Darker Inclinations, Chapter 1.2
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.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
"I was going to take Wilson's seat. Looks a little weird if I'm sitting next to you all evening, no?" He's right, of course. It will look weird if they're close to one another with no one else across from them... although if they leave Wilson's place setting and scotch where it is, it'll just look like a third party is in the bathroom. But even if it looks like the two of them together, Cuddy doesn't exactly care anymore.
House knows why.
He laughs a little, sits back down. Leaning close to her so that only she will hear, he tells her, "If you're hoping I'll keep playing with your pussy -"
"I am." There's no point in denying it.
"Hmm," he murmurs, nodding his head. "Understandable. But why would I want to do that?" She's not expecting that question and therefore has no answer to it. She wants to ask why he wouldn’t want to finish what he started, but he, unlike her, has an answer before the question can even be asked. "You've already shown that you can't be discrete."
She shakes her head. She can be, will be.
"We both know that's not true." She opens her mouth to disagree with him, but he doesn't give her a chance to say anything. "Don't lie."
"I'm not -"
"When you can be a good girl, I'll reconsider."
His tone leaves no room for argument, and he slips over to the other side of the table then without any protests from her. Silently though she fumes.
Perhaps that is what he wants - what she wants even. From an outsider’s perspective, she looks unhappy to be alone with him; no one will ever guess that they’ve been sleeping together for months now. And after their conversation this morning, she guesses this is what a night out with him is supposed to look like. To keep their relationship private, they have to look like they can barely stomach each other’s presence. That’s not what she wants however. Maybe it was at the offset, but she doesn’t want to pretend to be unhappy - or to actually be unhappy - to keep speculation at bay.
Suddenly pulling her out of her thoughts, House accuses, “I know what Wilson told you to get you here.”
“Who says he had to do anything to get me here?” she asks, reaching for her wine and taking a sip.
He shoots her a knowing look and doesn’t answer the question. “Having him whisper in my ear about who to hire though….” He shakes his head in disappointment. “I thought you were more clever than that.”
She smiles a little. “Who says I’m not? He offered. I won’t deny it,” she admits, as the waiter puts their dinners down onto the table with a clank. “What makes you think we actually agreed to those terms?”
“Because he’s suddenly taking an interest in who I hire.”
“So? Maybe he cares who you -”
“Oh I’m sure,” he interrupts, mouth full of food. His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “He has nothing to say on the matter, shows absolutely no interest. But then today of all days, when he needs a favor from you -”
“I can’t believe you managed that.” She hopes the compliment will distract him. “How’d you know he was dating someone?”
“I looked at his calendar. You can thank me later for that. In the meantime, don’t even think you’re getting out of this conversation.”
She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“He said I should hire the Bitch and Taub. Since that’s not really his opinion, I’ll ask you. Why them?”
Cuddy doesn’t say anything immediately. If she is too quick with her reasons, it will seem as though her opinions are thoughtless - or that her choices have been selected for the sole purpose of creating drama between them publicly. And of course there is the fact that Wilson has not represented her choices as she dictated them. That part has to give her pause, because she can’t understand why he would do it. She said to hire Taub and fire Dr. Volakis, so it’s not as though Wilson is trying to get the ending Cuddy wants by telling House the opposite of what she said. It makes no sense and sparks the embers of curiosity within her.
She keeps that to herself though. Whatever Wilson’s reasons, House doesn’t need to know that there might be more to the story than he’s currently aware of.
“If I told you,” she explains cautiously. “You’ll look for reasons to prove me wrong and not hire them.”
He easily throws back another truth for her to digest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just assume you have no reasons and won’t hire them.”
“That’s childish.”
“So is withholding explanations.”
“Fine. You don’t like Taub, but he’s good for you. You need people who do more than just follow your orders and play your games.”
He’s amused. “You mean you just don’t want me to hire the one who routinely sets himself on fire.”
“That would be another point, yes.”
“You do have to admit he keeps things interesting.”
“He keeps things burning, which is distinctly different than being interesting. And at some point, you’ll get bored with his predictable ineptitude and come to me, because you want to fire him. More importantly, I don’t need two people causing that much trouble in my hospital.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And the Bitch?”
She realizes that it doesn’t matter that Wilson put forth the second name. Whatever his reasons are, she needs some of her own now. The last thing she wants is for House to think she’s lying about her interest in keeping Taub. At the same time though, she doesn’t want House hiring Dr. Volakis, which means Cuddy needs to offer something that, at face value, sounds like a good reason… but becomes in his mind a detraction.
For someone else, that might be difficult. For someone who knows House as well as she does, she understands what needs to be said.
“You want someone to play your game? She’s the one most willing. She will do anything to prove that she’s right. And if she’s wrong, you’ll do everything you can to prove her wrong,” she explains calmly, knowing secretly how little House will appreciate that quality in someone. “You’ll solve cases faster.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“If you say so.”
Silence quickly overcomes them. Save for how the food is (good), they really have nothing to talk about. Well, they do, Cuddy realizes, but those issues aren’t exactly easy to discuss in public. But halfway through dinner, she has the urge to try anyway. She doesn’t want anyone to suspect what’s going on, but this date, such as it has been set up, is a waste of time if they are under the stress of indecision and confusion. House may disagree, considering he hasn’t said anything about it. But Cuddy doesn’t want to stay silent any longer.
“We need to talk,” she says slowly, putting her fork down.
House looks at her like he isn’t sure that’s a good thing. “About what?”
“What just happened?” she suggests.
“What do you mean? What just happened?”
She frowns, tries to be specific without outright saying it. “When Wilson was here.”
“Oh. That.” He fidgets, takes a drink. “That got out of hand. I didn’t think you were going to go for it.”
“You were trying to tease me,” she decides without any real surprise. Of course he would. If she’s set limits, he has to play along the lines - a part of his personality that should mean this relationship, at least as she wants it, can’t work.
He shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to....” He lowers his voice. “Touch you.” He must realize that that doesn’t clarify things, because he adds, “Not like that. Just generally. Then you made it clear I could go further, so I did. If you had indicated you wanted me to stop, I would have. I did when it became it clear that you weren’t going to be able to control -”
“That’s fine.”
“Is it?” he asks doubtfully.
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
“I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten what I told you in my office.”
“You want to keep things separated,” he repeats instantly. “I haven’t forgotten. I won’t.”
He’s stressing the point as though he’s concerned why she’s bringing this up. Caution defines his demeanor, and the promise that he won’t go against her wishes is proof enough that he is worried where this is headed. It makes her reconsider her earlier assumption: that he will eventually use whatever this dynamic between them is to hurt her. Right now, he’s proving her wrong by being so apprehensive of the topic at hand.
What he doesn’t realize is that she has no aim in mind. She’s not looking for an apology or a way out of a relationship, which he seems to assume she is. Or maybe it’s not right to say that she has no aim in mind, because in a way she does. She’s trying to find a way to discuss last night, and starting with what’s just occurred is as good an opening as any.
“Okay,” she tells him, hoping that he believes her and doesn’t assume she’s dismissing him. “What about yesterday?”
The transition is messy, non-existent. Not talking about the one thing she wants to discuss has made her itch for the conversation. And now that she finally has House alone, she can’t help but get straight to the point.
The downside of this is that he looks more confused than ever.
At first, he seems like he doesn’t know how to react to the question, like he isn’t sure what she wants him to say. Then he says with decision, “It won’t happen again.”
“No” is her immediate response.
“No? You don’t believe me?”
She stabs a piece of broccoli on her plate in frustration. “No as in the last thing I want is for that to be a singular event.”
His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. In a way, she thinks it shouldn’t be so shocking. She didn’t run away yesterday when he said he wanted to punish her. She didn’t object or leave when he went through with it, and she didn’t treat him any differently today when she would be most susceptible to shame. Truthfully if her behavior has indicated anything, it’s that she’s either indifferent or approving of the direction they’ve moved towards in the last twenty-four hours. He was betting on ambivalent apparently.
Wanting to leave absolutely no doubt in his mind, she tells him as quietly as the environment around them allows her, “I… need that to continue.”
“You liked that, huh?” If she’s serious, he’s conversational - proud. If there’s a little bite in his tone, it’s because he’s pleased with himself.
She is less amused. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I would think that’s obvious by now.”
He pretends to be taken aback by her irritation. “Wow. Very sensitive.”
“I just want to be clear about what I want out of this situation.”
“And I want to be equally clear that I take no issue with that. At all.” He blinks like he can’t even believe what’s going on. With a laugh he repeats himself, “At all. But you can’t expect me to not react to what you’re telling me. I’m not -”
“Mature enough for that? I can see.”
He smirks. Then he orders - orders, “Finish your dinner.” He’s gruff, using the same tone he did throughout last night. The reminder is intentional and effective. It immediately pushes her back into the space she was yesterday.
She’s not even sure why he’s able to have this effect on her. It doesn’t seem right for her, as a grown woman, to want much less enjoy this as she has, as she will. Especially when it’s House who’s giving the orders, it should be wrong to her. Because if working with him has proven one thing, it’s that she shouldn’t ever listen to him, right?
But she finds herself picking up her fork and eating her dinner. She’s following his orders, not out of fear, not out of hunger (for food anyway). She’s doing this, because something inside her wants to. And that is just as surprising to him as it is to her.
“You really do like this,” he says in amazement. The realization has him eating much faster than he was minutes ago.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
He looks at her as though she’s insane. “Aren’t you?” She smiles at the question, just a little anyway. “Hurry up. We have things to discuss.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“Maybe I’m finished.”
“Maybe?”
“I am.”
At that moment, it’s as though he can’t swallow fast enough. He’s scarfing his dinner down with hardly any time taken to chew the food. If she has ever been in doubt as to how attracted he is to her, this clarifies things in record time.
It leaves her speechless, truth be told. She should be telling him to slow down, as the mood will be killed if he chokes and needs the Heimlich or worse. Having that power over him, she should be lording it over him. She would have done it in different circumstances. What she feels now though is nothing like victory.
His want for her just kindles her own need. Watching him rush his way to be alone with her, she feels cared for, special.
Like she’s his.
That shouldn’t sound as good as it does, but possession has her blind to whatever distaste she would anticipate feeling. She just can’t get past how much he wants her and how much, in return, she wants him. It consumes her and makes the final minutes of their dinner unbearable. He’s eating as fast as he can, but it’s not quick enough for her.
Eventually though, after what feels like an eternity, he is finished, and they are able to pay for dinner and leave.
His hand brushes against her lower back as he ushers her out the door. They are in agreement that their relationship is private, but small touches like that make her want to reconsider.
When they’re standing outside, he asks, “Want to walk me to my bike?”
“No.”
“Meanie.” Within a beat, he’s inviting himself over albeit quietly. “Your place?”
She nods her head. “That’s fine…. Bye?”
It’s not her intention to be blunt, but he is equally quick to the point. “Yeah” is all he says before he turns from her and walks away.
As she heads to her car, she supposes the awkward and abrupt ending to their meal is acceptable, a good thing even. If Wilson were to ever become suspicious, if he were to ever question what happened tonight, no one in that restaurant would ever be able to confirm those feelings. Not that that’s going to happen, she realizes. The chances of Wilson thinking anything is off are slim. But it’s comforting to write off the rough areas in her budding relationship with House as being things that could work for them later on. It makes it easier to move forward without doubt, as she does by driving home as if nothing’s happened.
That House isn’t waiting for her when she gets there is discouraging. Pulling into her driveway, she half expects him to come racing down the road behind her. And when he doesn’t, that too is a rough spot, a disappointment she tries her best to ignore. She tells herself that these difficulties are to be expected. She hasn’t been in a relationship in a long time, and God only knows how long it’s been for House. Their apparent proclivities do not make the adjustment any easier, especially when they have not had the frank discussion they need to understand just how far they will take things. As such, Cuddy has to believe that things will get better. They will adjust to being with one another; they will figure out where the lines lie, and they will get past it. And when there are issues, and she knows there will be, they will be so screwed up that saying bye awkwardly and one person being slightly late will seem like nothing.
Because they are nothing.
But as she waits for him to come, anticipation makes the problem seem bigger than it is. She does her best to keep busy - going through her mail, listening to her voicemail and answering machine. Setting her briefcase down, she plops down on the couch to the sounds of a rambling apology on her home phone from Wilson.
His words are familiar to her, like so many of his canned thank yous she’s received in the past. He complements her wildly in his message. As usual, Cuddy responds to it with a mix of flattery and disbelief. She’s never thought that he’s lying, just that his appreciation only seems audible when she’s dealt with House for him. For this very reason, Wilson is the last person she wants to reveal her relationship to. House, of course, will probably make him the first. But Cuddy would rather not suddenly turn into the House whisperer, the one who has the unenviable task of dealing with his issues day in and day out, because Wilson no longer wants to do it himself. She figures being in a relationship with the man guarantees she’ll have to deal with the more frustrating parts of House. But she has no interest in becoming Wilson’s crutch.
If things go the way she wants them to, however, surely that’s going to happen.
The thought is not a sobering one per se, but it unleashes the exhaustion she’s earned after a long day. Between work and the fear someone will find her out, she has worn herself out. Then again, she’s home, and what else does she do at home besides sleep? Not having a personal life (or so it seems) has trained her to treat the hours she’s not at work as time to rest. And with that and the monotone (and monotony) of Wilson’s apology, she finds it difficult to keep her eyelids open. She wants to stay awake for House, but her head bobs up and down. She doesn’t want to sleep, she tells herself, but it would be nice to just lay her head down for a while - a little while.
It doesn’t register in her mind that it’s happened until she feels a hand on her shoulder.
She wakes up with a start, aware only of the fact that she is home alone and no one should be touching her. Fear easily dissolves to recognition when she realizes the hand is House’s.
“You’re late,” she grumbles.
He pushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face gently, letting his fingers slowly meander to her back. His touch warm and soft, he explains, “I stopped by my apartment so I could pick up a change of clothes. In the spirit of keeping things separate, I didn’t think you’d want me to come into work tomorrow looking like I spent the previous night getting my dick wet.” She groans at the language, too tired for his antics. “I figured that would create too many questions. So I grabbed some stuff and came over. Ran into some traffic, but I’m not that late. You’re just tired.”
“I am,” she agrees, whines.
He leans down and slips off the pumps she doesn’t realize she’s still wearing. One of his palms runs along her heel, glossing over a spot that must be red because it’s sore from long hours on her feet. If he’s worried about the area, he doesn’t say anything. He just lifts her ankles and helps her rest her tender feet on the couch cushion.
“I’d let you sleep, but we have some things we need to talk about,” he tells her. “And I don’t think it can wait.”
She nods her head against the throw pillow her head is resting against. The way her cheek brushes against the cushion forces her to acknowledge just how tired she really is. She must have found a way to lie down before nodding off. She had no idea until that moment.
“I’m gonna make some coffee,” he announces. “Maybe that will help wake you up.”
Presumptuously he heads straight for her kitchen and starts rummaging through it. Frankly she’s surprised he doesn’t know where he keeps her coffee and filters - as the amount of noise indicates he’s lost. For someone who obviously knows where she keeps her spare keys and how to get into her home, he should be more familiar with her house, and she’s taken aback that he isn’t. Against her body’s wishes, she thinks she should get up and make sure he doesn’t destroy her kitchen looking for what he wants.
But by the time she enters the room, the coffee is already starting to brew. His back to her, she steps behind him. Instantly sensing her presence, he turns around, slings an arm around her.
As he pulls her into his embrace, he says, “Following me into the kitchen? Where there are wooden spoons? That’s brave.” And then in put-upon surprise, he adds, “Oh wait. I forgot: you’d probably enjoy that.”
She doesn’t care that he’s taunting her. Her chin on his chest, she asks, straight to the point, “Are you going to do that?”
“No.” Her disappointment is obvious, and he must see it, because he tells her, “Not ruling it out completely. But if we’re not just having sex anymore, then you’re right. We need to talk about that.”
“I’m surprised you agree.”
“I was thinking what would happen if my team called me on my way back. If I told them to do something… not illegal but maybe… not entirely legal -”
“Not entirely legal is -”
“Point is,” he says, talking over her. “If I did something questionable, do I tell you? Do you know and not do anything about it? Do you do something about it and then make people wonder just how it was you knew what was going on? And that doesn’t even begin to touch on how you like getting your ass slapped and what exactly I’m supposed to do with that. So forgive me if I think we need boundaries now that we’re not just playing hide the sausage for fun.”
She raises an eyebrow at the phrase. “I’m dating a teenager.”
“But you get my point.”
He pours their coffee then and hands her one of the mugs. As he busies himself dumping absurd amounts of sugar and milk in his cup, she takes a few small sips of her own. Unlike him she’s not a big coffee drinker; if she needs caffeine these days, she prefers to get it from tea. But she knows that they have a lot they need to hash out, and that will require her to be awake and sharp. Normally she would want to be prepared, because she anticipated a fight.
Sitting with him on her couch though, she realizes quickly that this conversation won’t involve arguing. There’s nothing to fight about.
“Tonight went well,” he starts off before slurping down some coffee. “But we’re not at that point where we can go out without anyone thinking anything of it.”
His logic is irrefutable. As much as she would like to believe they can do whatever they want from this point, she knows they can't. "I know," she tells him.
"Now that I know Wilson has a -"
"So this is about screwing with Wilson."
"Absolutely not. This is about screwing you. But if a byproduct of that is learning more about who Wilson is dating, that's fine with me."
Cuddy can't even fight on this point. She doesn't like that Wilson will get caught in the crosshairs of this relationship, but surely by now he knows how House operates. He knows that keeping secrets is all House needs to meddle in his life, just as she understands that relationship or no, House would be doing precisely what he's doing now. Even if she's against it, he will do what he wants. He will continue to dig until Wilson tells him who he's sleeping with. So then why would Cuddy really object to House's plan? He's going to do what he feels is right no matter what. At least this way, this furthers their own relationship.
Rightly accepting her silence as approval, House continues. "I'll just keep asking him to do things. Now that he knows he can depend on you to take over when he wants to get laid, he'll come to you, which I assume you have no problem with, considering it places him in your debt. If someone comments to you or me or him about seeing us together, any one of us can easily say that you were doing him a favor, babysitting his annoying friend while he went on a date."
"And that's your plan? We just use Wilson. What happens if he breaks up with this -"
"Wilson doesn't get dumped until after he's married them, and that usually takes a while."
"Still. You don't think it will be obvious that -"
"At a certain point, we'll suddenly realize that we have fun together and start to hang out of our own volition. By that time it'll seem natural. No one will think anything of it. And if we ever get to the point where we want to reveal our relationship to the rest of the world, again, people won't think it's that odd. It's a win-win situation."
She tries to find the flaws in his logic, but she can't. Perhaps she just wants to believe that this relatively simple plan will work, that she can just seamlessly start to date her employee without issue. At that moment it seems too easy for them. After all this time of sneaking around, she is suspicious at how fluid a change this might be. But her reservations bear no fruit; there's nothing she can point to as a problem. And so she is forced to say, "Okay. That works."
"Now the more difficult part," he says slowly with a lackluster quality to his tone. "How we keep things separated mentally."
"I don't want you to lie to me." She blurts the truth out as she thinks it, no hesitation, no consideration for the wording. She just knows that regardless of anything else, their relationship can't last if she doesn't trust him. And if she's going to ask him to indulge her apparent kinks, she needs to know that he is a man of his word. "I'd rather you tell me what was going on than not."
"Even if that means you can't do anything. Say I tell you I'm going to forge Foreman's name on a release form. You're going to be okay with letting me do that?" He is doubtful.
"I...." She'll be lying if she says she would have no problems with that kind of behavior. If honesty is the subject, then she herself must be truthful. "I would try to talk you out of it. I'd be mad at you if you did it anyway. I would try to stop you if I could find a way of doing without jeopardizing everything else."
"And if you can't find a way, what are you going to do?"
She thinks about it, hates what her answer is. "We work well together. If we're discovered sleeping together and we haven't gone through the proper channels to divulge that relationship, I'd be... not ruined but close enough for it to risk our working relationship. And if I'm not in charge of you, the person who takes over that job will have no sympathy for your practicing methods. You'll either be fired or so tied up with bureaucracy that you can't do your job effectively, and people will die because of that. So...." It kills her to say it, but she knows it's the truth. "If I have to look the other way, I will."
He looks at her closely to see if she's lying. But she obviously isn't, so he nods his head approvingly. "Good."
"Yeah" is her unenthusiastic response.
"If it makes you feel better, anything I tell you in secret is something I wouldn’t have told you if I didn't get to play with your boobs regularly. So even though it feels like something's changed, nothing really has."
When put like that, it does make her feel better. "True," she tells him, reconsidering the matter with new perspective.
But as she does so, she realizes that there is another part of the work equation that they haven't discussed. "What happens," she asks suddenly. "If I do manage to stop you? Whether you tell me or not beforehand, if I prevent you from doing what you want, how does that work?"
He smirks. "I thought you'd figure that out on your own." When it's clear she hasn't, can't, he sets his empty mug on the coffee table -- next to her cup, which is still nearly full. As he sits back on the sofa, he reconsiders what he’s said. “Well, I shouldn’t say that. Maybe you’ll disagree with me, but here’s what I know: as much as I resent your interference, I understand that it’s necessary.”
That’s all very nice to hear, she thinks, and she has no doubt that he means it. But sincerity hardly guarantees that he will be able to control himself when his girlfriend blocks him professionally.
“I’m glad you mean that,” she says honestly. “But I think it’s -”
“You don’t believe me.” The accusation is a light one, but it’s still notable.
“I believe that you mean what you say. I don’t believe that means you’ll always be able to restrain yourself when things don’t go the way you want them to.”
He considers this for a moment then agrees. “You’re right. But it’s worth pointing out that it takes quite a lot for me to take real issue with you doing your job and I’m guessing more than that for me to take those issues home with me.” He must sense that this isn’t enough for her. His hand reaches over and brushes against hers briefly. “If that happens, it’d probably make sense for me to go home, stay away for a while.”
“You would avoid me.”
“If I needed to.”
Cuddy isn’t sure that’s the answer she’s looking for. It’s not that she wants to face House’s ire. She’s experienced that before. In the very public hospital, he has found ways at times to hurt and humiliate, and she doubts that it would feel any better to have him do those things in private. But on the other hand, she doesn’t like the idea that they might have to distance themselves to get through an unpleasant part of their lives. She doesn’t relish leaving him to his own devices when he could be here with her. Separation may very well turn out to be for the best, but it makes her uneasy to think that there might be a time where she needs him and he isn’t there.
Still, she’s uninterested in voicing her concern. The idea isn’t one she loves, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be bad when (and it will be when not if) it’s implemented. She thinks that it might never be something she enjoys, but if it works, then that’s what matters. And if it doesn’t, then they’ll discuss that then. There’s no point in objecting when she doesn’t know how it will work in action.
Of course nothing needs to be said; her misgivings are obvious and don’t need to be articulated as a result. So she just says, “Okay. If you think that’s what’ll be best.” The words are awkward coming from her.
He grabs her mug of coffee and holds it in his hands as if contemplating on drinking it. Deciding against it, he sets the cup down once more. When he sits back, he tells her, “I don’t know why you’re worried. We agree to take some space when we’ll need it, and we’ll see what happens. If it makes things worse -”
“That’s my fear.”
“Then we’ll change courses.” He makes it sound so simple, but she fears it won’t be. “That’s how it works. We test a theory out. If it’s not suitable, then we’ll come up with something else - and when we do, we’ll know what not to do, which will make a solution that much easier to find.”
“This isn’t one of your patients, House.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I have this fantasy of taking your temperature with my -”
“Can you please be serious?”
“Oh I am.” She shoots him a dirty look, and he concedes. “Fine. I understand that this isn’t science. However, I also think that dating you means there will be some inherent failures that come with it. There are going to be things we have to work through. But if we try, blah, blah, blah, eventually we will have some success, etcetera.”
“And you’re not worried we’ll screw it up in the process.”
“Sure. I’m equally sure that there’s nothing we can do about that… other than do our best to avoid that situation.”
She doesn’t understand how he can be so nonchalant about this. And she’s about to ask him why he is, but he has anticipated this question. He must have, because he answers her before she can ask.
“I don’t think we need to discuss what we risked by just sleeping together and now what we’re putting on the line by attempting a relationship.
She shakes her head no. “Please don’t remind me.”
“We both stand to lose a lot if this doesn’t work out. Yet we’re taking that risk, which is why I know that you’re not screwing around with me and why I hope you know I’m just as serious.”
Sometimes she hates how coldly he can reduce a relationship to gains, losses, selfish motivations. Right now she appreciates it. He has taken all of the emotional concerns out of the equation, and reduced, the issue seems as black and white as he is making it. They have made a lot of effort to get this far. Perhaps there is some reassurance to be had with that knowledge.
“I guess you’re right,” she admits eventually. Immediately she regrets saying it out loud; the smugness rolls off him like a physical essence. “Act like that, and I’ll never say it again.”
“You don’t need to say it again. Just knowing that I got you to say it once is enough to light many a dark night for -”
“Oh stop,” she orders, disgusted at the display. “You don’t win anything for being right.”
“Pretty sure just knowing that my intellect beat you into submission is enough for me,” he says proudly. She’s too busy scowling to notice him changing the subject. “Speaking of beating you into submission, what you said at the restaurant.”
Confused she asks, “What about it?”
He’s irritated by the question. “You know for someone who’s been saying all day that she wants to talk, I seem to be the only one actually doing any of the conversing.”
“I’m tired,” she explains. “And you’re saying all the right things, apparently, so what’s the problem?”
“Because I don’t want to have the argument some day that I made all these decisions for us and you’re not -”
“All right. I’ll participate more. What didn’t you understand about what I said?”
“I understand. I hope.” He seems a little unsure now that he has asserted that he gets it. “You want things to be kinky? That’s fine with me. But that’s the kind of thing that gets out of hand if there aren’t some ground rules. And since that’s not something I am inherently aware of -”
“I have to spell it out for you.”
“Yes.” Rethinking the neglected cup of coffee, he picks it up once more and takes a sip. There is enough room in that period of time for her to say something, anything, but she doesn’t. Words seem just out of reach.
It has nothing to do with fear or embarrassment.
It’s simply hard to voice something she can’t explain.
Not understanding that, he says, “I get that this is anything but easy. If you’re embarrassed -”
“I’m not.” She means it, and that shines through in the way she shoots him down. “I’m just not sure how to describe….” Her voice trails off, the sentence not working for her. Licking her lips, she tries again. “Last night, I started off thinking you were bluffing.”
“I know.”
“And then when you… spanked me, I….” She shrugs. “I didn’t want you to stop.” He looks like he wants to say he knows that too, but he refrains from doing so. “You were… possessive, and I liked that. I liked that you were in control and pushing me to do things I wouldn’t have ordinarily done.” She can’t leave it there. More needs to be said. “Of course I knew that you would stop if I told you to.” She feels the need to say the last part empathically.
It’s not just that he was dominating her, maybe even degrading her. It’s that she was truly the one in control, that for all of his outward effort to make her feel under his spell, he was the one who became beholden to her. She does not relish that fact out of a need to be in charge of him. It has nothing to do with that. Instead, for her, it made her feel in complete control of herself, her experience. And as they devolved into darker acts, as she uncovered affinities for things she never thought she would like much less ask for, she found herself glad to feel as protected as she was from going too far, from being so deep in it that she couldn’t find her way back. He was in charge as much as she was, and together they explored just how far things could go.
“I’ve never had sex like that,” she tells him. The pleasure he takes in hearing that is not missed. “I was thinking today what it would be like to go back to the way things were before that. Not that the sex was bad before, because it wasn’t. But the idea of just forgetting what we did, making it a one time thing… I don’t want that.”
“So… what you’re saying is….” He slides closer to her on the couch. Leaning into her, he kisses her neck once. “You want me to spank you?” The heat in his voice makes her freeze, much to his dismay.
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.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
"I was going to take Wilson's seat. Looks a little weird if I'm sitting next to you all evening, no?" He's right, of course. It will look weird if they're close to one another with no one else across from them... although if they leave Wilson's place setting and scotch where it is, it'll just look like a third party is in the bathroom. But even if it looks like the two of them together, Cuddy doesn't exactly care anymore.
House knows why.
He laughs a little, sits back down. Leaning close to her so that only she will hear, he tells her, "If you're hoping I'll keep playing with your pussy -"
"I am." There's no point in denying it.
"Hmm," he murmurs, nodding his head. "Understandable. But why would I want to do that?" She's not expecting that question and therefore has no answer to it. She wants to ask why he wouldn’t want to finish what he started, but he, unlike her, has an answer before the question can even be asked. "You've already shown that you can't be discrete."
She shakes her head. She can be, will be.
"We both know that's not true." She opens her mouth to disagree with him, but he doesn't give her a chance to say anything. "Don't lie."
"I'm not -"
"When you can be a good girl, I'll reconsider."
His tone leaves no room for argument, and he slips over to the other side of the table then without any protests from her. Silently though she fumes.
Perhaps that is what he wants - what she wants even. From an outsider’s perspective, she looks unhappy to be alone with him; no one will ever guess that they’ve been sleeping together for months now. And after their conversation this morning, she guesses this is what a night out with him is supposed to look like. To keep their relationship private, they have to look like they can barely stomach each other’s presence. That’s not what she wants however. Maybe it was at the offset, but she doesn’t want to pretend to be unhappy - or to actually be unhappy - to keep speculation at bay.
Suddenly pulling her out of her thoughts, House accuses, “I know what Wilson told you to get you here.”
“Who says he had to do anything to get me here?” she asks, reaching for her wine and taking a sip.
He shoots her a knowing look and doesn’t answer the question. “Having him whisper in my ear about who to hire though….” He shakes his head in disappointment. “I thought you were more clever than that.”
She smiles a little. “Who says I’m not? He offered. I won’t deny it,” she admits, as the waiter puts their dinners down onto the table with a clank. “What makes you think we actually agreed to those terms?”
“Because he’s suddenly taking an interest in who I hire.”
“So? Maybe he cares who you -”
“Oh I’m sure,” he interrupts, mouth full of food. His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “He has nothing to say on the matter, shows absolutely no interest. But then today of all days, when he needs a favor from you -”
“I can’t believe you managed that.” She hopes the compliment will distract him. “How’d you know he was dating someone?”
“I looked at his calendar. You can thank me later for that. In the meantime, don’t even think you’re getting out of this conversation.”
She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“He said I should hire the Bitch and Taub. Since that’s not really his opinion, I’ll ask you. Why them?”
Cuddy doesn’t say anything immediately. If she is too quick with her reasons, it will seem as though her opinions are thoughtless - or that her choices have been selected for the sole purpose of creating drama between them publicly. And of course there is the fact that Wilson has not represented her choices as she dictated them. That part has to give her pause, because she can’t understand why he would do it. She said to hire Taub and fire Dr. Volakis, so it’s not as though Wilson is trying to get the ending Cuddy wants by telling House the opposite of what she said. It makes no sense and sparks the embers of curiosity within her.
She keeps that to herself though. Whatever Wilson’s reasons, House doesn’t need to know that there might be more to the story than he’s currently aware of.
“If I told you,” she explains cautiously. “You’ll look for reasons to prove me wrong and not hire them.”
He easily throws back another truth for her to digest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just assume you have no reasons and won’t hire them.”
“That’s childish.”
“So is withholding explanations.”
“Fine. You don’t like Taub, but he’s good for you. You need people who do more than just follow your orders and play your games.”
He’s amused. “You mean you just don’t want me to hire the one who routinely sets himself on fire.”
“That would be another point, yes.”
“You do have to admit he keeps things interesting.”
“He keeps things burning, which is distinctly different than being interesting. And at some point, you’ll get bored with his predictable ineptitude and come to me, because you want to fire him. More importantly, I don’t need two people causing that much trouble in my hospital.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. And the Bitch?”
She realizes that it doesn’t matter that Wilson put forth the second name. Whatever his reasons are, she needs some of her own now. The last thing she wants is for House to think she’s lying about her interest in keeping Taub. At the same time though, she doesn’t want House hiring Dr. Volakis, which means Cuddy needs to offer something that, at face value, sounds like a good reason… but becomes in his mind a detraction.
For someone else, that might be difficult. For someone who knows House as well as she does, she understands what needs to be said.
“You want someone to play your game? She’s the one most willing. She will do anything to prove that she’s right. And if she’s wrong, you’ll do everything you can to prove her wrong,” she explains calmly, knowing secretly how little House will appreciate that quality in someone. “You’ll solve cases faster.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“If you say so.”
Silence quickly overcomes them. Save for how the food is (good), they really have nothing to talk about. Well, they do, Cuddy realizes, but those issues aren’t exactly easy to discuss in public. But halfway through dinner, she has the urge to try anyway. She doesn’t want anyone to suspect what’s going on, but this date, such as it has been set up, is a waste of time if they are under the stress of indecision and confusion. House may disagree, considering he hasn’t said anything about it. But Cuddy doesn’t want to stay silent any longer.
“We need to talk,” she says slowly, putting her fork down.
House looks at her like he isn’t sure that’s a good thing. “About what?”
“What just happened?” she suggests.
“What do you mean? What just happened?”
She frowns, tries to be specific without outright saying it. “When Wilson was here.”
“Oh. That.” He fidgets, takes a drink. “That got out of hand. I didn’t think you were going to go for it.”
“You were trying to tease me,” she decides without any real surprise. Of course he would. If she’s set limits, he has to play along the lines - a part of his personality that should mean this relationship, at least as she wants it, can’t work.
He shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to....” He lowers his voice. “Touch you.” He must realize that that doesn’t clarify things, because he adds, “Not like that. Just generally. Then you made it clear I could go further, so I did. If you had indicated you wanted me to stop, I would have. I did when it became it clear that you weren’t going to be able to control -”
“That’s fine.”
“Is it?” he asks doubtfully.
She shrugs. “Yeah.”
“That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
“I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten what I told you in my office.”
“You want to keep things separated,” he repeats instantly. “I haven’t forgotten. I won’t.”
He’s stressing the point as though he’s concerned why she’s bringing this up. Caution defines his demeanor, and the promise that he won’t go against her wishes is proof enough that he is worried where this is headed. It makes her reconsider her earlier assumption: that he will eventually use whatever this dynamic between them is to hurt her. Right now, he’s proving her wrong by being so apprehensive of the topic at hand.
What he doesn’t realize is that she has no aim in mind. She’s not looking for an apology or a way out of a relationship, which he seems to assume she is. Or maybe it’s not right to say that she has no aim in mind, because in a way she does. She’s trying to find a way to discuss last night, and starting with what’s just occurred is as good an opening as any.
“Okay,” she tells him, hoping that he believes her and doesn’t assume she’s dismissing him. “What about yesterday?”
The transition is messy, non-existent. Not talking about the one thing she wants to discuss has made her itch for the conversation. And now that she finally has House alone, she can’t help but get straight to the point.
The downside of this is that he looks more confused than ever.
At first, he seems like he doesn’t know how to react to the question, like he isn’t sure what she wants him to say. Then he says with decision, “It won’t happen again.”
“No” is her immediate response.
“No? You don’t believe me?”
She stabs a piece of broccoli on her plate in frustration. “No as in the last thing I want is for that to be a singular event.”
His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. In a way, she thinks it shouldn’t be so shocking. She didn’t run away yesterday when he said he wanted to punish her. She didn’t object or leave when he went through with it, and she didn’t treat him any differently today when she would be most susceptible to shame. Truthfully if her behavior has indicated anything, it’s that she’s either indifferent or approving of the direction they’ve moved towards in the last twenty-four hours. He was betting on ambivalent apparently.
Wanting to leave absolutely no doubt in his mind, she tells him as quietly as the environment around them allows her, “I… need that to continue.”
“You liked that, huh?” If she’s serious, he’s conversational - proud. If there’s a little bite in his tone, it’s because he’s pleased with himself.
She is less amused. Through gritted teeth, she says, “I would think that’s obvious by now.”
He pretends to be taken aback by her irritation. “Wow. Very sensitive.”
“I just want to be clear about what I want out of this situation.”
“And I want to be equally clear that I take no issue with that. At all.” He blinks like he can’t even believe what’s going on. With a laugh he repeats himself, “At all. But you can’t expect me to not react to what you’re telling me. I’m not -”
“Mature enough for that? I can see.”
He smirks. Then he orders - orders, “Finish your dinner.” He’s gruff, using the same tone he did throughout last night. The reminder is intentional and effective. It immediately pushes her back into the space she was yesterday.
She’s not even sure why he’s able to have this effect on her. It doesn’t seem right for her, as a grown woman, to want much less enjoy this as she has, as she will. Especially when it’s House who’s giving the orders, it should be wrong to her. Because if working with him has proven one thing, it’s that she shouldn’t ever listen to him, right?
But she finds herself picking up her fork and eating her dinner. She’s following his orders, not out of fear, not out of hunger (for food anyway). She’s doing this, because something inside her wants to. And that is just as surprising to him as it is to her.
“You really do like this,” he says in amazement. The realization has him eating much faster than he was minutes ago.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
He looks at her as though she’s insane. “Aren’t you?” She smiles at the question, just a little anyway. “Hurry up. We have things to discuss.”
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“Maybe I’m finished.”
“Maybe?”
“I am.”
At that moment, it’s as though he can’t swallow fast enough. He’s scarfing his dinner down with hardly any time taken to chew the food. If she has ever been in doubt as to how attracted he is to her, this clarifies things in record time.
It leaves her speechless, truth be told. She should be telling him to slow down, as the mood will be killed if he chokes and needs the Heimlich or worse. Having that power over him, she should be lording it over him. She would have done it in different circumstances. What she feels now though is nothing like victory.
His want for her just kindles her own need. Watching him rush his way to be alone with her, she feels cared for, special.
Like she’s his.
That shouldn’t sound as good as it does, but possession has her blind to whatever distaste she would anticipate feeling. She just can’t get past how much he wants her and how much, in return, she wants him. It consumes her and makes the final minutes of their dinner unbearable. He’s eating as fast as he can, but it’s not quick enough for her.
Eventually though, after what feels like an eternity, he is finished, and they are able to pay for dinner and leave.
His hand brushes against her lower back as he ushers her out the door. They are in agreement that their relationship is private, but small touches like that make her want to reconsider.
When they’re standing outside, he asks, “Want to walk me to my bike?”
“No.”
“Meanie.” Within a beat, he’s inviting himself over albeit quietly. “Your place?”
She nods her head. “That’s fine…. Bye?”
It’s not her intention to be blunt, but he is equally quick to the point. “Yeah” is all he says before he turns from her and walks away.
As she heads to her car, she supposes the awkward and abrupt ending to their meal is acceptable, a good thing even. If Wilson were to ever become suspicious, if he were to ever question what happened tonight, no one in that restaurant would ever be able to confirm those feelings. Not that that’s going to happen, she realizes. The chances of Wilson thinking anything is off are slim. But it’s comforting to write off the rough areas in her budding relationship with House as being things that could work for them later on. It makes it easier to move forward without doubt, as she does by driving home as if nothing’s happened.
That House isn’t waiting for her when she gets there is discouraging. Pulling into her driveway, she half expects him to come racing down the road behind her. And when he doesn’t, that too is a rough spot, a disappointment she tries her best to ignore. She tells herself that these difficulties are to be expected. She hasn’t been in a relationship in a long time, and God only knows how long it’s been for House. Their apparent proclivities do not make the adjustment any easier, especially when they have not had the frank discussion they need to understand just how far they will take things. As such, Cuddy has to believe that things will get better. They will adjust to being with one another; they will figure out where the lines lie, and they will get past it. And when there are issues, and she knows there will be, they will be so screwed up that saying bye awkwardly and one person being slightly late will seem like nothing.
Because they are nothing.
But as she waits for him to come, anticipation makes the problem seem bigger than it is. She does her best to keep busy - going through her mail, listening to her voicemail and answering machine. Setting her briefcase down, she plops down on the couch to the sounds of a rambling apology on her home phone from Wilson.
His words are familiar to her, like so many of his canned thank yous she’s received in the past. He complements her wildly in his message. As usual, Cuddy responds to it with a mix of flattery and disbelief. She’s never thought that he’s lying, just that his appreciation only seems audible when she’s dealt with House for him. For this very reason, Wilson is the last person she wants to reveal her relationship to. House, of course, will probably make him the first. But Cuddy would rather not suddenly turn into the House whisperer, the one who has the unenviable task of dealing with his issues day in and day out, because Wilson no longer wants to do it himself. She figures being in a relationship with the man guarantees she’ll have to deal with the more frustrating parts of House. But she has no interest in becoming Wilson’s crutch.
If things go the way she wants them to, however, surely that’s going to happen.
The thought is not a sobering one per se, but it unleashes the exhaustion she’s earned after a long day. Between work and the fear someone will find her out, she has worn herself out. Then again, she’s home, and what else does she do at home besides sleep? Not having a personal life (or so it seems) has trained her to treat the hours she’s not at work as time to rest. And with that and the monotone (and monotony) of Wilson’s apology, she finds it difficult to keep her eyelids open. She wants to stay awake for House, but her head bobs up and down. She doesn’t want to sleep, she tells herself, but it would be nice to just lay her head down for a while - a little while.
It doesn’t register in her mind that it’s happened until she feels a hand on her shoulder.
She wakes up with a start, aware only of the fact that she is home alone and no one should be touching her. Fear easily dissolves to recognition when she realizes the hand is House’s.
“You’re late,” she grumbles.
He pushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face gently, letting his fingers slowly meander to her back. His touch warm and soft, he explains, “I stopped by my apartment so I could pick up a change of clothes. In the spirit of keeping things separate, I didn’t think you’d want me to come into work tomorrow looking like I spent the previous night getting my dick wet.” She groans at the language, too tired for his antics. “I figured that would create too many questions. So I grabbed some stuff and came over. Ran into some traffic, but I’m not that late. You’re just tired.”
“I am,” she agrees, whines.
He leans down and slips off the pumps she doesn’t realize she’s still wearing. One of his palms runs along her heel, glossing over a spot that must be red because it’s sore from long hours on her feet. If he’s worried about the area, he doesn’t say anything. He just lifts her ankles and helps her rest her tender feet on the couch cushion.
“I’d let you sleep, but we have some things we need to talk about,” he tells her. “And I don’t think it can wait.”
She nods her head against the throw pillow her head is resting against. The way her cheek brushes against the cushion forces her to acknowledge just how tired she really is. She must have found a way to lie down before nodding off. She had no idea until that moment.
“I’m gonna make some coffee,” he announces. “Maybe that will help wake you up.”
Presumptuously he heads straight for her kitchen and starts rummaging through it. Frankly she’s surprised he doesn’t know where he keeps her coffee and filters - as the amount of noise indicates he’s lost. For someone who obviously knows where she keeps her spare keys and how to get into her home, he should be more familiar with her house, and she’s taken aback that he isn’t. Against her body’s wishes, she thinks she should get up and make sure he doesn’t destroy her kitchen looking for what he wants.
But by the time she enters the room, the coffee is already starting to brew. His back to her, she steps behind him. Instantly sensing her presence, he turns around, slings an arm around her.
As he pulls her into his embrace, he says, “Following me into the kitchen? Where there are wooden spoons? That’s brave.” And then in put-upon surprise, he adds, “Oh wait. I forgot: you’d probably enjoy that.”
She doesn’t care that he’s taunting her. Her chin on his chest, she asks, straight to the point, “Are you going to do that?”
“No.” Her disappointment is obvious, and he must see it, because he tells her, “Not ruling it out completely. But if we’re not just having sex anymore, then you’re right. We need to talk about that.”
“I’m surprised you agree.”
“I was thinking what would happen if my team called me on my way back. If I told them to do something… not illegal but maybe… not entirely legal -”
“Not entirely legal is -”
“Point is,” he says, talking over her. “If I did something questionable, do I tell you? Do you know and not do anything about it? Do you do something about it and then make people wonder just how it was you knew what was going on? And that doesn’t even begin to touch on how you like getting your ass slapped and what exactly I’m supposed to do with that. So forgive me if I think we need boundaries now that we’re not just playing hide the sausage for fun.”
She raises an eyebrow at the phrase. “I’m dating a teenager.”
“But you get my point.”
He pours their coffee then and hands her one of the mugs. As he busies himself dumping absurd amounts of sugar and milk in his cup, she takes a few small sips of her own. Unlike him she’s not a big coffee drinker; if she needs caffeine these days, she prefers to get it from tea. But she knows that they have a lot they need to hash out, and that will require her to be awake and sharp. Normally she would want to be prepared, because she anticipated a fight.
Sitting with him on her couch though, she realizes quickly that this conversation won’t involve arguing. There’s nothing to fight about.
“Tonight went well,” he starts off before slurping down some coffee. “But we’re not at that point where we can go out without anyone thinking anything of it.”
His logic is irrefutable. As much as she would like to believe they can do whatever they want from this point, she knows they can't. "I know," she tells him.
"Now that I know Wilson has a -"
"So this is about screwing with Wilson."
"Absolutely not. This is about screwing you. But if a byproduct of that is learning more about who Wilson is dating, that's fine with me."
Cuddy can't even fight on this point. She doesn't like that Wilson will get caught in the crosshairs of this relationship, but surely by now he knows how House operates. He knows that keeping secrets is all House needs to meddle in his life, just as she understands that relationship or no, House would be doing precisely what he's doing now. Even if she's against it, he will do what he wants. He will continue to dig until Wilson tells him who he's sleeping with. So then why would Cuddy really object to House's plan? He's going to do what he feels is right no matter what. At least this way, this furthers their own relationship.
Rightly accepting her silence as approval, House continues. "I'll just keep asking him to do things. Now that he knows he can depend on you to take over when he wants to get laid, he'll come to you, which I assume you have no problem with, considering it places him in your debt. If someone comments to you or me or him about seeing us together, any one of us can easily say that you were doing him a favor, babysitting his annoying friend while he went on a date."
"And that's your plan? We just use Wilson. What happens if he breaks up with this -"
"Wilson doesn't get dumped until after he's married them, and that usually takes a while."
"Still. You don't think it will be obvious that -"
"At a certain point, we'll suddenly realize that we have fun together and start to hang out of our own volition. By that time it'll seem natural. No one will think anything of it. And if we ever get to the point where we want to reveal our relationship to the rest of the world, again, people won't think it's that odd. It's a win-win situation."
She tries to find the flaws in his logic, but she can't. Perhaps she just wants to believe that this relatively simple plan will work, that she can just seamlessly start to date her employee without issue. At that moment it seems too easy for them. After all this time of sneaking around, she is suspicious at how fluid a change this might be. But her reservations bear no fruit; there's nothing she can point to as a problem. And so she is forced to say, "Okay. That works."
"Now the more difficult part," he says slowly with a lackluster quality to his tone. "How we keep things separated mentally."
"I don't want you to lie to me." She blurts the truth out as she thinks it, no hesitation, no consideration for the wording. She just knows that regardless of anything else, their relationship can't last if she doesn't trust him. And if she's going to ask him to indulge her apparent kinks, she needs to know that he is a man of his word. "I'd rather you tell me what was going on than not."
"Even if that means you can't do anything. Say I tell you I'm going to forge Foreman's name on a release form. You're going to be okay with letting me do that?" He is doubtful.
"I...." She'll be lying if she says she would have no problems with that kind of behavior. If honesty is the subject, then she herself must be truthful. "I would try to talk you out of it. I'd be mad at you if you did it anyway. I would try to stop you if I could find a way of doing without jeopardizing everything else."
"And if you can't find a way, what are you going to do?"
She thinks about it, hates what her answer is. "We work well together. If we're discovered sleeping together and we haven't gone through the proper channels to divulge that relationship, I'd be... not ruined but close enough for it to risk our working relationship. And if I'm not in charge of you, the person who takes over that job will have no sympathy for your practicing methods. You'll either be fired or so tied up with bureaucracy that you can't do your job effectively, and people will die because of that. So...." It kills her to say it, but she knows it's the truth. "If I have to look the other way, I will."
He looks at her closely to see if she's lying. But she obviously isn't, so he nods his head approvingly. "Good."
"Yeah" is her unenthusiastic response.
"If it makes you feel better, anything I tell you in secret is something I wouldn’t have told you if I didn't get to play with your boobs regularly. So even though it feels like something's changed, nothing really has."
When put like that, it does make her feel better. "True," she tells him, reconsidering the matter with new perspective.
But as she does so, she realizes that there is another part of the work equation that they haven't discussed. "What happens," she asks suddenly. "If I do manage to stop you? Whether you tell me or not beforehand, if I prevent you from doing what you want, how does that work?"
He smirks. "I thought you'd figure that out on your own." When it's clear she hasn't, can't, he sets his empty mug on the coffee table -- next to her cup, which is still nearly full. As he sits back on the sofa, he reconsiders what he’s said. “Well, I shouldn’t say that. Maybe you’ll disagree with me, but here’s what I know: as much as I resent your interference, I understand that it’s necessary.”
That’s all very nice to hear, she thinks, and she has no doubt that he means it. But sincerity hardly guarantees that he will be able to control himself when his girlfriend blocks him professionally.
“I’m glad you mean that,” she says honestly. “But I think it’s -”
“You don’t believe me.” The accusation is a light one, but it’s still notable.
“I believe that you mean what you say. I don’t believe that means you’ll always be able to restrain yourself when things don’t go the way you want them to.”
He considers this for a moment then agrees. “You’re right. But it’s worth pointing out that it takes quite a lot for me to take real issue with you doing your job and I’m guessing more than that for me to take those issues home with me.” He must sense that this isn’t enough for her. His hand reaches over and brushes against hers briefly. “If that happens, it’d probably make sense for me to go home, stay away for a while.”
“You would avoid me.”
“If I needed to.”
Cuddy isn’t sure that’s the answer she’s looking for. It’s not that she wants to face House’s ire. She’s experienced that before. In the very public hospital, he has found ways at times to hurt and humiliate, and she doubts that it would feel any better to have him do those things in private. But on the other hand, she doesn’t like the idea that they might have to distance themselves to get through an unpleasant part of their lives. She doesn’t relish leaving him to his own devices when he could be here with her. Separation may very well turn out to be for the best, but it makes her uneasy to think that there might be a time where she needs him and he isn’t there.
Still, she’s uninterested in voicing her concern. The idea isn’t one she loves, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be bad when (and it will be when not if) it’s implemented. She thinks that it might never be something she enjoys, but if it works, then that’s what matters. And if it doesn’t, then they’ll discuss that then. There’s no point in objecting when she doesn’t know how it will work in action.
Of course nothing needs to be said; her misgivings are obvious and don’t need to be articulated as a result. So she just says, “Okay. If you think that’s what’ll be best.” The words are awkward coming from her.
He grabs her mug of coffee and holds it in his hands as if contemplating on drinking it. Deciding against it, he sets the cup down once more. When he sits back, he tells her, “I don’t know why you’re worried. We agree to take some space when we’ll need it, and we’ll see what happens. If it makes things worse -”
“That’s my fear.”
“Then we’ll change courses.” He makes it sound so simple, but she fears it won’t be. “That’s how it works. We test a theory out. If it’s not suitable, then we’ll come up with something else - and when we do, we’ll know what not to do, which will make a solution that much easier to find.”
“This isn’t one of your patients, House.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I have this fantasy of taking your temperature with my -”
“Can you please be serious?”
“Oh I am.” She shoots him a dirty look, and he concedes. “Fine. I understand that this isn’t science. However, I also think that dating you means there will be some inherent failures that come with it. There are going to be things we have to work through. But if we try, blah, blah, blah, eventually we will have some success, etcetera.”
“And you’re not worried we’ll screw it up in the process.”
“Sure. I’m equally sure that there’s nothing we can do about that… other than do our best to avoid that situation.”
She doesn’t understand how he can be so nonchalant about this. And she’s about to ask him why he is, but he has anticipated this question. He must have, because he answers her before she can ask.
“I don’t think we need to discuss what we risked by just sleeping together and now what we’re putting on the line by attempting a relationship.
She shakes her head no. “Please don’t remind me.”
“We both stand to lose a lot if this doesn’t work out. Yet we’re taking that risk, which is why I know that you’re not screwing around with me and why I hope you know I’m just as serious.”
Sometimes she hates how coldly he can reduce a relationship to gains, losses, selfish motivations. Right now she appreciates it. He has taken all of the emotional concerns out of the equation, and reduced, the issue seems as black and white as he is making it. They have made a lot of effort to get this far. Perhaps there is some reassurance to be had with that knowledge.
“I guess you’re right,” she admits eventually. Immediately she regrets saying it out loud; the smugness rolls off him like a physical essence. “Act like that, and I’ll never say it again.”
“You don’t need to say it again. Just knowing that I got you to say it once is enough to light many a dark night for -”
“Oh stop,” she orders, disgusted at the display. “You don’t win anything for being right.”
“Pretty sure just knowing that my intellect beat you into submission is enough for me,” he says proudly. She’s too busy scowling to notice him changing the subject. “Speaking of beating you into submission, what you said at the restaurant.”
Confused she asks, “What about it?”
He’s irritated by the question. “You know for someone who’s been saying all day that she wants to talk, I seem to be the only one actually doing any of the conversing.”
“I’m tired,” she explains. “And you’re saying all the right things, apparently, so what’s the problem?”
“Because I don’t want to have the argument some day that I made all these decisions for us and you’re not -”
“All right. I’ll participate more. What didn’t you understand about what I said?”
“I understand. I hope.” He seems a little unsure now that he has asserted that he gets it. “You want things to be kinky? That’s fine with me. But that’s the kind of thing that gets out of hand if there aren’t some ground rules. And since that’s not something I am inherently aware of -”
“I have to spell it out for you.”
“Yes.” Rethinking the neglected cup of coffee, he picks it up once more and takes a sip. There is enough room in that period of time for her to say something, anything, but she doesn’t. Words seem just out of reach.
It has nothing to do with fear or embarrassment.
It’s simply hard to voice something she can’t explain.
Not understanding that, he says, “I get that this is anything but easy. If you’re embarrassed -”
“I’m not.” She means it, and that shines through in the way she shoots him down. “I’m just not sure how to describe….” Her voice trails off, the sentence not working for her. Licking her lips, she tries again. “Last night, I started off thinking you were bluffing.”
“I know.”
“And then when you… spanked me, I….” She shrugs. “I didn’t want you to stop.” He looks like he wants to say he knows that too, but he refrains from doing so. “You were… possessive, and I liked that. I liked that you were in control and pushing me to do things I wouldn’t have ordinarily done.” She can’t leave it there. More needs to be said. “Of course I knew that you would stop if I told you to.” She feels the need to say the last part empathically.
It’s not just that he was dominating her, maybe even degrading her. It’s that she was truly the one in control, that for all of his outward effort to make her feel under his spell, he was the one who became beholden to her. She does not relish that fact out of a need to be in charge of him. It has nothing to do with that. Instead, for her, it made her feel in complete control of herself, her experience. And as they devolved into darker acts, as she uncovered affinities for things she never thought she would like much less ask for, she found herself glad to feel as protected as she was from going too far, from being so deep in it that she couldn’t find her way back. He was in charge as much as she was, and together they explored just how far things could go.
“I’ve never had sex like that,” she tells him. The pleasure he takes in hearing that is not missed. “I was thinking today what it would be like to go back to the way things were before that. Not that the sex was bad before, because it wasn’t. But the idea of just forgetting what we did, making it a one time thing… I don’t want that.”
“So… what you’re saying is….” He slides closer to her on the couch. Leaning into her, he kisses her neck once. “You want me to spank you?” The heat in his voice makes her freeze, much to his dismay.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter