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'I'm not going'
by snark_bait
Charlie rubs up against my leg as he waits for me to pour him a bowl of food; he's mewing at me like he's never been fed in his life.
"Calm down while I open the packet, I think you'll live for five more seconds," I say to him, which only encourages him to mew repeatedly, until the food is in his bowl.
"Poor neglected fat cat," I say, as he dives in hungrily. I lean back against the counter in the kitchen and fold my arms.
I'm not going tonight.
I'm also never using that grocery store again either.
It may well be the closest store to my place; it may also be the only place I've found that stocks my favorite tea. (Black walnut and ginger)
It's certainly the only place where I seem to bump into `Marco' the Italian coffee house guy, probably because he works in the coffee shop right next door.
He always seems genuinely happy to see me, and I always wonder what his uniform would look like on my bedroom floor (And it has nothing to do with the fact that he has exactly the same length of stubble as House on his face)
Nothing what so ever.
I am not going tonight.
~
5:30 pm
I've not even had a shower yet. How `Not going' am I?
Ha.
I don't need an invite to some stupid boys' poker party to feel like I'm an integral part of the team.
And besides, they think I have plans with my cousin. As far as they're concerned I'm going to be hitting the town, slamming back the margaritas, having the time of my life.
Let them think that instead, having too much of a good time to come to their stupid, little poker night.
Although the reality is, I have my sweats on - the ones with the pictures of Snoopy on the pockets - and Charlie is curled up, asleep on my stomach.
I'm watching `Zoolander.'
I can hear my mother's voice chattering in my mind; I cringe and shake her out of my thoughts. I am not clinging onto my youth mother, get out of my head.
I'd do Ben Stiller.
There is an awkward handsomeness about him, oh god, I'd absolutely do David Duchovny.
Why isn't he in this film more?
I'm not going tonight...no way.
~
7:00 pm
It's Saturday night and I'm cleaning my apartment, and I'm fine with that.
It wasn't an invite anyway; it could not have been more throw away.
`Oh crap we didn't invite her, well I'll just throw an awkward one out now, then I've covered my ass.'
Smooth Wilson.
I'd only end up kicking everyone's ass anyway; I can't take House's money from him at his own place. How emasculating would that be?
But it would feel so good to kick his ass at something for once.
`She's a girl, she has breasts, and she can't play'
(SHE has also been playing poker since SHE was five, you arrogant bastard.)
I'm not going.
It will only end in tears...for House.
~
8:30 pm
So I've had a quick shower, waxed my legs, plucked my eyebrows, spent an hour doing my hair -I'm just pampering myself.
I'm stood holding the black dress from the date in-front of me.
Far too dressy for poker and far too wince inducing for House when he realises why he's seen it before. A glazed expression would wash over his face as he became the very definition of `uncomfortable.'
I reach for a long blue skirt, which has embroidered flowers at the bottom. I then hang a pale blue shirt with a plunging v neck against me.
No, I'd look like a hippy. I'd spend the evening fending off insult after insult.
If I were going, which I'm not.
`Low rider jeans are hot,' a memory of House whispers into my ear as I stand in my underwear, in front of the mirror.
They are, aren't they? I have some of those too. And I've only worn them once.
I take them out, and put them on, they hug my ass nicely. Hmm - what to couple them with?
Something black, something that says `I have breasts, but I don't need to have a dangerously plunging neck line, like Cuddy, for you to notice them.'
Okay I've over-done my hair I think. I'll put it into a pony tail again, but add some make-up.
The lipstick should be red, so I can leave an angry smear around the head of his...on the remote chance he pulls his other head out of his rear and we...
Get your mind out of the gutter Cameron.
When I'm done getting ready, I stand back and look at myself.
I hope my outfit says, `I'm looking casual, but I'd still like House to think about boning me at least ten times before I leave - thank you very much."
I smile; I think it says that quite nicely.
I sigh at Charlie who is sat on my bed AGAIN; I guess I'm going to the party after all.
~ ~ ~
9:32 pm
House is checking out my tits, he's definitely just checked out my ass too.
Which is great, because I'm about to wipe the floor with him.
Chase is checking out my tits as well. I give him a strong stare that says `Back off wombat' you are not getting a second look at those.
Then House and I have one of those eye clash moments, and I look away first, if only to make him think he intimidates me here.
If there is one place in the entire world - House does not intimidate me - it's sitting right here, around a poker table.
The poker femme-fatale is here boss; you just don't know it yet.
Although Foreman gives me a knowing smile and almost gives me away by playing far safer than I imagine he's been playing all night.
I'm holding my hand like a girl who's never played cards before, and I'm sticking out my breasts.
Then I'm giggling and giggling, letting a few cards drop and pretending my first beer has gone straight to my head.
And it's really pissing House off, ha-ha, I'm so glad I came now.
Although it's time I got serious. Twenty minutes later, as House is spreading his flush out before him and smirking at me, I say:
"You like sports metaphors don't you House?"
Then I place my full house out before me, card by card. And the grin slowly slips off his face.
"The rookie swings for a fast ball, and it's a good hit," I say, and I'm grinning like I fluked it.
I have no idea if that works as a metaphor for what I've just done, but Wilson and Foreman are grinning, so I think it works.
How long have I wanted to knock that smirk off his face?
Ha.
He narrows his eyes and grounds his unlit cigar between his teeth.
I feign lucky accident and shrug, he falls for that routine twice more before he realises he's no longer the best player in the room.
~ ~ ~
"I'm quite used to paying women to sleep with me," House says, and I know it's time to leave.
And I can't help but glare at him, I can't help but get up and leave the room thinking, you can take the House out of the teaching hospital, but you can't take the House out of...the House.
I'm not sure if he hates losing to me, or just hates me in general.
I go into the kitchen and I'm surprised when he follows me in.
"Eric was right, I should go," I say, moving to walk past him, "I probably shouldn't have come in the first place."
He sticks his cane out, and it annoys me because I'm sick of the ebb and flow of his actions.
Insult, appeasement, insult, smirk, insult.
He has me trapped.
Oh my god, he's kissing me - whoa, where did that come from?
My heart is pounding.
He slides his tongue into my mouth, and he tastes of beer and the tang of his cigar.
His left hand finds its way into my hair, and I'm as rigid as a board, but at least my brain has re-engaged enough to allow me to kiss him back.
There is a flurry of movement, I'm not sure what he's doing because my mind is still chanting `Hey HOUSE just kissed you HEY wake up.'
Then I'm completely surprised when he hoists me onto the kitchen work surface, we stare at each other for a few seconds before I'm completely back in the room and I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him.
I take hold of his cheeks, my thumbs are resting on his ears. His chin scratches my own as our mouths move up and down slowly.
Then he's moving onto my neck, and I crane it back as he slowly kisses his way down the V of skin that is accessible to him.
My eyes are only half open, but that is open enough when they lock onto Wilson, who has just wandered into the kitchen.
Aww, fuck off Wilson, FUCK OFF.
I wonder if he gets that general message with the glare I'm shooting him?
Don't stop House, oh no.
House has paused his descent into my neck line.
Wilson's mouth hangs open, then it pops closed like a fish done breathing water for the time being.
Don't worry, I think I was expecting this even less than you were.
His eyebrows disappear into his beautiful fringe, and then he turns and leaves as quickly as he appeared.
A few seconds later, the TV screeches into life in the other room. Wilson turns it all the way up to `bleeding ears'
Good boy.
House takes a step back from me and says:
"Come on, practical as these wipe-clean surfaces are, let's move this."
I slip off the counter.
And he takes my hand.
And my heart misses a beat.
And I feel eighteen again.
And we pretend not to see Wilson as we head toward House's bedroom.
And I'm so glad I put on my expensive French underwear.
~ ~ ~
House has me pinned against his closet door, and I'm pretty sure one of us is going to pass out from lack of oxygen soon, if we don't come up for air.
The kisses are getting wetter, and more aggressive, as our teeth clash together. He nips at my lip when we break for that much needed air.
And I'm thinking, what a great kisser he is, but that's no surprise from the man that is great at everything.
He's holding my butt in his hands, he squeezes one cheek, then the other.
Then he slowly slides his hands upwards, until they are just under the hem of my shirt. They pause on the small of my back and the heat from his palms makes me arc forward slightly.
His hands are poised like racing cars waiting for the light to change.
Start your engines, gentlemen.
Then red turns to green, and they're off. Sliding up my back, all the way under my shirt, until my arms are above my head. He begins tugging my shirt up and over my face, then he launches the shirt across the room.
I watch the lump in his throat bob into view then disapear as he swallows, whilst he takes a long hard look at my breasts, unfortunately for him, they're still encased in my lacy black bra.
There is a meeting of mouths again, then he breaks away to assault my neck.
His hands slip around to the front of me, and he starts to paw my breasts softly.
My neck goes back, and that's when I see it, hanging up on the other side of the room.
And as he reaches around to unclasp my bra, I let my hands follow back to catch his, and bring them back around.
He looks a little bit confused by the action.
I raise my eyebrows at him and then shoot him an intentionally filthy look, which wakes someone up, because now I can feel the beginning of an erection strain against his jeans, as it pokes into my hip.
"What's wrong?" he asks, breathlessly.
"Nothing, I was just wondering if you'd like to win your three hundred dollars back?"
His tongue peeks out and wipes away the red lipstick I've left on his lips, and I remember where else I wanted to leave a red smudge.
"How would I do that?" he asks.
"Easy, I want you to put something on for me," I say, and then nod at his tux.
He looks at it, then back at me.
"You want me to put the tux back on?" He says, unsurely.
I shake my head.
"Not the tux...the bow-tie. Nothing but the bow-tie."
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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 Fox Television, 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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