Darker Inclinations, Chapter 1.1
Title: Darker Inclinations
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a multi-chaptered sequel to A Dark Inclination. She requested no more watersports, which I have honored. However, there will be mentions of that in this chapter. You don't need to have read ADI, although it doesn't hurt. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, mentions of spanking, watersports, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Her internal clock forces her awake at precisely five in the morning. The night before has left her bleary, aching and exhausted, but habit prevails as it always has. And as much as she would like nothing more than to curl up next to House and go back to sleep, Cuddy knows that she can’t. As always, there is work to be done. But then she’s not really thinking about that at that moment.
She’s too busy coming to grips with how odd all of this feels. The more conscious she becomes, the more noticeable the strangeness is to her.
The more she feels out of place.
Obviously this is not the first time she has had sex with him. This is not something that occurred by chance. But it is the first time she has spent the night. And waking up in his bed, coming to surrounded by all of his knickknacks and the sound of his breathing… those are things she has never experienced before.
Mentally she tries to reconcile this new reality of hers. She attempts to tell herself that it actually isn’t weird at all for her to sleep in the same bed as the man she’s been sleeping with for months now. Then she remembers that he is no longer just the person she’s having sex with.
He’s her boyfriend.
She’s dating House.
Of all people: House.
Of course, that was the plan all along. She didn’t give Cole her thong without intention, after all. When she’d decided to participate in House’s game, she’d had a reason beyond the obvious joy in undermining him; she’d wanted to force this turning point in their relationship. She’d wanted to push him towards possessiveness, towards the need to claim her in a way he had avoided doing the past few months. Knowing she could easily provoke envy in him, she tricked him into this.
Logically it's not surprising. He has always had this side to him, as evidenced by the disproportionate amount of jealousy he has displayed each and every time he has gotten even a hint about her dating life. Really, it was only a matter of time before he acted on his feelings.
Once they started to sleep together, they were not that far from being in an actual relationship. That much has been clear to her for a while now.
And yet… there is a certain amount of shock that comes with this change for her. As much as this has been what she wanted, as hard as she worked to get them to this point, it still seems unbelievable. She's in bed with her boyfriend. When's the last time she could say that?
She doesn't regret it, she tells herself. The newness of it all takes her by surprise, but she doesn't regret taking this step. Even knowing the bizarre road they took to get to this point, she is without remorse.
Maybe she should feel differently about that. She recognizes that there is nothing normal about what they did. And part of her thinks that she should feel ashamed or embarrassed by the things she let him do. It should, she thinks, give her pause. He hit her, and she let him. He spanked her, and she encouraged him to go further. He used her mouth as though it were a toilet, and she got off on it. She had asked him for it. In light of what happened, she would expect to feel used, betrayed, disgusted, and disgusting.
But she doesn’t. She harbors no negative feelings about it at all. And if there is a problem now, it’s not that she wishes it never happened. It’s that she doesn’t want it to end.
She wants to do this again.
And she’s not sure what terrifies her the most about that fact. That last night hasn’t left her terrified - that it has actually turned her on. That she wants this to continue, that she will have to tell him that, or that in doing so, she will have given him everything he will ever need to destroy her.
There’s no point in sugarcoating the possibility that he will betray her. She knows better than to believe she is free from blowback, that their relationship will prevent him from using any of that against her. Her gaze shifting to him, she thinks he looks almost… sweet fast asleep beside her. Not innocent because he will never seem like that to her, he looks content, at peace. But even still, she knows the man next to her, knows too well the malice he is capable of.
He’ll keep this secret until he won’t. He’ll be nice until he’s not. And if he gets to that dark place, there will be nothing that stops him from using this against her.
Nothing.
In going for what she wants, she will have given him a giant stick to ram into a soft spot. She will have opened herself up to that possibility.
And she understands then that that’s the truly scary part. She knows how badly this might end for her, but that’s not stopping her. She knows there is a great chance he will hurt her, and yet she is desperate to be pushed back into that mental space she was in yesterday. Regardless of logic and reason, some part of her needs to do this, to see it through. She is driven towards that end; having experienced his rough hands and harsh remarks, having crossed those lines, she is unwilling to go back.
Even if retreating is something that makes sense, there is no backing down now.
She wants this too much.
Which makes her wonder: just how badly does he want this?
She squints in the dark in his direction, as though the answer to that will be etched in his features. He’s got both of his hands buried under his pillow and a leg sticking out from under the sheets, and she supposes that in a way, he has given her all the clarification she needs.
He’s not the type to do this if it’s not absolutely what he wants. She’s not naïve enough to think that he hasn’t slept with anyone since breaking up with Stacy; he makes every dalliance with a hooker so obvious that Cuddy would more than likely need to be in a coma to not know how he’s gotten off the past several years. Which is why she also knows that he hasn’t dated. And if he’s choosing to take that step with her, then it means something. It means he wants this as much as she does.
It means she’s not alone.
That knowledge only eases her nerves slightly. Truthfully she knows she hasn’t made a wrong conclusion. She knows she’s right about House and how he feels. But nevertheless, it would be nice, she thinks, to hear him say that. It’s not that she has to be told these things; she certainly won’t operate under the delusion that if she demands it, he will offer reassurances. She knows that won’t work, and even if she thought she could push him to admit those things, it’s gonna take more effort than it’s worth. Because what it comes down to more than any need is one simple belief on her part: it would just be nice to know she’s not hallucinating this out of desperation.
But at the moment, all of that wanting can only be a wish. He’s not going to wake up now, and she’s not going to disturb him. If she did that, he would withhold to punish her. And Cuddy understands that even if he didn’t, there is, as always, work.
Knowing she can’t stick around, she starts to scoot towards the edge of the bed. She’s so focused on not trying to wake him up that she forgets all about the physical toll last night has had on her…
Until she sits up and puts all of her weight on her ass.
Then she is suddenly reminded of what has happened. And the general ache she was able to ignore makes itself known in a way that leaves her breathless.
Instantly she squeaks in pain. Taken by surprise, she has no chance to conceal the noise. One of her hands immediately goes to her mouth to smother the sound, but it’s too late. She can feel House shifting underneath the covers behind her. Though she doesn’t look back at him, she knows he’s now awake.
Her own body stills as he moves around, as though that will make him go back to sleep. Obviously though it doesn’t work like that. He groans a little, and then she feels the warmth of his hand on her lower back.
He mutters something, but exhaustion makes his mumbling incomprehensive. She can only assume, as she turns to face him, that he’s telling her to go back to sleep. His fingers pulling at the hem of her shirt, it definitely would seem that’s what he wants. Since it’s also what she would like, she doesn’t hesitate to go along with it.
Crawling back towards him, she reminds herself that going back to bed isn’t an option. She’ll curl up next to him for a moment, which she does, with her head on his chest. But she can’t stay here. She can’t.
Repeating the thought in her head doesn’t work. Because the second she is next to him, the instant his fingers lazily card through her hair, she wants nothing more than to stay there with him. She is awake, of course, too used to being up at this hour to ever be able to fall back to sleep for long. She just happens to think that it would be nice to lie here with him, to live under the illusion - at least for a minute - of having no other place to be.
But they both know that that’s not the case. Or rather, he seems to sense something’s preventing her from doing what he wants, because after a few minutes, he asks, “You okay?”
She nods her head. “Yeah.”
It takes him a while before he seems to have the energy to say, “You made a… noise?”
“No.”
“Not now.” He sighs loudly. “A minute ago or….” His head wobbles a little bit. “Something.”
She runs a hand along his stomach. In this particular moment, he is the antithesis of the man she saw last night, of the person she usually sees, and she finds herself smiling at the difference. “Go back to sleep,” she tells him while reminding herself that the things they need to discuss can wait.
It doesn’t feel like that. Of course she would prefer to give voice to everything inside of her head. But rationally she knows: there will be time for that. After the things they did last night, they can’t move forward without the conversation.
Which is why she simply lays with him until he falls back to sleep once more.
Shortly afterwards she leaves, but her mind returns to that apartment throughout the day. Outwardly she does her job with the same amount of dedication and efficiency as always. Inwardly, she is distracted with possibility and memory. She thinks of the way his hand felt on her ass; she thinks of what it will feel like the next he does that. And no matter how hard she tries to shift her attentions back to the task on hand, it’s as though her mind is no longer under her control. She doesn’t want to be preoccupied with the fantasies in her head, but somehow she finds that she is.
Meetings are awkward. The hospital's budget committee is outlining their recommendations to cut spending, and out of habit, she knows precisely when to object, challenge, and agree with their findings. Numbers roll off her tongue with ease; no one knows the hospital's limited resources better than she does. But the words never quite grab her attention. She's sitting in the meeting with several employees whom she respects.
And she's thinking about sex.
She's talking, but in her head, her mouth is doing something else. She's kissing House, his jaw, his neck. Her tongue laves over his nipple, teeth grazing at the sensitive flesh in a way that makes him hiss. His fingers grab at her hair roughly, and he wrenches her head back so she can see the disapproval in his eyes. "Do that again," he tells her warningly, challengingly. He is telling her no and telling to repeat her behavior all in one. The threat is inherent in his tone, and experience has her understanding just what will happen if she crosses those boundaries, fulfills his request.
So she does it again.
Before she knows what's happening, he has yanked her arms out from under her. She flops down onto his stomach roughly. And then -
And then she remembers that she is actually saying something about the budget. Then she remembers that this is not the time to fantasize, to let her body get as hungry as it is for him. But the reminder means nothing. Soon enough, she is thinking about him once more.
By the time her morning meetings are over, she decides to do something about the problem.
Or more specifically, she decides that if she can’t do her job efficiently, she’ll make it just as difficult for the person responsible to do his.
As she seeks him out, she understands that she’s not exactly being mature. She also understands that it will hardly stop her from having these fantasies at inappropriate times. If anything, part of her suspects that this will have the opposite effect on her. But if he’s just as miserable as she is, then at least she’s not alone in this.
In any case, it’s time he makes a decision about his team. She is tired of the interruptions, the distractions - the antics that have come with this test of his. This has been going on for a while now, and it’s been long enough for him to know who he wants to keep. He has said otherwise, but he’s a shrewd man and he knows when someone is an asset and when they aren’t. He knows who his future team will be, and if he’s acting like he doesn’t, she gets that that’s part of the game for him.
He wants to see how long he can get away with it before she makes him stop.
Until now, she’s been patient. As irritating as all of this has been, it’s at least kept him occupied. He’s had less time to bug everyone else at the hospital, so she’s put up with it. After her morning however, she knows she can’t tolerate it any longer. Well… she can, but she’s not going to.
That obviously comes as a shock to him. If only because it takes him a full thirty minutes to process what she’s said and then come find her, she knows that he wasn’t expecting that. He was under the assumption he would have more time to choose his team, and surprise prevented him from mounting an immediate defense. When he storms into her office a half hour later, that’s no longer the case.
She’s reviewing the minutes of her meeting with the budget committee when he flings the door open.
“I know what this is about,” he announces. She looks up from her paperwork. “You don’t care who I hire. You’ve just decided to annoy me, because you can’t handle how badly you want me.”
He’s being obnoxiously loud, making the accusation as much for everyone in the clinic as it is for her. She’s not worried though. He’s using the same tone he has for years. Those who know him won’t think he’s serious, and those who don’t will assume he’s being an asshole, because no one that loud could possibly mean what they’re saying. This time though, he does mean it.
She speaks the words expected of her. “Oh you figured me out,” she says dryly, standing to close the door.
“Oh I did.” He pushes the door shut for her with his cane. As she sits back down, he approaches her desk. “You let me play my game all this time -”
“And I believe I’ve told you several times just what I think about it.” He takes a seat across from her. With his hands he carefully lifts his bad leg and rests it on her desk. She frowns. “Don’t do that. Put your feet down.”
He simply stretches out. “I seem to recall some hesitation on your part.”
“Just some?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not denying there were a few folds in your panties, but they do seem to have gotten quite bunched since yesterday. Which is unusual because you don’t get your period for another 21 days, which means this sudden change in your behavior isn’t hormonal.”
“Stop tracking my -”
“Point is: something’s changed. Since it’s not a matter of biology, since I haven’t done anything terribly reckless -”
“You gave yourself blood that you thought was tainted,” she points out.
He shrugs. “That’s normal.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“For me?” She has to concede the point “So like I said, there’s something else. Something that’s occurred in the last day. And I think it’s safe to say -”
“You’re wrong.”
He sits up straight, his eyes looking at her as though he’ll be able to read the truth on her face. “Am I?”
She hesitates to answer - not because she is afraid of admitting the truth. After the things they’ve done, honesty seems hardly difficult. But if there’s one fact of administrative life she has become accustomed to, it’s that there is always someone waiting in the wings to screw you over, to look for a sign of weakness that can be exploited. She’s not so paranoid as to think that someone is overhearing this conversation, obviously; she just feels uncomfortable discussing something as important as this in a place that will be everything but welcoming to their relationship. Yet she knows how it will look if she doesn’t answer the question, so she forces herself to press onward.
“Yes. You are.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because of where we are.”
If she is reluctant to talk about their relationship here, he apparently feels differently. “Curious that you were the one pushing to make this thing between us official and now -”
“Nothing’s changed,” she says calmly. Her voice lowers so she can tell him, “I still want to be with you. I… want this to be official. But,” she adds more firmly. “I meant what I said when I told you that we can’t mix this with work. When we’re here, we have to do our jobs - which is why I’m telling you to make your final choices for your team.”
“Oh.” He sneers in disgust. “I’d rather discuss the other thing.”
“Me too. But that conversation is going to have to wait. Your team?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Good.”
“How’s your ass?”
Cuddy isn’t surprised that he’s changed topics to one she’s expressly stated she doesn’t want to discuss here. She has asked him to distinguish between professional and personal, something their relationship confuses by definition. And never one to be good with restriction and etiquette, he can’t help himself. Well, he can; he just won’t - not until she has firmly drawn the line for him.
“What did I just say?” she demands irritably.
He looks intentionally blank. She has no doubt he remembers. He’s just purposely trying to annoy her.
It’s working.
“I’m not allowed to ask about -”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t ask at work about my -”
“Really? That’s news to me.”
He is probably right about that. Whether they were sleeping together or not, he might ask that question to throw her off.
“I’m fine,” she says curtly. Sore as she is, the feeling is bearable. If there has been a time today where it has become too much, that fact has little to do with the pain, which there really isn’t, and everything to do with the memory of last night the feeling evokes. She’s been seeing heated images of him spanking her, him shoving his dick in her mouth, and… everything else. Her mind elsewhere, it doesn’t make her feel shamed, to know what they did. She’s not embarrassed. She just finds it difficult to concentrate on her day when all she really wants is for him to drag her home by her hair and do it all over again. And knowing that he can’t right now is frustrating, but the physical ache she feels means nothing at all.
“You sure?”
“Go take care of your patient. We can talk about the rest later.”
He pushes. “How much later?”
She’s not expecting the question, so she is slow to answer. “I… don’t know. We… how about dinner?”
“Okay,” he says with a short nod. He pulls his feet off of the desk and starts to get up. She is relieved to see that he is finally getting ready to leave. His fingers clenching his cane tightly, he uses that to hoist himself up. But then, much to her dismay, he pauses, sits back down. “So where are we having dinner?”
She fights the urge to groan at his persistence. “I don’t know. My place, I guess. Or yours if you would prefer.”
“So you don’t want to go out,” he deduces in a faraway voice, in contemplation. “You still want to sneak around.”
The longer this conversation lasts, the more she’s dying for it to end. So much for keeping things separate, she thinks.
Her words come out as harried as she feels. “I just thought that you of all people would want to keep this quiet until -”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“A day ago, you didn’t even want to date me,” she points out. “You were pretty content to have sex and leave it at that. And now you’re ready to -”
“I was happy with the way things were, yeah. Then things changed,” he explains. “Now we’re, you know.” His voice drops to a whisper briefly. “Dating.” Becoming sarcastic, he asks, “Was that quiet enough for you?” She glares at him but doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “I agree: we shouldn’t tell anyone until we know for certain that this is something worth suffering all of the repercussions. But we’re never gonna know either way if we keep doing what we were doing before and just call it something different, are we?”
“Then what do you propose we do, House? Go out to dinner where anyone can see us? Drive hours out of our way? What exactly?”
His face screws up in concentration, wrinkles becoming more prominent as he considers the problem at hand. After a moment, he shakes off the intensity that has settled over him. With a shrug, he finally says, “I’ll have to think about that one.”
“You do that.”
He gets up out of his seat again. “I’ll come up with something.”
“And choose your team,” she reminds him.
“Oh, I can’t possibly do that. Now that I have the other situation to take care of, I’m gonna have to wait -”
“Two names.”
He opens the door to her office. “Absolutely. You’ll have them… eventually.”
“That’s not -”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought; the door slamming shut cuts her off. But she’s okay with letting him go. If he stayed any longer, that would be suspicious to people. Besides, if he’s thinking about how to get her on a date, he’s not, at least, keeping himself entertained by pranking, insulting, and manipulating the rest of the hospital. Between the challenge their budding relationship has presented and his patient, he won’t have time for much else. She hopes.
Wishing seems to make the thing happen however. Hours later, Cuddy hasn’t heard or seen House at all. Truth be told, that’s worrying, but if he were doing something dangerous or illegal, someone else would complain to her. Since they haven’t, the working theory at this point is that he’s actually trying to do his job.
But all thoughts of that go out the window when Wilson slips into her office. As she looks up to see who the intruder is, she’s surprised to see that he’s the one quietly shutting the door and tiptoeing towards her.
“Why are you avoiding House?” she asks, knowing that’s the only reason for his behavior.
Wilson instantly looks defeated, desperate. “I need you to do me a favor.”
She lets the confusion she feels show through. Inwardly she wonders if House is behind this, if he has somehow manipulated Wilson to solve their personal problem. “What’s that?” she asks calmly.
“Apparently House and I have plans tonight.” He sighs. “I didn’t remember. We’re supposed to have dinner at - I don’t know. He says we’ve had reservations for weeks, but….” He sighs again.
Cuddy, on the other hand, has to restrain herself from seeming too gleeful. She understands immediately that House never had any plans with Wilson, that this is a ruse to get her to dinner. Coincidences like this don’t just happen. But she has to keep that information to herself.
Resting her chin on her hand, she asks, “What’s the problem?”
“I have a date.”
“So tell him that.”
“Then he’ll follow me, and I’d rather he not interfere with this relationship.” She shoots him a look like there’s no chance that will happen. Wilson grimaces as if he knows she’s right. “I’m on borrowed time, I know. But if I could just hold him off a little longer, that’d be -”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I told him I’d go. If I said I had plans outright, you know what he would do.” She does. “So I’m going to fake an emergency the second we get to the restaurant.”
“Okay….”
“Before that happens, I need someone to… accidentally walk by and join us for dinner.” She scoffs, because it’s a ridiculous plan, because House has no doubt masterminded all of this. But Wilson only sees the former reason for the sound; he can’t know the latter. “It’s stupid, I get it. But if I cancel plans or leave without giving him a distraction, he will find one in me. And I really, really do not want that to happen, Cuddy.”
This woman clearly means something to Wilson, if he’s willing to play right into House’s machinations. Cuddy refuses to look impressed. “All right. I get that. But why me? Why not his team?”
Wilson is instantly apologetic. “I tried. Since you made your ultimatum and everyone knows about it by now, I expected his team to be more interested in fighting to the end for a permanent position.”
“By taking him out to dinner,” she says with amusement.
“There are worse ways to get a job. But House has other ideas.” Wilson’s face goes from placid to frustrated in an instant. “I don’t know if he’s screwing with me or you, but he told everyone that if they said yes, he wouldn’t hire them.”
Nice move, she thinks. “And why should I say yes? You go on a date, and I get stuck with him? How exactly is that fair?”
“You want two names from him. I’ll push him to fire the ones you think are the biggest liabilities.”
Now she doesn’t bother to hide her pleasure. This is quite the coup for her if she plays her cards right. She gets to have a date with House and a hand in the way he hires his staff. Even if he disregards whatever Wilson tells him, at least she will have had an opportunity to manipulate House in a way she wouldn’t have before. And with the situation seeming like one she can’t lose, she allows herself to smile. “Okay. I’ll have dinner with House. Convince him to keep Taub and Thirteen.”
Wilson hesitates for a moment, then says, “You… want me to tell him to fire Kutner and Dr. Volakis.” He seems to stumble over the names, which Cuddy notes but doesn’t think is too odd; these past few months have seen dozens of people come and go, potential hires brought in and fired at House’s every whim. Why would Wilson instinctively know the names of two people he has hardly spent any time with?
“Yes. Is that a deal?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t seem like it, but with a thin-lipped smile, he bows his head and leaves.
Whatever the source of Wilson’s possible reluctance, it means little in the end though. House’s plan works as intended. Wilson emails her the name and address of the restaurant, which she happens to walk by as they’re going inside. Wilson invites her to join them; House makes fun of her for agreeing, saying, “You seriously need to get laid if you’re trolling restaurants for people with lives to join.”
“You’re out with your only friend in the world. I’d hardly say you have a life.”
“More of a life than you.”
“Guys,” Wilson, the only one who doesn’t realize this is a game, interrupts. “It’s been a long day for all of us. I’ve got a patient who’s probably gonna die at any moment, and I don’t want to spend my dinner with either of you if you’re going to behave this way.”
He’s laying the groundwork for leaving. Everyone knows it, but they all pretend like this patient exists, like he or she isn’t going to suddenly worsen when they sit down. Cuddy apologizes though she doesn’t mean it, and House falls silent like he does, and the three are ushered to a table soon after.
She fights the surprise that overcomes her when House takes the seat next to her. And just when she thinks she’s taken control over the emotion, she feels his fingers creeping underneath the hem of her skirt.
Cuddy’s too frightened to gasp out loud. His skin is cold against her warm thighs, but she doesn’t even care about where he might take this. She’s too busy looking over at Wilson to see if he’s noticed.
He doesn’t.
He’s pretending like he cares about what he’s going to eat. His own lies blind him to the fact that he’s being used, that, as he works to get out of this meal, House’s fingers are creeping up her skirt as far as they can go.
She turns her head to look at House, whose eyes are trained on her, daring her.
Rationally she knows that she can stop this if she wants. All she has to do is reach down and grab hold of his wrist, and he’ll stop. Wilson will never know what happened if she does that.
But that’s not the choice she makes.
Oh she reaches below the table, sure. But instead of pushing House away, she is hiking her skirt up. Not all the way, of course, as if that matters, but just enough so that she can spread her legs further for him. His eyes widen briefly as he realizes what she's doing. Of all the ways he imagined this going, he obviously didn't think acquiescence was going to be an option.
But he recovers quickly. Just as she starts to get nervous that someone will notice the shock in his eyes, he relaxes his face. Glancing down, he starts reading the menu. Beneath the table though, he is anything but relaxed. With her skirt riding up her thighs, his fingers are able to slip between her legs with ease. A finger pressed against her already damp panties, he slowly begins to stroke her through the silky fabric.
Cuddy bites down on her tongue to stop herself from giving the act away. He isn't touching her enough to make her scream, which in itself makes her want to shout for more. But they are in a restaurant, and she can't do that. It's loud enough, thanks to the music and chatter from the added tables, that no one else would hear her if she says anything. And it's dark enough inside that no one can see what's going on. Their table is tucked away in one of the back corners, giving them added privacy.
Still.
There's Wilson.
That means they can't possibly be discrete enough.
That alone should have her stopping House. Wilson's not paying attention now, but there's no guaranteeing that he won't look up and notice her blushed face or won't drop his napkin on the ground trying to leave and notice, while picking the cloth up, what's going on.
But she doesn't stop House. His fingers toy with the elastic of her underwear, as though he's wondering if he should continue. He's waiting for a response - specifically, a reason to quit what he's doing. When she doesn't give him one, he sneaks his hand beneath her panties.
His finger slips between her heated labia and touches her clit. Instinctively, as he strokes her, she bows her head to look. She wants to see him pushing two fingers in her pussy, wants to watch her body react to the contact. But as she tries to look down, he uses his free hand to lightly tap one of hers, which is busy clutching the menu.
It's not enough to be a slap, just enough to catch her attention and no one else's.
When she looks over at him, she can see the "No" in his eyes. And she understands her predicament then. As fun as last night was... it's not within her to immediately listen to him. Following House's instructions when it's not required is madness. His team listens to him, because it's part of their job. She tends to accept his theories and insane plans, because like it or not, his genius usually makes him right. But this? There's no reason why she should listen to him. Last night proved disobedience could be amazing. She's not sure she's prepared to accept the rest of what that dynamic requires. Once more she thinks that they really need to discuss things; they've talked about how to go on a date, that they are in fact dating. But the most important part of what she needs to say has been ignored until now, and then suddenly Wilson can't leave fast enough for her taste.
She holds off on looking down at her lap - not because it's what House has quietly demanded, but because she's too busy glaring at Wilson to leave. When that doesn't happen though, she can't help but let her gaze wander. House glares at her like she's going to screw everything up if she calls attention to what he's doing. But she can't help it. She looks down, at the sight of his hand moving beneath her skirt, fingers pumping in and out of her.
It's then, just as he's really getting her juices flowing, that he pulls away.
Cuddy is helpless to stop the whine that escapes her. Instantly she recognizes her mistake, but Wilson doesn't notice. House does, but he quickly hides his irritation and wipes his wet fingers on his napkin. She fidgets beside him, not out of nervousness, but out of the need to fix her skirt and her panties.
It doesn't matter though. There's no way she can be comfortable now. He's worked her up too much. She's warm and wet, and her pussy throbs with the need for his touch once more. The fact that they are in a public place no longer bothers her; he could bend her over the table and fuck her, and the part of her desperate for release would be okay with that. Rationally she knows that that can't happen, that that would defeat the purpose of tricking Wilson. She tells herself that that's not really what she wants, and it's not. But somehow sitting here for dinner like nothing has happened, like House couldn't have made come if he really wanted to, seems impossible now. What other choice does she have though? Even when Wilson leaves, they'll be stuck here having dinner. Now that Wilson knows they went to the restaurant, he'll bombard them both with questions tomorrow as to how the food was. And if he thinks anything is off with their answers, he'll know something is wrong.
So Cuddy forces herself to focus on the menu, to ignore House. The waiter has been gone for five minutes easily, but she still has no idea what she wants, because she hasn't read a single word on the menu. Quickly she peruses the leather bound parchment for something that looks good. At this point, she doesn't really care what she has; she just wants to be prepared in case House decides it's time to start fingering her again when the waiter comes to take their order.
Much to her dismay, House doesn't. In fact he seems content to ignore her. He doesn't even look in her direction until Wilson finally makes his excuses. His beeper goes off, and within seconds, he's apologizing, lying. Neither House nor Cuddy care, but House glares at her and complains to Wilson about being stuck with her. The way House speaks with disgust, it's pretty convincing. If she didn't know any better, she would think he didn't want to be with her, absolutely. And she has no doubt that Wilson has that same impression, because he shoots her a look of thanks when he thinks House isn't looking. But ultimately the woman Wilson has promised his time to is too important to sacrifice an evening with her. No matter what House says, Wilson isn't moved, and soon after, he's gone.
The second Wilson leaves, House starts to move to the other side of the table. He doesn't get more than an inch off his seat though before Cuddy grabs him.
"Where are you going?" she asks, flustered.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a multi-chaptered sequel to A Dark Inclination. She requested no more watersports, which I have honored. However, there will be mentions of that in this chapter. You don't need to have read ADI, although it doesn't hurt. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, mentions of spanking, watersports, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Her internal clock forces her awake at precisely five in the morning. The night before has left her bleary, aching and exhausted, but habit prevails as it always has. And as much as she would like nothing more than to curl up next to House and go back to sleep, Cuddy knows that she can’t. As always, there is work to be done. But then she’s not really thinking about that at that moment.
She’s too busy coming to grips with how odd all of this feels. The more conscious she becomes, the more noticeable the strangeness is to her.
The more she feels out of place.
Obviously this is not the first time she has had sex with him. This is not something that occurred by chance. But it is the first time she has spent the night. And waking up in his bed, coming to surrounded by all of his knickknacks and the sound of his breathing… those are things she has never experienced before.
Mentally she tries to reconcile this new reality of hers. She attempts to tell herself that it actually isn’t weird at all for her to sleep in the same bed as the man she’s been sleeping with for months now. Then she remembers that he is no longer just the person she’s having sex with.
He’s her boyfriend.
She’s dating House.
Of all people: House.
Of course, that was the plan all along. She didn’t give Cole her thong without intention, after all. When she’d decided to participate in House’s game, she’d had a reason beyond the obvious joy in undermining him; she’d wanted to force this turning point in their relationship. She’d wanted to push him towards possessiveness, towards the need to claim her in a way he had avoided doing the past few months. Knowing she could easily provoke envy in him, she tricked him into this.
Logically it's not surprising. He has always had this side to him, as evidenced by the disproportionate amount of jealousy he has displayed each and every time he has gotten even a hint about her dating life. Really, it was only a matter of time before he acted on his feelings.
Once they started to sleep together, they were not that far from being in an actual relationship. That much has been clear to her for a while now.
And yet… there is a certain amount of shock that comes with this change for her. As much as this has been what she wanted, as hard as she worked to get them to this point, it still seems unbelievable. She's in bed with her boyfriend. When's the last time she could say that?
She doesn't regret it, she tells herself. The newness of it all takes her by surprise, but she doesn't regret taking this step. Even knowing the bizarre road they took to get to this point, she is without remorse.
Maybe she should feel differently about that. She recognizes that there is nothing normal about what they did. And part of her thinks that she should feel ashamed or embarrassed by the things she let him do. It should, she thinks, give her pause. He hit her, and she let him. He spanked her, and she encouraged him to go further. He used her mouth as though it were a toilet, and she got off on it. She had asked him for it. In light of what happened, she would expect to feel used, betrayed, disgusted, and disgusting.
But she doesn’t. She harbors no negative feelings about it at all. And if there is a problem now, it’s not that she wishes it never happened. It’s that she doesn’t want it to end.
She wants to do this again.
And she’s not sure what terrifies her the most about that fact. That last night hasn’t left her terrified - that it has actually turned her on. That she wants this to continue, that she will have to tell him that, or that in doing so, she will have given him everything he will ever need to destroy her.
There’s no point in sugarcoating the possibility that he will betray her. She knows better than to believe she is free from blowback, that their relationship will prevent him from using any of that against her. Her gaze shifting to him, she thinks he looks almost… sweet fast asleep beside her. Not innocent because he will never seem like that to her, he looks content, at peace. But even still, she knows the man next to her, knows too well the malice he is capable of.
He’ll keep this secret until he won’t. He’ll be nice until he’s not. And if he gets to that dark place, there will be nothing that stops him from using this against her.
Nothing.
In going for what she wants, she will have given him a giant stick to ram into a soft spot. She will have opened herself up to that possibility.
And she understands then that that’s the truly scary part. She knows how badly this might end for her, but that’s not stopping her. She knows there is a great chance he will hurt her, and yet she is desperate to be pushed back into that mental space she was in yesterday. Regardless of logic and reason, some part of her needs to do this, to see it through. She is driven towards that end; having experienced his rough hands and harsh remarks, having crossed those lines, she is unwilling to go back.
Even if retreating is something that makes sense, there is no backing down now.
She wants this too much.
Which makes her wonder: just how badly does he want this?
She squints in the dark in his direction, as though the answer to that will be etched in his features. He’s got both of his hands buried under his pillow and a leg sticking out from under the sheets, and she supposes that in a way, he has given her all the clarification she needs.
He’s not the type to do this if it’s not absolutely what he wants. She’s not naïve enough to think that he hasn’t slept with anyone since breaking up with Stacy; he makes every dalliance with a hooker so obvious that Cuddy would more than likely need to be in a coma to not know how he’s gotten off the past several years. Which is why she also knows that he hasn’t dated. And if he’s choosing to take that step with her, then it means something. It means he wants this as much as she does.
It means she’s not alone.
That knowledge only eases her nerves slightly. Truthfully she knows she hasn’t made a wrong conclusion. She knows she’s right about House and how he feels. But nevertheless, it would be nice, she thinks, to hear him say that. It’s not that she has to be told these things; she certainly won’t operate under the delusion that if she demands it, he will offer reassurances. She knows that won’t work, and even if she thought she could push him to admit those things, it’s gonna take more effort than it’s worth. Because what it comes down to more than any need is one simple belief on her part: it would just be nice to know she’s not hallucinating this out of desperation.
But at the moment, all of that wanting can only be a wish. He’s not going to wake up now, and she’s not going to disturb him. If she did that, he would withhold to punish her. And Cuddy understands that even if he didn’t, there is, as always, work.
Knowing she can’t stick around, she starts to scoot towards the edge of the bed. She’s so focused on not trying to wake him up that she forgets all about the physical toll last night has had on her…
Until she sits up and puts all of her weight on her ass.
Then she is suddenly reminded of what has happened. And the general ache she was able to ignore makes itself known in a way that leaves her breathless.
Instantly she squeaks in pain. Taken by surprise, she has no chance to conceal the noise. One of her hands immediately goes to her mouth to smother the sound, but it’s too late. She can feel House shifting underneath the covers behind her. Though she doesn’t look back at him, she knows he’s now awake.
Her own body stills as he moves around, as though that will make him go back to sleep. Obviously though it doesn’t work like that. He groans a little, and then she feels the warmth of his hand on her lower back.
He mutters something, but exhaustion makes his mumbling incomprehensive. She can only assume, as she turns to face him, that he’s telling her to go back to sleep. His fingers pulling at the hem of her shirt, it definitely would seem that’s what he wants. Since it’s also what she would like, she doesn’t hesitate to go along with it.
Crawling back towards him, she reminds herself that going back to bed isn’t an option. She’ll curl up next to him for a moment, which she does, with her head on his chest. But she can’t stay here. She can’t.
Repeating the thought in her head doesn’t work. Because the second she is next to him, the instant his fingers lazily card through her hair, she wants nothing more than to stay there with him. She is awake, of course, too used to being up at this hour to ever be able to fall back to sleep for long. She just happens to think that it would be nice to lie here with him, to live under the illusion - at least for a minute - of having no other place to be.
But they both know that that’s not the case. Or rather, he seems to sense something’s preventing her from doing what he wants, because after a few minutes, he asks, “You okay?”
She nods her head. “Yeah.”
It takes him a while before he seems to have the energy to say, “You made a… noise?”
“No.”
“Not now.” He sighs loudly. “A minute ago or….” His head wobbles a little bit. “Something.”
She runs a hand along his stomach. In this particular moment, he is the antithesis of the man she saw last night, of the person she usually sees, and she finds herself smiling at the difference. “Go back to sleep,” she tells him while reminding herself that the things they need to discuss can wait.
It doesn’t feel like that. Of course she would prefer to give voice to everything inside of her head. But rationally she knows: there will be time for that. After the things they did last night, they can’t move forward without the conversation.
Which is why she simply lays with him until he falls back to sleep once more.
Shortly afterwards she leaves, but her mind returns to that apartment throughout the day. Outwardly she does her job with the same amount of dedication and efficiency as always. Inwardly, she is distracted with possibility and memory. She thinks of the way his hand felt on her ass; she thinks of what it will feel like the next he does that. And no matter how hard she tries to shift her attentions back to the task on hand, it’s as though her mind is no longer under her control. She doesn’t want to be preoccupied with the fantasies in her head, but somehow she finds that she is.
Meetings are awkward. The hospital's budget committee is outlining their recommendations to cut spending, and out of habit, she knows precisely when to object, challenge, and agree with their findings. Numbers roll off her tongue with ease; no one knows the hospital's limited resources better than she does. But the words never quite grab her attention. She's sitting in the meeting with several employees whom she respects.
And she's thinking about sex.
She's talking, but in her head, her mouth is doing something else. She's kissing House, his jaw, his neck. Her tongue laves over his nipple, teeth grazing at the sensitive flesh in a way that makes him hiss. His fingers grab at her hair roughly, and he wrenches her head back so she can see the disapproval in his eyes. "Do that again," he tells her warningly, challengingly. He is telling her no and telling to repeat her behavior all in one. The threat is inherent in his tone, and experience has her understanding just what will happen if she crosses those boundaries, fulfills his request.
So she does it again.
Before she knows what's happening, he has yanked her arms out from under her. She flops down onto his stomach roughly. And then -
And then she remembers that she is actually saying something about the budget. Then she remembers that this is not the time to fantasize, to let her body get as hungry as it is for him. But the reminder means nothing. Soon enough, she is thinking about him once more.
By the time her morning meetings are over, she decides to do something about the problem.
Or more specifically, she decides that if she can’t do her job efficiently, she’ll make it just as difficult for the person responsible to do his.
As she seeks him out, she understands that she’s not exactly being mature. She also understands that it will hardly stop her from having these fantasies at inappropriate times. If anything, part of her suspects that this will have the opposite effect on her. But if he’s just as miserable as she is, then at least she’s not alone in this.
In any case, it’s time he makes a decision about his team. She is tired of the interruptions, the distractions - the antics that have come with this test of his. This has been going on for a while now, and it’s been long enough for him to know who he wants to keep. He has said otherwise, but he’s a shrewd man and he knows when someone is an asset and when they aren’t. He knows who his future team will be, and if he’s acting like he doesn’t, she gets that that’s part of the game for him.
He wants to see how long he can get away with it before she makes him stop.
Until now, she’s been patient. As irritating as all of this has been, it’s at least kept him occupied. He’s had less time to bug everyone else at the hospital, so she’s put up with it. After her morning however, she knows she can’t tolerate it any longer. Well… she can, but she’s not going to.
That obviously comes as a shock to him. If only because it takes him a full thirty minutes to process what she’s said and then come find her, she knows that he wasn’t expecting that. He was under the assumption he would have more time to choose his team, and surprise prevented him from mounting an immediate defense. When he storms into her office a half hour later, that’s no longer the case.
She’s reviewing the minutes of her meeting with the budget committee when he flings the door open.
“I know what this is about,” he announces. She looks up from her paperwork. “You don’t care who I hire. You’ve just decided to annoy me, because you can’t handle how badly you want me.”
He’s being obnoxiously loud, making the accusation as much for everyone in the clinic as it is for her. She’s not worried though. He’s using the same tone he has for years. Those who know him won’t think he’s serious, and those who don’t will assume he’s being an asshole, because no one that loud could possibly mean what they’re saying. This time though, he does mean it.
She speaks the words expected of her. “Oh you figured me out,” she says dryly, standing to close the door.
“Oh I did.” He pushes the door shut for her with his cane. As she sits back down, he approaches her desk. “You let me play my game all this time -”
“And I believe I’ve told you several times just what I think about it.” He takes a seat across from her. With his hands he carefully lifts his bad leg and rests it on her desk. She frowns. “Don’t do that. Put your feet down.”
He simply stretches out. “I seem to recall some hesitation on your part.”
“Just some?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not denying there were a few folds in your panties, but they do seem to have gotten quite bunched since yesterday. Which is unusual because you don’t get your period for another 21 days, which means this sudden change in your behavior isn’t hormonal.”
“Stop tracking my -”
“Point is: something’s changed. Since it’s not a matter of biology, since I haven’t done anything terribly reckless -”
“You gave yourself blood that you thought was tainted,” she points out.
He shrugs. “That’s normal.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“For me?” She has to concede the point “So like I said, there’s something else. Something that’s occurred in the last day. And I think it’s safe to say -”
“You’re wrong.”
He sits up straight, his eyes looking at her as though he’ll be able to read the truth on her face. “Am I?”
She hesitates to answer - not because she is afraid of admitting the truth. After the things they’ve done, honesty seems hardly difficult. But if there’s one fact of administrative life she has become accustomed to, it’s that there is always someone waiting in the wings to screw you over, to look for a sign of weakness that can be exploited. She’s not so paranoid as to think that someone is overhearing this conversation, obviously; she just feels uncomfortable discussing something as important as this in a place that will be everything but welcoming to their relationship. Yet she knows how it will look if she doesn’t answer the question, so she forces herself to press onward.
“Yes. You are.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because of where we are.”
If she is reluctant to talk about their relationship here, he apparently feels differently. “Curious that you were the one pushing to make this thing between us official and now -”
“Nothing’s changed,” she says calmly. Her voice lowers so she can tell him, “I still want to be with you. I… want this to be official. But,” she adds more firmly. “I meant what I said when I told you that we can’t mix this with work. When we’re here, we have to do our jobs - which is why I’m telling you to make your final choices for your team.”
“Oh.” He sneers in disgust. “I’d rather discuss the other thing.”
“Me too. But that conversation is going to have to wait. Your team?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Good.”
“How’s your ass?”
Cuddy isn’t surprised that he’s changed topics to one she’s expressly stated she doesn’t want to discuss here. She has asked him to distinguish between professional and personal, something their relationship confuses by definition. And never one to be good with restriction and etiquette, he can’t help himself. Well, he can; he just won’t - not until she has firmly drawn the line for him.
“What did I just say?” she demands irritably.
He looks intentionally blank. She has no doubt he remembers. He’s just purposely trying to annoy her.
It’s working.
“I’m not allowed to ask about -”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t ask at work about my -”
“Really? That’s news to me.”
He is probably right about that. Whether they were sleeping together or not, he might ask that question to throw her off.
“I’m fine,” she says curtly. Sore as she is, the feeling is bearable. If there has been a time today where it has become too much, that fact has little to do with the pain, which there really isn’t, and everything to do with the memory of last night the feeling evokes. She’s been seeing heated images of him spanking her, him shoving his dick in her mouth, and… everything else. Her mind elsewhere, it doesn’t make her feel shamed, to know what they did. She’s not embarrassed. She just finds it difficult to concentrate on her day when all she really wants is for him to drag her home by her hair and do it all over again. And knowing that he can’t right now is frustrating, but the physical ache she feels means nothing at all.
“You sure?”
“Go take care of your patient. We can talk about the rest later.”
He pushes. “How much later?”
She’s not expecting the question, so she is slow to answer. “I… don’t know. We… how about dinner?”
“Okay,” he says with a short nod. He pulls his feet off of the desk and starts to get up. She is relieved to see that he is finally getting ready to leave. His fingers clenching his cane tightly, he uses that to hoist himself up. But then, much to her dismay, he pauses, sits back down. “So where are we having dinner?”
She fights the urge to groan at his persistence. “I don’t know. My place, I guess. Or yours if you would prefer.”
“So you don’t want to go out,” he deduces in a faraway voice, in contemplation. “You still want to sneak around.”
The longer this conversation lasts, the more she’s dying for it to end. So much for keeping things separate, she thinks.
Her words come out as harried as she feels. “I just thought that you of all people would want to keep this quiet until -”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“A day ago, you didn’t even want to date me,” she points out. “You were pretty content to have sex and leave it at that. And now you’re ready to -”
“I was happy with the way things were, yeah. Then things changed,” he explains. “Now we’re, you know.” His voice drops to a whisper briefly. “Dating.” Becoming sarcastic, he asks, “Was that quiet enough for you?” She glares at him but doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “I agree: we shouldn’t tell anyone until we know for certain that this is something worth suffering all of the repercussions. But we’re never gonna know either way if we keep doing what we were doing before and just call it something different, are we?”
“Then what do you propose we do, House? Go out to dinner where anyone can see us? Drive hours out of our way? What exactly?”
His face screws up in concentration, wrinkles becoming more prominent as he considers the problem at hand. After a moment, he shakes off the intensity that has settled over him. With a shrug, he finally says, “I’ll have to think about that one.”
“You do that.”
He gets up out of his seat again. “I’ll come up with something.”
“And choose your team,” she reminds him.
“Oh, I can’t possibly do that. Now that I have the other situation to take care of, I’m gonna have to wait -”
“Two names.”
He opens the door to her office. “Absolutely. You’ll have them… eventually.”
“That’s not -”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought; the door slamming shut cuts her off. But she’s okay with letting him go. If he stayed any longer, that would be suspicious to people. Besides, if he’s thinking about how to get her on a date, he’s not, at least, keeping himself entertained by pranking, insulting, and manipulating the rest of the hospital. Between the challenge their budding relationship has presented and his patient, he won’t have time for much else. She hopes.
Wishing seems to make the thing happen however. Hours later, Cuddy hasn’t heard or seen House at all. Truth be told, that’s worrying, but if he were doing something dangerous or illegal, someone else would complain to her. Since they haven’t, the working theory at this point is that he’s actually trying to do his job.
But all thoughts of that go out the window when Wilson slips into her office. As she looks up to see who the intruder is, she’s surprised to see that he’s the one quietly shutting the door and tiptoeing towards her.
“Why are you avoiding House?” she asks, knowing that’s the only reason for his behavior.
Wilson instantly looks defeated, desperate. “I need you to do me a favor.”
She lets the confusion she feels show through. Inwardly she wonders if House is behind this, if he has somehow manipulated Wilson to solve their personal problem. “What’s that?” she asks calmly.
“Apparently House and I have plans tonight.” He sighs. “I didn’t remember. We’re supposed to have dinner at - I don’t know. He says we’ve had reservations for weeks, but….” He sighs again.
Cuddy, on the other hand, has to restrain herself from seeming too gleeful. She understands immediately that House never had any plans with Wilson, that this is a ruse to get her to dinner. Coincidences like this don’t just happen. But she has to keep that information to herself.
Resting her chin on her hand, she asks, “What’s the problem?”
“I have a date.”
“So tell him that.”
“Then he’ll follow me, and I’d rather he not interfere with this relationship.” She shoots him a look like there’s no chance that will happen. Wilson grimaces as if he knows she’s right. “I’m on borrowed time, I know. But if I could just hold him off a little longer, that’d be -”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I told him I’d go. If I said I had plans outright, you know what he would do.” She does. “So I’m going to fake an emergency the second we get to the restaurant.”
“Okay….”
“Before that happens, I need someone to… accidentally walk by and join us for dinner.” She scoffs, because it’s a ridiculous plan, because House has no doubt masterminded all of this. But Wilson only sees the former reason for the sound; he can’t know the latter. “It’s stupid, I get it. But if I cancel plans or leave without giving him a distraction, he will find one in me. And I really, really do not want that to happen, Cuddy.”
This woman clearly means something to Wilson, if he’s willing to play right into House’s machinations. Cuddy refuses to look impressed. “All right. I get that. But why me? Why not his team?”
Wilson is instantly apologetic. “I tried. Since you made your ultimatum and everyone knows about it by now, I expected his team to be more interested in fighting to the end for a permanent position.”
“By taking him out to dinner,” she says with amusement.
“There are worse ways to get a job. But House has other ideas.” Wilson’s face goes from placid to frustrated in an instant. “I don’t know if he’s screwing with me or you, but he told everyone that if they said yes, he wouldn’t hire them.”
Nice move, she thinks. “And why should I say yes? You go on a date, and I get stuck with him? How exactly is that fair?”
“You want two names from him. I’ll push him to fire the ones you think are the biggest liabilities.”
Now she doesn’t bother to hide her pleasure. This is quite the coup for her if she plays her cards right. She gets to have a date with House and a hand in the way he hires his staff. Even if he disregards whatever Wilson tells him, at least she will have had an opportunity to manipulate House in a way she wouldn’t have before. And with the situation seeming like one she can’t lose, she allows herself to smile. “Okay. I’ll have dinner with House. Convince him to keep Taub and Thirteen.”
Wilson hesitates for a moment, then says, “You… want me to tell him to fire Kutner and Dr. Volakis.” He seems to stumble over the names, which Cuddy notes but doesn’t think is too odd; these past few months have seen dozens of people come and go, potential hires brought in and fired at House’s every whim. Why would Wilson instinctively know the names of two people he has hardly spent any time with?
“Yes. Is that a deal?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t seem like it, but with a thin-lipped smile, he bows his head and leaves.
Whatever the source of Wilson’s possible reluctance, it means little in the end though. House’s plan works as intended. Wilson emails her the name and address of the restaurant, which she happens to walk by as they’re going inside. Wilson invites her to join them; House makes fun of her for agreeing, saying, “You seriously need to get laid if you’re trolling restaurants for people with lives to join.”
“You’re out with your only friend in the world. I’d hardly say you have a life.”
“More of a life than you.”
“Guys,” Wilson, the only one who doesn’t realize this is a game, interrupts. “It’s been a long day for all of us. I’ve got a patient who’s probably gonna die at any moment, and I don’t want to spend my dinner with either of you if you’re going to behave this way.”
He’s laying the groundwork for leaving. Everyone knows it, but they all pretend like this patient exists, like he or she isn’t going to suddenly worsen when they sit down. Cuddy apologizes though she doesn’t mean it, and House falls silent like he does, and the three are ushered to a table soon after.
She fights the surprise that overcomes her when House takes the seat next to her. And just when she thinks she’s taken control over the emotion, she feels his fingers creeping underneath the hem of her skirt.
Cuddy’s too frightened to gasp out loud. His skin is cold against her warm thighs, but she doesn’t even care about where he might take this. She’s too busy looking over at Wilson to see if he’s noticed.
He doesn’t.
He’s pretending like he cares about what he’s going to eat. His own lies blind him to the fact that he’s being used, that, as he works to get out of this meal, House’s fingers are creeping up her skirt as far as they can go.
She turns her head to look at House, whose eyes are trained on her, daring her.
Rationally she knows that she can stop this if she wants. All she has to do is reach down and grab hold of his wrist, and he’ll stop. Wilson will never know what happened if she does that.
But that’s not the choice she makes.
Oh she reaches below the table, sure. But instead of pushing House away, she is hiking her skirt up. Not all the way, of course, as if that matters, but just enough so that she can spread her legs further for him. His eyes widen briefly as he realizes what she's doing. Of all the ways he imagined this going, he obviously didn't think acquiescence was going to be an option.
But he recovers quickly. Just as she starts to get nervous that someone will notice the shock in his eyes, he relaxes his face. Glancing down, he starts reading the menu. Beneath the table though, he is anything but relaxed. With her skirt riding up her thighs, his fingers are able to slip between her legs with ease. A finger pressed against her already damp panties, he slowly begins to stroke her through the silky fabric.
Cuddy bites down on her tongue to stop herself from giving the act away. He isn't touching her enough to make her scream, which in itself makes her want to shout for more. But they are in a restaurant, and she can't do that. It's loud enough, thanks to the music and chatter from the added tables, that no one else would hear her if she says anything. And it's dark enough inside that no one can see what's going on. Their table is tucked away in one of the back corners, giving them added privacy.
Still.
There's Wilson.
That means they can't possibly be discrete enough.
That alone should have her stopping House. Wilson's not paying attention now, but there's no guaranteeing that he won't look up and notice her blushed face or won't drop his napkin on the ground trying to leave and notice, while picking the cloth up, what's going on.
But she doesn't stop House. His fingers toy with the elastic of her underwear, as though he's wondering if he should continue. He's waiting for a response - specifically, a reason to quit what he's doing. When she doesn't give him one, he sneaks his hand beneath her panties.
His finger slips between her heated labia and touches her clit. Instinctively, as he strokes her, she bows her head to look. She wants to see him pushing two fingers in her pussy, wants to watch her body react to the contact. But as she tries to look down, he uses his free hand to lightly tap one of hers, which is busy clutching the menu.
It's not enough to be a slap, just enough to catch her attention and no one else's.
When she looks over at him, she can see the "No" in his eyes. And she understands her predicament then. As fun as last night was... it's not within her to immediately listen to him. Following House's instructions when it's not required is madness. His team listens to him, because it's part of their job. She tends to accept his theories and insane plans, because like it or not, his genius usually makes him right. But this? There's no reason why she should listen to him. Last night proved disobedience could be amazing. She's not sure she's prepared to accept the rest of what that dynamic requires. Once more she thinks that they really need to discuss things; they've talked about how to go on a date, that they are in fact dating. But the most important part of what she needs to say has been ignored until now, and then suddenly Wilson can't leave fast enough for her taste.
She holds off on looking down at her lap - not because it's what House has quietly demanded, but because she's too busy glaring at Wilson to leave. When that doesn't happen though, she can't help but let her gaze wander. House glares at her like she's going to screw everything up if she calls attention to what he's doing. But she can't help it. She looks down, at the sight of his hand moving beneath her skirt, fingers pumping in and out of her.
It's then, just as he's really getting her juices flowing, that he pulls away.
Cuddy is helpless to stop the whine that escapes her. Instantly she recognizes her mistake, but Wilson doesn't notice. House does, but he quickly hides his irritation and wipes his wet fingers on his napkin. She fidgets beside him, not out of nervousness, but out of the need to fix her skirt and her panties.
It doesn't matter though. There's no way she can be comfortable now. He's worked her up too much. She's warm and wet, and her pussy throbs with the need for his touch once more. The fact that they are in a public place no longer bothers her; he could bend her over the table and fuck her, and the part of her desperate for release would be okay with that. Rationally she knows that that can't happen, that that would defeat the purpose of tricking Wilson. She tells herself that that's not really what she wants, and it's not. But somehow sitting here for dinner like nothing has happened, like House couldn't have made come if he really wanted to, seems impossible now. What other choice does she have though? Even when Wilson leaves, they'll be stuck here having dinner. Now that Wilson knows they went to the restaurant, he'll bombard them both with questions tomorrow as to how the food was. And if he thinks anything is off with their answers, he'll know something is wrong.
So Cuddy forces herself to focus on the menu, to ignore House. The waiter has been gone for five minutes easily, but she still has no idea what she wants, because she hasn't read a single word on the menu. Quickly she peruses the leather bound parchment for something that looks good. At this point, she doesn't really care what she has; she just wants to be prepared in case House decides it's time to start fingering her again when the waiter comes to take their order.
Much to her dismay, House doesn't. In fact he seems content to ignore her. He doesn't even look in her direction until Wilson finally makes his excuses. His beeper goes off, and within seconds, he's apologizing, lying. Neither House nor Cuddy care, but House glares at her and complains to Wilson about being stuck with her. The way House speaks with disgust, it's pretty convincing. If she didn't know any better, she would think he didn't want to be with her, absolutely. And she has no doubt that Wilson has that same impression, because he shoots her a look of thanks when he thinks House isn't looking. But ultimately the woman Wilson has promised his time to is too important to sacrifice an evening with her. No matter what House says, Wilson isn't moved, and soon after, he's gone.
The second Wilson leaves, House starts to move to the other side of the table. He doesn't get more than an inch off his seat though before Cuddy grabs him.
"Where are you going?" she asks, flustered.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter