In Desperate Need [House M.D.; House/Cuddy]
TITLE: In Desperate Need
FANDOM: House M.D.
PAIRING: House/Cuddy
SPOILERS: Season five
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: The time for games has ended.
*****
You cry out when you crash against the desk, gripping it for support with one hand while he grabs you roughly by the thighs and hoists you up. Perched at the edge, your other hand clamps down on his shoulder and you toss your bangs out of your eyes, glancing up at him through your lashes. You ask him if his leg is okay and he nods with eyes shut tight, lying all along. The way he's biting his lip doesn't escape you; it's not an expression of ecstasy.
But when you start to insist that maybe this can wait until he's feeling better, his lips crush yours again and his hand skates up your inner thigh. You wore the pink thong today, the one that he always attempts to snap if he ever sees it appear above the waistband of your skirt. It's by far his favorite, and he growls his approval against your neck while toying with the scrap of lace.
You moan, head thrown back when his fingers brush across your core, and the need for him is suddenly overwhelming. When his lips start heading for his eyes' favorite resting place, the flesh peeking out above your v-neck sweater, you grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him back up to your mouth. Your lips sear with his and he grips your ass with both hands, pulling you against him hard.
The time for games has ended. There will be no foreplay tonight. You grab the hem of his tee shirt and tear it off over his head, eyes meeting his before he dives in for another desperate kiss. He groans into your mouth when you hook your heel behind his knee, his fingers greedily grabbing at the hem of your sweater.
You remind him that it's cashmere, but he just leans back with a devilish smirk and pulls it carelessly over your head, tossing it over his shoulder without looking. You fix him with a glare though it's a vain effort; even though he sees it, he ignores it and goes for your bra. Soon, that item has joined your sweater across the room and you've got his pants undone. When he's through hiking your skirt up, it seems to hit the both of you at the same time -- this is truly going to happen.
He pulls his pants and boxers down just far enough as you stand and push the thong down far enough that you can step one foot out of it. Then you're back up on the desk again; you can feel him against you and can see his eyes begging you. So rather than granting verbal permission, you lean up and kiss him while he slips inside.
Suddenly it's as though you're catapulted backward twenty years, feeling as though not a moment has passed since that first encounter. The passion, the youthful desperation with which your bodies collide over and over again. Your nails scratch across his back and he curses loudly, eyes shut tight. The way he bites his lip this time is pure pleasure and you moan at the sight, locking your legs around him and leaning up to close your lips around the sensitive skin of his neck.
His hands clutch at you, trying to pull you closer despite there no longer being room for even a sliver of paper to pass between you. You can tell just by the tension in his body and the warmth coiling deep within you that this will not last long, as much as you would like it to. So you press your lips against his and let your hips meet him thrust for thrust. Before long, he's got you teetering at the edge, perilously close from falling into bliss.
Part of you wants to make sure he knows how much he means to you, but the other part realizes it's not needed. He knows. And you know he's right there with you. That's not who the two of you are, anyway.
He calls your name -- your surname (you'd expect no less after all) -- and digs his fingers into your hips. You cry out at the sensation, feeling the tender skin already starting to bruise, but you could care less. With one final thrust you're tossed over the edge, and he follows you a short few minutes later. It's only when you're getting dressed again that things slowly start to swim back into focus; when you realize that you aren't in your darkened office with House after all. When you realize that, instead, you're sitting alone in your darkened bedroom staring out the window.
You scrub your hands over your face, groaning to yourself as you slowly get out of bed and head to the nursery to check on Rachel. After making sure she's still sound asleep, you grab the baby monitor and head for the bathroom, in desperate need of a shower.
A cold one.
FIN
Like what you've read? Why don't you watch or join the community?
{x-posted to house_cuddy}
FANDOM: House M.D.
PAIRING: House/Cuddy
SPOILERS: Season five
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: The time for games has ended.
*****
You cry out when you crash against the desk, gripping it for support with one hand while he grabs you roughly by the thighs and hoists you up. Perched at the edge, your other hand clamps down on his shoulder and you toss your bangs out of your eyes, glancing up at him through your lashes. You ask him if his leg is okay and he nods with eyes shut tight, lying all along. The way he's biting his lip doesn't escape you; it's not an expression of ecstasy.
But when you start to insist that maybe this can wait until he's feeling better, his lips crush yours again and his hand skates up your inner thigh. You wore the pink thong today, the one that he always attempts to snap if he ever sees it appear above the waistband of your skirt. It's by far his favorite, and he growls his approval against your neck while toying with the scrap of lace.
You moan, head thrown back when his fingers brush across your core, and the need for him is suddenly overwhelming. When his lips start heading for his eyes' favorite resting place, the flesh peeking out above your v-neck sweater, you grab a fistful of his shirt and drag him back up to your mouth. Your lips sear with his and he grips your ass with both hands, pulling you against him hard.
The time for games has ended. There will be no foreplay tonight. You grab the hem of his tee shirt and tear it off over his head, eyes meeting his before he dives in for another desperate kiss. He groans into your mouth when you hook your heel behind his knee, his fingers greedily grabbing at the hem of your sweater.
You remind him that it's cashmere, but he just leans back with a devilish smirk and pulls it carelessly over your head, tossing it over his shoulder without looking. You fix him with a glare though it's a vain effort; even though he sees it, he ignores it and goes for your bra. Soon, that item has joined your sweater across the room and you've got his pants undone. When he's through hiking your skirt up, it seems to hit the both of you at the same time -- this is truly going to happen.
He pulls his pants and boxers down just far enough as you stand and push the thong down far enough that you can step one foot out of it. Then you're back up on the desk again; you can feel him against you and can see his eyes begging you. So rather than granting verbal permission, you lean up and kiss him while he slips inside.
Suddenly it's as though you're catapulted backward twenty years, feeling as though not a moment has passed since that first encounter. The passion, the youthful desperation with which your bodies collide over and over again. Your nails scratch across his back and he curses loudly, eyes shut tight. The way he bites his lip this time is pure pleasure and you moan at the sight, locking your legs around him and leaning up to close your lips around the sensitive skin of his neck.
His hands clutch at you, trying to pull you closer despite there no longer being room for even a sliver of paper to pass between you. You can tell just by the tension in his body and the warmth coiling deep within you that this will not last long, as much as you would like it to. So you press your lips against his and let your hips meet him thrust for thrust. Before long, he's got you teetering at the edge, perilously close from falling into bliss.
Part of you wants to make sure he knows how much he means to you, but the other part realizes it's not needed. He knows. And you know he's right there with you. That's not who the two of you are, anyway.
He calls your name -- your surname (you'd expect no less after all) -- and digs his fingers into your hips. You cry out at the sensation, feeling the tender skin already starting to bruise, but you could care less. With one final thrust you're tossed over the edge, and he follows you a short few minutes later. It's only when you're getting dressed again that things slowly start to swim back into focus; when you realize that you aren't in your darkened office with House after all. When you realize that, instead, you're sitting alone in your darkened bedroom staring out the window.
You scrub your hands over your face, groaning to yourself as you slowly get out of bed and head to the nursery to check on Rachel. After making sure she's still sound asleep, you grab the baby monitor and head for the bathroom, in desperate need of a shower.
A cold one.
FIN
Like what you've read? Why don't you watch or join the community?
{x-posted to house_cuddy}