challenge 100 - remix - Stacy/Cuddy/Cameron
Title: Liability
Fandom: House
Pairing: Stacy/Cuddy/Cameron
Words: 5x100
Rating: R
Prompt: Remix of Alloys by girlie_girl_23. Challenge 97 - justice.
Notes: Much love and adoration to girlie_girl_23 for her awesome drabble, one of my all time favourites, ever.
Allison, Stacy thinks, isn't sure what they're doing here at first, but she catches on fast. All it takes is Lisa's hand on her thigh, Lisa's tongue touching under her jaw, the words he'll never touch you like this.
And Allison gets it. Her hands exploring Stacy's chest with growing confidence, slipping under her blouse, prove that. He might look but he'll never, ever touch. Not like this, like Stacy, fingers curling under Allison's knee, or Lisa, lips curving in a smile as she brushes Allison's cheek with her thumb, bringing their mouths together.
Welcome to the club, Stacy thinks.
*
Lisa is playing host, which she's good at, and Allison is trying to look like she doesn't feel completely out of place, which she isn't so good at. Stacy just finds the whole thing absurd, albeit in a good way.
Good, because there are margaritas, and it isn't long before she's tapping her glass and announcing that the first person who says his name has to spring for dinner.
Still, though, absurd. Because a guy like him shouldn't acquire devotees wherever he goes, without even trying, and yet he does. And absurd moreover because it's not like she can talk.
*
It's not the first time or even the second and each time, Stacy thinks, Allison comes a little more into her own.
No hesitancy, she wedges herself between them in bed, shifting back into Lisa's hand, her knee over Stacy's hip. Stacy meets Lisa's eyes. We've created a monster, Lisa is thinking. She meets Lisa's mouth and feels the smirk against her lips.
Stacy drags a fingernail over Allison's clit, finds her collarbone with her teeth. Skinny little girl she thinks, winds her hand in Lisa's hair and pulls all three of them closer together.
Amazing, that it's even possible.
*
She asks herself, sometimes, how this is happening.
One of them is married, one of them is the employer of the other two, and at least one - possibly all three of them are so into a certain fourth party that it almost certainly precludes what's happening right now.
But then she remembers.
"So what's he like?"
Stacy, teeth grazing Allison's shoulder, her skin flushed from too much red wine, pauses. "Ask Lisa. Her information is more up to date than mine."
"You both owe me dinner," Lisa says, fingers in Allison's hair. "And I expect one hell of a dessert."
*
Doctor's hands, the two of them: nails short and neat, fingers which can be gentle and deliberate and practiced on cue.
Stacy tries to think in medical terms, abdomen, labia, perineum, tries to imagine living in a world of diagnosis and treatment, life and death. She sees it in the way they approach sex, it's all chemistry and biology, pupils dilating, muscles contracting, the body's response to stimulation.
It's not what she knows.
She's more comfortable with her grey areas, her legalese and her tendency towards plausible deniability, where someone is always liable, but no one is ever to blame.
Fandom: House
Pairing: Stacy/Cuddy/Cameron
Words: 5x100
Rating: R
Prompt: Remix of Alloys by girlie_girl_23. Challenge 97 - justice.
Notes: Much love and adoration to girlie_girl_23 for her awesome drabble, one of my all time favourites, ever.
Allison, Stacy thinks, isn't sure what they're doing here at first, but she catches on fast. All it takes is Lisa's hand on her thigh, Lisa's tongue touching under her jaw, the words he'll never touch you like this.
And Allison gets it. Her hands exploring Stacy's chest with growing confidence, slipping under her blouse, prove that. He might look but he'll never, ever touch. Not like this, like Stacy, fingers curling under Allison's knee, or Lisa, lips curving in a smile as she brushes Allison's cheek with her thumb, bringing their mouths together.
Welcome to the club, Stacy thinks.
*
Lisa is playing host, which she's good at, and Allison is trying to look like she doesn't feel completely out of place, which she isn't so good at. Stacy just finds the whole thing absurd, albeit in a good way.
Good, because there are margaritas, and it isn't long before she's tapping her glass and announcing that the first person who says his name has to spring for dinner.
Still, though, absurd. Because a guy like him shouldn't acquire devotees wherever he goes, without even trying, and yet he does. And absurd moreover because it's not like she can talk.
*
It's not the first time or even the second and each time, Stacy thinks, Allison comes a little more into her own.
No hesitancy, she wedges herself between them in bed, shifting back into Lisa's hand, her knee over Stacy's hip. Stacy meets Lisa's eyes. We've created a monster, Lisa is thinking. She meets Lisa's mouth and feels the smirk against her lips.
Stacy drags a fingernail over Allison's clit, finds her collarbone with her teeth. Skinny little girl she thinks, winds her hand in Lisa's hair and pulls all three of them closer together.
Amazing, that it's even possible.
*
She asks herself, sometimes, how this is happening.
One of them is married, one of them is the employer of the other two, and at least one - possibly all three of them are so into a certain fourth party that it almost certainly precludes what's happening right now.
But then she remembers.
"So what's he like?"
Stacy, teeth grazing Allison's shoulder, her skin flushed from too much red wine, pauses. "Ask Lisa. Her information is more up to date than mine."
"You both owe me dinner," Lisa says, fingers in Allison's hair. "And I expect one hell of a dessert."
*
Doctor's hands, the two of them: nails short and neat, fingers which can be gentle and deliberate and practiced on cue.
Stacy tries to think in medical terms, abdomen, labia, perineum, tries to imagine living in a world of diagnosis and treatment, life and death. She sees it in the way they approach sex, it's all chemistry and biology, pupils dilating, muscles contracting, the body's response to stimulation.
It's not what she knows.
She's more comfortable with her grey areas, her legalese and her tendency towards plausible deniability, where someone is always liable, but no one is ever to blame.