A Huddy - yes, a HUDDY - fic for cincoflex's BDay!
Time and Place for Everything
Author:
starhawk2005
Date: June 2007
Pairing: House and Cuddy. Yep.
Rating: Adult. Like I ever write anything else… ;)
Summary: Revisit of a certain scene in ‘Airborne’.
Disclaimer: Mine? Nope. Too bad, because I’d probably take better care of them than the current canon!writers.
Please note that “
starhawk2005cannot be held responsible for any brain melting, spontaneous combusting, or ovary exploding that occurs before/during/after reading this fanfiction. Thank you.” (credit to
_vicodinfor the detailed legal disclaimer. *snerk*).
Just a little something for
cincoflex’s BDay. I think it’s my first real foray into Huddy, brief as it is. Hope you enjoy, hon!
“I’m trying to listen to you now, so shut up,” House snaps at her.
Cuddy supposes she should be enjoying this more - House’s head pressed to her chest, that is - because it hasn’t happened in a long time.
Too bad she’s too sick to really get into it.
“Heart’s fine,” House comments, pulling away. Cuddy’s mouth quirks. Little does he know.
“Breasts are firm,” is his next pronouncement, and this time she does smile, at least a little. Typical House. She could be fatally ill, on the verge of dying, and he’s still making diagnostic observations of her chest.
The stewardess comes in, asking House if the mystery disease could be contagious. Cuddy is caught by a sudden stab of guilt, thinking that she should have argued more strongly for them to have turned the damned plane around. Back when that was still possible.
House distracts her from her black thoughts, leaning over her and breathing her in. God, this is awkward. She tries to get some distance back, some control. This isn’t the time or place. “You’re creeping me out,” she complains.
“Well, get me a lab,” he retorts, and then reels off a bunch of scents characteristic of certain diseases. She’s not buying it, though. “House, I’m not in heat.” Not this time, anyways, she corrects herself.
“Citrusy on the nose, with a blush of toasted coconut,” House says next, and she can’t help chuckling despite her annoyance and her discomfort.
He raises her shirt-hem, and she jumps as his long fingers dance ticklishly across the rash on her belly. She’s about to protest, but she supposes he needs to see it-
When he goes for the snap of her pants, however, she grabs his hand. No way. She’s not in the mood for the Mile High Club right now. Not at all.
“Need to get a better look at your rash,” House says, reasonably enough.
Such a liar, Cuddy thinks. “Use your imagination,” she snarls.
“Fine, should I go with Lifeguard Cuddy or Mother Superior Cuddy?” he snarks.
Luckily, before she can answer, the stewardess is back. Thank God. Not the time or place.
*~*~*
Long fingers stroke the outside of her panties, toying with her, and she moans and twists her fingers into his hair.
A low chuckle answers her, and then he’s slipping an index finger under the fabric, grazing across her slick folds, rubbing across her clit…and then delving deep inside her.
“Greg!” she gasps, tightening her grip.
House chuckles again. “Isn’t this so much better than my imagination?” he purrs.
Yeah, she has to admit that it is.
FIN
Crossposted to AO3
Author:
starhawk2005
Date: June 2007
Pairing: House and Cuddy. Yep.
Rating: Adult. Like I ever write anything else… ;)
Summary: Revisit of a certain scene in ‘Airborne’.
Disclaimer: Mine? Nope. Too bad, because I’d probably take better care of them than the current canon!writers.
Please note that “
starhawk2005cannot be held responsible for any brain melting, spontaneous combusting, or ovary exploding that occurs before/during/after reading this fanfiction. Thank you.” (credit to
_vicodinfor the detailed legal disclaimer. *snerk*).
Just a little something for
cincoflex’s BDay. I think it’s my first real foray into Huddy, brief as it is. Hope you enjoy, hon!
“I’m trying to listen to you now, so shut up,” House snaps at her.
Cuddy supposes she should be enjoying this more - House’s head pressed to her chest, that is - because it hasn’t happened in a long time.
Too bad she’s too sick to really get into it.
“Heart’s fine,” House comments, pulling away. Cuddy’s mouth quirks. Little does he know.
“Breasts are firm,” is his next pronouncement, and this time she does smile, at least a little. Typical House. She could be fatally ill, on the verge of dying, and he’s still making diagnostic observations of her chest.
The stewardess comes in, asking House if the mystery disease could be contagious. Cuddy is caught by a sudden stab of guilt, thinking that she should have argued more strongly for them to have turned the damned plane around. Back when that was still possible.
House distracts her from her black thoughts, leaning over her and breathing her in. God, this is awkward. She tries to get some distance back, some control. This isn’t the time or place. “You’re creeping me out,” she complains.
“Well, get me a lab,” he retorts, and then reels off a bunch of scents characteristic of certain diseases. She’s not buying it, though. “House, I’m not in heat.” Not this time, anyways, she corrects herself.
“Citrusy on the nose, with a blush of toasted coconut,” House says next, and she can’t help chuckling despite her annoyance and her discomfort.
He raises her shirt-hem, and she jumps as his long fingers dance ticklishly across the rash on her belly. She’s about to protest, but she supposes he needs to see it-
When he goes for the snap of her pants, however, she grabs his hand. No way. She’s not in the mood for the Mile High Club right now. Not at all.
“Need to get a better look at your rash,” House says, reasonably enough.
Such a liar, Cuddy thinks. “Use your imagination,” she snarls.
“Fine, should I go with Lifeguard Cuddy or Mother Superior Cuddy?” he snarks.
Luckily, before she can answer, the stewardess is back. Thank God. Not the time or place.
*~*~*
Long fingers stroke the outside of her panties, toying with her, and she moans and twists her fingers into his hair.
A low chuckle answers her, and then he’s slipping an index finger under the fabric, grazing across her slick folds, rubbing across her clit…and then delving deep inside her.
“Greg!” she gasps, tightening her grip.
House chuckles again. “Isn’t this so much better than my imagination?” he purrs.
Yeah, she has to admit that it is.
FIN
Crossposted to AO3