Gift of Screws, Chapter 2

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Two
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating:  NC-17 for sex
Characters:  House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note:  This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship. This fic also contains sex. If any of those things bother you, please hit your back button.  
Summary:  For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Warning: This specific chapter contains explicit sex that features anal play. 
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own it.


It seemed like she'd just fallen asleep when she was awoken by a hand pressing into her stomach. A dissatisfied groan eased out of her throat, and Cuddy reluctantly opened her eyes; she was exhausted, in desperate need of sleep, but she also knew that whoever had woken her up was unlikely to go away any time soon. Whether it was House, Rachel, a burglar, rapist - whatever - there was no chance of going back to sleep now.

Sighing at that knowledge, Cuddy slowly shifted her gaze downward. Immediately she spotted the culprit: a worried five-year-old Rachel who was trying her best to wade through the tangle of limbs to get to her mother. She was clearly trying to avoid House, her eyes constantly on his gangly body as she crawled along the length of the bed.

The sight was not a surprising one; ever since Marina had died in a car accident, Rachel had become increasingly clingy, increasingly plagued by nightmares, which meant that it wasn't unusual to wake up to her trying to join House and her mother in bed.

Well, Cuddy corrected - trying to join her. As evidenced by the way she was moving on the bed, Rachel had no desire to be anywhere near House. He was too scary for that, too intimidating for Rachel to seek him out for anything.

No doubt that he wanted it that way, of course. His way of dealing with Rachel was to pretend that their lives were completely separate. They were two moons orbiting the same planet, but in his mind, never did the twain meet. In that, there wasn't any denial that Rachel existed, which Cuddy supposed she should be grateful for. He really could have pretended that her daughter didn't exist, and that he was willing to acknowledge her presence at all should have felt like some sort of victory.

But it didn't.

If anything, Cuddy thought this was worse. It was worse. Because the way things were now, House could sit on the couch with her daughter, watch cartoons with her, talk to her, and feel nothing. He could have opinions on how Cuddy was raising Rachel, but at the end of the day, he didn't care. He really didn't.

At first Cuddy had told herself that he was just uncomfortable, that he simply needed time to warm up to the whole idea of being a… father figure. And considering how likely it had seemed that their relationship would fail, she hadn't been all that upset about his reticence. Truth be told, she'd been rather appreciative of his unwillingness to bond with Rachel right away.

It had felt safer for him to do that.

Safer for whom, Cuddy hadn't known.

Yet as time had worn on, that feeling had dissipated. Whatever good she'd seen in his reluctance had been replaced with the realization that he wasn't being kind - not even remotely so - with his actions. Instead of trying to protect, he was merely trying to avoid.

And looking back now, she knew that that should have been all the warning she needed. It should have been proof enough that he would never truly adjust to life with a child in it.

But it hadn't been, and she'd simply told herself that he would eventually come around, that he would eventually let himself care for Rachel. Now that seemed like wishful thinking at best, but back then, it hadn't seemed all that crazy; after all, how long had it taken him to accept his feelings for Cuddy to begin with? How long had it taken for him to act on those feelings and for them both to trust that those emotions wouldn't evaporate into thin air one day?

It really hadn't seemed all that unreasonable to think that things could be the same way with Rachel.

Here they all were though, years after the fact, and nothing had changed since then. Rachel was in need, wanting only her mother, while House slept on, oblivious to everything. His arm was slung around Cuddy, his fingers warmly pressed against her flat stomach. And with her head on his bare chest, she realized that she was still the protective barrier between her lover and her daughter.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing except for the fact that Cuddy could no longer imagine being without House. As pathetic as it sounded, she'd been with him too long, had spent too many mornings waking up to him and too many nights falling asleep beside him, and she couldn't even fathom what her life would be like without him in it, without him here.

She didn't want to.

Admittedly that made her sound awful, but it was the truth nevertheless. They'd spent so much effort into creating this relationship that, as a matter of pride, it would have destroyed her to realize that it was for naught.

Maybe it already had been though…

A sudden kick to the knee made Cuddy forget all about that, however. Rachel was still trying to cross the length of the bed, and in her attempts to avoid House without making any noise, she was becoming clumsier in other areas. And Cuddy, having had enough of that, reached out for her daughter.

"Come here," she whispered in a voice that was deeper than normal. Catching Rachel under the armpits, she pulled her daughter up until the little girl could bury her head in Cuddy's shoulder. It was by no means an easy task; Rachel was only five, but her weight was certainly not that of the average five year old.

However, Cuddy didn't have the energy or the desire to think about that right now, so instead, she distracted herself by asking, "Why are you awake?"

Rachel shrugged, wordlessly popping her thumb in her mouth. It was a habit Cuddy had tried to break to no avail. Bribes and every aversion tactic in the book had been employed at one point or another; cookies, toys, the promise of a puppy… it hadn't worked - just as the reverse psychology and the "No Bite" deterrent Cuddy had painted on Rachel's fingers hadn't. Nothing had, because the little girl just refused to let go. So it came as no surprise that, when Cuddy wordlessly pulled the thumb out of Rachel's mouth, she shoved it back in in no time. They'd already spent hours easily doing this, and with no end in sight, the tug of war was bound to continue for many more.

For now though, Cuddy was willing to take a break from that. She was exhausted, and the sound of House's slow and peaceful breathing was only reminding her what she was missing at the moment. Needless to say, she couldn't have cared less right then and there about Rachel's bad habits. Not when the desire to get her to go back to sleep weighed heavily on Cuddy's mind.

So instead of chastising, she tried to soothe. Instead of fighting, she simply ran her fingers through Rachel's overgrown-and-in-desperate-need-of-a-trim hair. Pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead, Cuddy asked, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Rachel shook her head, burying her face into the fabric of Cuddy's sweatshirt.

"Did you have an accident?"

It was clear that Rachel resented the question. Immediately she nearly shouted, "No."

"Shh," Cuddy told her gently. The last thing she wanted to do was wake House up; he was the one variable in this equation that could take this situation from banal to unbearable. Although truthfully they were probably already there, because Rachel's response instinctively made Cuddy believe that there were wet sheets and pajamas just waiting to be washed.

Out of habit, she lightly patted Rachel's bottom, but nothing was wet. Of course, whether or not these pants were the same Cuddy had put her in a couple of hours ago… she had no idea. But she supposed she would find out eventually, and because of that, she refocused her attention on finding out why her daughter was awake. "Why are you up, baby?"

Rachel rubbed at her eyes tiredly but whined loudly, "Don't wanna sleep."

Underneath them, House groaned a little. He was clearly waking up from all the noise, and if he were to become completely roused, sleep would be out of the question for everyone for at least another hour. Because if he were to wake up, there would be a fight; Rachel and House would take digs at one another, and someone at some point would become more frustrated than usual, and things would be said, and…

Cuddy had no desire to deal with that.

So she tried to prevent that from happening as best as she could. Shifting her body off of House's with Rachel in her arms, Cuddy kept scooting until they were on her side of the bed. Hopefully it would be enough.

"But you have to. It's nighttime," she explained in a soft voice. "That means it's time for bed."

"No."

Cuddy nodded her head to emphasize her point. "It is, and you definitely need your sleep for your recital tomorrow."

Under normal circumstances, Rachel would have said something back. Whether she agreed or not, she would have replied. On her own she was a talkative child, one who'd never met a thought she didn't wish to share. But also, witnessing her mother's relationship with House had made Rachel combative, argumentative. Well, more argumentative, Cuddy corrected; any child Rachel's age would have been exploring boundaries, becoming more of an individual.

In this case though, it was more than that. Rachel saw the way House and Cuddy treated one another and believed that it was normal, that it was how you were supposed to treat everyone. And the thing was that, although Cuddy didn't think there was anything truly objectionable about her relationship with House, she knew that others certainly had, did… would.

The reasons were obvious. They worked together; he was an addict; he'd been institutionalized in the past; she had a kid. But the biggest strike against them was their so-called lack of respect for one another, and Cuddy had been told that so many times that she was anything but unaware of that perception.

People saw the way they fought, the insults they hurled toward one another. People saw the way he would objectify her and the way they would hurt and humiliate each other, and everyone seemed to assume that their relationship was a resentful one.

However, it definitely wasn't. Although it probably couldn't constitute a normal relationship, Cuddy knew that they loved one another, respected one another. And that was how they could allow themselves to act the way they did. Because in the back of their minds, there was always an appreciation, always a sense that nobody else would ever care or forgive them as much as the other already did.

And in the end their dynamic worked for them - far better than any attempt at being "normal" ever had. But there was no denying that it didn't necessarily make Rachel a sweet little girl.

In this instance though, she wasn't saying anything in reaction to Cuddy's words, and that could only mean that Cuddy had touched on something unknowingly.

She wanted to groan at the idea of having to handle a problem now but didn't. Though she had, by now, figured out that her child wasn't going to go to bed anytime soon, Cuddy didn't exactly see the point in complaining about it - even if only to herself. It wouldn't bring slumber to her any sooner.

So, brushing a long strand of hair out of her daughter's face, she instead asked, "Are you scared about dancing tomorrow?" Rachel shook her head, but Cuddy could feel the way her child tensed at the mere mention of the recital.

It was proof enough that she was trying to hide the fact that she was nervous.

And the irony of the dynamic between Rachel and House struck Cuddy hard in that instance. They could barely stand one another, but God they were similar in so many regards. Maybe not in intelligence or looks or anything like that, but they were both incredibly prone to being ashamed of their feelings. They were both slow to open up and even slower to realize that their acting out meant everyone knew precisely what was tormenting them.

It should have been enough to build some sort of bridge between them. Perhaps it would have taken Rachel longer, because she didn't have the same ability to comprehend her own actions, much less someone else's. But House - he should have seen the similarities. He should have noticed just how alike they could be. Hell, he probably did notice it, and it should have been enough for him to initiate some sort of relationship with her.

But it wasn't, and he didn't, so now Cuddy was left to console her daughter while he lie next to them both without a care in the world.

Then again, what else was new?

Sighing Cuddy said, "Rachel, you don't have anything to worry about. You're going to be fantastic tomorrow."

It was a lie.

A complete and utter lie.

She would deny thinking this if asked, of course, and she absolutely planned on smacking House if he said something similar. But the truth was that Rachel probably wouldn't be all that good. She tried very hard to be as good as the other girls in her dance class (and they weren't that great either), but she just didn't have the coordination or body for it.

House had brought up the possibility of Rachel having slight delays in her physical development. And Cuddy couldn't write it off completely, though she desperately wanted to. Because the fact of the matter was that Rachel had spent the last weeks she should have spent in the womb on the floor of an abandoned house just waiting for someone to find her, love her.

It was impossible to say how long Rachel had spent alone, lying on that dirty floor, before that homeless couple had found her - just as it was impossible to say what they had fed her or how any of it had affected her development. Whether her clumsiness was something she would grow out of or something more permanent, nobody really knew at this point. Not her doctor, not House, not Cuddy herself.

But one thing was absolutely certain: whatever the issue, it probably meant that Rachel wasn't going to be the best dancer at the recital tomorrow. Granted, all of the children were pretty terrible. Half of them were too busy picking their noses or twirling their hair to pay attention, and, having seen more than her fair share of these productions, Cuddy knew that Rachel wouldn't be the only one falling on her ass tomorrow.

Naturally though, Cuddy couldn't say that, so she lied instead. And for a brief moment, she thought that maybe Rachel didn't believe her. The little girl was seemingly shaking her head, but the quickness of the motion made Cuddy realize that Rachel was actually wiping her runny nose on Cuddy's sweatshirt. "Oh, honey, don't do that," she said with disgust, her hand instinctively reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

She had to practically pry Rachel's face away from her shirt and ordered her, once the Kleenex was under her nose, "Blow."

It was the sound that finally made House speak up.

Disgusted and annoyed all at once, he said, "Ah yes, turning the bed into a Petri dish. I always heard nothing made for a peaceful slumber like lying in a sea of mucus."

Cuddy wiped Rachel's nose one last time before reaching for the hand sanitizer she kept on her nightstand for such purposes. After throwing away the tissue and cleaning her hands, she was about to tell him that he was being overly dramatic.

But Rachel beat her to it.

The second he opened his mouth, she snapped her head around to face him. Her chubby hands curled into fists, she propped herself up on them, making Cuddy hiss as wrist bones were shoved into various parts of her chest.

House was ready to say something about King Kong scaling the Empire State Building when Rachel asked snottily, "Why are you here?" It was clearly a rhetorical question, because she added quickly, "Go away."

Cuddy instantly admonished her, "Hey! We don't -"

"You smell," Rachel continued, clearly not paying attention to anything her mother was trying to tell her. House found this particularly unfortunate, because Rachel's insults were terrible. She wanted to be mean, but she lacked the ability to be that. She had neither the vocabulary nor the observation skills to say anything particularly hurtful. And that meant that her insults were more of a nuisance to deal with than anything else.

Almost as though she were trying to prove that point, she added, "You're naked."

He scoffed. "I'm wearing pants."

"Are not."

"Are -"

"Both of you stop it," Cuddy interrupted loudly. "I'm not going to referee a fight between you two."

But Rachel was in no mood to listen. Her little pig nose scrunched in disgust, she told House, "I hate you."

House wanted to tell her that he didn't exactly like her very much either, but he refrained. Although Cuddy never said it, he knew that, deep down, she hoped that he would view Rachel as… a daughter? someone he cared for?

To be honest, he had no idea how deep Cuddy's delusions went; she tried to hide it as best as she could, so it was impossible to say just how involved she wanted him in all of this. But no matter the label she'd secretly assigned to him, House knew that it would absolutely crush her to hear him say that he hated Rachel.

And maybe he shouldn't have cared about Cuddy's feelings. Maybe he should have satisfied his own dickish nature instead. He was certainly tempted to, but for whatever reason, he was willing to let his pride take the hit on this one. He didn't love the rhinoceros of a child glaring at him, but he did love (he guessed) the rhino's mommy. And if he could keep his mouth shut and let Cuddy come to realize on her own how he felt about the kid… he thought that would be better.

In the very least, he wouldn't have to deal with her reaction now. And by keeping quiet, he was making sure that Cuddy focused all of her attention on her daughter.

Which was precisely what she did. "Rachel," she snapped. "You do not talk like that." The tone of her voice left no room for discussion, and the kid at least had the decency to look contrite. "Now, apologize to House, so I can take you back to your bed."

Rachel frowned deeply, her lower lip quivering. "Don't go to my bed," she said sadly, several crucial words being dropped from the sentence.

That wasn't a rare occurrence either. House tried to ignore her existence as best as he could, but he must not have been very good at it, because he knew that when Rachel was nervous or scared or tired, she had a habit of mangling her English. Syllables, even whole words, were forgotten, and though, in those times, being clear was of utmost importance, she seemed to be incapable of saying what she meant.

Luckily for her, everyone in this bed right now had been around her long enough to understand what she wanted to say - she didn't want to sleep in her own bed. But Cuddy wasn't ready to indulge her daughter just yet.

"Apologize, Rachel," she told her in a softer voice.

Rachel clearly didn't want to. She hesitated to say anything at all, and when she did, she sounded put upon. But eventually she did look over at House to say, "Sorry."

For Cuddy, it was good enough. She could make her daughter say the words, but she could only go so far as to make sure the words were sincere. And quite frankly, it was too late, and she was too tired to press the matter further.

"Okay. Time for bed," she announced, rolling onto her side and taking Rachel with her.

At this point, Cuddy was content to let Rachel stay here. It wasn't exactly the optimal situation, but by the time Rachel was in her own bed, by the time Cuddy got her calmed down and asleep, sleep for herself would be impossible. She would have been awake for too long; it would be too late, and chances were she'd end up spending what little night was left drinking a cup of tea and catching up on paperwork.

On the other hand, Rachel couldn't stay precisely where she was; she was too heavy to lie completely on Cuddy, and the way her elbows kept digging into Cuddy's ribs was making the experience all the more painful.

Having had enough of the uncomfortable position, Cuddy tried to situate them both side by side. But Rachel didn't understand this and whined, "No, don't wanna go -"

"Stop whining," Cuddy ordered firmly. "Or I will put you back in your own bed."

"Yeah," House piped up judgmentally. "That's not going to make her the world's biggest co-dependant or -"

"Shut up," Cuddy snapped, glancing back at him briefly before focusing her attention on Rachel once more.

Carefully tucking her daughter in, Cuddy told her gently, "Go to sleep." Rachel silently shifted on the bed, her dark hair spilling onto her cheeks. Exhausted, she fell asleep to the feel of her mother's fingers pushing the long strands out of her tiny face.

Cuddy stayed exactly as she was for several moments; there was something too peaceful about watching her only child sleep to turn away. The way her dark eyelashes rested against her plump, pale cheeks, the way she would occasionally sigh contentedly - it was a sight that reaffirmed everything Cuddy had had to do to get to this point in her life.

Losing Joy had been so painful that at the time it had seemed as though parenthood weren't worth the cost of admission. She'd been so convinced of that in fact that if Rachel hadn't practically fallen in her lap…

Cuddy wouldn't have tried again.

But lying here now with her daughter just inches away from her, she could see that giving up would have been a mistake. She could see just how much she would have regretted making that choice.

Perhaps sensing that she was thinking about just how much she enjoyed being a mother, House rolled away from her then. The movement a reminder that he was still awake, Cuddy turned back over onto her back to see what he was doing.

At that moment, he was half out of the bed. One of her hands instinctively reaching over to rub his bare back, she asked him, "What are you doing?"

"Getting my shirt," he explained, reaching down to grab the article with clothing he'd hastily discarded after they'd had sex.

Cuddy frowned. "Because of what Rachel said?"

Sitting back up, he shot her a dirty look. "Seriously?" Was she really under the impression that he was so easily wounded that a five year old's words could hurt him?

But apparently she was, because she asked, "Are you okay?"

"You really think that I'm upset because she said I smelled?" he asked her, as she pulled the shirt on.

Cuddy shook her head. "She said she hated you."

"Yes, she did," he agreed.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he should tell her. To brush off Rachel's words quickly was tempting, but doing it too quickly or too forcefully would either make Cuddy doubt him or hate him. And he had no desire to deal with either reaction.

"And that doesn't upset you?" she asked quietly.

Looking at her carefully, House could tell that she was seriously making sure that he was okay. Which he would have laughed at if it weren't so pathetic.

"If I say yes, will you let me stick my face in your boobs?"

"No."

"Then no," he told her breezily. "I'm not upset at all."

For whatever reason, she didn't look convinced. "House…"

"I'm fine," he insisted as he settled underneath the covers once more.

For a brief moment, Cuddy looked at him as though she didn't want to let the matter go. Her eyes searching his for some sort of tell, she was obviously hoping that he would use her silence as an opportunity to confess about how Rachel hating him made him want to cry. Or something equally unlikely and lame.

And when he didn't do that, she sighed. Confessing, she explained, "I just… I hope you realize that Rachel's opinion isn't one I share."

He smirked. "I had gotten that impression, yeah."

She smiled a little but said nothing. The look they were sharing was enough for them both.

Eventually though, she broke the silence. Sighing once more, she shook her head. "All right," she capitulated. Patting her chest once, she explained, "You wanted to put your face in my breasts?"

As fast as his leg would allow him to, he flipped over onto his stomach and onto her. A childish "weeee" escaped his throat as he buried his face into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. One of his hands racing to cup one of her breasts, he told her, "You really do have a great pair."

Her fingertips were raking through his hair, but her words were a less tender "So you like to tell me."

"I mean it," he told her honestly. "We break up, I'm taking Patty and Selma with me."

"I really wish you wouldn't give my breasts names."

"Why not? If I could, I'd erect a statue -"

"To my breasts?" she asked doubtfully.

He rolled his eyes and looked up at her, his chin digging into her chest. "Again. Why not?"

Sighing Cuddy told him, "If you really think that's a good idea, you're in more need of sleep than I thought."

"Ask me again tomorrow." Nevertheless, he laid his head back down on her chest, and she took that to mean that he was willing to concede that he was tired… if not entirely wrong about the quality of her boobs.

Following his lead, she didn't say anything in response. Glancing over at Rachel one last time, Cuddy allowed herself to close her eyes once more.

She didn't even realize that she'd fallen asleep until her ringing phone woke her up. Instinctively her hand reached for her cell phone, but mentally she was trying to figure out where the hell she was and what was going on.

A turn of the head to each side of her revealed a sleeping House and Rachel, and Cuddy couldn't help but think that being in between those two giant babies was how she spent most of her life; there was nothing odd about it.

And that thought was one she had once more the second she answered her phone.

The woman on the other line was her assistant, but since Cuddy had just hired her, she had no idea what her name was. Obviously, Cuddy didn't particularly care at the moment; given the way her assistant was rambling on about some sort of issue, all that Cuddy cared about was the underlying fact that she was going to have to drive in to the hospital. Again, there was nothing odd about that.

But as used to it as she was, she felt a growing amount of irritation towards the hospital's dependence on her.

In the past, she'd almost relished that unbalanced relationship. Princeton-Plainsboro had needed her, and when she hadn't had anything outside of her job, that had mattered to her more than anything. And she still did like that, of course; she liked knowing that her work meant something, that it made a difference for the patience who sought her employees' help.

Yet things were more complicated now. Now, she had Rachel, and giving up time with her in order to deal with someone else's incompetence was… not what Cuddy wanted.

And she had no problem making that perfectly clear to her new employee. Each and every word laced with annoyance, by the time Cuddy said, "Yeah. I'm on my way," her assistant was itching to hang up and surely regretting that she'd ever called in the first place.

Cuddy refused to feel guilty about that.

If the new girl were going to last at all, she would have to get used to the pressure. And certainly if Cuddy were going to have to keep missing out on her daughter's childhood, then the assistant should have been prepared for a little misdirected anger every now and then.

As she slowly crawled out of bed (so as not to wake the other people in it), she felt that anger inside of her grow. She loved her job, but right now, she did not want to be there. A glance at the clock told her that it was four thirty, and she really didn't want to be getting ready for work.

What she wanted was to go back to bed. She wanted to wake up when normal people did with their children in their arms and their only concern being whether or not they would make it to the school recital on time.

Shit.

Her silent complaints had just been a meaningless exercise (she definitely didn't have time this morning to do any real exercise), but now it was making her remember:

Rachel's dance recital.

Scrubbing her hands tiredly over her face, Cuddy told herself that there would be enough time for her to come back and pick Rachel up. Well, there should have been enough time. But given the way things at work normally worked, there wouldn't be.

And that meant, if it were up to Cuddy and Cuddy alone, Rachel would be late - if there at all.

So someone else would need to take her… but who?

At that moment, House let out a small snort in his sleep, and Cuddy took that to be a sign that he was volunteering for the job.

He would hate doing it, of course, and she knew that if she gave him the option to say no, he would. But in her mind, that just meant taking away that choice.

How to do that though… that was the question.

Biting down on her lip, she knew that the quickest way to make him do anything involved sex. Giving him sex, withholding sex - it all worked pretty damn well. Seeing as how he was unconscious though, that didn't seem like a likely option.

Then again… she could fix that.

A plan immediately formed in her head, and knowing that it would work beautifully, she quietly tiptoed toward the alarm clock on his side of the bed. As she set the alarm clock for ten minutes from now, she thought to herself that getting House to do exactly what she needed would be so easy.

But the thought had no sooner entered her brain than he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

His warm fingers clasping tightly around her wrist, she swallowed hard. She'd been caught, she thought. And she hesitantly looked toward him to confirm what she suspected.

His eyes were barely open though, and she noted that there was confusion - not accusation - in his bright blue irises.

"What are you doing?" he croaked.

A lie quickly formed in her mind. "Your alarm clock went off," she whispered. "It must be broken."

Of all the things she could tell him, she supposed this was one of the more believable lies. His alarm clock was old, so it was plausible that it would go haywire. And more importantly, he slept well enough that it was also plausible for him to sleep through the alarm.

Most importantly though, if he were to believe her now, he wouldn't blame her for the alarm going off in ten minutes.

And thankfully, he did seem convinced. Using his grip on her to pull her closer to him, he murmured, "Come back to bed."

She buried her face in his neck all the while using her free hand to set the alarm clock to on. "I wish I could," she whispered. "But I'm already awake." He nodded his head. "I'm going to go take a shower."

He let go of her obediently and easily rolled over onto his stomach. Freed she headed toward the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Of course, she couldn't deny feeling guilty about the whole thing. He was tired, and after what had happened last night with Rachel, Cuddy would have preferred to not have to ask for House's help. But as she spit toothpaste into the sink, she supposed that she didn't really have a choice. Rachel needed to be at that recital, and there wasn't exactly anyone else Cuddy could call to do that; her family didn't live nearby; Wilson was busy (hence he wasn't going to be attending this disaster waiting to happen in the first place), and she still hadn't hired anyone to replace Marina. So that really did only leave House.

There was no other way, she told herself, climbing into the shower. She might have wanted things to be different - he definitely would want things to be different - but there was no avoiding it. And as she began to wash her hair, she reminded herself that she couldn't let him see how much she already regretted asking for his help.

He would exploit it to get out of it.

He would use her own feelings into weaseling out of her the outcome he wanted.

She was determined not to let that happen.

And so, five minutes later, when she heard his alarm go off (and the subsequent boom of the alarm clock being thrown against a wall), she was more than ready to deal with him.

As predicted, he slowly made his way into the bathroom. Immediately heading for her, he wrenched the door to the shower open. "My alarm clock's broken." He threw a hand in the air in exasperation. "I can't sleep."

"I'm sorry," she told him honestly. Leaning forward a little, she kissed him on the lips. But, since it was the morning, she immediately regretted doing that. Her nose scrunched up in disgust, Cuddy said, "Brush your teeth."

"You're not minty fresh enough for the both of us?"

"No."

He nodded his head in concession. "Fine. But don't get too excited with the loofah. I'm joining you." Completely unconcerned for the little girl sleeping in the next room, he let the shower door slam behind him.

And why should he have cared? The little monster had kept them up for part of the night. Why shouldn't he have returned the favor?

Predictably, Cuddy didn't agree with his line of thinking. The second he hopped into the shower with her, she said, "Don't slam the door. You'll wake -"

He cut her off by slamming the shower door again.

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Let me simplify it for you: you make noise, she wakes up. She wakes up, we don't have sex."

House knew he couldn't argue with her logic. But naturally he wasn't going to apologize (who the hell would?) and instead asked, "How much time do we have?"

Truth be told, Cuddy thought that they had upwards of two hours before Rachel got up. Given that they'd all had a restless night, Rachel was more likely to sleep in than usual.

However, Cuddy knew she couldn't say that. Rachel might have had two hours left, but she needed to get to work. And although House could not take two hours to get off, what Cuddy really needed was for this to be over with as quickly as possible. So she told him, "Five, maybe… seven, minutes tops."

"Then I hope you're already in the mood," he told her with a sour expression on his face. Five to seven minutes was fine for him, he thought as he negotiated his way around Cuddy to stand underneath the shower. Hell, he could get off in two or three minutes if he were really pushing it.

But unless Cuddy were seriously horny (and right now, she just looked tired), he knew it would probably take her a little longer. He could get her there; of that he had no doubt. However, if, in five minutes, Rachel were going to bust through the doors, as she inevitably would, the fun would abruptly end right then and there.

If anything, it would end with Cuddy screaming at him and wringing her hands over the possibility of poisoning her baby's mind.

And House didn't feel like dealing with that.

Ever.

So he said the one thing he never liked saying, "Or… maybe we should just wait."

Cuddy smirked at him. He really wasn't all that smart first thing in the morning, was he? Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him lightly. "Or I can give you a hand job now, and you can -"

"Okay," he readily agreed.

"You don't want to know how I was going to finish that sentence?"

He shook his head. "Let me guess: you want something from me."

"Yes."

House supposed that that should have sent off alarm bells in his head; he knew Cuddy well enough to know that "do something for me" meant "do something that will make you miserable for me." And maybe he should have been considered what that something was - especially when she'd offered him the hand job first without immediately saying she wanted something in return.

Then again, House realized that she'd tried to do that, and he'd interrupted her. So maybe… maybe it was a sign that what she had planned for him wasn't too awful?

Part of him was sure that that reasoning was incredibly faulty. But the other part of him was also sure that it was criminal to pass up any kind of sex with a wet and eager Cuddy.

His eyes looking her over at the thought, he was reminded (as he always was) just how beautiful she really was. Even right now, when she was wearing just the dark circles under her eyes and no make up, she was gorgeous.

He didn't like, much less want, to wax on about her appearance, obviously. Even in his own mind, when he wanted to do that, he sounded too much like a lovesick puppy. And that was a ridiculous accusation coming from within himself, because he wasn't being blinded by love as much as he was stating very clearly what was right in front of him:

Cuddy was hot.

His gaze following the trail the water from the shower was leaving on her body, he watched little rivulets fall onto the soft apples of her cheeks. Greedily seeking contact with the rest of her body, the water - in the same manner that he liked to explore her body - lazily cascaded down along her jaw before falling onto her collarbone.

These days her clavicle and ribs were more prominent than they'd ever been, the water briefly getting caught there. As Rachel got older, as he lived with them longer, the more stress reducing activities Cuddy seemed to need. Running, yoga, tennis - she was doing it all as often as she could these days. And that, in addition to her irritating habit of skipping meals, had made her thinner.

Not unhealthily so, not unattractively so, but she was thinner, and sometimes she looked, felt, frail. No, not frail, he instantly corrected.

Delicate.

She would scoff at his description, which was why he never said it. And considering how her breasts and ass had largely been left in tact, he had no real reason to say it. She was still healthy and hot, and that was all that mattered.

Noticing in that moment how beads of water were sliding along the slope of her breasts, he considered putting an emphasis on the hot part of that sentence. When he saw how the water collected around before dripping off of the dark nipple that seemed to be calling for his mouth, he knew he needed to rephrase himself.

She was healthy and hot.

And annoyed it would seem.

Shaking her head, Cuddy said, "House."

His eyes instantly shot back up to meet hers.

"You're wasting time," she explained irritably. "If you want me to -"

"Ready when you are, sexy." The words came out more sarcastically than he'd wanted. But a gesture toward his already straining cock made Cuddy realize that he meant every word he said.

She smiled, allowing one of her hands to lazily trail down his stomach toward his groin. "I love how easy you are." It just made manipulating him so much easier.

As her left hand wrapped around his dick, he muttered into her shoulder, his face pressed into her wet skin, "Fuck."

The water from the shower made stroking him easy. Her hand running his length, his skin was warm under her touch. His breath was hot against her neck, and given the way he was panting, she knew that she'd be leaving for work in no time.

Her free hand slid from his shoulder to his chest; as she eagerly jerked him off, his hips were beginning to buck, and she wanted to steady him (nothing would make this more miserable than one or both of them falling). Her palm flat against him, she allowed her thumb to brush lightly over his nipple.

The pace his dick and her hand were working at fumbled at that moment, and she knew it was because she was touching his overly sensitive chest.

"Don't," he told her, and that came as no surprise. He liked doing all sorts of things to her breasts, but when it came to his own nipples, he was more limited. Stroking was okay every now and then (and apparently now was not one of those times), but anything more, he didn't like.

So Cuddy slid her hand down toward his hipbone. And to cover up her mistake, she asked him in a low voice, "So tell me, what do you have planned for me this weekend?"

He was a little surprised by the comment, his hips stilling. Lifting his head to look at her, he asked, "Huh?"

One of her fingers ran over the head of his cock, beads of precum being smeared onto her fingertip. The temptation to tease and taste him too great, she brought her hand to her mouth, so she could lick the fluid off.

He groaned and thought that this confirmed her desire to kill him. No one who had the health of his heart in mind would put on a display as erotic as the one she was performing right now.

It was too much for him to handle.

And eager to come, he reached for his own dick… only to have it smacked away by her hand.

"That's mine," she told him possessively, her fingers lightly stroking his balls before returning to his cock. As she started to slowly stroke him once more, she reminded him, "And you still haven't answered my question. What do you plan on doing to me this weekend?"

He felt her reaching around to cup one of his ass cheeks greedily, which made it nearly impossible to focus on what she was saying. "I… I don't have any plans."

She kissed him lightly on the mouth. Their lips meeting for only a second, he was left wanting more as she pulled her head away. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You must have something in mind."

He wanted to tell her that the only thing in his mind was the way she was jerking him off right now. But since she was tugging at his member with conviction, he couldn't even begin to get the words out. Instead, he simple said, "Nothing in mind."

Cuddy squeezed his ass. "You don't have any plans? No… fantasies about how you want to take me?" The way she was talking - the singsong voice she was using - it was all serving to turn him on, which was precisely what she wanted. And given the way he grunted then, she could tell she was getting what she wanted.

"Of course," he admitted. "Always have fantasies."

"So tell me," she whispered, her teeth nipping at his ear.

"It doesn't matter."

And it really didn't. If he'd learned one thing over the last several years, it was that the fantasy never matched up to what she could and did do for him.

The real thing was incomparably better.

But Cuddy wasn't ready to drop the subject. "Just tell me. I'm curious." Yet he said nothing, his orgasm apparently too close for him to think about anything else. "Is it a certain position? Am I on my back with you on top of me, forcing me take it over and over?" Her strokes became more insistent. "In your mind, are you behind me? Am I on my hands and knees begging for you to take me?"

His answer was one word: "God." She was pushing him closer and closer with the way she practically moaned her questions in this ear.

"Maybe that's it," she said knowingly. "Is it not the position that matters? Would you rather hear me call you sir? Master?" He pushed himself eagerly into her hand, and she took that opportunity to move her other hand toward the center of his ass.

Her fingers delicately parting him, she pressed the pad of her index finger against his anus.

She'd never done that before, had never even considered it. And she didn't understand why she should suddenly be motivated to try something she'd never even thought about in the years they'd been together.

Writing it off as a lack of sleep, she asked him, "When you dream about me, do you imagine me doing this?"

He moaned, his eyes screwing shut at the mix of sensations. Whether he'd thought about it before or not didn't matter; he just wanted her to continue. So he said slowly, "Just keep doing it."

She squeezed his cock, loving the way it seemed to harden more with each touch. "You want me to keep going? You want me to finger you?"

"Fuck," he said once more.

Gently, slowly, she slipped a finger into him. His muscles immediately squeezing her at the intrusion, she stilled, going no further.

She didn't need to. Even though she wasn't moving, she could feel how much he was liking it. He was thrusting into her fist quicker than she could jerk him off. The water raining on them was turning cool, but the places their bodies were joined were hot.

As he pushed himself back onto her finger as hard as he could, he told her, "More."

Cuddy had no intention of doing that. She had no idea how experienced he was with being on the receiving end, but being the one who spent a good deal of her time with House being penetrated, she didn't want to go too fast.

Still… she was willing to pretend. Remembering why she'd created this scenario to begin with, she said, "You're so close. I can feel it."

"Yes."

"You want to come like a big boy for me right now, don't you?"

He panted but shook his head. "More."

"You're not going to get more," she told him firmly. "But if you're good, I'll fuck you so good, House. I'll let my finger thrust in and out of your hot ass until you come so hard I have to wash myself all over again." She pressed her breasts against him, so he could feel her hardened nipples against his chest. "You do what I want, and I'll even leave your come on my stomach all day, so that, no matter where I go… no matter who I see, we'll both know exactly who I belong to." His ass tightened around her, and she knew that her words were getting to him.

So she moved in for the kill. "All you have to do is agree to take Rachel to her recital today."

He stilled. "What?"

She kissed him as hard as she could, swallowing whatever confusion he had with her mouth. Pulling away just enough so that she would whisper, she told him, "Just say yes, House. All you have to do is say yes."

One of her hands stroking his cock, one of her fingers deep inside his ass, he didn't have the ability to tell her no. She was brushing against his prostate gently, the rest of her fingers squeezing his ass possessively, and she couldn't help but think that, even though this was just a hand job, she was absolutely driving him insane.

Sensing that he was close as a sob escaped him, she repeated, "All you have to do is say yes… and come for me."

He didn't have it in him to say no. "Yes, yes, yes," he said over and over; he clearly had no idea what he was saying yes to. In his mind, he was probably thinking… well, she assumed he was thinking nothing at that moment.

His body controlling every aspect of him in that moment, he jerked his hips a few more times. His cheeks turning red, he moaned loudly.

She tugged at his cock and relished in the noise he was making. One more thrust and he came. Her gaze trained on his lower body, she watched as he ejaculated, watched as she felt his warm fluid spill onto her stomach and down her hand.

It was enough to make her uncomfortably turned on.

As he rode his orgasm out, she pressed her thighs together to alleviate the warm throb between them that was echoed in the way his muscles were twitching on her finger. She wanted him inside of her so badly.

But there really wasn't any time for that. Truthfully, there wasn't even time for this.

And knowing that she had no hope of getting off, she let go of him, her finger sliding out of him. Quickly rinsing herself off, she smiled a little at how dazed House was. They'd been together for a while now, and to know that she still had that ability, to know that she could still make him speechless was a huge boost to her ego.

And if it weren't for the circumstances, she would have let him stay in that uncharacteristically blissful state. He was so rarely content, and this was as happy as he got, and she would have liked to leave him this way.

But she couldn't.

Getting ready to step out of the shower, she told him brightly, "So the directions to Rachel's school are on the fridge, and she needs to be there at nine, even though the recital doesn't start till nine thirty."

He stared at her blankly. If he were supposed to know what the hell she was talking about, he didn't.

"I'm going to get ready for work, and I'll see you there."

She opened the shower door to get out, but he grabbed her to stop her from leaving. "What are you talking about?"

Innocently, Cuddy replied, "You agreed to take Rachel to her recital."

He held onto her tightly, refusing to let her go. For the life of him, House couldn't remember agreeing to that, and he figured he couldn't remember, because he wouldn't, under any circumstances, agree to that.

Driving the little tub of lard around was the last thing he wanted to do, the last thing he would volunteer to do. In fact the only way he would have ever agreed to do that was if she'd asked during sex, which…

He frowned deeply. "You can't ask during sex," he barked at her.

She gently removed her arm from his grip. "You said you would do it."

"We were having sex. It doesn't count."

"Well, I need someone to take Rachel to the school, so this time, it's going to." Her voice was light and breezy, almost as though she were enjoying this whole thing. Anger coursing through his system, he was pretty sure she was liking this.

"I'm not doing it."

She stepped out of the shower. "You are." He was about to tell her how mistaken she was when she spoke once more. "We had a deal. You do what I want out of the bedroom, and I give you the best sex you've ever had." She gestured to his spent dick. "We've had the sex. Now you're going to have to -"

"We had sex under false pretenses," he announced, realization dawning on him as he said the words. "You lured me into the shower…" He was about to say more when the vague memory of waking up to her near his alarm clock washed over him. And then he understood. "My alarm clock was fine. You had this planned from the beginning."

When she didn't deny it, he knew it was true. She'd created this whole scenario. "Well, that's even more of a reason for me not to -"

"House. You're taking her."

"No, I'm -"

She reached for her bathrobe but didn't look away from him. "Let me put it to you this way. If you don't do this, you're going to be sleeping on Wilson's couch with only your hand to keep you company for a very long time."

They both knew how he was going to respond to a threat like that:

He was going to give in.

With anything else, he would have called her bluff. But considering how many years she'd gone without sex, it didn't matter that they did it nearly every day; she could go without.

He couldn't.

And he certainly didn't want to.

Both of them knowing she'd won the argument, she sauntered away victoriously.

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