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savoring samsara
by leiascully
In a dream, he took Cuddy to the Monster Truck rally instead of Cameron. She wore low-rise jeans and a little t-shirt and had her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She pouted up at him after a few beers, insouciant, mocking him and his macho plebian tastes. He bought her a pack of bubble gum to shut her luscious mouth. Even the way she chewed it was a tease, the pink edges briefly visible between her pink lips as she stretched the gum over her tongue. She blew bubbles half as big as her head and cracked her gum like an obnoxious teenager, managing not to get covered in the thin film when the bubbles popped. And eventually he snapped, pulled her hot little body against him, and kissed that sassy mouth, the brim of his Gravedigger hat wedged awkwardly between their foreheads, her hand suddenly in his back pocket.
He woke up and swore, his erection tenting his pajamas, his lips tasting like bubble gum.
This had to stop.
He had been dreaming about Cuddy for two weeks, ever since he tried to crash her date and she showed up at the door with her hair messy and the curves of her breasts visible in the neckline of her shirt. Every night he woke up hot and aching. He couldn't go back to sleep with that kind of need, and he couldn't sleep in sticky sheets again. Enough was enough. He levered himself out of bed and hobbled into the shower, his soap-slick hand sliding over his cock as the hot water pounded down. Coming was only half a relief; there was a need in him that didn't dissipate as he rinsed and splashed and toweled off. Something had to give. He dragged on boxers and jeans, found a t-shirt that wasn't too dirty, and grabbed his jacket and keys on the way out. The cane snapped into place along the side of the bike and then he was off, roaring through the neighborhood, heading towards Cuddy's suburb. There were more and more trees as he headed out of the heart of the city, and the cold wind bit through his jeans. The vibration of the motorcycle between his legs wasn't doing anything to help dissuade his lust, and he gunned it. The faster he got there, the better. Cuddy's house was in a nice neighborhood. He hoped he was perturbing Neighborhood Watch.
He opened the door with the key he'd stolen and copied and dropped his jacket on the floor, not afraid of making noise. Better if he made noise. Then she'd wake up before he crawled into her bed, and considering her temper and his leg, that was probably better for both of them.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called, just to piss her off a little more, and she appeared in the doorway of her room with a tennis racket braced over her shoulder. When she saw him, she let it slip from her hand to rest against the wall.
"Jesus, House, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep," he said. "Bad dreams." He moved towards her.
She was still standing there in her titillating pajamas that were just this side of transparent, her left arm crossed over her stomach and her right arm over her breasts. Her right hand clasped her shoulder and her left hand was wrapped over her hip. "That doesn't really answer my question," she said. He stood in front of her so that she had to tip her chin up to look him in the eye. It was a nice view down her smooth throat to her collarbones and the shadow of cleavage under lace.
"You're my doctor," he said. "You're supposed to be helpful."
"Take a sleeping pill," she said, rolling her eyes.
"It might interact with my other medications," he said, stepping close to her. "I think you should do some research."
She stretched up towards him as if she were going to confide something. He leaned down so that his ear was closer to her mouth. The last traces of her perfume wafted up along with the sweet smell of her skin and he closed his eyes and breathed her in. The woman scent of her went straight to his cock; he already had a semi from the bike and he was firming up by the minute, being near her with all her lace and her skin and her bare feet and her bedroom hair. He opened his eyes and considered brushing his mouth against the place where her neck joined her shoulder. She cleared her throat slightly and he leaned in even closer, waiting. "House, go home," she whispered, her voice husky, her lips nearly touching his ear. She turned on her heel and went back to her bedroom. He grinned and followed her.
Her bedroom was much as he remembered: tidy, neutral. The covers were turned back on one side of the bed. "You only sleep on one side of the bed?" he asked, dropping down onto the other side. "That's weird, Cuddy. You've been single for how many years? Shouldn't you be sprawling across the whole thing by this point?" She huffed at him and he smirked. "At least you don't sleep on my side of the bed."
"Do I need to point out the problems with your logic there?" she asked, clearly exasperated. He liked her best when she was like this. Her eyes were glinting in the low light of her bedroom. "And didn't I tell you to go home?"
"It's not like you were using this side of your bed anyway," he argued. "You'll hardly notice me. I'm still waiting for you to prescribe a sleep aid."
She eyed him, her arms crossed under her breasts in a way that was really rather flattering. "Call one of your hookers. There's a timeless cure for male insomnia."
"Feisty," he said, stretching out and toeing off his shoes. "On the other hand, do you really want a prostitute in your bed?"
"House," she sighed. "I don't really want you in my bed."
"It was your prescription," he said. "For Gregory House: one orgasm. And you like sex. And you like me."
"I like sex," she said dubiously, still standing by the window. The light filtering in from the street shone through the flimsy fabric of her pajamas and outlined her curves. He looked her over appreciatively and she noticed and went to the closet for a silky robe.
"You like me," he said, "otherwise there would be sirens outside by now."
"Mmm," she said, tying the robe around her as if it did anything to hid her breasts and ass. "I already risked my career to keep you out of jail. What makes you think I want you to go back?"
"Then? Come over here. I wouldn't want to have to report you to an ethics committee."
She gave him a look of disbelief. "It's unethical not to sleep with you?"
"Not sleeping with me after specifically prescribing a cure that you could easily give? That's irresponsible practice, Doctor Cuddy. Do you really want me self-medicating? That's gotten us into trouble in the past."
"Come to think of it, another night in jail might cool you down," she mused, but her attempt at a stern expression was ruined by the way she licked her lips.
"Cuddy," he said, and he let his voice be low and soothing. "Don't let me keep you out of your own bed." She was weakening, he thought, her weight shifted to one hip in an indecisive and rather sexy way.
"I wasn't planning on it," she said, and her voice was a little huskier. "I was planning to keep you out of my bed."
"Come on," he said, using the cajoling tone that had always worked on Stacy. "You give me what I need, I give you what you want, then you sleep on your side and I sleep on mine. Practical."
"How about we skip the first two steps and just sleep?" she said, but she came toward the bed and sat down on the rumpled side. "I'd kick you out, but I can't set you loose on the town this way. Who knows where you'd end up? Wilson hasn't got bail money at the moment."
"Can't we meet each other half way?" he said, almost purring at her to see her response.
"Shameless," she said, shaking her head, but her lips were parted and he could see the quick rise and fall of her chest under the silk of the robe.
"Cuddy," he said.
"You give me what I want?" she asked. "How do you know what I want?"
"I'm prepared to make a series of very educated guesses," he said, and reached out to touch her bare knee, and she let him. He smiled. It was a done deal now and all that was left was the actual seduction, which was his favorite part. His cock throbbed at the thought, swelling against cotton.
"How educated?" she asked, and there was a roughness to her voice that he hadn't heard for a long time.
"Well, it's been a while since I studied the particular subject at hand," he smirked, and she cleared her throat.
"I thought we weren't talking about that anymore."
"You're still not sleeping on my side of the bed," he said. "We don't have to talk about it. But as you know, I've got an excellent memory."
"I do know that," she said. "And then we'll sleep?"
"That's a test of your doctor skills in prescribing this particular cure."
She reached out and smacked his arm gently. "You're terrible."
"In fact, I'm excellent," he said. "As you already know. Scootch over here. You're not showing enough skin."
"There's no specification about how clothed we have to be for this to work," she reminded him.
He hated it when she was right. But she was leaning over him, her fingers undoing the button of his jeans and sliding them down his legs along with his boxers. She ran her hands quickly over his erection and leaned over him to the bedside table. He ran his hands over her sides as she stretched, his fingers over the robe and then under it: the fabric was already warm from her skin and he loved it. She tossed a condom packet onto his chest and pushed her panties down as he sat up and rearranged the pillows behind himself. Impatiently she took the condom and rolled it over his cock.
"No foreplay?" he said.
"I'll give you three minutes," she said, straddling him. He leaned forward and lipped her breast through the thin fabric of her pajamas. Her nipple was a bud in his mouth, firm and sweet, and he circled it with his tongue. His fingers stroked their way down her hip and between her legs.
"You minx," he said. "You're already wet. This is just a bogus move to get me to play up to you." He played his fingers over her clit anyway to watch her pupils dilate.
"I like to get the most out of my employees," she said saucily.
"You'd better not be getting this out of any of your other employees," he growled around her breast.
"No worries," she said, and took him in hand and slid slowly down onto him so that he had to release her nipple. "None of my other employees are as ridiculously demanding as you are."
"That's the way it should be," he said, and rolled his hips against her so that she'd start moving. But she took her own time just the way she always had, shifting slowly over him until he squirmed. He lifted her breasts and pulled a nipple into his mouth as he rolled the other breast across his palm. He kissed his way across her cleavage and up her throat, scraping his cheek purposefully across her cheek until his lips reached her open mouth. Improbably, she tasted like bubble gum, and he groaned. The jolts of pleasure through his body were starting to localize as she did that squeezy thing with her inner walls. Cuddy had impeccable control. He slid a hand roughly against her clit and she kissed him hard, her tongue rolling over his. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb moving around her nipple, and the rhythm of her hips was getting ragged. He thrust up into her as best as he could manage, trying to angle for the right spots, not sure he remembered quite where they were, but the increasing pitch and volume of her moans was encouraging. He broke the kiss and dipped his head to suck hard at her nipple as his fingers circled her clit and she was making a noise like there was an air bubble in her throat, and he could feel her contracting around him. He thrust harder, trying to prolong her orgasm, trying to reach his own, and she ground down against him. The heat was building, building, building in his own body, like his balls were on fire, and then suddenly he tipped over the edge and all the fire shot up his cock. A half a sob ripped from his throat and he sagged against her, her hair all over his shoulders, her breasts against his chest and the salt taste of her neck on his lips.
"Now those are some doctor skills," he panted.
"Why you ever doubted me is a mystery," she purred and slowly dismounted. He slid down against the pillows, too drained to move. She was moving slowly too, the curve of her arm languid as she dragged some tissues from a box and handed them to him. He rolled the condom off and tied it, dabbing at his damp cock as it softened and shrank. When he was mostly dry, he wadded up the tissues with the latex. Cuddy held out her hand and he pressed the wad into her palm. She rolled off the bed, clutching the little bundle of tissues, and dragged his jeans off as she went. He kicked them sleepily to the floor and pulled up his boxer briefs, leaving his socks on because he was too lethargic to move any more than it took to draw the covers over himself. It only took Cuddy a moment to toss the condom in the trash, wash her hands, and pass a wet washcloth between her legs, and then she was crawling back into bed, arguing silently with his redistribution of her covers. He scowled at her as she tugged on the comforter, but let her win. Too many pillows, though: he hooked an arm over his head, bashing his knuckles lightly on the headboard, and tossed half of her pillows onto the floor.
"House," she started.
"Shhhh," he said, and pulled her against him, her ass fitting perfectly against his crotch and her breast in his hand. "Sleeping. You're an excellent doctor with a good understanding of my condition. We'll talk about it later. For now no more words."
So he slept, a smile on his face, and dreamed that she smiled too on her side of the bed.
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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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