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Actions and Reactions
by Deirdre
House sat at his piano, letting his fingers drift over the keys, playing a piece so long-memorized that his fingers followed its pattern without much mental attention. It had been an unexpectedly long and exhausting couple of days.
When he was the only narcissist jerk in the room, it was easy. When he was playing off another narcissist jerk . . . well, there was exhilaration, but exhilaration was always followed by exhaustion. Especially when the part of that other narcissist jerk was played by Cuddy.
Keeping up with Cuddy had demanded all his mental energy. They played well off one another when they both put their full attention into the game. Unfortunately putting his full attention into the game, while trying to handle a case at the same time, along with his setup of Taub and Kutner, had left him with almost nothing left over. Some part of him did know that they couldn't keep up their actions and reactions at this pace indefinitely--the hospital would probably collapse under the weight of the work undone or poorly done. Not that he really cared about that.
He could only hope that she was as exhausted as he after today. Neither of them were as young as they once had been.
Once, they'd been a couple of students with the whole future waiting before them. With the promise of something different, challenging, exotic. Once, it made sense to walk away from something both hard and frightening, because there was the chance that something easier and less demanding would appear.
He'd been through the easier and less demanding, and all those had left him was alone. But he liked alone, didn't he?
A noise intruded into the music flowing around him. A tap-tap-tap that did not mesh well with his tempo. A tap-tap-tap that intentionally violated his tempo. He stopped, and the person at his door knocked again.
"Go away, nobody home," he hollered, and then waited. He expected to hear Wilson's voice respond. He had probably already found about House's most recent move in the House-Cuddy game and had another set of advice with which to violate his ears.
"House, open the door," came the muffled response.
He hastily limped over to the door and opened it. Cuddy stood on the other side, still dressed in the outfit that had haunted his imagination all day. But she was standing with one of her hands on her hip and a aggrieved look on her face.
"Look what the cat dragged in," he drawled.
"Fairly stupid cat."
He could feel the desire to respond, to keep the back-and-forth sniping going. But the exhaustion rolled over him, and his brain momentarily left his tongue helpless. "Cuddy, not now."
"Cat got your tongue, too? What happened to your blond chickadee?"
Blond chickadee? What had she found out about his stunt with Taub and Kutner? "I hit that already."
"I should have expected that." She deflated. Now, he could see exhaustion, strain and distress on her face. Those weren't supposed to be there, not after the grand reveal. "I don't get you, House. What was she, a prostitute? You do something mature and have to follow it up with something even more idiotic. Don't bring your hookers to my hospital."
He turned abruptly and limped away from the door, over to the couch. She'd invite herself in, or not, and he wasn't really sure he knew which outcome he wanted at this point. He expected that she'd walk away, just as she'd done earlier when he'd screwed it all up.
She stood in the open door for a moment, then walked in and slammed it shut behind her. Apparently she wasn't walking away, not yet.
"This is why it can't happen. This is why we can't be a 'thing'. You're inherently self-destructive. You're an ass. You can do something incredibly touching--and 2 minutes later make me realize I don't want a damned thing to do with you. You want to destroy anything good. You don't want anything good, you want everyone miserable."
He looked up at her, standing at the end of his couch, and saw the tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. She shouldn't be crying because of him. That was one reason he couldn't do this--he knew it would all blow up eventually, and it would destroy both him and her. While he really didn't care about himself, Cuddy didn't deserve that.
But obviously something had gotten back to her about Deedee, and it seemed to bear little resemblance to what had gone on. "She wasn't a hooker, Cuddy, and I didn't do anything with her. She was an actress who was messing with Taub and Kutner."
"I saw her in your office."
Crap, how had they acted in his office? He'd tracked down the cash to pay her, they'd talked about bikes some, she'd walked out with him to see his bike . . . hell, they'd walked out together. Had she seen that? "I have a history with her Cuddy. That's why I hired her when I needed someone with her talents. Which do not include selling sex for profit. Just selling herself for profit."
"She wasn't a hooker?" Cuddy sat down abruptly on the far side of his couch, her shoulders slumped and her hands covering her face.
"Just an acquaintance, and not an acquaintance with benefits."
"Oh." The word escaped her, and she continued to sit there, motionless.
He wasn't sure what to do next, just like he'd not been sure what to do next in their empty office. And the memory of that exchange just distressed him now. He'd tried to lighten the situation, to bring a pause on the way to whatever goal she was rushing toward, and all his choices had blown up on him.
But now as the time stretched across the seconds, he knew that he had to respond here somehow.
"Cuddy . . ." he moved a little closer and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" she sputtered as she lifted her head. He could see the tracks of her tears down her cheeks. "Sorry for what? You have a lot to be sorry for, but I don't think you are."
"Sorry for being who I am. Sorry for not being who you seem to think I can be."
"House . . .I just want you to be who I know you are. Without all the additional crap. Maybe you can't be that anymore."
They sat there staring at one another, and he had no idea how to respond.
"All I wanted to do was thank you for that damned desk."
"You're welcome."
She threw up her hands. "Why one moment do you want me to think you're too damned immature to ever have an adult relationship, and the next you do something that gives me more than just a glimmer of hope?"
"Why do you even want to have a relationship with me?" He almost shouted the question, the frustrations of the past few days boiling to the surface.
"I haven't the faintest clue."
"You have some rationalization. Or we wouldn't be here. I know you, Cuddy."
"That's why."
"What?"
"You know me. You understand me, you know exactly how to read me. You know exactly how to push my buttons. We're already entangled in one another here, and we have been for a long time. We're like a long-married couple, but without the sex."
"Most long-married couples aren't having sex, either."
"The possibility of sex without the bullshit games we've been playing. We're here without the fun of getting here. I think that maybe we could find that fun."
"Or at least the sex."
"House."
"Hey, I know that you're horny."
"And you can't even respond to that?"
"Because it can't be just that."
"I don't want just that."
"I don't either."
"House, if we both want something . . ."
"You shouldn't want me." House heaved himself up and started limping away from the couch, then turned back. "Cuddy, you shouldn't want me. What are you going to give up for this? What are we going to give up for this? What are we going to lose if this all goes to hell?"
She appeared to think about that for a moment. "Quite a lot."
"Exactly."
"I'm willing to risk that."
"What if I'm not?"
"What, you're scared?" Cuddy sounded incredulous.
"Yes." He leaned against the frame of the door to his kitchen. "Think about it, Cuddy. You're my boss, and the only person willing to keep me employed. What will I have if I piss you off well enough that you don't want to keep me around anymore?"
"Firing you due to a relationship gone wrong would be illegal, you know."
"That's why the hospital has all those hotshot lawyers. You'd figure it out. I know you."
"Maybe not as well as either of us think. I wouldn't do that to you, House."
"Don't place any money on that."
"You're anticipating failure."
"I certainly am."
"That's not the House I know."
"That is the House you know. I always anticipate failure."
Cuddy blinked and shook her head. "You always anticipate success."
"No, I anticipate failure, and lie my ass off about anticipating success."
"You achieve success, more often than not."
"In medicine. Not in life."
She stood and walked over to him, crowding into his personal space. "And you aren't even willing to try?"
His body started reacting to her closeness, as it always did when she acted this aggressively. As it had when she'd placed herself so close earlier . . .
House drew away and limped back over to his couch, Cuddy following. Even as his body was reacting, his leg was aching. If Cuddy wanted to talk more, the two of them could at least do it sitting.
Processing the pain, he reached for his pill bottle. Cuddy leaned forward and stopped his arm. "How many have you taken today?"
He groaned at her mother hen attitude, but he mentally added it up and surprised himself. His leg was throbbing now, telling him that what he'd just realized was true. "Twice as many as normal," he lied.
"Other distractions got in the way?"
"Cuddy-narcotics."
She released his arm and he tossed back his pills. Yeah, there had been another type of high today, keeping those endorphins flowing. And frustrations. "You think you can keep playing me?" he asked.
"I think I can keep trying."
"Do you want to keep trying?"
"No," she admitted, and they both lapsed into silence, staring at one another.
He tried to find the sharp response he knew was possible, to strike at the opening she had just left him. But really, what she had shown him today was that he didn't want to play this way against someone who knew him, who knew his game, every day of his life. And Cuddy knew that too. She'd just spent an entire day proving it to him. He rubbed his forehead and just stared at her. Really, why was she here?
"Pulling pigtails and putting dead rats in desks isn't as fun when the girl can give as good as she gets, is it?"
"It's tiring," he admitted.
"Definitely tiring."
"You're a good opponent."
"Thank you."
She started to somewhat absent-mindedly massage his leg, following along the muscle at the edge of his scar. He didn't pull away, because, well, it was Cuddy. She knew what was under that fabric as well as he did.
Her fingers continued tracing the edge of his scar . . . and then headed a little closer to other territory. She shifted herself closer into his personal space again, her body inches away from his. She brought her mouth close to his ear and said quietly, "You really are just a socially inept boy inside, aren't you? You expect others to understand you, but I have to hit you across the head with a two-by-four."
Her soft breath against his cheek and his ear stunned him into momentary silence. But when she dropped a quick kiss against his jawbone, his body knew how to respond. He turned into her, his fingers entangled themselves in her dark curls, and he quickly brought her lips down to his in a demanding kiss.
She didn't pull away, as some part of him still feared--or hoped--that she would. Instead, both her hands rose to pull his head even closer to hers, deepening the kiss. She ran her fingers through the hairs on the back of his head, down his neck.
Several moments later--moments that both felt endless and like they'd ended too soon--they broke apart, gasping for breath. Some of her weight had ended up against his bad leg during the kiss, and it sent out a quick pang of pain. She must have realized the problem, because she shifted away from his leg . . . moving herself slightly out of his personal space in the process. Her face was flushed, she had a slightly quirky smile on her face.
"I heard you, but I don't think you want what you say you want," he said.
"I want to screw you, House. And I mean exactly what you want me to mean."
"That you want to make my life living misery?"
"That, and we both better be naked. Soon."
She gave him a saucy look, kicked off her shoes, rid herself of her suit jacket, and started to unbutton the blouse that was already exposing a bit more than was quite seemly for a hospital administrator. Two buttons later, and her lacy black bra was fully exposed, just barely managing to restrain the twins. "It matches the panties," she commented.
He slid his fingers up her skirt, taking the hem with him, and took a quick peek. "It certainly does."
"You're still wearing too much."
"I'm enjoying the view."
"Well, get yourself started."
As she shed her blouse, skirt, and hose, he slowly slid off his t-shirt. The more aggressive she got, the more the protesting part of his brain was stunned into inaction. He stopped for a moment to gape at the image of Cuddy now lounging on his couch wearing just lacy black panties and bra--an image he'd never thought he'd see outside of his own fevered imagination--she continued, "pants need to go too."
"Obviously," he said dryly. But he still hesitated another moment, and she got up.
"Need some help?" she inquired, pushed him backwards into the couch, and then unbuttoned his waistband and unzipped his fly. She pulled his pants down his legs--her eyes coasting across the scar tissue on his leg, acknowledging its existence but no more than that--and she then straddled his lap. "Oh, hello," she remarked, rubbing herself against his erection through the thin layers of her panties and his boxers.
That made him snap into the here-and-now . . . finally and completely shut up the part of his brain insisting that this should not and was not going to happen. His lips met hers for another hard kiss, and then, shifting their weight carefully, eased her back down onto the couch, positioning his body above and slightly to the side of her. She broke the kiss and laughed. "Missionary style, House? I should have guessed."
"Only qualification I heard was 'naked.' Still seem to have some things in the way here . . ."
He reached behind and unsnapped her bra, freeing her breasts. He cupped one in each hand, and gently rubbed his thumbs across the nipples, feeling them harden as he did so. She gasped as he allowed himself to become rougher, slightly pinching each nipple between his thumb and the side of his finger. Her breathing deepened and became throatier. "Oh, yes . . ."
He leaned down and caught her lips for another kiss, then laid gentle kisses down the side of her neck and one breast until his lips reached her nipple. She moaned and started thrusting her hips against his as he began to suck and tease it gently with his teeth. He slide his free hand down beneath her panties, his fingers confirming exactly how wet she already was before they entered her.
She gasped and he released the nipple for a moment and looked up at her face. Her dark curls were spread across the arm of his couch, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed. His fingers located and played with her clit, as he watched the pleasure twist her features.
She opened her eyes and stared directly up into his. "Enjoying the view, House?"
"Definitely," he responded, and grinned down at her, just before he thrust two fingers deep inside her.
Her hips push upward again, grinding her clit against the palm of his hand. She gasped and her gaze became unfocused. His erection grew harder and he desperately wanted to join in, but the still-logical part of his mind called for his attention.
He leaned down and kissed her again, while slowly moving his fingers in and out, making sure to put pressure in all the right places. "Cuddy . . . " he whispered.
"What?" she gasped, as she tried to focus on his face.
"You got a condom nearby?" She'd been otherwise prepared.
"Don't worry about it."
"Willing to go bareback?" he was surprised.
"I know all there is to know about your medical history, House." She paused, and took a deep breath. "You're clean, I'm clean, there's nothing else to worry about."
The last part of the statement struck him, but he filed it away for later consideration as she pushed his boxers down over his hips, freeing him. He withdrew his fingers and pulled her panties down in response, then entered her.
Her hips rose to meet him, as her hands slid down to his hips and pulled him in completely. She let out a throaty moan and he responded, setting up a steady pace.
But it had been too long . . . he could feel himself racing to his inevitable conclusion, driven by her warmth and soft sounds of pleasure. He tried to slow the pace, to draw out and enjoy the moment, but she used her hands and hips to urge him faster and faster . . .
He fell over the edge just as she tightened slightly around him, moaning then gasping his name.
"House, oh, House . . . " she panted, as he lost himself in his own pleasure. He collapsed, trying to avoid collapsing directly on top of her, and they both lay still for a moment, recovering.
Then Cuddy traced her fingers down his cheek, running them through his always-present stubble, and grinned up at him. "Now that wasn't too awful, was it?"
He could only grin back at her. "Makes you wonder what we've been avoiding here."
"Definitely."
He drew apart from her, but settled next to her on the couch, skin against skin, still only half-believing that this was Cuddy, naked on his couch. She didn't draw back, but cuddled into his side, warm against him. "Got a t-shirt I can borrow?" she asked.
"Probably," he responded. "Why?"
"I need it to sleep in." She yawned and stretched. "It's been an tiring day, and I know there's a bed we can share back there. This couch is a little small."
"Bed?" She was going to stay?
"Get used to it, House."
"This is what I was talking about . . ."
"Exactly."
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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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