[house fic] domestic bliss, pg13

[hihoplastic]

Domestic Bliss
- house, md
- housecuddy
- ss_huddy 2008
- housefic50: lovers (023)
- words: ~2000
- pg13
- Much thanks to chippers87, swatkat24, and housepiglet for ideas and suggestions, and especially to cryptictac who listened to me whine and complain. A lot. ♥



6:32pm

'You're late,' he calls, louder than necessary.

She rolls her eyes, shuts the door behind her.

'I was in a meeting.'

He doesn't take his eyes off the television. 'We said six.'

She snorts, sheds her jacket and shoes, leaves her briefcase by the door. 'Sorry, Mother.' She looks around her living room. There are open containers of Chinese food littering the table, balled up socks on the floor, his feet propped up on her coffee table. 'Make yourself at home,' she mutters, steps over him and collapses into the sofa.

'Food's cold,' he says, changes the channel. He barely spares her a glance. 'I ate without you.'

She examines the contents of one of the cartons. 'Of course you did.' She sets it down, picks up another.

'Moo shu's on the counter.'

She looks surprised. 'How did you-?'

'Seriously?'

She frowns - 'Good point. I don't want to know.' - and heads off into the kitchen.

--

7:05pm

Cuddy sighs, louder this time, and House glowers at her. She shifts, again, and drops her head into her hand.

'This is stupid.'

House rolls his eyes, gestures to the TV. 'It's wrestling. It's the sport of kings.'

'Horse racing is the sport of kings.'

'No, it's not,' he says, just to be contradictory.

She looks over at him, eyebrows raised. 'Wanna bet?'

There's a pause. He knows that she knows that he knows she's right, and he's too tired to think of a way to out-wit her, except for evasion.

'Wrestling is the sport of gods.'

'It's naked men groping each other.'

'But violently!' His voice is almost giddy. Almost.

Sounding bored: 'I'd rather watch gay porn.'

House tries not to choke on his beer. Cuddy suppresses a smile.

'Really?'

She shrugs. 'It's essentially the same thing.'

On the TV, the crowd roars as one guy full-body slams the other one into the ground, elbow in his face, the referee making a big deal of counting the seconds.

Cuddy winces, and House points at the television again. 'I'm pretty sure they don't do that in gay porn.'

Cuddy uses his moment of triumph to snatch the remote out of his hands.

'Hey, I was-'

'Well, now you aren't.'

He glowers, but waits, sees what she settles on. He rolls his eyes in despair. '60 Minutes? Seriously?'

'Steve Kroft turns me on.'

'No he doesn't.'

She huffs indignantly. 'Why wouldn't he? He's smart, dignified, has a stable job-'

'He's old.'

'You're old.'

'But I'm ruggedly handsome.'

'You need to shave.'

'It's part of my charm.'

'It's really not.'

'You just don't like the stubble burn, especially against your-'

'That was not charming.'

He shrugs, changes the subject. 'Besides, you don't like men like that.'

'Says who?'

'Says you. You've been on dozens of dates with guys just like that, and yet it's my face you're putting your-'

'Still not charming.'

She turns up the volume. Steve is talking about Russia's invasion of Georgia. A few minutes pass. House looks back and forth between the television and Cuddy, who has curled up into the corner of the sofa, staring blankly.

'You're bored, aren't you?'

She glares, sits up slightly. 'Am not.'

'You're falling asleep.'

'I'm listening intently.'

House rolls his eyes, watches her watch the screen.

'Stop staring at me. It's creepy.'

'You're not going to change the channel are you?'

'Nope.'

House sighs, and sinks deeper into the couch.

--

8:15pm

'House.'

He groans, rolls his head back over the couch to glare at her upside down. 'What?'

'Come in here, please.' She's using her administrative voice.

He ignores her. 'I'm busy.'

'You're channel surfing.'

'It's an intense process.'

'House.' It's a warning. He sighs loudly, makes a big show of heaving himself off the couch, limping heavily into the kitchen to stand at her attention.

'What?'

She turns to face him, holding a large bottle in one hand and a cap in the other. 'You left the lid off the orange juice.'

He stares at her blankly.

She raises her eyebrows.

'You couldn't have told me that while I was sitting down?'

She shrugs, demonstrates putting the lid back on the bottle and putting it in the refrigerator. 'It doesn't have quite the same effect as making you get up.'

He waves his cane at her. 'Does the word 'cripple' mean anything to you?'

She turns to the sink, starts washing the few remaining dishes from yesterday. 'No, but "manipulative" has a familiar ring to it. Put the lid back when you're done.'

He glares. 'Yes, mom.'

'I'm serious.'

'That's what makes this conversation so disturbing.'

She rolls her eyes, hands him a plate and a towel. 'Here, dry this.'

'I'm not doing dishes.'

'It's not dishes, it's a dish.'

He wrinkles his nose. 'It's domestic.'

'It's one dish.'

She gives him the 'do this, or I withhold sex' look, and House glowers, snatches the plate. She grins triumphantly.

He hands it back to her after a few moments. 'There.'

'Good,' she says, takes the plate from him and hands him another before he has a chance to react.

'You said-'

'I lied.'

He glowers, puts the plate and towel down on the counter. 'I'm not doing it,' he says petulantly, waits for her reaction.

She shrugs. 'Okay.'

There's a pause.

He frowns: 'Why was that so easy?'

She grins over her shoulder at him. 'I like freaking you out.'

He narrows his eyes. 'It's not working.'

'Okay.'

'Seriously.'

'I know,' she says, smiles. She hits him in the shoulder with the towel. 'Go watch your show.'

'Fine,' he snaps. He hesitates.

'Good.' She keeps cleaning dishes.

House returns to the living room, but lowers the volume, listens, waits.

Cuddy grins.

--

9:30pm

He steps around her in the bathroom, grabs a toothbrush.

She dries her face. 'So how was work?'

'It was lovely, Mrs. Cleaver, how was your day?'

She smacks him in the chest. 'Ass.'

He grabs hers. 'A very nice one, too.'

She rolls her eyes, reaches for the lotion.

'How's your patient?'

'Ny'ing,' he says around a mouthful of toothpaste. He spits into the sink, rinses his mouth. 'They're working on it.'

'House,' she starts.

'We're not talking about work. You don't want to hear about Thirteen's ass and I sure as hell don't want to hear about budget reports. Also, I'd like to get laid tonight and that probability decreases every time you bring up work.'

'It does not,' she protests, following him out into the bedroom.

'Does too.'

'Does -' He raises his eyebrows at her, and she sighs. 'Fine. I won't talk about work.'

'Good.'

'Good.'

House rummages through his bag for pajamas. Cuddy sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on socks.

'You know you can't perform a biopsy on someone who's just had-'

'Oh, for the love of god,' he mutters, ducks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Cuddy harasses him from the other side.

--

10:19pm

They're watching some action movie on HBO. She's glaring at the television. He sighs.

'I told you talking about work was a bad id-'

'Shut up.'

They're silent for the next half of the film.

--

11:12pm

House glances over at her when he feels her shift, scoot closer to him. He doesn't say anything, waits.

Keanu Reeves is hanging off the side of a bus.

Cuddy moves in, pulls his arm off the back of the couch and around her shoulder, nestles into his side. He rolls his eyes.

Dennis Hopper laughs maniacally.

Then she's kissing him, his jaw, his cheek. She turns, half straddling him, blocking his view of the television.

'What are you doing?'

She gives him a pointed look. 'I'm trying to make out with you.'

He leans around to her to follow the movie. 'You're not doing a very good job of it.'

She grabs his head, turns it back toward her. 'That's because you're not paying attention.'

'You're interrupting my movie.'

'You've seen it.'

'No I haven't.'

She kisses him again. 'Watch it on youtube.' He cranes his neck to see the screen. She pulls back. 'You seriously would rather watch this than make out with me?'

House snorts. 'Make out with you? What are you, sixteen?'

'I'm apologizing.'

He ignores her. 'I think I have some gay porn you can borrow.'

'House.'

'You're not apologizing, you're changing the subject.'

'So? You don't value apologies anyway, what difference does it make?'

He looks indignant. 'It's the principle of the matter.'

She rolls her eyes. 'You don't care about principles either.'

'I do to.'

'Since when?'

'Since now.'

He pretends to be invested in the explosion over her shoulder. She sits back for a moment, contemplates, then leans forward. Her breath tickles his ear.

'I'm not wearing any underwear.'

He shifts. His hand goes to her waist and he turns his head, glares at her.

'Bedroom.'

--

11:28pm

'I have this fantasy,' he says, more than a little out of breath.

'Uh-huh,' she murmurs, distracted. 'Do I want to know?'

'It involves bikinis.'

She rolls her eyes, kisses his neck. 'Of course it does.'

His hands slide up and down her thighs. 'And stripper poles.'

'Right,' she murmurs, kisses his chest.

He gasps, thrusts his hips up. 'And your desk.'

She's too busy concentrating on lips and hands and skin to pay much attention. 'My desk?' she murmurs.

'In your office,' he says, then groans.

She pauses slightly, looks down at him. 'Why is my desk in your fantasy?'

He smirks. 'Because you're bent over it.'

She rolls her eyes, moves her hips. 'Why did I ask,' she mutters, then gives him a pointed look. 'I'm not naked enough for you right now?'

'I never said you were naked,' he says honestly, distracted. He runs a hand over her breast, her ribs, her back. 'Bikinis, remember?' She frowns, stills, sits up suddenly and House groans at the loss of contact. He opens his eyes. 'Why are you stopping?'

She's glaring down at him. 'Let me get this straight. You have a fantasy where I'm in my office, bent over my desk, wearing a bikini.'

He palms her breast in one hand, uses the other to try and push her back down. 'Yes.'

'And I'm doing what exactly with the stripper pole?' She raises her eyebrows.

'Good question. I know what you could do right now with this pole-' He pushes his hips up in demonstration.

She ignores him. 'So I'm not dancing?'

'No,' he says impatiently, 'but you could be dancing right now...' He tries to grab her waist, puts a hand on the small of her back, tries again to push her down, but she's still frowning.

'And it's just there. Randomly. In my office.'

'Woman. Seriously, I'm about to blow my - oh, god.'

She grins, leans forward and whispers in his ear. 'We're going to finish this conversation later.'

'Right.'

'I really don't have any use for a stripper pole.'

'No.'

'You have some seriously bizarre fantasies.'

'Would you shut up?'

--

3:01am

House stares at the ceiling. Then at Cuddy. Then at the ceiling.

'Are you awake?' he asks, not at all quietly.

She mumbles something into the pillow, snuggles deeper into the blankets. 'Hrm?'

'Cuddy.' He pokes her repeatedly.

She blinks, opens her eyes, too tired to muster a glare. 'What?'

'Are you awake?' He asks innocently.

She sighs, sits up slightly and brushes the hair off her face. 'I am now.'

He grins, 'Oh good,' and rolls over, almost on top of her, kisses her neck and shoulder.

Cuddy sighs, exasperated. 'Seriously?'

House pulls back, looks down at her with a solemn face. 'Seriously.'

--

5:59am

There's a little bit of light peeking through the blinds, but it's still early. Saturday. She stretches, opens her eyes, meets his gaze.

'What are you doing?' she asks, voice laced with sleep. He's propped up on one elbow, watching her.

'Staring at your boobs.'

She looks down, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. 'My boobs are covered.'

'I can see your nipples through the sheet.'

She blinks, tries to wake up. 'House,' she murmurs, and even though it isn't authoritative or demanding, he shrugs all the same.

'You're kinda...' he waves his hand at her. 'when you sleep.'

She sits up slightly, raises an eyebrow. 'I should just fill in that adjective myself then?'

'Yeah,' he mutters. His fingers are tracing the hollows along her neck and shoulder. 'Pick something you like.'

'Okay,' she murmurs, leans forward and kisses him softly.

'What was that for?'

She smiles. 'I picked something I liked.'

House rolls his eyes. 'That was gross.'

Her smile widens, and she shifts closer, winds her leg around his and rubs her face against his chest. 'Goodnight, House.'

He sighs, lets his hand rest against her hip. 'Night Cuddy,' he mutters, and eventually falls asleep.