Gift of Screws, Chapter Seven

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Seven
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.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own it.


"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson

"If you wanted me to blow you, all you had to do was say that," Cuddy told him with a roll of her eyes. "I definitely didn't need you to go down on -"

"You make it sound like I was trying to convince you to have sex with me," he interrupted. "Per our previous agreement," House said slowly, cupping her moist sex roughly with one of his hands. "I get this any time I want it this weekend."

He wasn't hurting her, but she squirmed anyway under his grip. "You're disgusting," she seethed.

"And you have surprisingly low standards."

The scowl on her face was impossible to miss, and he knew that if he wanted to get laid (or get laid without the experience ending with her teeth meeting his dick), he needed to move on. "All right, look, the point is I munched the carpet, not that there's any carpet to munch I guess, because I wanted to." She opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly added, "And because you needed it."

She shook her head. "I didn't need -"

"You did. You needed to relax," he insisted. "I provided that." With a shrug, he continued, "And if, in the process of doing that, I got a little turned on myself, I don't think it's wrong to -"

"I didn't say it was wrong."

That hadn't been her point at all. She definitely was not opposed to having oral sex. If anything, she'd been trying to say she would have done what he was now requesting anyway, even without the favor being reciprocated. But naturally, being a genius without any common sense, he didn't understand that.

At all.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she sighed. "I was just trying to point out that, agreement or not, whether you went down on me or not, I would have 'given you a turn,' as you so eloquently put it."

"Obviously," House said easily with a pat to her knee. "You rejecting me in bed would be like peanut butter rejecting the jelly."

She glared at him. "If you're trying to get me to say no, let me tell you now: you don't need to make such an effort."

He scoffed at the very idea. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Who knows? But I would exercise caution from here on out," she warned in a low voice. "Unless you want me to follow your lead and put my mouth to poor -"

"Don't need a demonstration. Thanks."

"Then I suggest you do something other than imply that I'm your personal whore -"

"That's not what I was saying," he insisted immediately, his eyes wide with dismay. Where the hell did she get this stuff?

"Good. Because you should know that if I never tell you no in here, it's because I want to do what you're suggesting. Not because I feel obligated to -"

"Then you should know that I'm not any different," House shot back.

"Fine." She practically snarled the word out, her arms folded across her chest.

"Fine."

At that point, he wasn't even sure why they were fighting or how the damn fight had started. But either way, at that moment, he was angry.

No.

Livid - he was livid.

She just couldn't make things easy.

And he was about to tell her that, but she beat him to the punch. "You just have to make things difficult," she accused.

"Me? Who's the one misdirecting her frustration?" Before she could even answer the question, he pointed out, "And in case the possessive pronoun didn't provide enough of a hint, for the record, the answer to that question is you."

"Maybe," she admitted. Jutting her chin out, she added, "But I'm not the one uttering backhanded compliments and thinly veiled insults every chance he gets, because he's too much of an ass to master the most basic aspects of conversation. And in case the pronouns aren't enough, I'm talking about you," she mocked.

Instantly he fell silent. There was no point in trying to deny what she was saying. After all, she was hardly wrong about him. Though he wasn't intentionally trying to bait her, he could see that he was doing just that. He might have been saying what he meant, but at the same time, House knew it was hardly what he should have been saying. And though just minutes ago, he'd been doing a somewhat acceptable job at keeping Cuddy happy, her mind finally on things other than work, now he was clearly fumbling.

No, he instantly corrected. He was beyond fumbling.

He was making things worse.

And there was use in denying it.

So he simply nodded his head. A somber gesture to be sure, it was something he hoped would be enough to soothe any wounds he had caused.

And in the end, it must have been, because after one long tense moment, Cuddy offered, "Call it a draw?"

"Sure," he responded breezily; he was more than willing to accept a tie in this ill-conceived argument.

Frankly, he'd anticipated being blamed for the whole thing, and the fact that she was willing to take responsibility (even wordlessly) at all was something he was not only willing to accept but reciprocate as well.

But then it also made him feel compelled to tell her, "I wasn't trying to -"

"I know," she said hastily. She didn't need him to explain any further. "We're just not good at not fighting."

It was hardly a nice explanation, but it was the best one she had.

As House laid his head on her lap, his faced pressing into her bunched dress, he seemed willing to agree with her theory. "It's what we know best…. All those years of working together…"

"Probably."

"Just think - if you'd taken your clothes off a lot sooner, we'd probably have gotten along better this whole time."

She raised an eyebrow in response. "We had sex nearly the first time we met. Didn't make a difference."

House amended his statement. "I mean if we'd kept having sex after."

"We'd be miserable," Cuddy said immediately. "Can you imagine the number of opportunities our parents would have had to pester us about getting married?"

He shrugged. "I don't have to listen to what your mother tells you, and mine has long accepted that we're not getting married."

Cuddy ran a hand through his hair. "How did you manage to do that? Don't tell me she fell for the whole 'Oh, I would love to marry Lisa, but she's already married, and I'm just her rent boy' excuse."

"Nope." He would have tried that, except his mother knew when he lied, and there seemed no point in wasting time to try and convince her of something she would never buy. "I simply told her I would marry you when zombies -"

"I don't know," she interrupted slowly, "if I should be offended that you basically told your mother you would never marry me, irritated that you would assume that, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I would want to waste my time stating the obvious - that I'm doomed to be with you forever - or disgusted with myself for dating someone who has the mentality of a thirteen year old boy."

Cuddy was clearly unimpressed by what he had said, but at the same time, her voice contained a certain amount of false irritation. He knew that meant that she might have been annoyed but not to the degree with which she was speaking.

Lifting his head off of her lap, he slowly crawled up the bed. And as he did so, he explained, "First of all, you're looking at this the wrong way. I told my mother I would marry -"

"If there were zombies," she snapped.

He rolled his eyes. "Look past the half-eaten brains. All I was telling her was what she needed to hear: that there were circumstances where I would marry you."

But even to his own ears, he sounded as though what he was really saying was, "I'll marry you when there's a gun to my head."

And that wasn't going to go over well.

He stopped in his tracks, his body hovering over hers, and waited for her inevitable response.

"Oh, I'm so honored. But before you pick out your dress, honey, you should ask yourself if there are any circumstances within your circumstances where I would say yes."

The way she was talking made it sound like she would never say yes, but that didn't stop him from smirking. "You'd say yes. And," he added brightly. "If there were zombies, you'd have to say yes; sluts always die in horror -"

"I'm not a slut!"

"No," House agreed immediately, noting that her indignation was at a level where she would be tempted to knee him in the nuts. "But horror movies rarely make the distinction between whores and women who happen to enjoy having sex with their boyfriends, which means that this might be the one time where the answer to the age old question, 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free,' is it's a matter of life and death."

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. I'd still take my chances."

But he wasn't buying it.

Snaking his way up the rest of the bed, he stopped once his mouth was hovering over hers. His eyes trained on her questioning gaze, he told her, "You're lying."

"I am not."

He scoffed. "You'd marry me right now if I asked you."

"Really." She sounded doubtful of that fact as she shifted her body underneath his. Her legs spreading a bit more to accommodate him, he sagged gratefully on top of her.

"Really," he told her, propping himself on his elbows so he wouldn't suffocate her.

Cuddy shook her head. "If you asked me right now, I would say no."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would. But if you don't believe me," she said casually. "Ask me."

"No."

"Go on. Ask me to marry you. See what I say."

Her eyes looked… steely from his prospective, her gaze so resolute that there was no missing the challenge she was laying out for him.

Of course, that in and of itself was something for him to be suspicious of. Although it was possible she wanted him to ask to say no, there was also the possibility that she wanted him to ask so she could say yes.

And he did not want that - an engagement - to happen. He loved Cuddy, but he didn't want to get married. He didn't want things to change, and getting married would inevitably do that… and not necessarily for the better. Which meant that he really did not want to ask the question.

But if she was challenging him - and in his mind, there was no doubt she was - he felt as though he had to ask….

Damn it.

It wasn't in his nature to back down.

Even if asking meant undesirable results, it was something he now felt compelled to do.

"Fine," he replied bitterly. "Marry me, Cuddy."

Her answer was instantaneous.

Not even giving him enough time to regret the question or feel the suspense from asking build, she said without an iota of emotion, "No."

"'No'?"

It might have been what he wanted to hear, but the word sounded odd coming out of his mouth nonetheless.

"That's right," she said in a voice low enough that she almost sounded hoarse. One of her hands lightly running along one of his biceps, she arched her back as best as she could to kiss him.

Doing that under his weight was naturally not an easy task. But she managed to get there by craning her neck as best as she could. Her mouth finally on his, she offered him a chaste kiss that was meant to do nothing more than soothe him over her rejection.

Oh, she knew that he definitely didn't want her to say yes. He wasn't upset, because he'd actually wanted to marry her. She knew that much. But she also knew that… in his twisted mind, her words would come to mean a myriad of untrue, unkind things.

The specifics of that she did not want to know. Her own mind could paint her words in broad enough strokes to give her an idea of what he must have been thinking. And not wanting to give either one of their brains enough time to imagine any sort of slight, she explained, her eyes looking directly into his, "This is the way things are supposed to be between you and me."

Stroking the apple of his cheek with her knuckles, she told him, "I don't want things to be different. You're not the only one who doesn't want things to change."

He cocked his head to the side. "If you didn't want things to change, you wouldn't be pushing me into Daddy Warbucks territory."

"All right," she conceded. "I want some things to change. But… the way we are together…" Her voice trailed off into a loud groan. Why did it seem like he was intentionally making things more difficult?

No longer feeling particularly kind, Cuddy said harshly, "The point is we're happy - no matter how much evidence there is to the contrary. And the things we hate about each other, the things we want to change? No piece of paper will make that happen any sooner than the terms of your contract have made you perform your clinic hours."

He rolled his eyes. "Only you would think that it's a good time to bring up the clinic when a man is between your thighs."

"Only you would still believe that I'm in this simply for the free milk," she told him pointedly.

And hearing those words come out of her mouth, he suddenly wondered what had made him even doubt her in the first place. There was no way she was lying now, and listening to what she was saying only felt like a confirmation of something he already knew. It was confirmation of something he already knew.

Cuddy did not view him as a casual lover, someone for her to use and discard at her leisure. She put up with too much. Nor did she view him as a mere asset to the hospital, someone who she valued as a commodity and nothing else. She put out too much for that. She did not hate him, nor was she the sort to remain indifferent to him.

In fact, there was only one possibility, one explanation for her behavior: she loved him. Perhaps she did stupidly so, but she did nonetheless, and no matter how little they told one another, no matter how much they preferred to express that emotion in subtext (if they expressed it at all), there was no denying her love for him.

It was simply a truth he felt too deeply to ignore.

So why had he forgotten that fact? Why had he felt, if only for a brief moment, that her not wanting to marry him meant something sinister?

He was aware that contemplating those questions while he lie on top of Cuddy was awkward, to say the least. But his mind didn't really care about that as much as it cared about getting an answer.

Unfortunately for him, the only answer he could come up with was one he didn't like. This was particularly upsetting, because he knew that he was being completely logical in his thinking; if he knew that she loved him, if he knew that marriage was not at all what he wanted, then the only reason he should need confirmation of her love was because he wanted to hear her say it.

Not unlike when a wife asked her husband if the dress made her look fat, House had put himself in this position not in response to a challenge but because he wanted to hear her say something he already knew.

And that, as pathetic as it was, would have made him groan out loud… if not for the fact that he was on top of Cuddy now and didn't want to share how lame his mental processes apparently were.

But she must have sensed that something was wrong anyway, because she asked in concern then, "House?"

He blinked, his name slowly registering in his mind. For a brief second, he knew it seemed that he was upset - at least to his worry-prone girlfriend - but luckily his wit, ever at his disposal, saved him.

"Sorry. I was just thinking how awkward that is, seeing as how I am in it for the milk." For good measure, he squeezed one of her breasts.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

"You don't believe me?"

"Not at all." When he scoffed, she reminded him, "You just proposed."

"You made me. And technically, as far as my personal feelings go, I told you that I would only marry you when there were zombies involved."

"Doesn't matter," she said smugly. "You still proposed. And if you agreed to marry me under any circumstances, that must mean you really do love me."

"A feeling that's definitely being diminished the longer you talk."

He was more irritated than truthful at that moment. But she ignored him anyway, so the words he'd uttered perhaps in warning meant nothing.

"I'm sure," she told him doubtfully.

In reaction he shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll never know either way how I feel... since the scenario in which I have to express my undying devotion to you will never happen."

Equal parts sarcasm, smugness, and mock lamentation, his response would have probably troubled anyone else. Yet Cuddy was undeterred.

Cocking her head to the side, she said, " I guess… unless you define zombies as being thoughtless, drooling people in want of a brain, who… I don't know - walk about slowly and -"

"Ooh, sorry," he told her, shaking his head. He could see what she was trying to get at, and he wasn't having any of it. "Your sister in her Klonopin haze at Thanksgiving doesn't count."

"Damn."

"Thanks for playing," he told her with a smile.

And for reasons she didn't really understand, she smiled as well.

In all honesty, she shouldn't have. The memory of the most recent Thanksgiving usually made her angry.

Julia had been prescribed clonazepam to help her deal with the five products of an overly fruitful womb and the stay-at-home husband who resented her for being better at her job than he had been at his. And considering Cuddy herself knew how suffocating life could be at times, she understood why Julia would need something to help her deal with her anxiety.

Unfortunately, the pills had had the side effect of making her a drowsy mess incapable of taking care of her children or placating her husband. And as a result, all of that responsibility had been transferred to Cuddy herself. As House had told her that day (before he'd abandoned her unapologetically to go get drunk at a bar), it was easy to be stress-free when someone else was carrying the weight of your stressors.

In other words, Thanksgiving had been ruined, and the memory of it should have - and normally did - upset her. But at the moment, she seemed to be immune to the frustration she'd felt then. In fact the only thing she seemed to be feeling at all in this moment was an overwhelming affection for House that made everything else that had happened that day and today seem so unimportant and miniscule.

And she wasn't going to let that feeling go without a fight.

Her smile widening, House must have sensed that something was off with her, because he asked her then, suspicion laced in every tone, "Are you having a stroke?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as she went in for another kiss.

He was clearly ready for her this time, his lips parted in anticipation. Usually this meant he would give her a kiss so passionate, so forceful that it would literally take her breath away. As though he had something to prove, his lips would descend on hers and refuse to let go until he had made some point she didn't understand.

This though wasn't like that.

He was eager to receive her but tentative… no, softer with his own actions. At first she thought he might be confused (a state so rare for him that, when such moments did occur, she was simply confounded by them). But in fact, he was simply allowing her to take control. And she liked that, because, even though time didn't allow for it, she wanted to go slowly… to take her time.

Sometimes, they were so quick to move beyond a kiss that all the pleasantries of sharing one were lost to them both. And since House was a great kisser, this was in her opinion a tragedy indeed.

In those times, she missed the soft brush of his lips, the light scratch of his stubble along her chin. Right now she could feel that familiar burn creeping onto her face, and she felt herself ache for all of the times they'd brushed past all too quickly this delicious friction.

The soft rasp of his stubble something she enjoyed, it was admittedly a little odd. But she liked its roughness in contrast to her smooth skin. She liked that sandpapery sensation more than anything a fantasy could offer her in terms of kissing.

It was proof that all of this was real.

Of course, to some the fantasy would seem more appealing. In her own delusional mind, she had always imagined, completely unbidden, that they would be together… in peace. In her dreams they did not disagree. Fighting saved only for nightmares, when her mind blessed her with a fantasy of them together, all of their troubles had a tendency to melt away with the same ease her grandmother's homemade caramels had oozed under the warm rays of the sun.

Their fights something she couldn't even recall, in her fantasy, they were Greg and Lisa, two people whose and love and concern for one another radiated hotly, the landscape of their relationship in an eternal, painless spring.

And she couldn't lie and say that she never wished for their relationship to be like that in real life.

Sometimes she did.

But right now, the fantasy seemed like nothing compared to the real thing: his soft lips meeting hers; his weight, heavy and warm, on top of her; his chin lightly scratching her hand as she pressed a palm to his cheek; the way his fingers snagged in her dark curls as he brushed the strands away from her face…

A delightful symphony of sensation and the hushed sounds of their breathing surrounded her, cocooned her. And the fantasy seemed so awful by comparison. Because it was one thing to be with someone when things were easy and something else entirely to stay with someone who very often made things difficult.

This was so much better.

Most of the time, she wasn't sure if their relationship, given its nature, made them virtuous or masochistic. But at the moment, the latter didn't fit at all.

Pleased by that knowledge, Cuddy kissed him hard. The taste of her own body still lingered with him, and that only served to make her want him more.

She flicked her tongue against his once before pulling away. A smile on her face, she lazily kissed his jaw line. She could feel the muscles underneath her lips clench and unclench. Normally that would mean he was angry or on the verge of it. But in this context, she knew it could only mean that he wanted her, that his need for her was approaching the point where his body wouldn't be able to walk away as though nothing had happened.

Luckily for him, she had no intention of letting him get away from her.

As she kissed her way down to his neck, she told him, "Rachel will be asleep a little longer…"

"Uh huh," he replied, not really listening. He didn't have many rules when it came to sex. But mentioning the R word when they were getting it on definitely went against the few rules he did have.

Pulling her hair into a ponytail under his grasp he used it to force her head back. She grunted in reaction, though not in pain. He kissed her firmly on the mouth, his tongue exploring her mouth as greedily as possible. Maybe he should have been nicer about it, but he could feel the stirrings of his cock in his pants so…

Playtime was over.

Breathless she pulled away as best as she could. "I was just trying -"

"Shut up," he ordered. "It's time for you to earn your keep."

She watched him through unenthused eyes as he rolled off of her and scooted back on the bed. Once his lower back had hit the pillows, he stopped. That the side of Cuddy's head was now parallel to his hips just made it even clearer what he wanted.

Well, what he wanted but apparently wouldn't get.

Perturbed Cuddy pointed out, "I think I've more than earned my keep. Based on the amount of sex we've had in the last twenty-four hours anyway."

"Little Greg and my refractory period disagree with you." Reaching over, he grabbed her nearest hand. She didn't fight him as he pulled her arm over and placed her palm flush against the crotch of his jeans. If anything, she began to cup him of her own volition, his dick hardening a little under her touch. And he knew then that her reluctance was more for show than anything else.

Pondering over this newfound knowledge, House told himself that if it was a show she wanted…

Well who was he to disappoint?

"Now," he said sternly. "Are we going to do this the nice way or the hard way?"

She smirked. "I don't play nice."

"Thank God for that," he muttered, pushing her hand away.

Truth be told, it was times like these that made him overcome with gratitude; there was no reason why he should have the good fortune of being with someone so… in tune with his needs, but apparently he did have it. And though normally he'd want to know why that was, with Cuddy, especially now, he was willing to uncharacteristically go with the flow and forget the why.

Whatever kept her here was fine with him.

Eagerly House unzipped his pants. With even more speed, he pulled his jeans and underwear off. His entire body thrumming with excitement over what he was about to do, he couldn't find it in himself to go slowly. Which was why, when he straddle Cuddy's stomach, he wasn't exactly gentle.

She grunted as he settled himself on top of her. Definitely too high on her body to penetrate her vaginally or anally, he got comfortable right below her breasts. His now bare legs trapping her where she was, he told her, "Just remember when you're choking on my dick, you could have done this the easy way."

She smirked not for the last time that day. Although she reached out for him and began to lightly stroke his penis, she said cruelly, "I'm not worried about that. It's not that big."

It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying. What she was doing to him was nearly all he could pay attention to. Especially when she allowed one of her short nails to delicately draw a line along the underside of his cock, her finger following the path of his veins, it was hard to process the insult.

But eventually it did filter into his brain, and he was not amused. Shaking his head, he warned, "Behave or you'll end up over my knee."

The threat, however, was not met with fear - not in the least. Instead a wolfish grin on her face, she said, "I hope so."

He thrust himself into her fist once; the image of Cuddy sprawled across his lap as he reddened the pale flesh of her taut ass was too potent to ignore. But he refused to allow his voice to show how affected he was when he told her, "Careful, dear. I know you think teasing me is a lot of fun, but keep it up, and you'll have an ass red enough to guide Santa's sleigh."

"It's not December -"

"Stop talking," he said, cutting her off.

Shifting all of his weight off of her and onto his knees, he hovered above her. And before she could say anything, he ordered, "Get my dick a little wet for me, would you?"

Cuddy hesitated for a moment. Though this too would seem as though she were teasing him, in actuality, she was more confused than anything else. From the beginning, he'd made it seem like he wanted a blow job. But if that were true, why would he ask her to get his cock…

She didn't finish the thought.

Knowing House as well as she did, she knew that in times like these, it was better not to ask questions. Of course, in the back of her mind, she also realized that, if he had something intricate planned, there was a chance Rachel would wake up before then. And maybe Cuddy should ask in order to avoid that predicament.

Then again, if he didn't realize that five year olds didn't sleep forever, he deserved a case of blue balls.

However, that didn't seem like it would be an issue. Because whatever his plans were, taking things slowly did not seem to be what he had in mind.

Obviously impatient, he fisted her hair once more and drew her head painfully from the pillow underneath her.

It hurt.

There was no denying that it did. It did not feel good. But the tug was bearable - not worth complaining over - if incredibly attention getting.

Her eyes, ignoring the dick in her face, sought out his own gaze. The second she found it, she could see that he was not pleased.

"If you thought that sounded optional, let me tell you it's not," he snarled.

"I wasn't -"

Letting go of her hair, he told her, "I really don't care."

Cuddy considered fighting him on that but didn't really feel like it. God help her, but she actually tended to like it more when he was rough and demanding with her.

In bed anyway.

Outside of sex, she wasn't a fan; in fact, she would have been appalled at anyone treating her like this in any other situation. But inside the bedroom, his behavior didn't bother her. His abrasiveness annoyed her, yes, but here… she got some sort of sick enjoyment from it. And though she probably should have seen a psychiatrist about that, instead, she decided to give House what he wanted.

Sitting up as best as she could (which wasn't very much, her shoulder blades still on the bed), she stroked his length a few more times. Thanks to all the sex they'd had today, it was taking him a little longer to get as hard as she knew he could be. But his burgeoning erection was showing promise.

And besides, she liked a challenge anyway.

Licking her lips, she slowly inched her head toward the head of his penis. The effect of which was House making a noise best described as a plaintive whine; clearly, he wanted her to hurry up. Secretly, she was pleased by this knowledge, by the fact that she was getting to him. He deserved to be driven crazy.

And that wouldn't be hard to accomplish.

From this position, she couldn't actually wrap her mouth around his entire length. Physically it just wasn't going to be possible, unless she wanted to completely throw him off her body. So she didn't even try to deep throat him. More than likely, he'd want that eventually, but she wasn't going to do that now. Besides, he'd only asked her to get him wet, so who knew what he had in mind?

As she moved her fist down to the root of his prick, her hand flush with his body, she thought she didn't want to know what he had planned.

Sloppily she pressed a wet kiss to the side of his penis. It would have been an awful kiss to receive on the mouth, but here, in this context, he would enjoy it. And it was impossible to miss that he did.

He tried to suppress a moan, but he was sure that he'd failed. Because just the feel of her moist lips against his heated flesh was enough to make the blood in his body rush south.

Honestly, it was amazing how good she could make him feel by doing so little. At the moment, she was offering wet kisses along the parts of his cock she could reach. Her mouth peppered kisses in slow succession, her tongue darting out every so often to lick him. Her hand leisurely pumped him, her palm spreading her saliva from root to tip.

It wasn't much, but it felt so good, he thought, willing himself not to tell her that (she worked harder when he didn't give her the feedback necessary to make her smug).

Glancing down at her, House hoped to see her eyes looking back at him. But she wasn't looking at him at all; her long hair falling around her face obscured his vision of her and of what she was doing to him.

That was okay, he told himself. He liked not being able to see what she was going to next. He liked not knowing beforehand when she was going to move her hand downward to cup his balls. He liked being surprised as to where she would kiss or lick him next. He liked not being able to see what she doing but all the while knowing she was doing it.

To him.

For him.

But when she was so kind as to noisily suck the head of his cock into her mouth, he had to see that.

Gently (he figured he should be nice while she literally had him by the balls) he threaded his fingers through her dark locks. Her curls tangled around his hand, he pushed her hair back to watch what she was doing.

But in doing so, he couldn't help but grunt an encouraging "Yeah" for her.

He hadn't meant to, but seeing her lips around his cock while at the same time feeling her tongue bob against the underside of his cock and the rest of her mouth suck at him was too much for him to handle.

Offering him one last swipe of her tongue, she pulled away in a predictably smug manner. Which would have annoyed him if the sight of her lips swollen and wet with desire for him hadn't made him feel equally smug.

But if she'd thought that any of this would make him grateful, he was prepared to prove her wrong.

Plopping back down on her upper abdomen, he asked her condescendingly, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She glared at him. "Try not to break my ribs, will you?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he clutched the neckline of her dress and shoved it downwards. The thick material had some stretch to it, which meant that the article of clothing threatened to spring back to its rightful place. Luckily though, Cuddy's breasts provided enough of a roadblock.

As she lay back on the bed, House shook his head in disappointment. "That's the bra you're wearing?"

Defensively, she looked at her chest.

Sure, it wasn't the best bra she owned. Neither a demi nor a push up nor open-tipped, it hardly ranked on his scale of bra sexiness anyway. But it more than got the job done. "There's nothing wrong with my bra."

He couldn't deny that there was nothing wrong with it. In fact, for his purposes, the front closure was probably a good thing. But by the same token… it wasn't the exciting push up bra he'd envisioned.

"You could have at least put on -"

"Since you were there, I don't think I need to remind you how long I've been up. And since you've witnessed it, I don't think I need to remind you how awful and busy my day has been," she pointed out in irritation. "So if you think even for a second that I'm going to apologize for picking the first bra I could find while you sit there in a t-shirt and socks -"

"Oh stop," he interrupted. "You're taking this the wrong -"

"And how am I supposed to take that?"

House tried to articulate what he meant, but secretly he knew that there was nothing he could say to make this better. Cursing the light blue and navy floral-patterned lingerie that had created this whole mess, House told her, "I just wasn't expecting something that looks so… virginal and… sweet." The words felt odd coming from his mouth, which just proved to him just how wrong the bra had been for her to begin with.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"You have a reason."

"I really don't."

"Of course, you do," she insisted. "You're an idiot, but you don't do things without reason."

"I've changed."

She glared at him as though she wondered why he'd even tried to get that line past her. "No, you haven't. But since you won't tell me, I guess I'll -"

"I just don't associate you with being virginal and sweet," he offered foolishly. In his head, right before he'd said it, he'd thought that whatever reason she would have attributed to his behavior would be worse than anything he could say.

He was wrong.

"Oh?" She scoffed. "So then, what do you associate me with - slutty and cruel?"

He sneered. "If you're trying to prove that you're not cruel, you're doing a pretty awful job right now."

"Get off of me," she snapped.

"No."

"House."

He ignored her. "And as for the former… well, you did have sex in an elementary school - not that I'm complaining."

"I am," she said coolly, trying to sit up.

"Uh uh." He pushed her back down on the bed.

But he made no move to undress her any further. He would push - that was in his nature - but he wouldn't push past the point of no return. He refused.

"Do you think you can insult me and still get me to blow you?" Her eyes narrowed on him as though she dared him to say yes.

"You tell me."

He watched her carefully as she thought about what he was asking her. As much as he liked to flirt with boundaries, in here at least, he was determined not to barrel past them.

But once more realizing how lucky he was, he was relieved when he heard her sigh in exasperation. It meant he was going to get away with it.

"I hate you," she whined. When he didn't respond, she threw her hands in the air. "Well? Continue with your foreplay."

Grateful, he leaned over to kiss her. As he did so, his penis happened to nestle itself between her bra-clad breasts. It felt so good he had trouble remembering what he'd been trying to do.

Wordlessly he kissed her, his mind hoping that his lips and tongue could convey to her what he didn't feel brave enough to say. He knew he was awful in every way imaginable to her. He knew that he hurt her in ways that no one in their right mind would ever let him get away with. And though he never meant to do any of it, though she was understanding of that fact, he also knew that it wasn't okay for him to continue without even this lame version of an apology.

Her body warm against his, he was surprised to feel her sigh gently into him. Their lips separating, he pressed his forehead to hers.

They locked gazes.

And he wasn't sure if it was the kindness in her eyes or the fear that she might bite him later that made him speak, but either way, he couldn't help but say, "Cuddy… I wasn't... I'm…"

"You're awful at apologizing," she told him with a slight shake of her head. "But I'm not mad."

He wasn't convinced. "Really?"

"Don't get me wrong. I plan on getting even."

"Great," he said with a frown.

"But I forgive you… for now."

"I don't like the sound of that. Makes me think I'm going to wake up with my penis in the next room."

She smiled a little and gave him a soft peck on the lips. "You'll be fine… and in the clinic doing every prostate exam I can find for you." He wanted to respond, but she was quick to add in a more authoritative manner, "Now either get off or get off."

He smirked and sat back once more. Things might have been tenuous moments ago, but they were once again back to the kind of dysfunction that passed for normalcy in this house. And setting back on her body, as he glanced down at her chest, he wondered why he'd thought any of this had been worth complaining over. It really hadn't been worth it at all, he realized as his fingers undid the powder blue clasp of her bra. Because as he pushed away the cups designed for a thirteen year old virgin, he remembered that what lie beneath the lacy material were two things definitely not made for a teenager.

Palming her breasts greedily, he liked the way her sensitive nipples instinctively hardened under his grasp. He smirked in response. "You like that?"

"It's cold."

"That's it?"

She rolled her eyes. She would have been lying if she'd said it felt bad. Obviously it didn't. But if she were aroused at all, it was more of a physiological response than anything else. And since this was all for his arousal anyway, she didn't mind it.

"If I say yes," she inquired in a voice that sounded like a purr. "Are you going to shrivel up and slink away?"

He pinched a nipple roughly. She gasped. "There isn't going to be any slinking until I come down that pretty little throat of yours."

"Good."

And since he wanted to come sooner than later, House chose not to respond and concentrated on the task at hand.

Of course, by this point, whatever spit she'd smeared along his cock had practically dried up. At least it wouldn't be enough lubricant for what he had in mind anyway. But he knew how to take care of that; if he hadn't, masturbating as a teenage boy would have been pretty painful.

He spat on the palm of his hand without ceremony. Without fail Cuddy grimaced, "That's disgusting."

Paying no attention to her, he quickly greased the length of his cock. He was at the point where he no longer cared about taking things slowly. He just needed - his dick needed - to move things along.

And he planned on doing just that.

Palming her breasts once more, House slid his penis between them.

Her body naturally had a sweet little valley between her breasts. The product of not having a lot of body fat but still having really nice tits, it provided him with quite the distraction when she wore low-cut tops. Because aside from a nice glimpse at her boobs, it made him fantasize - almost to the exclusion of anything else - about slipping his penis between her breasts and how it would feel to have her warm, flawless flesh against his heated prick.

He wouldn't be fantasizing any longer today.

His fingers, now suddenly entwined and covered by hers, pressed against the outer curves of her breasts, cocooning his dick wonderfully.

Of course, not even for a second did he think Cuddy was enjoying this. If she were helping him, it was because she was being rather generous. She might have liked the show he was about to put on; she might have liked the way his thumbs rubbed against her nipples every so often. But he didn't believe that she was turned on by this.

Then again, he didn't care.

She could stop him if she wanted, but if she wasn't…

He was going to go ahead and fulfill this fantasy once more.

Slowly, experimentally, he began to move. He didn't want to get too active; after all, he was still practically sitting on her. But he was eager to get things going once more.

Thrusting in and out, he was glad that Cuddy was helping with his grip on her chest. Without it, he was sure would have lost his hold. But with it, he was able to focus on the feel of her warm skin wrapped around him. Her hard nipples tickled the backs of his thumbs, but he was more entranced by the way his dick looked between her breasts.

It felt great - the friction from and the contours of her body creating an entirely different experience for him. His thrusts increasing as the heated tension within his body reached a new level, he couldn't deny that it felt pretty damn good.

But mainly, if he were being quite honest, the greater turn on came from the way it looked. His body on top of hers, his penis nestled between and thrusting out of her now jiggling tits… yeah, that was the greater turn on.

Until Cuddy decided to up the ante.

Perhaps she'd just gotten bored of seeing him fuck her tits (though he doubted it). Perhaps she wanted to move onto other things. He didn't know. But whatever the reason, at that moment, she tucked her chin into her chest. Her head was barely off her pillow, but she was just close enough for her tongue to dart out of her parted lips and lick the tip of his thrusting dick.

It was barely a whisper of a touch, the little beaded line of saliva connecting her lower lip to his penis the only proof that it had happened. But it was more than enough.

Groaning his approval loudly, he released his hold on her breasts. It had been great while it lasted, but just that small hint of what her mouth could do had him wanting more.

"Lay your head back down," he said in a voice just above a whisper.

She smiled and obeyed. Although this wasn't her favorite position to give a blow job, she was happy to not feel their spit in between her breasts any longer. House had enjoyed it obviously, his dick so hard that it looked painful. And she understood that, from his prospective, it would have felt great. But she wasn't getting anything from it.

True, she couldn't deny that seeing House turned on to any degree sent her own desire skyrocketing. That he should like that act at all meant, on some level, she would enjoy it as well.

Having sex with her breasts just wasn't ever going to be her method of choice.

A blow job on the other hand…

She could more than enjoy that. Sometimes, just the feel of him coming inside of her mouth was more than enough to send her over the edge. It probably wouldn't right now, thanks to her own orgasm only moments ago. But nevertheless, she enjoyed giving as much as she liked receiving.

And House knew that, which was why he wasn't surprised to see her smile as he shimmied up her body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation, and he thought he was quite possibly the luckiest man on earth.

But he wasn't going to tell her that.

Instead he told her as though he were talking to a child, "Open your mouth for Daddy."

She laughed a little. "That is creepy."

Silently House fisted his penis and guided it towards her mouth. Teasing him, she hadn't opened her mouth yet, so he decided to return the favor by lazily drawing his cock head along her lips. At this point he was beginning to leak pre-cum, and he eagerly smeared it across her mouth as though it were lipstick.

Immediately, whatever joyful ease had been in her face disappeared. Now her eyes, looking at him through hooded lids, smoldered with desire. Now, instead of a laugh and a smile, she was serious and hungrily licking her lips. And when he told her, "Open your mouth," this time she didn't even begin to hesitate.

Neither did he.

The second her teeth were out of the way, he thrust forward into her mouth. Her tongue instinctively bumped against the bottom of his prick. She was clearly taken back by the depth to which he'd immediately gone, a hand immediately clutching his good thigh.

He stopped moving, though he didn't pull back any.

She was too warm and wet for him to do that. The fact that her nipples were tickling the backs of his legs made him even less willing to move. He liked where he was, and he was too close to absolute heaven to pull out.

But he wasn't completely heartless either. As he felt her mouth try to accommodate him, the feeling of which just made him want to ram himself down her throat, he resisted the urge. And as her eyes watered from the intrusion, he stroked her hair. "Relax," he told her. "Just breathe through your nose."

From what he could tell, Cuddy did. But not before the tears in her eyes spilled over. Falling down her cheeks in rivulets, they met their end on House's thumbs as he wiped them away.

Realizing that his behavior actually seemed kind of sweet, he tried to make light of the situation. "Is it weird that watching you cry is turning me on?"

She pinched him in response, and he took that to mean that things were okay, that she was in her usual state of amusement and agitation… that he could continue.

Pulling out a little bit, he told her, "Just don't puke on me, 'kay?" Obviously she couldn't respond, which he liked.

He liked it even better when he thrust himself back into her. Not so much a blow job as it was him using her face as eagerly and roughly as he would any other hole, he loved the way her hot mouth felt around him.

"God."

House uttered the word aloud, and Cuddy, clearly pleased with herself, moved her hand away from his thigh. At first he was tempted to order her to put it back; he liked that tender touch (though he would never say that) that counteracted his thrusts and the way he was gripping her face and hair. But he didn't get a chance to say anything. Before he could, she had both of her hands palming his ass.

With each thrust into her, she began urging him in that direction. And he immediately understood what she wanted.

"You want more of this?" he asked her tauntingly, pulling out so just the tip of his dick was in her mouth. She responded by swirling her tongue around him eagerly.

She would have responded by deep throating him if she could. But his hands held her still, and this was all she could do.

"I think you do want more," he answered, mainly to himself. "Such a good little cocksucker."

Bit by bit, inch by inch, he began to feed her his swollen prick. She didn't choke; she'd done this enough times to avoid doing that. But as he stuffed her face, House could feel the tiny muscles within her shift nervously. And when he pushed himself deep into her throat, he could feel her body tighten at the invasion.

He moaned in response and began thrusting mercilessly into her.

He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to; the wetness of her body made every motion easy and comfortable, and the way she hummed her approval of the way he fucked her face, even as he threatened to accidentally pull out some of her hair, was driving him to new heights.

Cuddy used her tongue to lap at the underside of his cock; she hummed louder to make him even crazier, the vibrations more than likely adding something to the experience. She greedily pawed at his ass to encourage him to screw her as hard as he could, to come inside of her as deeply as he could.

But she could say nothing when he started to mutter, "Oh yeah. Take it. Take it for me." Over and over he said it, as though it were a chant he didn't even realize he was saying.

The sight of him, sweaty and aroused, thrusting into her - using her was making her own body warm and wet. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the way he was talking to her.

Unfortunately for her, he saw this. Lightly he slapped her face; her vaginal muscles twitched with desire. "Behave," he warned. "Just take it like a good little girl," he said in between groans.

The slap didn't hurt as much as it surprised her, and in doing so, it made her throat tighten around him. Promptly forgetting everything that had just happened, he pumped vigorously.

He fucked her as hard as he could, his balls swaying with the effort. By now her jaw and lips must have ached from being spread so wide for so long, but he wasn't trying to finish for humanitarian reasons.

Speeding up even more, he moaned as her throat tightened like it knew what was about to happen. He was close - so close - and both of their bodies knew it.

"Now you listen to me," he said through gritted teeth, which made him sound angry even though he wasn't. As he tightened his grip on her face once more with an almost bruising force, he explained with effort, "You better… swallow all of this like a good girl." He grunted out the last word as the hot confines of her mouth threatened to undo him. "If I see even… a drop, I'll punish you."

He looked her in the eyes to see if she understood. What he saw was an unwavering and uncharacteristic obedience. And he wasn't sure if it was that, the way her mouth seemed to suddenly suck him in even further, or the sight of her taking him inside of her that did it, but either way…

He couldn't take anymore.

His hands tightened on her even further, and he came. A loud moan filling the air, he felt himself come in one long undulating wave of pleasure. Cuddy nearly choked with the effort of swallowing what he was giving her, the noise she was making still barely audible over the sounds he was making.

But he'd barely finished his last thrust into her when they both heard a noise above everything else.

Neither needed to turn around to know that Rachel was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. Neither needed to look back to hear her ask, "What are you doing?"

Neither needed to look, because they knew they'd been caught.

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