In the Hues of a Life (5/10)
In the Hues of a Life
(5/10)
M
Synopsis: An exploration of Cuddy’s side of House’s recovery and hallucinations.
A/N: This chapter definitely begins to earn the M rating. If you’re just reading for plot (heh), come back around chapter 7. Hope you enjoy!
* * *
Chapter 5
* * *
Cuddy couldn’t help but smile as she stepped back into her living room. She half expected him to be gone.
“You camping out?” She spoke over the soft, fuzzy head of her little girl.
House was sprawled out on her sofa with a frilly afghan on top of him.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” House grunted gallantly, keeping his eyes closed. “Trust me.”
Cuddy snorted as she placed Rachel in the playpen. “You’re just too comfortable to get up and go home.”
“You do have a great couch,” House mused lightly. He opened his eyes, watching her. She felt his hesitation and turned to meet his eyes. “I’m off the Vicodin,” he admitted quietly.
She lowered her eyes and turned back to the playpen. She picked up one of Rachel’s blankets and began to fold it. “I read in Nolan’s report.”
“Don’t get too excited over there.” House sat up, discarding the afghan.
Cuddy shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m just being realistic. I do like you like this. Sober. Open. Wise….”
House rolled his eyes. “Oh, keep it coming, baby.”
Cuddy dropped the blanket and sat on the edge of the sofa. “But I know you too. You miss it. If tempted-”
House lifted his feet and plopped them in the middle of her lap. “I’d call you. Make you whisper dirty things in my ear. Stroke my….”
Cuddy pushed his legs off the sofa. “Overinflated ego?”
They smiled easily as she took a seat next to him.
“I was thinking something a little more regional to my person.” He grinned lecherously at her.
They looked ahead, side by side. The t.v. stared at them blankly.
Cuddy frowned. “Is this what dating’s like?”
House snorted. “You don’t remember?”
“I’ve had a lot of first dates, House. You know this.” She narrowed her eyes at him accusingly.
“Oh, that’s right.” House lifted his arm and snuck it around her. “One of your suitors sent me a postcard from Bolivia. A great humanitarian, that one.”
Cuddy chuckled and leaned into him, remembering, “Henrik Ivanphork.”
He looked at her seriously. “It was for your own good, Cuddy. I could never call you Ivanphork.”
“We’ve never been on a date,” she whispered reverently.
“No, we haven’t.“ He grinned, unasked questions looming between them. He leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear as he whispered hungrily, “Want to grab all your take-out menus and order something from every foreign country?”
* * *
“Pass the chana saag please.”
Cuddy held her hand out for the plastic container, but House pulled it back and pointed to the plate in front of her. “Chana saag for a fried ravoli.”
“Deal. Wow,” Cuddy moaned in delight while she stirred a strange concoction of yellow and green. She sat cross-legged on the floor and talked with her mouth full, “Who knew sour kraut tasted good with chutney?”
House looked horrified. “Gross. Are you pregnant?”
“Only by your wireless extension.” Cuddy’s eyes twinkled.
House leaned against the sofa, eyeing her. “I would have paid good money to see you knocked up. It would have been a total crime against form-fitting clothing everywhere.”
Cuddy swirled her fork in between the chickpeas and spinach. “You would have hated it, don’t give me that bull. You haven’t exactly warmed up to Rachel, and I didn’t even carry her.”
Thoughtful silence passed between them as the toddler babbled behind them.
“I got spoiled. “ House held his breath, catching her eyes. She looked at him warily and waited for him to say something stupid. He looked at the little girl marching and falling haphazardly over stuffed animals. “But this is good. You don’t have to give her back.”
He stabbed one of the raviolis with his fork.
“Thanks, House. I’m glad you’ll let me keep my daughter.” She stole and eggroll from him and ripped it a part with her teeth.
“You’re welcome. Chili con queso with that?”
* * *
They sat on the floor next to each other, the coffee table a wasteland of take-out containers and unused plastic forks.
Cuddy rubbed her stomach as the food coma took over. “God, that was so good. Let’s never go out.”
House nodded, resting his head against hers. “No dating. Check.”
“I vote we skip work tomorrow,” she mumbled sleepily.
House’s eyes popped open and he pushed her shoulders back. “Hand back the real Cuddy now, you imposter!”
“Come back here-” Cuddy protested, pushing back against his hands and body that he had so quickly removed.
But, he held her away easily. “Look. You’re going to have to deal with all of that bureaucratic BS eventually. It might as well be tomorrow.”
Cuddy laughed and pushed his hands away from her. “Are you seriously encouraging me to go to work?”
House rolled his eyes. He was caught, and they both knew it. “For my selfish aesthetic viewing purposes only,” he tried to downplay his concern. “I’d miss the twins if they stayed home with mommy.”
Cuddy stared at his rugged, sarcastic, sad face.
“Take me to bed,” she said directly.
Neither one of them moved or breathed. The thought of rejection was horrifying; they had experienced it too many times with each other, but never in a moment this serious or real. There weren’t any glass doors to hide behind; there weren’t lost children or beautiful hallucinations or late night phone calls to protect them. It was just them, a long hallway, and a bedroom door at the end.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He finally spoke, non-committal.
“No.”
He pushed himself off the floor, the struggle in his movements not lost on her. He looked down at her, waiting.
She rose to her knees, stopping. “Or we could stay here.”
They had been here their whole lives. It was now or never. House smiled slowly; it stretched to his eyes as he held out his hands to her. No matter what he said or did to hide it, the romantic owned him, even more so when he gave a damn.
He pulled her to his side, his pianist fingers playing along the side of her ribcage. The contact was addictive, and Cuddy took full advantage of her position, wrapping her arms around his waist, her feet in line with his, making it difficult for him to move forward.
She pressed a soft kiss to his clavicle, and his whole body tensed. His left hand reached out, looking for support, and finally slammed against the wall.
He tripped, pushing them forward, and the hallway stretched as she continued to attack his neck.
Forcefully, he grabbed her wrists, halting her assault on him. She pulled back, dazed from the endorphins and pheromones floating between them.
Without warning, he kissed her, slamming her back against her bedroom door.
For a second, all she could feel was the hard wood against her skull, but slowly, her senses returned and his lips and skin began to combine with hers. She kissed him greedily, taking his breath just as much as he was taking hers. Their air pushed into each other, swirling with tongues and waking passion. And for the first time in her life, she knew that she wouldn’t fear dying because this was worth never breathing again.
A gasp sprung between them, breaking them a part, keeping them firmly planted in reality. Cuddy’s fingers caught in his shirt as he pushed back, his head bent, hovering over her.
“There. I walked you to your door.”
She looped her finger through a buttonhole. “You can come in, you know.”
“No.” He pulled her back in his arms, burying his head in her neck.
“Why not?” She grinned and moaned as his hands wondered south.
He pulled back and looked at her pointedly. “You’re exhausted, upset and horny. A terrible combination.”
Cuddy’s mouth dropped.
That’s when House began to laugh.
She slapped him and pulled him back by his collar. “You’re an asshole!”
Calming her hands, he took her face in his. “You know…that day….when I said we should move in together?”
She closed her eyes, remembering the look in his eyes when he had said it, how he had smiled; remembering how shocked she had been, how she laughed. “Yeah.”
“I was serious.” This time, she didn’t laugh. She began to unbutton his shirt. Her eyes didn’t leave his. Her hands traveled down his body, stopping briefly at his belt.
“Hold on to the doorframe,” she whispered.
He did as he was told, and slowly, she unzipped his pants. When she dropped to her knees, she could see everything he wanted, everything he tried to hide from her. She knew exactly how much he wanted her. His bad leg quivered in anticipation, possibly in pain, as she pulled his pants and boxers down his thighs, his knees, all the way to his ankles.
She rose and kissed his right thigh. She let her mouth brush against his pubic hairs, falling to his left leg. When he gasped, she didn’t waste anytime and took him completely in her mouth. She rose on her knees, and wrapped her arms around his body, consuming him.
She cupped his bare ass and squeezed, encouraging him to lose control. He groaned as she let her tongue travel the length of his penis; his hands fumbled from the doorway, reaching for her.
He caressed her hair; he touched her face. She swallowed him again; he cried out her name.
He was about to come, she knew, but she wouldn’t let him pull out. She wanted to taste him. She wanted his sex in her mouth. The reasons were not pure: in the back of her mind she wanted to make it impossible for him to be with anyone else again; to make him hate every hooker he had every been with; but she would never admit it.
Tears began to stream down her face from the intensity of his thrusts; she only pushed him harder, took him in more. She was owning him, loving him, breaking him.
Breaking herself.
His leg shook violently, and when he came, he held on to her to keep from falling.
(5/10)
M
Synopsis: An exploration of Cuddy’s side of House’s recovery and hallucinations.
A/N: This chapter definitely begins to earn the M rating. If you’re just reading for plot (heh), come back around chapter 7. Hope you enjoy!
* * *
Chapter 5
* * *
Cuddy couldn’t help but smile as she stepped back into her living room. She half expected him to be gone.
“You camping out?” She spoke over the soft, fuzzy head of her little girl.
House was sprawled out on her sofa with a frilly afghan on top of him.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” House grunted gallantly, keeping his eyes closed. “Trust me.”
Cuddy snorted as she placed Rachel in the playpen. “You’re just too comfortable to get up and go home.”
“You do have a great couch,” House mused lightly. He opened his eyes, watching her. She felt his hesitation and turned to meet his eyes. “I’m off the Vicodin,” he admitted quietly.
She lowered her eyes and turned back to the playpen. She picked up one of Rachel’s blankets and began to fold it. “I read in Nolan’s report.”
“Don’t get too excited over there.” House sat up, discarding the afghan.
Cuddy shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m just being realistic. I do like you like this. Sober. Open. Wise….”
House rolled his eyes. “Oh, keep it coming, baby.”
Cuddy dropped the blanket and sat on the edge of the sofa. “But I know you too. You miss it. If tempted-”
House lifted his feet and plopped them in the middle of her lap. “I’d call you. Make you whisper dirty things in my ear. Stroke my….”
Cuddy pushed his legs off the sofa. “Overinflated ego?”
They smiled easily as she took a seat next to him.
“I was thinking something a little more regional to my person.” He grinned lecherously at her.
They looked ahead, side by side. The t.v. stared at them blankly.
Cuddy frowned. “Is this what dating’s like?”
House snorted. “You don’t remember?”
“I’ve had a lot of first dates, House. You know this.” She narrowed her eyes at him accusingly.
“Oh, that’s right.” House lifted his arm and snuck it around her. “One of your suitors sent me a postcard from Bolivia. A great humanitarian, that one.”
Cuddy chuckled and leaned into him, remembering, “Henrik Ivanphork.”
He looked at her seriously. “It was for your own good, Cuddy. I could never call you Ivanphork.”
“We’ve never been on a date,” she whispered reverently.
“No, we haven’t.“ He grinned, unasked questions looming between them. He leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear as he whispered hungrily, “Want to grab all your take-out menus and order something from every foreign country?”
* * *
“Pass the chana saag please.”
Cuddy held her hand out for the plastic container, but House pulled it back and pointed to the plate in front of her. “Chana saag for a fried ravoli.”
“Deal. Wow,” Cuddy moaned in delight while she stirred a strange concoction of yellow and green. She sat cross-legged on the floor and talked with her mouth full, “Who knew sour kraut tasted good with chutney?”
House looked horrified. “Gross. Are you pregnant?”
“Only by your wireless extension.” Cuddy’s eyes twinkled.
House leaned against the sofa, eyeing her. “I would have paid good money to see you knocked up. It would have been a total crime against form-fitting clothing everywhere.”
Cuddy swirled her fork in between the chickpeas and spinach. “You would have hated it, don’t give me that bull. You haven’t exactly warmed up to Rachel, and I didn’t even carry her.”
Thoughtful silence passed between them as the toddler babbled behind them.
“I got spoiled. “ House held his breath, catching her eyes. She looked at him warily and waited for him to say something stupid. He looked at the little girl marching and falling haphazardly over stuffed animals. “But this is good. You don’t have to give her back.”
He stabbed one of the raviolis with his fork.
“Thanks, House. I’m glad you’ll let me keep my daughter.” She stole and eggroll from him and ripped it a part with her teeth.
“You’re welcome. Chili con queso with that?”
* * *
They sat on the floor next to each other, the coffee table a wasteland of take-out containers and unused plastic forks.
Cuddy rubbed her stomach as the food coma took over. “God, that was so good. Let’s never go out.”
House nodded, resting his head against hers. “No dating. Check.”
“I vote we skip work tomorrow,” she mumbled sleepily.
House’s eyes popped open and he pushed her shoulders back. “Hand back the real Cuddy now, you imposter!”
“Come back here-” Cuddy protested, pushing back against his hands and body that he had so quickly removed.
But, he held her away easily. “Look. You’re going to have to deal with all of that bureaucratic BS eventually. It might as well be tomorrow.”
Cuddy laughed and pushed his hands away from her. “Are you seriously encouraging me to go to work?”
House rolled his eyes. He was caught, and they both knew it. “For my selfish aesthetic viewing purposes only,” he tried to downplay his concern. “I’d miss the twins if they stayed home with mommy.”
Cuddy stared at his rugged, sarcastic, sad face.
“Take me to bed,” she said directly.
Neither one of them moved or breathed. The thought of rejection was horrifying; they had experienced it too many times with each other, but never in a moment this serious or real. There weren’t any glass doors to hide behind; there weren’t lost children or beautiful hallucinations or late night phone calls to protect them. It was just them, a long hallway, and a bedroom door at the end.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He finally spoke, non-committal.
“No.”
He pushed himself off the floor, the struggle in his movements not lost on her. He looked down at her, waiting.
She rose to her knees, stopping. “Or we could stay here.”
They had been here their whole lives. It was now or never. House smiled slowly; it stretched to his eyes as he held out his hands to her. No matter what he said or did to hide it, the romantic owned him, even more so when he gave a damn.
He pulled her to his side, his pianist fingers playing along the side of her ribcage. The contact was addictive, and Cuddy took full advantage of her position, wrapping her arms around his waist, her feet in line with his, making it difficult for him to move forward.
She pressed a soft kiss to his clavicle, and his whole body tensed. His left hand reached out, looking for support, and finally slammed against the wall.
He tripped, pushing them forward, and the hallway stretched as she continued to attack his neck.
Forcefully, he grabbed her wrists, halting her assault on him. She pulled back, dazed from the endorphins and pheromones floating between them.
Without warning, he kissed her, slamming her back against her bedroom door.
For a second, all she could feel was the hard wood against her skull, but slowly, her senses returned and his lips and skin began to combine with hers. She kissed him greedily, taking his breath just as much as he was taking hers. Their air pushed into each other, swirling with tongues and waking passion. And for the first time in her life, she knew that she wouldn’t fear dying because this was worth never breathing again.
A gasp sprung between them, breaking them a part, keeping them firmly planted in reality. Cuddy’s fingers caught in his shirt as he pushed back, his head bent, hovering over her.
“There. I walked you to your door.”
She looped her finger through a buttonhole. “You can come in, you know.”
“No.” He pulled her back in his arms, burying his head in her neck.
“Why not?” She grinned and moaned as his hands wondered south.
He pulled back and looked at her pointedly. “You’re exhausted, upset and horny. A terrible combination.”
Cuddy’s mouth dropped.
That’s when House began to laugh.
She slapped him and pulled him back by his collar. “You’re an asshole!”
Calming her hands, he took her face in his. “You know…that day….when I said we should move in together?”
She closed her eyes, remembering the look in his eyes when he had said it, how he had smiled; remembering how shocked she had been, how she laughed. “Yeah.”
“I was serious.” This time, she didn’t laugh. She began to unbutton his shirt. Her eyes didn’t leave his. Her hands traveled down his body, stopping briefly at his belt.
“Hold on to the doorframe,” she whispered.
He did as he was told, and slowly, she unzipped his pants. When she dropped to her knees, she could see everything he wanted, everything he tried to hide from her. She knew exactly how much he wanted her. His bad leg quivered in anticipation, possibly in pain, as she pulled his pants and boxers down his thighs, his knees, all the way to his ankles.
She rose and kissed his right thigh. She let her mouth brush against his pubic hairs, falling to his left leg. When he gasped, she didn’t waste anytime and took him completely in her mouth. She rose on her knees, and wrapped her arms around his body, consuming him.
She cupped his bare ass and squeezed, encouraging him to lose control. He groaned as she let her tongue travel the length of his penis; his hands fumbled from the doorway, reaching for her.
He caressed her hair; he touched her face. She swallowed him again; he cried out her name.
He was about to come, she knew, but she wouldn’t let him pull out. She wanted to taste him. She wanted his sex in her mouth. The reasons were not pure: in the back of her mind she wanted to make it impossible for him to be with anyone else again; to make him hate every hooker he had every been with; but she would never admit it.
Tears began to stream down her face from the intensity of his thrusts; she only pushed him harder, took him in more. She was owning him, loving him, breaking him.
Breaking herself.
His leg shook violently, and when he came, he held on to her to keep from falling.