Fic: Bound and Determined
Title: Bound and Determined
Pairing: House/Cuddy (Canon can suck it)
Warnings: Smut and swearing
Summary: Cuddy finds herself in a precarious situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own House and Cuddy. I also don't own a pair of handcuffs.
Special Thanks: This was written for the incredibly charitable london_fan, who made a generous donation in my Japan tsunami relief auction. She has very kindly decided to waive the sixty-day privilege of keeping it to herself, and instead is letting everyone enjoy the charitably smutty goodness. Enjoy!
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Of the many precarious situations Lisa Cuddy had found herself in over the years, this was undoubtedly the worst. Not because of the nature of it - not that she was keen on the position she was in, literally and figuratively - but because she really, really should have seen it coming.
She had come up with a list in her mind of the ways this could possibly go wrong, and somehow, this had never crossed her mind. At least, not seriously. Because, once again, she had underestimated the level of crazy with which she was contending.
Which was how she had ended up handcuffed to House’s headboard, in her underwear, and trying to retrieve her cell phone from her nightstand using her feet.
Which, to add insult to injury, required a degree of contortion that in the present situation was beyond wrong. She prayed silently that House wouldn’t walk in at the precise moment that she had her knee parallel to her ear, and then changed her mind. She didn’t really care when he came in, so long as he uncuffed her.
Her foot nudged the phone, and she squirmed, trying to rotate her ankle enough to allow her to hook the charging cord between her toes.
“Fuck,” she growled. Her only hope slid cleanly off the corner of the stand and onto the floor with an almost spiteful thump. She was too far toward the center of the bed to reach it.
He’d probably worked it out that way, knowing his penchant for being meticulous.
Her shoulders were starting to ache. She arched her back, trying to stretch, but the angle at which her arms were spread wasn’t conducive to comfort. A part of her tried to cling to the belief that he’d be back soon, because she couldn’t imagine he’d subject her to physical pain. But then, she couldn’t imagine a lot of things that House did, never mind his motives for doing them.
She checked the clock. She’d been here almost an hour alone, and a solid twenty minutes before that while he entertained the naïve illusion that this was all about sex. The only thing that didn’t come as a surprise was the way he’d left her - on the brink of orgasm. Naturally. That, out of everything, made perfect sense, because House was nothing if not the sort of person who would leave a woman frustrated out of her mind with no means of self-satisfaction.
The power of it all was probably making him harder than she ever could.
She shifted, wincing as the cuffs dug into her wrists. This was absolute madness, even for him - and where the hell was he? An array of scenarios ran through her mind - bowling with Wilson, drinking at one of his dingy haunts, jerking himself off in his car - or worse, hers. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if he were at the clinic, seeing patients, just to spite her. This twisted little romp of his was just that perverse.
The sound of rustling had her senses at attention. She could identify the sound of a key in the door, but that wasn’t to say it was House, come to free her of her bonds and finally fuck her. It could easily have been Wilson, sent over unawares, to add to her humiliation. Or his team, even. She wouldn’t be surprised to see the lot of them traipse in to witness the debauchery committed by their bosses. Cuddy could only imagine the sort of satisfaction that would give the bastard, his underlings seeing her in lace and La Senza, shackled to his bed, wet and wanting and royally pissed.
“Miss me?” His voice was almost a relief. Almost. She was still too infuriated to allow it to actually soothe her.
“Fuck you,” she seethed. “Un-fucking-cuff me right now, or I will castrate you.” She was surprised foam wasn’t pouring from her lips at the sight of him leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Now, now.” He ventured deeper into the room, pausing at the foot of the bed with an obscenely placid smile twitching on his lips. “Hardly the way to speak to someone who holds the key to your release.”
“I swear to God, House. It’s not funny, it’s not sexy, just undo me or you’ll have blue balls for a year.” She squirmed, resenting the way he watched her.
“All in good time. But first…I believe we have business to attend to.”
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t kick him squarely in the jaw when his head came into range, but all told, she decided it was a good idea that she resisted the urge. For all of the discomfort and distress his stunt had caused her, and despite the numerous pictures he took before he unbuckled his pants, she had to admit that there was something redeeming in the way he took her, then. Almost apologetic.
And she really, really wanted to come. Which, in her present circumstances, relied on his willingness to make her.
She sighed in a mixture of relief and self-loathing as he began to bring her back to the precipice, his mouth finally put to good use after so many years of it causing her nothing but headaches. She hated that she had to once again put blind faith in him, especially after he’d abused it so maliciously, but hell - had she mentioned she needed to come?
It would always be like this. She supposed the situation was just a metaphor - him jerking her around, tormenting her, leaving her hanging, only to disappear and return an hour later pleased with himself and prime to lead her on once more, with no guarantees of payoff. It was a ridiculous, revolting game he played - they played - but she couldn’t really bring herself to stop it, because the bottom line was always the same: she loved him. She loved his games.
And she really loved when he made her come.
Pairing: House/Cuddy (Canon can suck it)
Warnings: Smut and swearing
Summary: Cuddy finds herself in a precarious situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own House and Cuddy. I also don't own a pair of handcuffs.
Special Thanks: This was written for the incredibly charitable london_fan, who made a generous donation in my Japan tsunami relief auction. She has very kindly decided to waive the sixty-day privilege of keeping it to herself, and instead is letting everyone enjoy the charitably smutty goodness. Enjoy!
---------------
Of the many precarious situations Lisa Cuddy had found herself in over the years, this was undoubtedly the worst. Not because of the nature of it - not that she was keen on the position she was in, literally and figuratively - but because she really, really should have seen it coming.
She had come up with a list in her mind of the ways this could possibly go wrong, and somehow, this had never crossed her mind. At least, not seriously. Because, once again, she had underestimated the level of crazy with which she was contending.
Which was how she had ended up handcuffed to House’s headboard, in her underwear, and trying to retrieve her cell phone from her nightstand using her feet.
Which, to add insult to injury, required a degree of contortion that in the present situation was beyond wrong. She prayed silently that House wouldn’t walk in at the precise moment that she had her knee parallel to her ear, and then changed her mind. She didn’t really care when he came in, so long as he uncuffed her.
Her foot nudged the phone, and she squirmed, trying to rotate her ankle enough to allow her to hook the charging cord between her toes.
“Fuck,” she growled. Her only hope slid cleanly off the corner of the stand and onto the floor with an almost spiteful thump. She was too far toward the center of the bed to reach it.
He’d probably worked it out that way, knowing his penchant for being meticulous.
Her shoulders were starting to ache. She arched her back, trying to stretch, but the angle at which her arms were spread wasn’t conducive to comfort. A part of her tried to cling to the belief that he’d be back soon, because she couldn’t imagine he’d subject her to physical pain. But then, she couldn’t imagine a lot of things that House did, never mind his motives for doing them.
She checked the clock. She’d been here almost an hour alone, and a solid twenty minutes before that while he entertained the naïve illusion that this was all about sex. The only thing that didn’t come as a surprise was the way he’d left her - on the brink of orgasm. Naturally. That, out of everything, made perfect sense, because House was nothing if not the sort of person who would leave a woman frustrated out of her mind with no means of self-satisfaction.
The power of it all was probably making him harder than she ever could.
She shifted, wincing as the cuffs dug into her wrists. This was absolute madness, even for him - and where the hell was he? An array of scenarios ran through her mind - bowling with Wilson, drinking at one of his dingy haunts, jerking himself off in his car - or worse, hers. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if he were at the clinic, seeing patients, just to spite her. This twisted little romp of his was just that perverse.
The sound of rustling had her senses at attention. She could identify the sound of a key in the door, but that wasn’t to say it was House, come to free her of her bonds and finally fuck her. It could easily have been Wilson, sent over unawares, to add to her humiliation. Or his team, even. She wouldn’t be surprised to see the lot of them traipse in to witness the debauchery committed by their bosses. Cuddy could only imagine the sort of satisfaction that would give the bastard, his underlings seeing her in lace and La Senza, shackled to his bed, wet and wanting and royally pissed.
“Miss me?” His voice was almost a relief. Almost. She was still too infuriated to allow it to actually soothe her.
“Fuck you,” she seethed. “Un-fucking-cuff me right now, or I will castrate you.” She was surprised foam wasn’t pouring from her lips at the sight of him leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Now, now.” He ventured deeper into the room, pausing at the foot of the bed with an obscenely placid smile twitching on his lips. “Hardly the way to speak to someone who holds the key to your release.”
“I swear to God, House. It’s not funny, it’s not sexy, just undo me or you’ll have blue balls for a year.” She squirmed, resenting the way he watched her.
“All in good time. But first…I believe we have business to attend to.”
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t kick him squarely in the jaw when his head came into range, but all told, she decided it was a good idea that she resisted the urge. For all of the discomfort and distress his stunt had caused her, and despite the numerous pictures he took before he unbuckled his pants, she had to admit that there was something redeeming in the way he took her, then. Almost apologetic.
And she really, really wanted to come. Which, in her present circumstances, relied on his willingness to make her.
She sighed in a mixture of relief and self-loathing as he began to bring her back to the precipice, his mouth finally put to good use after so many years of it causing her nothing but headaches. She hated that she had to once again put blind faith in him, especially after he’d abused it so maliciously, but hell - had she mentioned she needed to come?
It would always be like this. She supposed the situation was just a metaphor - him jerking her around, tormenting her, leaving her hanging, only to disappear and return an hour later pleased with himself and prime to lead her on once more, with no guarantees of payoff. It was a ridiculous, revolting game he played - they played - but she couldn’t really bring herself to stop it, because the bottom line was always the same: she loved him. She loved his games.
And she really loved when he made her come.