Author's Notes: This is a companion piece to Things you can tell just by looking at her. While you don't necessarily need to read that first, it would probably help. Either way, this fic contains spoilers for season 5 and mature content. That means there is explicit sex, which includes masturbation and voyeurism, anal sex, ageplay, principal/student role-play, dominance/submission, a little bondage, spanking, and rape fantasy. If any of these things squick you, please turn away now.
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or characters.
Fantasies and Nightmares
By Duckie Nicks
When he first comes into the house and sees her, she expects him to cross the short distance between them with uncharacteristic ease; she expects him to be so caught up in the fact that she's dressed like a schoolgirl that he has to fuck her on the living room floor right then and there.
That he doesn't makes Cuddy instantly feel nervous and ashamed.
It's not in her nature to offer herself up like this, to give into his more perverted and potentially degrading fantasies this easily, much less actually plan them out, after all.
It's not even in her nature to give him a birthday present.
But when she saw that House's birthday was coming up, she wanted to do something for him anyway. Maybe that was because, only a couple of years ago, he'd been locked away in a mental institution; maybe it was the fact that girlfriends probably should do something for their… boyfriends (in this case the terminology still seems inadequate), but whatever the reason, Cuddy wanted to something for House, give him something.
And when she thought about what that something should be, the first and really only thing that came to mind was sex.
Lots of sex.
As much as House was interested in other things – music, videogames, etc. – she understood that all of those things required her to have some understanding of his taste. Which… maybe she did a little, but somehow she thought she knew more about how he wanted to have sex with her, thanks to his almost pathological need to delineate all of his fantasies to her.
So she spent a couple of hours surfing on the Internet for the perfect outfit (she sure as hell wasn't going to be buying any of this in a store), deleting her browser's cookies, and changing her computer's password. Taking all the necessary precautions so that House wouldn't find out about his… present before he saw her, she made sure everything was set.
But now that he's standing in front of her, Cuddy thinks she must have done something wrong. Because instead of the enthusiastic response she was expecting, he's… keeping his distance, visibly dumbfounded and unsure. And that makes her wonder if she's done something that he doesn't like.
Her first instinct is to glance down at her appearance. Everything's just where she left it… The knots between her breasts are still holding her black cardigan and white button-down shirt in place, exposing her toned stomach. Her tie is still wedged between her breasts and tucked into her push up bra. The bubblegum pink plaid skirt she's wearing is still short, still tiny enough for him to see the frilly panties she's put on underneath. Even her knee-high, white tights are staying up, she notices, slightly impressed by that fact. Which means that everything's perfect.
… He just hates it.
When she speaks up and mentions that fact, he seems almost unable to concentrate on what she's saying, and that forces her to keep talking. As she scratches her head, she says, "I'm sorry. I thought – nevermind. You hate it."
And it's those words that finally make him talk to her. "If you actually believe that I hate this," he tells her slowly. "You're an idiot."
She can't help but offer him a broad grin. As much as she doesn't want to be that girl, the one whose happiness is dependent on making her lover happy, for the moment, Cuddy's okay with that. It is his birthday, so it's not like she doesn't have a reason to try and please him. And maybe more relevant to her is the fact that, had he hated it, she would have heard about it for the rest of her life in quick quips and sharp barbs. So she supposes she can give herself a pass for her wanting his approval.
Not that she really has much time for self-recriminations, because House is quick to stalk towards her, a determined look in his eyes. As soon as he's within reaching distance, he does just that – reach for her, one of his hands roughly cupping her ass.
His fingers are warm through the thin, ruffled cotton of her white panties, and squeezing her, he pulls her closer until she's pressed up against him.
From this small distance, she can see the amazement in his eyes, and she has to put her hands on his shoulders to balance herself on her teetering seven-inch heels.
"You look…" He doesn't finish the thought, his voice trailing off as his gaze travels the length of her body.
She leans in to give him a chaste kiss; for the first time in… maybe forever, Cuddy doesn't have to stand on her tiptoes to reach him, and she likes that fact. Her grin widening even more, she asks him, "That good, huh?"
To be honest, she doesn't expect much of a response, but he gives her one, one that she's not even remotely anticipating. "Too good," House admits in an almost mournful tone.
Immediately he pulls away from her, leaving her standing alone and confused as he drops into one of the chairs in the room. As he sighs, she asks him tentatively, "House?"
He looks at her quickly before turning his head from her in a way that suggests to her that he can't stand what he sees. Which makes no sense to her.
She saw it in his eyes that he appreciated what she was doing; she knew that he wanted her. But she also knows that something's wrong now, and she has no idea what.
Until House looks at her once more, sadness and fear in his eyes, and he admits, "I'm hallucinating." His voice hitches over the last syllable.
He looks like he's about to cry.
And she rushes – well, as fast as she can in these gawky shoes – towards him as she feels her perfectly laid plans begin to fall apart.
Kneeling by his side, she places a concerned hand on his knee. He tenses at her touch, and Cuddy can't help but feel a little… rejected by him.
But she doesn't say anything about it, because she knows that, if he really is hallucinating, this will change everything. And any rejection she's feeling from him will pale in comparison to that. "Since when?"
He mumbles something that's completely unintelligible. Her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, she leans forward and cups one of his stubbly cheeks with a hand. His jaw is tense, his teeth clenched together. "Hey," she prompts in a whisper. "When do you think you started hallucinating?"
His eyes widen slightly, almost as though he can't believe she's asking that. But nevertheless, he says, "Since right now. This – it's not real."
She doesn't understand.
"What…" Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head. Taken a back, she denies what he's trying to tell her. "Of course, this is real." As she leans back on her heels, she tells him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, "House. This is real."
At first he doesn't seem convinced by what she's telling him. And part of her can't blame him, because unfortunately for them both, he has hallucinated something like this before. He has imagined her doing something kind for him and having sex with him, which makes it impossible to immediately write off.
Maybe even, she realizes grimly, impossible to ever convince him that this is real.
Sitting there in front of him silently, she tries to figure out what to say to him. For the life of her, however, she has no idea what to say.
And yet for whatever reason, House actually starts to seem almost… relieved by her confusion.
So she thinks he must be thrilled when she has no clue what to say when he orders her in a flat tone, "Tell me something I don't know." He must love that her eyes narrow on him curiously and the corners of her mouth turn downward.
At that moment, a voice inside of her whispers that this might be one of his games, a cruel form of revenge for an imaginary crime she committed. But thinking about it for another second more, Cuddy thinks that faking hallucinations was something that not even he would stoop to doing. Which means… that he actually wants her to tell him something he doesn't know.
Of course, even if that is what he's trying to say, she's still not sure what to do, what to tell him anyway. Was he hoping to hear something specific? Something reassuring? Something else?
Having no idea what he's looking for, Cuddy throws caution to the wind and tells him the first thing that popped into her head. With a shrug, she admits, "I masturbated in the shower yesterday morning."
He clearly doesn't believe her, immediately snapping, "No, you didn't."
"I did," she tells him emphatically.
She knows what he's going to say; she knows the argument he's going to use, so she explains to him, "I know. Yesterday morning, I told you I didn't want to have sex."
"I know." He doesn't sound too happy about that fact, and that makes her smile a little.
"But the truth is I… knew that I was going to be doing this today, and I didn't want you to be too… exhausted to do me today." She lets the hand on his knee snake upwards towards his crotch.
Her fingers splaying across him, she's not surprised that he's not hard. No matter how good she might look in this moment, she understands that her body is far outweighed by the possibility of another stint in a mental institution. Frankly she would have been shocked if he'd somehow managed to maintain an erection under those circumstances.
Lightly beginning to stroke him through his pants, Cuddy hopes that his inability to accept nice things hasn't completely ruined all chances of her getting laid today.
"You think I can't do it two days in a row?" He's both curious and only slightly offended.
She smiles at his saucily and shakes her head. "House… I went through all of the trouble to buy all of this – to look like this for you. And I thought that, if I were going to do that, I was absolutely going to make sure that you'd be able to truly enjoy your present for the rest of the day." She squeezes him as he begins to respond to her words and actions.
"So… I'm sane," he says as though he's pondering the idea.
As tempted as she is to tell him that he is relatively sane, she's sure that a joke is not what he needs at the moment. So she simply says, "Yes."
"I'm not hallucinating this. You're just telling me that for my birthday, I should use you in any way I see fit." Caught somewhere between trying the idea on for size and trying to entice her, House is clearly unsure as to what he should believe. It's obvious in the slight hesitation in his eyes that as much as he wants to give into the fantasy she's created for him, he's still not convinced that he should.
Feeling herself becoming equidistant from success and failure, knowing that one wrong word or move will prematurely end what she has planned, Cuddy thinks quickly. She's not exactly sure what she should say to him, but she knows it has to be perfect, has to be what he wants and needs to hear.
"I know that it's hard for you to… accept that I might want to do something nice for you," she tells him carefully. "But I did. I do want to." At that moment, Cuddy feels the temptation to be sentimental and explain to him just how much he means to her. But she knows with all of her heart that nothing would be less welcome or comforting for someone like House.
So she goes with something that she knows he'll appreciate. "Besides," she tells him, a lop-sided smile appearing on her face. "I like sex, and I really like it with you. Why wouldn't I use your birthday to my advantage?" Sentimentality might not have an effect on him, but cold-hearted rationale always has.
And immediately his demeanor changes, her words finally getting through to him. He's relaxed now, a slightly audible sigh of relief escaping him. Because of that, she senses that she won't have any more problems with him, so she takes control over the situation. As much as his questionable mental health has attempted to derail this entire production, Cuddy's equally headstrong in getting them back on track. "Good," she tells him, approving of the fact that he's accepted all of this to be real. As she begins to unzip his fly, she licks her lips and says, "Now just –"
"I don't think so," House interrupts, his voice hardened. She recognizes his tone as the one he always uses at work – arrogant, self-assured… normal. And although that part of him has never ceased to annoy the hell out of her, it has also always been a major turn-on for her.
Not that she's inclined to listen to him here any more than she is at work, she thinks defiantly. But just as she's about to pull his cock out of his gray boxer-briefs, he yanks her hand away.
Confused, she demands to know, "What are you –"
"You're not going to telling me what to do," he says with a harsh edge to his tone. "No matter how big a fantasy it might be for you."
She shakes her head. "I wasn't –"
"This is what's going to happen," House says with no room for disagreement in his voice. "You're going to do what I say. Exactly what I say."
Cuddy can't exactly deny that she hasn't been expecting this; she's not particularly dressed to be taken seriously much less be in charge. And for the most part, she's okay with letting him have control over the situation.
But the key word there is most, which means that there's also a small part of her that's a little reluctant to let him… have that kind of power.
It's not that she doesn't trust him to treat her with some modicum of care and respect. Intuitively she believes that he will. He won't hurt her certainly. It's just a matter how much embarrassment he's interested in causing her, how unbearably arrogant he will be at work if she lets him essentially dominate her.
"Fine," she tells him a cool voice. "But what's in it for me?"
He smirks at her condescendingly. "If you're a good girl, I might let you come."
In the back of her mind, she thinks that he's foolish if he thinks that he can control that. Even if he pulls out or finishes before she does, Cuddy is a self-sufficient woman. She can and will find a way to take care of her own needs. How could she not be after years of not having sex?
She can and will find a way to take care of her own needs if she has to. So really, unless House plans on watching her every five seconds or duct taping oven mitts to her hands to stop her, his implicit threat is one she's not going to be taking seriously.
And that makes it incredibly easy to agree to his demands. "All right," she says with a shrug. A smirk on her face, Cuddy asks sarcastically, "You want me to call you Master too?"
His gaze hardens, and it's obvious that he is unhappy with her. And driving that point home, House leans forward quickly, his hand easily sliding to the back of her head, so he can grip her hair tightly. It's not an easy feat for him to do; she put her hair into pigtails only an hour ago, and the little, pink bows used to hold them together are strong, keeping her hair in place. But he still manages to yank hard enough for her to feel the tug on her scalp.
Granted, it's not enough to hurt, but it's all the proof she needs to know that he's going to take his role as the one in control very seriously. "Behave," he orders in a threatening voice. He lets go of her and adds, "You're already in enough trouble as it is."
That's news to her, she thinks immediately. "For what?" She tries to ignore how whiny she sounds. When she can't, she blames her sudden childishness on her choice of attire.
"For deciding to indulge in my fantasies without warning me and making me think I'd lost my mind," House retorts.
She pouts. "Well… I didn't mean to do that."
"I should spank you for that." He sounds almost conversational about it, but once he sees her eyes widen a little, he seems to like the idea even more. "I am going to do it… Birthday spankings are a tradition after all."
"But it's not my birthday," she says immediately, not liking where this is headed.
He shrugs off her argument. "Yes, but your ass is much more spankable than mine."
"I was trying to do something nice. You can't punish me for that."
That's obviously not the right thing to say though. Because he just asks her, "I can't?" And Cuddy thinks she should have known that he'd react that way; he's never been a particular fan of the word, can't, and after all these years of knowing him, working with him, she thinks that she should have realized that she was just egging him on.
"You shouldn't," she corrected. Resting her chin on his knee, she added, "Not when I've already agreed to do anything you want."
Her reasoning seems to be enough for him, because after a minute, he nods his head in agreement. And although she'll never tell him this, she's actually a little relieved by that fact; if he wanted to spank her, she would probably let him, but, if she can avoid the whole not-being-able-to-sit-down-for-a-day thing, she will.
House leans back in the chair at that moment and interrupts her thoughts by asking in a slightly accusing voice, "So what were you doing masturbating?"
This causes her to lift up her head. Her eyes scanning him for some understanding, Cuddy has no idea where he's headed with this. Her only option is to fumble for some sort of answer. "I… I was –"
"Stupid enough to think that you could get away with masturbating in the boys' locker room during gym practice?"
His accusation is so preposterous that she's too shocked to laugh. Which is probably a good thing, considering she doubts he would like that response.
If anything, as each second of this passes, she's becoming more and more aware of just how long he must have had this fantasy. He's clearly got some of the details outlined in his head, bringing her along for the ride out of necessity. And that makes her feel both proud of herself for deciding to do this, for being able to give it to him and, at the same time, a little uncomfortable with it.
It's not, she tells herself, that she dislikes role-playing, fantasy, or anything like that. She does; they've done it before on occasion – like when she walked through the door last month still wearing her lab coat and they played doctor together. She didn't mind that at all. But then that was one of her fantasies as well, was something they shared and mutually decided to do at roughly the same time.
This, on the other hand, is something he's thought of on his own, and although she's more than willing to go with it, she doesn't exactly know what it is that he wants her to do. She doesn't know the rules of the fantasy, and that makes her feel as though she's got a distinct disadvantage… which he probably likes.
That fact irritating her, she replies to his question with a dry "When you're horny, you're horny. I did consider the janitor's closet, but…" She shrugs dramatically.
There's some amusement in his eyes at her remark, but he doesn't allow himself to laugh at loud. She supposes it would ruin the game for him. So it's not so surprising that he tells her, "I'm beginning to think you believe you did nothing wrong."
Realizing that she should probably try to play along with the fantasy, she tries to figure out what would be perverted enough for House to enjoy. "Well," she says slowly, buying herself some time. "I guess I don't really think that it's my fault. I mean… how was I to know that the entire lacrosse team and coaches were going to walk in on me?"
Cuddy's half-sure that her ridiculous words sound like something out of a bad porno. But given the amount of bad pornography House is a fan of… she's convinced that if there's anyone who can appreciate her effort, it's him.
And surely enough she notices that he does, because he starts to squirm in the chair in much the same way he does when he's so horny that he can't get her pants off fast enough.
Calmly, he cocks his head to the side and asks, "You know what I think? I think you're a naughty girl, Lisa."
The use of her first name is unexpected and makes her feel uneasy, makes her feel like she's fourteen again – which was roughly the last time a boy she liked called her by her first name. In high school, when her mother finally gave up on the idea of turning her daughters into good little Jewish girls and transferred them into public school, Cuddy quickly found herself in classrooms with at least three other Lisa's in them. Before, there had always been another Lisa, maybe two, in the same class, but for whatever reason, her high school had been filled with them. So she'd just accepted people calling her Cuddy.
Which worked well for her in college and med school, because the guys she tended to attract were the kind of assholes who liked to believe they already were physicians. And in their minds, calling her by her first name was unacceptable.
To hear House say it now is… bizarre, to say the least, and because of that, it takes her a minute to process that he's talking again.
"I think," he drawls. "You were hoping to get caught. I think you needed to get caught, because a naughty girl like you likes performing in front of an audience."
He dramatically considers this for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe. But either way, you have been caught and sent to the principal's office."
Cuddy nods her head in understanding. Part of her would like to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but another part of her has decided that she might as well enjoy the game he wants to play.
"So now I have to deal with you. Because you don't know how to keep your hands to yourself." As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he reconsiders him. His lips twisting into a smirk, he immediately amends, "Or I guess the problem is you do keep your hands to yourself… in a locker room." He shrugs the matter to the side. "Doesn't matter, cause either way, now I have to be the one to make sure that you don't do it again."
"I don't want to be spanked," she tells him with a pout on her face.
And she really does mean what she's saying, which is why it's a relief that he nods his head in agreement. "No, that won't do. Although I'm sure you could use a sound one, a spanking hardly fits the crime here. Really, I think the only thing to do is to force you to do exactly what you've been caught doing. In front of me."
Her eyes widen slightly. "You mean you want me to masturbate in front of you?"
"Yup," House says with a nod.
He interrupts firmly, "You're doing it."
Truth be told, Cuddy isn't opposed to touching herself in front of him. Obviously, she'd rather have him stroking her, kissing her, fucking her. But she's not the kind of person to be embarrassed about masturbating in front of her boyfriend.
However, she realizes that, if they're playing a game, she should at least pretend to not be interested. Trying to make herself look reluctant and ashamed, she shakes her head no.
Tugging on her hand, House makes her stand up. And he tells her, "If you're so embarrassed to do it, maybe you'll think about that the next time you think it's a good idea to break into the boys' locker room."
He grips her hips tightly and turns her around. "Get on the coffee table and spread your legs." House pushes her towards the glass table, but she's hesitant to sit on it, unsure that it will hold her weight. And that doesn't get past House at all, so it's no surprise that he tugs on the band of her skirt and yanks her back into his arms.
His chin digging into her bare back, one hand holds her in place while the other begins to remove her panties. "Are we having a problem?"
"No," she says tersely. "I just don't know that sitting on a glass table that may or may not hold my weight is a good idea, House."
"You'll be fine," he reassures, pushing her towards the table. She's about to protest some more, but he says preemptively, "Oh relax. You're not gonna fall through the glass, and if you could, I wouldn't tell you to sit on it. I like your ass way too much to put it in harm's way."
At that moment, she wonders how he can say something to essentially make her feel better but still sound like a complete asshole. But she doesn't ask him, instead doing what he wants silently.
Her underwear now carelessly caught on one of her seven-inch heels, she immediately shivers when the cool glass comes into contact with the bare backs of her thighs and her ass.
"Get started," House says impatiently.
She has to stop herself from smiling. The knowledge that she's driving him insane, the telltale bulge in his pants obvious even from this distance, makes her extremely pleased. Not to mention wet… The desire in his eyes is mirrored in her body, the way he's looking at her egging on.
It's what urges her to continue with the game they're playing. The way she's dressed and the dynamic of their relationship at this moment may be all make believe, but his want of her – and her of him – is completely real, something that no veneer can begin to penetrate.
And knowing that, Cuddy finds herself doing what he wants before he even finishes ordering her, "Touch yourself."
She spreads her legs wide, to the point where the muscles in her inner thighs begin to feel strained. It's lewd and maybe just a little bit ridiculous, but she can tell House appreciates it.
Cuddy slides a hand down her flat stomach to the hem of her skirt. Her fingers curl around the edge of the tartan fabric, and she pulls the short material up to give House a better view, eliciting an appreciative noise from him.
Her fingertips creep down towards her moist opening. She's tempted to slide a finger inside of herself, but she doesn't; circling the opening to her vagina a few times, she then lazily slides her finger back up to her clit. She teases herself, rubbing along the edge of the bundle of nerves without giving in to her desire to get off as quickly as possible. Because as much as she would like to do just that, she knows that this isn't just about her; this isn't like the times when she's alone and frustrated and desperate without any possibility of relief from anyone else.
This is for someone, for House, and she understands that it's just good showmanship or… whatever to draw this out a little bit.
And it must be working, she thinks, because at that second, he orders her in an impatient voice, "Finger yourself. Now."
Cuddy knows that she's getting to him; the palm of his own hand is pressed against the bulge in his pants, and she understands that she only needs to tease him a little further to destroy what little control he has over himself and this situation. So she resists doing what he wants (even though it's what she wants as well) and pretends to be disgusted and hesitant. Her middle finger brushing over her clit, she has to swallow her gasp and force out childishly, "I don't want to."
Even to her own hazy mind, it doesn't sound particularly convincing. So she drops her hand and adds in false defeat, "I can't do this. I can't… touch myself in front of you. You are the school principal, and really, I didn't do anything that bad – certainly nothing bad enough to deserve this," she whines purposely. "I'll do detention every day for a week – a month if you want. But I can't do this."
It's not the best performance she's ever given. That title probably belonged to the lie she told her mother when she was fifteen about how it had only been her friends smoking the pot. But nonetheless, it's good enough to keep the fantasy going, which is all she really wants.
"Unacceptable," House says, practically snarling. "Your punishment has been decided, and that's all there is to it." His voice leaves no room for discussion on the matter.
Cuddy's willing to try, however. But before she can even say something that's equal parts coy and infuriating, he stands up and moves in front of her. "You're going to do what I say," he tells her, more than a slight hint of warning in his voice.
Unfortunately for him, she's got an advantage here, his crotch now at the same level as her face. "I don't want to," she tells him before quickly placing her hands on his thighs.
House ignores the implication. "You don't have a choice."
"Sure, I do," she says with a smile. Her words slow and seductive, she offers, "I can do what you're telling me or… I can do something for you." Her fingers inch towards his open fly, her meaning perfectly clear.
His reaction, though, is something she's unprepared for. Instead of the enthusiastic nod or instant rejection she expected, he seems almost shocked by her display.
Shocked and dismayed.
Shaking his head, he says in disappointment, "I see… Well, I guess I was wrong, wasn't I? This isn't going to be a simple punishment anymore, Lisa. You're just too big a whore to learn your lesson like a good girl, aren't you?"
Cuddy's tempted to offer dryly, "Yeah, that's me – a big, giant whore." But she doesn't do that, because she understands that not only does he not mean it but also that it would ruin the mood if she acted like he did. So instead, she asks wide-eyed, "What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to fuck you." The words are so matter of fact that it almost seems logical to her. That it's really not all that sensible is something she's completely willing to overlook on account of the fact that this is exactly what she's been waiting for him to do.
Not that she's going to let him know that.
She frowns. "But I'm a virgin, Principal House. And…" Her voice trails off as he begins to laugh at her. Not a soft chuckle so much, not the silent smirk she's used to from him, but an uncharacteristic laugh that shuts her up the second it escapes him is what fills her ears. And she's not sure if he's laughing because of the ridiculous words themselves or something else, but Cuddy isn't convinced that she wants to find out.
Falling silent, she decides to wait him out until he decides to make the next move.
Of course, she doesn't have to wait long for that to happen; his demeanor changing back to something approaching angry, House roughly grabs her chin. His grip is forceful enough to bruise, but Cuddy doesn't pay much attention to that. She can handle a contusion or two if she has to.
Shifting his hand a little, House still has a hold of her as he slides his thumb into her mouth. Obediently, she begins to suck on it, allowing her tongue to run the length of his finger. She looks at him innocently as she does it, teasing him with the promises of what she could do if he were to let her.
Just by peering up at him she can tell that her silent offer is definitely enticing him. His gaze is intently on her, on the way she's practically fucking his thumb.
And she thinks that even if she couldn't see him, she would be able to tell that he was being affected by it. Because his voice is strained when he says, "I'm going to go ahead and say you're definitely not a virgin."
She lets his thumb slide out of her mouth. "Of course I am," she counters, pretending to be in shock over his accusation. "I mean… okay, there was this one time I gave my boyfriend a blow job, but that's not even sex really," she tells him, barely being able to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and her face straight.
"Even more of a reason to have sex with you," he decides immediately. "I'm not going to be satisfied coming somewhere you've let everyone else you've met –"
"It was one boy," she snaps angrily as part of the game.
And in return, this only makes House furious. "Shut up," he orders her, yanking her up off of the coffee table. "You don't need to talk anymore."
She tries to pull herself away from him in a way that makes it look like she's serious even though she's really not. "I think I do," she says coldly. "Look, I get I did something bad, but I'm not having sex with you."
House, however, doesn't pay attention to her. Instead, he begins to undo the knots that are holding her black sweater and button-down shirt together. She pretends not to notice until the cardigan falls to the ground, and then she begs, "Please don't –"
"I told you to shut up," he barks, ripping the white button-down shirt open. Little buttons fall to the ground, a couple pinging off of the glass coffee table before they do so. "You're going to learn," House tells her in a warning tone. "If you keep insisting on touching yourself in front of boys and sticking their cocks in your mouth, they're going to expect something more from you."
In some ways, Cuddy knows what he wants her to do – or at least she knows how he's expecting her to react. He's anticipating resistance or anger, maybe even a little outrage over what he's saying, which does on some level infuriate her.
But she also understands that giving him exactly what he's expecting doesn't make the game very fun. For either of them, she realizes. So she does the exact opposite of what he probably assumes her reaction will be. Shrugging, she agrees with him. "You're right… I am on a dangerous path."
He's about to give her a curious look, about to say something to her. But she quickly puts a stop to that by kissing him. Her mouth suddenly on his, any confusion he might have is completely overtaken by the nearness of her. And as his tongue takes advantage of the situation, she can't help but smirk into his mouth; she may be the one in the schoolgirl outfit, but there's no doubt in her mind that she's still the one in control.
Knowing that, Cuddy allows the kiss to continue for a little while longer. His stubble scrapes against her skin roughly in harsh contrast to the way his grip on her has softened. As one of his hands moves down to cup her bare ass, her panties long forgotten, she nips his tongue lightly with her teeth. It's definitely not enough to hurt but absolutely all it takes to elicit a soft, barely audible moan of approval.
And that's all the signal she needs to know that it's time to make her next move. Because as tempting it is to just go with the flow, to let him take her right here, right now, Cuddy understands all too well that it's actually better to let the game continue on a little longer. Certainly, House will appreciate it, and she supposes that's what this is about – making House happy.
Reluctantly she pulls away.
"You know… I change my mind," she says abruptly. Pushing his hand off of her ass, she explains, "Sleeping with the school principal? I think expulsion would be better than that."
She stays in front of him long enough to see the forced-upon ire return to his eyes. "You little –"
"Sorry," she tells him, moving just out of reach before he can grab her.
He practically growls, "Get back here."
Truth be told, Cuddy has half a mind to do just that. After all, she's wearing a skirt that barely covers her bare ass; her shirt's torn open, her bra exposed, and so even if she wanted to leave, which she doesn't, she's hardly dressed to do so.
But at the same time, she doesn't exactly want to give in to House that easily. Although that's all easier said than done, because as she's contemplating what to do next, he's angrily stalking towards her. In measured, furious tones, he says, "I told you to get back here."
She scoffs loudly before backing away. Inching towards the bedroom, she tells him, "You can say that all you want. I'm not going to sleep with you."
"Little girl, this is your last warning," he says in a voice that's probably supposed to make her afraid enough to listen to him. But all it really does is make her body all the more feverish for him.
And as she picks up her pace, she can't help but notice the way the slickness between her legs has increased. The sound of his footsteps behind her echoes her own and the pounding of her heart, and effortlessly trotting in her heels towards the bedroom, Cuddy is nearly overcome with the entire scenario.
She pushes her way into her bedroom and contemplates what might happen. She imagines House right behind her, his hands roughly grabbing her. She pictures him forcing her down on the bed, forcing her thighs apart with enough effort that it bruises her pale skin. She fantasizes about what it would be like to be helpless as he thrusts into her as hard as he can.
The whole idea turns her on more than she can even begin to describe. Cuddy's not sure if it's the possessiveness, the idea of being helpless, the current situation and her desire to be screwed as hard as possible, or something else entirely that she's responding to. But whatever the reason, the mental picture before her is one she finds incredibly hard to resist – even as part of her believes she should be ashamed to even consider such things.
Not that it really matters, of course, because even though she wishes House would do those things to her, he's not even in the same room with her at the moment; she expected him to follow her, but he hasn't. And that makes her a little concerned as well as convinced that he's just doing this to screw with her.
He's probably waiting outside the door. He's probably hoping that she'll get up and go looking for him, and that's when he'll make his move.
So naturally she flops down on the bed, kicking her heels off in the process, and waits for him.
And waits for him.
And waits for him.
She sighs, wondering what the hell he's doing. Her desire beginning to wane, Cuddy starts to lose her focus on the matter at hand. As each second passes, she starts to think about the hospital and all the paperwork she should be doing; she thinks about the baby (who she supposes isn't really a baby anymore) and how the little girl is doing with Cuddy's sister, who agreed to watch Rachel for the weekend.
And it's then, when Cuddy's contemplating whether or not she should make an appointment to get her daughter's hair cut, that House finally comes barreling into the room.
Well… maybe not so much barreling as lumbering into the room, she immediately amends as she glances at him.
Concern flits through her body as she takes in his appearance. His face is beet red, beads of sweat forming along his brow and trickling along the swell of his cheeks. His eyes are no longer filled with false anger, very real pain visibly taking its place.
Her brow wrinkling in confusion and nervousness, she asks him, "Are you okay?" She doesn't give him a chance to answer before adding, "You look like you're going to have a heart attack."
And as soon as those words escape her, her fear multiplies tenfold. She doesn't want to sound insensitive, but all she's wanted for this day is to screw him senseless – and clearly that's not going to be happening if he's dying.
"I'm fine," he says quickly in a manner that lets her know that this isn't him just playing around; he might be saying otherwise, but he's genuinely upset about something.
"What's wrong? What took you so long?" She doesn't mean to sound accusatory, and she hopes she doesn't sound that way, because her main motivation is concern. But somehow she doubts that's come across in her voice.
He rolls his eyes in annoyance. "How fast did you expect me to chase you? I'm old. My dick's hard, and I have half of my thigh missing. Did you think I was going to sprint after you?"
It's impossible to miss that he's angry.
But Cuddy knows that this has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the pain he's surely feeling. A glance towards his dwindling erection is all the proof she needs to know that the awkward walk from the living room to the bedroom has rubbed all the wrong nerves.
The entire dynamic between them shifting seamlessly, she orders him gently, "Come here."
He obeys, awkwardly moving towards and sitting on the bed next to her. It takes him a little effort for him to pull his leg onto the bed but not as much as she's anticipating. Still she feels the need to ask, "Give me a number."
"Four," he says quietly.
And that leaves her feeling a little confused, to be honest. Most days, House falls anywhere from a five to seven on the pain scale. Every now and there will be an eight, distant memories of the few nines and tens he had immediately after the infarction and surgery always at the edge of her consciousness. So by comparison, a four hardly seems worthy of even considering taking a pause now; God only knows they've done it under worse conditions.
Of course, she's not that big of an idiot to say anything remotely judgmental or disparaging to House right now. So instead, she curls up at his side, her hand tentatively moving towards his thigh. She looks at him for confirmation that he won't mind her touching the constant bane of his existence, and she's more than a little relieved when he nods his head in acquiescence; nothing, she knows, destroys the mood more than him refusing what little comfort she knows how to offer.
They know this from experience.
Silently Cuddy begins to run her hand along his thigh, her fingertips lightly pressing into the injured muscle. Laying her head down on his chest, she notices that his erection is gone entirely now.
That fact doesn't bother her all that much. Really, if there's one thing about House she does continually trust (besides his genius and ability to be an ass at the worst moments possible), it is the fact that he can be turned on, at least by her anyway, in the matter of a moment. It's something that hasn't changed with age, hasn't changed since the infarction. It's something she hopes will never change, though her medical mind understands that it's foolish to think that it won't.
Of course that's not to say that things always work out as she intends. There are times when they stop, times when the idea of having sex seems like the last thing they should actually do.
But they can at least get the basic mechanics right, and she has no doubts that if they decide to try and have sex again, he'll certainly be able to rise to the occasion.
For the moment, she tells herself not to think about whether or not her birthday present will be… given. Honestly, at this point, she believes it could go either way. And somehow she's convinced that if she tries to decide which way it's going to go, she'll just drive herself crazy.
No matter what though, Cuddy reiterates to herself that this particular gift has no refund policy; she's not going to give him a rain check on this ever, because she has no desire whatsoever to dress up like this again. And if she does become House's little schoolgirl ever again, there's no way in hell she's wearing these knee-highs, she decides.
As pleased as she is that they're staying up, allaying that particular concern of hers, the tights make her itchy. Really itchy, she quickly amends, as just thinking about it has made her calves seem desperately in need of scratching.
Pathetically Cuddy rubs her legs along the bed. Her hope is that the friction will make her more comfortable. But the truth is the only thing it accomplishes is make House, slightly more relaxed than he was moments before, turn his head in her direction. Curious, he asks, "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm itchy," she says in a voice that's whiny even to her own ears. Her hands leaving him, she sits up, so she can scratch the back of her knee. This, Cuddy tells herself, is precisely why she rarely wears pantyhose to work; it's just too annoying to bother with.
"So take it off."
She sighs a little, thinking that House's suggestion is probably worth listening to. But part of her is hesitant to do it. As uncomfortable as she is in the knee-high tights, she knows that it really does complete the look. And if she were to take them off then… she thinks it would be like admitting that she wasn't going to have House inside of her anytime tonight.
And it's then, when he's perhaps sensing her hesitation, that he suggests lasciviously, "Take 'em off, so I can use them to tie you up."
At first, Cuddy doesn't know how to react. She wants to make sure that she's heard him right, but at the same time, she understands that doing that could very easily look like doubt. Which is the last thing they need at the moment, because it's a sure-fire way of starting a fight with him.
But House takes her non-reaction differently. Clearly assuming her hesitation is over the act and not his ability to actually go through with it, he points out, "You're dressed like a little girl. And besides… I know you. You can't exactly pretend that that kind of thing doesn't turn you on."
She rolls her eyes. "You always think I'm much kinkier than I am."
That fact doesn't particularly annoy her, although sometimes the jokes do get a bit old. And right now, to be honest, Cuddy is willing to let him do whatever he wants if it means that she gets laid. So she goes with it. "All right," she tells him with a shrug, bending over so she can take off the tights off.
As she does so, House says, "Well, if you're doing what I want, then you must be just as kinky as I think you are."
His point is one she chooses to ignore. Tossing the white tights at him, she dismisses him. "Whatever. I would just like to have sex some time today. So if that's at all possible," she says, sounding more peevish than she means to. "That'd be really nice."
"Well that's not exactly my fault now, is it?" Now House sounds just as annoyed as she is confused. And he has to explain quickly, "If you hadn't decided to change locations on me, I wouldn't have followed you. If I hadn't followed you, I wouldn't have twisted my leg weirdly while trying to walk with an erection."
If he weren't being such an ass, she thinks she might have apologized for something she couldn't have possibly predicted. But since he is being an asshole, Cuddy just smirks. "Next time we decide to have sex, I'll perfectly choreograph what we're going to do first. I'll even draw a map just for you, so you don't get lost along the way."
He sneers, unraveling the tights she's tossed at him. As he does so, he tells her very seriously, "Shut up and put your mouth to better use."
His attitude naturally doesn't make her feel entirely inclined to do that. If anything, Cuddy has a pretty nasty desire growing inside of her to bite him. But that, she tells herself, wouldn't exactly make for a very happy birthday, and more importantly she wants to have sex, so she simply shrugs off her anger.
For now anyway (she reserves the right to be angry later).
Moving back up the bed, she begins to take off his pants. It's relatively easy to do, despite the fact that he stubbornly refuses to help her. His jeans still unzipped and unbuttoned from earlier, she harshly tugs on the fabric, her irritation bleeding through to the surface in a flash of weakness.
Feeling his gaze narrow on her disapprovingly, Cuddy slows her movements. Especially as she pulls his pants and boxers down over his thighs, she's particularly careful, the knowledge that hurting him like that isn't going to make her feel better running through her mind.
Although she can't deny that the idea is beginning to sound more and more enticing as each second passes.
And by the time she gets his bottom half completely naked, she's not just a little frustrated. Annoyed she says, "You could have helped."
He ignores the comment. Instead he tells her, "You know my penis isn't going to suck itself…"
She doesn't miss a beat, crawling off of the bed. "I'll go get the vacuum cleaner then."
But she's barely taken a step before he grabs her roughly. Yanking her hard, he pulls her back down onto the bed, her body being crushed against his. His lips at her ear, he harshly whispers, "Do you remember what I told you?"
Her lips turn down into a slight frown as she tries to decipher what it is he's talking about. It's House, so it very well could mean anything, she realizes, which makes it hard to know exactly what he's referencing.
Of course House seems to know that she doesn't know what he's talking about. He nips at her earlobe, making the skin sting slightly, before reminding her, "I told you that if you wanted to come, you had to do what I say."
"Oh. Right," she says dimly, vaguely recalling those words.
"Now I was willing to rethink spanking you… I can rethink it some more if necessary." He lets the threat sink in a little bit before asking, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Realizing she's been backed into a corner, with no other options left, she nods her head slowly. "Yes," she admits albeit reluctantly; she's not opposed, in theory, to giving him what he wants. But as she's so used to denying him, questioning him – redirecting him, it's hard for her to acquiesce. Yet somehow she manages to do it. Which earns her a kiss to the side of her head.
"Good girl," he tells her in a voice that makes the whole phrase sound so dirty.
He lets go of her, so he can lean back against the pillows. He's silent; he doesn't say a word or even look at her. But what he wants is very clear. And although part of her isn't all that interested in giving him what he wants, she does do that.
She slithers down to his dick, offering a couple kisses along his stomach as she does. Her fingertips lightly curling around his cock, she slowly pumps him.
House sighs his approval, but she's obviously hoping for more than that. Hovering over him, she licks the head of his penis languidly. He's still not hard yet, but there are the beginnings of an erection, and so she continues to slowly taunt and tease him.
Moving down the length of his penis, Cuddy presses delicate kisses along his warm flesh. Occasionally she allows her tongue to give him a short lick that follows the contours of his veins. The added moisture lets her stroke him more insistently, and she knows it won't be long before he's worked up into a frenzy.
As her loose fist moves up and down, her mouth moves further still towards his balls. She's so close to him now that the light smattering of dark pubic hair brushes against her cheek, the coarse curls tickling her skin. And she's just about to kiss him some more when she feels him sit up.
Fingers wrapping around and tugging at her pigtails, House pulls her away from her task at hand, away from his body and the intimate pleasure she's trying to give him. Which honestly irritates her, if she's being completely honest. As much as it makes sense for him to derive pleasure from the act of her mouth, the fact of the matter is she too gets pleasure from it. She likes the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way he smells, and she loves knowing that she's the one in control of the situation, of making him feel good. And understanding that being pulled away now means he'll very quickly have control over her, Cuddy isn't thrilled.
The emotion must read across her face, because House smirks at her disappointment. "Don't worry. I have better uses for you," he tells her in a way that only accentuates what she's feeling. Before she can even protest, he reaches behind her and yanks her unbuttoned shirt off of her.
Now in front of him in nothing but her skirt, bra, and tie, she can feel some of her irritation and disappointment fleeing. Because at least this means they're moving closer towards the actual fun part of the evening. They might be inching towards it in an agonizingly slow pace that makes her warm and wet and furious all at the same time, but thankfully, they're beginning to make some progress.
When his warm hands snake up her back and undo the clasp of her bra, she practically sighs in relief. And almost as though he's feeling her impatience as well, House's touch becomes more insistent as he pulls the bra off of her, the lacy straps scratching at her arms as he removes the offending article of clothing. She's topless in a matter of seconds, a nice departure from everything up until this point in the evening.
Goosebumps begin to form along her skin. A more naïve person might believe that it's the way House is ogling her that's making that happen. But the truth is the air conditioning is set too low for her to be anything other than cold in the artificially chilled air. And quickly the lack of clothing begins to have its effect on her; her nipples harden slightly at the feel of the cool air hitting them, and House appreciatively rubs a thumb over one of the tight buds.
She arches a little into his touch. Although she's never had sensitive breasts, has never been able to have the kind of reaction that men like to brag about, she can still appreciate House's hand on her body. She can still enjoy the intimacy of the act and the way her nipple and his dick become increasingly hard by it.
"Put your hands behind your back," House orders in a harsh whisper.
Even under the best of circumstances, that doesn't sound like such a good idea, Cuddy thinks to herself. So she doesn't move at all, instead deflecting with the question, "You trying to arrest me, officer?"
He scoffs. "Of course not. If there's one thing porn has taught me, it's that you never mix your role playing scenarios."
Cuddy is sure that there's a reason behind that. But given the subject matter, she's not exactly convinced that she wants to know the reason, so she just nods her head in agreement. "Right."
They sit there in silence for a moment before he gets annoyed. "Well?"
There's a voice inside of her that is practically shouting that this is a bad idea. No, not a bad idea – a terrible idea, it screams in the back of her mind. But another part of her has already realized that…
She can't really tell him no.
Or rather, she can; House won't force her into anything if she's that opposed to it. But her reticence is more due to the fact that she's instinctively wary of giving House anything he wants and less the result of an actual fear of the order itself. And that means that telling him no isn't likely to happen, as he'll be able to cajole her into doing what he wants.
Sighing she places her hands behind her back. There's no point, she decides, in trying to fight him, in trying to distract him from what he wants. At the most in ten minutes, he'll be getting what he wants anyway, so she supposes she might as well just save them time.
Perhaps feeling the same way, House quickly makes work of using the tights she gave him to tie her wrists together. The bonds are comfortably secure around her (it's her first instinct to automatically test them), and he seems quite pleased by this fact, a small smile appearing on his face as she half-heartedly tries to free herself.
Once she accepts that that won't be happening until he allows it to, she stills. Something like dread pools in the pit of her stomach, and that feeling isn't alleviated by the fact that House is looking at her in the same manner a wolf might eye a sheep. If anything, it's so unsettling that she has half a mind to put a stop to the whole thing right then and there.
It seems stupid to have just agreed to something only to change her mind within thirty seconds. But nevertheless, Cuddy's remembering just why it is that it has become instinctual for her to distrust him; he is often worthy of distrust. Quietly she starts to say, shifting on the bed, "House..."
"Relax," he tells her in a confident voice, in a way that suggests that, even if he senses her discomfort, he's not worried by it in the least.
Sometimes, she thinks, she despises his arrogance... although in this case, she also realizes that he's probably right.
"I'll let you go... eventually," House explains, breaking through her thoughts.
She pretends to be surprised by this. "What, you weren't going to chain me to the bed post and make me your sex slave for the rest of my life?"
His gaze narrows on her. "Don't joke, Lisa," he warns, sneering out her name in the same manner he has all day. "I might actually take what you're saying seriously. And you don't want me to do that, do you?"
Cuddy shakes her head no. No, she doesn't want him to take her seriously in this instance. And even though she realizes that he wouldn't ever do something like that to her... permanently, she doesn't doubt, not even for a second, that he might find some inspiration from her words in this moment; especially once he learns that Rachel's been sent to Cuddy's sister's for the weekend, House would most certainly take advantage of the fact that he had Cuddy all to himself. "No, I don't want that," she tells him quietly.
And that seems to be enough for him, his mood lightening a little bit. "I'll let you go," he explains, drawing the words out in a hesitant way that makes her nervous. "I don't need to tie you up for you to know who you belong to, do I?"
The sentiment makes her want to punch him. The question itself infuriates her, the pointed, knowing look he's giving her compounding that feeling. And worst of all, there's the knowledge within her that he's not entirely wrong about his assessment of her; as much as she doesn't like to think of herself as being owned, Cuddy definitely feels at times that she is.
She's felt that way for years, for a period of time that extends long beyond the many months that constitutes their romantic relationship. Every time she's chosen him over the good of the hospital; every time he interrupted a date or chased away a prospective suitor; every time he looked - and sometimes still does look - at her as though he can see past all of the protective armor she wears to see who she is with an accuracy far more potent than her own a times...
Yes. She doesn't doubt that she belongs to him.
Nor does she doubt her momentary and occasional resentment of that ownership. As enjoyable as having that relationship with him can be, there are times where it honestly, for lack of a better term, sucks.
It goes without saying that when he's acting like an arrogant asshole (like right now for example), she despises her attachment to him.
And she opens her mouth to tell him all of this. But House is prepared for his, one of his long fingers resting on her lips to silence her. "I'll untie you eventually," he reminds her. "In fact, I wouldn't be tying you up at all if you'd fucked me like I told you to."
She sighs. "I'm sorry," but Cuddy is aware that she doesn't sound apologetic in the least.
"Just stay put and do as I tell you," he tells her warningly. Cuddy nods her head in understanding, not really feeling the effort it would take to fight him, and he rewards her with a rough kiss that threatens to steal away all the irritation within her.
Her mouth opening to him obediently, in the back of her mind, she supposes that there are worse things than doing what he wants. She exhales roughly through her nose as one of his hands snakes up her thigh. His fingers are warm against her cooling skin, and she shivers a little at his featherweight touch.
And then his fingers are fondling her. His hand covers her mound in a protective - no, possessive gesture, his palm flush against her bare skin. House stretches his fingers out, so that his thumb can just lightly touch her clitoris. His other hand still on her breast, he every so often tugs at her nipple, the soft flesh pebbling more than she would have thought possible.
She feels her desire reaching a new height, the emotion washing over hotly in a way that the air conditioning dare not touch. It claims her completely, makes her head swim so much that she feels as though she's been drinking. So when he slides two fingers inside of her warm, drenched pussy, it's not surprise that Cuddy moans into his mouth. The sound is tamped down a little by his curious tongue, but there's no doubt in her mind that he's heard it; the feel of his smirk against her lips is proof of that.
He pumps her pussy slowly with his index and middle finger. Too slowly, she amends quickly, as she dimly realizes that the height her pleasure has gone to has reached a plateau. The limit one set by him and not her own body, it's maddening on so many levels.
She can't come, won't be able to, because he's not fingering her fast and hard enough. His touch on her nipple and clit isn't insistent to let her have the release she's been contemplating on having all day long. And what's really frustrating about that fact is this:
She can't do anything about it.
His tongue and lips have essentially silenced her. Her hands are bound behind her back, so she can't take matters literally into her own hands. Really, unless she really wants to see how well her childhood gymnastics lessons have held up by trying to pleasure herself with her foot (which is just... too much even for her, even when she's dressed like this), she understands that she's stuck like this.
She knows she'll have to wait.
For House to give her what she needs.
She'll have to wait for him to decide that she can't take anymore, to decide that she's earned an orgasm.
It's that thought that has her irritation returning to her at full force.
And she doesn't know if House can feel that emotion radiating off of her or if he's just too horny to draw this out any longer. Hell, she supposes it could just be a wonderful cosmic coincidence, but whatever the reason, he pulls away from her then, her bottom lip lightly being tugged by his lips as he does so.
He slips his fingers from her, which she hates. Feeling empty and unsatisfied all at once, she's pouting when he pushes on her shoulders. One of hands wet with her moisture, her fluids are wiped off onto her clavicle as House presses her back into the mattress of the bed.
Immediately Cuddy realizes that this won't be the most comfortable sex she's ever had. Her hands and arms are trapped between the bed and her back. Her knuckles are poking at odd angles into her spine, and she can't imagine any of that will feel better once House and his added weight are on top of her.
But she doesn't have much time to complain about that, because House's hand slides between her thighs, parting them agonizingly slow. Her legs spread, the pink tartan skirt bunched around her hips, her nipples hard, her folds slick with want of him, and hands tied behind her back, she can't deny how incredibly lewd she looks right now. And she can't really imagine what this is doing for House mentally; the way his erection in the last two minutes or so has grown is all she needs to know that he's enjoying it.
She hopes, however, that he appreciates the act for other reasons. Most specifically, she hopes that he understands that she wouldn't do this for just anyone. Christ, even just a couple of months ago, she would have said that she'd never do this for anyone. She would have said that fulfilling someone else's fantasies like this, as though she were an object, as though she were walking porn, was offensive. Derogatory even, she supposes.
But being with him has changed her... and not in a bad way, she thinks. As embarrassed as some part of her has been this entire day, she isn't offended, and she definitely doesn't feel degraded. Granted, there's still plenty of time for that to happen, but as of right now, she just feels... content with doing this for him. She feels... comfortable with and maybe even a little proud of her decision to do this for him.
And she hopes that he realizes that.
But Cuddy doesn't ask for confirmation either way.
She understands that that could only open the doors for disappointment to enter and ruin the mood they both almost militantly worked for.
And besides, the way he's looking at her in this moment, the way his eyes cannot stop roaming her nearly naked figure as though he has to memorize each and every detail of it, really is enough for her. Over the years, she's seen him give her a thousand looks. Some of anger, some of pride, and a lot of wanton desire - she thought she'd seen it all. But Cuddy doesn't think she's ever seen anything like this from him before.
It's a look of pure desire for her, of need for her.
Cuddy supposes that she's seen various shades of that before, but it seems like up until now there has also been something within him that tells him to hide that from her. Up until this moment, when he would look at her, it was almost as though everything she could see was being viewed through a sheet of gauze. The gossamer layer making it nearly impossible to see through, if she could detect appreciation and love from him at all, it was little more than a vague notion of both emotions.
But this isn't like that.
There is nothing within him right now telling him to obscure anything from her, it would seem, and in that second, she feels the same way towards him - that there's no reason to hide anything from him, especially nothing in regards to how she feels about him.
That's not to say that things won't go back to normal afterwards, she quickly tells herself. Because they will; they always do, and this moment isn't going to undo their combined experiences that have left them with the constant impulse to negate and deny and obfuscate and deflect.
That will always be there.
And the irony of the situation isn't lost on her at all. That they should only be able to find this startling honesty while hiding behind these bizarre roles, while she's pretending to be fourteen with her hands tied behind her back, says a lot about their relationship.
She knows this.
But she's also willing to ignore it. As much as it's not in her nature to pretend that everything's okay between them, nor in her nature to leave unfixable problems alone, she understands that there really is no solution to this. At least, there's no solution that she can actively set into motion; she can't force herself much less him to get over whatever issues have led them to this point. And if she tries to do that, the only thing that will happen is one, or more than likely both of them, will be pissed.
So she keeps her mouth shut until House breaks their silence and asks her, "Do you know how hot you are right now?"
Cuddy understands that at best it would be arrogant to admit that she does. At worst it would call attention to just how much he's giving away right now, and she doesn't want to do that.
Searching for the right words, she licks her lips. Her words tentatively chosen, she tells him honestly, "I'm just glad that you like it."
He nods his head once but doesn't say anything at first. She can't do anything but wonder why that is, but she guesses that he's not particularly interested in agreeing with her too much; he probably doesn't want to give her the approval she thinks she shouldn't want (but does).
Eventually though, as he pulls off his t-shirt, he does speak up. "There's nowhere to run, soon-to-be-fucked Lisa," he tells her in a voice that reminds her vaguely of the villains in horror movies, and it goes without saying that he's slipped back into his role as her school principal.
She follows in suit. Half-heartedly, she tries to sit up, using the hands behind her to push up on the rest of her body. "No, I'm not," she says in a bratty voice.
But her words mean absolutely nothing. In the context of the situation, it's obvious that she's just saying that; she didn't come all this way not to come.
Clearly knowing that, he stops her from sitting up. His hands grab her hips and press down firmly so that she's stuck on the mattress. "Now, now," he tells her greasily. "Be a good girl and take your punishment."
He positions himself between her thighs, and she knows that they are so close to being joined together in a way that makes her never want to be separated from him. Her clitoris is aching, her body slick and waiting for him, and she wants him so badly... which makes it hard if not impossible to pretend that she doesn't want this.
But she tries, turning her face away from as he tries to kiss her. And she supposes that it works, because doing so makes him angry... Or at least it makes him pretend to be angry, the way his erection presses insistently into her inner thigh proof enough that he's secretly enjoying this display.
House sighs dramatically, the noise enough to draw her gaze back to him. She can see that he looks disappointed, but she thinks – well, she hopes anyway – that that has everything to do with the role he's playing and nothing to do with her as Cuddy.
Her confirmation comes in the form of a question. "Do you think that it's in your best interest to deny me what I want, child?"
Cuddy shimmies her hips a little to try and push him off of her. Secretly it makes her slightly nervous to do this; she wants it to seem real, but she doesn't want to actually toss him off of her. More importantly, she doesn't want to accidentally hit his thigh and ruin everything, so she tries to make small motions that add some realism to the act while still making it absolutely impossible for her to hurt him.
Affecting her tone so that she sounds just the right combination of scared and angry, she gives a non-answer to his question. "You can't do this to me. I am a good girl, and I didn't do anything wrong. And if you force me to have sex with you, as soon as my parents find out about it, you'll be arrested. You'll…"
House runs the head of his penis through her slick folds. He purposely rubs along her clit, eliciting a moan from her and a pointed look from him.
She's quick to bite her lip in an attempt to get herself back under control. She doesn't want to ruin this for him by being unable to give him the show she wants.
But that is beginning to feel like an impossible task, because she was unprepared for him to touch her like this. And with his cock teasing her entrance, it seems so hard to pretend that she doesn't want this.
"I won't be arrested," House tells her quickly. "You can tell anyone you meet about what's about to happen, but they'll never believe you."
She pretends as though she's trying to sound confident. Holding her chin up high, she says defiantly, "Yes, they will."
"No, they won't." Whereas she was faking confidence, the assurance in his voice is very real – as is, she tells herself, the tenderness in the way he leans forward and brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face. In a didactic tone, he asks her, "Do you know why?"
He doesn't give her a chance to answer as he pulls away from her. "Because you do want this," he explains. "You can say you don't want this, but I can tell that you do. That's why you were petting the kitty in the boys' locker room. That's why you had no problem getting all nice and wet for Daddy in the living room just now. That's why you had no problem offering to suck my cock and why your pussy is so juicy and noisy right now."
His dick in his hand, he proves the point by rubbing his cock along her slit. And Cuddy can't deny that part of what he's saying: she is ridiculously wet for him, the meeting of his skin against hers making the slightest bit of a slick sound that turns her on even more. "You're a slut," House concludes, drawing her attention away from what he's doing. "Nobody's going to believe a slut."
She shakes her head and tries to close her legs. But he immediately sees what she's trying to do and puts a stop to it. His hands run underneath her knees and grab onto the joints. With an almost violent speed, he pushes her legs up towards her chest.
Dryly she thinks that if it weren't for her regular five-mile runs, tennis, and the errant Mommy and Daughter yoga class (also known as chasing an impatient toddler who had no interest in yoga for two hours), the move would hurt. But as she's flexible, she can easily adjust to the change in position.
Her legs are in the air, and that leaves her completely exposed to him. "Yes, they will," she fights back nervously – well in a way that's supposed to sound nervous even though she's not. How can she be nervous about being naked in front of someone who has seen her naked more times than she would like to admit?
She doesn't get to answer her own question though, because he abruptly pulls her out of her own thoughts. She supposes she should have expected him to do this, but she's actually surprised when he spanks what little ass she has exposed hard. The loud snap filling the air is followed by a legitimate cry of her own and the even more real harsh sting on the lower part of her right butt cheek.
"No, they won't," he replies in a vicious voice. "And if you insist on lying to me, to yourself, in front of me, I will have no choice but to conclude that you're an incorrigible little girl who has yet to learn that she's done something bad."
She doesn't get a chance to finish the thought as he spanks her again in the exact same spot as before. Only this time tears spring to her eyes from the force of the blow. Although she can't be sure if that's the result of him hitting her harder or that area of skin simply being less tolerant of such a smack, it doesn't really matter to her; it hurts, and she sniffles loudly but says nothing.
It's not so much out of fear that keeps her quiet as much as it is that she knows that House will be looking for any reason to give her the birthday spankings she managed to avoid earlier.
The most obvious truth is that she still doesn't really want them. She doesn't mind rough sex or the occasional pat on her backside. Hell, she wouldn't even mind a couple or several smacks on the ass.
But House is old - old enough that taking his birthday spankings would be an automatic day or two of being too uncomfortable to sit at her desk.
She doesn't really want that. But at the same time, if he's desperate to do it, she's already resigned herself, she supposes, to being over his knee. Her attitude little more than a mental shrug, Cuddy's not necessarily excited about the possibility, but she'll do what he wants if he feels that strongly about it.
He must not, though, she quickly decides, because he then gives her a way out. Of course it doesn't really sound like it, but she inherently recognizes the choice being offered to her when he tells her, "You can keep fighting this if you choose. But this will happen one way or another. So really it's up to you if I'm going to make your ass as pink and hot as your pussy before I take your virginity."
It's a little weird to hear him talk about taking her virginity. Considering the amount of times they've seen each other naked, considering how long it's been since she was a virgin, it's strange to have this conversation as though she were sixteen in the backseat of her boyfriend's Camaro.
Upon thinking that, she can't help but smile... which is the last thing he seems to want. Because as soon as he sees her upturned lips, House delivers another swat, the hardest one yet too, to her ass. This time the sting is slow to dissipate, and she can feel herself breaking out into a sweat.
A light sheen covering her skin, she's not sure if it's out of nervousness or desire or something else. But the pain is mingling with that warm throbbing feeling that has yet to be relieved in an odd way; so much so she thinks she's losing her mind. A little, plaintive cry escaping her, her smile disappears quickly.
House asks her, "Are you going to behave now?"
Cuddy immediately nods her head in agreement, unable and unwilling to prolong this any longer. Her voice hoarse, she nearly whispers, "Yes."
He smiles in an oily manner at her. Poising himself at her entrance, he says, "Good." And there's a distinct amount of approval in his tone, which is reinforced by the fact that he lets go of her legs.
Planting her feet on either side of his waist, she waits for him to thrust inside of her, braces for the swift movement that will surely take her breath away. She can feel him pressed against her, can feel the head of his cock just lightly probing her.
But he doesn't enter her.
And it's obvious from the look in his face that he's about to ask her for something else. He looks too contemplative, too assessing to be innocent.
So it comes as no surprise when he leans forward, allowing his stomach to press against her in a way that's not exactly kind. Although it doesn't hurt, there's no room for her to go. She's trapped, pressed between him and the mattress with her knuckles digging into her back, and his message is clear. She's staying right here, right where he wants her until he decides otherwise.
Resting his weight on her and his elbows, House orders her, "Beg me."
Intuitively Cuddy understands what he wants; he wants her to beg for him to have sex with her. But she pretends not to know, believing that he would enjoy it more if he had to explain it to her. Not to mention, she doesn't like the precedent set by eagerly asking for it, as that can only come back and bite her in the ass in the future.
Her brow crinkling in confusion, she asks innocently, "What?"
"Ask me," he says in a voice that's as thick with desire as his dick is hard. "Beg me to fuck you." She fakes hesitating, and angrily he grabs some of her hair. He ends up yanking it hard enough that some of the dark strands escape the silky confines of the ribbon holding the pigtails together, and she whimpers a little for dramatic effect. "Tell me that you understand what a dirty little girl you've been. Show me that you've learned what happens to dirty little girls, Lisa."
Squirming a little underneath him, she's tempted to ask him to stop using her first name. Especially in this context, it's just weird to her, and she doesn't really like it.
But automatically Cuddy realizes that calling attention to the matter would only encourage him. So she says instead, prodding him in a different way, "But I don't know what happens to dirty girls..."
His answer is immediate, making her wonder once more just how long he's held this fantasy. "They get fucked. They get big cocks shoved into their slippery pussies." Her lips form an O, but no sound comes out. Which he seems to be okay with, because he just keeps talking. "Now, tell me that that's what you want."
Mentally she shrugs. "That's what I want," she parrots, pretending like she's not feeling it at all.
House contemplates her words for a few moments before he actually does shrug. "Good enough for me."
But somehow she thinks it probably isn't, because he thrusts forward hard. With a voracity that's almost punishing he enters her, and although she tried to prepare herself for him, she realizes that she didn't do that enough. Because as fluid as the motion is, as easy as it is for him to push himself into her to the hilt, there is the slight sting from the intrusion; there is a small, vague burning that makes her hiss.
To be honest, it's a little embarrassing - for her anyway. He probably doesn't care, but she kind of does, and the fact that sex can still sometimes be uncomfortable makes her feel... in some ways, maybe just a little, inadequate.
Feeling as though she's made a mistake, Cuddy tries to cover it up. Whimpering, she pretends as though she's trying to get away from him by wiggling her hips a little. "It hurts."
For a very brief second, she starts to think that maybe he's taken her seriously; he starts to pull out, his dick easily slipping out, thanks to her moisture. And that's definitely not what she wanted at all. But before she can even open her mouth to tell him that she didn't really mean that it hurt, House slams back into her.
If she had her arms loose, her hands would have clawed instinctively at his shoulders, she thinks. However, since she's tied up, she has no choice but to gasp loudly and take it. "Of course it hurts," he says snidely. "This is your punishment. Punishment isn't supposed to feel good."
"But..." Her voice trails off as he thrusts a few more times, hitting her g-spot. It's hard to concentrate on the part she's supposed to be playing, harder still when that role requires her to essentially ignore what her body and her mind naturally want.
Taking a few deep breaths, she tries to ignore the way his mouth has found her nipple. "But..." House sucks the rosy flesh into his mouth, his tongue laving over the sensitive bud as soon as he does so. He suckles at her breast, the flames of her desire lightly being stoked as his cock moves in and out of her. "But I'm a virgin," she cries eventually, finding her voice with effort.
Immediately House lets go of her breast, a small trail of spit forming in small beads from his lower lip to her nipple. He looks at her approvingly and moves one of his hands to cup her cheek. "You were a virgin, Lisa," he points out arrogantly. He gives her a chaste peck on the lips and slows the motion of her hips in a way that would make her, as a first-timer to sex, feel better.
Seeing as how this isn't really her first time, though, it just manages to frustrate her.
Perhaps sensing this, House taunts her. "You know, I didn't think it was possible for a virgin to want it so bad. But you're so tight and wet that I guess you're the exception. Aren't you?"
She shakes her head no for the vague reason that it just seems like the right thing to do. Which makes him curious. His gaze intent on her, he asks, "No?"
His hand travels downward, the shift in position forcing him to support all of his weight on one arm and her. Being pressed into the mattress a little more, the smattering of hair on his chest and belly tickling her breasts and stomach, Cuddy is about to whine about being uncomfortable.
However, he doesn't give her a chance as his thumb lightly grazes her clit, and all of the potential complaints within her dissolve into a moan.
Clearly able to maintain his own control, House asks her in attempt to clarify, "No, you're not tight and wet or no, you're not a virgin?"
She closes her eyes, letting the sensation of his dick sliding in and out of her, hitting all the right spots as it does so, wash over her. She doesn't want to answer the question, doesn't give a crap about the question. So she tries to ignore it, ignore him and this stupid little game they've decided to play. Figuring that it doesn't matter anymore, she focuses on the act itself.
And that gets her into trouble.
She doesn't realize that she's teetering on the brink of the edge of his patience, as she's too busy toying with inklings of an orgasm. Not even when he tries to get her attention – "Lisa?" – does she respond.
But that all changes when he abruptly pulls out of her.
The weight of him is gone from the top of her body. The fullness of him inside of her is taken from her. And she opens her eyes, wildly looking for him, for an explanation.
When she catches sight of him, he's standing at the foot of the bed. His disapproving gaze on her, he looks equal parts sad and furious.
Worried, she asks, "What's going on?"
He shakes his head. "I see you haven't learned a thing."
Cuddy isn't sure what he means by that, and the concern that she's done something seriously wrong fills her almost as completely as he had seconds ago. This is his fantasy, after all, and she's operating blind, largely unaware of what it is he's pictured in his head all of these years. Although she doesn't think she's done anything wrong, she can't deny that it's possible that she's done something he doesn't want or like.
However, she doesn't get a chance to ask what's wrong. Before the words can even escape her, he holds up a hand and turns around. Stalking towards the bathroom door and not the front door, she tries to tell herself that that's a good sign. But the words feel hollow, and she swallows nervously. And although she supposes that this is meant to relax her, she can't help but be even more distressed when he orders her, "Stay exactly where you are. If you move even so much as an inch, I'm going to spank you with my your hairbrush until you can't sit down for a week."
He glares at her to let her know that he's completely serious about that.
And since, again, she has no real love of spankings (although she supposes that there is something to be said for her masochistic tendencies if she's willing to do this), she's determined to obey him as best as she can.
Staying exactly where she is, Cuddy ignores the sound of him rummaging for something in her bathroom. Or at least she tries her hardest to do that, but that's all easier said than done. Her initial instinct being to barge in after him and stop him from making whatever mess he's sure to be making, she has to fight with herself to stay put.
She tries to reason that anything House is doing can't be all that bad. There's nothing in the bathroom she minds being broken or destroyed (all that much). There's nothing he could be concocting that would be that bad.
And really, the more she thinks about it, the more she believes that this is probably part of his plan. He knows just how much she despises him making messes; he knows just how little patience she has for being kept in the dark – particularly when she's ignorant about what he's doing.
So… if anything, he's probably doing this to mess with her, she thinks. He's probably doing this just so she'll chase after him and, in doing so, give him a reason to punish her in the way he's obviously been itching to do.
Knowing that, Cuddy isn't surprised when all of a sudden the noise stops and House calls out her name. Calls out her real name, she immediately amends, and not Lisa.
Well, Lisa is her real name, she tells herself after a second of consideration. But nevertheless, it's not his name for her; if he's ever called her Lisa in the past, it's been under a very specific set of circumstances where someone else had already referred to her by her proper name. And of course there had been that one instance where House had sent Wilson flowers using her name…
Really though, she wasn't - isn't Lisa - to him, and she feels, maybe foolishly so, that if this were simply part of a game, he would continue to use her first name, wield it like a weapon around her to make her feel like she was fifteen.
Cuddy thinks almost immediately that she's been around him for far too long, because the idea crosses her mind that he's only using her last name to lull her into a false sense of security. He could very easily, she realizes, be standing in the bathroom, making noise, calling out her name, so that she'll think something's wrong and break her word by getting off the bed.
The thought completely pessimistic and negative, it's a possibility she wishes she didn't have to consider. But since it's one she can't easily dismiss, since she knows that with House it's absolutely possible, probable, and maybe even likely that he's doing this to screw with her, she stays exactly where she is.
Which is the wrong move apparently.
Within seconds House lumbers out of the bathroom, his eyes angry and annoyed. "Did you hear me?" It's a simple question, but his voice is demanding and accusatory, turning an easy question into something she's not sure she wants to answer truthfully. And that makes her hesitate to the point where he's able to deduce the reality of the situation without any confirmation from her. "I'll take that as a yes," he says gruffly, stalking towards her.
"You told me to stay where I was," she points out in a way that's not unlike how a child – how House himself – tries to bend the rules to avoid punishment.
At first House doesn't say anything in response; he just keeps moving closer to her until he's towering over her.
Viciously his fingers close around the little neck tie she's still wearing, and he yanks on it hard, as though it's a leash for him to drag her by. She grunts from the force and in surprise at the move. "Change of plans," he says, brushing her off as though what she's saying is stupid. "Now get up."
Once more, he tugs on the pink plaid tie – jerks it so hard that the square of Velcro keeping the tie around her neck breaks apart. The sound of the Velcro being pulled apart fiber by fiber fills the room, the rough material scratching the back of Cuddy's neck as it comes apart in House's hand.
She thinks if she had a free hand, she would rub the bit of now irritated skin. But since she's still bound, all she can do is watch House, almost heartbroken, look down at the tie clutched in his grasp. It's obvious in the way he frowns that he was really hoping he could drag her to the bathroom literally by the collar.
That he can't is something that makes Cuddy vindictively pleased. As much as she's not even all that annoyed with him, it's become habit – again, thanks to him – to take some amusement when things don't go exactly the way he wants them to.
Tossing the tie to the floor, he whines, "What the hell?"
"It's not a leash," she explains dryly.
And she does. The scowl he's offering alone is all the reaction she needs from him.
But then, her victory doesn't exactly last long; she doesn't even have time to smile before House reaches down and grabs the little pleated skirt she's wearing. His fingers tucked into the waistband, he uses that to tug her towards the bathroom.
And that action alone is all it takes to all of a sudden make her feel extremely recalcitrant. His hands are so close to her vagina, so close to her clitoris. So close that she can't help but think that there have to be better things he could be doing right now than dragging her to the bathroom for whatever kink he wants her to indulge in.
God, he better not want to pee on her – or worse – she immediately thinks begrudgingly.
She didn't sign up for that.
The thought worrying enough, it forces her to, at that moment, plant her heels firmly on the ground. "No," she tells him with as much strength as she can infuse into her voice.
Her tone is one he's more than familiar with. At work, she sounds like this around him all of the time, usually when there's a patient who needs a very dangerous and deadly procedure lurking in the shadows. She's spoken to him like this with such a regularity that she believes that if anything should sound odd or out of place, it's her voice being... kind towards him. Which sounds all sorts of awful and terribly telling for their relationship, she understands. But nevertheless, it's the way they operate, and she thinks that talking like this now shouldn't be so shocking to House.
However, considering she's been largely cooperative today, it does seem to surprise him. Immediately he stops pulling her towards the bathroom and turns to look at her. His mouth contorting around the word, almost as though he's having trouble understanding her, he repeats, "'No'?"
She nods her head to show that that's what she said. "I don't want to."
He scoffs. "You don't even know what I want you to do."
That much is... true, she has to concede despite not wanting to. But... "There's nothing good that can happen in that room," she says knowingly.
And that comment makes him smirk dangerously at her. Curiously he asks, "What do you think I'm going to do to you, Cuddy?"
She doesn't want to say "I don't know," because that makes her sound like an idiot. But at the same time, she doesn't want to offer anything specific for fear that he'll take it as a suggestion, as something he absolutely should be doing to her. So she deflects, "What are you planning on doing to me?"
He seems to consider answering her question for a second before shaking his head. "I think it's better if you just wait and see. Suspense is fun."
But she disagrees, especially when he's talking in a way that's clearly supposed to make her more nervous than she already is.
He's goading her, and rationally, she understands that if he's doing that, it probably means that she's okay; House is an ass, but he's rather predictable in some respects, and his limits when it comes to tormenting her are usually pretty hard. He likes messing with her mind, but he wouldn't go so far as to make it his goal to force her into something she doesn't want or to follow up punishing her overactive imagination with an even more tormenting reality.
Still, the day has worn her thin, and Cuddy isn't really in the mood for games anymore. "House," she tells him dejectedly. There is a silent plea from her in the single word uttered that she doesn't like to think about all that much.
And he responds to that thankfully. Sighing he tells her, "I can't find the lube."
Immediately the muscles in her body relax a little. "Oh. That's it?"
"I looked for it, and I can't find it, so now you're going to look for it," he says in a way that leaves no room for discussion.
Not that she's really in the mood for any conversation about it.
In their relationship, lube has only ever meant one thing: anal sex. And she's fine with that; that's one request she's more than willing to fulfill for him. Then again...
"So what – if you'd found the bottle of Astroglide, you would have just... what – not told me you were going to have sex in my –"
"I think you would have figured out what I was doing pretty quickly," House interrupts. Which is true, so she nods her head in understanding. But for whatever reason, doing that seems to make him concerned, makes him begin to doubt that she's game. "Unless you're not interested..."
She closes the distance between them as best as she can. In his personal space, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him softly on the lips. Her eyes trained on his, she tells him honestly, "You know I am."
With those words uttered, he shoves her the rest of the distance and into the bathroom. Apparently his earlier mistake of awkwardly moving his thigh muscles is forgotten (or ignored), because he moves behind her quickly, a hand possessively running along her ass as he does so.
Unfortunately for him, whatever truce they've reached is promptly broken when she looks down at the floor and sees what he's been doing in her bathroom.
This, she thinks bitterly, is why she never lets him rummage around her house or make messes.
There's a squashed box of tampons, which he must have kneed in his quest for lubricant, next to the toilet. There are a few rolls of toilet paper, normally found under the sink, unraveling near the bathtub, and between the tub and door are strewn toiletries and bathroom cleansers. Bottles of all different sizes and shapes tossed every which way, it's clear to her that he didn't even bother to look carefully underneath her sink.
She sighs and turns to look at him judgmentally. "You're cleaning this up after we're done."
"I don't think so." His hands on her waist, he turns her to face the sink. Reminding her of her task, House orders her, "Now, find the lube, so I can fuck that pretty ass of yours."
Cuddy thinks that hearing him say that shouldn't turn her on; if anything hearing him talk like that should make her want him a whole lot less. And maybe the words do turn her off – or would if not for the way he speaks them. She doesn't know.
What she does know is that the gravel and insistence in his voice are intoxicating. And when he talks to her like that, when he orders her to do something in that manner, she can't, for whatever reason, resist it. Her body naturally responds to it. Her nipples tighten a little more; her pupils become wider, her cunt wetter.
Frankly it's all she can do to nod her head and awkwardly sink to the ground to look for the Astroglide.
As she sticks her head in the cupboard and begins to look, she feels House's hand on her lower back, right above the band of her skirt. His warm hands on her skin, cool from the light layer of sweat accumulating on her from what little sex they have had today, she shivers. The feeling is distracting, and she has to remind herself that there's a task at hand. Shaking her head, she focuses on looking for the little, orange-topped bottle.
She thinks that it should be easy to find, considering there's not much else that looks like it. It's kind of hard, for instance, to confuse her lubricant with the samples of toothpaste from the dentist she's squirreled away over the years.
But that kind of mistake suddenly seems easy to make. House, clearly interested in keeping her on edge, moves his hand down her lower back, running along her spine and over the swells of her ass, until he reaches her pussy. Rationally she knows what's about to happen, but nonetheless, she can't help but hiss when he shoves three fingers inside of her.
He doesn't bother to let her adjust to the sudden fullness. He pumps his fingers in and out of her in a demanding pace that she can't keep up with. Closing her eyes, she doesn't bother looking for the lube (nor does she consider just how ridiculous it is to be fingered while half her body is underneath the sink). Instead she allows herself to go with House's motions, her body beginning to rock back and forth in time to his motions.
"You better be looking," he tells her with a warning.
And she forces out an "I am," but that couldn't be further from the truth.
Her breathing is heavy; she's practically panting from the force of his thrusts. She's on the verge of coming, his soaked fingers scissoring apart and back together, stretching her, touching every bit of her.
No, she's definitely not looking for the lubricant at this point.
Of course, it's not hard to pretend that she is doing that. Her body is fortunately working for her to keep up that charade. Since her hands are tied behind her back, she doesn't have any way of bracing herself. Which wouldn't be so bad if House weren't fingering her and she weren't trying to get off. But since both of those things are happening, she can't help but accidentally bump into all the crap in this cramped cupboard. And all of that noise makes it sound like she's looking, even though all she's really trying to do is have an orgasm.
The deception doesn't bother her at all, to be honest. As much as she doesn't like lying to him, Cuddy understands that this won't be a big lie that she has to continue with for months. This will be short, instantaneous even in the scheme of things. There's no doubt in her mind that eventually he'll figure it out and stop with his ministrations. One way or the other, he will learn what she's doing; she just hopes that by the time he does, she will have come all over his hand and found some satisfaction that makes the whole ruse worthwhile.
She's not that lucky though.
Just as she feels the world around her begin to dissolve away as the hot blood pulses through her body, House stills his fingers.
And for a brief moment filled with desperation, she pushes herself back a little, tries to fuck herself on his hand. But that just makes matters infinitely worse, because he silently responds by pulling his fingers out of her all together.
"No don't," she whimpers loudly.
Although it's a small step up from begging, Cuddy has no doubt that he's smirking behind her, amused by her wantonness.
And maybe it's because of that, because he's enjoying watching her behave like this, that he gives her exactly what she wants.
Well... maybe not exactly what she wants; he does slip two of his fingers back inside of her... just not in the way she's expecting.
He briefly runs a finger along the crack of her butt, giving her a vague idea of what he's about to do before he does it. But that still doesn't really prepare her for the two fingers he gently presses into her puckered hole. Especially not when the only lubricant he's using is the fluid still on him from fingering her moments earlier.
As he pushes his index and middle finger into her ass, she can't help but moan. If she's being honest, it's a little uncomfortable to have her rectum stretched like this; her juices are enough to avoid making it painful, but there's still that slight burn coursing through her as her body struggles to accommodate him. And House thankfully seems to understand that fact, because he stills once his fingers are all the way inside of her. Refraining from fucking her in the same way he had her pussy only a minute or so earlier, he's giving her the necessary time to adjust to him.
Not that she really wants that at this point. Because even though she can recognize that her body needs a few moments, another part of her is so... consumed by her need to come that she doesn't really care about anything else. Rationally, she understands that it's probably in her best interest to wait a little bit lest she have a sore ass for the next few days.
But she doesn't care about taking it slow or letting the heat inside of her ass cool off – not when she could keep going, when she could use the warmth spreading through her to her advantage.
So she throws caution to the wind.
Brushing whatever concern she might have to the side, she begins to move on his fingers, making herself rock back and forth. Pulling herself away from him so that he almost slips out of her, she eagerly shoves her body back onto him till he's once more knuckles deep.
The little bit of lubricant from her vagina makes the motion bearable, enjoyable even, if not particularly easy. Each centimeter his fingers move leaves a trail of ache behind, and she knows that she'll definitely be regretting this in the near future.
But at the moment, she doesn't care.
Although it would be a lot easier to come with his fingers inside of her cunt, this isn't any less enjoyable really. Her desire isn't as quick to build admittedly, but it's also not as quickly satisfied. And she knows from experience that even though this is driving her nuts, when she does orgasm, it will be all worth it.
"I'm getting the definite impression that you're not looking," House says with dismay, interrupting her desire-driven train of thought.
She gasps loudly as he begins to move his fingers in time with the motion of her hips. And clearly hearing that, he seizes hold of that little bit of information... and taunts her with it. "Do you like that?"
Cuddy nods her head, not even thinking about the fact that he can't really see her. But when he repeats the question, she says, taking lots of effort to utter the single word, "Yes."
"You like it when I finger your ass?"
She wants to say something sarcastic to him, something cruel, but she can't. Part of her jokingly thinks that it's probably in bad form to insult someone when they're trying to get you off (not that that's stopped either one of them from doing it in the past). But more importantly, she gets the feeling that if she were to take that route, he would stop what he's doing... or spank her some more. So she simply settles for an honest "Yes."
"I can tell," he tells her knowingly. "You like taking it for me, don't you?" But this question is more rhetorical, because he doesn't give her a chance to speak. "And you take it so well for your principal - so well, in fact, that I think you'd let me stick my dick in you right now even if we couldn't find the lube, wouldn't you, Lisa?"
She pants loudly as she tries to parse his sentences. Her breasts lazily swaying back and forth as she thrusts herself back onto his hand over and over, she's finding it harder and harder to think about anything other than coming. Certainly, trying to understand what House is saying has become a difficult task, and the fact that he's slipped back into their role-play has gone straight over her head. With effort, she replies honestly, "Yes."
Yes, she would do that for him even if it meant being sore for the next few days, even if it meant that the sex wasn't as comfortable as she would like it to be.
And she supposes that he just needed to hear her say that. Because as soon as he knows her answer, Cuddy expects to feel him yank his fingers out of her and the blunt head of his cock pressing into her. But that's not what happens; he just continues to do what he's been doing for the last couple minutes and starts talking. "You really must be a virgin back here, Lisa, if you think you could take me without any lube," he says almost impressed by that fact.
Which confuses the hell out of her, because they've definitely done it anally before without any problems. And she's about to ask him what he's talking about when she realizes dimly that he's calling her Lisa again, which means...
It pulls her enough out of her haze to remember the whole faked scenario that set this whole thing into motion. And she can't help but feel the need to tease him as much as he's been teasing her.
If she had her arms free and the ability to shrug, she would have. But since she can't do that, she has no choice but to say dryly, "Well, you're not that big..."
He's very clearly angry by her words, because within seconds, he pulls his fingers out of her, leaving her with nothing. Flattening out his hand, he spanks her as hard as he can several times in a row.
It hurts; the skin on her ass turns a brilliant shade of pink, or at least, she suspects that it has, the skin feeling hotter and hotter with each blow. And stickier too, as he's clearly using the hand he had inside of her to punish her, her juices being transferred onto her backside with each slap.
She cries out loudly as he delivers one final blow, the hardest one yet, that's rough enough to make tears form in her eyes and, bizarrely enough, slickness cover her already wet folds.
It forces Cuddy to realize with stark clarity: being spanked hurts, but it's also turning her on.
She likes what he's doing to her.
And she's not sure if that's out of desperation at this point for anything that could possibly make her come or what; she doesn't care anymore about her motivation or the reasons behind anything she does. All she cares about is getting off, and so it's only mildly surprising when she opens her mouth and tells House, "More."
"No," he snaps back. "This is supposed to be punishment. You're not supposed to be enjoying it."
His answer is clearly not what she's hoping to hear. Anger and childish frustration building inside of her, she actually goes so far as to try and kick him in the shin.
But he's too quick for her. "No," he says in a voice that's somewhere between furious and dismay. "Don't kick me."
She backs her body out from underneath the sink so she can turn and look at him. Her eyes glaring angrily at him, she whines, "I want to come."
He smirks. "Well, that's not up to you, little girl, now is it?"
Out of instinct, Cuddy tests the bonds keeping her hands tied behind her back once more. She's not sure why she does it. It's not like even if she could free herself, he would just stand back and watch her touch herself until she came. She would, at this point, really like that, but she knows he would just grab her hands and tie her back up. Still, she struggles to get out, ignoring the question being asked of her.
Which just seems to make House even more amused and turned on, if the smile on his face and burgeoning erection are any indication.
Reaching down he clasps her elbow and yanks her up onto her feet. She awkwardly does it, her balance not what it should be without the ability to grab onto something as she stands.
Once she's on sturdy ground, he pulls her flush against his naked body, his cock poking her heated ass through the pink plaid of her short skirt. One of his hands wrapped around her waist, the other tugging one of her nipples, he explains to her, "When you come is up to me. And right now, you're not going to come, because you can't seem to get it through your stupid head that I'm the one in charge of this."
She shakes her head. "This is stupid. I want –"
"This isn't about what you want, Lisa," he interrupts in disapproval. "I would have thought you'd realize that by now." He pulls her nipple aggressively, making her gasp in some bizarre hybrid of pain and pleasure. "This is about what I want and you giving it to me."
Part of her recognizes in that moment that her motivation for doing this, for making this his birthday present, has the same principle behind it. Even though it doesn't feel like it should be true now, she understands that she really was hoping at the time to make this about fulfilling his needs and desires more so than her own. She gets in that moment that he's right...
But she doesn't like it.
So she fights back, "No!"
"Yes," he insists, kissing her temple. "This is all about making me happy, and hearing you beg me to let you come, because you know you won't be able to do it without my permission would make me very happy," he explains in a seductive voice. "Do you understand?"
It's not so much a matter of understanding as much as it's a matter of her caring at this point. Which is to say she doesn't give a shit about what he wants. "You've had plenty of time to play that game, House. I want –"
He shakes his head, the stubble of his chin running roughly along her shoulder. "I know you're hearing what I'm saying, and I know that secretly, even if you don't want to admit it, you want me to keep driving you insane like I have been." She's about to deny it, but he speaks before she even has a chance to open her mouth. "You can deny it all you want, but I know you're a big fan of delayed gratification. You come harder when you have to work for it, which is why you never married any of the great-on-paper boys you met through J-date. They weren't enough of a challenge."
Cuddy swallows hard, knowing all too well that he's unfortunately right about all of it, but says nothing.
"It's why you like being used by me," he says knowingly. "You can pretend you want to date someone who'll be nice to you, let you be in control. But you and I both know that you like me being in charge. You like it when I do what I want regardless of whether you think it's a good idea."
"That's not as true as you would like to be," she replies irritably.
He exhales loudly, his hot air tickling her cheek. "Maybe not. But lets look at today's events, shall we?" He lets go of her nipple and slides his hand underneath the short skirt she's still wearing. One of his fingers goes straight to her clit and runs across it. "It was my original fantasy to dress you up like a schoolgirl. You thought it was stupid, but you dressed up like one anyway. And I think it's safe to say at this point that you're enjoying it, aren't you?"
She hesitates to say yes; she doesn't want to do anything that would prove him right. Which he must sense, because he tells her, "Answer the question truthfully and you'll get a finger in your pussy."
Immediately she replies, "Yes."
"Good girl," he murmurs, sliding his index finger into her hot wetness. He doesn't move it around at all, and the hand he used to fuck her ass grasps onto her hips to prevent her from moving as well. "You didn't want to be spanked either, but I think you're enjoying that too. Aren't you?"
Cuddy closes her eyes, almost ashamed to ask, "Do I get another finger?"
He nips at her neck but acquiesces. "Uh huh."
"Then... yes," she answers. Another finger joins the first, but he still doesn't pump her, much to her dismay.
"Another finger if you tell me the truth to this." She nods her head in understanding. "You didn't think about the possibility of me wanting to fuck your ass tonight. But now it's all you can think about, isn't it? You won't be happy until I've filled your ass with my come, will you?"
She hates the way he puts the question – despises it, really. Even if it was true, and she's not ready to admit that it is, she doesn't like his wording. It sounds so... she doesn't even know how to describe it. Dirty? Wrong? Vulgar? None of those words seem right to her; they don't exactly encapsulate the inherently negative reaction she's having to what he's actually saying.
Not that he seems to really care one way or the other, because he insistently asks her again, "Will you?"
She doesn't want to pick a fight or do anything to avoid the reward he's offering her for an honest answer. But she doesn't exactly want to say yes either. So she answers, "I guess not."
"Not good enough," he immediately judges, eliciting a growl from Cuddy. "I wanted the truth – not a horrible attempt at hedging."
She stomps one of her feet childishly in annoyance. "Fine. Yes. You're right."
"Good," he says approvingly.
But he doesn't add a third finger, and that makes he prod instantaneously, "House..."
"Sorry. No reward for you."
"But you said -"
"Only good girls who can answer questions honestly on the first try get fingers in their tight cunts," he explains.
And that's almost enough to make her cry. They've been playing this game for seemingly so long that she doesn't have any ability to deal with her frustration anymore. Nor does she have the fear of embarrassment necessary to stifle such an emotional reaction to what he's doing.
She just wants to have sex with her boyfriend. She just wants to get off and make him happy and for him to appreciate what she's been doing.
But because House is an asshole, she can't help but feel like none of that will ever happen.
"Please," she begs. She's beyond caring about the precedent set for begging in bed (or in the bathroom as the case may be).
Instead, House slips all of his fingers out of her. Expectantly holding his wet fingers up to her mouth, he nods in approval when she licks her own juices off him obediently. "Since it's clear to me that you weren't looking for the lubricant at all," he tells her in disapproval. "I want you to go wait on the bed for me."
She nods her head. "Okay." She's not a big fan of the order, but part of her defiantly thinks that, while he's searching the bathroom, she can try and free her vibrator from her underwear drawer.
How she'll get it out of the drawer, turn it on, and manage to use it isn't exactly something she's considering in great detail.
That's not the point.
The point is that it's at least an opportunity, no matter how small, for her to get off, and she has to make an attempt, because God only knows how long House will draw this out.
But she hasn't even had a chance to take a step when he stops her in her tracks by grabbing hold of her arms once more. "I want you on the bed –"
And afraid that he's worked out her plan, Cuddy's quick to reply, "I know."
"Let me finish," he snarls. She expects the order to be followed by a slap on the ass, but one never comes. She guesses that she should have known that he would switch his pattern just to keep her on her toes. So she supposes that it makes sense that he leaves her ass alone and simply orders, "I want you on the bed – on your stomach, feet on the floor, legs spread. Do you understand?"
She nods in acquiescence, knowing that she really has no intention of doing anything he's telling her. And that seems to convince him, oddly enough, because he lets go of her at that moment, allowing her to leave the bathroom.
Quietly, so as not to arouse his suspicion, Cuddy walks back towards the bed; as tempting as it is to sprint for her vibrator, she's not that stupid.
But unfortunately for her libido, remaining inconspicuous is easier said than done and nearly impossible to do with the amount of time she has.
By no means does that mean she's ready to give up, though.
Crossing the small distance between the bathroom and her bureau, Cuddy realizes that that's been the simple part of her mission. Now the more difficult aspect of getting the drawer open begins, and if she manages to accomplish that feat, there's still the matter of getting off without House noticing.
In theory this should all be very simple. But with her hands tied tightly behind her and the tracks of the antique furniture old enough that a gentle pull on the handle no longer suffices, she knows that this will be anything but simple.
Her initial thought is to use her mouth to grab onto the handle. She thinks it would probably easier to tug the drawer open by facing it rather than trying to awkwardly grab it from behind. But almost immediately she realizes that that won't work. Even if she could get her mouth around the oddly shaped handle, she's not sure she has enough strength to pull it open. And given the drawer's penchant for occasionally opening violently at the slightest tug, she decides that she doesn't want to chance that happening now; nothing is worth losing a few teeth over.
So that just leaves her with the option of trying to find some way of opening the drawer with her hands. Which she's not all too thrilled about, but at this point, she can't help it.
Turning around so that she's facing the bathroom, Cuddy moves backward slowly until her hands hit the front of the bureau gently. There's a little bit of sound but nothing that would be audible above the noise House is making in the other room. That knowledge is confirmed by the fact that he continues rummaging through her cabinets unabated.
And so she continues; the dresser drawer she wants access to is higher than the level her hands are at currently. Unfortunately for her, the way her hands have been bound (not to mention the way her joints, muscles, and bones work), she can't exactly raise her arms to close the distance.
Her only option, she decides, is to try and raise the entire height of her body to make her hands flush with the handle. And immediately she realizes that if she'd kept the seven-inch Mary Janes on her feet, this wouldn't be an issue; she'd be at the perfect height.
But she did take them off, and now there's no real way to get them back on. Even if she did manage to manipulate her foot back into them, she wouldn't have the ability to fasten the buckle to keep them in place. Which would essentially be asking for a broken or twisted ankle and thus a night without any orgasms, thereby making the whole reason for putting the shoes on moot.
Of course, even if she did manage to get the shoes on, it wouldn't help her. Since they are seven-inch heels, they have the tendency to make noise when she walks in them. So much so that it would definitely be a risk to wear them now when she's supposedly lying on the bed. Although there would only be a small chance of House actually hearing her, she's not willing to waste time putting her shoes on, so she can make more noise and increase her chances of being caught.
Her only option then is to stand on her tiptoes to see if that's enough to get her fingers even remotely near the handle. But as soon as she does that, she knows it won't be enough.
The muscles in her feet and fingers strain as she tries to grasp the knob... but she's just not tall enough. Her fingertips lightly graze the brass, but she can't actually grab hold of it. And even if she could, she realizes in that moment that there'd be no way for her to reach into the deep-based drawer. She's not tall enough to raise herself the few more inches necessary to clear the lip of the drawer; she's certainly not tall enough to do that and then have enough arm length to dig through the bureau to the deepest recesses of her panty drawer to get her vibrator.
And knowing that places her on the verge of a tantrum.
She doesn't like acting like a child; the fact that her reaction to this predicament isn't all that different from the way Rachel responds to being told it's time for a bath does not slip past Cuddy. If anything, it makes her feel a little ashamed for being so impatient that she can't wait for House. But even so...
The temptation to throw something and stamp her foot is there inside of her, begging to escape.
It doesn't have a chance to do that, however, because at that second, House evidently finds what he's looking for. His victorious "A ha" drifts into the bedroom, and her peevishness immediately evaporates.
And in its place is the fear that he will know that she didn't do what he wanted; sprinting towards the bed, Cuddy hurries to do exactly what he told her.
Moving into place, she lies across the bed horizontally face down. Well, maybe lies isn't the right word for it, because she guesses that she's technically still standing. Her feet are on the floor, the muscles in her now spread legs still working to hold her up.
As House exits the bathroom, she tries to look comfortable, relaxed… as though she's been here the entire time.
They're completely silent as he approaches her until the front of his thighs are pressed against the back of hers. As he pops open the plastic top of the lube, he says in an almost lamenting voice, "You know, Lisa, I was hoping I wasn't going to have to take you this way... But since you're such an incorrigible slut, I think I'm going to have to."
She smiles a little as she hears the slick sounds of House smearing lubricant onto his dick. And trying to get back into the character she's been assigned, she fights back. "You already took my virginity. Please don't take this too." She squeaks a little as he rubs his lubricated thumb along her puckered hole. "I'll be good," she says in a breathy voice.
"Yes, you will," he says in agreement, pressing the head of his cock against her anus. He pushes an inch or so of his dick inside of her before pausing. It's slightly less forced than earlier, than when his fingers, covered only in her juices, penetrated her. And she can't help but gasp at the sensation. Cuddy thinks that this will never get old, will never be something she doesn't enjoy.
No matter how awful anything else gets, the sex will always be fantastic and exciting.
House pushes a little bit more of himself into her in an agonizingly slow pace. A kinder person would believe that his speed – or lack there of – was him not wanting to hurt her. But Cuddy knows differently. As much as he doesn't want to hurt her, she thinks his prime motivation is to drive her insane... which he's clearly doing by going as slow as he can.
"Please," she says as she begins to try and shuffle backwards so she can take him all the way into her.
House immediately puts a stop to this though by pinning her hips to the bed with his hands, the tartan skirt she's still wearing getting caught into his grasp. "You're not going anywhere, sweetheart, until you've taken all of me." She nods her head in agreement; her mouth no longer seems capable of words as presses himself a little more into her, but she hopes that her body language says that she has no intention of moving until he's had his way with her.
He begins to pull out of her, the motion fluid from the lubricant and her internal muscles, and as he does so, a sound of disapproval escapes her. And that doesn't get past him at all. Arrogantly, condescendingly, maddeningly, he asks her, "Do you want this?"
She nods her head enthusiastically. "God yes."
But as is his way, he's already decided to make this hard on her. "You just asked me not to fuck your ass. Did you change your mind?"
Her answer is to once more try and force herself back onto his dick... to no avail; his grip on her is too strong to allow for that.
"Oh, I see," he says in a patronizing voice. "Well, Lisa, you know I'm more than happy to oblige... but not until you ask me nicely."
Her head jerks around to glare at him. At this point, she's too horny to really care about being forced to beg; she'll do it, which he obviously knows. She just wants him to also know that some part of her – a very, very, very small part of her deep down inside – is annoyed. "Please..."
"Not good enough," he tells her dismissively. "If you want my cock in your ass, you're going to have to say, 'Principal House, you're right: it is wrong to be a dirty, little girl who masturbates in front of other boys. From now on, if my pussy needs to be touched, I'll come to you."
There's a look in his eyes that suggests to her that this isn't just something he's saying for the sake of role-play. As much as this is part of his fantasy, his words are, she thinks, more than that. She's not exactly sure what it is he's asking of her or how seriously she should take what he's saying. Cuddy thinks that maybe this is his way of asking for her to be... his – to not leave him, to not cheat on him or look for someone else.
And for a brief moment, she wishes they had that kind of open relationship that would allow for her to take him into her arms and tell him that he never needed to ask for such things; he clearly already had her.
But they don't and probably never will.
Talking about the things that matter is something they find nearly impossible to do. And if she's reading him wrong, then she doesn't want him to know how she feels. She certainly doesn't want him to use it against her as some sort of punishment for breaking the current mood (which he will because it will).
But there's some measure of yearning in his look that she believes goes far beyond principal and student, that makes her file the moment away to assess later on her own time. She'll deal with whatever this is then and play along with him for the time being. Which means she says what he wants her to say... sort of.
His dick is teasing her, so it's hard to remember the exact language he uses. But nevertheless she tries. "I was... wrong. It probably wasn't that smart of an idea to masturbate in the boys' locker room. From now on, I'll come see you instead." She's trying to sound convincing, but that's hard to do, because this isn't even remotely real.
And apparently it's not convincing enough, because House just looks at her beseechingly. Which she has no patience for. "Oh, come on," she whines. "Just fuck me already, House!"
That's all he needs to hear.
Swiftly he pushes himself into her ass to the hilt, her muscles reactively clutching at him in a way that both hurts a little and makes her moan loudly in pleasure. His balls flush against her, she closes her eyes, telling herself that this is what she's wanted all day. And clearly what House has been longing for as well, because he wastes no time nearly pulling out of her before thrusting back into her at full strength.
The force of the motion presses her body harshly into the edge of the mattress, and in doing so, her clit rubs against the bedding, increasing her desperation for him. Her hot, lubricated ass instinctively tightens around him, and he grunts into her ear.
Pressing his body into hers, so that there's little space between them and her tied hands dig into his stomach, he kisses her neck. His teeth scrape against the soft flesh, and she hisses in reaction, making his thrusts even more frantic.
It feels amazing - his weight on top of her, the heat of his cock inside of her, and the way her body is being forced to take him over and over.
She could come just from those things alone.
But House is nothing if not thorough.
One of his hands snakes between her body and the bed. As he continues to pound into her yielding body, he pulls her backwards, so that her back arches away from the mattress. His lube-slicked fingers paw at one of her breasts, her nipple hardening in his hand.
The few clean fingers he has left journey downward still to her moist lips. Tantalizingly he plays with her wetness for a bit, spreads it along her inner thighs as if to remind her just how much she's enjoying the way his dick is sliding in and out of her.
As if to say, "My cock is in your spanked ass, and you're tied up, and you're loving every last second of it."
Not that she needs the reminder at all. The fact that she can't think, can barely breathe or handle what he's doing to her, is all the proof she needs.
But again, he gives her more than she needs by shoving three fingers inside of her wet cunt, the moist sounds mingling with the noise of his balls slapping against her reddened ass. Her reaction to being penetrated by both his hand and his dick is an immediate one. Beside herself with pleasure, she nearly screams, "Oh God."
She's on the verge of coming, and if the way he's groaning into her ear behind her is any indication, he is too.
He picks up the pace, increases the movements of his fingers and cock thrusting inside of her. His fingers grip one of her nipples tightly and pull until the rosy bud is so tight that it almost hurts her.
She moves her hips as much as her current position will allow, letting his hand and dick slide further inside of her. Reaching new depths, he grunts behind her, "Fuck." And it's obvious that they are quickly reaching the end of their little game, their need for one another ready to consume them both.
She cranes her head as best as she can to kiss him. Their lips meet awkwardly for a brief moment. It's hard to make her mouth work for him when all she wants to do is scream expletives into the air; he's fucking her that good. And so he's barely slipped her the tongue before she comes.
As loudly and obnoxiously as she can, she comes, every muscle in her body tensing. Her pussy and ass tighten around his fingers and cock, forcing him to come as well. He moans audibly into her mouth, thrusting into her over and over as they ride out their high together.
That moment of intense pleasure seemingly lasting forever and yet simultaneously ending way too soon, they pant discourteously into each other's faces, their eyes trained on one another as they enjoy those last seconds of orgasm.
Slowly the knowledge of what they've just done together fills their consciousness and gaze... until they're giving one another admittedly sappy looks and they're forced to pull away from one another.
Dressing like a schoolgirl, letting him have anal sex with her – those are all potentially embarrassing things she'll more than willingly participate in; exchanging a look of what some might term love is decidedly not.
Not because she doesn't love him, because she guesses that she does.
But because... admitting that she loves him is something that terrifies her. She's told herself for a while now that she doesn't say it to him, because she's afraid that it will kill his mood, that it will upset him. But she supposes that it's just as much for herself as it is for him.
She loves him, but she's not ready to tell him that, not ready to have those words, once uttered never able to be taken back, hang heavily between them.
God, she's barely able to comfortably give him a birthday present. Anything more intimate seems… impossible at this moment in time.
Pushing the thought aside, she tells herself that now is not the time to consider any of that. Contemplating your own very deep personality flaws around House is as stupid as playing Russian roulette with a loaded AK-47. She knows as much from personal experience, and she doesn't want this day to end badly. So she forces herself to ignore that and focus on what's happening in this particular moment.
It's pretty easy to do.
They're both exhausted, silently deciding to settle back onto the bed once he's untied her arms. Her sweaty face is pressed into her pillow; House is on his back, staring at the ceiling in heavy contemplation. The pleated skirt is awkwardly and uncomfortably twisted around her waist, and her pigtails have been nearly ruined from the number of times House has yanked at her hair today. But she's too lazy to fix any of it, preferring to watch the man lying next to her as the blood rushes back into her fingers.
However, the longer her eyes stay trained on him, the heavier a question begins to weigh on her. So much so that, even though she's sure she shouldn't ask, she can't help but break their silence. "Did you like your present?"
House glances at her and nods his head but doesn't say anything.
So she presses harder... in an albeit tentative manner. She asks, "Do you still think this is a hallucination?" Because she wants to, needs to hear him say no – a lot, actually – but she fears that he won't, fears what he might say.
When he says, "No," it's in such a way that does little to make her feel better. Because even though he literally says the word she wants to hear, there's doubt in his tone that makes her heart ache.
Immediately she reaches out to him, her hand stroking his cheek in an attempt at reassuring him. "I am allowed to do nice things for you, you know." He nods his head, but she doubts that he believes her. She certainly doesn't believe him.
The only thing she's convinced of in this moment is the fact that House won't be happy with her word and her word alone. He won't take anything she says at face value. He'll want confirmation of some sort, which makes her curious.
Interested, she asks him, "What are you going to do?"
He shrugs. "Ask Wilson," he says, tossing out the possibility as though he hasn't decided whether or not he likes the idea.
But all of this time after the fact, Cuddy knows that he's not merely paying lip service to the concept. For whatever reason, no matter how sick he's been, he has always trusted Wilson. No matter how much he's hallucinated, no matter how deluded he's become, House has never considered, oddly enough, that Wilson might also be a figment of his imagination.
She's not sure why that is, and if she's being honest, she is sometimes a little jealous of House's conviction in the other man. He trusts him unconditionally but not the woman he regularly has sex with.
It hurts to the point where she is occasionally tempted to point out that it's just as likely for House to hallucinate his best friend as it is for him to hallucinate her.
But she never does do that.
As horrible a person as House can make her, as poor as her judgment can be when it comes to him, Cuddy has never been able to cross this particular line. Because no matter how much his inherent lack of belief in her is...
She can't destroy the one safe place he has left.
Leaning over she kisses him softly on the lips. Which confuses House apparently, because he can't help but point out, "You do know that this means tomorrow Wilson is going to ask you about this, right?"
She does, yes, but somehow the way House words it makes that inevitability sound even less desirable than it already was. "I do," she says slowly. "I'm only hoping you realize that as punishment for me having to admit to one of my employees that I did, in fact, dress up like a schoolgirl and let my boyfriend stick his penis everywhere he wanted, there will be lots of clinic duty in your future."
She's very clearly teasing him... well, sort of. She definitely will be slightly annoyed and embarrassed about this prospective conversation with Wilson, but she won't punish anyone over it... that much anyway.
But this seems to go right over House's head. He frowns. "I don't remember the DSM-IV saying at any point that it's fair to punish someone for being sick."
She settles back onto her pillow, her arms folded across her bare chest. "You're not sick anymore, House. Unless tormenting me with your inability to trust anything I do or say counts as an illness."
"So you want me to just privately doubt this entire day instead of getting confirmation one way or the other," he deduces irritably.
"No," she says, shaking her head. "I just hope that, when you learn that this really did happen, you will think better of me."
They fall into an uneasy silence, his gaze returning to the ceiling, hers on the skirt bunched around her waist. Her fingers lightly running over the sweat-dampened fabric, she can't help but question if things will ever be better between them – if he'll ever be able to trust her like he does Wilson… or if, no matter how much she gives and does for him, she will always be punished for something she never did.
She wonders if, for all of her abilities to fulfill his deepest fantasies, she will also always remind him of his darkest nightmare.