A/N – And there I was thinking it would take me forever with my fic requests This is so, so different from anything I've ever written, so OMG, constructive criticism? YES PLEASE. So anyway, this was written for gidgetzb for the drabble meme over at LiveJournal – she asked for drunk!whateverings and I did my best to accommodate :)
Title – Eskimo Kisses
Word Count - 763
Rating – T
Fandom – House
Pairing – HouseCuddy
Warning – Second person format and ridiculously fluffy. For anyone thinking that ridiculously fluffy is not exactly in character for these two, all will become clear soon enough… smiles enigmatically
Summary – It only takes one touch, one brush of skin against skin to send the world reeling, fizzing and melting in an impossible rainbow of neon colours.
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You look at him over the rim of your wine glass, scrutinising him carefully as he leans back in his chair, laughing too loudly at the joke Wilson is telling him. You smile to yourself, taking another mouthful of wine and giggling tipsily to yourself at how drunk he is, your mind failing to register that after four glasses of house red you aren't exactly sober yourself. You find yourself vaguely surprised when this fact eventually clicks into place – you're not exactly a big drinker and as Dean of Medicine have a reputation to protect at any hospital event – but it doesn't take long for you to discover that right now you couldn't care less about what other people think. Kicking off your shoes, you drain your glass in one gulp and set it down on the table, flicking your eyes over to House once more and returning his lazy grin as you signal for more wine.
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The last of the guests are filtering out of the hall when Wilson rises somewhat unsteadily to his feet. "I'm gonna take off now," he says, his words slurred to such an extent that they merge seamlessly together like watercolour paints.
"Byeeee!" you carol, dragging out the last syllable of the word and laughing delightedly at the sound. A long row of empty wine glasses provide the evidence that you haven't been this drunk in a long time.
"Yeah, seeya later Jimmy," drawls House languidly from his chair. "Have good non-sex with wife number whatever."
Wilson acknowledges this comment with a cheerful grin before turning to trot clumsily to the door. He's almost there when he whirls around to face you again, with a gleeful expression on his face similar to that of a small boy who has just dropped Bubbles the goldfish into the bathtub. "And guess what!" he announces proudly. "I made a bet with Adams from Pathology over whether you guys would wind up having sex tonight. 50 wholllle bucks I bet him." He nods earnestly before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm gonna winnn!" With that he is gone, pulling open the door and tottering unsteadily out into the night.
Standing up, you lean towards House over the table, not even caring when he shamelessly ogles your cleavage over the plunging neckline of your red silk dress. Barely a few centimetres stand between you, but neither of you pay much attention to the fact. It's not, after all, as if there's anyone here to see you.
"You wanna know something?" you ask, tilting your head even further forward until your hair tickles his cheeks. "I am trashed."
"Me too," he agrees fervently. "Aaand I've had Vicodin. I'm wasted." You both grin, giggling childishly as you move closer together over the table. Your nose bumps against his, and you laugh, moving your head from side to side so you are effectively rubbing noses.
"It's called an Eskimo kiss," you inform him blithely, "Because it's too cold where they live to kiss properly."
Without you noticing, his hand had crept up onto the table beside you. You open your mouth to tell him more about the Eskimos, but your words vanish into thin air as he reaches up and trails a finger along the edge of your shoulder blade. And that is all it takes. At one touch, one brush of skin against skin, the world is sent reeling, fizzing and melting in an impossible rainbow of neon colours. In seconds your mouth is on his, tasting Vicodin and alcohol and cheaply processed sugar from the red lollipops he is so fond of eating. His hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your hips collide with the hard wood of the table, and you know he can taste you too, is drinking in the flavours of wine and coffee and cinnamon as he runs his tongue over your teeth. You would happily give up breathing just to stay like this for a few more minutes, but even as you think this you're breaking apart, the deep red of your lipstick smeared and sticky around his mouth. You know that both of you are drunk as hell, and over coffee and hangovers in the morning you'll realise just how much of a mistake this was. But for now, you smile, because his hands are still wrapped protectively around your shoulders and all you can think as you close your eyes and lean towards him again is how incredibly glad you are not to be an Eskimo.
End