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They’d been led to a room full to bursting with finery and frippery - it looked like the costume storage from a centuries old opera company. They had their pick of a mountain of lace and creamy silk and voile, which suited Delphine very well. She had a different idea for Cosima though.
The old-fashioned tuxedo wasn’t an exact fit, but it was comfortable enough. A little more butch than Cosima’s usual garb, but if the mirror wasn’t telling her she looked damn good, the expression on Delphine’s face would have. Her fingers fumbled with the bow tie until Delphine took over, fingers moving elegantly, smoothing and shaping the stiff bit of fabric, brushing against the skin of Cosima's neck, murmuring that she looked like Marlene Dietrich, very séduisante.
Sometimes she thought she was still asleep, locked in some fever-dream of playing dress-ups with her no-longer-dead girlfriend. Delphine looked beautiful in her ivory dress, all lace and sheerness and loose curls, a victorian maiden. She reminded Cosima of a character from that old Australian film they had watched one night, where the schoolgirls all wore white gowns and drifted about in the bush, being swallowed up by rocks. Or something. Cosima loved her so much her heart ached. Or maybe it was her lungs that hurt.
They held hands as they descended the stairs. Every surface was crammed with knick-knacks, gee-gaws, shells and fossils and stuffed birds and all number of animals frozen in poses under bell jars. It was a museum as well as a house, and Cosima felt like another specimen, waiting to be collected and pinned down and carefully labeled behind glass. Delphine squeezed her hand, caught her eye, tried to comfort her with a small smile. Cosima felt her heart soften. It was definitely her heart that time.
A man opened the heavy wooden doors that led into the dining room.
There were men, discreet men, solid men, standing on either side of the doors. Cosima wondered if they were here to keep people out, or in, then immediately forgot about them when she saw Rachel sitting at the dining table, wearing a black lace gown and an expression that made Cosima feel like she was going to be on the menu.
She dropped Delphine’s hand.
“Cosima,” said Rachel, a small smile slicing across her face, “Delphine. Do come in.”
She felt Delphine make a move forward, and she balked.
“No,” she said, the idea of being in the same room as Rachel making her chest tight. “No way, I’m not doing this.” She half-turned, pushed at the door handle, but it was too late. She remembered the men outside. Guess that answers my question. Her chest felt even tighter when she heard Delphine address Rachel.
“Hello, Rachel.” Her voice sounded resigned. Cosima glared at her, then looked away. “We were told Westmorland would be joining us.”
“I’m afraid he’s been delayed,” Rachel said. Cosima finally looked at her, examining the slight difference between the eyes - hardly noticeable if you didn’t know. She felt a tiny vicious thrill that tasted sour as Rachel met her gaze. Her eyes dropped to the low, low cut black lace and the swell of Rachel’s breasts. Flicked away. Flicked back. “Please sit.” She watched Rachel touch her wine glass to her mouth, barely leaving a trace of red on the crystal.
She and Delphine both looked at the empty chair, the place setting that wouldn’t be used. Then at each other. Rachel watched them, still holding a ghost of a smile.
She turned to Delphine, whispering urgently, “I can’t sit at the same table as her. I saw her stab her own mother, Delphine. What if we’re next?” Her eyes slid to Rachel, then to the table. “I don’t want to get gutted with a...a...oyster fork!”
Delphine murmured assurances peppered with endearments, her voice soft. Cosima thought she could hear a touch of impatience, and gave in, wondering how many times you could put your life into someone’s hands before they dropped it.
They sat. Cosima was tempted to take one of the plates and move it to the other end of the table, as far away from Rachel as she could get. But instead, she took the seat next to her. She wouldn’t have to look her in the face, and her eyes wouldn’t stray down that dress. (It was just natural curiosity, she thought, same bodies, little differences.) There was an old gramophone in one corner, playing soft, melancholic cello music. It was scratchy and slightly tinny, but it filled Coima with an odd yearning. You couldn’t dance to it, though.
Delphine sat across from Rachel, her eyes dancing from clone to clone, like it was still a wonder she’d never get over. Cosima saw her bite her lower lip, and felt the tightness in her chest.
“This is bullshit!” she blurted out. How could they just casually sit here playing dinner party in fancy dress?
“Cosima,” Delphine said, a little reproachfully.
“No,” Cosima says. “You said survival, you didn’t say this .”
“Maybe this is survival,” Delphine answered.
“You should listen to Doctor Cormier, Cosima,” Rachel says, giving her napkin a snap and a flick before smoothing it over her lap. “She’s been playing this game for far longer than you.”
Cosima narrowed her eyes at Rachel, then looked at Delphine, silently pleading, even pouting a little, but she stayed silent. Right. Survival. She half-turned to Rachel.
“What did you to do Sarah?” she asked.
Rachel ignored her in favour of the first course arriving, talking about the wine in the tone of an expert, while one of the discreet men served soup, and another filled their glasses. Cosima listened to her smooth voice in a compressed, bitter rage until she -
“I don’t give a shit about the wine,” she snapped. Delphine widened her eyes at her and hissed her name. Cosima glared back.
“I think you should,” Rachel said, sharp now, pointed. “I think you should open your eyes to the fact that you have an opportunity here, Cosima, before you go back to scrabbling in the dirt with your roots and sticks.”
Cosima opened her mouth, caught Delphine’s pleading eyes again, just a little more time, just get through this and then… she shut her mouth. But the anger was still there, like a ball just under her ribcage. She grabbed her napkin, tearing open the careful folds and slapping it down on her thighs. She could feel Rachel next to her, warmth radiating out from her exposed skin. Cosima wanted to jab her in the ribs with an elbow but restrained herself to making a face at her food while Delphine made polite talk, then letting her spoon knock against the bowl while she ate. Imagine serving chilled soup in winter, god .
Delphine was right though. It was delicious.
The collar scratched her chin if she dipped her head, so she kept it up, looking down at everyone, lifting the wine to her mouth and tipping it back. This must be how Rachel sees the world all the time , she thought, wanting to look at her, but keeping her eyes wandering around the room at the side tables, the glassware and silverware and odd little antiquities. There were flowers, and figurines, and some kind of feathered artifact in a corner.
Cosima felt her curiosity push aside her anger a little, and she started thinking about the history of this place, how much he had been witness to. When Rachel addressed her by name, and title, asking about the cure, Cosima was blindsided for a moment, her soup spoon freezing in mid air.
Rachel kept talking. She’s lying , said a little voice in her mind that sounded suspiciously like Sarah, she’s trying to trick you -
“Mr. Westmorland is all in favor of a cure, he’s very invested in your efforts,” said Rachel, sincerity oozing from every word. “As am I.”
Cosima blinked. It was easy to forget that Rachel was still one of them - genetically at least - and subject to the same slow death as she was herself. She told herself that Rachel deserved it, but now the Sarah voice was gone, and Cosima felt a stab of guilt.
“We’d be making better progress if you hadn’t gone full Psycho on our creator,” she muttered, trying to keep in mind that Rachel was a monster. She glanced sideways, caught a glimpse of blonde hair and pale curves, then her eyes skipped to Delphine who gave her that look that said ‘patience, patience’ and probably something in french that Cosima didn’t understand but would melt her heart anyway. She sighed and took another sip of soup.
“Fine.” And naturally, now, she felt that malignant tickle in her throat. “It’s going. Obviously we’re limited because of the – hut we’re in, but it’s going.” She coughed lightly, tasted blood in the back of her throat, sipped more wine to wash it away. If Westmoreland - if Rachel cared so much about the cure, they could give them a damn lab to work in.
Delphine smiled over at her, a real smile this time, soft and sweet, and Cosima felt her heart flutter. She couldn’t stop her own face from showing it, her mouth curving upwards as Delphine praised her.
“Yeah, well,” Cosima said. “Have my lab partner back, don’t I.” She tipped her glass slightly towards Delphine in a silent toast, leaning back slightly as the table was cleared and the next course served.
The large circular platter of oysters sat in the centre of the table between the three of them. The shells were arranged around a small bowl of etched glass containing the sauce, and miniature Champagne grapes were scattered in and around the shells.
Delphine demonstrated how to detach the oyster from the shell with a neat twist of a tiny fork, then tipped the shell into her mouth. Cosima watched avidly, hand under her chin, biting her bottom lip as the the tip of Delphine’s tongue swept sauce from her lips.
Then she tried - the bitterness of the vinegar in the sauce flooded her mouth and she heard Rachel say something about the oysters being caught fresh just off the island only a few hours ago. Then she bit down on one of the grapes and sweetness flowed down her throat. She grinned toothily at Delphine in delight. Now she and Rachel were conversing in French, something about a tiny oyster bistro in Paris that Delphine simply had to take Cosima to one day. Cosima thought about her and Delphine in Paris, kissing in alleyways and eating oysters, and how it was now a possibility again and she grinned at Delphine, she grinned at Rachel, she slurped up another oyster, and dropped grapes into her mouth.
The next course came out, and the next wine bottle, and now it was more like the kind of dinner party Cosima knew - the food excellent, the company tipsy and charming. Even Rachel had thawed a little, allowing Cosima and Delphine to dominate the conversation with stories and amusing anecdotes, listening with apparent interest and appropriate smiles. Cosima’s hands grew more expressive as the level in the wine bottle dropped, and she brushed against Rachel’s arm a few times. She didn’t seem to notice.
Delphine was giggling, and Cosima’s face was flushed. The room had been warm when they came in, and the wine had warmed them up even more. She started to tug the jacket off, twisting in her chair, protesting mildly as one of the discreet men stepped forward and relieved her of it, laying it over his arm carefully, and disappearing again. She fanned her face with her hand and fumbled at the buttons of the waistcoat, squinting at them. Mother-of-pearl.
She threw the waistcoat over the back of the chair, removed the cufflinks, tossing them on the table like a pair of dice, and rolled up her sleeves. Now the bow tie was too tight and she pulled at it, fruitlessly, stopped by Rachel offering assistance. Cosimas eyebrows raised up and she half-turned towards her. Her hands were deft and sure, her eyes on the tie the whole time, and Cosima’s eyes traveled downwards again. Was it some sort of narcissism, to find your own clone attractive? Or was it merely the sign of a healthy ego?
Rachel’s hand lingered at the base of Cosimas throat a moment too long, and she felt another wave of warmth that was as intense as it was unexpected. She shifted in her seat, grabbed her wine glass. Rachel carried on talking like nothing had interrupted them, in between placing tiny bites of salmon between her lips. Cosima took a second to catch up, still warm inside.
“Oh,” She paused and tried to collect herself. “Uh, yeah. We were—”
“We’ve been using adaptors,” offered Delphine, and Cosima flashed her a look of gratitude. Then she began to talk in french again. She was always more sure of herself when she didn’t have to translate, and she and Rachel spoke for several minutes. Cosima finished her salmon, fiddled with her cutlery, made eyes at Delphine, but she didn’t notice.
At some point, the music had changed from cellos to violins. Cosima tipped her head, and carefully extended a leg out, her foot brushing against Delphine’s lower leg, wanting the night to finish so they could be alone and - Delphine glanced at her, half-smiled, but her eyebrows wrinkled in the way that said ‘stop’, like Cosima was an attention-seeking child. She slumped back in her chair, pouted a little, sat up again as Delphine said -
“This would be easier if Westmorland would give us a lab.” Cosima nodded, turning to look at Rachel, who seemed to take pause before answering.
“He has his reasons,” she said evenly, “or so I’ve been told.” She gestured at the server, clearly uncomfortable discussing any situation where she wasn’t in full control. Cosima suddenly felt a light-headedness that wasn’t from the wine, and leaned forward eagerly.
“So he doesn’t tell you everything,” she breathed, cupping her chin in her hand and studying Rachel’s face. Aren’t you supposed to be the chosen one, she thought, this must be killing you. Plates had been taken away, replaced with small dishes of sorbet, the mounds a vivid deep orange.
Rachel looked - as far as any expression she made could be described - slightly sad, slightly defensive, but when she answered, her voice was as melancholy as the violins in the background.
“No, he doesn’t,” she said, looking down at her sorbet. She sighed before taking another spoonful.
Cosima stared at her, then at Delphine, raising her eyebrows. She didn’t know quite how to take this human side of Rachel, so turned her gaze back on her and watched as her tongue flicked out over her still-red lips. Cosima swallowed and blushed as Rachel looked up again. Delphine was watching her as well, biting her lower lip. Cosima’s eyes went back and forth between the two women, aware of some sort of tension in the room but not wanting to put a word to it yet. She scooped up some sorbet, welcoming the cooling effect it had.
It melted on her tongue.
They were halfway through the bottle of port, the liquid warming her like embers in her belly, when Cosima realised she’d been having fun . Also that she was drunker than she’d been for - her face scrunched up - a long time. She’d just been winding down a tale of San Francisco, the streets that go straight up, and that time she’d stumbled - literally - into someone’s secret little pot garden, the owners gifting her with an ounce because they liked her shoes - when Delphine suddenly spluttered and coughed, her eyes big and sending some message at Cosima that she couldn’t - or was too drunk to - read. Her heart sank.
“What,” she said. “What – oh, shit, that’s – you don’t care, sorry, I’m.” Cosima stuttered to a halt, her hands in mid air. Rachel stirred beside her.
“Oh, no,” she said, leaning towards Cosima and tilting her head to the side slightly. “Go on.” She leaned forward a little more and Cosima’s eyes were drawn to the expanse of skin. She wondered if Rachel was wearing anything underneath the dress. She wondered what would happen if she slipped a hand into that plunging neckline. She turned her head away at the thought, coughing a little. Her head swam.
“I think I’m drunk,” she stated. I must be drunk.
“We are all maybe too drunk, I think,” added Delphine, swirling the port in her glass. It glowed in the candlelight. Cosima looked at her fondly - she was glowing, the gold of her hair shining as she tucked a loose strand behind an ear, lips parted just a little. God, she was so beautiful.
“Well,” Rachel said conspiratorially, “One so rarely gets the chance to take advantage of the wine cellars of a supercentenarian.”
Cosima snorted in surprised laughter. Super centenarian.
“He’s so...old.” She started to laugh again, and Delphine collapsed in giggles across the table, and Cosima couldn’t stop laughing, she laughed until her chest hurt, and she felt Rachel touch her shoulder, then stroke her arm, her fingers burning through the thin cotton.
“Careful,” she murmured, her tone light. Cosima leaned into her touch slightly, then drew away, and spread her hands out.
“Drunk!” she said and laughed again.
“Clumsy,” Delphine said.
“Whoa, that one’s new,” Cosima said. “Thought it was cheeky.” She pouted jokingly.
“That also,” said Delphine, smiling. Cosima smiled back at her, then smiled at Rachel. She was beautiful too, straight lines where Delphine had curls, daring black lace exposing what Delphine’s ivory voile concealed, reserved where Delphine was expressive.
Rachel looked back at her, then at Delphine for a moment, then Cosima again, reaching out to fiddle with her collar. Cosima felt a fingertip brush against the delicate skin just behind her ear and there was a shiver at the base of her spine. Rachel was looking at Delphine again, Delphine’s eyes wide like a rabbit facing down a snake. Cosima touched her collar, then her neck, frowning. Rachel couldn’t possibly be - not that she’d never thought about it before - just, not with Rachel. She swallowed. Maybe another drink would help.
“Well,” Rachel intoned, the word drawing out in a kind of question, and Cosima was suddenly nervous, that kind of nervousness you get when the potential for something is filling the air. Her hands fluttered and skipped in front of her as she searched for something to say.
“It’s late,” she managed, lamely. “So. Yeah. Late.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow a fraction.
“Is it really,” she said. Her mouth was so red. She clicked open the watch that hung on the long chain around her swan-neck, and Cosima watched her eyebrows raise a little more, before her eyes fell down to the curves of Rachel’s breasts in that dress. She was conscious of Delphine stealing a glance as well. “Time does fly, doesn’t it?” Rachel clicked the watch shut and gently smiled. “You’ll be staying the night, of course.”
Cosima looked at Delphine, Delphine looked at Cosima. Cosima had the sense they’d just agreed to something, and her stomach fluttered. Rachel stood. The black lace clung to her curves, the candlelight giving her actions a soft edge. Cosima watched her fingers as they trailed along the table, curled around the door frame. The discreet men had long since discreetly disappeared. She turned her eyes back to Delphine, but she was still watching Rachel.
“Well,” breathed Rachel, “are you coming?”
When Cosima got to her feet, she felt dizzy, let out a woah, laughed, waved away Delphines help. That wine is some good shit, she whispered and undid a few shirt buttons. They followed Rachel up the stairs, her hips swaying slightly, the dress rustling and sweeping and keeping them a few steps below due to the train. Cosima bumped against the bannister and rebounded onto Delphine a few times.
They were led to a bedroom as full of curiosities as the rest of the house, shelves and shelves of books, more long-dead animals watching with glass eyes. The light from the lamp had jewel tones, stained-glass flowers glowing. The room smelled of fresh linen and faint salt air. The bed was made up - large and inviting. Cosima blinked at it, then at Rachel as she said -
“I assume you don’t mind sharing.”
Cosima could feel the blush moving up her neck, and told herself it was ridiculous , this was Rachel, she wouldn’t be - Cosima shut her eyes. Would she? Would I?
“Yeah, no, no, we can – we’ve shared a bed with each other before. We’re good.” She waved her hands, avoiding Rachel’s eyes, looking instead at Delphine looking at Rachel. Then she saw Delphine move forward and Rachel move forward, and then they were kissing, and Cosima stood watching, her mouth gaping and feet so heavy she couldn’t move. She could feel the blush move onto her face, and after the initial stab of jealousy, a wave of heat crawled through her body and centered below her waist.
Does she taste the same as me? Does her mouth feel the same? Is it like kissing me? Have you wanted this before? Is one of me not enough?
Rachel looked at her, holding out a hand. Cosima stared for a beat longer, wondering if Rachel wanted her to kneel and swear fealty. Then she looked to Delphine, at her glistening eyes and tousled hair, and her eyes said please, yes, and Cosima felt a nervous excitement with a tinge of foreboding. That was easy to push away though, with the two blondes watching her expectantly. So she took Rachel’s hand in hers, bared her teeth, almost bowed just to push the joke home but didn’t. She lifted it to her lips, brushed her mouth over the knuckles. Then she gently turned it over and pressed her lips to the wrist, feeling the pulse beat steadily, feeling it speed up just a little. Suddenly the joke was was no longer funny and her mouth followed Rachel’s arm all the way up.
Her skin was soft and smooth and smelt faintly of something woody and Cosima wanted to feel all of it. She reached Rachel’s shoulder, running a finger across the skin where the cap sleeve ended and moving her mouth to her throat. She licked lightly, testing the spots that she always found the most sensitive, experimenting to see if Rachel’s skin had the same erogenous zones as her own. Rachel was kissing Delphine again, and Cosima moved behind her, mouth on her neck, eyes watching intently as their lips met and moved over each other. She ran her hands over Rachel’s as they ran over Delphine, breaking away to explore on their own, then meeting them again.
Cosima pushed up against Rachel’s back, the loose fit of the formal trousers seeming less loose every moment. Delphine had her hands on Cosima’s hips and she wanted them in other places. She nearly moaned when Rachel pulled her head off her neck by the hair and kissed her, tongue probing delicately. Cosima thought she could taste blood and didn’t know if it was hers or Rachels or Delphines. She didn’t care. Her hand slipped into Rachel’s dress, trying to push the sleeve down, wanting to expose more of that sweet tasting skin.
Rachel stopped the kiss and grabbed Cosima’s wrist. She was sure the bones bent a little.
“No,” Rachel commanded, as she slipped far enough away to run her eyes up and down Cosimas form. “You first.”
Cosima exhaled, her breath as shaky as her legs. No surprise that Rachel Duncan had a touch of the domme about her. It’ll be handcuffs and whips next time , she thought, and felt a frisson of fear and heat. She unbuttoned the shirt, shrugged it off her shoulders and onto the floor. Rachel drank in the sight of her, then pushed her onto the bed.
Cosima lay back, chest moving up and down, up and down, watching her clone. Rachel straddled her, somehow elegantly, the dress heavy across her legs. They kissed and Cosima tried to be observant for a moment - is this what I taste like is this how my tongue feels is this how I kiss - but the kiss went on and Cosima wanted more, she needed -
Rachel broke the kiss and then she was biting into Cosima’s neck and Cosima remembered all those erotic lesbian vampire stories she’d read in her teens and now she was moaning, shit, and Rachel bit down again, and it sent a line of lightning down the centre of her body. There were a few soft kisses, tender, almost apologetic, and Rachel slid off her, leaving her in aroused confusion. Then Delphine was there, and Cosima smiled and sighed and reached out, kissing her, thinking about Rachel watching them, wondering at the familiarity of Delphine’s mouth and how it was so different to the familiarity of Rachel’s mouth.
Delphine’s mouth kissed its way from her lips to her earlobe and down her neck, tongue swirling around that sweet spot at the base, pressing down exactly where Rachel had bitten her and she squirmed, her mouth opening in a silent groan. Then her mouth was gone and Rachel’s mouth was back on her. They tasted exactly the same now and Cosima kissed her hungrily, and then it was Delphine again, or was it still Rachel?
Cosima was at the point where it mattered less and less. She could hear Delphine make those little whimpers she made when the arousal was reaching unmanageable heights, and through blurred eyes she saw hands moving over Delphine, Rachel’s eyes glinting in the lamplight. Cosima slid her own hands up under the ivory dress, her fingers stretching over Delphine’s thighs, feeling her hips move slowly, pressing down.
Then she felt something shift in the atmosphere. Rachel stepped away from the bed, from them, head tilted to the side. They both looked back at her, Delphine still panting a little, Cosima feeling like she would come if one of them so much as breathed on her.
For a moment her head swirled, and she just knew that Rachel was going to tell them she’d filmed the entire thing and had a lifetime's worth of blackmail material, or that the salmon had been poisoned, and she and Delphine were going to die a slow, agonizing death locked in this room…
But instead, Rachel seemed to reach a decision and leant back in for a kiss - short and sweet for Delphine, a nip on the bottom lip for Cosima. Then she spoke, voice betraying her arousal but demonstrating her restraint.
“My room is right next door,” she said, “should you need anything.
And then she was gone.
Cosima blinked at the door, blinked at Delphine, feeling equally relieved and disappointed. And still incredibly aroused. Delphine fell on her, seeking out her mouth again, and Cosima trailed her hands back and forth across her thighs, moving closer to the centre.
“Do you think she’s, like...in there listening?” she murmured to Delphine between kisses. “I wonder, mmmm, shit , I wonder why she…”
Delphine broke into a flurry of french, kissing her way down Cosima’s body, pulling off the antique trousers at last and burying her face between Cosima’s thighs.
Cosima moaned loudly. She hoped Rachel could hear her. She squinted down at Delphine, the blonde head moving languorously, and ran her hands down over her hair, smoothing the curls into a straight blonde bob. She lifted a knee, moving sinuously in time with Delphine’s mouth.
When she came, she was thinking about Rachel.