A Dark Inclination (2/3)
Title: A Dark Inclination, Part 2
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for
house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received
autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls
50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Parts: Part 1
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He must feel the same, because he looks at her then like he’s afraid to keep going. The muscles in his jaw twitch lightly; he pauses, his hand resting against the back of her leg like he’s not sure how to proceed.
“You have to say it,” he tells her finally, a hint of pleading in his voice.
“That I’m sorry?” She scoffs, because she thinks she’s made it clear: she’s not apologetic, especially not when it comes to something she has no need to apologize for.
“No,” he says with a stern shake of the head. “If I can continue.”
That doesn’t make it any better in her mind. “So you want me to beg you to -”
“Of course not,” he snaps, apparently tired of her confusion. He pauses again and takes a deep breath. Forcing himself to remain calm, he explains slowly, “It’s one thing if you want this. But I don’t want to keep going if you’re going to resent me for it.”
Her answer is the truth. “I’m not going to tell you to stop.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
His grip on her has loosened enough so that she can roll over onto her side. She’s still across his lap, but this way she can look at him more easily. With a nod of the head, she agrees with him. “You’re right. Because you’re being an -”
“No. I’m being smart. One of us has to think clearly here.” He must quickly see how inflammatory his words are, because almost immediately he raises a hand as if to say wait. “I’m not saying you aren’t,” he adds hastily. “But we’re both caught up in… this, and one of us has to step back for a moment. Because if it’s not clear to me that you want to stop, I will keep going.” He shifts, his body uncomfortable with the emotion in his voice when he says, “And then you’ll hate me. I don’t want you to think I’m -”
“I know,” she interrupts calmly. Her words are no longer challenging as they once were. Now that she can see in his eyes that he’s not toying with her, she doesn’t feel the need to lob denials and sarcasm in his direction. She can tell that this isn’t a ploy to outwit or outmaneuver her. She thought it was; it wasn’t exactly out the question, given that these moments usually are about beating her at their familiar game, but she knows now that this is different.
“I didn’t think you would go through with it,” she admits. “But I’m not afraid of what you’re going to do. If I thought you were going to beat me, I wouldn’t have come here or stayed - or even slept with you to begin with. Besides,” she tells him, the sauciness returning to her voice. “You were right.”
He doesn’t understand, obviously, because he’s not saying anything.
“I have been wanting a reaction from you.” It feels safe under these circumstances to admit it. She’s not sure why.
He smiles triumphantly. “I knew it.”
“Well, you’re right. I wanted one. Because I thought that if you can get this upset over me handing my thong to another man -”
“I don’t want to date you,” he says quickly. Clearly House knows where this is headed.
“Right.” The word is filled with doubt.
“I don’t. Like you said, I don’t like you interfering with -”
“Your fun? Your work? I get involved with that at least ten times a day,” she points out. “And you don’t like it. But when was the last time you decided you wanted to spank me for it?”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s not relevant.”
“No? You don’t think it says something that every time I have a date -”
“Oh shut up.”
“You are obnoxiously interested and overprotective?” she continues, ignoring him. “And when I give Cole my underwear, you waste half your day trying to figure out if I’ve had sex with him.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know you did.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course not. It doesn’t mean you want me for yourself. It doesn’t mean you want to date me at all.” She’s mocking him, which only seems to make him more agitated.
“I’ve never said that,” he shoots back. “Pretty sure having sex with you indicates some level of desire for -”
“Fine. You want to have sex with me,” she concedes. “But you don’t want to date me. You don’t want to be in a relationship with me, because you have no feelings whatsoever for me, right? You would have thrown a fit if I’d had sex with someone else, but that doesn’t mean a thing to you. You don’t care at all.” She has to work hard to prevent what she’s saying from sounding desperate or pathetic. It very easily could go that way, so she has to keep her words as biting as possible to stop it from sounding like she’s begging for a date. “God forbid though another man takes any interest in me, because -”
“Because I’m not going to share you.” The words are dark, possessive. They make her cheeks blush with desire, his voice cool but somehow hot at the same time. “You think I want to come in some hole another man’s just been in?”
His grip on her tightens once more.
“You’re mine,” he declares.
“Oh, of course,” she says coolly. “And how is anyone supposed to know that? How is anyone going to know I’m yours if all we do is sneak around and -”
“They don’t need to know. You do.”
She is not at all put off by the tone of the conversations. They are discussing her as though she is a possession; his voice makes her seem like a child who needs to know the rules, and that’s annoying, but she’s not offended. If anything part of her… likes it - or at least embraces it.
She could do without the hint of patronization, of course, but she likes the sense of ownership in his voice. As much as it bothers her to want this, she does in fact want to be his. She wants the world to see them dating, to know that she is his, he is hers, and that no one has the right to flirt with him in her hospital. And then she understands why she’s not offended. She can handle his tone, because it is identical to the way she thinks of him. She is equally possessive.
“There’s no way for me to know that,” she tells him with a shrug. “If you’re going to flirt with other women in -”
“Oh God,” he groans.
She speaks over him. “Public, then why, exactly, should I -”
“I’m about to give you many, many reasons,” he says, his hand patting her ass promisingly.
Cuddy isn’t distressed by the way he’s talking. She wasn’t lying when she said she wasn’t worried about him hurting her. She’s not afraid of him at all. And honestly, knowing that he won’t agree to a date stings, but equally she is convinced that it’s for the best. She wants this to turn into a relationship, mostly because she thinks it’s the right thing to do, but no matter the reason, she gets that it’s probably not a good idea. House isn’t exactly dating material, and so perhaps it’s for the best that he’s so reluctant to accept the idea. Maybe it’s actually a blessing for him to be against dating. Maybe that’s the reason she drops the matter and smirks at him.
“Then you better hit hard, because if you don’t, who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?” She’s taunting him, for lack of any better choices. “Kutner could ask for my bra and -”
“So you’re trying to make this worse for yourself.”
It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? There’s no denying that she’s egging him on, encouraging him to punish her worse than he intended. But she’s not concerned about that. All she cares about in that moment is his belief that this will reinforce just how much she belongs to him.
It seems so stupid, to give herself to him in this way for that reason. Outside of her own perspective, it definitely resembles idiocy on her part, and it would be easy to assume then that he’s manipulating her. But he’s not. She’s smart enough to know when he’s trying to play her. She’s not so stupid as to believe that this will solve any of their problems.
She does, however, believe that this will offer a brief reprieve from their current situation. For a moment he will mark her as his - and if he is willing to do that, then some part of him is admitting to wanting her for himself. He is unconsciously giving her a piece of himself, an ownership she can victoriously claim without revealing to him (or anyone else) just how badly she wants that.
No, it’s not a solution, not a permanent one at all. But she’ll embrace it anyway.
“I know what I’m doing,” she tells him, rolling over onto her stomach once more. Her lips press into the crook of his elbow, which is near her mouth. Into the soft skin, she says, “You have all the permission in the world.”
She waits for the slap to come, but it never does. Instead she feels him shifting beneath her. Looking back, Cuddy watches him pluck the controversial cherry red thong from his pocket.
“Here,” he says, stuffing the lingerie into her palm. She opens her mouth to say she doesn’t want it back; she really doesn’t, given that he’s probably sniffed it, masturbated with it, and who knows what else. But she doesn’t get a chance to speak before he does. “Hold that up if you want me to stop.”
She doesn’t scoff at the idea. It seems stupid, but she knows House well enough to know that a way out is necessary. He likes to push; within him there is a constant need to ram head first into personal boundaries, and this won’t be any different. She trusts him not to go too far, but at the same time, they are headed into territory where the lines aren’t distinctly drawn. He usually knows when he’s about to push her too hard, but he has no idea when that might happen with this. They are going into this blind, and she accepts the thong, knowing that it’s important to have a way of telling him to stop.
“Okay,” she tells him. She fists her thong and tucks both hand and underwear underneath her body.
And then the dread of waiting sets in. She pictures in her mind what they must look like now, with her spread across his lap, waiting for him to hit her, and she’s suddenly eager for him to start.
He must know that, because he purposely takes his time. “Nervous?” he asks.
“No.”
“You’re tense.”
“Because you’ve been talking about this all afternoon, but so far….”
“I haven’t done much of anything, because it’s pissing you off,” he explains. She believes him.
“Of course.”
“And that’s entertaining to me.” That much is obvious. “Since I didn’t get any satisfaction from watching my team trying to get your panties, really, letting me have this one is the least you can do.”
“You have ten minutes,” she tells him. He may be amused by this, but she definitely is not. And if he’s just going to toy with her, then she’s not interested.
“Of waiting, because -”
“No. Ten minutes starting this second to hit me, have sex with me… do what you want. And then I’m leaving.”
“Seriously?”
“Nine minutes, fifty-four seconds, yes.”
She can practically hear him trying to work it out in his head. “You mean -”
“I’m not joking, House. As much as you wish my life revolved around you -”
“I never said I wanted that.”
“I have other things to do. So although I have no doubt that this is fun for you, I’m not going to wait around indefinitely for you to decide to start. Eight minutes, fifty - ”
“And you’re just going to get up and walk away when the time’s up, even if I’m in the process of having sex with you.”
In all honesty, she would let him finish; if they’re having sex, it’s not like she’ll make him pull out and stop right then and there. But why should she tell him that?
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. So I’d use my time wisely if I were you.”
He can’t keep her here against her will; he can’t cajole her into staying longer if that’s not what she wants, and surely he knows all of that. He’s the one about to punish her, but unfortunately for him, she’s still the one in control. And he has no choice but to accept her terms.
“Fine.” The word is punctuated with the harshest slap yet. His hand hits the exact same spot in the center of her ass, and it burns. A flutter of concern flits through her mind as she wonders just how long she’ll last before she asks him to stop.
He does it again. This time the blow is centered solely on her right cheek. It hurts, the sound ringing out in the quiet room, but she is able to let the pain go with this one. It roils through her hotly before melting away in a haze of warmth that makes her toes tingle.
And then House returns to his initial spot with a loud, harsh whack that makes her whimper into the couch cushion beneath her.
He pauses, having obviously heard the noise she made. He doesn’t ask if she’s okay though. Pride dictates that she will never answer no to that question; she’ll encourage him to go harder then, to avoid looking weak, and he must understand that, because he doesn’t ask her that or say anything at all. He simply silently gives her an opening to make him stop.
She doesn’t want to do that, however. Again, she has to maintain some pride in this situation, and she’s not calling it quits this soon. That’s all it comes down to: appearance. Cuddy would like to say she’s getting off on it, because at least then the behavior makes sense; she’s getting something from the experience. But right now all she feels is pain. There is no pleasure in this.
But she won’t say stop.
Her resolve clear, he starts once more. Again he delivers a softer slap to the outer curve of her ass. She can feel the flesh, no matter how usually taut, jiggle under the force. And that sensation slowly makes her wonder what it’s like from his perspective. Her own body makes her aware of what’s going on outside of it from his viewpoint. Is she red? Can he see the faint trace of his fingers on her skin?
The questions are immediately forgotten when he once again returns to the center of her ass. And his methodology suddenly becomes clear to her.
His palm works its way around her bottom, delivering soft, almost gentle (by comparison anyway) slaps to make her pink and warm. Those she can handle; those she is used to. When he fucks her from behind, drives into her while she’s on all fours and begging for more, he likes to spank her like that. It’s never enough to hurt, just enough to punctuate the moment in a way she has always enjoyed.
But now, for each tap like that, there is an alternating one. It is a hard blow aimed directly at the center, and it is quickly headed towards agonizing. She’ll feel it for days, whether he stops now or not, and she must want that, because he spanks that area with painful accuracy. Each time he returns to that one spot, she fumbles to catch her breath. The beginning of tears blurs the edges of her vision. She doesn’t cry, but she cries out with each slap he gives her to that area. And he keeps going now without hesitation.
She lets him.
The silky thong feels heavy in her palm; she knows she has the power to stop this when it becomes unbearable, but she doesn’t want to do that.
As he spanks her, she no longer knows what she wants, actually. The pain is sharp enough to keep her in the moment; each blow feels worse than the last, the itchy sting constantly the focus of her consciousness. And she feels each and every individual slap; it’s not something she can ignore at all. But by the same token, it also seems to send her further into… she’s not sure what to call it. She’s not even sure there’s a name for it.
But with each spanking, she feels her mind being drawn into the moment. She is physically present and aware of what he’s doing, and her brain in turn seems transfixed by his behavior. The heat he’s creating burns, but that fire has her entranced, brings her further into his actions. Her attention is fixed on the flame now, and she is unable and unwilling to turn away from the blaze seemingly surrounding her.
She hears herself cry out as he hits her there once more. Tears slide down her cheeks, and she is surprised by their sudden presence. Because it hurts and she knows that and a tiny, tiny voice inside says she doesn’t like this (and shouldn’t), but it doesn’t even cross Cuddy’s mind to hold up the thong in her hands.
House would stop. She has no doubt of that. But she doesn’t want him to. She wants him to keep going; she wants the pain, to feel him remind her who she belongs to. She trusts him in that, to give her what she needs, to give her what is necessary to make her good.
The idea should make her ashamed, but her heart beats rapidly, fueled by an affection for him she’s never experienced before. He will protect her, she thinks.
Her nose nuzzles against the arm holding her in place, and that is what gives him pause. Because immediately he stops.
She is tempted to ask for more; that is, after all, what she wants. And if she stays silent, it’s because she’s not sure she can speak, much less form a coherent sentence.
House, on the other hand, has no trouble speaking his mind. “You liking those endorphins?” he asks knowingly.
She blinks but says nothing.
“Come here,” he tells her. Her muscles are unsteady, her mind hazy and torn between wanting to stay like this and being concerned about hitting his thigh, and she is unsure how to move in this state. He solves the problem by wrapping an arm around her hips, the other around her chest, and effectively manhandles her to get her off his lap.
He leaves her sitting up and next to him. But she is quick to lean against him, her face burying into his shoulder. Her ass burns as she sits on it, the sting that much more palpable with all of her weight resting on it. Her whimper manages to be muffled into his t-shirt, though he must hear it anyway.
“You okay?” he asks in all seriousness. She can feel his concerned gaze on her, and it hits her then that he has probably never shown her this much worry for her well being in all of the time they’ve known each other.
It strikes her as odd, because she knows she’s okay - just as she knows that this is a question she must answer. If she wants him to continue, if she wants this feeling to last, she has to say something. But all she can manage is a nod of the head and one word.
“More.”
“More?” He’s suddenly taken aback and pulls away from her so that he can look at her more directly. She nods her head again. “Really,” he says doubtfully.
She forces her mouth to form and utter a raspy, “Yes.”
He must hear the honesty in her voice, because he backs off. “Okay.” But the second she tries to lie across his lap once more, he stops her. “No.”
“But -”
“Trust me?”
The question tugs at her as though his words are a leash tethering her to him.
“Yes.”
She can see the pleasure in his face, which makes her happy.
“You’re mine,” he declares. “You know that?” She nods her head, but he seems less pleased in that moment. “You shouldn’t have given your thong to him.”
The way House is bringing the conversation back around to the game they’ve been playing all week takes her out of the moment. And in all honesty, she doesn’t like it. She hates it. She doesn’t want to think about that, and she doesn’t appreciate being forced to.
He must see the change in her demeanor, because he lets that topic of discussion go without demanding any agreement from her.
Suddenly he gently presses a thumb to her lips. It’s a light touch, but she understands what it means, even before he says the words.
“This is mine,” he says possessively, sending her back into that headspace she was just in. His hand meanders down her body. His palm purposely runs along her breasts before continuing on. Her legs intuitively spread when he reaches her lower stomach. And he takes the hint. Two fingers slide into her wet cunt, forcing her to realize just how turned on she really is. She gasps in surprise, because she hadn’t thought about that at all. She really had no idea. But now that he has called attention to her pulsing clitoris and slick pussy… it’s hard not to think about it. Now she never wants him to stop what he’s doing, especially when he says, pumping her a couple times, “This is mine. No one uses this pussy but me. Not even you.”
That’s what she wants: to be with him, to have sex with him. It’s not as though she has enjoyed being alone, without someone else to satisfy her sexually. She has been willing to wait for someone good to come along, because the only thing more pathetic than being alone is to visibly hate it. At no point, has she betrayed that belief; she has never settled for less than, nor will she ever do that. But Cuddy has always understood the lie she portrays. She has never been so caught up in appearances as to enjoy going home alone, masturbating when her need becomes too much. She has done what is necessary, but it’s not what she prefers.
If House is interested in providing that for her, obviously she’s willing to accept.
Obviously.
His hand closes around her wrists. When he tugs on her, she moves so that she’s leaning against his chest with her ass in the air. Her eyelids flutter shut as she assumes he plans on spanking her again.
To her disappointment, he doesn’t.
His fingers slip between her butt cheeks. The heel of his hand brushes against a particularly sore spot, which makes her gasp. House pays no attention to the sound this time and continues on with his ministrations. One of his fingers slick with her juices, presses against her asshole. There’s no penetration, just enough so that she can feel him and the warmth ripple through her body.
Against the crown of her head, he says in a low voice, “This is mine too, isn’t it?” He kisses her hair when she nods. “That’s right. All mine.”
His hand pulls away, offering her a light swat in the process.
“Get me a beer,” he orders suddenly.
Cuddy hesitates to obey; it has never been her way - to just give him what he wants because he demands it. And when he’s not even asking nicely, it’s her first reaction to think he should get it himself.
This too pulls her out of the moment. Because even if she listens to him, she has now been reminded of their usual habits. She’s remembered that her life exists outside of this couch and his hand, and that makes her more self conscious about what she’s doing.
“You’re closer,” House explains, perhaps sensing her reticence.
“Fine.” It’s not that she doubts him. Her irritation is obvious but not because she is doubtful. It’s just that she’s beginning to become annoyed at his repeated missteps - particularly since she’s starting to wonder if they really are mistakes. He is an incredibly calculated man who can read her with disturbing accuracy. He can piss her off and upset her, of course, but rarely do those things happen by mistake. If anything, he understands her in ways she herself does not. He knows her, certainly well enough to know that these instances aren’t what she wants anyway. But that hasn’t stopped him from making these stumbles. And that can’t be coincidental, can it?
House doesn’t do things without a reason.
Reaching for the beer she bought, she grabs one for herself. To be sure he enjoys alcohol more than she does; she’s not exactly a beer drinker by nature. But at this point Cuddy knows she has to say something in order to understand what he’s doing. And asking why he is so eager to return to normal requires a bit of liquor in her. If she’s going to say that she likes being… put in a submissive position, yeah, she definitely wants to be able to blame it on the alcohol later on.
But he seems dead set against that. She’s no sooner sat back then he plucks the bottle out of her hand. “I didn’t say you could have one,” he explains in a tone that is filled with dismay. What she doesn’t know is how serious he is.
However, Cuddy doesn’t waste time asking if he means what he says. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not important. He’ll give her the beer or he won’t, but in the time it takes to get that answer, she will back away from asking what she wants to ask. Because although she wants a drink, there are bigger things at stake. She can go without the beer; she doesn’t want to let him go another second longer without knowing how she’s feeling.
Admittedly it’s not easy to open her mouth and speak up. Even as she does it, she can practically hear herself saying shut up. But she does eventually ask him, “Can we not mention Cole anymore?”
House doesn’t understand. “He’s the reason we’re -”
“It’s not.” When he doesn’t automatically agree, she insists, “He’s a cover, but he’s not the reason. And the more you remind of our… real lives, the less I want -”
“And you want to date me,” he interrupts incredulously.
“I don’t -”
“You want to date me,” he repeats as though she can’t deny it and shouldn’t insult him by trying.
He’s not an idiot, but he is, she thinks then. For all of his genius, he is incapable at times of dealing with shades of gray. If she doesn’t want their entire lives to be open for others’ viewing, it is apparently a sign that she’s embarrassed to be with him - that’s what he’s thinking. “You want to keep our personal and professional lives separate, but you wanna date me.”
She frowns. Clearly he doesn’t get it. “You did it again.”
“I’m just trying to understand” is his way of apologizing.
“I -”
“Wait a minute.” He twists the top off of the beer in his hand and takes a long pull from the bottle. He swallows loudly. “Okay. You can continue.”
“This,” she nearly barks. “Is what I mean. Things are great and then you bring something up that you know will ruin the mood. If I wanted you to irritate me, I would go back to work and keep my clothes on.”
House takes another sip of his drink. This time though it’s not a show to intentionally annoy her. Looking at him, she can see as much. He’s not being obnoxious but rather contemplating what she has said. He looks worn then, weary in a way she rarely sees. She is surprised by that change; he is nothing if not stubborn, always determined to go in the direction he feels is best. Listening is a skill he would prefer not to have, but right now, he is doing just that: hearing what she has said.
“You’re right,” he admits after a moment. “I am doing that.”
His honesty provokes more of her own. She’s not sure why he is so willing to agree with her, to look at his own behavior and see what she’s telling him. But while he’s listening, she’s not going to let the opportunity go. “I want something different between us. I do,” she admits cautiously. After the past few days, his position on the matter has been made clear to her, and it’s hard for her to tell him this knowing how he feels. “I don’t know if that means a relationship or what. I don’t know if a possible relationship is why you’re doing this. But… like you said, one of us has to start using our brain and stop acting like we can just do whatever we want at work and at home and pretend like that’s not going to catch up with us.”
“Well, if you’re the brains of the operation -”
“Oh shut up,” she snaps. “Considering you’re not thinking at all, the job has fallen on me. So let me tell you: you have to stop before you ruin what we both agree is good right now for us.”
She is serious enough that it forces him to consider her words.
“This is driving you nuts,” he deduces after a moment.
Maybe that’s a simplistic way of putting it; maybe it’s not even that true at all. But she decides to go with that explanation, because at least then she doesn’t have to say any more.
“It’s driving me nuts,” she agrees calmly.
He smiles a little before bowing his head. When he is eye level with her, he kisses her lightly. “Problem is,” he tells her when he pulls away. “I really do enjoy making you crazy.”
They share another kiss before she can respond, his mouth cool and tasting of beer.
“So I’ve noticed,” she says quietly. He’s so near that her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just want to enjoy this, keep all of that other stuff out for a while.”
He agrees at first. “I can do that.” But as soon as he says that, his demeanor changes. She’s not surprised in the least by this, because this is House and being acquiescent is impossible for him. She can see the desire to give her what she wants. It’s not like he is coldly insensitive, intentionally choosing to deny her what she’s asking for. He wants to follow her instruction. But he can’t, because she knows that, for him, any unclear motivation coming from her is worthy of questioning. If she isn’t completely transparent, then there is a puzzle for him to solve, and he is compelled to work it out. That’s why she is prepared for the inevitable question: “What changed?”
Prepared, yes, but not necessarily ready to answer truthfully, she laments.
“Nothing.”
“No. No, that’s not it. There’s a reason.” She can practically see his mind dissecting her behavior. No doubt he’s reliving the past couple of days, trying to figure out just where things started to seem off. “Something’s changed, because I’ve brought up work before. We both have.” He toys with the bottle in his hand but just for a moment. His eyes soon widening with realization, he says knowingly, “But I’ve never spanked you before, huh. And you liked it, which is a little difficult for you to accept if you think about how you’re my boss and -”
“I’m not ashamed of enjoying it,” she interrupts. “But that specifically and work have to be separate things.”
“You think I’m going to go into work tomorrow and shout from the rooftops that being spanked makes your pussy wet?”
That is exactly the kind of thing that terrifies her, but she shakes her head no anyway. It’s not as convincing as she would like it to be. “No…. I just… when we’re like this, I don’t want to think about -”
“Let’s be clear,” he says sternly. “I have no intention of telling anyone about this.” He is able to tell that she’s not convinced, because he keeps talking. Running a hand through her hair, he explains, “It’s tempting. Of course it is. You turned out to be even kinkier than I thought. Who wouldn’t want to mention that? But if I say something, what does that get me?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but she answers anyway. “Bragging -”
“I tell someone I had sex with you, they’re not going to believe me. They’re going to assume I’m lying. And then they’ll tell you, because they’re gonna think it’s inappropriate for me to talk about tea bagging the Dean of Medicine. And then you’ll be pissed, because you know it’s not a lie, and then I’m no longer the one buttering your muffin.” She barely cracks a smile at the euphemism. “What do you think is more important to me - everyone knowing that I’m banging you or being the one doing it?”
Inwardly she is relieved. There won’t be a day she goes to work and faces board members wanting explanations, interns giving her lascivious looks, or Wilson planning their wedding.
“This is between us,” House reiterates in a firm voice. “I’m not gonna give up any of that for someone else. And if you’re going to be my own personal whore, I’d be an idiot to screw that up.”
She raises an eyebrow at his choice of words. “I’m not your personal whore.”
“You’re right. I have to pay those women, and even then -”
“Yes, you’re so funny,” she says while shooting him a dirty look.
He is unconcerned with her irritation. “Not trying to be funny. I’m merely accurately describing the -”
“You are not.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.” Her chin juts out in defiance.
Predictably House sees that as a challenge. The inkling of relief it creates makes her think his reaction is one she wanted. And it’s not hard to understand why, not for her at least. For her, it’s actually a simple equation. She doesn’t want to be called a whore, she guesses, but that’s hardly the worst thing he has called her in all the years they’ve known one another. It doesn’t bother her. But she’ll definitely pretend that it annoys her or that it’s not true, so that he’ll want to prove her wrong. She’ll do it to give him the incentive needed to take them back down the road they’d been on before he screwed the moment up.
“You know that’s a lie,” he tells her. Gone is the apologetic and friendly tone from seconds ago. He’s serious in a different way, dangerously on edge. He leans in close to her. His breath is hot on her cheek, and the intensity of his gaze makes her shiver. A lesser opponent would back down. A less trusting lover would walk away completely.
She is neither.
“Do I?”
It feels like she’s barely had a chance to impishly ask the question before he’s grabbing at her once more. The bottles of beer balance precariously on the sofa, but he’s rough enough with her that it’s clear he doesn’t care about that at all. As he shoves her over his lap, she is tempted to say he doesn’t need to force her. The first time he did this, she was unsure how it would go. But having enjoyed it then, she’s more than willing to ease herself down onto his lap without being forced.
He is more than aware of this, she knows. He saw how much she liked it the first time, which must be why he doesn’t take his time this round. The second she lies down, he gives her ten powerful smacks - all on that same place he’s been punishing all evening.
She cries a little, the rain of blows far stronger than her willpower to stay stoic. The slaps are loud and come in quick succession. She tenses each time she waits for another one to come - which just makes it worse somehow. He’s moving so quickly but somehow manages to time his spankings in such a way that each slap comes just when she wonders if he’s done. And as much as it hurts, she loves him for doing this. The longer it lasts, the further she moves into that warm, safe place of hers.
There is pain then, but it’s… delicious in a way. Maybe it’s the endorphins talking like he said, but in the hurt, there is that knowledge that he will keep her safe - both from physical danger and the danger of someone else finding out about this. In this frenzied act, she is capable of understanding:
No matter what they have, it will never be normal. Whether they date or not, their relationship will always be crazed, dark, bittersweet, and absolutely everything she wants.
And by the time he yanks her back up onto her knees, she is content with that knowledge.
“I’d ask you how wet you are right now,” he says as he unzips his pants. “But I really don’t care.” Cuddy watches him intently as he carefully tugs his dick out of his underwear. At first she thinks he plans on fucking her, and that’s why he’s not asking questions. But as soon as she sees his cock, she disappointedly notices that he’s not hard. He could get there easily, but he’s flaccid. And she guesses he’s thinking similar ideas, because he grabs her by the chin at that instant. It’s not particularly harsh, but it’s forceful enough that she understands his intentions.
“Put my dick in your mouth now,” he demands.
She doesn’t hesitate to listen. The order is rude, but the sooner he has an erection, the sooner she gets all the pleasure that comes with one.
Only that’s apparently not what he has in mind.
She shifts her body, so she can lean down comfortable. But finding a good position isn’t entirely easy with her ass red and beginning to bruise. So as she moves around, she decides to help things along. She reaches for his dick, just so that she can give herself a head start with a few strokes from her hand. Immediately though House is displeased.
He fists some of her hair roughly. “I said mouth. If I wanted a hand job, I would ask for one.”
She crouches down and presses a kiss to his dick. The sooner she gives him what he wants, the sooner she gets what she wants, she reminds herself. Her tongue darting out to lick the head, this too seems to not be what he wants. “Put it in your mouth,” he repeats.
Truthfully it’s odd to her. She’s not used to a soft dick in her mouth - at least not without the bitter aftertaste of his semen coating her taste buds to accompany the feeling. So she’s tentative with her approach. She slowly slides the head of his penis into her mouth. But it’s not quickly enough because House is eager to encourage her, “Take it all in.” When that doesn’t happen fast enough for his liking, his hands tangle in her hair, and he slowly guides her down his long shaft.
It’s unlike anything she has experienced before. When he’s hard and dripping precum, her tendency is to suck him off as quickly as possible. Something animalistic rises with her, and she forces herself to take him even when her body isn’t necessarily prepared for it. But there is no such urge here. Now he’s soft and warm against her; there’s no need to make him come, no rush to do so, and bizarrely enough there’s something almost… comforting about it.
Sex is the last thing this seems to be about. Her head resting on his thighs, her face pressed into the hem of his dark button down shirt, she is surrounded by the scent of his flesh and the warmth of his body. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of him finish one beer and begin to drink the other. Every now and then, he tells her how good she’s being or runs his fingers through her hair. And it’s soothing, to be near him like this, to be, in their own screwed up way, cuddling together on the couch.
She tries not to romanticize the act too much. Her thoughts meander into that territory, but rationally she knows that this isn’t love. When he reaches for the remote to the television and starts to watch The Real World, she gets that this isn’t anywhere near tender. When he accidentally makes her gag as he grabs the bag of Thai food and beer off of the table, she knows it’s not what normal couples do. He’s certainly not being sweet when he tells her as her throat tightens around his dick, “It’s okay. Just relax. Breathe.” And it’s not a term of endearment she loves when he says after she has calmed down, “That’s it. That’s my little cock holder.” She’s not delusional; she knows this isn’t nearly as soothing and gentle as it feels.
But that doesn’t bother her much. It has the potential to, and perhaps that’s what he’s after. Regardless of what he’s promised, it’s hard for him to refrain from irritating her. And maybe he wants the reaction from her. It’s definitely possible, just as it’s possible for him to have other intentions. She’s not sure, but perhaps he wants her to feel humiliated now so that she sympathizes with how he felt when Cole gave him her underwear.
Cuddy is determined to make sure it won’t work. No matter what House says or does, she will take what she wants from him and ignore the rest. As with everything else involving him, she is able to separate the bitter from the sweet. Which she thinks is a useful skill to have considering she’s got his dick shoved down her throat while he’s shoveling in the Thai food she’s hungry for.
It would be very easy to be upset. But she is calm lying against him. Her jaw is starting to hurt, because she can’t close her mouth. Yet it doesn’t ever really cross her mind to pull away or ask him to stop. Even if it didn’t feel nice to be this close to him, she wouldn’t want to end this prematurely. As always, she doesn’t want to be the one to say stop, because in her mind - in his mind as well - that would be losing.
That determination to win, however, nearly evaporates when his phone rings. Her throat tightens around him in surprise, and he gasps at the new sensation. Reaching for the phone, he tells her, “Calm down.” She starts to pull away from him, but he says almost instantly, “No, just stay where you are.”
Continue on to the next part
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for
house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received
autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls
50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Parts: Part 1
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He must feel the same, because he looks at her then like he’s afraid to keep going. The muscles in his jaw twitch lightly; he pauses, his hand resting against the back of her leg like he’s not sure how to proceed.
“You have to say it,” he tells her finally, a hint of pleading in his voice.
“That I’m sorry?” She scoffs, because she thinks she’s made it clear: she’s not apologetic, especially not when it comes to something she has no need to apologize for.
“No,” he says with a stern shake of the head. “If I can continue.”
That doesn’t make it any better in her mind. “So you want me to beg you to -”
“Of course not,” he snaps, apparently tired of her confusion. He pauses again and takes a deep breath. Forcing himself to remain calm, he explains slowly, “It’s one thing if you want this. But I don’t want to keep going if you’re going to resent me for it.”
Her answer is the truth. “I’m not going to tell you to stop.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
His grip on her has loosened enough so that she can roll over onto her side. She’s still across his lap, but this way she can look at him more easily. With a nod of the head, she agrees with him. “You’re right. Because you’re being an -”
“No. I’m being smart. One of us has to think clearly here.” He must quickly see how inflammatory his words are, because almost immediately he raises a hand as if to say wait. “I’m not saying you aren’t,” he adds hastily. “But we’re both caught up in… this, and one of us has to step back for a moment. Because if it’s not clear to me that you want to stop, I will keep going.” He shifts, his body uncomfortable with the emotion in his voice when he says, “And then you’ll hate me. I don’t want you to think I’m -”
“I know,” she interrupts calmly. Her words are no longer challenging as they once were. Now that she can see in his eyes that he’s not toying with her, she doesn’t feel the need to lob denials and sarcasm in his direction. She can tell that this isn’t a ploy to outwit or outmaneuver her. She thought it was; it wasn’t exactly out the question, given that these moments usually are about beating her at their familiar game, but she knows now that this is different.
“I didn’t think you would go through with it,” she admits. “But I’m not afraid of what you’re going to do. If I thought you were going to beat me, I wouldn’t have come here or stayed - or even slept with you to begin with. Besides,” she tells him, the sauciness returning to her voice. “You were right.”
He doesn’t understand, obviously, because he’s not saying anything.
“I have been wanting a reaction from you.” It feels safe under these circumstances to admit it. She’s not sure why.
He smiles triumphantly. “I knew it.”
“Well, you’re right. I wanted one. Because I thought that if you can get this upset over me handing my thong to another man -”
“I don’t want to date you,” he says quickly. Clearly House knows where this is headed.
“Right.” The word is filled with doubt.
“I don’t. Like you said, I don’t like you interfering with -”
“Your fun? Your work? I get involved with that at least ten times a day,” she points out. “And you don’t like it. But when was the last time you decided you wanted to spank me for it?”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s not relevant.”
“No? You don’t think it says something that every time I have a date -”
“Oh shut up.”
“You are obnoxiously interested and overprotective?” she continues, ignoring him. “And when I give Cole my underwear, you waste half your day trying to figure out if I’ve had sex with him.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know you did.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course not. It doesn’t mean you want me for yourself. It doesn’t mean you want to date me at all.” She’s mocking him, which only seems to make him more agitated.
“I’ve never said that,” he shoots back. “Pretty sure having sex with you indicates some level of desire for -”
“Fine. You want to have sex with me,” she concedes. “But you don’t want to date me. You don’t want to be in a relationship with me, because you have no feelings whatsoever for me, right? You would have thrown a fit if I’d had sex with someone else, but that doesn’t mean a thing to you. You don’t care at all.” She has to work hard to prevent what she’s saying from sounding desperate or pathetic. It very easily could go that way, so she has to keep her words as biting as possible to stop it from sounding like she’s begging for a date. “God forbid though another man takes any interest in me, because -”
“Because I’m not going to share you.” The words are dark, possessive. They make her cheeks blush with desire, his voice cool but somehow hot at the same time. “You think I want to come in some hole another man’s just been in?”
His grip on her tightens once more.
“You’re mine,” he declares.
“Oh, of course,” she says coolly. “And how is anyone supposed to know that? How is anyone going to know I’m yours if all we do is sneak around and -”
“They don’t need to know. You do.”
She is not at all put off by the tone of the conversations. They are discussing her as though she is a possession; his voice makes her seem like a child who needs to know the rules, and that’s annoying, but she’s not offended. If anything part of her… likes it - or at least embraces it.
She could do without the hint of patronization, of course, but she likes the sense of ownership in his voice. As much as it bothers her to want this, she does in fact want to be his. She wants the world to see them dating, to know that she is his, he is hers, and that no one has the right to flirt with him in her hospital. And then she understands why she’s not offended. She can handle his tone, because it is identical to the way she thinks of him. She is equally possessive.
“There’s no way for me to know that,” she tells him with a shrug. “If you’re going to flirt with other women in -”
“Oh God,” he groans.
She speaks over him. “Public, then why, exactly, should I -”
“I’m about to give you many, many reasons,” he says, his hand patting her ass promisingly.
Cuddy isn’t distressed by the way he’s talking. She wasn’t lying when she said she wasn’t worried about him hurting her. She’s not afraid of him at all. And honestly, knowing that he won’t agree to a date stings, but equally she is convinced that it’s for the best. She wants this to turn into a relationship, mostly because she thinks it’s the right thing to do, but no matter the reason, she gets that it’s probably not a good idea. House isn’t exactly dating material, and so perhaps it’s for the best that he’s so reluctant to accept the idea. Maybe it’s actually a blessing for him to be against dating. Maybe that’s the reason she drops the matter and smirks at him.
“Then you better hit hard, because if you don’t, who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?” She’s taunting him, for lack of any better choices. “Kutner could ask for my bra and -”
“So you’re trying to make this worse for yourself.”
It would seem that way, wouldn’t it? There’s no denying that she’s egging him on, encouraging him to punish her worse than he intended. But she’s not concerned about that. All she cares about in that moment is his belief that this will reinforce just how much she belongs to him.
It seems so stupid, to give herself to him in this way for that reason. Outside of her own perspective, it definitely resembles idiocy on her part, and it would be easy to assume then that he’s manipulating her. But he’s not. She’s smart enough to know when he’s trying to play her. She’s not so stupid as to believe that this will solve any of their problems.
She does, however, believe that this will offer a brief reprieve from their current situation. For a moment he will mark her as his - and if he is willing to do that, then some part of him is admitting to wanting her for himself. He is unconsciously giving her a piece of himself, an ownership she can victoriously claim without revealing to him (or anyone else) just how badly she wants that.
No, it’s not a solution, not a permanent one at all. But she’ll embrace it anyway.
“I know what I’m doing,” she tells him, rolling over onto her stomach once more. Her lips press into the crook of his elbow, which is near her mouth. Into the soft skin, she says, “You have all the permission in the world.”
She waits for the slap to come, but it never does. Instead she feels him shifting beneath her. Looking back, Cuddy watches him pluck the controversial cherry red thong from his pocket.
“Here,” he says, stuffing the lingerie into her palm. She opens her mouth to say she doesn’t want it back; she really doesn’t, given that he’s probably sniffed it, masturbated with it, and who knows what else. But she doesn’t get a chance to speak before he does. “Hold that up if you want me to stop.”
She doesn’t scoff at the idea. It seems stupid, but she knows House well enough to know that a way out is necessary. He likes to push; within him there is a constant need to ram head first into personal boundaries, and this won’t be any different. She trusts him not to go too far, but at the same time, they are headed into territory where the lines aren’t distinctly drawn. He usually knows when he’s about to push her too hard, but he has no idea when that might happen with this. They are going into this blind, and she accepts the thong, knowing that it’s important to have a way of telling him to stop.
“Okay,” she tells him. She fists her thong and tucks both hand and underwear underneath her body.
And then the dread of waiting sets in. She pictures in her mind what they must look like now, with her spread across his lap, waiting for him to hit her, and she’s suddenly eager for him to start.
He must know that, because he purposely takes his time. “Nervous?” he asks.
“No.”
“You’re tense.”
“Because you’ve been talking about this all afternoon, but so far….”
“I haven’t done much of anything, because it’s pissing you off,” he explains. She believes him.
“Of course.”
“And that’s entertaining to me.” That much is obvious. “Since I didn’t get any satisfaction from watching my team trying to get your panties, really, letting me have this one is the least you can do.”
“You have ten minutes,” she tells him. He may be amused by this, but she definitely is not. And if he’s just going to toy with her, then she’s not interested.
“Of waiting, because -”
“No. Ten minutes starting this second to hit me, have sex with me… do what you want. And then I’m leaving.”
“Seriously?”
“Nine minutes, fifty-four seconds, yes.”
She can practically hear him trying to work it out in his head. “You mean -”
“I’m not joking, House. As much as you wish my life revolved around you -”
“I never said I wanted that.”
“I have other things to do. So although I have no doubt that this is fun for you, I’m not going to wait around indefinitely for you to decide to start. Eight minutes, fifty - ”
“And you’re just going to get up and walk away when the time’s up, even if I’m in the process of having sex with you.”
In all honesty, she would let him finish; if they’re having sex, it’s not like she’ll make him pull out and stop right then and there. But why should she tell him that?
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. So I’d use my time wisely if I were you.”
He can’t keep her here against her will; he can’t cajole her into staying longer if that’s not what she wants, and surely he knows all of that. He’s the one about to punish her, but unfortunately for him, she’s still the one in control. And he has no choice but to accept her terms.
“Fine.” The word is punctuated with the harshest slap yet. His hand hits the exact same spot in the center of her ass, and it burns. A flutter of concern flits through her mind as she wonders just how long she’ll last before she asks him to stop.
He does it again. This time the blow is centered solely on her right cheek. It hurts, the sound ringing out in the quiet room, but she is able to let the pain go with this one. It roils through her hotly before melting away in a haze of warmth that makes her toes tingle.
And then House returns to his initial spot with a loud, harsh whack that makes her whimper into the couch cushion beneath her.
He pauses, having obviously heard the noise she made. He doesn’t ask if she’s okay though. Pride dictates that she will never answer no to that question; she’ll encourage him to go harder then, to avoid looking weak, and he must understand that, because he doesn’t ask her that or say anything at all. He simply silently gives her an opening to make him stop.
She doesn’t want to do that, however. Again, she has to maintain some pride in this situation, and she’s not calling it quits this soon. That’s all it comes down to: appearance. Cuddy would like to say she’s getting off on it, because at least then the behavior makes sense; she’s getting something from the experience. But right now all she feels is pain. There is no pleasure in this.
But she won’t say stop.
Her resolve clear, he starts once more. Again he delivers a softer slap to the outer curve of her ass. She can feel the flesh, no matter how usually taut, jiggle under the force. And that sensation slowly makes her wonder what it’s like from his perspective. Her own body makes her aware of what’s going on outside of it from his viewpoint. Is she red? Can he see the faint trace of his fingers on her skin?
The questions are immediately forgotten when he once again returns to the center of her ass. And his methodology suddenly becomes clear to her.
His palm works its way around her bottom, delivering soft, almost gentle (by comparison anyway) slaps to make her pink and warm. Those she can handle; those she is used to. When he fucks her from behind, drives into her while she’s on all fours and begging for more, he likes to spank her like that. It’s never enough to hurt, just enough to punctuate the moment in a way she has always enjoyed.
But now, for each tap like that, there is an alternating one. It is a hard blow aimed directly at the center, and it is quickly headed towards agonizing. She’ll feel it for days, whether he stops now or not, and she must want that, because he spanks that area with painful accuracy. Each time he returns to that one spot, she fumbles to catch her breath. The beginning of tears blurs the edges of her vision. She doesn’t cry, but she cries out with each slap he gives her to that area. And he keeps going now without hesitation.
She lets him.
The silky thong feels heavy in her palm; she knows she has the power to stop this when it becomes unbearable, but she doesn’t want to do that.
As he spanks her, she no longer knows what she wants, actually. The pain is sharp enough to keep her in the moment; each blow feels worse than the last, the itchy sting constantly the focus of her consciousness. And she feels each and every individual slap; it’s not something she can ignore at all. But by the same token, it also seems to send her further into… she’s not sure what to call it. She’s not even sure there’s a name for it.
But with each spanking, she feels her mind being drawn into the moment. She is physically present and aware of what he’s doing, and her brain in turn seems transfixed by his behavior. The heat he’s creating burns, but that fire has her entranced, brings her further into his actions. Her attention is fixed on the flame now, and she is unable and unwilling to turn away from the blaze seemingly surrounding her.
She hears herself cry out as he hits her there once more. Tears slide down her cheeks, and she is surprised by their sudden presence. Because it hurts and she knows that and a tiny, tiny voice inside says she doesn’t like this (and shouldn’t), but it doesn’t even cross Cuddy’s mind to hold up the thong in her hands.
House would stop. She has no doubt of that. But she doesn’t want him to. She wants him to keep going; she wants the pain, to feel him remind her who she belongs to. She trusts him in that, to give her what she needs, to give her what is necessary to make her good.
The idea should make her ashamed, but her heart beats rapidly, fueled by an affection for him she’s never experienced before. He will protect her, she thinks.
Her nose nuzzles against the arm holding her in place, and that is what gives him pause. Because immediately he stops.
She is tempted to ask for more; that is, after all, what she wants. And if she stays silent, it’s because she’s not sure she can speak, much less form a coherent sentence.
House, on the other hand, has no trouble speaking his mind. “You liking those endorphins?” he asks knowingly.
She blinks but says nothing.
“Come here,” he tells her. Her muscles are unsteady, her mind hazy and torn between wanting to stay like this and being concerned about hitting his thigh, and she is unsure how to move in this state. He solves the problem by wrapping an arm around her hips, the other around her chest, and effectively manhandles her to get her off his lap.
He leaves her sitting up and next to him. But she is quick to lean against him, her face burying into his shoulder. Her ass burns as she sits on it, the sting that much more palpable with all of her weight resting on it. Her whimper manages to be muffled into his t-shirt, though he must hear it anyway.
“You okay?” he asks in all seriousness. She can feel his concerned gaze on her, and it hits her then that he has probably never shown her this much worry for her well being in all of the time they’ve known each other.
It strikes her as odd, because she knows she’s okay - just as she knows that this is a question she must answer. If she wants him to continue, if she wants this feeling to last, she has to say something. But all she can manage is a nod of the head and one word.
“More.”
“More?” He’s suddenly taken aback and pulls away from her so that he can look at her more directly. She nods her head again. “Really,” he says doubtfully.
She forces her mouth to form and utter a raspy, “Yes.”
He must hear the honesty in her voice, because he backs off. “Okay.” But the second she tries to lie across his lap once more, he stops her. “No.”
“But -”
“Trust me?”
The question tugs at her as though his words are a leash tethering her to him.
“Yes.”
She can see the pleasure in his face, which makes her happy.
“You’re mine,” he declares. “You know that?” She nods her head, but he seems less pleased in that moment. “You shouldn’t have given your thong to him.”
The way House is bringing the conversation back around to the game they’ve been playing all week takes her out of the moment. And in all honesty, she doesn’t like it. She hates it. She doesn’t want to think about that, and she doesn’t appreciate being forced to.
He must see the change in her demeanor, because he lets that topic of discussion go without demanding any agreement from her.
Suddenly he gently presses a thumb to her lips. It’s a light touch, but she understands what it means, even before he says the words.
“This is mine,” he says possessively, sending her back into that headspace she was just in. His hand meanders down her body. His palm purposely runs along her breasts before continuing on. Her legs intuitively spread when he reaches her lower stomach. And he takes the hint. Two fingers slide into her wet cunt, forcing her to realize just how turned on she really is. She gasps in surprise, because she hadn’t thought about that at all. She really had no idea. But now that he has called attention to her pulsing clitoris and slick pussy… it’s hard not to think about it. Now she never wants him to stop what he’s doing, especially when he says, pumping her a couple times, “This is mine. No one uses this pussy but me. Not even you.”
That’s what she wants: to be with him, to have sex with him. It’s not as though she has enjoyed being alone, without someone else to satisfy her sexually. She has been willing to wait for someone good to come along, because the only thing more pathetic than being alone is to visibly hate it. At no point, has she betrayed that belief; she has never settled for less than, nor will she ever do that. But Cuddy has always understood the lie she portrays. She has never been so caught up in appearances as to enjoy going home alone, masturbating when her need becomes too much. She has done what is necessary, but it’s not what she prefers.
If House is interested in providing that for her, obviously she’s willing to accept.
Obviously.
His hand closes around her wrists. When he tugs on her, she moves so that she’s leaning against his chest with her ass in the air. Her eyelids flutter shut as she assumes he plans on spanking her again.
To her disappointment, he doesn’t.
His fingers slip between her butt cheeks. The heel of his hand brushes against a particularly sore spot, which makes her gasp. House pays no attention to the sound this time and continues on with his ministrations. One of his fingers slick with her juices, presses against her asshole. There’s no penetration, just enough so that she can feel him and the warmth ripple through her body.
Against the crown of her head, he says in a low voice, “This is mine too, isn’t it?” He kisses her hair when she nods. “That’s right. All mine.”
His hand pulls away, offering her a light swat in the process.
“Get me a beer,” he orders suddenly.
Cuddy hesitates to obey; it has never been her way - to just give him what he wants because he demands it. And when he’s not even asking nicely, it’s her first reaction to think he should get it himself.
This too pulls her out of the moment. Because even if she listens to him, she has now been reminded of their usual habits. She’s remembered that her life exists outside of this couch and his hand, and that makes her more self conscious about what she’s doing.
“You’re closer,” House explains, perhaps sensing her reticence.
“Fine.” It’s not that she doubts him. Her irritation is obvious but not because she is doubtful. It’s just that she’s beginning to become annoyed at his repeated missteps - particularly since she’s starting to wonder if they really are mistakes. He is an incredibly calculated man who can read her with disturbing accuracy. He can piss her off and upset her, of course, but rarely do those things happen by mistake. If anything, he understands her in ways she herself does not. He knows her, certainly well enough to know that these instances aren’t what she wants anyway. But that hasn’t stopped him from making these stumbles. And that can’t be coincidental, can it?
House doesn’t do things without a reason.
Reaching for the beer she bought, she grabs one for herself. To be sure he enjoys alcohol more than she does; she’s not exactly a beer drinker by nature. But at this point Cuddy knows she has to say something in order to understand what he’s doing. And asking why he is so eager to return to normal requires a bit of liquor in her. If she’s going to say that she likes being… put in a submissive position, yeah, she definitely wants to be able to blame it on the alcohol later on.
But he seems dead set against that. She’s no sooner sat back then he plucks the bottle out of her hand. “I didn’t say you could have one,” he explains in a tone that is filled with dismay. What she doesn’t know is how serious he is.
However, Cuddy doesn’t waste time asking if he means what he says. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not important. He’ll give her the beer or he won’t, but in the time it takes to get that answer, she will back away from asking what she wants to ask. Because although she wants a drink, there are bigger things at stake. She can go without the beer; she doesn’t want to let him go another second longer without knowing how she’s feeling.
Admittedly it’s not easy to open her mouth and speak up. Even as she does it, she can practically hear herself saying shut up. But she does eventually ask him, “Can we not mention Cole anymore?”
House doesn’t understand. “He’s the reason we’re -”
“It’s not.” When he doesn’t automatically agree, she insists, “He’s a cover, but he’s not the reason. And the more you remind of our… real lives, the less I want -”
“And you want to date me,” he interrupts incredulously.
“I don’t -”
“You want to date me,” he repeats as though she can’t deny it and shouldn’t insult him by trying.
He’s not an idiot, but he is, she thinks then. For all of his genius, he is incapable at times of dealing with shades of gray. If she doesn’t want their entire lives to be open for others’ viewing, it is apparently a sign that she’s embarrassed to be with him - that’s what he’s thinking. “You want to keep our personal and professional lives separate, but you wanna date me.”
She frowns. Clearly he doesn’t get it. “You did it again.”
“I’m just trying to understand” is his way of apologizing.
“I -”
“Wait a minute.” He twists the top off of the beer in his hand and takes a long pull from the bottle. He swallows loudly. “Okay. You can continue.”
“This,” she nearly barks. “Is what I mean. Things are great and then you bring something up that you know will ruin the mood. If I wanted you to irritate me, I would go back to work and keep my clothes on.”
House takes another sip of his drink. This time though it’s not a show to intentionally annoy her. Looking at him, she can see as much. He’s not being obnoxious but rather contemplating what she has said. He looks worn then, weary in a way she rarely sees. She is surprised by that change; he is nothing if not stubborn, always determined to go in the direction he feels is best. Listening is a skill he would prefer not to have, but right now, he is doing just that: hearing what she has said.
“You’re right,” he admits after a moment. “I am doing that.”
His honesty provokes more of her own. She’s not sure why he is so willing to agree with her, to look at his own behavior and see what she’s telling him. But while he’s listening, she’s not going to let the opportunity go. “I want something different between us. I do,” she admits cautiously. After the past few days, his position on the matter has been made clear to her, and it’s hard for her to tell him this knowing how he feels. “I don’t know if that means a relationship or what. I don’t know if a possible relationship is why you’re doing this. But… like you said, one of us has to start using our brain and stop acting like we can just do whatever we want at work and at home and pretend like that’s not going to catch up with us.”
“Well, if you’re the brains of the operation -”
“Oh shut up,” she snaps. “Considering you’re not thinking at all, the job has fallen on me. So let me tell you: you have to stop before you ruin what we both agree is good right now for us.”
She is serious enough that it forces him to consider her words.
“This is driving you nuts,” he deduces after a moment.
Maybe that’s a simplistic way of putting it; maybe it’s not even that true at all. But she decides to go with that explanation, because at least then she doesn’t have to say any more.
“It’s driving me nuts,” she agrees calmly.
He smiles a little before bowing his head. When he is eye level with her, he kisses her lightly. “Problem is,” he tells her when he pulls away. “I really do enjoy making you crazy.”
They share another kiss before she can respond, his mouth cool and tasting of beer.
“So I’ve noticed,” she says quietly. He’s so near that her voice is barely above a whisper. “I just want to enjoy this, keep all of that other stuff out for a while.”
He agrees at first. “I can do that.” But as soon as he says that, his demeanor changes. She’s not surprised in the least by this, because this is House and being acquiescent is impossible for him. She can see the desire to give her what she wants. It’s not like he is coldly insensitive, intentionally choosing to deny her what she’s asking for. He wants to follow her instruction. But he can’t, because she knows that, for him, any unclear motivation coming from her is worthy of questioning. If she isn’t completely transparent, then there is a puzzle for him to solve, and he is compelled to work it out. That’s why she is prepared for the inevitable question: “What changed?”
Prepared, yes, but not necessarily ready to answer truthfully, she laments.
“Nothing.”
“No. No, that’s not it. There’s a reason.” She can practically see his mind dissecting her behavior. No doubt he’s reliving the past couple of days, trying to figure out just where things started to seem off. “Something’s changed, because I’ve brought up work before. We both have.” He toys with the bottle in his hand but just for a moment. His eyes soon widening with realization, he says knowingly, “But I’ve never spanked you before, huh. And you liked it, which is a little difficult for you to accept if you think about how you’re my boss and -”
“I’m not ashamed of enjoying it,” she interrupts. “But that specifically and work have to be separate things.”
“You think I’m going to go into work tomorrow and shout from the rooftops that being spanked makes your pussy wet?”
That is exactly the kind of thing that terrifies her, but she shakes her head no anyway. It’s not as convincing as she would like it to be. “No…. I just… when we’re like this, I don’t want to think about -”
“Let’s be clear,” he says sternly. “I have no intention of telling anyone about this.” He is able to tell that she’s not convinced, because he keeps talking. Running a hand through her hair, he explains, “It’s tempting. Of course it is. You turned out to be even kinkier than I thought. Who wouldn’t want to mention that? But if I say something, what does that get me?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but she answers anyway. “Bragging -”
“I tell someone I had sex with you, they’re not going to believe me. They’re going to assume I’m lying. And then they’ll tell you, because they’re gonna think it’s inappropriate for me to talk about tea bagging the Dean of Medicine. And then you’ll be pissed, because you know it’s not a lie, and then I’m no longer the one buttering your muffin.” She barely cracks a smile at the euphemism. “What do you think is more important to me - everyone knowing that I’m banging you or being the one doing it?”
Inwardly she is relieved. There won’t be a day she goes to work and faces board members wanting explanations, interns giving her lascivious looks, or Wilson planning their wedding.
“This is between us,” House reiterates in a firm voice. “I’m not gonna give up any of that for someone else. And if you’re going to be my own personal whore, I’d be an idiot to screw that up.”
She raises an eyebrow at his choice of words. “I’m not your personal whore.”
“You’re right. I have to pay those women, and even then -”
“Yes, you’re so funny,” she says while shooting him a dirty look.
He is unconcerned with her irritation. “Not trying to be funny. I’m merely accurately describing the -”
“You are not.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.” Her chin juts out in defiance.
Predictably House sees that as a challenge. The inkling of relief it creates makes her think his reaction is one she wanted. And it’s not hard to understand why, not for her at least. For her, it’s actually a simple equation. She doesn’t want to be called a whore, she guesses, but that’s hardly the worst thing he has called her in all the years they’ve known one another. It doesn’t bother her. But she’ll definitely pretend that it annoys her or that it’s not true, so that he’ll want to prove her wrong. She’ll do it to give him the incentive needed to take them back down the road they’d been on before he screwed the moment up.
“You know that’s a lie,” he tells her. Gone is the apologetic and friendly tone from seconds ago. He’s serious in a different way, dangerously on edge. He leans in close to her. His breath is hot on her cheek, and the intensity of his gaze makes her shiver. A lesser opponent would back down. A less trusting lover would walk away completely.
She is neither.
“Do I?”
It feels like she’s barely had a chance to impishly ask the question before he’s grabbing at her once more. The bottles of beer balance precariously on the sofa, but he’s rough enough with her that it’s clear he doesn’t care about that at all. As he shoves her over his lap, she is tempted to say he doesn’t need to force her. The first time he did this, she was unsure how it would go. But having enjoyed it then, she’s more than willing to ease herself down onto his lap without being forced.
He is more than aware of this, she knows. He saw how much she liked it the first time, which must be why he doesn’t take his time this round. The second she lies down, he gives her ten powerful smacks - all on that same place he’s been punishing all evening.
She cries a little, the rain of blows far stronger than her willpower to stay stoic. The slaps are loud and come in quick succession. She tenses each time she waits for another one to come - which just makes it worse somehow. He’s moving so quickly but somehow manages to time his spankings in such a way that each slap comes just when she wonders if he’s done. And as much as it hurts, she loves him for doing this. The longer it lasts, the further she moves into that warm, safe place of hers.
There is pain then, but it’s… delicious in a way. Maybe it’s the endorphins talking like he said, but in the hurt, there is that knowledge that he will keep her safe - both from physical danger and the danger of someone else finding out about this. In this frenzied act, she is capable of understanding:
No matter what they have, it will never be normal. Whether they date or not, their relationship will always be crazed, dark, bittersweet, and absolutely everything she wants.
And by the time he yanks her back up onto her knees, she is content with that knowledge.
“I’d ask you how wet you are right now,” he says as he unzips his pants. “But I really don’t care.” Cuddy watches him intently as he carefully tugs his dick out of his underwear. At first she thinks he plans on fucking her, and that’s why he’s not asking questions. But as soon as she sees his cock, she disappointedly notices that he’s not hard. He could get there easily, but he’s flaccid. And she guesses he’s thinking similar ideas, because he grabs her by the chin at that instant. It’s not particularly harsh, but it’s forceful enough that she understands his intentions.
“Put my dick in your mouth now,” he demands.
She doesn’t hesitate to listen. The order is rude, but the sooner he has an erection, the sooner she gets all the pleasure that comes with one.
Only that’s apparently not what he has in mind.
She shifts her body, so she can lean down comfortable. But finding a good position isn’t entirely easy with her ass red and beginning to bruise. So as she moves around, she decides to help things along. She reaches for his dick, just so that she can give herself a head start with a few strokes from her hand. Immediately though House is displeased.
He fists some of her hair roughly. “I said mouth. If I wanted a hand job, I would ask for one.”
She crouches down and presses a kiss to his dick. The sooner she gives him what he wants, the sooner she gets what she wants, she reminds herself. Her tongue darting out to lick the head, this too seems to not be what he wants. “Put it in your mouth,” he repeats.
Truthfully it’s odd to her. She’s not used to a soft dick in her mouth - at least not without the bitter aftertaste of his semen coating her taste buds to accompany the feeling. So she’s tentative with her approach. She slowly slides the head of his penis into her mouth. But it’s not quickly enough because House is eager to encourage her, “Take it all in.” When that doesn’t happen fast enough for his liking, his hands tangle in her hair, and he slowly guides her down his long shaft.
It’s unlike anything she has experienced before. When he’s hard and dripping precum, her tendency is to suck him off as quickly as possible. Something animalistic rises with her, and she forces herself to take him even when her body isn’t necessarily prepared for it. But there is no such urge here. Now he’s soft and warm against her; there’s no need to make him come, no rush to do so, and bizarrely enough there’s something almost… comforting about it.
Sex is the last thing this seems to be about. Her head resting on his thighs, her face pressed into the hem of his dark button down shirt, she is surrounded by the scent of his flesh and the warmth of his body. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of him finish one beer and begin to drink the other. Every now and then, he tells her how good she’s being or runs his fingers through her hair. And it’s soothing, to be near him like this, to be, in their own screwed up way, cuddling together on the couch.
She tries not to romanticize the act too much. Her thoughts meander into that territory, but rationally she knows that this isn’t love. When he reaches for the remote to the television and starts to watch The Real World, she gets that this isn’t anywhere near tender. When he accidentally makes her gag as he grabs the bag of Thai food and beer off of the table, she knows it’s not what normal couples do. He’s certainly not being sweet when he tells her as her throat tightens around his dick, “It’s okay. Just relax. Breathe.” And it’s not a term of endearment she loves when he says after she has calmed down, “That’s it. That’s my little cock holder.” She’s not delusional; she knows this isn’t nearly as soothing and gentle as it feels.
But that doesn’t bother her much. It has the potential to, and perhaps that’s what he’s after. Regardless of what he’s promised, it’s hard for him to refrain from irritating her. And maybe he wants the reaction from her. It’s definitely possible, just as it’s possible for him to have other intentions. She’s not sure, but perhaps he wants her to feel humiliated now so that she sympathizes with how he felt when Cole gave him her underwear.
Cuddy is determined to make sure it won’t work. No matter what House says or does, she will take what she wants from him and ignore the rest. As with everything else involving him, she is able to separate the bitter from the sweet. Which she thinks is a useful skill to have considering she’s got his dick shoved down her throat while he’s shoveling in the Thai food she’s hungry for.
It would be very easy to be upset. But she is calm lying against him. Her jaw is starting to hurt, because she can’t close her mouth. Yet it doesn’t ever really cross her mind to pull away or ask him to stop. Even if it didn’t feel nice to be this close to him, she wouldn’t want to end this prematurely. As always, she doesn’t want to be the one to say stop, because in her mind - in his mind as well - that would be losing.
That determination to win, however, nearly evaporates when his phone rings. Her throat tightens around him in surprise, and he gasps at the new sensation. Reaching for the phone, he tells her, “Calm down.” She starts to pull away from him, but he says almost instantly, “No, just stay where you are.”
Continue on to the next part