| |
The One Where They're Boys and Cuddy Comes In
by leiascully
Cuddy as a man is a little taller than Cuddy the woman was, and House sneaks looks at her (him? Her. It's their bodies that have flipped and not their brains) as he limps through the clinic. He's shorter than he was as a man; he supposes it balances out. Not so short that he has to wear heels, though. Not that he could wear heels. He's got sneakers on with the skirts and that's just fine. Nice breeze between the thighs (Cuddy's lacy underthings are delicious contraband) and the comfort of really cool shoes against the ache in his thigh. Plus he looks hot. He likes being a woman. When he gets bored, he just starts playing with his breasts. The low low necklines are for convenience as well as slut value, though he's not sure that that was ever Cuddy's reasoning. But then she was used to the breasts. He wonders if she misses them.
He misses them.
On the other hand, manly Cuddy with her broader shoulders and her slimmer hips inspires a certain tingle in House's brand new places that he's not uneager to examine. He's already felt Wilson up and fucked him in his office: another checkmark on the "Now that I'm a woman" list. Lesbian experiences with your former best guy buddy? Check. Multiple orgasms? Check. Vibrator panties to make board meetings bearable? Check, but almost got him caught. The rapid breathing and the orgasmic flush might have been a bit of a tip off.
So now he's mooching through the clinic, taking his time, turning heads, and hoping for another glimpse of Cuddy, because every time he sees her today it's like a jolt from his brain to his groin. His nipples actually got hard for no reason other than that she was bending over her desk. He's been sneaking down all day to try to catch her doing it again: her ass in those dress pants is inspiring. Really, he's been a-tingle all day for no discernable reason. Maybe this is what springtime feels like if you're not a misanthropic bastard. Now he's a misanthropic bitch, after all. That's got to be more fun. He pauses by the nurses' desk (Brenda as a man is kind of terrifying, in a sexy crack-the-whip way), picks up a file, and then looks up to catch Cuddy staring down his shirt. His nipples tighten suddenly and he blushes. Blushes! It's ridiculous. Without the simpler circuit of brain and balls to fuel, his blood seems to spend most if its time in his cheeks. Cuddy grins at him and warmth winds its way down his spine to pool in his abdomen and he wishes he could stomp off, but he settles for a flirtatious look and a hobble, putting a little hip into it and vowing to buy a better bra later, one that will keep his secrets. Hey, maybe a push up. Or one of those gel things. Underwear shopping was never this fun when he still had a dick.
He sees a couple of patients, straining (and pretending not to) to see if Cuddy's still around. She's here and there, seemingly always leaning over things or presenting her fine back to him (she knows how to dress to her advantage even without the curves). House is fidgety. He slides his thighs against each other under the skirt, but that only makes matters worse. He'd settle for some special alone time in the oncology lounge with the new toys he's got stashed in his desk drawer, but he can't escape the clinic with Cuddy right there. The fact that he doesn't really want to escape the clinic as long as Cuddy's right there and he can look her over is disturbing and not to be examined. But the longer he stares at her, the stronger the tingle gets and the more he blushes, and he's never been a man (or a woman) to let this kind of thing slide by without thorough testing of cause-and-effect. That's why he's a doctor, after all. Getting to the bottom of all these mysteries of physiology et cetera.
Still, it's a surprise when she appears in the doorway just as he's about to go off shift. He blushes again (fuck being a woman!) and stands up to move past her, but she comes in and closes the door.
"How are you doing today, Doctor House?" she says, brushing her dark hair off her forehead. He wants to run his hands through her curls. It isn't fair: he makes a decent woman, but she makes a gorgeous man. She's finely put together without looking too delicate, long eyelashes and a strong chin, and her skin is soft and smooth. He wants to rub his cheek against hers; she shaves, but maybe he'll feel the stubble coming through. The thought sends another tingle through him.
"I'm fine," he says, trying to sound huffy. She looks him up and down and licks her lips and goddammit, he's blushing again. A hot rush of lust licks its way through his veins and weakens his knees. Is this how women live? Is this how women live? No wonder Stacy got crazy twice a month. He hasn't started bleeding yet (not something he's looking forward to, frankly), but if he's got a vagina, he's probably got ovaries, and he's probably ovulating. Live the dream, he thinks sarcastically, except that it's kind of fantastic to feel his body catching on fire from the cheekbones down. He takes a step and feels the slickness beginning between his thighs. Cuddy is just standing there, still looking him over, and he can see that she's getting an erection.
Well.
That's interesting.
He looks pointedly from her crotch to her face and now she's blushing, just a little bit. Old habits die hard, maybe. "Anything else, Doctor Cuddy?" he says, leaning against the table, trying for provocative. He's spent all these years trying to goad her into action. Now she can be the man.
"Just checking in," she says. "I know all this--" She waves a hand vaguely at their bodies. "--has been confusing. If you've got any questions about...womanhood, whatever, I just want you to know, you can come to me."
"Come to you or come with you?" he says, trying that looking-through-the-lashes thing that Wilson's always doing, but it just makes his vision blurry. "You know, Cuddy, I haven't heard anything juicy about you since the switch. Been trying out your new equipment? Or are you coming to me now for a reason?"
"You've been a woman for two weeks," she says, chin held high. "You're either going to bleed or ovulate pretty soon, and either way, there's plenty of potential for me to be amused. You know, while you were rooting through my underwear, you really should have grabbed a box of tampons."
"Sweet of you to try to tend to my needs, Cuddy," he says, his eyes flicking to her groin again. She's getting harder under the expensive fabric of her dress pants and he's glad that his own arousal is more subtle, if no less insistent. Another wave of fire washes through him. Actually, he can feel his pulse between his legs now, a slow sweet frustrating throb, and his nipples are aching a little where they rub against the lace of his bra. His breasts feel heavier than usual. He wants to touch them. Cuddy's watching him and her breathing is throaty, her chest rising and falling faster than normal. She hasn't got the breasts anymore, but he wants to pass his hands over her chest anyway for some reason. He stares at her and she stares at him and the blood is still rising in his face and he's afraid to look away in case the electricity building in the room jolts them both out of this stirring interlude.
"House," she says after a long minute.
"Yeeees?" He drags the word out, pouting a little. He's got a prettier mouth now that he's a woman. He hopes she appreciates it. The quick dilation of her pupils would seem to indicate that she does.
"Do you want to fuck?" she says conversationally. "Because I was thinking of just fucking you over there against the cabinets." She looks startled that she's said it, her eyes wide and her erection straining against the pants now. He hopes she wears boxer briefs. He wants to peel them off her slowly.
"I'm thinking that's maybe the best suggestion you've ever made," he says. "But you're going to have to come to me. Limited mobility, you know."
She's even quicker in flat mens' shoes than she is in heels, because before he can really process it, she's got her hands in his hair and her tongue in his mouth and he's gasping against her. They're nearly the same height: the bulge between her thighs fits perfectly against the hollow between his. Finally he's got his hands around her ass, squeezing, and it's as good as he hoped and has the added bonus of pulling her harder into him. He groans at the friction and squirms against her, trying to slide his clit against the heat of her cock. He undoes her belt and pushes his hands down her pants (genius - she is wearing boxer briefs). He kneads the bare skin of her ass under his palms, and she moans into his mouth.
"Wait," she gasps, and for a second he's afraid she's changed her mind, and a chill shoots through his stomach. "Wait," she says. "Slower. I don't want to come in my pants my first time actually using this thing."
He laughs against her throat. "Good point. There are better ways." She looks into his eyes for a moment (all that administrative dominance is really a turn on somehow, not that he wants to examine that) and then kisses him, holding her body again from his. He unknots her tie and throws it over the coat rack, then unbuttons her shirt far enough that he can trace her collarbones through the neck of her undershirt. She cups his breasts through the blouse and then dips two hands into his bra and lifts his breasts out. He lets her break the kiss and she slides her face down his throat and chest to take his nipple into her mouth. Holy hell, is that what that felt like all along? He clutches at her, his back arching to thrust more of his breast into her mouth, and he's whimpering, which is humiliating and sexy all at the same time. Her tongue swirls over his breast and she lets the edges of her teeth graze his nipple and he's whimpering again. There are some truly amazing benefits to this genderswap, and one of them is that she seems to know exactly what he needs before he even knows he wants it. House slides his fingers into her boxer briefs and touches the smooth heat of her cock, tracing a vein, and she moans around his breast.
House grins. He's pretty sure he's about to give the best blowjob the world has ever seen.
He pushes at her gently until she releases his breast. The wet gleam of her saliva on his nipple is oddly arousing, though his nipple tightens in the cold until it hurts. He moves her back against the exam table, hooking a chair over with one leg (the right one is maneuverable enough to do things like this, it just can't take the weight). He sits down and her eyes get wide.
"Really?" she says, her voice so high and husky he's surprised it doesn't crack. At least none of them had to go through a second adolescence. He just nods slowly and undoes the button and zipper of her pants, sliding them off her newly narrow hips and down her thighs. She's got gorgeous legs, even if they're hairy now and the muscles flex differently under his palms. He can feel the heat radiating off her cock even through the cotton and the inches of space that separate his face from her groin. Her fingers clutch at the padded top of the exam table, crackling the paper. He slides the boxer briefs down slowly, very slowly, teasing her, brushing his mouth over her firm thighs. Her cock springs free, and somehow being face to face with it doesn't diminish his resolve to put it in his mouth. He couldn't live the dream when there was one attached to his own body. He might as well do it now.
He wraps one hand around the base of her cock where it sprouts from the nest of curls and nods to it like an old friend. Cuddy's got a fine cock: straight and hard, the skin on it like silk, the head pink and glistening. House looks up at her briefly (and he bets he looks hot from this angle: it's been a flattering one on every woman he's ever slept with), grins, and lets his tongue brush the head of her cock. He laps at the moisture he finds. It's salty, a little bitter, kind of musky. Not his favorite flavor in the world, but not bad. He licks at her again, his tongue swirling around the head, and the more he tastes of her, the more he wants to taste. He lets his lips close over her, his tongue flicking along the underside as his palm slides up and down the base. It takes a moment to get into the rhythm of it and figure out how to coordinate his breathing against her shallow involuntary thrusts, but he's pleased with her low moans, and with the satiny texture of her under his lips. He lets his fingers wander down to caress her balls and the skin behind them, and she growls, her hips jerking a little, and he barely covers his teeth with his lips in time to keep them from scraping the length of her shaft.
Her hands tangle in his hair and she tugs a bit. "Stop," she gasps, "Jesus Christ, House, stop." He lets her cock slide out of his mouth with a wet plopping noise, and she breathes heavily. "Holy fucking shit, is that what that feels like? No wonder men are obsessed with blow jobs."
"Not all blow jobs are created equal," House says with satisfaction.
She looks at him speculatively, her chest heaving. "I'll have to return the favor sometime."
He tries to hide the rush of heat through him at her words, but can't really suppress a moan as he imagines how her tongue would feel lapping at his clit. Better than any of his toys. Probably even better than Wilson.
"Another time," she says. "I wouldn't want you to miss General Hospital."
"We've still got enough time for a quickie," he says.
"I know," she says, and her grin is deliciously fierce. "I was serious about fucking you up against the cabinets."
Cuddy makes a hell of a man. She actually does have him against the cabinets, his skirt pushed up around his hips, his (her, formerly) panties flung across the room, her hands up under his top, her mouth closing over his nipple again. He fishes in a drawer for a condom and tears open the packet, rolling the latex down over her.
"Do you want this, House?" she asks, her voice low and rough.
"Clearly," he says, impatient. "I don't let just everyone peel my panties. Your panties. And you're not getting them back."
"I'm not asking for them back," she says, letting her head nudge between his folds. "I want you to ask."
One of her hands brushes down his stomach and over the rumpled fabric until her thumb is rubbing up and down his cleft, spreading the wetness up over his clit. The pad of her thumb circles his clit and he pushes his hips against her palm, wanting more. She slides a teasing finger into him, reaches for his G-spot, and fuck, that thing is more important than he even knew. But the finger slips out of him and he whimpers.
"Ask," she says, her head bumping against his entrance until he thinks he'll go crazy if she doesn't just fuck him now.
"Please," he grits out, and she smiles and pushes in, slowly. He clutches at her shoulders. "Jesus fuck," he hisses, "it didn't hurt with Wilson."
"Hold onto me," she says against his mouth. The pain sears through him as his fingers grip her, and then suddenly it's gone, and all the pressure of her inside him is turning into pleasure as she thrusts. His eyes are open and her eyes are open and he can see she's a little delirious with all the new sensations. He's feeling dizzy himself. He feels so full of her, not like he was incomplete to start with, but like now they're more. Her cock rubs inside him and he moans into her mouth. Her thumb is still circling his clit. He pushes his tongue into her mouth, eager to receive but missing the feeling of thrusting. She pushes back and fuck, it's all so good. His thigh starts to ache and he hooks his toe into the handle of a drawer and props his foot on the edge of it, and having his knee hiked up makes him tighter around her. She groans and thrusts harder, and it's three times the sensation, and her hand that isn't on his clit is caressing his breasts (and that's a good idea, he slides one of his hands up and cradles his other breast).
"God, House," she says.
"Damn right," he says, and surrenders the breast to grab her ass and pull her into him with both hands. His nipples are rubbing against her shirt anyway and that's enough stimulation, because he's close to the edge, he thinks. It's hard to tell with this woman body: the pleasure is much less focused. He's awash in sensation, drifting in it, somewhere in the waves, but he's not sure whether this is the crest or whether he can see the shore.
"Holy holy holy," says Cuddy, and shudders into him. He holds her to him, a little disappointed, but she withdraws from him and drops down, pushing his knee out so that she can kiss her way up his thigh, and then he's clutching at the countertop and trying not to squeal as she fingerfucks him, rubbing and rubbing against his G-spot as her tongue flicks and scrapes over his clit. He'd thought he was close to the edge before, but that was nothing compared to this: now the wave has him and it's a tsunami in the making, rushing towards the inevitable and carrying him with it. He can almost hear his neurons fizzing and giving up as his brain short-circuits. All he can think is that he was right, she is better than Wilson, and he's glad he shaved his legs last night, and then she starts using her teeth, gently.
"Fuck!" he almost shouts, and the wave crashes into him, pleasure rippling through his body, all his muscles trembling. He's shaking with muscles he didn't even know he had. Cuddy stands up and puts her fingers into his mouth; he sucks at them automatically. Cunt's a better taste, he thinks, the aftershocks quivering through him, but then he has spent the better part of fifty years cultivating a taste for it. For Cuddy, he can get used to the other. A little karmic retribution for previous lifetime of receiving fellatio. Cuddy peels off the condom, wraps it in tissues, and discards it before wiping herself down and washing her hands.
"Are you bleeding?" she asks.
He touches two fingertips to his swollen folds. "A little bit."
She folds a tissue and tucks it against him. "It should stop soon. Just remember not to flush that." She pulls up her pants and does up the button and belt before finding House's panties and tossing them to him.
"I always liked that pair," she says. "Nice choice."
"How do you live and not just do that all day?" he asks, even his voice quivering.
"Women are masters of restraint," she says. "Next time we'll work on the multiple orgasm."
"Wilson already introduced me to that one," he says, carefully taking his foot off the drawer and bending to put his panties on.
"Wilson doesn't know half the things I know," she says, and sends him a smoldering look as she buttons up her shirt, tucks it in, and knots her tie around her neck.
"Good point," he says. "Meet you in the oncology lounge after General Hospital?"
She grins, and even as a man, she's got a sultry grin. "Bring your toys." And then she's out the door.
"She really does make a hell of a man," he says to no one, straightening his skirt and rearranging his breasts. "Fuck me."
He wonders what she'd think about threesomes (and the thought of a mouth on each of his breasts and hands all over him has him shivering all over again) and goes off grinning to find a free television and Wilson's lunch.
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.
|
|
|