August Spring cleaning
Cleaning of the harddrive, that is. I'm getting a new computer soonish (and it's about damn time) and I don't want to mess with transferring every damn file. So, I'm cleaning out the fic equivalent of dust bunnies.
Both of these are takes on the 'five things' fic. I wrote them hoping that a short break from longer fics would jump start the longer ones. Hasn't worked yet, but you never know.
The first is SPN (WTF? I know) and set in AHBL 2, specifically as Dean and the newly undead Sam are driving to Bobby's place and Dean contemplates his future. The second is just Cuddy being Cuddy. Read at your own risk--the only warning I'm giving is for run on sentences. They're not grammatically incorrect; it's style, dammnit ;-)
Four people Dean wants to meet in hell, and one he doesn't
1) Dean needs to meet Jake in hell, and that need is immediate, fierce and burning. It's because of Jake that Sam died and Dean sold his soul. Oh, sure, he understands that Jake hadn't asked to be touched by a demon any more than Sam had. He was just a guy trying to make a life and Dean sympathized, right up to the point where Jake stuck a knife in Sam's back and at that point Jake hit number one on Dean's personal hit list. Because as tough as it was, as frightening and potentially fatal as it was, Jake had had a choice. Sam had managed to make the right choice. Jake could have--should have-- made the right choice too but he didn't and Dean intends to teach Jake that fucking with a Winchester is frequently far more dangerous than fucking with a demon.
2) Dean may have to wait a while for Gordon, but he plans to use the time learning, planning, and when Gordon does show up in hell, which Dean figures is inevitable, he'll be ready. Gordon had taken it on himself to decide that Sam was a danger, that he needed to be eliminated. Had taken it on himself like Dean wasn't already aware, wasn't capable of handling any Sam-related issue. He would've succeeded too if it weren't for Sam's little psychic friends network. So yeah, Sam's a freak and maybe even a little dangerous but he's a Winchester and no one fucks with a Winchester but another Winchester.
3) Dean figures he might have to go looking--hunting, you might say--for the devout Mrs. LaGrange. She'd struck him as the cowardly type, striking out at people she didn't approve of but never face to face. Well, she was going to have to face Dean 'cause he's in the mood for a little vengeance himself. Sure, she's not the only person to hate and kill in the name of God, but she's the one who crossed Dean so she's the one he's going to settle up with. Because of her someone died to save his life. Two someones, actually: the poor schmuck who died in Dean's place, and Laila, who died because the LaGrange bitch picked Dean to save and then Dean couldn't let it go and he had to stop the Reverend before he could heal Laila and Dean still feels like six kinds of shit for that. He hates that kind of philosophical torment, because Dean likes everything in black and white, and now it is black and white and he's planning to go a little biblical on her ass.
4) On an objective scale Dean doesn't know if Henrickson deserves hell. After all, if there is a God (as opposed to god or even gods) then the big guy has never appeared to be real partial to the Winchesters and He just might think Henrickson was doing a good thing by hunting Dean down. Dean doesn't know which way it'll go, but he's got an eternity and if there's any justice in the universe, he'll get the chance to see Henrickson again and set him straight on a few matters. Like the fact that sometimes the good guys operate on the other side of the law and sometimes the upstanding citizen standing next to you in the supermarket checkout line is really your worst nightmare in disguise. Sure, it'll be a tough sell given that Dean will be making his argument from the depths of hell but he figures if Henrickson does end up there with him, he's not exactly going to be coming from a moral high ground.
5) It's a little weird that the one person Dean isn't looking forward to seeing in hell is his father. The man who has claim to everything that's left of Dean, everything that Sam hasn't already claimed. And under other circumstances Dean might take a certain dark satisfaction in teaming up with John, maybe showing those demons a thing or two about what the Winchesters are really made of. The trouble is, his dad's going to know. He'll know that Dean made a deal with a demon which is something a Winchester never ever does even if John did it first. And worse, he's going to know that Dean had to make the deal because he failed, he let Sam get killed and he's sure there's going to be some serious ass kicking coming his way over that mistake. Dean doesn't want to meet John in hell because for Dean, his father's unending disappointment is pretty much the definition of eternal damnation.
~~**~~
Five times Cuddy got caught in the middle
House-Stacy:
Cuddy set her eyes on automatic spin as Stacy tried for the nth time in this conversation to convince both of them that going back to House was a good idea.
"I get the impression you don't want Greg and I to get back together," Stacy said, making that scrunchy face she made when someone threatened to thwart her plans.
"You married Mark, presumably because you love him. You really want to mess that up for another chance with House?" Cuddy asked. Stacy bristled momentarily, then sagged in a sort of resigned acceptance.
"I do love Mark. It's just...Greg and I have always had something special." Stacy's hands were in her lap, but she was twisting her fingers together, a sure sign that she wasn't sure. "It's almost like a chemical reaction."
It's called spontaneous combustion, Cuddy thought to herself. The problem was House and Stacy wouldn't be the only ones getting burned. "I can't tell you the right thing to do, but I think you already know. Otherwise you wouldn't be here trying to convince me to convince you."
"There is no single right thing," Stacy argued. "There's the right thing for me, the right thing for Mark and the right thing for Greg. All those right things might be different things."
"Spoken like a true lawyer," Cuddy muttered. She pushed away from her desk and walked around until she could lean back against the front of it, resting her ass on the edge. "Don't do this to me, Stacy. Don't make me choose, because I'll choose House. I'll protect him, even from you."
Stacy gave her an intense, almost knowing look and Cuddy shook her head. She had her reasons, some of which Stacy would understand, some she wouldn't. "You have Mark, and Short Hills, and everything. House only has this job. When it all goes to hell--and you know it will--you'll move on. He won't."
"You make him sound almost delicate," Stacy said, incredulous.
"You haven't been around him the last five years." Cuddy reached behind her for the reports she needed. As she straightened up, she looked back at Stacy. "You gotta do what you gotta do. And I'll do what I have to do."
Foreman-Cameron, with a side of House:
"He stole my paper."
"Foreman stole your idea, he didn't steal your paper." Cuddy sighed as Cameron's footsteps stuttered along behind her. At Cameron's age she shouldn't still need to be taught about realities of cut-throat academic competition. At her age she shouldn't need to be taught the realities of life but apparently Cameron's secret super power was denial.
"And House didn't do anything to stop it."
"Oh, there's a surprise." Cuddy stopped and turned on a startled Cameron. "Life isn't about fair. It's about working hard and being smart. You weren't smart."
"I'm just as smart as Foreman," Cameron said indignantly.
"Then why are you still waiting for House to read your article while Foreman's is already published?"
"He cheated," Cameron protested. "That's not smart. That's...unethical."
"Oh for god's sake." Cuddy pressed her fingers to her temples. "I'll give you unethical. But it wasn't cheating and it was smart. Foreman wanted to be published and he knows what House is like so he did exactly what he had to do to get published. You were more interested in impressing House then being published and not surprisingly, you're still waiting."
"I should've known. Women who make it are always harder on the women under them."
"You think I didn't have to bust my butt to get to where I am?" Cuddy slowly crossed her arms over her chest and favored Cameron with a long, hard stare. It was bad enough having to deal with men and the boy's club mentality. It was worse when a woman decided that her success meant she'd joined the boy's club. "Do you think I would've gotten anywhere if I'd whined every time something didn't go my way?"
"No, I'm sure you had to...."
"If you've got a problem with Foreman then you need to deal with Foreman. Don't expect House to do it. He's not your daddy. He's not going to kiss it better." He might try to kiss it, but his motives would be purely selfish. And if House was daddy then did that make her mommy? Some days she certainly felt like it but...ew. She certainly had no desire to get caught in the middle of a domestic dispute between House's kids. "Most important, leave me out of it."
"But you're our boss. You're House's boss."
"Boss, not babysitter." She made a shooing motion. "Go claim your part of the sandbox. Or don't. Either way I don't want to hear about it."
House-Wilson:
"You made a deal with Tritter. What did you think was going to happen?" Cuddy slapped charts down on her desk, mainly because she wanted to slap Wilson. Or House. Probably both. Tritter, too, but the last thing this hospital needed was for her to get thrown in jail for assaulting a police officer. The hospital could only afford one felon and House was it.
"I thought House would take it." Wilson's hands were thrown out to his sides in exasperation. "He has to stop running away from the problem."
"House has been running away from problems since he was old enough to create problems."
"And I thought Tritter would honor the deal," Wilson said, a trifle sullen.
"Yeah, right," she muttered. "Two strikes. Wanna go for three?"
"And I thought you'd back me up on this."
Cuddy wanted nothing more than to call "you're out!" in the tradition of all great umpires, but the hangdog look on Wilson's face stopped her. It amazed her sometimes that Wilson could know House so well and yet not at all. Still, she supposed Wilson's blind faith was the glue that held their friendship together, and sometimes it was what held House together. "In theory, I agree with you. But in reality.... I am not Switzerland."
"If Tritter's Germany, what does that make House?" Wilson asked, brows drawn together.
"An ass," Cuddy said bluntly. She braced her hands against the desk as she leaned forward. "The ass I have to cover because he won't. And yes, if it comes down to a choice between covering your ass or his, I'll choose his."
Wilson simply nodded and that resigned acceptance made her feel guilty. She should've supported Wilson when his car was impounded and his DEA license was suspended and she would have...except that House needed the support more than Wilson and besides, it was a choice she'd made years ago. She couldn't change her mind now.
House-House:
"Let me see." Cuddy marched into the exam room and locked the door behind her. House looked up from his tabloid with a speculative frown but she didn't give him time to launch some leering jibe. "The arm: let me see it."
"Cameron's got a big mouth," he muttered as he turned back to his gossip rag. "It's fine. Cameron kissed the boo-boos and everything."
"Now, House." She didn't wait for his cooperation, because that could be a long time coming. She simply grabbed his arm and pushed his sleeve up to reveal the cuts along his forearm, some clearly fresher than others. He didn't resist, possibly taken aback by her refusal to be denied. Or possibly because he was hoping she'd remove the rest of his clothing.
"Do it again and I'll have you committed."
"Oh, for god's sake, Cuddy. I'm not suicidal," House said irritably as he pulled his arm away and yanked his sleeve down. "I'm not some emo teen listening to Evanescence and moaning about how love is pain."
"We'll discuss your relationship with Wilson another time." Cuddy stared at him, as deadly serious as she'd ever been. House looked surprised, then amused and damn it she wasn't kidding. "I will have you put on a locked ward. In a straightjacket if necessary."
"That would be an abuse of your power."
"Don't care."
"You could lose your job. You could lose your license."
"Don't care," she repeated.
"You should," he insisted. "Hell, even I care."
"Then stop making me referee between you and your screwed up psyche," she snapped. "Stop willfully defying fate in the hope that someone will catch you when you get knocked on your ass."
"I don't 'hope' that anyone will be there."
"Then get a damn clue, House, because someone will. Me, Wilson, we'll be there to catch you." Except she feared that one of these days House would jump from such a height that neither she nor Wilson would be able to prevent him from crashing on the rocks below. She shook her head and gave one last warning. "Straightjacket."
"Sure," House said, flipping his magazine open again. "Your padded cell or mine?"
House/Wilson, with a twist:
"Oh...god." Cuddy was reclined between House's spread legs, his teeth clamped onto the junction between her neck and shoulder. Wilson was between her spread legs, stroking deep inside her and when he finished House urged her to straddle him, her back still against his chest. Things got a little blurry then because there seemed to be way too many hands for three people.
She wasn't entirely aware when House finished because by that point she was clinging to Wilson, a limp, trembling mass of raw nerve endings. "Off," House muttered, but his arm was around her waist and he and Wilson were kissing over her shoulder and she liked the sweat slick feel of Wilson's chest against hers and the rougher friction of House's chest hair against her back.
"Seriously, get off." This time House pushed both of them away and tried to hide a grimace. Cuddy kneeled up and started to climb over Wilson to the far side of the bed but House's arm was still around her waist and he pulled her down firmly between them.
"Uh uh," she protested, raking damp strands of hair away from her face. She'd just gotten maneuvered into the wet spot, and with the three of them it was a really big, really wet spot. "Don't put me in the middle."
Wilson and House exchanged speculative glances over her flushed body. "Well," House said slowly. "I suppose we could make a Wilson sandwich next time."
Wilson didn't look at all unhappy about that proposition and Cuddy slapped both of them on the chest. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"So...you actually prefer being the middle?" Wilson asked, one hand tracing the curve of her hip as he tried to keep from smiling. Cuddy leaned forward and kissed the smile from his face, tracing its shape with her tongue then sucking at his lower lip.
"Of course she does." House's mouth was pressed against her shoulder, the vibrations of his voice raising goose bumps on her skin. "Cuddy was born to be the middleman."
"Middle woman, if you don't mind." Okay, so the middle was tad damp at the moment but it wasn't like all three of them weren't a mess already. Wilson looked like he'd been drained of all higher brain function and House was so mellow he was practically purring against her neck. She didn't want to know what she looked like but by god she wanted to look like it again, and soon.
"And since you're on the side, you get to do clean-up," she told House, flicking a condom wrapper onto his chest.
"You're not the boss of me," House retorted.
Cuddy stretched luxuriously, her hands over her head and pressing against the headboard, her toes pointed toward the footboard, and a defiant smile on her face. "I so am."
Both of these are takes on the 'five things' fic. I wrote them hoping that a short break from longer fics would jump start the longer ones. Hasn't worked yet, but you never know.
The first is SPN (WTF? I know) and set in AHBL 2, specifically as Dean and the newly undead Sam are driving to Bobby's place and Dean contemplates his future. The second is just Cuddy being Cuddy. Read at your own risk--the only warning I'm giving is for run on sentences. They're not grammatically incorrect; it's style, dammnit ;-)
Four people Dean wants to meet in hell, and one he doesn't
1) Dean needs to meet Jake in hell, and that need is immediate, fierce and burning. It's because of Jake that Sam died and Dean sold his soul. Oh, sure, he understands that Jake hadn't asked to be touched by a demon any more than Sam had. He was just a guy trying to make a life and Dean sympathized, right up to the point where Jake stuck a knife in Sam's back and at that point Jake hit number one on Dean's personal hit list. Because as tough as it was, as frightening and potentially fatal as it was, Jake had had a choice. Sam had managed to make the right choice. Jake could have--should have-- made the right choice too but he didn't and Dean intends to teach Jake that fucking with a Winchester is frequently far more dangerous than fucking with a demon.
2) Dean may have to wait a while for Gordon, but he plans to use the time learning, planning, and when Gordon does show up in hell, which Dean figures is inevitable, he'll be ready. Gordon had taken it on himself to decide that Sam was a danger, that he needed to be eliminated. Had taken it on himself like Dean wasn't already aware, wasn't capable of handling any Sam-related issue. He would've succeeded too if it weren't for Sam's little psychic friends network. So yeah, Sam's a freak and maybe even a little dangerous but he's a Winchester and no one fucks with a Winchester but another Winchester.
3) Dean figures he might have to go looking--hunting, you might say--for the devout Mrs. LaGrange. She'd struck him as the cowardly type, striking out at people she didn't approve of but never face to face. Well, she was going to have to face Dean 'cause he's in the mood for a little vengeance himself. Sure, she's not the only person to hate and kill in the name of God, but she's the one who crossed Dean so she's the one he's going to settle up with. Because of her someone died to save his life. Two someones, actually: the poor schmuck who died in Dean's place, and Laila, who died because the LaGrange bitch picked Dean to save and then Dean couldn't let it go and he had to stop the Reverend before he could heal Laila and Dean still feels like six kinds of shit for that. He hates that kind of philosophical torment, because Dean likes everything in black and white, and now it is black and white and he's planning to go a little biblical on her ass.
4) On an objective scale Dean doesn't know if Henrickson deserves hell. After all, if there is a God (as opposed to god or even gods) then the big guy has never appeared to be real partial to the Winchesters and He just might think Henrickson was doing a good thing by hunting Dean down. Dean doesn't know which way it'll go, but he's got an eternity and if there's any justice in the universe, he'll get the chance to see Henrickson again and set him straight on a few matters. Like the fact that sometimes the good guys operate on the other side of the law and sometimes the upstanding citizen standing next to you in the supermarket checkout line is really your worst nightmare in disguise. Sure, it'll be a tough sell given that Dean will be making his argument from the depths of hell but he figures if Henrickson does end up there with him, he's not exactly going to be coming from a moral high ground.
5) It's a little weird that the one person Dean isn't looking forward to seeing in hell is his father. The man who has claim to everything that's left of Dean, everything that Sam hasn't already claimed. And under other circumstances Dean might take a certain dark satisfaction in teaming up with John, maybe showing those demons a thing or two about what the Winchesters are really made of. The trouble is, his dad's going to know. He'll know that Dean made a deal with a demon which is something a Winchester never ever does even if John did it first. And worse, he's going to know that Dean had to make the deal because he failed, he let Sam get killed and he's sure there's going to be some serious ass kicking coming his way over that mistake. Dean doesn't want to meet John in hell because for Dean, his father's unending disappointment is pretty much the definition of eternal damnation.
~~**~~
Five times Cuddy got caught in the middle
House-Stacy:
Cuddy set her eyes on automatic spin as Stacy tried for the nth time in this conversation to convince both of them that going back to House was a good idea.
"I get the impression you don't want Greg and I to get back together," Stacy said, making that scrunchy face she made when someone threatened to thwart her plans.
"You married Mark, presumably because you love him. You really want to mess that up for another chance with House?" Cuddy asked. Stacy bristled momentarily, then sagged in a sort of resigned acceptance.
"I do love Mark. It's just...Greg and I have always had something special." Stacy's hands were in her lap, but she was twisting her fingers together, a sure sign that she wasn't sure. "It's almost like a chemical reaction."
It's called spontaneous combustion, Cuddy thought to herself. The problem was House and Stacy wouldn't be the only ones getting burned. "I can't tell you the right thing to do, but I think you already know. Otherwise you wouldn't be here trying to convince me to convince you."
"There is no single right thing," Stacy argued. "There's the right thing for me, the right thing for Mark and the right thing for Greg. All those right things might be different things."
"Spoken like a true lawyer," Cuddy muttered. She pushed away from her desk and walked around until she could lean back against the front of it, resting her ass on the edge. "Don't do this to me, Stacy. Don't make me choose, because I'll choose House. I'll protect him, even from you."
Stacy gave her an intense, almost knowing look and Cuddy shook her head. She had her reasons, some of which Stacy would understand, some she wouldn't. "You have Mark, and Short Hills, and everything. House only has this job. When it all goes to hell--and you know it will--you'll move on. He won't."
"You make him sound almost delicate," Stacy said, incredulous.
"You haven't been around him the last five years." Cuddy reached behind her for the reports she needed. As she straightened up, she looked back at Stacy. "You gotta do what you gotta do. And I'll do what I have to do."
Foreman-Cameron, with a side of House:
"He stole my paper."
"Foreman stole your idea, he didn't steal your paper." Cuddy sighed as Cameron's footsteps stuttered along behind her. At Cameron's age she shouldn't still need to be taught about realities of cut-throat academic competition. At her age she shouldn't need to be taught the realities of life but apparently Cameron's secret super power was denial.
"And House didn't do anything to stop it."
"Oh, there's a surprise." Cuddy stopped and turned on a startled Cameron. "Life isn't about fair. It's about working hard and being smart. You weren't smart."
"I'm just as smart as Foreman," Cameron said indignantly.
"Then why are you still waiting for House to read your article while Foreman's is already published?"
"He cheated," Cameron protested. "That's not smart. That's...unethical."
"Oh for god's sake." Cuddy pressed her fingers to her temples. "I'll give you unethical. But it wasn't cheating and it was smart. Foreman wanted to be published and he knows what House is like so he did exactly what he had to do to get published. You were more interested in impressing House then being published and not surprisingly, you're still waiting."
"I should've known. Women who make it are always harder on the women under them."
"You think I didn't have to bust my butt to get to where I am?" Cuddy slowly crossed her arms over her chest and favored Cameron with a long, hard stare. It was bad enough having to deal with men and the boy's club mentality. It was worse when a woman decided that her success meant she'd joined the boy's club. "Do you think I would've gotten anywhere if I'd whined every time something didn't go my way?"
"No, I'm sure you had to...."
"If you've got a problem with Foreman then you need to deal with Foreman. Don't expect House to do it. He's not your daddy. He's not going to kiss it better." He might try to kiss it, but his motives would be purely selfish. And if House was daddy then did that make her mommy? Some days she certainly felt like it but...ew. She certainly had no desire to get caught in the middle of a domestic dispute between House's kids. "Most important, leave me out of it."
"But you're our boss. You're House's boss."
"Boss, not babysitter." She made a shooing motion. "Go claim your part of the sandbox. Or don't. Either way I don't want to hear about it."
House-Wilson:
"You made a deal with Tritter. What did you think was going to happen?" Cuddy slapped charts down on her desk, mainly because she wanted to slap Wilson. Or House. Probably both. Tritter, too, but the last thing this hospital needed was for her to get thrown in jail for assaulting a police officer. The hospital could only afford one felon and House was it.
"I thought House would take it." Wilson's hands were thrown out to his sides in exasperation. "He has to stop running away from the problem."
"House has been running away from problems since he was old enough to create problems."
"And I thought Tritter would honor the deal," Wilson said, a trifle sullen.
"Yeah, right," she muttered. "Two strikes. Wanna go for three?"
"And I thought you'd back me up on this."
Cuddy wanted nothing more than to call "you're out!" in the tradition of all great umpires, but the hangdog look on Wilson's face stopped her. It amazed her sometimes that Wilson could know House so well and yet not at all. Still, she supposed Wilson's blind faith was the glue that held their friendship together, and sometimes it was what held House together. "In theory, I agree with you. But in reality.... I am not Switzerland."
"If Tritter's Germany, what does that make House?" Wilson asked, brows drawn together.
"An ass," Cuddy said bluntly. She braced her hands against the desk as she leaned forward. "The ass I have to cover because he won't. And yes, if it comes down to a choice between covering your ass or his, I'll choose his."
Wilson simply nodded and that resigned acceptance made her feel guilty. She should've supported Wilson when his car was impounded and his DEA license was suspended and she would have...except that House needed the support more than Wilson and besides, it was a choice she'd made years ago. She couldn't change her mind now.
House-House:
"Let me see." Cuddy marched into the exam room and locked the door behind her. House looked up from his tabloid with a speculative frown but she didn't give him time to launch some leering jibe. "The arm: let me see it."
"Cameron's got a big mouth," he muttered as he turned back to his gossip rag. "It's fine. Cameron kissed the boo-boos and everything."
"Now, House." She didn't wait for his cooperation, because that could be a long time coming. She simply grabbed his arm and pushed his sleeve up to reveal the cuts along his forearm, some clearly fresher than others. He didn't resist, possibly taken aback by her refusal to be denied. Or possibly because he was hoping she'd remove the rest of his clothing.
"Do it again and I'll have you committed."
"Oh, for god's sake, Cuddy. I'm not suicidal," House said irritably as he pulled his arm away and yanked his sleeve down. "I'm not some emo teen listening to Evanescence and moaning about how love is pain."
"We'll discuss your relationship with Wilson another time." Cuddy stared at him, as deadly serious as she'd ever been. House looked surprised, then amused and damn it she wasn't kidding. "I will have you put on a locked ward. In a straightjacket if necessary."
"That would be an abuse of your power."
"Don't care."
"You could lose your job. You could lose your license."
"Don't care," she repeated.
"You should," he insisted. "Hell, even I care."
"Then stop making me referee between you and your screwed up psyche," she snapped. "Stop willfully defying fate in the hope that someone will catch you when you get knocked on your ass."
"I don't 'hope' that anyone will be there."
"Then get a damn clue, House, because someone will. Me, Wilson, we'll be there to catch you." Except she feared that one of these days House would jump from such a height that neither she nor Wilson would be able to prevent him from crashing on the rocks below. She shook her head and gave one last warning. "Straightjacket."
"Sure," House said, flipping his magazine open again. "Your padded cell or mine?"
House/Wilson, with a twist:
"Oh...god." Cuddy was reclined between House's spread legs, his teeth clamped onto the junction between her neck and shoulder. Wilson was between her spread legs, stroking deep inside her and when he finished House urged her to straddle him, her back still against his chest. Things got a little blurry then because there seemed to be way too many hands for three people.
She wasn't entirely aware when House finished because by that point she was clinging to Wilson, a limp, trembling mass of raw nerve endings. "Off," House muttered, but his arm was around her waist and he and Wilson were kissing over her shoulder and she liked the sweat slick feel of Wilson's chest against hers and the rougher friction of House's chest hair against her back.
"Seriously, get off." This time House pushed both of them away and tried to hide a grimace. Cuddy kneeled up and started to climb over Wilson to the far side of the bed but House's arm was still around her waist and he pulled her down firmly between them.
"Uh uh," she protested, raking damp strands of hair away from her face. She'd just gotten maneuvered into the wet spot, and with the three of them it was a really big, really wet spot. "Don't put me in the middle."
Wilson and House exchanged speculative glances over her flushed body. "Well," House said slowly. "I suppose we could make a Wilson sandwich next time."
Wilson didn't look at all unhappy about that proposition and Cuddy slapped both of them on the chest. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"So...you actually prefer being the middle?" Wilson asked, one hand tracing the curve of her hip as he tried to keep from smiling. Cuddy leaned forward and kissed the smile from his face, tracing its shape with her tongue then sucking at his lower lip.
"Of course she does." House's mouth was pressed against her shoulder, the vibrations of his voice raising goose bumps on her skin. "Cuddy was born to be the middleman."
"Middle woman, if you don't mind." Okay, so the middle was tad damp at the moment but it wasn't like all three of them weren't a mess already. Wilson looked like he'd been drained of all higher brain function and House was so mellow he was practically purring against her neck. She didn't want to know what she looked like but by god she wanted to look like it again, and soon.
"And since you're on the side, you get to do clean-up," she told House, flicking a condom wrapper onto his chest.
"You're not the boss of me," House retorted.
Cuddy stretched luxuriously, her hands over her head and pressing against the headboard, her toes pointed toward the footboard, and a defiant smile on her face. "I so am."