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The windows are pushed up, allowing a gentle breeze to filter in alongside streams of soft vermilion light. The kitchen curtains rustle lightly, and a pungent, earthy aroma permeates the open space. Cosima sits at the kitchen table, her chair perched precariously on two legs as she leans backwards, resting bare feet atop the dining table. She hums absentmindedly to herself between careful sips from the steaming mug of coffee in her left hand. Her attention remains trained on the latest issue of Scientific American in her right, naked eyes darting tirelessly behind cat-eye frames. Setting down her mug, she picks up and begins to nibble on a quickly cooling croissant, not once glancing up from her reading. Outside, a lark flutters unnoticed onto the windowsill, its chirping adding a new dimension to the white noise of dawn.
In all her years, Cosima had never been one for the “early to bed, early to rise” philosophy, choosing rather to stay up through all hours of the night and sleep late into the afternoon. The change in routine had been brought about by moving in with Delphine. It was a slow process- one unaided by the fact that going to bed at a decent hour becomes the least of her priorities the minute Delphine’s lithe frame eases her into the mattress. Despite her initial reluctance, she had to admit the shift from night owl to early riser did have its perks, most notably spending every minute of the morning with Delphine before the Frenchwoman left for work. Well, every minute of the morning except for when far too many of those minutes are spent together in the shower, leaving Delphine to frantically finish dressing for work after banishing Cosima from the bedroom to prevent further distraction. This is one such morning.
The hurried clicking of boots on hardwood finally rouses the brunette from her reading. Cosima pulls her feet off the table, easing her chair down onto four legs just in time to see Delphine- dressed in a fitted charcoal power suit and aubergine-colored undershirt with slightly damp curls spilling unapologetically down her back- enter the kitchen in a rush. Cosima whistles appreciatively. “Damn, look at you, Dr. Cormier.”
Delphine’s frazzled expression breaks into a shy grin at the brunette’s words, but she does not slow. Before Cosima can stand, the blonde reaches her, bending as the brunette leans up. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss, Delphine pulling back quickly even as Cosima attempts to snake her hand around the blonde’s neck to deepen it.
“Delphiiiine.”
“Non, non, non, I cannot be late for this meeting, Cosima,” the Frenchwoman scolds, trying to hide a smile as she does so. “I have to go. I love you, chérie.”
“Je t’aime,” Cosima replies, her expression somewhere between a smirk and a pout. “At least stay for a minute? I’ve been reading a new study that I think you might find interesting.”
“I can’t stay, Cosima. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, fine,” the brunette huffs dramatically.
Delphine is out of the kitchen for less than a minute before Cosima hears French curses filtering in from the entryway.
“Babe?”
Delphine runs back into the kitchen, nearly elbow deep in her purse, sifting through it like a madwoman. “Merde! I cannot find my car keys.”
“Delphine, chill. You are not going to be late, I promise, and you won’t find anything when you are all flustered like that anyway, as cute as it may be.”
Now rustling through the mess of papers Cosima has strung about the kitchen table, Delphine pauses to meet the brunette’s cheeky grin with a disapproving glare.
“Well, while you’re here, listen to this,” Cosima picks up the Scientific American she had been reading, leafing through to presumably the previously mentioned article, “Okay, so it says here that Duke University concluded a study last year on married couples-”
“Cosima, you could be helping me.”
“I am helping you. If this study is legit, you’re gonna need it to counteract the effects of all that cortisol. Also, I forgot to set the clocks back last night. Anyway, I know you don’t have time for specifics, so I’ll just tell you that the study found that in married couples, men who kissed their wives for an average of twenty seconds or greater before leaving for work lived five years longer than men who did not.”
The Frenchwoman freezes for half a beat before slowly turning to face an equally guilty and amused-looking Cosima. “Pardon?”
“Apparently, like, men who kiss their wives-”
Delphine shakes her head, her still-drying curls bounding about her shoulders in stark contrast to the dark suit jacket. “Non, the bit about the clock.”
“Oh. We were supposed to set the clocks back last night for Daylight Savings Time. So it’s only seven o’clock, not eight.”
“Quoi?! Cosima! Why are you just now telling me this?”
“Mmm,” The smaller woman hums noncommittally with a shrug. “What is it that you always call me? You said it last night… A tease or something?”
Heat creeps up the blonde’s neck, her concealer unable to hide the pink tinge that lights her cheeks. “Non, a brat, Cosima! You are such a brat!”
Delphine exhales sharply, one hand finding her forehead and running back to tug at her hair while the other rests heavily on her hip. She is unsure if she should be relieved or pissed, but the shit-eating grin on her lover’s face is making the latter difficult, despite herself. Nervous energy dissipating, the blonde sinks down into the kitchen chair closest Cosima, suddenly exhausted, as if feeling the hour they had lost in the night.
The two sit in silence for a moment, Cosima hiding a smirk behind sips of lukewarm coffee while Delphine rests her elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands. With a sigh, Delphine drags over the still open magazine Cosima has once again discarded on the table and begins to read.
“Cosima?” she inquires without looking up.
The brunette chokes on her coffee. “Yes?” she asks, the pitch of her voice a little too high to not be suspicious.
“This article is on the molecular basis of heredity. It has nothing to do with, um, kissing spouses?”
Clasping her hands behind her head and reclining back in her chair, Cosima grins again when Delphine’s puzzled eyes meet her own. She indicates her laptop with a wave of her hand then flicks her wrist in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, that? The kissing thing was just an article I ran across online this morning. That’s how I noticed the time difference, since my laptop adjusts the clock automatically.”
“Do you think the research has any merit?”
“Nah, it was a crap study. Though, I personally wouldn’t mind-” getting up, Cosima gently nudges Delphine back in her chair and straddles her lap, “- testing the hypothesis.”
They rest their foreheads together, anchoring themselves as they both reel from the sudden increase in proximity. Delphine draws her arms around the small of Cosima’s back, tugging her hips impossibly closer. The brunette groans quietly, one arm instinctively winding itself around her lover’s neck while the other comes up to tangle in spiraling, silken strands.
Delphine shrinks the distance between their mouths until mere millimeters remain. “Twenty seconds, hm?” she whispers into Cosima’s parted lips.
Cosima closes her eyes, simultaneously trying to close the hairsbreadth of space between them only to have Delphine refuse her. “Delphine.”
“After the morning you’ve given me,” she ghosts the tip of her tongue along Cosima’s lower lip, “better make it thirty.”
Their lips meet in a union far removed from the chaste kiss they shared upon Delphine’s attempted departure. Thirty seconds come and go, stretching on into countless minutes as they get lost in each other, gentle caresses quickly turning into touches more desperate as their breathing grows shallow and unsteady. Delphine reaches for the buttons of her suit jacket, unable to take the growing heat, but Cosima catches her wrist and pulls away.
“Holy watershed, we have to stop, or you really will be late,” she says, laughing shakily, attempting to regain some of her composure.
Delphine squeezes her eyes shut, tilting back her head and sucking her lower lip between her teeth, warring with herself. She holds this position, trying to restore some semblance of order to her scattered thoughts. After a long moment, she exhales and opens her eyes to peer up into Cosima’s blown pupils, which only sends another hot wave of desire rolling through the pit of her stomach. Clenching her eyes shut again, she groans and playfully swats the smaller woman off of her lap.
Cosima stands on unsteady limbs, giggling as she strolls away from the Frenchwoman in the direction of the fridge, intent on finding a distraction before her self-control can waver. Delphine follows suit, moving to retrieve a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself a cup of coffee on the opposite side of the kitchen. She turns, leaning against the counter and taking a long pull of the hot brew, the burning in her throat helping to ground her senses slightly.
Cosima selects an armful of items from the fridge before closing it and shuffling over to the stove. “I’m going to make you breakfast- just something light. How’s eggs and toast sound?”
Delphine smiles broadly around the rim of her glass, a different kind of warmth flooding her chest at the thoughtful gesture. “C’est parfait. Merci.”
“Oh, and Delphine?” The brunette calls over her shoulder with sparkling eyes, the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth.
“Yes, mon amour?”
Delphine places her mug beside her on the countertop, looking back up just in time to see Cosima withdraw something from her pocket and toss it underhand in her direction. She fumbles but manages to make the catch. Before she can even open her palm to observe it, her mind registers what she is holding and her jaw goes slack. “My car keys! How did- did you take these before or after you remembered the time change?”
The brunette’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she whisks eggs in a bowl, her back once more to the blonde in an attempt to hide her utter lack of shame. “Before.”
Rolling her eyes, Delphine cannot help but smile at the brunette’s antics. Crossing the distance between them, she embraces Cosima from behind, resting her chin on the smaller woman’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to her neck. “Brat.”