Author's Note: This is set during season 7, so House and Cuddy are an established couple. This fic contains sexual situations, so if that offends you, please do not read.

Disclaimer: The show does not belong to me.

Stuffed Beavers for Peace
By Duckie Nicks

The sound of him trying to shove a three-foot-long, fluffy plush beaver with leather tail draws her attention away from her computer. His face is blocked by the stuffed animal; it's that big, and she can't see his face, but she knows it's House dragging a giant stuffed beaver into her office, because who else would do that? Last she checked, she only employees one insane person, so House is the only possible person responsible. And given that it's House, she knows she needs to be on her guard. Even as she catches herself smirking, the corners of her lips betraying her, she understands:

This can't be good.

"What are you doing?" she asks with an irritation she forces to be present in her voice.

"Give me a minute," he grunts before finally getting the animal through the doorway. He drops the beaver to the ground, so he can close the door behind him. Again, she feels concern bubble within her; if he's bringing her a gift, if he's closing the door, it can't be a good sign.

"Just tell me what you want." This time the agitation comes naturally.

Picking up the beaver once more, he lumbers over to her desk. When he sets it down on top of the paperwork she was working on, she gets a real indication of just how big the thing is. She has to lean over to see past the massive brown stuffed animal, which is so large that it nearly covers every free inch of space on her desk and hangs off some.

"Oh God," she mutters, leaning back in her chair as he comes around the other side of the desk. When he's finally face to face with her, she gestures with her head to the giant thing next to her. "What is that?"

His answer is vague. "It's a gift."



"Uh huh." She decides to get to the point. "And whose room did you take it from?"

He shakes his head in mocking disappointment. "Oh no, sweet cheeks, I bought this myself. With my own money and everything."

"For me," she says dryly, confused by the gesture.

"Uh huh."

"Is there a reason you did this?" she asks slowly, noting the mischief dancing in his eyes. Yeah, she thinks. There's no way this is going to end well for her. He's up to something, so enchanted by his own plan that he can't even contain his excitement.

He nods his head. "Uh huh."

Unfortunately for him, she is nowhere near as amused as he is. "Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess?"

Part of her expects him to make her guess what it is. It's in his M.O. to torture her any way he can, so why not make her sit here and go through all the possible reasons he bought this huge stuffed animal for her. But she ends up being wrong, because just as she's about to make her first guess, he explains himself.

"Today is Global Orgasm Day."

She blinks. "That's... not a real day."

"It is. Wiki it."

"I am not going to waste time working Googling Global Orgasm Day."

He pouts. "That's unfortunate, because not only would you see that I was right, but I would also get to then see you explain to HR why you were using company time to look up Global Orgasm Day." He leans down so he's close to her ear. "A little tip: they don't believe you when you tell them you're –"

"So you got me a stuffed beaver for Global Orgasm Day," she interrupts, not caring at all how he plans on finishing his sentence.

"Well, I thought about getting you a hot dog from the cafeteria, because I know how much you like eating sausage," he says waggling his eyebrows lasciviously. "But –"

"Then you realized stuffed beaver was a more obnoxious way of putting it," she deduces.

"Of course. Didn't want the euphemism to go over your tiny administrative mind." He pats her head patronizingly before she smacks it away.

"Keep talking like that, and there will be no orgasm for you on –"

"But it's for peace," he says with a frown. "Are you that mad at me that you'd let starving children die because you wouldn't have sex with me?"

She is tempted to say that none of that makes any sense, because, well, it doesn't. But in a way she understands that there's no point in saying that out loud. Her confusion would only spark more useless factoids from him, none of which would make things any clearer for her. So she ignores her own confusion.

"You're right," she says with determination.


"Of course." She nods her head once to show her agreement. "It would be wrong of me to kill children by withholding orgasms."

House's suspicion is written all over his face. He's clearly thinking that she's agreeing with him too easily, being too docile with this discussion. Based on every other conversation they've had, he's thinking that she should be angry or agitated – and she understands that thought process, because half of her has a mind to be those precise things.

That she's not… might have something to do with the white felt buckteeth and brown whiskers facing her right now. It's hard to feel anything close to irate or irritated when a stuffed beaver face is staring back at her and House is in front of her talking about having sex for peace.

Besides, it's not like the stuffed animal will be wasted. Cuddy never had much affection for stuffed animals as a child. But Rachel does. And Cuddy can only imagine the look on her daughter's face when she sees the beaver for the first time. The gift will make her daughter happy, and maybe that's reason enough to stay calm.

But then Cuddy thinks of how many of her employees saw House carrying this giant stuffed animal, and she knows she doesn't have it in her to be angry for that reason alone. Because if most of them have seen her boyfriend lugging the beaver around, most of them will be too scared for hours to come and see her when they need something. They'll assume that she did become furious and want to avoid her at all costs. If it's serious, of course, she doesn't doubt they'll interrupt. But for the rest of today at least, House has, perhaps unknowingly, given her a reprieve from the bureaucratic hand holding that interrupts her schedule on most days.

That alone makes the beaver worth its weight in gold and puts Cuddy in a good mood.

In a mischievous mood of her own.

"In fact," she says confidently. As she spins her chair so she can face him better, she suggests, "Why don't we start right now?"

Cuddy expects him to jump at the opportunity, but he doesn't. He hesitates and hedges. "I didn't lock the door." His words come out slowly like he's waiting for her to say she was kidding.

But that's not what she's going to say. "Then lock it."

"You're serious."

"Of course."

He pauses for a long moment before perhaps deciding he'll go along with it for now. At no point does he seem convinced, she thinks, as he stalks towards the door and turns the lock. If he were actually convinced, he would be far more eager than he appears. So he must still think that she has no intention of going through with having sex at work.

But he's wrong about that. She knows it's wrong and unprofessional, but she has every intention of getting off right now. Because if she can't find some way to enjoy House's antics, then the truth of the matter is their relationship will have a very short shelf life. Since that's the last thing she wants, she's more than willing to take his cues and build off that. She'll never believe in idiotic things like Global Orgasm Day, but she'll meet him halfway, because they need that common ground. If only to allay both their fears that they have little to share beyond an attraction for one another, she's more than willing to play along.

Of course, putting it like that makes it seem altruistic on her part, and that's definitely not the case. She understands that, even as she couches her behavior in those terms, she is motivated by her baser instincts here. And no amount of rationalization can truly rationalize her choice to have sex at work.

"Change your mind?" he asks when he's seemingly suddenly standing in front of her once more.

She looks up in surprise. Having been so deep in thought, she didn't notice he was there until he said something. Reaching for him, she curls her hands around the edges of his suit coat. She pulls him towards him, and he slowly allows himself to be tugged closer. "Of course not," she tells him quietly.

There's still some lingering hesitation in his gaze. But the doubt she clearly sees doesn't stop him from leaning down and kissing her. His hands hold on to the arms of her chair to give him the perfect amount of support as he swipes her mouth with his tongue.

Yes, she thinks then, as his lips move against hers, her motives definitely are anything but humanitarian. This is all about her needs, her desires, and even if this will be beneficial to their relationship in the long run, she's not doing it because of that.

Abruptly he pulls away from her, though his mouth hovers near hers. He's close enough that she's able to lick his lower lip, trace it with the point of her tongue. He smirks, perhaps amused by her enthusiasm, but he doesn't kiss her again. All he does is ask, "You sure?"

She nods her head with intent so that he can see just how much she means it. "Yes."

He kisses her again, his teeth nipping at her lip. She inhales sharply at the momentary pain, breathing in his breath as his mouth snuffs out any protestation she's feeling.

"I promise I'll be quick," he murmurs, the sarcasm in his voice not erased by the quiet manner in which he speaks. Between kisses he adds, "Just think of the children."

Her hands slide to his shoulder blades. The muscles are tense from the small effort required to prop him up. She presses lightly on him, not wanting to waste any time. As willing as she is to have sex with him right now, she knows rationally that they can't take their time. Someone is bound to need something eventually, and even if that doesn't happen any time soon, they both have work to do. She wants this, but she knows spending too much time on this will end up screwing her over in the end.

Being without a case and therefore left to do nothing but clinic duty, House doesn't share the same concern. When he doesn't move like she wants, she leaves no room for discussion in her tone when she orders, "Get on your knees, House."

He pulls away in surprise. Apparently he still thought she wasn't going to go through with it, and he's shocked that she's willing to take it this far.


"Yeah," she says with an irritation she's beginning to feel.

"You want me to eat you out. Right here. At work."

She smiles and pushes on him more roughly this time. Awkwardly he complies. Now though when he holds on to the arms of her chair, it's to keep himself from falling or hurting himself as he gets down on his knees. When he's settled on the ground, she cups his cheeks with her hands.

Her thumbs lightly stroking the stubble lining his jaw, she explains to him, "Believe me, I would like nothing more than for you to fuck me with that big, hard dick of yours." She uses that deep tone of voice that she knows makes his erection that much more unbearable. "To make me scream your name when I come. I would love that," she admits. "But the work day's not over. I have meetings. And as much fun as it is to be filled with your come and feel it for the rest of the day and know how you forced me to take it, how you used my body, I don't have time to deal with semen stains."

He grimaces. "That's an unfortunate way to end that."

She understands that. References to the wet spot are hardly a nice way to cap the moment, but then, that's sort of her point. In the moment penetration would be great. Afterwards it would be less than amazing, and she's not at all interested in being uncomfortable or worried about seminal fluid soaking through her underwear and clothing.

Thankfully she doesn't have to articulate that any further, as House seems to understand the potential problem.

"Well, I aim to please, boss," he says, as his fingers snake underneath her skirt and grab hold of her underwear. As he tugs the black thong down, she lifts her hips and pulls her skirt up as much as she can.

Her dress is tight though, making it difficult to yank the clothing very high. Then again, she supposes that's not a bad thing. Even with her legs spread, her skirt is still low enough to cover her body to anyone not in House's position. If someone were to somehow manage their way into her office, they wouldn't see anything. Then again, if someone walks in, is there really any doubt as to what House is doing to her, kneeling between her spread legs?

She lazily imagines an excuse about a dropped paperclip – and she's busy doing that when House tugs on an ankle to move her closer to the edge of the chair. Her surprise then is noisy and earns her a look of disapproval from him.

"As much as I'd like the leggy blonde in the clinic to hear you and join us," he says calmly. "I don't think you want your assistant or anyone else to interrupt."

She doesn't respond, because his point has been made. Clenching her jaw, she tells herself that she has to be quiet.

The second he presses a wet kiss to her center though, that seems like an impossible task. A gasp escapes her throat, and he pulls away from her.

Holding up her long forgotten underwear, he asks threateningly, "Do I need to gag you?"

She shakes her head.

He looks like he wants to say something insulting. But he must think better of it, because he stays silent. Focusing on her pleasure instead, he leans forward once more. His tongue licks the length of her slit, and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out.

She doesn't know if it's the… forbiddenness of doing it at work, if she's just that horny, or if he's simply that skilled. Whatever the reason it doesn't take long. He laps at her body, his tongue laving over her clit, around her vagina, and inside her. Her juices slick his skin, and in the back of her mind, as his stubbly chin brushes against her pussy, she thinks he'll need to wash off in her bathroom before he leaves.

It's a small detail that should, she thinks, derail the whole act. It's something she should be concerned about, something that should bother her enough that she stops him.

Instead, one of her hands squeezes her own breast in time to his thrusts. Her index finger and thumb pluck at one of her nipples, the sensation dulled because of her shirt. But there is nothing dulled about the sharp pleasure he gives her when his lips cover her clit, when he lightly sucks at the small bud, and suddenly but deftly brings her to an orgasm so powerful her free hand practically gouges the chair beneath her.

She stays quiet though, the sound of him licking her come and the soft hum of her laptop the only noise in her office. Riding out her orgasm, she lets him continue to gently lap at her body until there is nothing left for her to give him.

When she opens her eyes, she is face to face with the stuffed beaver, its sewn in look of surprise making her chuckle.

"My turn," House announces, as he uses her underwear to wipe off her juices from his face.

As she takes back the come-stained thong, she smiles. "Oh, I don't think so," she says, getting dressed. She's busy tugging her skirt back down and therefore only catches his look of growing irritation out of the corner of her eye.

"What?" he asks, his voice far less cheery than it had been seconds ago.

"I have work to do," she explains, sitting back down.

"But –"

"You think I'm going to give you a blow job after you call me stupid?"

He pauses for a moment, clearly realizing that this isn't going the way he wants it to. "Yes?"

"I don't think so."

"But –"

"Don't you have clinic hours to do?" she asks dismissively.

"But –"

"Go do your job, House."

He's dumbfounded, too shocked by this development apparently to give it the outrage she would typically expect.

"But that's not fair," he says eventually.

She pouts mockingly. "Poor baby." Then seriously she adds, "You'll get over it."

"Cuddy." She knows he's too proud to beg, but the tone he uses is as close to it, she thinks, as he will ever allow himself to get. "You can't – you… think of the children you're allowing to –"

"Technically I had an orgasm. I've done my part," she says smugly.

He repeats himself, his eyes wide with shock and dismay. "But that's not fair."

"Do your clinic hours," she tells him simply. "And I'll make sure you're rewarded many times over tonight."

He shakes his head as quickly as humanly possible. "I don't like this plan."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm your boss, so my plan's the only one that matters."

"Fine." The bitterness is audible in his voice. She guesses that he'll at least pretend to do what she wants, but he obviously isn't going to pretend to be happy about it. So much, she thinks, for orgasms in the name of peace.

He starts to leave but turns to face her. "This isn't over," he announces before unlocking the door. Cuddy can't see much of him over the stuffed beaver laying on her desk, but she can hear him practically stomping out of her office.

Alone once more, she leans back in her chair. Her gaze shifts to the stuffed animal sitting next to her. The second she thinks how nicely that all worked out for her, she starts to laugh loudly. She's sure that, out in the clinic, House can hear her – that everyone can hear her. And if they do, she knows that they'll know she's not in a bad mood, which means they'll come to her for all sorts of help.

Burying her slightly sweaty face into the stuffed animal's, she tries to stifle her good mood.

She doesn't care when she doesn't succeed.

The End