Downpour part 4/5
So - part 4 then. Longer than I intended really - and well, other things. This is the part that warrants the NC17 rating.
Downpour
House / Cuddy
Rating: NC17
Summary: In a storm things get washed away
Disclaimer: oh - and I do know I don't own them
For a moment he is too stunned to speak and as his mind struggles for a suitable response he hears the sound of her heels tapping on the path. The front door has opened and closed behind her before he rouses himself. And when he does he is angry.
He barges up the path in her wake, stabs at the doorbell and without waiting for a reply hammers on the door. She pulls open the door and stares back at him, barring the entrance with her body.
“Let me in.” Her irritation seems to fade in the wake of his anger.
“Could I keep you out?”
“Only if you’ve changed where you keep the spare key.” She sighs, shakes her head and steps back from the door.
“Living room’s that way - in case you’ve forgotten. I’m making coffee.” He ignores her reference to his previous visit and doesn’t take her hint about the living room; following her instead into the kitchen.
“I’d rather have scotch - got any?”
“If I say no will you leave me alone?”
“I doubt it.” Wordlessly she pulls a bottle from the cupboard and pours measures into two glasses. He drinks, taking a moment to savour the sharp, heavy taste and using the time to study the woman before him. It is useless to pretend that this is about the puzzle, that it has nothing to do with her, the two are hopelessly inter-related. The only question now is what he will do and the answer to that is - complicated. It is fair to say that at this precise moment he wants to both slap her and kiss her.
“You picked a hell of a moment to start feeling sorry for yourself,” he says.
“I don’t need you to tell me that. You’re the one who’s been desperate to find out what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed now that you know, if the details aren't salacious enough for you.”
“Look Cuddy…” he begins, but she interrupts and he recognises at once that she is regretting exposing so much of herself to him.
“Don’t say it. OK? Just don’t. I know it’s ridiculous to be so affected by a single moment, I don’t want to hear that I’m being stupid, or emotional. I don’t want my insecurities dragged into the daylight and dissected. Not tonight. I’ll be fine, I just need to get some rest, regain my sense of perspective.” And even if she isn’t fine, he doubts that she’ll admit it. “Tomorrow we can return to business as usual, you can duck clinic hours, I'll try to stop you. It will be like none of this ever happened.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” She looks at him, her expression full of disbelief and he takes another mouthful of scotch to drive away the feeling that her guess had been far too accurate. “I know you care about things - about people. It’s an irritating habit and somehow at odds with the rest of your personality but most of the time it seems to work for you. What I was going to say is that you did a good job out there, whatever you thought or felt you didn’t let it stop you from doing your job. I’m not sure how important anything else is compared to that.” He can see she is surprised by the compliment.
“Even though I haven’t been a proper Dr for years?”
“The training apparently held good. Cuddy, I’m not going to utter platitudes or tell you that the choices you’ve made are right or wrong. Frankly, I don’t care. And it doesn’t matter because you can’t change them anyway. I can’t offer you comfort, I don’t have it in me. If you want banal sympathy or compassion then I suggest you call James, or possibly Cameron - that’s more in their line.” She leans back against the counter and watches him, her gaze penetrating.
“Then what do you have to offer me, Doctor House? Now that the mystery is solved what could you possibly say that will stop me feeling as lousy as I do right now?” He should tell her that the mystery isn’t solved, it’s just shifted, that it’s turned out to be more complex than he expected. But instead he shrugs and says quietly,
“Nothing, I have nothing to offer you, or nothing that you’ll want to hear anyway. The best you can hope for is a couple of hours shelter.” This is the voice of experience speaking and she knows it, which is why she strikes back.
“In a bottle of scotch?” She nods towards the bottle on the counter, “shall I use it to wash down some painkillers, hope the combination stops me feeling anything at all? I don’t need your remedies - I can find my own.” He bites back a retort that she is doing a lousy job of it so far, but her jibe hits home, which is probably why he takes a step closer to her.
“There are other types of shelter.” He isn’t sure that he meant his voice to sound so, inviting. He can see that he’s shocked her, hell he’s shocked himself, but then he’s shocked to find himself standing in her kitchen, imagining what it would feel like if he kissed her. Another half step brings him closer still, and since she has nowhere to go he is well within her personal space. His choices are narrowing now; his body telling him one thing and his brain another. She moistens her lips and as his eyes follow the gesture he fights back a groan at his body’s instinctive response - and that’s how he decides.
Another half step brings their bodies into contact and he leans into her, she puts out a hand to ward him off, but as it lands on his chest somehow it doesn’t push him away, but instead pulls him closer.
“Stop it,” she breathes, her eyes wide, her expression caught between anger and desire.
“No.” Anger fuels the first moments of the kiss, hers, his; he isn’t entirely sure. But then she softens and so does he and the hunger takes over. When they part he half expects her to slap him, but her breath is coming in gasps, her chest rising and falling against his and her arms are still around him. She swears softly and says,
“I don’t need a pity fuck.” The irony of her comment almost makes him laugh.
“I’m the very last person to think that sex can fix you, can fix anything at all. I’m not interested in your heart or your soul, just in your body.” He pushes his hips into hers, not even trying to hide how aroused he is, “and right now, I’m very interested in your body.”
He should have known after the night she’d had Cuddy would want to be in control. Since leaving the kitchen she has already shed her shoes and he is leaning against the bedroom door watching as she flicks open another button on her shirt. The skin exposed with each movement is incredibly tantalising and he wants to touch and taste, wants to unfasten the final button himself.
Her fingers reach for it and he makes a strangled sound of disapproval, she lifts an eyebrow at him. “I should have known you’d want to do this.”
“I’m a perfectionist, got to make sure things are done properly.”
“Since when?” But she is smiling and when he sits on the bed she lets him pull her down to straddle him. The cloth is soft beneath his fingertips and her skin is slightly cold to the touch. Carefully he undoes the button and slides the shirt off her shoulders. She is the first woman he has undressed in a very long time - how could he have forgotten the pleasure? She shrugs the garment off and his mouth follows in its wake; she gasps, but her fingers curl into his hair, holding him in place. He finds the curve of her hip, the hollows of her spine and the curve of her breasts. When he lifts his head she is naked from the waist up and her checks and neck are flushed - it suits her.
One of the good things about Cuddy is that she is competitive. Which means in the next five minutes most of his clothing is removed with a speed that he finds frankly astonishing. It is some compensation that he manages to get the rest of her clothes off in pretty much the same time. Because, as it turns out, rolling around with her on her bed is almost as much fun as fighting with her. And, of course there is a struggle about control and who is going to be on top, which he lets her win for now - because damn it, it’s too sexy not to.
And, amongst the things he probably had worked out about her is that she is confident enough about her body to be good in bed. So, the discussion about contraception is resolved by her movement to the bedside table and her retrieval of a packet of condoms - which makes him wonder how often she does this - and with whom.
She kisses him everywhere and her mouth on his body is the most erotic thing he has felt in a very long time. It’s perilously close to sensory overload; long hair trailing over his chest, fingertips caressing -he can’t think, can’t focus on anything except the heat and the surging upwards that has him swearing.
She backs off, looking smug and when he can speak he says, “I see that vicious streak of yours has found the perfect outlet.” She doesn’t reply, unless you count taking him to the brink of climax again - and backing off again. He can’t decide if he wants to beg her to carry on, or curse her for reducing him to a gibbering wreck twice in no time at all.
Until this moment he has forgotten how absorbing it can be to explore someone’s body for the first time, to learn how to give them pleasure. And Cuddy is responsive; she moves and arches, her breath catches in her throat and she says his name, his surname and it’s so damn hot that he whispers in her ear until she does it again. When his fingers dip into her she guides his hand to just the right spot and she is so unselfconscious about it that it is unbelievably sexy.
They go from feverish, to languid and back to feverish again before he slides into her. Everything in his universe narrows to the way her legs wrap around him, urging him closer. He pulls back, slowing his movements, her eyes have slid shut but now they open again and she gazes back at him - calm in the eye of the storm. He wants to hold onto this feeling, buried inside her, arousal coursing through his veins; he hasn’t felt so alive in a very long time. But she murmurs his name and his tenuous control shatters, his movements becoming faster and deeper until she climaxes. She arches against him, all tightness and heat - and he comes in a rush.
He rolls them onto their sides, so he can look at her. His hands slide over her body - not quite ready to stop touching her yet. Her skin is silky smooth and warm now, which makes him think that if nothing else he has banished the cold that seems to have been pursuing her all night. She doesn’t curl into his arms - that is somehow too intimate, despite everything they have shared. But she stays within touching distance.
He wakes when the pain in his leg becomes too much; she is still sleeping just out of reach, but his movement rouses her and she seems to know at once what he needs; slipping out of bed, finding his jeans and throwing the bottle of vicodin to him. As he swallows the pills she says,
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Well, as a comment on my skills that isn’t exactly flattering.”
“I just thought,” in the half-light her body looks amazing, light and shadows playing across it. Need flickers through him again so his voice is slightly hoarse and his tone urgent,
“Don’t think, leave that to me. Come back to bed.” Her expression is mutinous for a moment - but then she gives in, crawling across the bed until he can reach her and tumble her under him.
This time it’s fast and demanding; this time it’s not about finesse, this time they aren’t at all careful with each other and she seems as consumed by the storm as he is - which is just fine. When it’s over they are a tangle of arms and legs, sweaty, sticky, struggling to catch their breath. Cuddy’s head is on his chest and he is sure she can hear the rapid beating of his heart.
“You can wipe that smug expression off your face,” she says, her tone trying for stern and failing miserably.
“I’m just trying to remember - that was begging I heard, wasn’t it? It will be an interesting memory to relive, when you’re trying to persuade me to do clinic duty.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Possibly - but I’m also about 30 seconds away from being asleep.” He stretches and shifts so his weight is not on his injured leg, she turns over but he pulls her back, tucking her into his side. She stiffens for a moment - and then relaxes when he presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
It is almost light when the phone wakes them. Surprisingly it is his cell phone, not hers, although she gets up, plucks it from his pants and even still half asleep he says, “answer it, it’s probably Cameron, it will give her a shock.”
“Do your own dirty work.” She hands him the phone and gets back into bed, curling herself around him in a way that makes it very difficult for him to concentrate on his conversation. A fact he is sure that she is more than aware of.
“I’ll be there in an hour.” He says into the phone, snapping it shut and tossing it away. “Test results are back, I’ve got to go.”
“If you want a shower…?”
“I’ll get one at home, got to get a change of clothes - wouldn’t want the minions to think I’d been out all night while they’ve been working hard.” He dresses, aware that she is watching him. The words, ‘about last night,’ linger between them, but neither of them speaks.
“Look, don’t worry too much about this,” he says as he sits beside her on the bed. She pushes her hair back from her face, looking sleepy and sexy and very, very alluring. He grits his teeth and reminds himself that he has a set of test results to look at and a patient who needs treatment. “We’re both grown ups and,”
“Are you being nice to me?”
“I was thinking about it - I’m going off the idea now. You OK?”
“Tired, a little confused about the accident and how it got to me. I’m not confused about this - don’t worry, I don’t tend to read too much into random encounters.”
“You make me feel so dirty. I love it.”
“Go away,” he lets her push him off the bed and as he looks back at her she is already wrapping herself in the covers.
“Cuddy,” she lifts her head to look at him, “don’t bury yourself in work. Take the day off, take a couple of days off, I promise not to wreck your hospital until you get back.”
“I’ll think about it.”
The storm has blown itself out over night, when he emerges from her house it is still cold and wet; but not windy anymore. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to process the events of the night and failing, trying to figure out what to do next and failing on that score too. He wants to believe that she’ll be all right, that she is smart enough to figure things out - as long as she gives herself the chance. He also wants to believe that nothing has changed between them, but that’s not true. Has he just made his life immeasurably more complicated - or will they brush it off? Put it down to one of those things that happen to people when they get caught in a storm?
But - she is the Dean of Medicine, technically his boss and, even if that doesn’t matter there is still the fact that she was vulnerable last night and he hadn’t intended to take advantage of her. His reaction to her was unexpected; an attraction that he has basically ignored for years suddenly transformed into something he wanted to act on. And now, having acted on it, he doesn’t know what to do.
It is not a comfortable realisation to begin the day with.
TBC
Downpour
House / Cuddy
Rating: NC17
Summary: In a storm things get washed away
Disclaimer: oh - and I do know I don't own them
For a moment he is too stunned to speak and as his mind struggles for a suitable response he hears the sound of her heels tapping on the path. The front door has opened and closed behind her before he rouses himself. And when he does he is angry.
He barges up the path in her wake, stabs at the doorbell and without waiting for a reply hammers on the door. She pulls open the door and stares back at him, barring the entrance with her body.
“Let me in.” Her irritation seems to fade in the wake of his anger.
“Could I keep you out?”
“Only if you’ve changed where you keep the spare key.” She sighs, shakes her head and steps back from the door.
“Living room’s that way - in case you’ve forgotten. I’m making coffee.” He ignores her reference to his previous visit and doesn’t take her hint about the living room; following her instead into the kitchen.
“I’d rather have scotch - got any?”
“If I say no will you leave me alone?”
“I doubt it.” Wordlessly she pulls a bottle from the cupboard and pours measures into two glasses. He drinks, taking a moment to savour the sharp, heavy taste and using the time to study the woman before him. It is useless to pretend that this is about the puzzle, that it has nothing to do with her, the two are hopelessly inter-related. The only question now is what he will do and the answer to that is - complicated. It is fair to say that at this precise moment he wants to both slap her and kiss her.
“You picked a hell of a moment to start feeling sorry for yourself,” he says.
“I don’t need you to tell me that. You’re the one who’s been desperate to find out what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed now that you know, if the details aren't salacious enough for you.”
“Look Cuddy…” he begins, but she interrupts and he recognises at once that she is regretting exposing so much of herself to him.
“Don’t say it. OK? Just don’t. I know it’s ridiculous to be so affected by a single moment, I don’t want to hear that I’m being stupid, or emotional. I don’t want my insecurities dragged into the daylight and dissected. Not tonight. I’ll be fine, I just need to get some rest, regain my sense of perspective.” And even if she isn’t fine, he doubts that she’ll admit it. “Tomorrow we can return to business as usual, you can duck clinic hours, I'll try to stop you. It will be like none of this ever happened.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” She looks at him, her expression full of disbelief and he takes another mouthful of scotch to drive away the feeling that her guess had been far too accurate. “I know you care about things - about people. It’s an irritating habit and somehow at odds with the rest of your personality but most of the time it seems to work for you. What I was going to say is that you did a good job out there, whatever you thought or felt you didn’t let it stop you from doing your job. I’m not sure how important anything else is compared to that.” He can see she is surprised by the compliment.
“Even though I haven’t been a proper Dr for years?”
“The training apparently held good. Cuddy, I’m not going to utter platitudes or tell you that the choices you’ve made are right or wrong. Frankly, I don’t care. And it doesn’t matter because you can’t change them anyway. I can’t offer you comfort, I don’t have it in me. If you want banal sympathy or compassion then I suggest you call James, or possibly Cameron - that’s more in their line.” She leans back against the counter and watches him, her gaze penetrating.
“Then what do you have to offer me, Doctor House? Now that the mystery is solved what could you possibly say that will stop me feeling as lousy as I do right now?” He should tell her that the mystery isn’t solved, it’s just shifted, that it’s turned out to be more complex than he expected. But instead he shrugs and says quietly,
“Nothing, I have nothing to offer you, or nothing that you’ll want to hear anyway. The best you can hope for is a couple of hours shelter.” This is the voice of experience speaking and she knows it, which is why she strikes back.
“In a bottle of scotch?” She nods towards the bottle on the counter, “shall I use it to wash down some painkillers, hope the combination stops me feeling anything at all? I don’t need your remedies - I can find my own.” He bites back a retort that she is doing a lousy job of it so far, but her jibe hits home, which is probably why he takes a step closer to her.
“There are other types of shelter.” He isn’t sure that he meant his voice to sound so, inviting. He can see that he’s shocked her, hell he’s shocked himself, but then he’s shocked to find himself standing in her kitchen, imagining what it would feel like if he kissed her. Another half step brings him closer still, and since she has nowhere to go he is well within her personal space. His choices are narrowing now; his body telling him one thing and his brain another. She moistens her lips and as his eyes follow the gesture he fights back a groan at his body’s instinctive response - and that’s how he decides.
Another half step brings their bodies into contact and he leans into her, she puts out a hand to ward him off, but as it lands on his chest somehow it doesn’t push him away, but instead pulls him closer.
“Stop it,” she breathes, her eyes wide, her expression caught between anger and desire.
“No.” Anger fuels the first moments of the kiss, hers, his; he isn’t entirely sure. But then she softens and so does he and the hunger takes over. When they part he half expects her to slap him, but her breath is coming in gasps, her chest rising and falling against his and her arms are still around him. She swears softly and says,
“I don’t need a pity fuck.” The irony of her comment almost makes him laugh.
“I’m the very last person to think that sex can fix you, can fix anything at all. I’m not interested in your heart or your soul, just in your body.” He pushes his hips into hers, not even trying to hide how aroused he is, “and right now, I’m very interested in your body.”
He should have known after the night she’d had Cuddy would want to be in control. Since leaving the kitchen she has already shed her shoes and he is leaning against the bedroom door watching as she flicks open another button on her shirt. The skin exposed with each movement is incredibly tantalising and he wants to touch and taste, wants to unfasten the final button himself.
Her fingers reach for it and he makes a strangled sound of disapproval, she lifts an eyebrow at him. “I should have known you’d want to do this.”
“I’m a perfectionist, got to make sure things are done properly.”
“Since when?” But she is smiling and when he sits on the bed she lets him pull her down to straddle him. The cloth is soft beneath his fingertips and her skin is slightly cold to the touch. Carefully he undoes the button and slides the shirt off her shoulders. She is the first woman he has undressed in a very long time - how could he have forgotten the pleasure? She shrugs the garment off and his mouth follows in its wake; she gasps, but her fingers curl into his hair, holding him in place. He finds the curve of her hip, the hollows of her spine and the curve of her breasts. When he lifts his head she is naked from the waist up and her checks and neck are flushed - it suits her.
One of the good things about Cuddy is that she is competitive. Which means in the next five minutes most of his clothing is removed with a speed that he finds frankly astonishing. It is some compensation that he manages to get the rest of her clothes off in pretty much the same time. Because, as it turns out, rolling around with her on her bed is almost as much fun as fighting with her. And, of course there is a struggle about control and who is going to be on top, which he lets her win for now - because damn it, it’s too sexy not to.
And, amongst the things he probably had worked out about her is that she is confident enough about her body to be good in bed. So, the discussion about contraception is resolved by her movement to the bedside table and her retrieval of a packet of condoms - which makes him wonder how often she does this - and with whom.
She kisses him everywhere and her mouth on his body is the most erotic thing he has felt in a very long time. It’s perilously close to sensory overload; long hair trailing over his chest, fingertips caressing -he can’t think, can’t focus on anything except the heat and the surging upwards that has him swearing.
She backs off, looking smug and when he can speak he says, “I see that vicious streak of yours has found the perfect outlet.” She doesn’t reply, unless you count taking him to the brink of climax again - and backing off again. He can’t decide if he wants to beg her to carry on, or curse her for reducing him to a gibbering wreck twice in no time at all.
Until this moment he has forgotten how absorbing it can be to explore someone’s body for the first time, to learn how to give them pleasure. And Cuddy is responsive; she moves and arches, her breath catches in her throat and she says his name, his surname and it’s so damn hot that he whispers in her ear until she does it again. When his fingers dip into her she guides his hand to just the right spot and she is so unselfconscious about it that it is unbelievably sexy.
They go from feverish, to languid and back to feverish again before he slides into her. Everything in his universe narrows to the way her legs wrap around him, urging him closer. He pulls back, slowing his movements, her eyes have slid shut but now they open again and she gazes back at him - calm in the eye of the storm. He wants to hold onto this feeling, buried inside her, arousal coursing through his veins; he hasn’t felt so alive in a very long time. But she murmurs his name and his tenuous control shatters, his movements becoming faster and deeper until she climaxes. She arches against him, all tightness and heat - and he comes in a rush.
He rolls them onto their sides, so he can look at her. His hands slide over her body - not quite ready to stop touching her yet. Her skin is silky smooth and warm now, which makes him think that if nothing else he has banished the cold that seems to have been pursuing her all night. She doesn’t curl into his arms - that is somehow too intimate, despite everything they have shared. But she stays within touching distance.
He wakes when the pain in his leg becomes too much; she is still sleeping just out of reach, but his movement rouses her and she seems to know at once what he needs; slipping out of bed, finding his jeans and throwing the bottle of vicodin to him. As he swallows the pills she says,
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Well, as a comment on my skills that isn’t exactly flattering.”
“I just thought,” in the half-light her body looks amazing, light and shadows playing across it. Need flickers through him again so his voice is slightly hoarse and his tone urgent,
“Don’t think, leave that to me. Come back to bed.” Her expression is mutinous for a moment - but then she gives in, crawling across the bed until he can reach her and tumble her under him.
This time it’s fast and demanding; this time it’s not about finesse, this time they aren’t at all careful with each other and she seems as consumed by the storm as he is - which is just fine. When it’s over they are a tangle of arms and legs, sweaty, sticky, struggling to catch their breath. Cuddy’s head is on his chest and he is sure she can hear the rapid beating of his heart.
“You can wipe that smug expression off your face,” she says, her tone trying for stern and failing miserably.
“I’m just trying to remember - that was begging I heard, wasn’t it? It will be an interesting memory to relive, when you’re trying to persuade me to do clinic duty.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Possibly - but I’m also about 30 seconds away from being asleep.” He stretches and shifts so his weight is not on his injured leg, she turns over but he pulls her back, tucking her into his side. She stiffens for a moment - and then relaxes when he presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
It is almost light when the phone wakes them. Surprisingly it is his cell phone, not hers, although she gets up, plucks it from his pants and even still half asleep he says, “answer it, it’s probably Cameron, it will give her a shock.”
“Do your own dirty work.” She hands him the phone and gets back into bed, curling herself around him in a way that makes it very difficult for him to concentrate on his conversation. A fact he is sure that she is more than aware of.
“I’ll be there in an hour.” He says into the phone, snapping it shut and tossing it away. “Test results are back, I’ve got to go.”
“If you want a shower…?”
“I’ll get one at home, got to get a change of clothes - wouldn’t want the minions to think I’d been out all night while they’ve been working hard.” He dresses, aware that she is watching him. The words, ‘about last night,’ linger between them, but neither of them speaks.
“Look, don’t worry too much about this,” he says as he sits beside her on the bed. She pushes her hair back from her face, looking sleepy and sexy and very, very alluring. He grits his teeth and reminds himself that he has a set of test results to look at and a patient who needs treatment. “We’re both grown ups and,”
“Are you being nice to me?”
“I was thinking about it - I’m going off the idea now. You OK?”
“Tired, a little confused about the accident and how it got to me. I’m not confused about this - don’t worry, I don’t tend to read too much into random encounters.”
“You make me feel so dirty. I love it.”
“Go away,” he lets her push him off the bed and as he looks back at her she is already wrapping herself in the covers.
“Cuddy,” she lifts her head to look at him, “don’t bury yourself in work. Take the day off, take a couple of days off, I promise not to wreck your hospital until you get back.”
“I’ll think about it.”
The storm has blown itself out over night, when he emerges from her house it is still cold and wet; but not windy anymore. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to process the events of the night and failing, trying to figure out what to do next and failing on that score too. He wants to believe that she’ll be all right, that she is smart enough to figure things out - as long as she gives herself the chance. He also wants to believe that nothing has changed between them, but that’s not true. Has he just made his life immeasurably more complicated - or will they brush it off? Put it down to one of those things that happen to people when they get caught in a storm?
But - she is the Dean of Medicine, technically his boss and, even if that doesn’t matter there is still the fact that she was vulnerable last night and he hadn’t intended to take advantage of her. His reaction to her was unexpected; an attraction that he has basically ignored for years suddenly transformed into something he wanted to act on. And now, having acted on it, he doesn’t know what to do.
It is not a comfortable realisation to begin the day with.
TBC