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  In the Looking Glass 
 by Vita  

 

Cuddy waited in the bar, sipping a weak rum and Diet Coke while she
wondered if she'd left her pride somewhere in the airport. House said the
guy would find her, and Cuddy hoped House hadn't handed over some
unfortunate picture from her college days. This was ridiculous, of course,
but people justified worse things to themselves every day. She was single,
unattached, and escorts in Vegas practically had a union.

It wouldn't have happened if she hadn't run into him. Gregory House, cause
of one endless scandal after another in her college days, until Michigan
had finally told him that he wasn't welcome to return. She hadn't
recognized him, not with a scruffy beard and a slick, perfectly tailored
suit, until she saw the eyes. Those hadn't changed, nor had the gaze, so
sharp that it was like he looked through you.

House, of course, had recognized her ass from across the room.

Naturally, being House, he bamboozled her into ditching the boring
reception (how had he gotten in?) and joining him in a booth in the
hotel's sleek, dimly lit bar. She drank something red, because it matched
her suit, wondering how she'd found herself across a table from Gregory
House again. Once he'd extracted her current career trajectory,
rugrat-free status and attempted to broach the question of whether or not
she'd mysteriously turned into a lesbian in the intervening years ("Not
yet, House, but the night is young and you're not that cute"), Cuddy
finally managed to get an answer out of him.

"What are you doing here? I know you got tossed from Michigan."

"I'm in a different business now, Cuddy. Sales and promotion, you might
say."

"Sales? You?" Cuddy scoffed. "You couldn't sell...well, anything, House."

"It's easy when you've got something everybody wants. Discreet, anonymous,
no-strings sex."

Cuddy was in the middle of swallowing when he announced this, and almost
choked. "You're a pimp? You market...prostitutes?"

"They prefer to be called escorts," he sneered. "I'm just a businessman
with an agency, but I do like to find out what people are looking for when
they call us. It's always an interesting conversation." He leaned across
the table, a conspirator's smile on his face.

"As it happens, I was just dropping a little something off for that guy
from the University of Chicago. Seems his wife's lactose intolerant, so he
can't get her to do that trick with the whipped cream and the handcuffs
anymore."

"Please, House, I have to watch that guy give a talk on infection control
tomorrow."

"And where's your arm candy, Cuddy? A fine piece of ass like you shouldn't
be out on the strip alone."

"We're not on the strip now, are we?" She glared at him, but she still
felt sick just thinking about it. Months had passed and some days it still
felt like Jeff had left just the day before, complaining that she paid
more attention to her Blackberry than she did to him. That had turned out
to be his flimsy excuse for screwing one of his charming coworkers, one of
those ex-cheerleaders-turned-pharmaceutical reps, as well as a brief fling
with an art student while his usual chippie was pissed at him. And Cuddy
only found out that detail two months later.

She had never imagined that she could be that clueless, stupid woman.
She'd thrown herself into work since then, driving through projects and
paperwork and clinic patients. Focusing on her career, she called it, but
she knew that it was also distracting herself from what was missing.

"Got something you'd like," House leered. "Fresh meat. Foreign variety,
but it actually speaks English, if you don't mind using the term loosely."

Cuddy glared. "That's disgusting."

"Look, it's not a cure-all. But I'll bet some guy left you feeling like
crap. This can just help take the edge off. Get back to the way things
should be."

"Which is?"

"You making grown men cry." 

Cuddy smiled at that.

"Haven't done that in a long time," she said, mutilating the stirrer in
her drink into a snail shape.

House smirked, raising his beer to her. Two of those little red drinks
later and House was promising her a price break with the finest
thoroughbred in his stable. And with triple sec-fueled bravado, she was
telling him to bring it on. She supposed, the next morning, that she could
call to cancel, but how often was she in a city made for stupid mistakes?

So here she was, sitting in a hotel bar, hoping that House wasn't just
jerking her around, and waiting for her "date" to show up. Because
apparently, very little in her life had changed since her undergraduate
days except that she had gone completely crazy. Greg House, the universal
constant of madness. 

"Lisa?" a masculine voice asked, and Cuddy looked up.

He wasn't what she was expecting, although if anyone had asked what she
was expecting, she couldn't have told them. Blond hair and prep-school
looks wouldn't have been on the list, though. She nodded, and he smiled in
reply, which only made him look younger, and Cuddy felt a twinge of
cradle-robbing guilt. He slid onto the empty stool beside her, gesturing
at her drink.

"Another? Why not, right? Joe..." He gestured to the bartender, who nodded
in reply. "I'm Robert, by the way. House sent me."

"Australian?" Cuddy asked hesitantly.

"Good ear," Robert replied, looking genuinely pleased. The bartender
brought over their drinks - another rum and diet for Cuddy, and a scotch
for Robert.

"So, what brings you to Las Vegas?" She watched his mouth as he took a sip
of his drink, and the idea that those lips would soon be kissing her left
her own mouth suddenly dry.

"Conference - medical conference," Cuddy said hoarsely.

"You're a doctor? Really?" His smile faded briefly, and he tapped his
fingers against the edge of the bar. "Well, I don't know if I'm prepared
for a doctor. You might know the territory better than I do." Suddenly he
was not so young to her eyes, and Cuddy added a few years to her estimate
of his age - late twenties, perhaps. 

"I think you get more practice," Cuddy said, and then blushed. "I mean,
uh, I don't practice often, that is - I'm an administrator, in a hospital.
I don't see many patients anymore." She took a serious gulp of her drink,
which turned out to be considerably stronger than the last one. She
swallowed against the burn in her throat, and wondered how she had ever
managed to date anyone. Of course, this wasn't a date, but she was still
fairly certain he could leave if she seemed insane.

"Ah." Robert pushed the hair out of his eyes and leaned against the bar.
The smile drifted back to his face, and Cuddy felt something inside her
melt, quite possibly her last ounce of shame. "You know, I expected that
you'd done this before - House said you were a special client, and that
usually means a regular."

"Afraid not," Cuddy replied nervously, "It's just that we knew each
other...before. In college. I probably don't want to know what else he
said about me."

"He said to take care of you," Robert replied. He put down his drink and
touched her chin, gently turning her face towards his. "Here's the deal -
knowing House, he didn't really explain it. What happens is what you want
to happen. We can have dinner, stay here and chat, whatever you like. If
that's to your satisfaction and if you feel comfortable, we can adjourn to
your room, as it were."

"So we don't have to just..." She cocked her head to the side, hoping he'd
get the hint. She didn't know why she couldn't just say it - she was a
doctor, for heaven's sake.

"Only if that's what you want. It's been my experience that most women
aren't comfortable with that sort of arrangement, but everyone's
different." He took her wrist in his hand and gave her a wry smile. "From
the feel of your pulse, you might not be comfortable. Although I suppose
that could be something else entirely."

His hand was warm and the skin seemed a little rough, but all of Cuddy's
attention had focused itself on the tiny, square inch of skin where his
thumb stroked the tender skin over the pale blue veins in her wrist. Cuddy
took a deep breath. She didn't want a false image of a boyfriend, or the
awkwardness of a one-night stand. She wanted pleasure, and comfort, and
she wanted to be convinced that she hadn't completely lost herself to her
lousy ex.

"I think it might be something else," Cuddy said, sliding off the stool.
She tossed him an extra room key. "1434. Give me ten minutes."

Cuddy got back to her room, unsure why she'd asked for the extra time,
because all that did was give her more time to scream what could you be
thinking? at herself. The room needed adjusting - she hid her purse in a
drawer, and closed the closet doors. The bed was turned back, but every
surface suggested sex to her now, and she found herself trembling just
thinking of the possibilities. Low light was going to be necessary, she
decided, and turned off the overhead light, switching on the desk and
nightstand lamps instead. She brushed her teeth, touched up her lipstick,
fluffed her hair once more, and checked herself one last time in the large
mirror that faced the bed. Sex had been the farthest thing from her mind
when she'd packed for the conference, but her reflection now suggested
otherwise. Her cheeks and lips were bright and the draping knit of her
dress revealed every curve.

Cuddy only meant to smooth the fabric of her dress one last time, but
instead her hands gave in to a long, lingering caress, stroking over the
flesh of her breasts and the plane of her still-flat stomach to her round
hips. Who am I? Feeling myself up while waiting for a rent boy? Does
anyone even say rent boy these days?

She heard the soft buzz of the key in the door and the shift of the handle
before Robert appeared in the doorway. Cuddy noticed that he carried a bag
over his shoulder. He smiled warmly as he dropped the bag on the bed and
took off his jacket, and Cuddy swallowed against her nerves. She
remembered the packet of cash in the desk drawer, and passed it to him
with a shaking hand.

"Thank you," he said calmly, but he placed the money on the desk without
counting a single bill. "Is there anything I can do to make you more
comfortable, Lisa?"

"Just kiss me," Cuddy replied quickly. Before I lose my nerve, she wanted
to add. He nodded slightly, and then he was so close that the scent of his
cologne tickled her nose. His lips were every bit as warm and soft as his
youthful looks promised, and her body instinctively leaned into his. He
stroked her hair and gently pushed his tongue against hers, and she
couldn't stop a little cry from forming in her throat. She rested her hand
against his chest and felt his heart beating strongly, and maybe, she
hoped, just a little rapidly.

"What's the story we're telling here?" Robert asked, his lips brushing
softly against her ear. "It's not my favorite, but I have to admit
'naughty schoolboy' has been awfully popular lately."

Cuddy laughed, until his teeth on her earlobe put a hitch into her breath.
He gave the tie of her wrap dress a little tug, and Cuddy felt the knot
unfurl and the dress slip apart. She stepped back to lean against the
dresser and flashed him a coy smile as he brushed the dress away from her
shoulders. It slid off on one side and pooled on the floor behind her and
suddenly she wasn't so jittery anymore. She had been here - well, not
here, but in similar situations - before enough times, taking a new lover
with new possibilities, and she had always been nervous. The morning
after, the long term prospects, the little worries. This time all she had
was tonight, and she began to feel bold, the way she'd felt at the board
meeting right before they'd confirmed her as dean.

This was a business transaction, and she was damned good at business. 

Robert was watching her patiently. 

"Shouldn't a high-powered woman looking for a little excitement be
enough?" she asked.

"Maybe, if that's all there is to it. Now is all of this for me?" Robert
asked teasingly. "Lisa, you shouldn't have." His finger traced the edge of
lace against her breast. His breath was soft against her ear and Cuddy
could feel her skin tingling in places he still had yet to touch. She
closed her eyes, taking in the heat of his body, his steady hands cradling
and stroking her breasts, and the sound of her ragged breath in the
otherwise quiet room. Nearly a year since Jeff left, and he hadn't touched
her for a month before that, either, which really should have been a hint,
in retrospect. She wasn't going to think about it now. Robert was
murmuring to her, telling her, oddly enough, that she worked so hard, that
she'd earned this, and other nonsense.

"So you're a storyteller. And here I thought your job consisted of making
me scream," Cuddy said archly, and Robert's eyebrows raised in what she
hoped was amusement. She hoped she sounded cavalier, when what she truly
felt was mad and vulnerable. True, she'd done this before, but not like
this. The boldness she'd felt was fading as Robert moved down her body. He
was sinking to his knees, his breath and fingers gliding along her belly
until he reached the silky little wisp of fabric she was passing off as
underwear. He laid his hands gently against her thighs, moving them
slightly apart.

"If that's what you want," Robert murmured. "You are awfully tense. We
should take care of that." His lips brushed gently over the little
triangle of satin where her legs met, and Cuddy couldn't stop a little cry
from escaping.

"Shouldn't you use...something? For protection?" she asked. He looked at
her, and Cuddy would have blushed if any blood could be spared for her
cheeks. What was wrong with her? But he was calm, and his hand on her
thigh was somehow reassuring.

"I do have some dams in the bag, if you're worried, but I'm clean. House
is obsessive about clean. Monthly testing, and no drugs, either. People
have tried to get by him, and they never do." Cuddy felt a tremor in his
hand, and thought he might have shivered. "Believe me, I have no interest
in pissing him off. So it's all right, really."

Cuddy opened her mouth, but she couldn't say yes. Robert pressed a gentle
kiss to her hip and got to his feet, settling himself beside her on the
edge of the bureau.

"There are chairs..." she said uneasily, gesturing across the room to two
overstuffed armchairs in the corner, but the purposefully patient
expression he wore told her she was waiting for her to explain what was
running through her head.

"The guy who left me. He cheated on me, at least twice. It was almost a
year ago, and I've had the tests..." Her voice faltered. All this time,
and she hadn't realized until she was trying to explain it to a stranger
how shameful it felt, how humiliating it was that she didn't figure out
what was happening in her relationship until Jeff was walking out the
door. She felt her eyes grow wet, but she refused to cry. She had finished
with crying, the moment Jeff and his last box of Harvard memorabilia
walked out the door.

"I'm healthy," she said firmly. "I know I am. So it's not that. I haven't
been with anyone since then. I know it sounds pathetic, but..." She looked
at him, expecting to see nothing more than pity in his eyes (or that he'd
dozed off), but instead he seemed intrigued. He slid off the edge of the
bureau and moved her knees apart so that he could stand between her legs
again, leaning forward so that his hands rested on each side of her hips. 

"I think I've got your story." He kissed her forehead tenderly, just above
the eyebrow, and Cuddy couldn't stop a shy smile.

"You're a woman who wouldn't be here if she didn't think it would bring
her something she couldn't find on her own." Another kiss followed, this
time on her cheek, soft and lingering. "You're a woman who knows what she
wants and what she needs - or at least you were...and you want her back." 

Cuddy parted her lips in expectation of a final kiss, but instead he just
smiled down at her with a hint of smugness, challenging her to tell him he
was wrong. He wasn't wrong, though, and Cuddy decided that if she was
paying, she might as well get her money's worth. One night, she reminded
herself. One night to be that woman again. Was she brave enough to take
the chance?

"Damn right," Cuddy growled. She grabbed a fistful of his button-down
shirt and claimed the kiss she was waiting for, determined to run her
tongue over those too-perfect white teeth. She liked the way he responded,
his hands stroking over her back while a delicious sort of growl formed in
his throat. He stumbled backwards, pulling her towards the bed, and sat
down roughly on the edge, looking up at Cuddy, who stood as tall as she
could before him, wearing an expression that made medical students shiver
in their lab coats.

"No tying me up," Robert said slyly, "even if House does know you."

"Won't be necessary," Cuddy replied. "You do want a good review, don't
you?" she said with a sneer, and all his self-assurance wavered for just
an instant. 

Interesting, Cuddy thought to herself. "You've got too many clothes on for
what we're about to do, don't you think?" she asked. Immediately, he
started unbuttoning his shirt, apparently confident again that she would
like what she saw. He unbuckled his trousers, letting them fall to the
floor in a heap with the shirt.

"You know, I never think about the whole sock issue," Robert said
sheepishly, and Cuddy looked down at his toes wiggling in acid green
socks. Acid green argyle socks, for heaven's sake. She giggled, and he
gestured for her to turn around. "There's nothing sexy about socks, come
on," he said, and Cuddy spun about, startled to see herself in the mirror
facing the bed. Now her breasts looked on offer in her bra like a
supermarket special and her hair was messy. She didn't think she
recognized this woman, who looked suspiciously like she seduced handsome
younger men all the time. Cuddy swallowed and reached up to unhook her
lacy bra and let it fall to the floor. She watched her chest rise and fall
with each breath, as Robert's hands stroked her legs and thighs. His
fingers hooked into the elastic of her panties and tugged them down. Cuddy
delicately stepped out of them and squeaked very indelicately when
Robert's hands clasped her hips and he planted a kiss on one cheek of her
bottom.

"People kiss my ass all the time, but I don't think they've ever been
literal about it," Cuddy said.

"Their loss," Robert replied. She felt his lips at the base of her spine,
heard the mattress creak as he stood up behind her. She didn't know
whether to focus on the heat of his touch or on watching their reflection
in the glass.

"Do you like the mirror? Like watching this?" Robert asked, but Cuddy
wasn't sure how to answer. She watched his hand, and could anticipate the
way it would feel when he cupped her breast, rubbing her nipple between
thumb and forefinger. She reached behind her, gripping his thigh for
purchase when his fingers tickled her belly and slipped between her
thighs. His erection pressed against her back and as his probing fingers
seemed to tease, never quite reaching where she wanted them to go.

"Yes," she finally answered. "Like this." He kissed her ear and neck,
continuing to draw out her arousal between fingers and lips until her
breath was fast and a pink flush had bloomed over her chest and cheeks.
She'd been alone for months, but somehow the space between her hips hadn't
felt empty until now, when there was an alternative to her own hand and a
sleepless night.

"Just a minute," Robert said, and she felt cold as he stepped away. She
heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper behind her, and then he was back.
Cuddy rested her trembling hands on the bureau.

"Come on," she complained, and then his hand was on her hip, and he was
inside her, slowly, cautiously. His knees nudged the backs of her thighs.

"Finally," Cuddy moaned, and she saw Robert smile behind her.

"Tell me if I'm going too deep," he said, and started moving with careful,
shallow thrusts. The condom had some kind of texture that rubbed her in
places that she'd been ignoring for far too long.

"Japanese," Robert said, by way of explanation. "The condom. House orders
them in for us. I'm told they improve sensation. House is...sort of into
R." His voice sounded so reasonable, so rational, and it almost annoyed
her. She wanted him reckless and determined.

"Better than S," Cuddy gasped, and Robert chuckled. "Have to say...he has
excellent taste," she added, but she knew he could tell from her eagerly
grinding hips that she was more than enjoying herself. Her knees seemed to
be dissolving beneath her, and she leaned forward to shift her weight onto
the bureau. He drove into her with a particularly deep stroke, and Cuddy
felt his sweat mingling with her own as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Are you comfortable like this? Or would the bed be easier?" 

Cuddy swallowed, because he was leaning over her with his chest flush
against her back, and his musical voice sounded heavy in her ear, and she
couldn't possibly be expected to think at a time like this. He was waiting
for her, though, to tell him what to do. Much as she enjoyed the mirror,
the angle was awkward and her legs felt tired (which they should, she'd
spent the entire day of the conference shifting in her seat, crossing and
uncrossing them while she wondered what he might be like).

"Bed?" she attempted, and felt him slip out. He guided her back with his
hand at the small of her back. Like a choreographer, he sussed out the
situation, suggesting that Cuddy might want to lie down crosswise on the
bed, so she could still see what they were doing. She placed herself
face-down, as though she was settling in for nothing more than a massage.
She would only need to turn her head to see their profiles blending
together.

"Like this? Or on your side?" Robert asked, his voice soft and solicitous.
Cuddy answered by looking coyly over her shoulder and wiggling her rear.
She didn't hire an escort so she could spoon. He grinned widely, and
crawled over her.

"Want to try something?" he asked, his voice rough and alien to her ear,
and she nodded. He parted her legs only slightly, the pads of his fingers
exploring her cunt again, while he straddled her legs. He had a plastic
bottle in his hand, some kind of lubricant, she supposed, although she
couldn't imagine actually needing it at this point, and he was parting her
labia, clearing a path to sink cleanly inside her again. The fit was
tighter at this angle, and Cuddy had to relax to accommodate him.

"You c'n bend your knees," Robert murmured as she used the mirror to watch
him loom over her, resting on his elbows so that even though all of his
weight didn't fall on her, she could feel the heat of his skin
tantalizingly close to her own from shoulders to hips. She almost laughed
when she realized she could rest her heels on his ass and feel the muscles
flexing with each thrust, and rocked her hips gently, as if the bedspread
was just the palm of a hand beneath her. Their reflection revealed that he
moved his long, lean body gracefully, like a swimmer or even a dancer, and
Cuddy felt like fire was moving through her, as if the aesthetics
translated directly to stirring physical sensation. She could feel
everything, every centimeter of his cock moving inside her as each stroke
of his hips found nerves she didn't know existed. His movements were
gentle and first and gradually quickened to match the soft cries coming
from her mouth.

She needed to move more, and pressed upwards with her hips, until he got
the hint and moved back, straightening up and gripping her hips firmly to
remain inside her. She stretched herself out, reaching forward and
splaying her palms over the bedspread, her mind taking a brief detour to
note that downward-facing-dog in yoga class was never going to be the same
again. Cuddy could hear how slick and aroused she was as easily as she
could feel it, and when she caught a glimpse of the mirror and saw herself
as she never had before, a woman pressing herself into submission while a
stranger fucked her in a hotel room.

She didn't care anymore. Her body language screamed that she'd surrendered
everything to Robert, but she knew who was in control here. 

"Just playing back there? Or are you going to make me come already?" she
asked, gritting her teeth against the rougher, more frantic thrusts that
started almost immediately. Cuddy focused her energies on squeezing the
muscles around his cock, both relieving and building the pressure at her
core.

"Fuck, Lisa," Robert muttered, and sank his fingers harshly into her hip,
hard enough that she'd be decorated in bruises in the morning. That, she
hazily realized, was only one hand, because he started rubbing slippery
fingers over her clit, and her need dissipated into a rush of pleasure so
intense it almost hurt. She knew that the heat on her skin was only her
blood pumping through her body as she neared an orgasm, but it felt like
she was made of stars, every cell of her body glittering. Then the stars
exploded, and the spiraling pleasure broke into a deep, throbbing wave
that took her breath away.

She lifted herself onto her elbows and placed her hand over Robert's to
take it from between her legs - his touch had shifted from pleasurable to
painful in only a moment. He rolled onto his back beside her, and Cuddy
realized that she hadn't really looked him over, in the flesh and not
through the looking glass. She drank in the view, from his sandy-colored
hair to his athletic build and his still-burgeoning erection.

"I'd better help you out with that," Cuddy said coolly. "Got any less
exotic models in your bag?" He nodded, and Cuddy told him to get
comfortable while she dug around in the bag's pocket, where she found,
alongside several intriguing toys, just what she was hoping for - condoms
and flavored lubricant.

She slipped off the used condom from his penis and dropped it in the
trash, and then replaced it with a new one, rolling it down his shaft with
her lips.

"Nice trick," Robert said, and Cuddy smiled saucily. She'd learned a few
things before Jeff came along. She pressed her nose into the crisp, musky
curls at the base of his cock. Experimentally, she licked a trail along
his shaft, tasting the light vanilla flavor of the lube along with the
latex. Not bad, actually.

She circled her tongue around the head of his cock, pausing now and then
to pump him with her hand. He groaned, and the expression of his pleasure
stirred heat between her hips again. 

"You've got my story, Robert. Do I get to hear yours?"

Robert's eyes fluttered open. "Not much of a story. I like sex, I need
money. And I'm not that good at anything else, when you get down to it."

"Hard to believe," Cuddy replied, "Although you are awfully good at this.
Do you sleep with guys, too?" He had appeared decidedly puffed up by her
compliment, but now he looked as if he wasn't sure if there was a right
answer to that question. 

"Gotta pay the bills. We don't get that many female clients," he finally
answered. "Mostly blowjobs, though. Apparently I have a pretty mouth."

"I don't want to hear any critiques afterwards," Cuddy murmured, letting
her lips barely brush his erection as she spoke. She took him into her
mouth more deeply then, crawling around to change her angle of attack. In
her new position Robert could caress her thigh and hips, but after a
moment his hand rested quite comfortably on the round curve of her ass,
squeezing now and then when she hit just the right spot.

"So did you cheat this evening?" she asked, lifting her head for a moment.

"What?"

"You know, one of those desensitizing creams. Pills would just keep you
going. You're not enjoying this as much as you could, and I know I'm
good."

"Maybe," he said, sounding a little dazed. "Gotta make sure the client is
satisfied." 

"True," Cuddy said. She cupped his balls in her hand, minding her
fingernails, and muscles twitched in his inner thighs. "So these
guys...you suck them off like I'm doing to you?"

"Yes..." Robert's voice faltered and Cuddy smiled viciously.

"Use those toys on them?" she asked, wondering where the throaty tone of
voice she was using had been all these years.

"Sometimes. I'll use them on you if you want." He had a studied calm to
his voice, but Cuddy could see the tension of his head pressed back into
the pillow and his hand grasping the headboard. She let him think she was
finished talking, focusing on the firm thickness in her mouth instead of
just teasing. He was starting to writhe, chemical deterrence or no, and he
was babbling enthusiastic, utterly profane nothings, like fucking hell,
she was good. Giddiness flowed through Cuddy at seeing him so completely
enthralled. If she could use this technique on the board, she'd have a
rainy day fund the size of the gross national product.

"So you fuck men. I guess it doesn't matter, really. Everyone's a little
bi in the dark, don't you think?" Cuddy purred, raising her head for a
moment. 

"I'll come back with a friend tomorrow and we can test the theory." He
wasn't quite as lost as she thought he was, because she felt his hand slip
abruptly into the wetness between her thighs. His technique was a little
sloppy but Cuddy's mind had drifted to some long-lost fantasy with too
delicate fingers and soft mouths. She was doing her best to swallow him
down but she was losing her concentration, he was damned good at his job,
and the images in her head were sending blood running from her head to her
cunt as quickly as her heart could beat.

"Sit up," she ordered, and Robert shifted himself, adjusting pillows as
Cuddy clambered over him, slicking the condom one last time for good
measure before sinking down astride him. He closed his eyes briefly, his
mouth half-open, and then seemed to come back to her, leaning forward to
hold her face in her hands as he kissed her. She probably tasted like the
lube, but he didn't seem to care, and some still functional brain cell
suggested that he was probably used to it. Cuddy arched her back and he
reached for her, lightly brushing the sensitive skin just below her
breasts until she begged for some stronger touch, his hands, his mouth,
because the air alone was making her nipples ache. He took them into his
mouth, tasting and fondling while she ground herself against him. His hips
twisted and jerked upwards as he sought more friction on his cock, but
Cuddy braced herself harder, circling just enough.

"Almost," she gasped, "almost there." He got it, thrusting upwards until
Cuddy felt the muscles in her cunt fluttering and pulsing again. Between
the fullness inside her and the sharp pleasure of Robert's attentions to
her breasts, her climax seemed to stretch out Cuddy tried to start riding
him, but after a couple of jolting aftershocks, her body was ready to give
up. She collapsed against him, panting and spent.

"Lisa," he pleaded desperately, "Lisa, please, just a little farther."
Cuddy shook her head. She couldn't do it, her muscles had turned to jelly.

The next thing she knew, she was looking at the hotel room's ceiling light
fixture, and at Robert's flushed, smiling face.

"Pathetically enough, this probably won't take a minute," he said, shoving
a pillow under her hips, and Cuddy laughed. He grabbed the lube from the
table and poured some into his hand. He smeared it over the condom, and
the remnant over her vulva. Something about the carelessness of it, just
the knowledge that he had to have her now excited her. He lifted her knee
to his shoulder with ease, and she hadn't known her leg bent that way,
actually. He placed her hand on his hip before sinking inside her again
with a delicious groan. She felt sore and limp, although the pressure
between thigh and pelvis was curiously pleasant, and Cuddy thought she'd
have to try this position when she didn't feel like she'd been wrung out
like a washcloth. She reached out with her free hand to brush his damp
hair away from his forehead, then traced the lines of his abdominal
muscles down to where their bodies met. Tentatively, she brushed her
fingers over her own nipples and felt a spark of renewed arousal. She
might be able to squeeze a little more pleasure out of this encounter.

"Harder," she demanded, and she couldn't help feeling pleased with herself
when Robert complied, grunting with the effort. He'd been calm and easy
for her before, but now he was frenzied, eyes squeezed shut as he became
desperate to reach his climax. The friction was growing more pleasurable,
he was hitting her g-spot with every stroke, and Cuddy thought she could
get herself over the edge one more time. She rubbed her fingers
frantically over her swollen clit. So close...

Robert opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. "Oh, God," he exclaimed
hoarsely, and he shuddered as he finally came, his hips bucking madly.
Cuddy closed her eyes as one last sharp stab of pleasure throbbed through
her, and Robert's entire body seemed to give out. He lay heavily on top of
her for a moment, trying to regain his breath, and then rolled onto his
back.

"See? Satisfaction guaranteed," he drawled, and Cuddy giggled in spite of
the fact that she could barely think. He turned away from her to dispose
of the condom, while Cuddy slowly shifted her legs, shoved pillows out of
her way, and rolled onto her stomach. Her mind felt energized, but her
body demanded rest. Watching Robert doze made a decent compromise. His
eyes were closed and Cuddy took in his beauty, and beauty it was, with
every taut muscle relaxed and every ounce of stress drained from his face.

As she lay there, the hotel room started to look less like a sensuous
playground in Cuddy's mind, and more like a hotel room. She had at least
two panels to attend tomorrow, and she didn't know how she was even going
to walk. Robert stirred and reached over to twirl a piece of her hair
around his finger. "I should tell you, House informed me that you would
now bite my head off in order to devour it. I don't know what you ever did
to him."

Cuddy grinned. "Organic chemistry. No place for wimps." She yawned and
tried to stretch her back. "Mmmm. I really need a shower."

"I'll get it." He slid off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, and
Cuddy heard the water start to run. She sat up, and the mirror at the foot
of the bed gave her the vague impression that she was a sweaty mess with
smeared makeup. She sort of liked the idea. It was a wanton, wild look,
not her usual evening face.

She padded into the bathroom, feeling cool air on her sweaty skin. The
toilet, thank goodness, was separate from the room with the walk-in shower
and sunken tub. She washed off her makeup and stared at the mirror once
more, and saw only herself again. Not so bad, actually. A few lines of
experience around the eyes, a certain glow to her skin, and a smile she
couldn't hold in if she tried.

She joined Robert in the shower, and Cuddy sighed in decadent contentment
as the water washed over them. Robert's hands moved over her, his talented
hands slippery with soap. Tomorrow every muscle in her thighs would ache
and she'd be even more uncomfortable sitting through talks about planning
for pandemics, but for now she felt reconnected to all her senses, every
nerve vibrating with awareness of being alive. 

"Want me to scrub your back?" Robert asked, and she nodded and leaned
against him, her breasts against his chest as his hands pressed her
closer. "You know, it was House who suggested the cream."

"Oh?" she said vaguely. The scrub of the washcloth against her skin was
distractingly delicious. "Oh, the desensitizing stuff." 

"He hinted, very strongly, that I might need it. Said you were a handful."
His soapy hands tickled under her breasts, and Cuddy squirmed and laughed.
"Oddly enough, when I saw you I thought he was referring to these."

"It is House," Cuddy mused. Robert left her to finish up, and when she
emerged from the bathroom in her fluffy hotel robe, he was sitting on the
edge of the bed with his bag packed up, waiting for her, and biting his
lip as if he had something to say. 

"You wanted to know why I do this. And yes, there are the necessities, but
the fact is that I like to make people happy. I like seeing a smile like
yours right now." He held out a card to her. "If you're ever back in
town..."

"I'll have to give you a call," Cuddy answered, and he positively beamed
at her. He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand, lingering with what was
either surprising affection, or a terribly clever business move.

"Thank you," Cuddy said warmly, and added, "Give House my regards." He
nodded and headed off into Las Vegas' endless party, and Cuddy closed and
locked the door behind him. She shed the robe and crawled into bed,
dreaming of fresh starts and new lives.

Robert didn't need to give his regards, as it turned out. Her cell phone
rang at 8:00 the next morning, and Cuddy quietly cursed at whoever thought
it was all right to call her at that hour.

"So, are you over your ex?" House's voice sounded in her ear.

Cuddy smiled and twisted herself deeper into the sheets. "What ex? I have
an ex?"

"So he gets a gold star then?"

"If he gets a star for every one I saw, he'll be covered in them," Cuddy
purred.

"Good to know I got my money's worth."

"What?" Cuddy's eyes opened. Hadn't she paid Robert? 

"Check your desk drawer," House said, and Cuddy stumbled over to the desk,
where the envelope of cash still rested, except that "ON THE HOUSE" (with
a smiley face in the O) was now written in block letters on its front.

"But...but he didn't get paid?"

"Relax, Cuddy, he did. Just not by you. Congratulations, you slept with a
male escort, completely gratis."

"House..." Cuddy didn't know what to say. She sank into the desk chair.

"Look, as far as you're concerned, Cuddy, a cute guy with a nice accent
came up to you in a bar and you had a good time with him." House's voice
softened around the edges for a moment. "You have a reputation to
maintain, Cuddy. Stone foxes and hospital administrators don't hire
escorts."

"Thank you," Cuddy said quietly. The idea of indulging herself had been so
heady, she'd lost sight of how easily she could ruin everything she had
worked to achieve. Soliciting sex would definitely be a fast track to
wrecking things.

"There's one easy way to solve this problem in the future, Cuddy," he
said, back to the familiar sardonic tone. "When you come back, I'll just
have to take you on myself. Off the books, naturally."

"You've got my number," she replied with a smile, and just like back in
their Michigan days, House hung up without saying goodbye.  
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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.