He'd spent the past few nights at her house but on Thursday she woke up alone. The space beside her was cold and she let out a little groan. He had to go sometime, she knew that, before they killed each other. Semi-comfortable relationship or not, he still pissed her off and he was still...House. She growled again, and swung her legs over the edge of her bed.

He was probably in his own bed fast asleep, face smushed into his pillows, hair sticking up as the curls battled with gravity and sweat.

She smiled.

She still had to get up though, tame her own curls and get to work. She would see House later, much later and invite him back for dinner, and sex.

Much, much later, she had her head in a filing cabinet when House came in slamming his cane down onto her desk. She jumped, dropping a file onto the floor, looking back to glare at House as she bent down to clear up the paper. The look was lost on him though, his eyes on her ass in the tight beige skirt.

"Good morning," he sang, sitting down.

"Afternoon," she corrected.

"I was in the clinic." She raised an eyebrow. "Consult?"

"Lunch with Wilson?" she suggested.

"There's no price for guessing you know."

She smiled.

"You were gone this morning," she said, trying to keep her voice casual.

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered, "went home, played the piano." He shrugged.

"You needed a distraction."


"Your leg okay?"


She frowned but ignored the comment.

"Did you want something?" she asked.

"Office sex."


He smirked, sitting back in the chair.


"No," she said, "No sex, no porn, in the hospital."

"A case?"

"You actually want a case, some work?"

"No, I want sex. In this office. Right now."

"Clinic." She pointed out of her office.

"Dinner tonight," he said.

"And sex. At mine," she said, "clinic."

He got to his feet as dramatically as he could and walked out. She smiled, she had missed waking up to him, or underneath him, his lanky body stretched out across her bed. She was in love what else could she say and they were both too accustomed to sleeping alone to yield to each other in bed so soon.

He hadn't particularly wanted to drive home, in the middle of the night, away from the warmth of Cuddy's hot naked body.

Except Cuddy's hot naked body hadn't been helping his thigh and he didn't want to wake her up. She worked long hours and he had been fucking her too hard to wake her up because he needed a distraction.

So he'd gotten up and gone, driven home, played piano and drank scotch and Vicodin until the early hours.

He let himself into her house that night. Dinner had been cancelled, he'd gotten a case and now it was past late, Cuddy was probably asleep. Her house was dark but he'd gotten used to the place, making himself at home so he flicked on some lights dropping his coat and sneakers in her entry way. He went for a drink first, Scotch in the living room to quiet his mind a little before slipping in Cuddy's bed. He could hear her snoring, she was getting a cold, and relished the idea of waking her.

He smirked, and went into her lounge, looking across at the bottle of scotch and the glass on her coffee table but seeing the white remote control next to it instead. He limped over to it, grabbing the yellow sticky note that was on top and dropped down onto her sofa. It was a controller for a games console and he spotted the pristine white box underneath her television, several games piled up next to it.

In her next administrative hand writing the note simply read; 'A distraction.'

She'd bought him a Nintendo so he wouldn't have to drive home in the middle of the night for his piano or his porn or something to focus his mind on while the pain rattled through his leg, body and brain. And she'd bought him games too, a steering wheel, other odd attachments, spending a small fortune just to keep him happy, or distracted or here.


He got up again and headed for her bedroom, flicking lights on as he went. She didn't stir under the bright bulb in her room and he poked her in the side with the end of his cane. She grumbled to him, turning over and batting blindly. He prodded her again, and she mumbled something that sounded like 'fuck off' but was muffled by her hair.

"House," she groaned, opening an eye. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"You brought me a Nintendo," he said, staring at her. She sat up, brushing her hair from her face.

"You don't like it?" she asked, vulnerable while she was half asleep.

"It's great."

"Oh, cause I can get you an X-Box."

"No, I like the Nintendo." He sat down on the edge of her bed.

"I didn't like the idea of you driving in so much pain."


"Because you could crash and I'll lose my best doctor."


"And the best sex I've had in decade," she smiled, "I've already told you I love you House."

He shrugged. "Thank you," he said, voice quiet and sombre.

"You're welcome, how's your patient?"


"Are you coming to bed?" she asked. "or do you want to play Mario Kart?" She smiled and settled back into the bed, pulling the covers back. He looked over her body and smiled.

"Definitely coming to bed."

He stripped, throwing his clothes and cane to her floor, climbing into bed with her, on top of her and kissing he. She hummed, happy, content, even though House had fought her all day. Pushed and pulled until they had been screaming so loudly at each other in his office, security had been called. She hadn't been sure if he would come over at all.

But here he was, kissing her, between her legs, hands on her breasts.

"You could move in you know," she said, when his lips left hers. "I think I've got room for the piano."

"I'll think about it while I'm going down on you," he said, with a grin. She groaned, and he moved down her body, lips trailing down to her breasts, straight to her nipples. He loved her breasts, he'd never hidden that fact from her or anyone, or himself, just spending time with his own hand thinking about them. He'd never hidden that fact from her either, and she used to give him that disgusted look, but he wondered if her reaction would be the same now they were sleeping together.

He bit down on a nipple, pulling at it with her teeth and she let out a muffled cry, trying not to let her reactions show so strongly, so soon. He smirked and kissed her other nipple, flicking it with his tongue over and over, listening to her 'mmmuh' noises with as much amusement as arousal.

Damn she was hot.

He moved further down her body, nipping hard at her abdomen, bruising the skin, and considered breaking it, deciding to save that for later. He didn't know what else she liked yet, beyond the usual. It was the one thing about Cuddy that had always eluded him, exactly what she liked in bed. He'd find out though.

He kissed the hair between her thighs and she hummed, happy because he was getting close. He placed his hands on her thighs and pushed them open further, holding on tight, thumbs digging into her muscles and kissing lower down, just a fraction, smelling her sex and arousal and smirking into her skin. He couldn't help his amusement. He liked having Cuddy like this, just waiting for him to do something, just for herself like this. He was amused by himself, because he was actually doing something for her. That she wanted.

So rarely happened.

He licked a line over her clit, down to her entrance, feeling her arousal build on his tongue. She made another muffled noise above him, more muffled by her legs rather than anything that she was doing to hold herself back.

"Greg," she whispered, harshly.

He let go of one thigh, to run a finger over the soft flesh of her centre, flicking over her clit with his tongue and she bucked up into his mouth.


Demanding, he loved that. Loved her. So he gave her what she wanted (again so rare), gave her more, probing his tongue into her heat, as deep as he could, tasting and teasing, fingers tracing patterns on wet flesh, pressing down randomly on her clit, her cries growing but still muffled by her legs. Her skin was so soft, and he was scratching her with his stubble and it was worth it, worth keeping the scruff just to hurt her like that. She would be red raw, hopefully, very possibly, between her legs. She thrust her hips into his face, his tongue moving in and out and around her body, the heat of her so warming, right down to his own core, his own cock. He would fuck her hard after this, when she cried out his name in that broken way he liked so much.

"So fucking hot Lisa," he said into her body, he slid a long finger into her body, seeking and finding the rough spot inside her, sucking on her clit as he pressed down. She bucked again, and he chuckled, this was fun, he had always gotten a lot of amusement out messing with people's heads and there was no better way to do that by scattering every thought a person had with an orgasm. He pressed down deep inside her again, pushing his tongue against her clit and she came, scorching him, crying out his name.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh," she rambled, voice high and broken and sexy. He lapped at her clit for another moment before pulling away, remaining between her legs to look at her. "I hate how good you are at that."

"Lots of practice," he said.

"Smug bastard."

"I lov-," he said, stopping when he realised what he'd been about to say, in jest. She smiled at him. "Consider it thanks for the Nintendo."

"You are really fucking welcome House."