Gift of Screws, Chapter 11

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Eleven
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.  This chapter is also split into multiple posts because of Livejournal's word limit.  
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, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3)

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

Willpower was the only thing keeping her conscious. Cuddy had wanted to stay awake in case House came back, but every second passing just seemed to be a reminder that he was gone and she was tired.

Beyond tired, she corrected immediately. Exhaustion tugged at her violently, and given that she wasn't prone to feeling sleepy (med school had rid her of that), she didn't think that "tired" was the right word. But her mind was too addled to come up with anything better.

That probably should have been enough to make Cuddy throw in the towel right then and there. At this point, even if House did come back, did want to talk, was she really capable of making any sense? Maybe, maybe not - it could go either way. And she worried that if he didn't return soon enough, she would be of no use to him.

Granted, she already suspected that she would be of no help. To say that House took change badly was an understatement, and she didn't know if she possessed the right amount of words or gentle touches to keep that part of him at bay.

She doubted she did.

Every now and then, there were moments where he led her to believe otherwise. However, Cuddy had no hope that she would be able to comfort him tonight. Rachel's revelation had been too shocking for that to happen; even if Cuddy had known all the right things to say and do, there was no way she was going to make House any more comfortable with the knowledge that Rachel cared about him.

That just wasn't going to happen.

There was simply too much to overcome. The nightmare Rachel had had (based on a scenario he had planted in her head), the tears she'd shed for him, the confession she'd made about how she really felt about him - none of that could be erased with or eased by a couple words from Cuddy. She knew that much. And since she'd assumed automatically that Rachel had dreamed that House had done something wrong, Cuddy figured he wouldn't trust her word anyway. No matter what she said, he would doubt her honesty.

Unfortunately.

Melancholy swelling in the back of her throat, she swallowed hard at that fact. He really wouldn't listen to her; he would ignore her or accuse her of only being kind out of necessity. He would not believe her, would not rely on her, would not let himself take solace in her. One of the few times in their relationship where he needed her, and he wouldn't let her be there for him.

She hated that things would be that way. That one innocent mistake on her part would cost her this opportunity made her feel downright resentful. Towards what exactly she didn't exactly know. But she did know that she wasn't wrong: House wouldn't take comfort in her words or presence.

And knowing that, she could see how some would think that staying awake was pointless. If she couldn't help, then why not catch up on the sleep she'd been losing? Why not wait for a time when she could talk to him and he would listen?

To be honest, Cuddy couldn't deny the logic in that. She wished she could, wished she could more of a selfless person, but the truth was part of her was asking those very questions.

Why not put the inevitable conversation off until she was rested and House was ready to hear her out?

The answer immediately came to her: because staying awake looked better.

She knew she wouldn't be able to convince him of anything, but how awful would it be for her to not even try? How much worse would it be for him to come back to bed, resigned to listening to her spiel, only to find her fast asleep? How betrayed would he feel then?

Cuddy didn't want to find out.

She was determined not to. Because as much as she hated this set of circumstances and the way they were guiding her actions, she was resolved to making it work, to doing her best. And if all she could do was show him that she cared enough to even attempt a conversation, that was what she would do.

But in order to do that, she had to stay awake.

As if on cue, she yawned. Loud and drawn out, the sound was a reminder that there was a time factor involved; she wanted to be up and ready to talk to him when he returned, but there was a chance that wouldn't happen.

Then again, she supposed sitting in bed wasn't helping her any. And knowing that, she abruptly stood up. She figured this was a good decision all around, as she still needed to change; she hadn't been dripping with urine like Rachel had, but nonetheless, Cuddy didn't plan on sleeping in her current set of pajamas.

At that moment, her eyes instinctively glanced at the little clock on her side of the bed. Why she didn't know. She didn't actually care about the time; it was late, later than she wanted it to be. Seeing as how she was an early riser, she didn't enjoy the prospect of being up again in a couple of hours. And she certainly didn't need to know the time to know that she would be exhausted tomorrow, so she wasn't really sure why she'd looked at the clock.

At best, there was in her mind a vague desire to gauge how long all of this would take. Which made looking at the clock completely nonsensical, because she had no idea where House was. She hadn't heard the front door open or his car pulling out of the driveway, but she couldn't completely rid herself of the possibility that that had happened. And she guessed it didn't really matter where he was; he wasn't here, which was her only real concern. But again… she wanted to know how long this part of her night would last.

At the thought, she groaned. She didn't mean to sound demanding or put out, but again, she was tired, and selfishly, she didn't want this bit of uncertainty in her life to drag on unnecessarily.

God. Elaborating only made her thinking sound that much worse. Selfish, immature - it was just awful. She was being awful. Even though part of her was sure House would have felt the same if he were her, she couldn't defend her musings. It was simply inexcusable.

And wanting to avoid thinking like that any more, Cuddy decided that the best thing she could do was distract herself.

Immediately she settled on taking a shower to do just that. Reading a book or watching television mindlessly was admittedly more tempting. However, that - along with doing work or paying bills - wouldn't look good to House. He would come home and see her doing that and assume that she didn't care at all, that she hadn't noticed how upset he'd been. Since that was something Cuddy wanted to avoid, she went with the best option available to her: a shower. Because even he couldn't deny that she needed one right now; after all, after holding Rachel for so long, Cuddy knew she could use a bath. And more importantly, House would know it too.

With that in mind, she headed towards the bathroom. Taking her clothes off as she went, she made much less of a mess than House had, she thought tiredly. She at least had the good manners to place her soiled pajamas in the dirty clothes hamper.

Of course she didn't actually care where his clothes had ended up. At the moment, that was the least of her concern. But she had the thought anyway, the lack of sleep making her more peevish than she truly felt.

As she stepped into the shower, she reminded herself that she couldn't let her desire for sleep dictate her behavior like it just had - especially not when she talked to House. That was too important to screw up by being anything other than the supportive lover he would need.

Luckily for her, the shower was aiding her in that endeavor. The hot water pelting her slowly eased the tension out of her muscles. The smell of soap, not urine, filling her senses, it made her feel clean, calm… in control. Not even the awkwardness with which she tried to keep her hair from getting wet (she would look awful in the morning if she slept with wet hair) could diminish her newly found sense of relaxation.

It simply felt too good.

Unfortunately, there was a downside. The hot steam swirling around her was beginning to lull her into sleep. It made her feel so warm, so cocooned that, although she could not sleep right now, she wanted to.

Her eyelids starting to droop, she had just enough sense to shut the water off abruptly. The pipes in the wall made several clanging noises at the sudden motion, and bitterly she thought it would be just her luck to create a plumping emergency now. As if she didn't already have enough to worry about.

Thankfully though, no such thing occurred, and she was able to stumble out of the shower without incident. Still she wasn't above looking back at the stall suspiciously as she dried herself off. Something could still go wrong, she supposed. And given how unprepared she'd been for practically everything today, she wanted to at least be able to claim that she had learned her lesson.

But clearly she hadn't.

The pipes didn't break, so she wrapped herself up in her towel. But obviously she hadn't learned anything. Because the second she headed back into the bedroom, she jumped at the sight of House. He was standing in the doorway to the hall. And though she figured she should have anticipated this, she hadn't.

Surprise flitting through her body, she didn't know how to react.

It was impossible to make out the expression on his face. Thanks to the light in the hallway and the lack of it in the bedroom, his entire body was shrouded in the shadows. And because of that, she wasn't sure what to say or do.

Gripping at the knotted towel, Cuddy shifted nervously on her feet. "House?"

At first he didn't say anything. He simply reached behind himself to close and lock the bedroom door. His actions slow and deliberate, it was as though he had all the time in the world and she was the only one desperate to talk about what had happened with Rachel.

Then again, maybe she was. Because he still wasn't saying anything; even as he stepped further into the room, he offered no explanation, no defense, nothing.

Which prompted Cuddy to ask, "Where have you been?"

Instantly she realized that the question was unnecessary. As he moved to stand in front of her, she could see that he was wearing pajamas. A different set than he'd gone to sleep in, yes, but that was beside the point. Seeing him dressed like this simply meant that he hadn't left the house. He would have put on jeans to do that, which meant he'd probably spent all this time in his office. And having figured that out, she wasn't angry when he didn't answer the question.

On the other hand, she was surprised when he ordered, "Lose the towel."

She should have anticipated this. That was her first thought. She should have known he would be this way. After all, House was a proud man, leery and contemptuous of relying on another human being.

Even when that person was his girlfriend.

To be honest, Cuddy couldn't hate him for it. She was the exact same way - and had been tonight. She hadn't wanted to confide in him any of the things that were bothering her. She hadn't wanted to seem weak, incapable of taking care of her problems.

Maybe seem wasn't the right word there, she mentally corrected. She had no doubt that he would never see her as either of those things. Sometimes when they were working, when he needed her approval and she refused to give it to him, he would resort to such accusations, sure. He would say those things to manipulate her, to guilt her into okaying whatever dangerous scheme he had in mind.

But that was work. That was different. There, they needed to be combatants; they needed to fight and insult in order to protect each other from making a mistake. There they had an unwritten rule: cruelty was occasionally warranted.

Here, in their home… it wasn't the same. They fought here too; she couldn't deny that. But they never crossed certain lines. Sometimes it was hard to remember where those lines were, what the absolutes were for each of them.

Knowing not to be cruel when the other person was asking for reassurance was not a gray area.

At all.

She knew that as he surely did.

And yet asking for emotional support was something they both rarely did. He might have been willing to offer comfort and vice versa, but in the end, she felt - as she had earlier - too repulsed by the idea of needing reassurance to ask for it. Surely, House was no different, and she knew that.

Still, his demand for sex surprised her. She wasn't exactly sure why; in terms of sex, they made rabbits look celibate… especially as of late. But given the magnitude of what had happened, Cuddy had been sure sex was the last thing on his mind. She'd been convinced that he would want to talk about tonight's turn of events in some way.

Then again maybe that was precisely why he didn't want to talk.

Rachel's revelation had been huge. Perhaps it shouldn't have been that way, but the fact that she'd admitted to caring about House was big.

Sure, they lived together. They spent nearly every day together in some fashion, and maybe that should have meant that they were close. Maybe it should have meant that they cared about one another. But in all that time together, they rarely interacted with each other. And when they did do that, it typically wasn't because they wanted to. Cuddy was aware of that much.

Frankly, given the way Rachel liked to yell at and insult House and the way he dismissed her in return, Cuddy would have had to have been completely clueless not to see how much they didn't want to spend time together.

But that was why Rachel's confession had been so important. Part of her might have resented House or been reluctant to like him, but she did care. She did love him and want him to be safe, here. She had said as much.

And that changed everything.

Not just House and Cuddy's understanding of her daughter either.

Everything.

What Rachel had said… it had ramifications for every aspect of their lives. There was no area it didn't touch.

It would change the way (it had to) House and Cuddy viewed his relationship with Rachel. No longer could they pretend like he was a mere bystander in her life. That much was very clearly not true, and they couldn't continue acting like it was. Things would have to change.

That included the relationship Cuddy and House had with each other.

She would have been lying if she'd said she'd ever thought this part of her life had no effect on Rachel. Cuddy had always understood that a man in her life was also, by default, in her child's. But up until now… she had assumed that a break up with House wouldn't harm Rachel, should it happen. Since Rachel seemed to hate House so much, Cuddy believed that a split would be… welcome actually.

Now it was clear that that wouldn't be the case. That delusion buckling under the weight of reality, it was hard to remember why Cuddy had ever believed Rachel was immune. Why wouldn't she care about someone she lived with? Why wouldn't she have feelings for someone she'd known all of her life?

Whatever the reason was, it obviously didn't exist in Cuddy's mind any more. And because of that, she knew - as House must have or would - that they would need to be extra protective of their relationship.

Not that they hadn't been before. They had been. Even though it didn't feel that way, she knew they had been. But now they would have to be particularly vigilant not to screw things up. They would have to commit themselves to this in a way that….

She didn't know how to finish the sentence. Her first thought was to use the word, optional, but that wasn't right. It hadn't been optional before; she didn't want to say that. It was just that… now they couldn't pretend that the span of their relationship only affected themselves, work, and maybe Wilson.

They also had Rachel.

And if that didn't make House reconsider everything, Cuddy wasn't sure what would.

After all, it wasn't like he'd entered this relationship feeling responsible for the little girl. If anything, he'd made it perfectly clear that that was absolutely not what he wanted - for Rachel's sake.

Obviously he had his reasons for not wanting children. He didn't want the responsibility, didn't want to make sacrifices for a child. For someone as lonesome as House, Cuddy knew that it was hard enough for him to make room in his life for her. He probably hadn't even imagined himself capable of providing a good home for a child.

Given the way he viewed himself, she thought he couldn't have envisioned such things. He couldn't have possibly seen all the qualities he possessed that would make him a fine father. But then again, he had such problems with his own father that Cuddy suspected that House didn't even understand what traits made a good dad; he knew what not to do from his own experience but perhaps not how to avoid doing or being those things. And even if he did know how a father should behave, sadly… Cuddy doubted it mattered to him.

From years of experience, she knew that House viewed himself in very black and white, narrow ways. What he liked about himself, he took pride in. What he hated… he tried to avoid as much as possible. And in his binary thinking, his talents lie with his mind, with his job. He did not think he was good at personal relationships.

There were reasons for that too. She wouldn't deny that he was considerably more gifted in certain parts of his life… as everyone was. In his case, yes, his intelligence had the habit of surpassing and overshadowing every other quality he possessed. However, that didn't mean he lacked the sympathy, patience, or capacity to love. As his girlfriend, Cuddy had been on the receiving end of all those things (and more) at some point or another. He never saw those characteristics within himself, but she had experienced them every day of their life together.

Rachel must have as well. She was a nice little girl, but like her mother and her mother's mother, Rachel didn't suffer fools easily. All the complaints Cuddy had received about her daughter hitting other children were proof of that fact. And though polite (at least when prompted), Rachel would have never pretended to like much less care about House if she didn't.

That she did have feelings for him meant that he had done something at some point to earn her affection. Whenever the hell that was, Cuddy thought dryly.

Admittedly, she was unaware of what had happened or what had changed. She didn't know what House had done to get to Rachel, but Cuddy supposed the specific act didn't matter. From experience, she knew he had a knack for getting under your skin and making you care about him, even when doing so went against your better judgment. He had that talent.

But she didn't think House would ever recognize that ability in himself. He hadn't ever done that before; he thought he hid his surprise well, but she knew just how shocked he was at being able to date her. And every time Wilson forgave him for some act of complete idiocy, House looked just as surprised, just as convinced that everyone in his life was better off without him.

He couldn't have been more wrong, but he believed it anyway. And since he'd stormed off tonight, she could only assume that what he would take away from this was that Rachel deserved better.

But of course she did.

Rachel deserved the world.

But whereas House believed that meant "better than him," Cuddy did not, would not. Maybe it was foolish at this point to think that things could change for the better, but she was sure that he could give her daughter everything she needed from him; if House could demonstrate such affection for Cuddy, then surely, he could do the same for another human being.

Then again… if he didn't want to do that…

Swallowing hard, she pushed the thought out of her mind. At this point in time, it was impossible to tell which way House was leaning. She'd thought that, given the magnitude of what had happened, he would want to have some sort of discussion. But as he stood there, looking at her expectantly, she understood that even a simple conversation was too much for him right now.

The room was dark, though the sun would surely be up soon enough, and she still couldn't make out his expression fully. But gazing at him, she could tell that he wasn't ready to talk. He couldn't bear to do that now. Even as the need to do so weighed heavily on them both, he clearly could not find it in himself to have that conversation. She could see that much.

Just as she could see that he was desperate to be near her.

Of course though, this was House, and he would never ask for that. He would never say those words aloud.

Ever.

Not if he could help it anyway. So he was going to use sex as a way to get that closeness without having to suffer the humiliation of asking for it.

That was her theory in any case.

Again, it was hard to discern the look on his face, but that didn't matter. She could feel the intensity pouring off of him, radiating from him like body heat. And he was so close to her and so close to ripping her towel off himself that it was impossible to miss what he wanted and why he wanted it. She would have been a complete fool not to know that this wasn't about being turned on.

It really wasn't.

They would probably go ahead and have sex, but it wouldn't be the kind of passionate lovemaking you dreamed of when you were single. Instead, this would be… cold; that was the word she eventually settled on.

The sex would be fine but hardly what she wanted. It would be too calculated for her to enjoy. And ironically, despite it being what he wanted, she doubted he would like it very much either. Because as much as he might have needed her in this moment, his inability to open up to her would make the sex too detached for him to feel even the slightest bit better.

And knowing that, she didn't want to give him what he was asking for. She would if he insisted that this was what he needed. Even though Cuddy would never believe that sex was going to help now, she was more than willing to have it. If it made House realize that he needed to talk to her, absolutely, Cuddy was all for sex.

But she didn't take off her towel. Instead, she told him gently, "Why don't you and I -"

"Shut up."

The words weren't as angry as he would have liked them to be. If anything, he just sounded… upset, a feeling so pathetic that he actually sneered at it. But that was how the words came out nonetheless. And he guessed he knew why.

Logic dictated that if he sounded upset, it was probably because he was.

If he were being honest, he couldn't deny that, in terms of what he could handle, he was right there; the water was up to his neck. Rachel's nightmare and all of its effects had put him there, had brought him to the edge. But he preferred "overwhelmed" as the proper way to describe himself. "Overwhelmed" was safe, didn't make him sound like a twelve year old girl ready to burst into tears cause she didn't get a valentine from the boy she liked.

Yet, against his will, that was the impression his voice was giving Cuddy. He was making it seem like he was about to lose it. Which was ironic, because at the moment, he was determined to maintain control - over him, over her. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let two words screw that up for him.

Taking a step closer to her, he spoke once more. This time his voice as harsh and authoritative as he could make it, he said, "I said lose the towel."

He didn't give her a chance to respond. Rather than give her a choice, he reached forward and yanked at the knot between her breasts.

She half-gasped, half-scoffed as the towel easily opened to him. Had she not expected him to do that? Really?

He decided, as he threw the damp terry cloth onto the bed, that he didn't care what she was thinking. His own thoughts were more than enough to handle; he didn't need to know hers as well.

"Get on the bed," he ordered.

She didn't move. "No."

He gritted his teeth together for a moment. Not for a second did he believe she was actually refusing him; sex might not have been high on her priority list right now, but Cuddy had always been up for a quickie when he wanted one. And so, if she was saying no now, it was because, he knew, she had something else on her mind.

In this case, that could only mean she wanted to talk.

And he had no intention of doing that.

"Get on the bed," he repeated insistently.

She rolled her eyes. "So we can have sex."

"Yeah. So we can have sex. You think I need you naked to crochet?"

For no particular reason other than he could, he reached up at that moment and tweaked one of her nipples. The room's cool air had already hardened it, making it easy for him to catch between his index and middle fingers.

As he pulled at it lightly, Cuddy wondered if this was some sort of test. Was he doing this to see if she would say no? To gauge whether or not it was safe for him to push for sex?

She couldn't decide and ultimately let him keep his hand where it was. His fingers were warm, and even though sex wasn't what she wanted exactly, she couldn't deny that this felt okay… good actually.

Still, she told him in a hushed tone, "If that's what you want… you know what I'll do."

"And yet you aren't doing it." He was snide, on the verge of being angry.

"Because before I do that, I want you to realize you have other options. Better ones."

Immediately, as though he weren't even considering her words, he shook his head.

"House." She wanted him to think this through.

"No."

If he hadn't been angry before, she'd definitely upset him now. In fact he sounded almost livid. But Cuddy thought there was more to it than that. He was obviously mad but in a way that made her suspect that, more than anything, he was just afraid of her making him talk.

Admittedly, she could have been wrong about that. Anything was possible tonight. Yet she truly believed that his anger originated in fear. Something in her gut told her that she was not wrong about that. So she responded with sympathy. Repeating his name, she said quietly, "House…."

"Don't."

"I wasn't -"

"I know what you want me to do," he said knowingly, a sneer on his lips. "But it's not going to happen. Ever."

Cuddy frowned but kept her voice calm. "You don't think we need to talk about -"

"What I need right now…."

His voice faltered and trailed off. The irritation that had been so apparent only moments before was gone. In its place was a sound best described as pleading.

Begging.

"Just… do this for me, Cuddy. I need -" He choked, cleared his throat. "You need to do this for me."

Of course he wouldn't actually say, "I need you." This was House, so even in his most desperate moments, he wouldn't say those words. He'd made that abundantly clear.

And she knew why.

He always - always - assumed he would be rejected. Denied. Even with her, with the woman he slept with, his first instinct was to protect himself.

Maybe that was her fault. After Stacy had left, he'd tried to confide in Cuddy. He'd come to her in pain and asked for morphine. He'd exposed himself, laid himself bare in more ways than one. And she'd….

She'd given him a placebo.

At the time, she'd thought she'd made the right choice. The saline injection had worked after all. He might have been in genuine pain - no, she corrected, he had been, thanks to that self-loathing mind of his that liked to compound his physical and emotional problems. But the injection she'd given him had eased that pain, so she had listed that moment in the victory column.

It didn't feel like a win now though.

Now it just felt like she'd made it clear then that he couldn't come to her. He'd asked for help, and what she had done was demonstrate just how untrustworthy she was. She'd shown him that she wouldn't take his pain seriously, and because of that, moments like these just made her feel like she was being punished.

She knew he would never think of it that way, but that was how it felt to her.

And yet there was no point in complaining about it or even dwelling on that fact.

Of course, it bothered her, but what was she going to do about it at the moment?

Absolutely nothing.

They were already dealing with enough problems. She wasn't going to add this. And besides, if the issue was one of trust, she couldn't talk her way into his confidence. The only way she could do that was to show him that she was trustworthy. She needed to show him that there was nothing he could do that she would respond to with humiliation.

In other words, she needed to do what he wanted.

Sighing Cuddy stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. The second her lips met his, she felt him let go of her nipple. His hand moving to cup the side of her breast, it was the only indication he gave that suggested he was even remotely aware of what she was doing. He definitely wasn't kissing her back.

Perhaps he wanted her to capitulate out loud?

She didn't know. She did know that if he continued to act this way, an orgasm wasn't in her future.

Frowning, she muttered against his mouth, "Fine. You win."

Immediately he pulled away from her. His body language stiff and unfriendly, he said coldly, "Good. Now -"

"Get on the bed," she interrupted unimpressed. "Got it."

Maybe she should have sounded more enthusiastic, but honestly, she couldn't muster up that emotion. She was too tired for that, and again, it wasn't like she was going to get off tonight either way, so why bother?

As she begrudgingly moved to sit at the foot of the bed, she heard him say, "Yeah. You sound like you really want this."

The mattress squeaked a little as she sat down, and she shoved her wet towel, which he'd tossed onto the bed earlier, to his side. Maybe it was childish to be doing that at a time like this, but she felt it was fitting revenge for making her sleep on the damp side of the bed earlier.

Okay, she could concede that it was definitely childish. But she didn't care.

On the other hand, she would care about him noticing what she was doing; that would ruin her fun before it even had a chance to begin. So she distracted him from the act by saying, "I'm doing what you wanted. Get off my back."

"Get on yours," he snarled. Instantly though he decided that standing around, waiting for her to listen was dumb.

When she wanted him to have control, she could be incredibly acquiescent. But in this moment, the circumstances were different. He was the one pushing for control here; she wasn't. She might have been doing what he wanted, might be willing to do it, but she wasn't motivated right now to let him dominate her in the way he needed. And he knew that if he truly wanted to master her at this point in time, he would have to seize control from her mercilessly.

Thankfully he was up to the challenge.

Not even giving her a chance to respond, he pressed his hands to her shoulders. His hands gripped her tightly, roughly, and he pushed her back onto the bed. He was towering over her now, Cuddy flat on her back like she belonged. Holding her there for a few seconds, House wanted to make it absolutely clear that she was not to move from this spot. When she didn't push him away or try to sit up, he assumed she'd gotten the message, so he let go of her.

But he didn't move away. Instead he allowed one of his hands to roam the length of her body. His fingers skating downward, over the swell of her breast and the rivets her ribs had created in her abdomen, he felt her cool, soft skin beneath his heated palm.

Truth be told, he was surprised by how cold she was. Thanks to the towel and all, he'd been able to deduce that she'd taken a shower after putting Rachel to bed. And since Cuddy hadn't gotten dressed again, he knew that she'd bathed recently. So really, she shouldn't have been this cold to the touch.

Immediately, House shook his head in an effort to push the thought out of his mind. Right now the last thing that mattered was the fact that he was going to need to turn the heat up in the house; he wasn't sure why he was even making a note of that at the moment. Especially since Cuddy was naked beneath him, he should have been thinking of other things.

No, he was going to think of other things.

Letting his hand move down even further, he lightly skimmed the curve of her hip before moving toward the apex of her thighs. Unfortunately for him, she'd clenched her legs together, forcing him to shake his head in disgust. "Now's not the time to act like a prude."

He was sure she would have spread her legs on her own for him, but he wasn't going to wait for that. Instead, he used both of his hands to push her thighs apart. He wasn't particularly gentle about it, and he was even rougher when he shoved two fingers inside of her.

She exhaled loudly at the sudden intrusion. She hadn't been expecting him to enter her so quickly much less without any preparation, and her muscles burned as his fingers filled her.

But her body didn't even have time to adjust before he pulled his fingers out of her. Scoffing in disgust, he stepped back. Cuddy would have liked to believe he'd come to his senses, but she knew better. He wasn't nearly ready to talk, despite the fact that he asked in irritation, "Do I have to do everything myself?"

House walked away, heading towards her dresser. She didn't have to ask him what he was doing; she knew: he was getting lubricant, because she wasn't wet enough on her own. But how could she be? When he'd given her no foreplay, not even the slightest bit of emotional build up to make her want this? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen… especially if he was going to be an ass.

As the thought flitted through her mind, she was tempted to glare at him. But she never got the opportunity; in his search for lube, he turned on the bedroom light to see, and she winced at the sudden brightness. So she had to voice her irritation. "It's not a fountain, House. You have to put a little bit of work into getting me wet."

Rummaging through her drawers, he quickly found what he was looking for. Clutching the plastic bottle in his fist, he turned back to look at her.

She hadn't moved, which made him smirk.

"Really?" he asked snidely. "Considering who you've slept with and how easy it is to get you off… I don't think your pussy -"

"Go to hell," she snapped, sitting up.

Cuddy wasn't actually angry (although she didn't appreciate her romantic past being thrown in her face like that). But she was reaching her limit in terms of patience.

He was as well. He'd been taking his clothes off, not noticing what she was doing. But the second he did, the second he realized she'd moved - when he'd made it clear that he didn't want her to - he was furious.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded. She looked at him blankly, which just pissed him off even more. "I told you to shut up. I told you not to move."

She shook her head a little bit. "You never said -"

"Shut up."

But if he'd been going for intimidating, she showed no signs of being scared. Because instead of lying back down, she replied with a smirk, "Make me."

"You don't want me to."

House knew that much to be true. He might have wanted control over this situation, over her, but the fact remained: he barely had enough poise to control himself.

He was completely on edge by what had happened, and Cuddy pushing him to talk was only making things worse. What Rachel had said… what it meant… he couldn't wrap his head around it; he couldn't understand why she would want him in his life.

Hell, why did any of these damn women care about him?

He wasn't nice.

He wasn't giving.

He wasn't supportive.

He just… wasn't what anyone should have wanted to be around.

And most days House could pretend like that wasn't the truth, could act as though he really did belong here. The entire time, some part of him had felt like he was scamming everyone involved, but he'd selfishly ignored that voice in order to get what he wanted.

Now that he had it, now that he had Cuddy's love and, for some inexplicable reason, Rachel's seal of approval, he couldn't pretend like he'd really earned it. He couldn't act like this was okay.

But he still wanted to.

He shouldn't have; he should have just cut his ties and run, knowing he could never be what Cuddy or Rachel deserved. But… he didn't want to disappoint them, didn't want to give up this part of his life, so he clung to it.

Even as part of him desperately wanted to destroy it.

And because of that, he knew it was wrong to want control now. Or maybe it wasn't wrong to want it, but it sure as hell wasn't a good idea to give it to him. But he couldn't help himself - again.

Once more, he was going against his better judgment and attempting the one thing he didn't deserve. And if Cuddy kept fighting him… he wasn't sure what would happen.

But he doubted it would be good.

Oh, he didn't think he would hurt her - not physically anyway. That wasn't even an option in his mind. Yet, he worried nonetheless what his reaction might be if she kept denying him the one thing he had become convinced he needed.

Cuddy, however, didn't seem to realize this. "I think I do."

"No, you -"

"It's obviously what you want," she interrupted knowingly. House shook his head in response, but she clearly didn't believe him. "You don't need to lie. We both know what you want."

"On your back," he said through gritted teeth as he stalked towards her once more.

She didn't move. "You think you want me to listen to you, but what you really want is for me to fight you."

Standing between her open legs, he peered down at her in disbelief. "You don't know anything."

Her response was to take the bottle of lubricant out of his hand. Looking at him, she uncapped the plastic lid; it made a tiny snap, which seemed loud in the heated silence that seemed to settle over them.

He didn't anticipate the quiet to last long. Either she would fight him, or she would give in, and he would taunt her. Not surprisingly, Cuddy chose to go with the former.

As she squeezed a bit of lube into her right palm, she replied, "I know you." She closed the bottle and tossed it to the side. Curling her slick hand around the base of his penis, she slowly began to make him hard.

The fact that he wasn't already annoyed him. Rationally he understood that they'd had sex a lot today; he could accept that his body had limits and that the more he railed against those limits, the longer it would take for his body to respond. But in this moment, he hated having to wait to do the one thing he needed. He might have complained about Cuddy not putting in work, but the truth was he didn't want her to.

He couldn't really explain why. Actually, truth be told, he couldn't even articulate the reasons he wanted to have sex now. It was impossible, trying to justify something that felt so jumbled in his head. All he knew was that he wanted this, her, without the conversation or niceties.

He did not want or need her to reassure him.

He did not want or need feelings to get in the way of this.

Not right now anyway.

He just wanted sex.

But of course, things couldn't be that easy. They'd had too much sex for things (or him) to be even remotely easy. And that was frustrating.

Then again, House thought as she stroked his length, he supposed he shouldn't complain. There were far worse things in the world than this.

He was standing between Cuddy's legs, her thighs spread enough to both accommodate him and give him a few of her vulva. Her hand was curled around his cock. Her palm and fingers slick with lubricant, she was pumping him in long, firm strokes. Yeah, there was plenty worse in the world.

In fact, he was convinced that there weren't many things that could be considered better than this; Cuddy had many talents, but she really was unmatchable when it came to hand jobs… or any kind of sex for that matter. Honestly, she was so good that it was hard to remember why he'd ever been annoyed with her to begin with. And if he did at all, it was because he refused to let her think she could appease him by simply jerking him off. (She'd at least need to take it in the ass in order to accomplish that).

But God, she was good. At that moment, she pressed a warm kiss to his stomach. The change in position made her hair spill over her shoulders and tickle his upper thighs. And he hissed at the new sensation, the sound mixing with the loud moist sounds her fist stroking his penis was making. Desire coiling in the pit of his stomach quickly, he knew he needed to make his point before she made him come.

His hand carding through her hair so he could see the tenderness and concern in her face, he told her snidely, "See? I'm not hoping you'll tell me no."

She smiled like a wolf that had just received the key to the coop. "And yet, here I am," she said in a voice that made it seem like she was purring. Leaving the thought hanging for a moment, Cuddy took her time, kissing her way from his stomach downward in a long slick trail that made him thrust into her fist accidentally.

Every now and then, she would let her teeth graze his flesh, along his belly, hips, and thigh. But she purposely ignored his cock, which strained, begged for her mouth.

Of course she wouldn't do that, he thought with only the slightest hint of misery; it was impossible to be completely miserable as she nuzzled his balls with her nose. But he mustered up as much disappointment and irritation as he could at the knowledge that she wouldn't blow him. She let her tongue lick his balls in one long stroke, but that was as far as she would go with her mouth.

It was his own fault sadly.

If he hadn't gotten the lube, maybe she would have been game. But he knew she wasn't going to suck him off now that he was covered in it.

Oh well.

However, he'd barely had time to recover from his disappointment before Cuddy finished her thought. "Doing exactly what you didn't want me to do…"

He blinked. "What?"

"You wanted me on my back," she reminded him. "But I don't know. You seem to be enjoying this." She squeezed his cock to emphasize her words.

And to be perfectly honest, if he hadn't come so many times today or if he had been thirteen again and completely inexperienced, she would have made him come right then and there. As it were, they'd been around the block multiple times, and he was tired, and, as a result, an orgasm was going to be that much harder to find.

But he wasn't complaining. Had he come, her smugness would have ruined any feelings of pleasure he might have felt, so he was actually relieved when he didn't.

And though part of him was tempted to let her keep stroking him until he did have an orgasm, the rest of him refused to let that happen. Because if he did, then she would have been right; she would have proved her point, and that was something he didn't want.

Knowing that, he asked her, "You think I'm going to turn a hand job down? Especially when I didn't even ask for one? Unless your name is Taub, chances are… that's not going to happen."

"Right."

Instantly, he pushed her hand away. He didn't really want to do that, but it had to be done. They'd been doing things her way for far too long.

His hands moving to her shoulders, he quickly pushed her backwards until she was lying on the mattress once more. Given his haste, he wasn't exactly gentle, but he didn't care.

"Don't move."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he wasn't interested in anything she had to say. And now that he was hard enough for sex, he knew he didn't need to listen to her anymore.

Thrusting into her as hard and fast as he could, House wasn't surprised at the way her voice hitched in the back of her throat. They might have had the benefit of lube this time; to be sure, his dick was penetrating her a lot more smoothly than his fingers had, but she hadn't been lying when she'd said that she was sore. He knew that much.

But he didn't feel bad for her.

In the back of his mind, he told himself that, if it really hurt her, she would ask him to stop. She would make him stop. And though she'd made her discomfort known by that little noise she'd made, she wasn't following that up with a kick to the nuts. She wasn't doing anything to show her displeasure.

And given that, House believed he'd been given the go ahead to continue.

He didn't need any more encouragement than that.

Withdrawing to the point where only the head of his cock remained snug inside her opening, he pushed himself into her once more. Again, he was rough, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. But this time, he also allowed his body to sag into hers.

He put only the slightest bit of weight on his elbows, which meant that she was responsible for supporting the majority of him. He would have made her balance all his weight, but he didn't want to suffocate her in the process. Making her feel trapped and completely at his mercy? Yes. Killing her? Not so much part of his plan.

When he was satisfied she could still breathe, he repeated the process - pulling out, pushing back in without any concern for her. In and out, in and out, he wasn't sure if it was her natural juices doing the work at this point or if it was still just the lube.

Her tight little pussy squeezing him perfectly, House decided he really didn't care either way.

All that mattered to him now was this - the sex. Wet or not, she took all he could give. Even as the sound of his balls slapping against her ass filled the room, even as his body poured sweat with the effort in which he was pounding her onto her body, she remained where she was, without complaint.

She didn't move, per his order. Every now and then, she would stroke his forearm with one of her fingers, but that was it. She clearly wanted to touch him. It was obvious that she wanted to do more for him than what he was allowing, but it was just as plain to see that she wasn't willing to cross those boundaries.

And honestly?

It drove him wild.

As he thrust into her once more, the sounds of his heart beating and their thighs rubbing together filled his ears. And he realized finally what she'd been doing this whole time. Panting he understood now; refusing to do as he wanted, being as combative as she possibly could be in this situation… it was all an act, a fine line she'd chosen to walk.

For him.

When it was happening, he'd believed she hadn't understood at all. But now he could see precisely what it was she'd been doing.

She'd been purposely fighting him, intentionally provoking him, so that when he finally had control, it would be that much more satisfying.

It would feel like this.

Satisfying didn't even begin to describe this moment though. He was screwing her with all the force he could muster; she was lying there obediently, letting him do whatever he wanted. Her internal muscles were hotly clenched around him, her body as tight for him as she could make it. Yeah, no, satisfying, good, awesome - none of those words could even begin to describe how he felt.

But then again, he wasn't sure what word would be right, because at the moment… his feelings were hard to articulate.

On the one hand, he felt… relieved. More than a little aware of the less than savory parts to himself, House was always unsure how to approach these situations; when he knew he wouldn't be kind, when he wouldn't be the romantic boyfriend she deserved, he didn't know how far he would be allowed to take things. He didn't know how far he could push before she would say, "Enough!" And the fact that she wasn't pushing him away and was instead giving him precisely what he wanted filled him with relief.

But at the same time, he could tell that that emotion would easily bleed into gratitude and love if he let it. Already House could feel those things percolating within him, though he tried to write it off as him simply being close to coming. And maybe it was wrong to want to deny those feelings, but he did.

He really did.

If he let himself feel too grateful, he would be reminded of just how undeserving he really was. If he let himself experience just how much he actually loved Cuddy, he would feel tempted to confide in her everything he was feeling. If he didn't restrain himself, he would feel both of those things. And he didn't like the combination or the situations it could potentially create.

Pressing his face into her shoulder, he told himself to just focus on the sex. If he simply thought about that, he could get through this, through this night. He knew he could.

Closing his eyes, he realized how easy it was to think about the sex only. Maybe if the sex had been bad, things would have been harder.

But this was far - very far from bad… as it always was (save for the time that had resulted in stitches) with Cuddy. She always knew what to do and how to do it, and this was no different.

Although he was sure that she hadn't been in the mood when this began, he had no doubts that she was now. She was too wet for that, his dick sliding in and out of her with ease. Her muscles clenched and unclenched repeatedly in a way that only happened when she was trying to make herself come. And he liked that, because he was so close, and it felt so good.

He rocked his hips into hers, not caring that she was trying to meet him thrust for thrust now. She wasn't listening, but any resolve he might have had to control her crumbled under his fierce need for her.

After that, he didn't last much longer. He was hot, burning. Her body squeezing him, he felt as though each and every movement he made was akin to tossing kerosene on a burning flame. He couldn't get enough of her, his fingers digging into her breast and hips as he clutched her to him. He could feel one of her nipples scrape against the palm of his hand, and his thrusts became faster and harder in turn. His face pressed against her neck, he could feel her panting rasp in the back of her throat and vibrate her skin and the tip of his nose. And when he came suddenly, he bit her hard to suppress the scream bubbling in the back of his throat.

Unfortunately, she did cry out. Loudly. "Ow!"

Realization dawned on him slowly. His orgasm clouding his understanding, it took him a moment to realize that the sound she was making was not a good one. And as he tasted the metallic tang of her blood on his tongue, he shamefully recognized that he hadn't simply nipped her.

Reluctantly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He didn't want to see the damage he'd done, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever.

Blinking in the bright light, he saw the problem almost immediately. On the normally perfect, pale flesh of her neck were a series of small indentations that would absolutely match the alignment of his teeth. And in a few places, where he'd bitten down too hard, she was now bleeding. The bright red beads were small, but they seemed glaringly large against her pristine skin.

Immediately he understood:

He had done that.

He had hurt her.

Frozen in horror, House didn't know what to do.

Or say.

He'd hurt her.

Again.

And like always, he hadn't meant to, but she was bleeding a little nonetheless, and he could taste her blood on him, and -

"I'm okay," Cuddy interrupted in a hurry, as though she knew where his thoughts were going.

He shook his head. "I hurt you."

"No. You didn't." With his weight still mainly on her, it was difficult for her to sit up and kiss him. But she managed, and he wondered if she could taste what a horrible person he was like he could. "You just… surprised me." And then repeating herself, she said slowly and with emphasis on each syllable, "I'm okay."

He didn't believe her.

But he wanted to, so he didn't say anything in response.

She, however, kept talking. One of her hands stroking his sweaty back, she asked him calmly, "Will you talk to me now?"

Suddenly feeling angry and not at all contrite, he pulled out and stood up. As he shoved his body back into his pajamas, he wondered: Why was it so hard to get her to shut up? Why couldn't she just accept that he wasn't ready yet? Why did she have to keep pushing?

Why weren't the sacrifices he'd already made for this relationship enough for her?

Why did there always have to be more?

Oh, he knew the answer to the question as surely as she did: because she deserved better. She deserved someone who would say all the right things and love her little brat and be the perfect father and boyfriend. She deserved someone who didn't hurt her, and he clearly wasn't capable of that.

But why she had to push now, when he knew he was incapable of giving her what she wanted, he didn't know. He didn't care, because her reasons meant nothing compared to the fact that he felt like he was being punished. He felt like she was throwing his inadequacies in his face.

And maybe that didn't make any sense.

His head swam with confusion and regret, and finding a thread of logic at the moment was difficult. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel like she was pushing for something he could never give her. And although he couldn't explain why he felt that way, he did know one thing: if she knew he could never be that man for her, then it was time to let him go.

It was time to break up with him.

And yet… as much as he knew that he was tired of having the inevitable being constantly put off, he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't say the words. He couldn't ask her to dump him.

Instead, he would do what he always did; he would put off the conversation. Looking at her, he said, "No."

Walking away, he was almost impressed by how resolved he sounded.

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