coppelganger | ic contact; MoM

Good. I like liking women. They smell nice, and the sex is better. And they don't get pissy if you want to buy them a beer.

[Another gulp of wine. Jesus Christ, she'd missed the taste.]

But sometimes you forget that they can hurt just as bad.

Yeah. But you'll get through it.

[ Sarah scoots closer to Clara on the couch, tilting her head the slightest bit. Now she's close enough to kiss her, and she's thinking about it, because what the hell. All those points Clara made were true, after all. ]

[Clara's eyes blink into focus, taking in all of the ways Sarah is and isn't like her sisters. Her eyes are harder than Cosima's, and colder than Sarissa's, but there's the same downward curve to her mouth, the same adorable nose. Without the smudged makeup and the messy curls, she could almost be Cosima, and the proximity is enough to make Clara crave. She wants to be home, with her girlfriend's hands on her, with that familiar head of hair against her thigh. Through the growing fog of alcohol, it strikes her as cruel, almost unfair, that something so good had to end over a silly, human lie. It wasn't what she deserved. It wasn't what she was owed.

She leans in, trying not to look at the bow of Sarah's mouth.]

Want to make a really stupid decision with me?

[ In answer, Sarah leans in that last little bit and kisses her. She kisses differently than Cosima, rougher and more urgently. One hand reaches out blindly and feels for the coffee table so she can drop her glass of bourbon, and the other goes up to run through Clara's hair, her touch strangely gentle even in its urgency. ]

Yeah, [ she mumbles against Clara's mouth, because she's been so tired, and she's so lonely, and making stupid decisions is what she does, so why stop now? ]

[Hurt and anger and yearning spark though Clara at the rough contact, and she brings her free hand up to the curve of Sarah's neck as she kisses back. This is a bad idea - a very bad idea - but at the first scrape of nails on her scalp, she's done for. She sucks in a breath, dragging her teeth over Sarah's lip.

Her mouth tastes like wine, and her hair smells like smoke, and she's cold as ice, but everything else about Clara is soft, even behind her tightening fingers. She squirms, her cotton dress rucking up at the thighs as she tries to burrow harder against Sarah, until she can't see the fine hair and the smudged eyeliner, the lack of metal glinting at her nose.]

[ Clara's voice is playing over and over again in her mind. Want to make a really stupid decision with me? She wants to, especially now, touching Clara, kissing her, feeling her pressed up against Sarah. Tearing herself away is so hard, but again she hears—stupid decision—and, fleetingly, she wonders if this will kill any chance Clara and Cosima have to make things right. She can't let herself be responsible for that. She can't. So after several long seconds she pulls back, breathing hard, and says, ]

I want to. [ Her voice is rough, breathless, desperate. ] But I can't. We can't. [ Gently, she puts her hands on Clara's shoulders, not pushing her away, just holding on. ] You know that too, yeah?

ic contact; MoM

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