Fic: Dark Corners
Well I for one was a little disappointed in the lack of piano!sex in tonight's episode, (see the rant earlier for some angry!SLM) so I thought I'd write a little fic about how I wish the ending had gone. It's my first non-drabble House fic, so I hope y'all enjoy. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!
Title: Dark Corners
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,770
Warning: Spoilers for "All In"
Disclaimer Don't own House. Cuddy and House would be having lots of pianosex if I did.
“I know it’s not a dark corner, boss, but I thought it might be ok if I brooded over here with the piano for a while.” House looked up at Cuddy, who had paused in her trek across the hospital lobby to stand by the piano.
The early morning light was shining through the windows, and his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. His hands moved faster over the piano, switching to a livelier, happier song, to match his mood.
Cuddy sighed, and he looked up at her again. Her makeup was smudged, and she looked exhausted, but the faint sunlight gave her hair a soft glow; he thought it had been a long time since he’d seen anything so beautiful.
“I’m sorry.” She said it slowly, like the words were being dragged out of her. She gave a little half-smile, and House felt his stomach flip-flop.
“I thought it was for the best, I thought that I knew what was best.” She looked down, and swallowed. House watched her throat move and forgot what she was talking about. The patient. Right. His vindication, at last. He slid over on the bench, and gently tugged at her wrist, pulling her down to sit beside him.
“Well, you interfere so often that I’ve learned to completely tune out what you say.” He accompanied his smirk with a little trill on the piano.
“Don’t I know it.” She rolled her eyes.
He turned back to the piano, began another song.
“Maybe if you were right just once, I might have a little more faith in your capabilities. Of course, you aren’t board certified, like I am. And you’re mostly involved in the administrative business these days, a glorified paper-pusher, don’t you think?”
Cuddy huffed. He admired what the movement did to her cleavage.
“I’m only letting that slide because you just saved a patient and it’s also too late to argue with you.”
“Too late, or too early?” He raised his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes again, but leaned against him a little, exhaustion making her careless.
He turned his head a little, and surreptitiously smelled her hair. It smelled like sunlight and mint and Cuddy.
“Both. Neither, I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to go home and take a bath, change out of this dress, maybe sleep a little, before I have to come back here.” She said it, but made no move to leave, instead leaning on him a little more. He resisted the urge to put an arm around her.
“Why change? Keep the dress on. I support the dress. More dress, I say.”
She knocked her knee against his with a smirk.
“I’m sure you do. I don’t think your eyes got above chest level all night.”
“Well Wilson was wearing such a fetching tie, I really couldn’t help myself.”
Her laughter at that rang out in the rapidly emptying lobby. Most of the decorations were long gone; now people were restoring things to order, so that life at the hospital could continue as usual.
Soon the room would be bustling again, this time with patients and nurses and family members, and he would be doing penance treating hypochondriacs and morons in the clinic, like always. Cuddy would be ruling things with an iron fist, cracking the whip at the slightest hint of insubordination. He smirked to himself at the mental image of her standing in the clinic, brandishing a cat o-nine tails at any who dared to cross her path.
His playing had slowed as he thought; he changed to a slower melody, not playing a song, just absentmindedly mixing pieces of songs from memory. He snuck a glance at Cuddy; she was almost lying on his shoulder now, and her eyes were closed. He could read the exhaustion on her face, knew it was probably mirrored on his own. He shifted a little, to retrieve his Vicodin from his pocket.
Cuddy straightened up some, and slid her arm through his, holding on lightly. He popped two pills and used the hand Cuddy wasn’t holding to play ‘Mary had a little lamb.’
“Wilson won the whole tournament, you know.” Her voice was soft and a little slurred, and he remembered that she’d been well on her way to drunkenness only a few hours ago.
“I know, he burst out onto the balcony to boast about his fabulous mindfucking skills. Clearly he’s benefited from his friendship with me.”
Her laughter was perilously close to a snort.
“Right. Everything always comes back to your influence.”
“You should know that by now, Dr. Cuddy,” he admonished. “You’re just mad that you didn’t win the tournament. I know how competitive you are, after last month’s strip-pok ooof.” Her elbow had hit him right under his last rib.
“That hurt.” He put on his wounded-puppy-dog face.
“Good. You promised to never bring that up again!” She was scowling at him, and appeared entirely awake now.
“Well obviously I lied. How could I refrain from thinking of the lovely imagery of you, down to just your panties, folding in the last round? And then spilling your fourth scotch all over yourself when you went to drink it, forcing me to lick it off of you?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
She was forced to smile a little bit at the memory, and stifled a yawn as she stretched slightly to restore her circulation. House blatantly ogled her, as usual.
“C’mon Cuddles, lets get you home before you pass out right here and give the gossips something else to wag their tongues about.”
“You are the gossip. I’m convinced that you start every rumor that circulates this hospital.” She stood, and held out a hand to help him up. He gave the piano one last trill, and together they walked through the deserted lobby. House was emboldened by the stillness to slide his arm around her waist. The velvet of her dress was soft under his hand, but he knew her skin was softer.
“You might be right. I do have my finger on the pulse of things around here.” He gave his cane a little twirl.
“Ha. Right.” She sidled a little closer as they threaded their way through the parking lot. He pulled her towards his car when she made to walk towards hers.
“My place. Big bed, bathtub, we’ll be back at the hospital by next Monday at the latest.” He smiled the most charming, insouciant smile he could muster.
“Wilson’s at your house. And I have to be back here in four hours, at the very latest.
That’s not even time for sleep, let alone anything else.” She looked determined, but he had a PhD in getting his way with Dr. Lisa Cuddy.
“Wilson has an apartment now, so it’s just me and Steve McQueen these days. And this hot babe who I can sometimes persuade to come home with me, but only if I’ve been very, very naughty. She has a thing for punishment.” That earned him a slap on the arm, but without the considerable strength he knew she possessed.
“You do deserve a spanking after last night’s events, but I think you’d like it too much to make it entirely effective.”
“What events would you be referring to? Saving the patients’ life, or beating the pants off of you at poker?”
“You wish.”
“That your pants would come off? I sure do.” He accompanied this statement with a long, hot once-over.
“Actually, I’m wearing a dress, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Noticed? Why do you think I was letting you beat me at poker!”
They’d reached the car by then, and Cuddy absently opened the door and slid in as she responded.
“Let me beat you? Please. Even the cleavage can’t keep your obsessive need to win in check.”
“But it sure doesn’t hurt.” He turned on the car and smirked. Misdirection worked every time. They would be at his house before she realized that she hadn’t meant to come home with him at all.
They were still arguing about whether he would take her home when he unlocked his front door, pulling her inside behind him. He pushed her up against the door once they were inside, one hand holding himself up with his cane, the other hand keeping her still, where he could look at her.
Blue velvet dress that made her eyes look unfathomably deep, cut low to accentuate her breasts and small waist, hair mussed from the standard life-saving that tended to go on in hospitals and a slightly pinched expression on her face that meant she was annoyed with him, which was ok, because their fights were the best foreplay ever. He brushed a curl out of her eyes and she sighed - damn he loved that dress - and he leaned in to kiss her, finally. All night he’d wanted to, whenever he could tear his gaze away from her breasts it landed on her lips, and he’d had a tantalizing fantasy of subtly dragging her off to a utility closet for a teenage make-out session while he’d been blithely making Wilson squirm by discussing primate testicles during poker.
The kiss was slow but deep; he could feel exhaustion in the tension of her body, although her response was anything but tired. When he felt her growing short of breath he pulled back, holding out a hand to her and moving towards the bedroom.
“You’re clearly a very tired little girl, Lisa Cuddy, and as your doctor I have to prescribe lots of bed rest. Or at least lots of bed. I don’t know if there will be any resting. Up to you, really.”
She followed like a docile child, (she must be more tired than he realized, if she wasn’t protesting something, anything) and he thought he might have to let her rest after all. Cuddy wasn’t nearly as much fun when she wasn’t her typical bossy self. Ian’s case had left him feeling like the conquering hero, but he could tell that she was feeling guilty, as usual.
There was nothing to be done for her perverse guilt complex that night, at any rate. He might as well get them both tucked into bed, and try to convince her that a full body scan was necessary in her delicate condition. He didn’t prescribe bed rest for just every case, thank you very much. They could deal with Ian and Esther and everyone else sometime later.
As she passed the piano her free hand ran over the keys, and the echoing sounds of the notes followed them as they went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Fin
Title: Dark Corners
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,770
Warning: Spoilers for "All In"
Disclaimer Don't own House. Cuddy and House would be having lots of pianosex if I did.
“I know it’s not a dark corner, boss, but I thought it might be ok if I brooded over here with the piano for a while.” House looked up at Cuddy, who had paused in her trek across the hospital lobby to stand by the piano.
The early morning light was shining through the windows, and his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. His hands moved faster over the piano, switching to a livelier, happier song, to match his mood.
Cuddy sighed, and he looked up at her again. Her makeup was smudged, and she looked exhausted, but the faint sunlight gave her hair a soft glow; he thought it had been a long time since he’d seen anything so beautiful.
“I’m sorry.” She said it slowly, like the words were being dragged out of her. She gave a little half-smile, and House felt his stomach flip-flop.
“I thought it was for the best, I thought that I knew what was best.” She looked down, and swallowed. House watched her throat move and forgot what she was talking about. The patient. Right. His vindication, at last. He slid over on the bench, and gently tugged at her wrist, pulling her down to sit beside him.
“Well, you interfere so often that I’ve learned to completely tune out what you say.” He accompanied his smirk with a little trill on the piano.
“Don’t I know it.” She rolled her eyes.
He turned back to the piano, began another song.
“Maybe if you were right just once, I might have a little more faith in your capabilities. Of course, you aren’t board certified, like I am. And you’re mostly involved in the administrative business these days, a glorified paper-pusher, don’t you think?”
Cuddy huffed. He admired what the movement did to her cleavage.
“I’m only letting that slide because you just saved a patient and it’s also too late to argue with you.”
“Too late, or too early?” He raised his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes again, but leaned against him a little, exhaustion making her careless.
He turned his head a little, and surreptitiously smelled her hair. It smelled like sunlight and mint and Cuddy.
“Both. Neither, I don’t know. What I do know is that I want to go home and take a bath, change out of this dress, maybe sleep a little, before I have to come back here.” She said it, but made no move to leave, instead leaning on him a little more. He resisted the urge to put an arm around her.
“Why change? Keep the dress on. I support the dress. More dress, I say.”
She knocked her knee against his with a smirk.
“I’m sure you do. I don’t think your eyes got above chest level all night.”
“Well Wilson was wearing such a fetching tie, I really couldn’t help myself.”
Her laughter at that rang out in the rapidly emptying lobby. Most of the decorations were long gone; now people were restoring things to order, so that life at the hospital could continue as usual.
Soon the room would be bustling again, this time with patients and nurses and family members, and he would be doing penance treating hypochondriacs and morons in the clinic, like always. Cuddy would be ruling things with an iron fist, cracking the whip at the slightest hint of insubordination. He smirked to himself at the mental image of her standing in the clinic, brandishing a cat o-nine tails at any who dared to cross her path.
His playing had slowed as he thought; he changed to a slower melody, not playing a song, just absentmindedly mixing pieces of songs from memory. He snuck a glance at Cuddy; she was almost lying on his shoulder now, and her eyes were closed. He could read the exhaustion on her face, knew it was probably mirrored on his own. He shifted a little, to retrieve his Vicodin from his pocket.
Cuddy straightened up some, and slid her arm through his, holding on lightly. He popped two pills and used the hand Cuddy wasn’t holding to play ‘Mary had a little lamb.’
“Wilson won the whole tournament, you know.” Her voice was soft and a little slurred, and he remembered that she’d been well on her way to drunkenness only a few hours ago.
“I know, he burst out onto the balcony to boast about his fabulous mindfucking skills. Clearly he’s benefited from his friendship with me.”
Her laughter was perilously close to a snort.
“Right. Everything always comes back to your influence.”
“You should know that by now, Dr. Cuddy,” he admonished. “You’re just mad that you didn’t win the tournament. I know how competitive you are, after last month’s strip-pok ooof.” Her elbow had hit him right under his last rib.
“That hurt.” He put on his wounded-puppy-dog face.
“Good. You promised to never bring that up again!” She was scowling at him, and appeared entirely awake now.
“Well obviously I lied. How could I refrain from thinking of the lovely imagery of you, down to just your panties, folding in the last round? And then spilling your fourth scotch all over yourself when you went to drink it, forcing me to lick it off of you?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
She was forced to smile a little bit at the memory, and stifled a yawn as she stretched slightly to restore her circulation. House blatantly ogled her, as usual.
“C’mon Cuddles, lets get you home before you pass out right here and give the gossips something else to wag their tongues about.”
“You are the gossip. I’m convinced that you start every rumor that circulates this hospital.” She stood, and held out a hand to help him up. He gave the piano one last trill, and together they walked through the deserted lobby. House was emboldened by the stillness to slide his arm around her waist. The velvet of her dress was soft under his hand, but he knew her skin was softer.
“You might be right. I do have my finger on the pulse of things around here.” He gave his cane a little twirl.
“Ha. Right.” She sidled a little closer as they threaded their way through the parking lot. He pulled her towards his car when she made to walk towards hers.
“My place. Big bed, bathtub, we’ll be back at the hospital by next Monday at the latest.” He smiled the most charming, insouciant smile he could muster.
“Wilson’s at your house. And I have to be back here in four hours, at the very latest.
That’s not even time for sleep, let alone anything else.” She looked determined, but he had a PhD in getting his way with Dr. Lisa Cuddy.
“Wilson has an apartment now, so it’s just me and Steve McQueen these days. And this hot babe who I can sometimes persuade to come home with me, but only if I’ve been very, very naughty. She has a thing for punishment.” That earned him a slap on the arm, but without the considerable strength he knew she possessed.
“You do deserve a spanking after last night’s events, but I think you’d like it too much to make it entirely effective.”
“What events would you be referring to? Saving the patients’ life, or beating the pants off of you at poker?”
“You wish.”
“That your pants would come off? I sure do.” He accompanied this statement with a long, hot once-over.
“Actually, I’m wearing a dress, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Noticed? Why do you think I was letting you beat me at poker!”
They’d reached the car by then, and Cuddy absently opened the door and slid in as she responded.
“Let me beat you? Please. Even the cleavage can’t keep your obsessive need to win in check.”
“But it sure doesn’t hurt.” He turned on the car and smirked. Misdirection worked every time. They would be at his house before she realized that she hadn’t meant to come home with him at all.
They were still arguing about whether he would take her home when he unlocked his front door, pulling her inside behind him. He pushed her up against the door once they were inside, one hand holding himself up with his cane, the other hand keeping her still, where he could look at her.
Blue velvet dress that made her eyes look unfathomably deep, cut low to accentuate her breasts and small waist, hair mussed from the standard life-saving that tended to go on in hospitals and a slightly pinched expression on her face that meant she was annoyed with him, which was ok, because their fights were the best foreplay ever. He brushed a curl out of her eyes and she sighed - damn he loved that dress - and he leaned in to kiss her, finally. All night he’d wanted to, whenever he could tear his gaze away from her breasts it landed on her lips, and he’d had a tantalizing fantasy of subtly dragging her off to a utility closet for a teenage make-out session while he’d been blithely making Wilson squirm by discussing primate testicles during poker.
The kiss was slow but deep; he could feel exhaustion in the tension of her body, although her response was anything but tired. When he felt her growing short of breath he pulled back, holding out a hand to her and moving towards the bedroom.
“You’re clearly a very tired little girl, Lisa Cuddy, and as your doctor I have to prescribe lots of bed rest. Or at least lots of bed. I don’t know if there will be any resting. Up to you, really.”
She followed like a docile child, (she must be more tired than he realized, if she wasn’t protesting something, anything) and he thought he might have to let her rest after all. Cuddy wasn’t nearly as much fun when she wasn’t her typical bossy self. Ian’s case had left him feeling like the conquering hero, but he could tell that she was feeling guilty, as usual.
There was nothing to be done for her perverse guilt complex that night, at any rate. He might as well get them both tucked into bed, and try to convince her that a full body scan was necessary in her delicate condition. He didn’t prescribe bed rest for just every case, thank you very much. They could deal with Ian and Esther and everyone else sometime later.
As she passed the piano her free hand ran over the keys, and the echoing sounds of the notes followed them as they went into the bedroom and shut the door.
Fin