brighter than sunshine
My new fic! It's a one-shot.
Thanks to my lovely beta http://im-writing.livejournal.com/ !
She woke up to the sound of birds singing loudly and sunlight that the undrawn curtains let pass and reach her sensitive gray-green eyes. Besides, her internal clock had developed impeccable timing. The sheets were covering her body and as she started pulling them down. The cold, breezy morning air met her skin and she realized, still a little unconscious, she had no clothes on. As grogginess was being slowly shaken away and consciousness, little by little, took over, she also realized she was in a bed that wasn’t hers, in a bedroom that wasn’t hers. She started remembering everything that had happened the night before in kind of an “and-then-it-hit-me”moment, as if she was hungover.
She got up from the bed and her eyes fell on his black shirt. She put it on to go downstairs since she couldn’t seem to find her own clothes around the room. As she was leaving the bedroom and started entering the upstairs hall, she heard a piano, that started off as a soft and quiet tune - something between a sweet ballad and blues, she wasn’t sure - and got louder and more recognizable as she got closer to the instrument and its player. She remembered the last time she heard that song being played by him.
He heard the sound of someone walking down the stairs: soft bare feet on the noisy wooden steps. Then he turned his head around to see one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen: a messy-haired Lisa Cuddy, wearing nothing but his black shirt - the one that matched her rebel hair; the one she had been almost ripping off of his body the night before; that wrinkled one that screamed “Gregory House” - or made some people scream it. His favorite asset on her body - better yet, in any woman’s body - swayed from side to side, drawing little circles in the air, following its own little orbit. He stared at her for a few seconds. She really was and always had been an unbelievably beautiful creature, a sight to behold.
She stood still for a while, wondering whether she should go to him, hold him, sit next to him. She wasn’t sure if she could cross that line yet, given that 20 years had passed since the last time the two of them had had that kind of encounter. She was afraid of scaring him, afraid of ruining this thing they had been building brick by brick for the last two decades. Their relationship could be so fragile but it was so strong at the same time - some things they did could turn the whole thing upside down, but they never drifted apart from each other. While she was lost in her own thoughts, her gaze was still meeting his. Suddenly he broke eye contact between them and got back to the ivory keys of his beloved partner - the staring had been too intense. She started walking towards him, tucking a loose strand of her dark, curly hair, which cascaded down her shoulders, behind her ear.
Not a word was exchanged in that living room up until the moment she put together the courage to break the ice.
“Hey.” She was right behind him; he could feel her flat belly and her breasts touching his bare back through the shirt.
“Hey,” he replied, not raising his eyes, still playing the same song he had been when she woke up. The gaze they held felt longer than the few moments it lasted.
“So… Georgia on My Mind?” she asked, implying that she remembered which Ray Charles tune he played for her after their first night together.
He didn’t answer, just kept going with the ballad, as he loved playing the piano for her. Unfortunately, he didn’t allow himself to do it that often. She didn’t expect him to, anyway - she knew better. So she just put her hands on his shoulders and started massaging them for a little while, her head slightly resting on top of his. A few minutes later, she threw her arms around his neck and placed her head next to his, their cheekbones making contact, her fingertips brushing his collarbone and his rough-skinned neck. She found it amazing that both of them could say so much with so few words.
They stood there, in the same position, as if that moment had been immortalized in a picture: House breathing in her chamomile shampoo and Cuddy with her eyes closed, almost blocking out the world around her, except for the chilling notes reaching her ears and the warm feeling of his skin on hers.
Thanks to my lovely beta http://im-writing.livejournal.com/ !
She woke up to the sound of birds singing loudly and sunlight that the undrawn curtains let pass and reach her sensitive gray-green eyes. Besides, her internal clock had developed impeccable timing. The sheets were covering her body and as she started pulling them down. The cold, breezy morning air met her skin and she realized, still a little unconscious, she had no clothes on. As grogginess was being slowly shaken away and consciousness, little by little, took over, she also realized she was in a bed that wasn’t hers, in a bedroom that wasn’t hers. She started remembering everything that had happened the night before in kind of an “and-then-it-hit-me”moment, as if she was hungover.
She got up from the bed and her eyes fell on his black shirt. She put it on to go downstairs since she couldn’t seem to find her own clothes around the room. As she was leaving the bedroom and started entering the upstairs hall, she heard a piano, that started off as a soft and quiet tune - something between a sweet ballad and blues, she wasn’t sure - and got louder and more recognizable as she got closer to the instrument and its player. She remembered the last time she heard that song being played by him.
He heard the sound of someone walking down the stairs: soft bare feet on the noisy wooden steps. Then he turned his head around to see one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen: a messy-haired Lisa Cuddy, wearing nothing but his black shirt - the one that matched her rebel hair; the one she had been almost ripping off of his body the night before; that wrinkled one that screamed “Gregory House” - or made some people scream it. His favorite asset on her body - better yet, in any woman’s body - swayed from side to side, drawing little circles in the air, following its own little orbit. He stared at her for a few seconds. She really was and always had been an unbelievably beautiful creature, a sight to behold.
She stood still for a while, wondering whether she should go to him, hold him, sit next to him. She wasn’t sure if she could cross that line yet, given that 20 years had passed since the last time the two of them had had that kind of encounter. She was afraid of scaring him, afraid of ruining this thing they had been building brick by brick for the last two decades. Their relationship could be so fragile but it was so strong at the same time - some things they did could turn the whole thing upside down, but they never drifted apart from each other. While she was lost in her own thoughts, her gaze was still meeting his. Suddenly he broke eye contact between them and got back to the ivory keys of his beloved partner - the staring had been too intense. She started walking towards him, tucking a loose strand of her dark, curly hair, which cascaded down her shoulders, behind her ear.
Not a word was exchanged in that living room up until the moment she put together the courage to break the ice.
“Hey.” She was right behind him; he could feel her flat belly and her breasts touching his bare back through the shirt.
“Hey,” he replied, not raising his eyes, still playing the same song he had been when she woke up. The gaze they held felt longer than the few moments it lasted.
“So… Georgia on My Mind?” she asked, implying that she remembered which Ray Charles tune he played for her after their first night together.
He didn’t answer, just kept going with the ballad, as he loved playing the piano for her. Unfortunately, he didn’t allow himself to do it that often. She didn’t expect him to, anyway - she knew better. So she just put her hands on his shoulders and started massaging them for a little while, her head slightly resting on top of his. A few minutes later, she threw her arms around his neck and placed her head next to his, their cheekbones making contact, her fingertips brushing his collarbone and his rough-skinned neck. She found it amazing that both of them could say so much with so few words.
They stood there, in the same position, as if that moment had been immortalized in a picture: House breathing in her chamomile shampoo and Cuddy with her eyes closed, almost blocking out the world around her, except for the chilling notes reaching her ears and the warm feeling of his skin on hers.