Darker Inclinations, Chapter 2.1
Title: Darker Inclinations
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a sequel to A Dark Inclination. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, spanking, orgasm denial, 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), Chapter 1 (Part Two), Chapter 1 (Part Three)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Indecision characterizes the next few days for them both. Pressured into choosing, he isn’t ready to pick his team. He asks everyone what they would do, even Cuddy herself. She tells him Taub and Kutner, to confuse him, to distract from her own predicament. Afterwards, upon reflection, she wasn’t lying when she gave her answers; Taub and Kutner would be assets, as would any of the people left in the game. But she varies her response to make the decision harder for House. Selfishly she doesn’t want his attention on her issue.
Thankfully, frustratingly, the last couple of days have prevented him from coming over and vice versa. They’ve been so busy they haven’t even had a chance to discuss the list she’s supposed to be writing. And while she wishes she could see him, be with him, she’s not all that eager to admit that she hasn’t worked on her so-called homework.
No doubt, he’ll take it to mean that she’s backing out of the relationship she initiated. But in fact she’s not having second thoughts at all. That’s not the issue, nor is the problem one of believing a list is unimportant. She has seen its necessity with her own eyes and knows that they can’t move forward without those limitations in place. But that’s the problem for her: deciding what those boundaries will be.
Her office only a few feet away from the clinic, she has seen sex gone wrong many, many times over the years. Rumor has it House once pulled an iPod out of a young man’s anus, and from her experience, she doesn’t doubt that it actually happened. In her opinion, that’s something that should go without saying she doesn’t want. It should be assumed. But then what if it’s not what? If she doesn’t specify that that’s not okay, will he think it is? Or worse, will he believe that she’s into that? She wants to think that he’s not the type to be interested in something as stupid and dangerous as that, but if she’s wrong, what happens then?
Then she starts to believe that it would be smart just to put it on the list, regardless of how unlikely a possibility it is. But when faced with the task of writing “No iPods in my ass (or any other orifice),” she finds the words too ridiculous to commit to paper or Word document. And then, in a moment of oppressing self-awareness, she doesn’t want to write anything down ever. The whole thing just seems absurd.
But she knows that if she gives into that thought, she will undo everything she has set out to have. Fear will prevent her from having the relationship she wants, and that simply is not an option. She will have to make the list.
She will.
That’s the conclusion she comes to each and every time she mentally goes down this road.
Still.
When it comes to completing the task, she has trouble doing it. Uncharacteristic insecurity returns no matter how hard she tries to keep it at bay.
Tonight she doesn’t even bother to try when she gets home. Of course that might have more to do with hunger than lack of motivation, but she spends her early evening making dinner, reading reports, pretending like she has nothing else to do.
In the moments between actions, however, her mind wanders to the source of her problem, to the one responsible. Sitting alone at her dining room table, eating supper alone… she didn’t think it would be like this. It’s understandable that there will be times when he can’t be with her, times when work has to come first. She gets that. But in her head, maybe, she assumed it would be different. She didn’t expect entering a relationship to feel so similar to being all alone. As scary as the possibility of change is, the lack of change bothers her just as much. The loneliness disappoints her, the silence working her wrong, into agitation, into a melancholy that she has a hard time fighting.
When her phone rings, she hesitates to answer. She feels surly, not entirely convinced that she will able to keep that to herself if she speaks. But the ringing is intrusive enough that unhappy or not, she is compelled to answer it.
“Hello?”
"Well, your panties sound like they're in a bunch," he says flatly over the phone.
She feels relieved to hear his voice. "House."
He must notice the change in her voice, because he says, "That's much better. Although if you're willing to say my name like that -”
"Like what?"
"Like you want me. It must mean you're alone. You better be anyway."
"I'm home by myself." She tries not to sound too upset by that fact. If only because it makes her sound pathetic, she doesn't want him to hear that in her voice and then assume that she can't bear to be away from him. She can be; right now she would just rather not. But that's a finer point, which will be lost on him, so she asks immediately, "Can you talk? Where are you?"
"My balcony."
She frowns. "So this is a work-related call."
"Don't sound so disappointed. On the other hand, feel free to jump up and down when I tell you it's not a work call. I can't see it, of course, but just the mental picture of your breasts - are you wearing a bra?"
The frown remains. "You're talking to me like that while you're at work."
She can practically hear the grin. "Team's running tests. I said I needed time to think. And there's this little thing called windows, so if they figure something out, I'll see them coming."
"Oh." It's comforting enough, but she still feels uneasy. "Shouldn't you be focused on your patient?"
"I need a break."
"But -”
"The monotony is making this harder than I suspect it needs to be. So humor me for a little bit.” It’s not a command, but there’s no time for her to say no… not that she really wants to say that. He continues, asking, “How’s your list coming along?”
Her first instinct is to lie, so she does. “Fine.”
“Really?” He’s doubtful. She can tell. “What’s on the list?”
She lies again. “I just sat down for dinner. I don’t have the list in front of me to -”
“You don’t know off the top of your head?”
“I do, but I want to make sure the wording is right. I don’t want you to misunderstand.” More lies.
“My I.Q. makes geniuses look stupid. I’m not going to misunderstand.” There’s a pause, a moment where he gets it and she knows he does. “You haven’t started.”
“Of course I have.”
“No. No, you haven’t.”
“That’s not -”
“Really? You’re going to waste my time lying about it?”
His harsh tone makes her ashamed to have behaved that way, makes her realize how ridiculous it is to lie. Even if he did believe her now, he’s going to know the truth soon enough.
“Fine. I don’t have a list.”
“Why not?” He is displeased.
She struggles to explain herself. “I… don’t know. I’ve tried to come up with things, but every time I sit down to do it, I just can’t.”
“And you didn’t just come right out and say that because?”
“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t serious about -”
“I don’t think that,” he stresses. “Unless, of course, you don’t give me a reason, and then -”
“I don’t know what the problem is.” She looks down in her lap, as though the answer will appear there. “I don’t know,” she repeats. The sentiment is one she’s said so many times lately that it makes her feel like a complete fool. How can she make a list if she has no clue what she’s doing? “I sit down. I try to write something down. And I can’t. I just get distracted wondering if I should… include the obvious.”
“The obvious?” Before she can clarify, he says, “Oh.” He’s quiet, perhaps to let her explain, but she has nothing to add to what she’s already said. The problem can’t be enlightened upon by her. If she knows anything, it’s that. He does well on his own anyway. “Yeah, I’m aware that dips in the kiddy pool and frolics on the farm are out of bounds. You don’t need to worry about coming home to a bed full of sheep and toddlers.”
“Obviously not.”
His voice even, he explains, “This isn’t about the obvious, Cuddy. This is about the unobvious. Things you definitely don’t want, but things I might not know about.” He exhales roughly into the phone. “If it makes you feel better to list what we both already know, by all means, do that.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not?”
She is becoming frustrated. This isn’t what she wants to hear. “No. It’s not. What happens if I think something is obvious and then it’s not? What do -”
“Wow,” he interrupts, sounding amazed. “You’ve really managed to get worked up over this.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
“I’m not. I’m impressed, actually, by the mental Olympics you’ve had to go through to make this -”
“This is already hard enough,” she admits. “Without you making it worse.”
There’s a long pause after she says that. He slowly regroups.
“If I do something you aren’t comfortable with, you already have the means to stop me. Yak. Remember?”
“Yes.”
She expects him to rub her answer in her face. But instead, he’s actually kind. “If that happens, you have complete power to stop me. And you know I will, because I have no interest in forcing you to do something you don’t want. I don’t get off on that.” He lets the thought settle before adding, “And if there’s something that bothers you, we won’t keep doing it. We’ll add it to your list - never do it again.”
He’s so disagreeable professionally that her instinct is to assume he’s lying or at least making a promise he can’t keep. Then she realizes what she’s saying. If she really believes that he would ignore her limits, make her do things she didn’t want to do… why would she want to be anywhere near him, much less date him, and much less date him in the manner that she’s proposed?
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
In order to get this far, she had to trust him. The same is true now.
“I know,” she says eventually. “I’m sorry.”
“’S fine. Just make the list.”
“I’ll try,” she promises.
But it’s not enough for him. “You’re treating this like it’s complicated, and it’s not. Don’t try to do it. Just write something down. Even if you think it’s stupid.”
His unwavering confidence is annoying yet soothing too. She thinks this will be hard, but he seems to have no doubt about her ability to do it. Maybe he believes she is braver than she is, better at ignoring the reservations she has. And that, while wrong, actually makes him right in the end. He doesn’t see failure as a possibility. He trusts her enough to see strength where she’s been convinced none exists. She won’t disappoint him because of that belief in her. It means too much to her.
At that moment, she remembers a bottle of wine crammed into the back of her refrigerator. Unopened, it is, she thinks, a back up plan if need be. Inebriation has never awakened honesty or clear thought within her, but alcohol has better results when it comes to aiding a loss in her inhibitions. Even if that doesn’t work, at least she’ll be able to claim, no matter how untrue, that the liquor made her do it.
“You’re right. I can do it.”
“Good.”
With the matter dealt with, she changes the subject. “You said your team was -”
“Uh uh,” he says, cutting her off. “That’s forbidden. You wanted to keep things separate.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m just asking how your patient is doing.”
“I’m here, and you’re there. That pretty much tells you everything.”
She licks her lips, runs a hand along her forehead. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Okay, well, forget the patient, because his current, still-dying status isn’t interesting to me or to you. On the other hand,” he says, his voice suddenly bright. “There’s still the matter of your punishment, which we haven’t -”
“Punishment?” she scoffs. She’s in disbelief, but more than anything she’s just amused. “What have I done?”
“What have you done? Where do I start? There’s, like, six things: you didn’t do what you said you would. You didn’t tell me that you were having a problem writing the list. You lied when I brought it up - several times. And you just broke your own rule about mixing work and -”
“I get your point,” she says quietly. “But that’s only four -”
“Yeah… correcting my math isn’t exactly the way to get out of this.”
She smiles though he can’t see it. “I’m not trying to get out of it.”
“So then you’re just being a bitch.”
“Yes.”
His laugh is soft… short. Quickly he slips into silence, the quiet almost enough to make her think that the line has gone dead. There’s no way though he’ll let the conversation end now; he’s about to reveal what her punishment is - and she has no doubts that he wants her to twist with discomfort over what she has coming her way.
Already it’s working.
“Well,” she prompts.
“I’m thinking.” She’s about to ask him how hard can it be when he comes up with the solution to his problem. “Got it. Tonight you’re going to masturbate.”
She’s taken aback, thinks she must have misheard. “Masturbate? That’s not a punishment.”
“But it is. Because right when you’re about to come, you have to stop.”
Cuddy doesn’t immediately voice how stupid his plan sounds, is. Based on her own behavior the past couple days, she gets that this is a precarious dynamic between them. Self-consciousness constantly threatens, lingers around as if waiting for a moment of doubt. At least… it does for her. She’s not exactly sure where he stands, but what she does know is that it’s imperative for her to measure her criticism and deprecation carefully. She doesn’t want to scare him off. She doesn’t want to scare herself away. And when she has all the power in the relationship to stop him, it’s wrong to abuse that. Even if only to make fun of him or his “punishments,” her words have to be carefully chosen. There are so many ways this can fail; casual callousness is not something she will tolerate from herself.
So yes, she could say that he has no way of enforcing said punishment. She could make fun of him for even suggesting it as a way to correct a wrong. But she will keep those thoughts to herself. Unless he has her doing something she is uncomfortable with, offended by, there’s no good reason to say anything negative.
Not right now anyway.
“Fine,” she says after a moment. There’s little chance she’ll be able to follow through, but if he believes she will, that’s what matters, right?
If he has his doubts, he doesn’t have a chance to share. At that moment, she hears voices on the other end of the line, like people are talking to House, trying to get his attention. And that must be the case, because he quickly says, “Gotta go,” before hanging up.
“…Bye” is the dejected response she utters, despite the fact that he can’t hear it.
Alone again she fights the urge to turn sullen. This isn’t what she expected, but the more she gives into that disappointment, the increasingly immature she realizes she’s being. And in the end, when it’s only making her miserable, there’s no reason to continue to give into that feeling.
She resolves to ignore her reservations, and perhaps the best way to do that is to complete the very list she’s struggled over. Action eases tension, always has for her. It’s no different now. And with the added guidance from House to help her, this time, the task isn’t as difficult.
She’s curled up in the armchair in her living room, steam from a hot mug of tea unwinding into the air nearby (wine on standby in case things don’t go as planned). The seasons changing, the weather is cold, brutally unfriendly; if she could bother to do it, she would build a fire. But focused on getting this done, she settles for the warmth of an afghan her grandmother once knitted and the searing bright light of a lamp beside her.
A pen and pad of paper in her lap, she tries again. This time she doesn’t hesitate to add the things that seem obvious. Afterwards it’s possible she’ll just rip those items - children, animals, anything involving latex bodysuits - off the top. But at least if it’s written, she can’t continue to wonder whether or not to include them; it will be done.
Once she’s free of that concern, the rest isn’t so hard. She no longer has to think of every possible proclivity she won’t enjoy; House’s reassurance has made that clear, and the job isn’t as daunting as a result. It’s obvious to her now that she can make additions if necessary, and that puts her at ease. That he has said he will stop if she’s uncomfortable does more than relax her.
It makes her realize that all of this has been the right choice for her.
That he is the right person to do this with.
And that too makes it easier for her to write down what she knows she could never tolerate. Being tied down - she doesn’t like that idea; the loss of control, the inability to do anything if something went wrong, makes it unappealing to her. She writes it down. Other sex acts follow: choking, being hit with a belt, being burned. In other words, anything that might harm her permanently is out of the question.
She adds a few things after that, including the weirder sex acts that she knows of, has no interest in. “Any object a clinic patient would ask you to remove from his/her urethra, vagina, rectum, etc” is her way of bypassing the iPod dilemma. It’s unlikely though that he will be disappointed by that. On the other hand, she knows “No cameras of any sort” will be difficult for him to accept. He will, of course; this is something she’ll never budge on, and if she couches it as only wanting to be this way for him, he’ll go along with it out of a sense of possession. But before that happens, she anticipates some resistance.
That’s all right however. For her it’s not about having the same interests. It’s that he will defer to hers, and she believes him when he says he won’t force her to do something she doesn’t want. He likes making her twist, pushing her to her limits, but he enjoys that, because he enjoys her capitulation. He likes seeing what she’ll do to resist him or to defend him. Forcing her to do what he wants against her will is not his style, and he has made her believe that that won’t change because of sex.
Why should it change? She’s giving him permission to do… well, just about anything not on this list. But taking advantage of that in the worst way possible would be as problematic for him as it would be for her. If he did something to her, she knows he’s not stupid enough to think he could go to work Monday morning like nothing happened. With this relationship, they both have something to lose if they mistreat one another. If things don’t work out, they are both completely screwed.
The danger simply cements her trust in him, her desire for him. If they are to destroy their professional relationship with this, then she wants to throw herself into it completely - make it worth the somewhat inevitable conclusion. And that provides the impetus for her to finish writing the last few things down she won’t do.
She notices it then. She’s getting turned on. Not by the things she’s writing, because there’s nothing about feet she finds attractive. It’s the act of writing the words down itself that she finds pleasure in. The more she lets him into her mind, the stronger the bond between them seems, the more turned on she is. Trust in him makes her want to give him all the control in the world. It makes her wish he were here to have sex with her until she passes out.
But he’s not here. Unless his patient makes a miraculous recovery, House won’t be here for a while.
She tells herself that “a while” will only be a few days at most. She’s looked at the charts. That man won’t last much longer if House doesn’t cure him. And if House doesn’t get it right in time, he’ll be too frustrated by his own limitations to want to be with her. Again though, even factoring that in, she figures that will only last a couple days before he comes to her. But for her, any delay borders on torture. She’s in this all alone right now, making decisions for them both when the matter isn’t even on his mind.
When he doesn’t even have time to deliver her punishment himself, it hardly feels like they’re in a relationship.
Then again… he has told her what he wants her to do. At first Cuddy didn’t have any intention of listening to him, but now, perhaps, she should. She’s frustrated enough right now that she doesn’t think she can handle any more. But if she’s doing what he wants, if she’s pleasing him - even from this distance - maybe it will make her feel closer to him.
No.
As soon as she thinks that, she gets how stupid it sounds. Whatever desire she might have had to follow orders is now gone, and she can’t talk herself into doing what he wants either. Well, that might not be exactly true. She probably can convince herself to listen. But since House will never know whether or not she masturbated without orgasm, she sees no reason to make herself more miserable.
Besides, she’s tired, cold, head filled with images of things she’ll never find sexy. She doesn’t want to touch herself if she has the option of a man in her bed, and she certainly doesn’t want to settle for less if she’s not even allowed to enjoy it. So, she decides, she won’t. She’ll just lie when he asks. And if he believes she’s lying… that’s not exactly bad for her, is it? If it forces him to take matters into his own hands, well, that’s what she’s wanted, right?
The more she thinks about it, it seems increasingly like the right choice for her. By the time she crawls into bed she has no doubt whatsoever.
Assurance fails to last. Just when she’s starting to take it for granted, she hears him sneaking into her home once more. The uneven steps in her hallway reveal the intruder. The quiet pause, as he no doubt reads her list, cements the fact that it’s House. From their phone call, she got the impression that he wasn’t going to come over. That’s why she was supposed to touch herself, because he couldn’t be here. But he’s changed his mind.
Unprepared she’s not ready to lie. She can and will, of course. Regardless of how deep they go into this, she will never be submissive enough to admit her wrongs immediately. Why would she when there’s the potential thrill of getting away with her crime?
She realizes with dread that that question is irrelevant right now. There’s just no way she’ll convince him of anything. Maybe if she were brimming with energy, she could, but as it is, she isn’t in any position to throw herself into acting out the frustration she would feel if she did as she was told. The only irritation she’s feeling is from being alone.
And the second he steps through the doorway to the bedroom, that’s gone. She fights the urge to smile (and barely wins) when she sees him.
“House.” The happiness barrels through in the way she says his name.
He leans against the doorframe. “You’re lucky it’s me. What if I was a burglar?”
“If you were a burglar, I don’t think you’d use the front door.”
“But finding your spare key is so easy.”
“How would anyone find it when you’ve clearly taken it?” she asks knowingly. Until then she wasn’t aware of that truth. The other evening he slipped his way inside using the key, and she thought nothing more of it. Now that he’s here again, she starts to comprehend that he wouldn’t have bothered to search for the key more than once. He doesn’t like to make the same mistakes twice, waste time when he doesn’t have to. As soon as he found a permanent way in, he would keep it. She sees that now.
He seems to appreciate the display of deduction. “So you noticed.”
“Of course.”
The confident jut of her chin is ignored as he moves closer to her. He simply goes back to the original issue. “I could have been a burglar.”
“I’d take my chances with a burglar who limps,” she says while he sits down on the edge of the bed next to her.
One of hands sliding over her waist, he leans over her and kisses her. She responds immediately to his closeness, to the touch of his warm mouth, and the heat of his stubble against her chin. Part of her is sure as she pulls him closer that this will be her permanent undoing. No matter how much she trusts him, no matter how sure she is of eventual disaster, he will ruin her. No one else has ever managed to make her feel this way. He effortlessly brings her under his control, makes her long for him in seconds. She has power in this relationship, but she is powerless to resist him when she’s alone with him. She’s worked side by side with him for years, and yet she had no idea that her attraction for him went this deep, that she was this alone without him.
Embarrassment ripples through her like a skipping stone through water. But with her body lost in his kiss, the feeling is swept away on a wave of longing for him that leaves her wanting more when he pulls away.
“Thanks for the list,” he says in a voice that somehow bridges the gap between honest and sarcastic. Given what she’s gone through to write said list, she is less than impressed by his tone. “What?” he asks, sensing her disapproval. “You want me to pat you on the head for -”
“No. But a little recognition that doing that wasn’t the easiest -”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
She straightens the bed sheets around her chest. “You could be more appreciative is -”
“Believe me. I am. Very appreciative.”
“Are you?”
He nods his head. “We can move forward now, and you don’t have to worry that I’m going to jam a banana in your ass and stuff you into a latex catsuit,” he says flatly. “For the record, that was never on the menu.”
She smiles weakly. “I’m glad.”
“Yes….” He takes in her demeanor. The room is cast in moonlight and the weak light from the hallway, and he must have trouble making out her face. But he can see clearly enough, because suddenly, he asks almost accusingly, “Did you do what you were asked?”
He suspects. There’s no way he doesn’t.
“Yes,” she lies.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m -”
“Are we going to do this every single time? You lie to me, and I know you’re lying to me, and you know I know you’re lying to me, and you’re not going to admit it to me until I force it out of you?”
Silently the answer is yes. What she says allowed, however, is, “What makes you think I haven’t done what you asked?”
“You’re in too good a mood,” he says, eyes narrowing in judgment.
She shrugs. “That might have something to do with you being here.” Sad as it sounds, it is at least partially truthful. Whatever misery she felt before, it has left her now that she gets to see him. The stall in the relationship has tormented her, and with that temporarily gone, she can’t help but be in a better mood.
But because the sentiment is clichéd and saccharine, it’s one he opts not to believe. Unmoved he sits back and asks her directly, “Where’s your hairbrush? That wasn’t on your list, right?”
Her throat tightens as she realizes what is about to happen. Blush instantly settles across her cheeks, and anticipation mingles with dread as she struggles to find the words he wants. “No…it’s not. I-It’s in the bathroom.”
“Stay.”
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 sequel to A Dark Inclination. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, spanking, orgasm denial, 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), Chapter 1 (Part Two), Chapter 1 (Part Three)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Indecision characterizes the next few days for them both. Pressured into choosing, he isn’t ready to pick his team. He asks everyone what they would do, even Cuddy herself. She tells him Taub and Kutner, to confuse him, to distract from her own predicament. Afterwards, upon reflection, she wasn’t lying when she gave her answers; Taub and Kutner would be assets, as would any of the people left in the game. But she varies her response to make the decision harder for House. Selfishly she doesn’t want his attention on her issue.
Thankfully, frustratingly, the last couple of days have prevented him from coming over and vice versa. They’ve been so busy they haven’t even had a chance to discuss the list she’s supposed to be writing. And while she wishes she could see him, be with him, she’s not all that eager to admit that she hasn’t worked on her so-called homework.
No doubt, he’ll take it to mean that she’s backing out of the relationship she initiated. But in fact she’s not having second thoughts at all. That’s not the issue, nor is the problem one of believing a list is unimportant. She has seen its necessity with her own eyes and knows that they can’t move forward without those limitations in place. But that’s the problem for her: deciding what those boundaries will be.
Her office only a few feet away from the clinic, she has seen sex gone wrong many, many times over the years. Rumor has it House once pulled an iPod out of a young man’s anus, and from her experience, she doesn’t doubt that it actually happened. In her opinion, that’s something that should go without saying she doesn’t want. It should be assumed. But then what if it’s not what? If she doesn’t specify that that’s not okay, will he think it is? Or worse, will he believe that she’s into that? She wants to think that he’s not the type to be interested in something as stupid and dangerous as that, but if she’s wrong, what happens then?
Then she starts to believe that it would be smart just to put it on the list, regardless of how unlikely a possibility it is. But when faced with the task of writing “No iPods in my ass (or any other orifice),” she finds the words too ridiculous to commit to paper or Word document. And then, in a moment of oppressing self-awareness, she doesn’t want to write anything down ever. The whole thing just seems absurd.
But she knows that if she gives into that thought, she will undo everything she has set out to have. Fear will prevent her from having the relationship she wants, and that simply is not an option. She will have to make the list.
She will.
That’s the conclusion she comes to each and every time she mentally goes down this road.
Still.
When it comes to completing the task, she has trouble doing it. Uncharacteristic insecurity returns no matter how hard she tries to keep it at bay.
Tonight she doesn’t even bother to try when she gets home. Of course that might have more to do with hunger than lack of motivation, but she spends her early evening making dinner, reading reports, pretending like she has nothing else to do.
In the moments between actions, however, her mind wanders to the source of her problem, to the one responsible. Sitting alone at her dining room table, eating supper alone… she didn’t think it would be like this. It’s understandable that there will be times when he can’t be with her, times when work has to come first. She gets that. But in her head, maybe, she assumed it would be different. She didn’t expect entering a relationship to feel so similar to being all alone. As scary as the possibility of change is, the lack of change bothers her just as much. The loneliness disappoints her, the silence working her wrong, into agitation, into a melancholy that she has a hard time fighting.
When her phone rings, she hesitates to answer. She feels surly, not entirely convinced that she will able to keep that to herself if she speaks. But the ringing is intrusive enough that unhappy or not, she is compelled to answer it.
“Hello?”
"Well, your panties sound like they're in a bunch," he says flatly over the phone.
She feels relieved to hear his voice. "House."
He must notice the change in her voice, because he says, "That's much better. Although if you're willing to say my name like that -”
"Like what?"
"Like you want me. It must mean you're alone. You better be anyway."
"I'm home by myself." She tries not to sound too upset by that fact. If only because it makes her sound pathetic, she doesn't want him to hear that in her voice and then assume that she can't bear to be away from him. She can be; right now she would just rather not. But that's a finer point, which will be lost on him, so she asks immediately, "Can you talk? Where are you?"
"My balcony."
She frowns. "So this is a work-related call."
"Don't sound so disappointed. On the other hand, feel free to jump up and down when I tell you it's not a work call. I can't see it, of course, but just the mental picture of your breasts - are you wearing a bra?"
The frown remains. "You're talking to me like that while you're at work."
She can practically hear the grin. "Team's running tests. I said I needed time to think. And there's this little thing called windows, so if they figure something out, I'll see them coming."
"Oh." It's comforting enough, but she still feels uneasy. "Shouldn't you be focused on your patient?"
"I need a break."
"But -”
"The monotony is making this harder than I suspect it needs to be. So humor me for a little bit.” It’s not a command, but there’s no time for her to say no… not that she really wants to say that. He continues, asking, “How’s your list coming along?”
Her first instinct is to lie, so she does. “Fine.”
“Really?” He’s doubtful. She can tell. “What’s on the list?”
She lies again. “I just sat down for dinner. I don’t have the list in front of me to -”
“You don’t know off the top of your head?”
“I do, but I want to make sure the wording is right. I don’t want you to misunderstand.” More lies.
“My I.Q. makes geniuses look stupid. I’m not going to misunderstand.” There’s a pause, a moment where he gets it and she knows he does. “You haven’t started.”
“Of course I have.”
“No. No, you haven’t.”
“That’s not -”
“Really? You’re going to waste my time lying about it?”
His harsh tone makes her ashamed to have behaved that way, makes her realize how ridiculous it is to lie. Even if he did believe her now, he’s going to know the truth soon enough.
“Fine. I don’t have a list.”
“Why not?” He is displeased.
She struggles to explain herself. “I… don’t know. I’ve tried to come up with things, but every time I sit down to do it, I just can’t.”
“And you didn’t just come right out and say that because?”
“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t serious about -”
“I don’t think that,” he stresses. “Unless, of course, you don’t give me a reason, and then -”
“I don’t know what the problem is.” She looks down in her lap, as though the answer will appear there. “I don’t know,” she repeats. The sentiment is one she’s said so many times lately that it makes her feel like a complete fool. How can she make a list if she has no clue what she’s doing? “I sit down. I try to write something down. And I can’t. I just get distracted wondering if I should… include the obvious.”
“The obvious?” Before she can clarify, he says, “Oh.” He’s quiet, perhaps to let her explain, but she has nothing to add to what she’s already said. The problem can’t be enlightened upon by her. If she knows anything, it’s that. He does well on his own anyway. “Yeah, I’m aware that dips in the kiddy pool and frolics on the farm are out of bounds. You don’t need to worry about coming home to a bed full of sheep and toddlers.”
“Obviously not.”
His voice even, he explains, “This isn’t about the obvious, Cuddy. This is about the unobvious. Things you definitely don’t want, but things I might not know about.” He exhales roughly into the phone. “If it makes you feel better to list what we both already know, by all means, do that.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not?”
She is becoming frustrated. This isn’t what she wants to hear. “No. It’s not. What happens if I think something is obvious and then it’s not? What do -”
“Wow,” he interrupts, sounding amazed. “You’ve really managed to get worked up over this.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
“I’m not. I’m impressed, actually, by the mental Olympics you’ve had to go through to make this -”
“This is already hard enough,” she admits. “Without you making it worse.”
There’s a long pause after she says that. He slowly regroups.
“If I do something you aren’t comfortable with, you already have the means to stop me. Yak. Remember?”
“Yes.”
She expects him to rub her answer in her face. But instead, he’s actually kind. “If that happens, you have complete power to stop me. And you know I will, because I have no interest in forcing you to do something you don’t want. I don’t get off on that.” He lets the thought settle before adding, “And if there’s something that bothers you, we won’t keep doing it. We’ll add it to your list - never do it again.”
He’s so disagreeable professionally that her instinct is to assume he’s lying or at least making a promise he can’t keep. Then she realizes what she’s saying. If she really believes that he would ignore her limits, make her do things she didn’t want to do… why would she want to be anywhere near him, much less date him, and much less date him in the manner that she’s proposed?
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
In order to get this far, she had to trust him. The same is true now.
“I know,” she says eventually. “I’m sorry.”
“’S fine. Just make the list.”
“I’ll try,” she promises.
But it’s not enough for him. “You’re treating this like it’s complicated, and it’s not. Don’t try to do it. Just write something down. Even if you think it’s stupid.”
His unwavering confidence is annoying yet soothing too. She thinks this will be hard, but he seems to have no doubt about her ability to do it. Maybe he believes she is braver than she is, better at ignoring the reservations she has. And that, while wrong, actually makes him right in the end. He doesn’t see failure as a possibility. He trusts her enough to see strength where she’s been convinced none exists. She won’t disappoint him because of that belief in her. It means too much to her.
At that moment, she remembers a bottle of wine crammed into the back of her refrigerator. Unopened, it is, she thinks, a back up plan if need be. Inebriation has never awakened honesty or clear thought within her, but alcohol has better results when it comes to aiding a loss in her inhibitions. Even if that doesn’t work, at least she’ll be able to claim, no matter how untrue, that the liquor made her do it.
“You’re right. I can do it.”
“Good.”
With the matter dealt with, she changes the subject. “You said your team was -”
“Uh uh,” he says, cutting her off. “That’s forbidden. You wanted to keep things separate.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m just asking how your patient is doing.”
“I’m here, and you’re there. That pretty much tells you everything.”
She licks her lips, runs a hand along her forehead. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Okay, well, forget the patient, because his current, still-dying status isn’t interesting to me or to you. On the other hand,” he says, his voice suddenly bright. “There’s still the matter of your punishment, which we haven’t -”
“Punishment?” she scoffs. She’s in disbelief, but more than anything she’s just amused. “What have I done?”
“What have you done? Where do I start? There’s, like, six things: you didn’t do what you said you would. You didn’t tell me that you were having a problem writing the list. You lied when I brought it up - several times. And you just broke your own rule about mixing work and -”
“I get your point,” she says quietly. “But that’s only four -”
“Yeah… correcting my math isn’t exactly the way to get out of this.”
She smiles though he can’t see it. “I’m not trying to get out of it.”
“So then you’re just being a bitch.”
“Yes.”
His laugh is soft… short. Quickly he slips into silence, the quiet almost enough to make her think that the line has gone dead. There’s no way though he’ll let the conversation end now; he’s about to reveal what her punishment is - and she has no doubts that he wants her to twist with discomfort over what she has coming her way.
Already it’s working.
“Well,” she prompts.
“I’m thinking.” She’s about to ask him how hard can it be when he comes up with the solution to his problem. “Got it. Tonight you’re going to masturbate.”
She’s taken aback, thinks she must have misheard. “Masturbate? That’s not a punishment.”
“But it is. Because right when you’re about to come, you have to stop.”
Cuddy doesn’t immediately voice how stupid his plan sounds, is. Based on her own behavior the past couple days, she gets that this is a precarious dynamic between them. Self-consciousness constantly threatens, lingers around as if waiting for a moment of doubt. At least… it does for her. She’s not exactly sure where he stands, but what she does know is that it’s imperative for her to measure her criticism and deprecation carefully. She doesn’t want to scare him off. She doesn’t want to scare herself away. And when she has all the power in the relationship to stop him, it’s wrong to abuse that. Even if only to make fun of him or his “punishments,” her words have to be carefully chosen. There are so many ways this can fail; casual callousness is not something she will tolerate from herself.
So yes, she could say that he has no way of enforcing said punishment. She could make fun of him for even suggesting it as a way to correct a wrong. But she will keep those thoughts to herself. Unless he has her doing something she is uncomfortable with, offended by, there’s no good reason to say anything negative.
Not right now anyway.
“Fine,” she says after a moment. There’s little chance she’ll be able to follow through, but if he believes she will, that’s what matters, right?
If he has his doubts, he doesn’t have a chance to share. At that moment, she hears voices on the other end of the line, like people are talking to House, trying to get his attention. And that must be the case, because he quickly says, “Gotta go,” before hanging up.
“…Bye” is the dejected response she utters, despite the fact that he can’t hear it.
Alone again she fights the urge to turn sullen. This isn’t what she expected, but the more she gives into that disappointment, the increasingly immature she realizes she’s being. And in the end, when it’s only making her miserable, there’s no reason to continue to give into that feeling.
She resolves to ignore her reservations, and perhaps the best way to do that is to complete the very list she’s struggled over. Action eases tension, always has for her. It’s no different now. And with the added guidance from House to help her, this time, the task isn’t as difficult.
She’s curled up in the armchair in her living room, steam from a hot mug of tea unwinding into the air nearby (wine on standby in case things don’t go as planned). The seasons changing, the weather is cold, brutally unfriendly; if she could bother to do it, she would build a fire. But focused on getting this done, she settles for the warmth of an afghan her grandmother once knitted and the searing bright light of a lamp beside her.
A pen and pad of paper in her lap, she tries again. This time she doesn’t hesitate to add the things that seem obvious. Afterwards it’s possible she’ll just rip those items - children, animals, anything involving latex bodysuits - off the top. But at least if it’s written, she can’t continue to wonder whether or not to include them; it will be done.
Once she’s free of that concern, the rest isn’t so hard. She no longer has to think of every possible proclivity she won’t enjoy; House’s reassurance has made that clear, and the job isn’t as daunting as a result. It’s obvious to her now that she can make additions if necessary, and that puts her at ease. That he has said he will stop if she’s uncomfortable does more than relax her.
It makes her realize that all of this has been the right choice for her.
That he is the right person to do this with.
And that too makes it easier for her to write down what she knows she could never tolerate. Being tied down - she doesn’t like that idea; the loss of control, the inability to do anything if something went wrong, makes it unappealing to her. She writes it down. Other sex acts follow: choking, being hit with a belt, being burned. In other words, anything that might harm her permanently is out of the question.
She adds a few things after that, including the weirder sex acts that she knows of, has no interest in. “Any object a clinic patient would ask you to remove from his/her urethra, vagina, rectum, etc” is her way of bypassing the iPod dilemma. It’s unlikely though that he will be disappointed by that. On the other hand, she knows “No cameras of any sort” will be difficult for him to accept. He will, of course; this is something she’ll never budge on, and if she couches it as only wanting to be this way for him, he’ll go along with it out of a sense of possession. But before that happens, she anticipates some resistance.
That’s all right however. For her it’s not about having the same interests. It’s that he will defer to hers, and she believes him when he says he won’t force her to do something she doesn’t want. He likes making her twist, pushing her to her limits, but he enjoys that, because he enjoys her capitulation. He likes seeing what she’ll do to resist him or to defend him. Forcing her to do what he wants against her will is not his style, and he has made her believe that that won’t change because of sex.
Why should it change? She’s giving him permission to do… well, just about anything not on this list. But taking advantage of that in the worst way possible would be as problematic for him as it would be for her. If he did something to her, she knows he’s not stupid enough to think he could go to work Monday morning like nothing happened. With this relationship, they both have something to lose if they mistreat one another. If things don’t work out, they are both completely screwed.
The danger simply cements her trust in him, her desire for him. If they are to destroy their professional relationship with this, then she wants to throw herself into it completely - make it worth the somewhat inevitable conclusion. And that provides the impetus for her to finish writing the last few things down she won’t do.
She notices it then. She’s getting turned on. Not by the things she’s writing, because there’s nothing about feet she finds attractive. It’s the act of writing the words down itself that she finds pleasure in. The more she lets him into her mind, the stronger the bond between them seems, the more turned on she is. Trust in him makes her want to give him all the control in the world. It makes her wish he were here to have sex with her until she passes out.
But he’s not here. Unless his patient makes a miraculous recovery, House won’t be here for a while.
She tells herself that “a while” will only be a few days at most. She’s looked at the charts. That man won’t last much longer if House doesn’t cure him. And if House doesn’t get it right in time, he’ll be too frustrated by his own limitations to want to be with her. Again though, even factoring that in, she figures that will only last a couple days before he comes to her. But for her, any delay borders on torture. She’s in this all alone right now, making decisions for them both when the matter isn’t even on his mind.
When he doesn’t even have time to deliver her punishment himself, it hardly feels like they’re in a relationship.
Then again… he has told her what he wants her to do. At first Cuddy didn’t have any intention of listening to him, but now, perhaps, she should. She’s frustrated enough right now that she doesn’t think she can handle any more. But if she’s doing what he wants, if she’s pleasing him - even from this distance - maybe it will make her feel closer to him.
No.
As soon as she thinks that, she gets how stupid it sounds. Whatever desire she might have had to follow orders is now gone, and she can’t talk herself into doing what he wants either. Well, that might not be exactly true. She probably can convince herself to listen. But since House will never know whether or not she masturbated without orgasm, she sees no reason to make herself more miserable.
Besides, she’s tired, cold, head filled with images of things she’ll never find sexy. She doesn’t want to touch herself if she has the option of a man in her bed, and she certainly doesn’t want to settle for less if she’s not even allowed to enjoy it. So, she decides, she won’t. She’ll just lie when he asks. And if he believes she’s lying… that’s not exactly bad for her, is it? If it forces him to take matters into his own hands, well, that’s what she’s wanted, right?
The more she thinks about it, it seems increasingly like the right choice for her. By the time she crawls into bed she has no doubt whatsoever.
Assurance fails to last. Just when she’s starting to take it for granted, she hears him sneaking into her home once more. The uneven steps in her hallway reveal the intruder. The quiet pause, as he no doubt reads her list, cements the fact that it’s House. From their phone call, she got the impression that he wasn’t going to come over. That’s why she was supposed to touch herself, because he couldn’t be here. But he’s changed his mind.
Unprepared she’s not ready to lie. She can and will, of course. Regardless of how deep they go into this, she will never be submissive enough to admit her wrongs immediately. Why would she when there’s the potential thrill of getting away with her crime?
She realizes with dread that that question is irrelevant right now. There’s just no way she’ll convince him of anything. Maybe if she were brimming with energy, she could, but as it is, she isn’t in any position to throw herself into acting out the frustration she would feel if she did as she was told. The only irritation she’s feeling is from being alone.
And the second he steps through the doorway to the bedroom, that’s gone. She fights the urge to smile (and barely wins) when she sees him.
“House.” The happiness barrels through in the way she says his name.
He leans against the doorframe. “You’re lucky it’s me. What if I was a burglar?”
“If you were a burglar, I don’t think you’d use the front door.”
“But finding your spare key is so easy.”
“How would anyone find it when you’ve clearly taken it?” she asks knowingly. Until then she wasn’t aware of that truth. The other evening he slipped his way inside using the key, and she thought nothing more of it. Now that he’s here again, she starts to comprehend that he wouldn’t have bothered to search for the key more than once. He doesn’t like to make the same mistakes twice, waste time when he doesn’t have to. As soon as he found a permanent way in, he would keep it. She sees that now.
He seems to appreciate the display of deduction. “So you noticed.”
“Of course.”
The confident jut of her chin is ignored as he moves closer to her. He simply goes back to the original issue. “I could have been a burglar.”
“I’d take my chances with a burglar who limps,” she says while he sits down on the edge of the bed next to her.
One of hands sliding over her waist, he leans over her and kisses her. She responds immediately to his closeness, to the touch of his warm mouth, and the heat of his stubble against her chin. Part of her is sure as she pulls him closer that this will be her permanent undoing. No matter how much she trusts him, no matter how sure she is of eventual disaster, he will ruin her. No one else has ever managed to make her feel this way. He effortlessly brings her under his control, makes her long for him in seconds. She has power in this relationship, but she is powerless to resist him when she’s alone with him. She’s worked side by side with him for years, and yet she had no idea that her attraction for him went this deep, that she was this alone without him.
Embarrassment ripples through her like a skipping stone through water. But with her body lost in his kiss, the feeling is swept away on a wave of longing for him that leaves her wanting more when he pulls away.
“Thanks for the list,” he says in a voice that somehow bridges the gap between honest and sarcastic. Given what she’s gone through to write said list, she is less than impressed by his tone. “What?” he asks, sensing her disapproval. “You want me to pat you on the head for -”
“No. But a little recognition that doing that wasn’t the easiest -”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
She straightens the bed sheets around her chest. “You could be more appreciative is -”
“Believe me. I am. Very appreciative.”
“Are you?”
He nods his head. “We can move forward now, and you don’t have to worry that I’m going to jam a banana in your ass and stuff you into a latex catsuit,” he says flatly. “For the record, that was never on the menu.”
She smiles weakly. “I’m glad.”
“Yes….” He takes in her demeanor. The room is cast in moonlight and the weak light from the hallway, and he must have trouble making out her face. But he can see clearly enough, because suddenly, he asks almost accusingly, “Did you do what you were asked?”
He suspects. There’s no way he doesn’t.
“Yes,” she lies.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m -”
“Are we going to do this every single time? You lie to me, and I know you’re lying to me, and you know I know you’re lying to me, and you’re not going to admit it to me until I force it out of you?”
Silently the answer is yes. What she says allowed, however, is, “What makes you think I haven’t done what you asked?”
“You’re in too good a mood,” he says, eyes narrowing in judgment.
She shrugs. “That might have something to do with you being here.” Sad as it sounds, it is at least partially truthful. Whatever misery she felt before, it has left her now that she gets to see him. The stall in the relationship has tormented her, and with that temporarily gone, she can’t help but be in a better mood.
But because the sentiment is clichéd and saccharine, it’s one he opts not to believe. Unmoved he sits back and asks her directly, “Where’s your hairbrush? That wasn’t on your list, right?”
Her throat tightens as she realizes what is about to happen. Blush instantly settles across her cheeks, and anticipation mingles with dread as she struggles to find the words he wants. “No…it’s not. I-It’s in the bathroom.”
“Stay.”
Continue on to the rest of the chapter