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For Good Behavior
by leiascully
As it turned out, another one of Cuddy's "do it or go to jail" rules was that House had to start attending interdepartmental meetings.
"I'm not on the board," he said when she told him.
"You're a head of department," she said, her blue eyes narrowed and her voice full of edges. He ignored both and looked down her blouse instead, a much softer and more welcoming landscape.
"You don't think that the hellbitch act is at odds with the 'please do me' shoes?"
"House," she said warningly, holding her ground, and if he didn't know better, he would have thought the deep intake of breath was for his benefit rather than hers, the way it showcased her breasts. "Do it."
"It being you?"
She smirked and left. House looked after her admiringly. Cuddy had a sense of timing, that was certain; nothing she could have said would have been more intriguing than leaving without a word. It was a promise. It was a brushoff.
"Oh, you're good," he said to her, though she was long gone down the hall.
+ + + +
He walked into the meeting five minutes late, just to show her that she couldn't really frighten him. He owed her, but she probably wanted to keep him more than she wanted to throw her administrative weight around. He had weighed the benefits of pissing her off (sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks, heaving breasts, lots of throaty yelling) versus the consequences (clinic duty from now until eternity, paychecks docked for damaged equipment) and decided to only push her a little. Most of the doctors in the room looked at him with surprise as he pushed the door open with his cane. Cuddy lifted her chin in triumph. Wilson stared very hard at the papers in front of him, and House would have sworn that the corner of Wilson's mouth was quirked to hold in laughter. The only empty seat was at Cuddy's right hand, so House limped over and sprawled into the chair.
"Moving on," Cuddy said smoothly, and House tuned her out, studying the other heads of department. Loser, loser, coward, cuckold, slut. Decent doctors, most of them. Not great doctors. Not great human beings, in general. He looked back at Cuddy and wondered if he could make her blush by staring at her breasts long enough, but she was in her boss mode, her attention on the room. Obstetrics (who was new, and he didn't remember her name, didn't need her generally) was complaining about something and Cuddy was listening earnestly, her head tipped slightly to one side, her expression intent.
House leaned back in his chair and considered a nap. This was pretty much exactly what he'd expected: nothing he was interested in, nowhere he wanted to be, and no Gameboy to take the edge off. Cuddy's foot brushed against his left calf as she shifted a little in her seat and kept listening to Obstetrics deliver her sad, sad story about whatever was wrong in her department.
It was, to put it mildly, something of a surprise when Cuddy's foot brushed his calf again, and then again. House slumped purposefully in his chair. He could feel the individual caresses of her toes, meaning she'd kicked off her shoes. He glanced at Cuddy, but she was still wearing her "I'm listening and caring in a professional way" face and she gave away nothing. He glanced at Wilson, who was giving Obstetrics those puppy eyes but sitting with his shoulders squared away from her, so as not to appear too vulnerable. Wilson got around, but he wouldn't risk the resources of his department. House liked that about Wilson, the unyielding core that was in there somewhere. But Wilson didn't seem to know about Cuddy's foot. And Cuddy's toes kept moving slowly up and down the back of his calf.
Maybe it was the setting, all of the other people there whose respect House cared nothing for but Cuddy needed, or the fact that he hadn't had anyone touching him for a long time, but House was getting hard. It was absurd and adolescent, but he couldn't help it. Cuddy was ignoring him entirely except for the gentle, constant movement of her foot, which slid to his shin and then up and over his knee, and he moved the chair closer to the table to hide the movement of her pale toes against the dark denim of his jeans. Her toes moved along the inside of his thigh, mindful of the scar (and he wondered how good her memory was, to avoid the edges of it) and he caught her startlement when she grazed the bulge. It was just a quick fidget with her pen, but he knew it was for him.
He thought about grabbing her foot and dragging her closer. All the chairs had wheels, which was convenient for him, but risky for her. But this was a trust thing, probably, and as many times as Cuddy had forgiven him for humiliating her, she wouldn't forgive this one, he imagined, and there were certain perks to keeping his damn mouth shut this time. So he just leaned forward a bit, pretending to check his watch against the agenda, and enjoyed the way the arch of her foot fit perfectly against his cock.
The meeting dragged on. They moved on from Obstetrics to other budgeting concerns, to hiring more security, to something about decorating the lobby, and House was trying to pay attention in an interdepartmental meeting for the first time in his life, just to keep his breathing from getting too ragged. He was about to start participating in the conversations, but he wasn't sure his voice would hold, and Wilson was giving him a funny look. He feigned a wince and reached for his thigh, catching Cuddy's foot. Her nostrils flared for a split second and her toes tensed against his palm, but he smoothed his thumb over the arch, rubbing firmly, and she relaxed.
It was nothing anyone else could see, he thought, or at least no one seemed to notice for the next half hour that there was a gleam in Cuddy's eyes and a shadow of rose that spread gently over her chest. And then, somehow, the meeting was over, and Cuddy was dismissing the other heads with a smile and a reminder of the next meeting.
"Doctor House," she said, with his fingers wrapped around her ankle. "Can I see you for a moment?"
"Where would you prefer?" he murmured as the others moved out of the room in twos and threes. "A vertical or a horizontal surface?"
"Remind me that it's not a good idea for every room in the hospital to have glass walls," she said, looking down at her papers, tidying them up with quick movements of her hands. He released her foot and reached for his cane. He hobbled to the wall to draw the blinds and lock the door as she arranged whatever it was she had to arrange, and then he started to walk back, but she had him up against the wall before he could make it to the table, her hand undoing his belt and pushing down his pants so that button and zipper popped open, and he dropped his cane and grabbed her ass, pulling her against him. In for a penny, in for a pound, and if he didn't get some relief, she really would have to castrate him. But her fingers knew what they were doing, and she was straddling his thigh, and her mouth was hot, hovering next to his as he bent his face toward her. She wasn't kissing him, not really: her lips brushed against his and her mouth was open and he was breathing her breath (she'd been eating those rose pastilles he'd found in her desk), but she wasn't kissing him, and it was incredibly sexy and incredibly frustrating.
"Where did you learn this?" he whispered into the teasing hints of kisses, but she said nothing, just let her mouth move over his cheek and his throat as her fingers worked at his cock. He arched into her palm, a moan disappearing into her hair. She was rubbing herself against his good thigh and looking into his eyes, though he couldn't focus with her face so close, her mouth brushing his again. Her thumb pushed over his slick head and he hissed against her skin. Her eyes near his were just pools of blue and black and her breath was hot and damp on his lips and the way her eyelids fluttered as she straddled him was driving him crazy. She tightened her fist on his cock and frotted harder and faster against him as he dug his fingers into her ass.
"Don't stop," he said.
"You can't always get what you want," she whispered dreamily, "at least not until I've gotten what I want."
"You are a devil woman," he groaned. "Witch. Succubus. Adminisssssssssssssstrator," as she drew one fingernail down his cock. He pushed a hand between them, still holding her tight with the other, and crooked his fingers into the hot fabric stretched tight across her thighs. She purred and nearly kissed him, her lips slipping against his so that he could taste the roses. Her hips ground against his hand, her knees braced on either side of his thigh, and he marveled that she was tall enough for this, even in those ridiculous shoes, and then she made a noise that was half a gasp and half a sigh and laid her head on his shoulder, panting against his neck, and her hand started to move again in his pants. He moved his hand up, dipped into her blouse to hold her breast. House was glad that his thought process was beginning to dissolve into the simple pleasure of a handjob, because it was strangely intimate and sweet to have Cuddy riding out her afterglow on his shoulder, her mouth so close to his throat that when she licked her lips, he felt the flicker of her tongue like a kitten's against his skin. But her hand was hot and held him just right, and her palm was smooth as her fingers wrapped around him, and he bucked into her grip, bumping against her hip, and his leg was going to hurt but it was worth it. His balls tightened and he turned his face and pressed his cheek against her hair, wanting the contact, wanting to touch her. The wall slid and tilted behind his back and he groaned, coming in his pants like a teenager. She nuzzled his neck and wiped her hand on the hip of his boxers before stepping away.
"Go shower," she said, with a wicked glint in her eyes and a smile tugging at her red mouth. She pulled the edges of her blouse together over her rose-dappled chest with her clean hand. "I hope you've got some extra clothes, or you can always go around in scrubs."
"Yeah, that'll be fun to explain to Cameron," House muttered, buttoning and zipping and tugging his belt tight. His leg was already aching, and he had to stretch for the cane. "She probably keeps a chart of what I wear. What am I supposed to tell her, exactly?"
"Whatever you like," said Cuddy, picking up the files. Her smile was fierce somehow, her little white teeth gleaming. "Tell her the truth, for all I care." She started to walk out.
"What am I supposed to call this?" He limped after her, crowding into her space.
She turned with her hand on the door handle, looked him over, and grinned that rare wide grin that lit up the whole room. "Positive reinforcement. Getting off for good behavior." And then she left.
"You are good," he said to the space where she had been, and to the taste of roses still in his mouth.
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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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