| |
mistakes we knew we were making ii
by leiascully
She got lost in the hedge maze and there he was, suddenly, scruff and charm in a linen suit against the heat.
Only Wilson would get married in a place like this, he said, and why aren't you with the wedding party?
You're not the only one who likes puzzles, she said, looking up through her lashes at him. What are you doing here?
Looking for the minotaur, he said, and there was a wild light in his eyes that made her feel hot and skittish. She had backed up without knowing it; the twigs and leaves prickled on her bare shoulders. It was late spring outside and high summer between her legs, the heat spreading up her body in a flush under the creamy linen.
In Greek mythology you either have to kill the thing you seek or sleep with it, she said, trying to be offhand but thinking of fertility rituals and grass stains and everything so green and lively and fecund in the garden, the lushness of sex.
Take a guess, he said and stepped forward to crush her mouth with hers, and she thought, oh, we shouldn't, but her body disagreed and her hands were already under his jacket, pushing aside the cloth so that she could reach his skin, damp with desire the way hers was. They had done this last time, half by accident, and they shouldn't be doing it again, but it wasn't every day Wilson got married, and there had already been champagne, and now there was the warm lusty joy of the day and it was impossible not to give in when she wanted him so badly, this man out of nowhere pretending he hadn't followed her for this, for these kisses, for whatever followed.
His mouth was hot like the last lazy days of August and she pushed against him, wanting more, wanting the pressure and the contact and the extra heat that would be too much. He was always too much but she so rarely got to take advantage of it. He pushed back, crushing her into the hedge so that twigs jabbed her scalp and she wouldn't have minded except that it had taken an hour and a half to tease her curls into this arrangement and she couldn't limp back to the reception with her hair falling around her face and stains on the back of her dress.
House, she said.
Don't say stop, he said urgently, dropping little kisses over her face. He'd never say he needed her, but she thought he was close to it, talking around it in his House way. Don't say stop.
Give me your jacket, she said for the flash of surprise in his eyes. He slipped it off, leaning away from her (come back, she thought) and she turned it inside out and put it on, the linen faintly rough against her skin and the silk lining of the jacket against the hedge. She turned and pillowed her forehead on her arms, leaning into the leaves. So fuck me, she said over her shoulder, all audacity and desire, and he pressed against her, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.
She shivered as he unzipped her dress halfway and pushed his hand inside dress and bra to cup her breast, his fingers working over her nipple. The other hand rucked up her skirt, and it was going to wrinkle, but it would have wrinkled anyway. He hooked three fingers into her panties and rolled them down her thighs, and she worked them down her legs until she could step out of them. They were cream colored to match the dress and she hoped she remembered them, but the heat building just under her skin was making the edges of her thoughts blur like a mirage, and all she could think of was wanting him. Her breath was coming faster and faster, so that she was almost panting as he rolled her nipple between his fingertips.
Behind her he paused and she heard the damp foil sound of a condom packet ripping. Clever House: he'd thought ahead. Maybe he'd expected this. She wanted to turn, to take him in her hands or in her mouth, but he was already moving foward, testing her with three fingers, pushing into her, and she stifled her gasp in the hedge.
Ooooh, she said, long and shaky, and it was a strange sensation to have her arms covered during sex, the linen rubbing against her forearms and then the twigs and leaves brushing her face where it wasn't pressed into the crook of her elbow. House slid the hand that wasn't on her breasts between her legs, his wrist against the front of her thigh, and if anyone came into the maze they would find them and that was driving her crazy, and so was the rub of his watch at the crease of her thigh. The warm air on her back and bare thighs wasn't as hot as the air trapped between her and the hedge and the contrast in temperatures made all the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and all the goosebumps only increased the sensation. She was wearing too many layers and so was he, but the fronts of his thighs slid against the backs of hers and he was hitting all the right spots. She could feel the ridges on the condom and the ridges on his cock inside her and all the little ridges that made up the whorls of his fingertips on her nipples and clit, and the overload of sensation was almost dizzying. In the middle distance the band struck up another tune and she remembered they had to get back to the party, the thought dissolving into her pleasure almost immediately but the urgency remaining.
Faster, she said, and he jumped, rocking hard into her. His big hand cradled her breast and his cock was hot and hard inside her and it really did feel like summer, the suspension of heat where every moment seemed to last forever in a perfect stasis and then she was tumbling, not sure what was hot and what was cold. He panted into her shoulder putting his teeth into the back of her neck and god, she was coming again, or still coming, the ripples still pulsing through her, and then he was breathing hard and sagging against her, pushing them both further into the hedge, and they were going to come out the other side like Alice in Wonderland with Cheshire smiles.
We need to get back, she said after a long moment, feeling the dampness of her sweat on the inside sleeves of his jacket. He leaned away and bent to pull up his pants before zipping them and her dress. She rearranged her breasts inside her bra, wincing as the lace scraped over sensitive flesh, and turned his jacket right side out.
No evidence, he said. I admire a woman who knows her subterfuge.
I know you do, she said. Let's go.
They went back to the dance floor at the reception, slipped on pretending to be a couple. The song was something dreamy and summery, and Cuddy was surprised at the certainty with which House's arms went around her, the strength in his forearm as it circled her waist and pulled her close. She rested her flushed face on his shoulder. Sunburn, she would say, not arousal. Afterglow, she knew, endorphins creating a semblance of romance, but she didn't pull away from House.
Why do we do this? It was a rhetorical murmur as she watched Wilson dance with his new wife, who was tall enough that Wilson barely had to bend to rest his lips against her bare shoulder.
Weddings, he said, are society's sanction for two people to fuck each other's brains out. Everyone here is thinking about sex. I guarantee it. Plus, spring, he added as an afterthought, when a young man's fancy lightly turns to his biological imperative to get between a willing pair of thighs.
We're not so young, she said.
You're not always so willing, he said.
Spring, she said, putting her fingers down the neck of his jacket and letting her fingernails drag lightly over his skin, so that she felt his cock twitch against her hip. How soon can we leave?
Together? he said.
Biological imperative, she said, and I'll make you dinner.
I love weddings, he said. Let's go.
Please post a comment on this story.
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.
|
|
|