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Working late
by snark_bait and phineyj
House
I've always wanted to fuck her over her desk.
When she gets really mad, it's kind of a turn on. And I've often thought about it while I'm ignoring her whining.
Nine times out of ten I'm staring at her breasts, no matter what's coming out of her mouth.
Logistically it could be tricky though, or maybe even impossible?
But as a wise man once said, if you don't try and bend your boss over her desk and screw her stupid, you won't succeed.
Or something like that.
I leave it until way after nine o'clock on a Friday evening.
She thinks I've gone home, and I know she's been at some boring fundraiser.
I also know she'll have been drinking.
I break into her office and wait, but I also turn a light on because sitting in the dark makes me feel a bit like a perverted stalker.
Her purse is in here, and she can't pay the cab fare home without it.
I hear the key turn in the lock; I bounce my cane up and down lightly on the floor because I'm nervously excited.
She giggles her way into the office as she says good night to Teddy Markham, a brain dead neurologist, who's about a meter too short and has ears way too big for his head.
The giggle tickles my groin and prickles my jealousy.
That's her flirty laugh and as far as I'm concerned that belongs to me now.
And only me.
Don't think about it, I came here to...fuck her across her desk; Teddy is not going to fuck with my chi.
She gets to her desk and grabs her purse, but she doesn't notice me.
"Interesting shindig?" I ask.
She grabs her chest and spins around.
"I'm going to dig you in yours if you don't stop breaking in here, House," she says, angry and surprised.
I heave myself up and lock the door to her office.
The blinds are already shut, I'm well prepared. Condom is in the back pocket and the idea this might work has given me a nice semi.
"What are you doing?" she says as I come over and back her against her desk.
"It's my turn to name the time and place... bend over," I say.
"No," she says in a mildly revolted voice, maybe even a little embarrassed.
"Are you wimping out, does that mean I win?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Win what? That dare is over," she says and moves to take her purse from the table.
I grab her ass, but she swipes my hand away quickly.
"It's not over until someone wins," I say.
She turns and folds her arms. "Grow up," she suggests.
"No," I return.
She places her purse back down, then folds her arms again.
"All right, but seeing as it's my office and I'm your boss, how about I double dare you?"
"What do you mean?"
I had a plan; she's not sticking to my plan.
She leans back on her desk.
"I think it's about time you went down on your knees," she says dangerously.
"Logistically harder for me," I say.
"But not impossible; are you wimping out?" she asks.
Well, that's not fair.
"But I had a plan...I was going to fuck you over your desk," I inform her hopefully.
I even do a rude little back and forth action so she gets it.
She shakes her head and laughs at me. She's really tipsy.
She points at the floor and raises her eyebrows, "My way or the highway."
I roll my eyes at her. "But it's my turn," I whine.
"But I double dared you," she says.
"How drunk are you?" I ask moodily.
"Not drunk enough to let you screw me over my desk," she says distastefully.
Maybe she'll reciprocate if I do this for her; I'm not leaving without at least a blow job.
I reluctantly do as she says, because any kind of sex is sex and I can totally guilt her into blowing me off afterwards if I can't walk because I have a hard on.
She gives me a dirty drunken smile and hitches up her tight black skirt
"At least show me the twin set, for encouragement," I say as I ease myself down onto the floor in front of her.
She slowly begins to undo the buttons of her blouse.
She's wearing a lacy black bra underneath that hugs her babies very snugly.
"Is it compulsory for you to turn up at these functions looking like a call girl?"
She swats me around the head gently.
God, she is all kinds of drunk.
"They look really uncomfortable," I say sadly. "You should let them have some fresh air."
She rolls her eyes and unclips her bra; they spring free and the sight of them pleases me.
"I'll be back in a minute," I tell her breasts.
Then I make quick work of her underwear and tease it down her legs.
I get it so far down, then pull it away so it breaks and she'll have to go home with no panties on.
She leans back against her desk and I stick my head under her skirt and dive straight in. I'm aiming to get this over with before my dick becomes more of a disability than my leg.
She's already wet, naughty girl.
I start a fierce rhythm with my tongue, darting it in and out of her and I make sure my cheeks burn the inside of her thighs every now and again.
Oh well, I can settle for making her come in her office, I can work up to screwing her over the desk some other time.
Cuddy
The light's on when I get back to my office. Which is odd, because I definitely turned it off. So either the cleaner's in there (but I don't hear the vacuum)...or...I catch sight of a familiar profile.
House.
I make sure I laugh when Dr Markham makes a lame joke. He's a troll, but he's a troll my spies tell me is thinking of jumping ship to Princeton General. I smile and pat him on the shoulder as he leaves.
I've been thinking on and off about House during the incredible tedium of the fundraiser. I was considering going round to his place later. How convenient that he's here now.
I try not to let it show on my face though; where would the fun be in that?
Bizarrely, sleeping with House has made our working relationship a lot better, for me at any rate. Before, I only had the clinic to threaten him with; now I can make him sleep on the couch, which is a whole lot more effective at getting him to do what I want.
I don't mind what we do out of work. But here in this office, I'm the one in charge, and that's the way it's going to stay. Besides, my fantasy involves House on his knees...
And it proves surprisingly easy to make it come true.
I've been getting through a lot of expensive underwear since this...relationship...the word seems wrong, but I'm not sure what else to call it - started back in the summer. Some of it I just lose, but I'm sure the rest is disappearing into House's pockets.
He'd better hope he never gets sick on the job; I'd hate to see the face of whoever gets to search his place - they'll probably decide he's a panty fetishist. Oh wait, he is...
I'm distracted from my musings by his warm, insistent tongue on my clit. Ah, this evening is working out a whole lot better than I was expecting.
He's really, really good at this. I wasn't surprised. It's the part of him that gets the most workouts; he might as well do something useful with it. I lean back a bit and hold onto the desk more firmly.
I won't pretend I haven't thought about doing this in here. I love my job, but sometimes, when I've put in a full day in the office and then I'm trying to convince myself I want to go and spend the evening smiling at a bunch of boring donors, I would give anything for some light relief.
The cleaner had better not be in earshot; I hope devoutly she's down the other end of the floor and I briefly entertain the possibility of getting a different cleaning firm if she's not.
I wonder if he's uncomfortable down there. And then I think of the invoice from legal I opened this morning - all but two of the cases itemized to a House, Dr G - and I decide a bit of pain won't kill him. He shifts so he can slide a couple of fingers inside me. I moan, I can't help myself, and encouraged by this, he increases his speed, and I'm suddenly riding that high, the one I'd nearly forgotten about before this summer.
When I recover myself enough to open my eyes, House is still on the floor, rubbing his thigh, and I feel briefly guilty for making him do this. Although there's no way this carpet can be as cold as the tiles were in that restaurant the other night; I still have the marks on my knees.
"So, Dr Cuddy, are all my appraisals going to be like this?" he asks, suppressing a grin.
"You wish," I say, getting down off the desk, and offering him a hand up, "Anyway, we're not done yet. Appraisal's a two-way process."
And I put my hand over his cock through his jeans and give him the filthiest smile I can manage.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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