edge.

She nods weakly as you bend down further. "You better like it the best on me."

"I do," she answers breathlessly, like you have physically sucked the air from her lungs.

You lean a little closer, and you feel her shallow breaths against your lips. "Good."

Your lips press to hers and things happen. Your body surges. Actually physically surges to try and…you don't even know…envelope her? Take her? It doesn't matter. Something rages in you when her lips and teeth trail down your neck.

Your moan turns into a sigh as you physically tear yourself away. "We can't. Not here."

"I still have my hotel room," she reminds you smoothly as she stands.

How you had forgotten that in a matter of hours makes you slightly worried.

What is this woman doing to your brain?

She pulls the towel from around your body to dry herself off, and you give her a quick chaste kiss before going back into the studio. Sarah looks up from her magazine to glare at you, but she says nothing as you gather your and Delphine's clothes before practically running back to the bathroom.

Delphine quirks a mischievous eyebrow up at you, accepting the clothes. "Don't want Sarah getting any more of a view?"

You don't even pretend to hide it, smirking and shaking your head firmly as you yank up your skirt. "Not at all."

"I did not picture you as the jealous type. You seem to…laid back for it."

You laugh. "I'm not," you admit. "But for some reason, you make me different."

"Is that good?" her question is muffled under her shirt as she pulls it over her head.

"Yes. I…I like it a lot."

"Bien."

"Obvs."

Fully dressed, the two of you make a dash through the studio. But there's no way to get through without Sarah seeing. It's not like you're the Flash.

"Have fun fucking like bunnies," Sarah calls out without looking up, waving casually.

…

You forgot what it felt like. To be the object of someone's desire. You had given up on it a while ago. For too long you'd been using men and women alike to temporarily sate yourself. Nothing longer than a night. Eventually, it had started feeling like enough because you had completely forgotten what it felt like to feel…complete.

Not anymore.

You now remember how wonderful it feels to be loved. To be wanted. Because as you stand there, rooting around in the grocery bags after another round for the chocolate and peanut butter you know is there, you feel her gaze. You feel it and try to ignore it at first, but you want to see. You want to see her want. So you risk a glance behind you.

She is biting her lip, blatantly checking you out, even after hours of having you naked. The intensity of her stare as her eyes look slowly upward has some kind of hold on you. You swear there is an invisible Hulk gripping around your entire torso, because you can't seem to breathe.

She finally notices you looking at her. Her mouth opens in a gasp you cannot hear; your blood is rushing too fast against your eardrums. She flushes and smiles shyly, dipping her chin and looking away.

The pressure on your sternum increases.

"You are just…stunning," her tone is reverent and scared, making her words soft and warm, but her throat is tight.

You smile. Or that's what you wanted to do. Maybe you didn't you are so overwhelmed.

"It's okay to look," you laugh to try and loosen whatever is constricting your chest. "This isn't a 'touch, don't look' deal."

It doesn't matter that the irony is lost on her, because your words make her look up again, and you're lost in her almost golden eyes. The way they seem to purposefully pull you in.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I am not used to…" she waves her hands as she searches for the word.

You cannot help her translate this time. You could not come up with an English word that comes even close to what the feeling you have is. And still, you understand what she means. You understand it perfectly. You understand it in the way you want to be near her all the time. You understand it in the way her hands always seem to reach for you, even when she is not paying attention. You understand it in the way your heart seems to migrate around inside your chest when she is around, even though you know it stays perfectly still in the pericardium.

You understand.

She sees this in your eyes and gives a half-smile, her hands freeze their movements before dropping back to the bed.

Your hand touches something flat and something round and you almost give an actual fist pump before smiling at her. She smiles back, and you grab the desired items and run back over to bed, flopping down beside your naked girlfriend. "I can't believe you've never just eaten peanut butter and chocolate."

"Do Reese's count?"

"No," you laugh, unscrewing the lid on the peanut butter. "It's not fresh peanut butter. I'm not even sure if it is peanut butter."

She grins, grabbing for the chocolate and opening it. "We should run some tests on them later, then."

You roll your eyes to hide the fact you want to smile giddily. She gives you a knowing grin as she scoops some peanut butter onto a chunk of chocolate. "Yes, Doctor. We can run tests on Reese's cups later. And if it's not peanut butter, we can send a very, very angry letter to Hershey's chocolate, yeah?"

She nods her affirmation, popping the chocolate into her mouth. She chews for a moment before her eyes go wide.

"That is good!" she exclaims.

You laugh. "Yeah. I know!" You steal the chocolate from her and dunk it into the Jif jar before eating it. "That's why I suggested it."

"Brat."

You love the sparkle in her eye that accompanies the word. She dips her finger into the peanut butter and swipes it on your nose before you can stop her. You give a noise somewhere between a squeal and a disbelieving laugh, getting as much off your nose as you can before trying to get it on her. You manage to get her cheek before both of you are laughing like mad.

When you finally are able to catch your breath, she smiles lovingly at you and your breath is gone all over again. She cups your chin to pull you closer, careful to keep her still sticky index finger off your skin. She places a tender kiss to your lips before those soft lips are on your nose, cleaning off the peanut butter slowly and shyly.

She pulls back, her eyes one big question, making sure what she did is okay. You give her a smirk and return the favor as your answer, kissing and licking and sucking any inch skin you can really reach until her lips are too inviting to resist and you find yourself back there.

Breathless she pulls back, panting shallowly but smiling none the less.

She flops back carelessly onto her back, head on her pillow and reaching for more chocolate.

You smile at her, staying sprawled out on the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow as you extend the peanut butter jar to her.

For a while, all you do is lay there and eat and talk about nothing. Eventually she stops, her one hand falling to her stomach to rub it and calm it down.

She lolls her head to the side on the mattress, her hair, still mussed from your earlier endeavors, is splayed about her head in the sexiest of ways. She gives you a small smile.

You smile back before sticking the piece of chocolate you were holding into your mouth, not to eat it, but to simply suck the peanut butter from it.

Her eyes darken, wanton, and she bites her lip. You're lucky you remember to actually swallow the chocolate melting in your grasp as you notice her fingers crawling just a little lower on her stomach, her teeth sinking a little further into her lip.

"Cosima…" she drags it out long and smooth. Beckoning to you even before her finger curls toward herself. Before she whispers, "Tu es trop loin…Viens ici."

She is doing that thing with her voice again. Like silk and thorns. It is smooth and tempting but you can hear in the low pitch and quiet endings: it is dangerous. Her words tangle themselves about your throat in a way that has you airily breathless, but any wrong move will have you suffocating in them.

The way her words fall with her breath has you hanging on them, like they are there and tangible and if you can just hold them, maybe they won't be the death of you.

You let it pull you in, guide you over until you are able to touch her skin. You no longer need guided after that. Your body wants it just as much as she does.

You straddle her waist and she smiles up at you seductively, lifting her chin up just a little, inviting you down. You oblige her, leaning down to kiss those so kissable lips, delighting in the moan you receive.

"Baise-moi." So low and sultry and yet soft. Hesitantly alluring.

Your stomach flips when her hands slide up your thighs and to your hips. And you already feel your arousal, deep-set in your bones, tingling. Waiting.

Her hands grip your hips tighter, and you grind lightly against her stomach, your knees still holding most of your weight on either side of her body. Her breathy gasp spurs you on, and you are so desperate to feel her come undone, you overestimate your abilities.

Your goal had been to get your knee between her thigh, but you did not want to detangle your fingers from her hair and you certainly didn't want to tear your lips from hers. So when you lifted your knee from the bed to move it, you had essentially toppled over, cursing against her skin and not letting go at the same time.

She giggles.

You giggle.

And then both of you are laughing and kissing at the same time, lips meeting teeth instead of lips when your laughs are not in sync. And when they are in sync, and your lips meet hers so perfectly, you love how you can feel her next laugh bubbling up in her chest before it actually releases against you. Her fingers caress your cheek and around your jaw affectionately, and you pull back from her just enough to see the laugh in her eyes. The humor fades into just a smile and she pulls you back in for a soft and careful kiss.

She rolls you back on top of her, and you get your knee in the right place this time. Her hands begin to really wander your body this time around, feeling out curves and sensitive areas and you realize how hard she is trying. Somewhere along the way your kissing got urgent and your hand started some wandering of its own. You play with her breast and skim down her side and look for the little spot near her ribs that drove her absolutely mad last time.

Her groan is unmistakable as your fingers swipe just under her breast, her body arching to meet yours. It's heaven, you decide. Heaven is her rumbling chest and salty skin and devilish fingers. Heaven is her laugh still pealing brightly in your ears and her smile against your lips.

You press your knee up a little harder against her center, and she squirms lightly against it.

"Plus," she gasps into your mouth, her nails biting into your back.

"Plus?" you ask lightly, pushing your knee upward. "Like that?"

She shakes her head loosely, her eyes staying closed. "S'il te plait, Cosima."

"What?" you ask against her neck before continuing your kissing and sucking.

You love reducing her to French. You love knowing you are rendering a part of her brain completely useless. It boosts your ego more than it probably should.

"More," she forces out in a harsh exhale, "Chérie, more. In-inside."

"Mmm," you hum into her shoulder. "You should've said so."

You slip your fingers between your knee and her heat, obliging her and filling her quickly with a steady rhythm.

"Plus," she whispers again, softer, her nails raking down your neck. "Plus forte."

Thankful she's taught you at least basic words, you increase your pressure, curling your fingers more firmly until her moans get higher. You silence her with an urgent kiss, loving how it feels when she just comes apart in your arms.

Her high-pitched inhales. Her writing body. Her closed eyes and clutching hands.

You hope to see it and feel it and hear it for just about the rest of your life because even that will not be enough of it for your lifetime.

She is eager. You will always give her that. Because the second she is getting even a little oxygen to her brain, she flips you onto your back and hovers over you.

You're a goner. It's just fact now. She has ruined you forever because you know you never want anyone else looking down at you so full of love and lust combined and swirling together in such a perfectly sexual, perfectly innocent look.

She doesn't disappoint.

She has only really had sex with a woman three times. Once at your flat. Once at Felix's. And once here in this bed earlier.

And she can already play your body like a damned instrument.

She takes at least an hour just mapping out the crests and valleys of you like they're Atlantis, and then she kisses you like you've saved her from something. And then when she finally touches you, fills you, it's like she's been doing it all her life.

But the way she buries her nose into your shoulder as she works tells you she hasn't.

For some reason that just makes you feel even better.

It isn't until you are coming down from your high do things come to a screeching, blinding, crashing halt.

"I hope I am…better," she says quietly into the silence.

It feels like a slap. Like a twenty car pileup has just taken place inside your chest.

You pull back enough to find her eyes, and she looks genuinely concerned and afraid. Words fail you. Hundreds of them collect in your throat and on your tongue, all the thousands upon millions of variations of some kind of answer desperate to release, but they stay caught inside you. You force all your brainpower into trying to get the words out, but nothing is working. You can't even see her anymore you are trying so hard to ask her what she meant or tell her she is wrong because secretly you really do know what she means.

It doesn't work. The words don't come.

You focus back on her again, only to find her eyes wet, tears collecting in her eyes but not falling. You don't know how so many tears can build but it's like her eyes are swimming. Drowning.

"Better?"

Shit, Niehaus, that was damn near the stupidest thing you've ever said.

"I…I like…" she blushes deeply, but her tears do not go away. They stay pooled in her eyes until she looks away. The movement sends tears spilling onto her cheeks. "I like what you…do and I just…I hope it is not too…bad for you."

You sit up. Why that is your first instinct, you're not sure, but it's what you do. She sits too, shyly holding the sheet to her chest.

"It's not like that," you say quietly.

"I…I…don't…?"

"I…I…" You laugh. "Y'know I was just thinking about this earlier. When I'm with you I just feel…so…safe. Like…we could be doing anything in the world and I wouldn't worry about what you thought because…well because all you care about is being with me."

She nods so earnestly you can actually see her desperate affirmation in her eyes.

"It's the same thing with me."

At first she does not understand how that relates. She gives you her cute, unsure little look.

"I just like…being with you. It doesn't matter if you're…experienced or…or even good for that matter. You just…you make me feel so…comfortable, Delphine."

You stand because your nerves are kicking in, and you need to do something to calm them. You start to pace and throw your hands around as you speak.

It helps. A little.

"And to me, that's what…that's what sex is about. It's about being able to laugh and to be a little daring or rough or not, because it should be a safe place. And I totally…I crossed that line when I said that…I did. So I sorta…I kinda ruined it for you."

You sigh again, because you hadn't really thought of that until right then.

"And I'm…I'm sorry. You deserve that level of comfort. Of being able to just…let go. But that would mean…trusting me not to hurt you and I've already done that so…" You laugh sadly, looking down at the ground. "I probably couldn't even get near your heart with a ten foot pole, huh?"

You glance back up.

She looks at you. Really looks at you. Her eyes are still wet and a little red. But she seems to have forgotten her sadness as she thinks. "Come back."

What?

Her fingers unconsciously stroke the mattress beside her as she leans toward you. "Can we maybe…cuddle?"

You blink at her request.

"We have never…I mean the first time I…I left and then…Sarah and…" She pauses. "I want to feel you."

At first your mind does not comprehend what she is asking or even where it came from. It stalls inside your head as you try and flip through every piece of knowledge you have ever acquired. What that fails, you look at her. Hard.

"What?"

Her shoulders sink back slightly, like it has offended her or, more likely, she does not have the nerve to say it again.

"I…I want to feel you."

You have to be hearing her wrong. The words flowing from her mouth and the look in her eye and her posture are all screaming different things at you.

I want to feel you.

Simple words in and of themselves. A child could define each. But you can't. You cannot, for the life of you, discern what they mean.

Her posture is shy while the words are blunt. Her tone is totally innocent but she lays there naked for you. And her eyes are their own beautiful paradox. They are darker, more like her coffee, but they are not bitter, instead they are warm. They are sharp with uncertainty and bracing for rejection, but they are vulnerable and soft, physically reaching out to coax you over to her.

It doesn't make sense.

But everything has to make sense.

Your legs bend to sit you down on the edge of the bed by her feet. She looks hopeful, her shoulder straightening, but you do not move further than that. You reach out, skimming your knuckles over the side of her leg. You glance at her and see she is now confused. Almost as much as you are.

"What is wrong?" the shaky timbre of her voice stumbles inside your chest. Nothing is wrong.

But how do you answer that? She had just been scared you judged her and now she is begging for you to come back.

You run your fingers up her leg again, dipping with the underside of her knee. This was feeling, wasn't it?

You drag your thumb across the top of her thigh, watching the skin excite.

Her hand catches yours, lacing your fingers together. You look her in the eye. I want to feel you.

In an instant, everything clicks. Her eyes are not paradoxes. They are saying one thing and one thing only. Something totally different and exactly the same as her words.

Can I have you?

You let her doe eyes pull you up. You let her gentle hands guide you to lie on your side, mirroring her. She wedges her thigh between yours, you in turn doing the same; it feels wonderful how well you fit together. She slips her one arm between the hollow of your neck and the mattress like a pillow, her other one falling around your bare waist, cold against your burning skin.

"You don't need to find a ten foot pole," she whispers, nuzzling her nose against yours, her eyes fluttering shut before she manages to open them again.

"Why?" you breathe.

"I…" your gaze flicks down to her lips just in time to see her bite them. "I have never felt so safe in all of my life."

You smile in relief, but the silence still crashes in your ears.

You've never been afraid of intimacy.

But this is scary.

Everything is on display; mind, body, soul. Everything is up for scrutiny. You didn't even realize you had secrets from her until you're sure she can see into every shadow your mind has hidden things. And then millions of things you have yet to tell her flood your mind.

This is terrifying.

And so very wonderful all at once.

The heat of her center pressed up against your thigh is not tempting or arousing. It is safe. Her foot flexes and points so her heel gently caresses her calf. It is love. Her nails scrape softly at the base of your skull, lazy and affectionate. It is warmth. Her eyes stay with yours, so sure, so bright. It is home. You want to one day be able to blindly navigate her body. It is pure.

"Cosima," she whispers.

You feel vulnerable and newly exposed at the sound of your name so precariously placed on her tongue.

"Yeah?"

Her finger ghosts down your spine absently, following the same trail as your repressed shivers.

"Thank you," she murmurs in the most genuine appreciation.

From this angle, her eyes look round, her irises back to that wonderful stage caught between honey and chocolate. You fear you can tumble into them until you consider you might've already. And if this is what it is like to be with Delphine, to be immersed in her completely, you wouldn't want it any other way.

You lean forward enough to rest your forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, comforted.

You are comforted too.

"For what?"

You press your thumb to her hip, your fingers splaying out across the small of her back, your ring finger dipping into one of her adorable back dimples. She smiles and opens her eyes, the side of her foot stroking your ankle.

"For…trusting me. With your…heart, as you said."

You ponder this. You roll the words over in your head as you look into her truly grateful eyes. She believes she does not deserve the do-over you handed her. That much you see.

"Thank you for making it easy," you say.

Being this close lets you see her mind working in her eyes. It appears she is trying to remember how she made it easy. It makes you want to laugh because there was no moment. No specific action. She was just her and that was enough to make trusting her again the easiest thing in the world.

"And thank you for not making me regret it."

You watch as she processes, like she has just put something in her mouth, but the taste hasn't quite registered. And then a smile pulls her lips up before it lights her eyes.

She squeezes you a little tighter.

Right then is when the reality of where you are crashes down around you. In that instant, you feel every inch of skin, and it is a lot, that is pressed against you. You feel the length of her legs and the burning of her center and the light pressure of her stomach and the strength of her arms. You feel the thrumming of her heart and the nervous sweat of her hands and the softness of her feet and the security of her forehead pressed so firmly to yours.

She is everywhere. But more importantly, so are you.

To her, you are everywhere. And to you, she is everywhere.

There are no barriers. There is not hiding behind kisses or passion or words because you are caught in the moment where all that is gone and all that remains there is you and her and it is just about the craziest moment of your entire life.

She is your beginning. She is your end. She is the life you have been so desperately grasping for your entire twenty-nine years of life and you will never have enough.