Cuddy was finally feeling some relief as the near-scalding water cascaded over her face. She was trying to cleanse her mind as well as her body, since the incident had been so alarming.
She'd been having an intense conversation with one of the ER nurses who had been repeatedly reminded about some charting protocol, yet regularly mischarted information. Cuddy knew that direct patient care was more important in the end, but what rolled across her desk was much more tied to insurance and malpractice suits, so proper charting was important to the health of the hospital. She felt ill-at-ease already, coming down hard on a wonderfully compassionate and efficient nurse who just couldn't seem to stay organized on paper.
But then the dirty, disoriented man came ambling through the sliding glass doors where ambulances usually wheeled patients in on gurneys. He caught her eye entering from this door, then captured her full attention with his aimless gait and slurred, incomprehensible speech. When he saw her looking at him, he maintained eye contact and managed to direct his clumsy walk toward her, saying "I don't know why you blame me for everything, darling. You and your mysterious ways are just as serious."
Cuddy furrowed her brow. "Pardon?" was all she could think to say. The man laughed heartily and kept wobbling closer. By the time he was close enough for Cuddy to feel like her space was invaded, he had embraced her, still laughing. Cuddy tried to step back without letting him fall on his face, communicating to the nurse with her eyes that she needed to get some help. But just as the nurse was waving over some EMTs standing idle, the man pulled back and looked deeply into Cuddy's eyes. "Can't you see? I love you, sugarbutt," he said. Then he puked down the front of her tweed suit.
Cuddy clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to be anywhere but there. The EMTs and nurses descended quickly, guiding the man to a gurney and hooking him up to the machines that would let them know if he was physically ill on top of his obvious psychological struggles. The nurse Cuddy had been chastising brought towels and Cuddy wiped herself as best she could, then stepped out of her soiled Prada pumps and walked down the long corridor to the locker room with as much dignity as she could muster.
Carefully freeing herself from the puke-soaked clothing and getting into the shower was cathartic. Not only was she addressing the immediate problem, but she had an excuse to escape into a tiny oasis from her shitty day filled with paperwork and bitching at good nurses. After soaping up head-to-toe with the fruity-scented soap that filled the dispenser, she realized it was a shift change. The locker room door kept swinging open and nurses milled about chatting and changing clothes. She really didn't want to step out naked and dripping in front of a quarter of her employees, so she just stood there and let the hot water curtain her off from the world for a while.
The locker room quieted, but just as she was gearing herself up to exit the shower, she heard the door swing open again. She heard heavy, deliberate footsteps walk with a peculiar, yet familiar rhythm and pause right outside her shower stall. She heard the soft rustle of clothing as the person sat down.
"What do you want, House?"
"How'd you know it was me?"
"I have a Pavlovian response to the presence of that third leg," she replied sharply.
"Oh,that. I thought my cane gave me away," he teased back. She felt him smirk at her through the vinyl curtain.
"You really have no sense of boundaries, do you?" she chided.
"Nope," he admitted. She heard him shift on the bench, making himself at home, she assumed. "I'm one of those 'Doctors Without Boundaries,'" he explained. "It's supposedly pretty admirable."
"'Doctors Without Borders'put their needs second to the needs of ailing patients," Cuddy lectured. "I think your complete and total disregard for professional boundaries illustrates quite the opposite mindset."
"Tsss," House clucked back. "I don't know how you can say that when I am quite obviously putting myself in an awkward situation here for the sake of my poor, sick patient."
Cuddy pulled the curtain back a tiny bit to stick her head out and glare at him. "I repeat, House: What do you want?" She watched him put his hands behind his head and lie back on the bench, his long limbs taking up the whole thing.
"What does everyone want, Cuddy? Fulfilling work. Unconditional love. A brain biopsy on a pregnant woman."
She sighed heavily, closed the curtain, and decided to shampoo again just to distract herself from the irritating nature of his request and strangely exciting presence of his body, sprawled outside her shower. "You'll have to refresh me. I obviously don't have the file in here."
"Sure. You want me to bring it in there so you can read over my shoulder?"
"House."
"Or I can just wait here while you dry off."
"House!"
"She's experiencing persistent nausea and chronic seizures, but we found evidence of vision problems from before she was pregnant. This isn't the pregnancy. It's a tumor pressing on her occipital lobe. The pregnancy just pissed it off. We could remove it nasally. If we don't, and it's at the seizure-causing stage, she's lucky if she doesn't stroke out during birth. Living baby, yay! But dead mom, boo!"
"Or we wait, and she has a C-section as early as possible, then we remove it during surgery. Living baby, living mom."
"If the seizures don't cause premature labor. Dead baby. And if she doesn't stroke out beforehand. Dead mom and dead baby. Double boo!"
Cuddy was quiet, thinking. "I have to think it over. I'll let you know when I'm back in my office." She prayed he would just accept this deferment in decision so she didn't have to continue arguing through a shower curtain. She didn't feel as powerful soaked and naked .
"Okay. I'll wait."
Cuddy sighed to herself with relief, but didn't hear him getting ready to exit. She peeked around the curtain again. "Is that all, House?"
He looked at her with raised eyebrows, feigning complete innocence. "Yeah. I'm just waiting."
She narrowed her eyes and gave him an indulgent smile. "How about if you go wait in your office?"
"I want to be here to influence your thought process," he replied. He met her eyes and smirked at her. She gave him a disgusted look.
"House, get out, before I scream." And it hung there – the innuendo he didn't even have to acknowledge with a quip. She slid the curtain shut in embarrassment and grimaced at the tile floor.
"I heard old Ralphie McSpew doused you pretty good. Sure you don't want some help soaping up those hard-to-reach places?" he asked.
"I'm fine, House. Go away."
"Okay, Cuddy," he relented, and she heard his sneakers squeak as they made contact with the floor again. The curtain billowed in a little as he stepped closer to the shower stall. Backlit by the locker room lights, she saw his tall, lanky silhouette through the curtain and couldn't look away for some reason. "I understand. I do a lot of thinking in the shower too." She felt something - a twinge inside her, deep and low. "Just try to think a little about my case too, okay?" His hand reached around the curtain and handed her a small white washcloth. "This might help." She stared at his hand, long fingers curled around the fabric, and felt such opposing emotions that, combined with the steam and adrenaline of the day, made her feel lightheaded. Through a miniscule gap at the edge of the curtain she saw his body shift and he leaned casually against the thin wall dividing shower stalls, his hand still offering her the washcloth. She imagined things she often imagined about him, only usually she was either fully clothed or far away from him. At this moment she was neither and it was making her feel reckless.
He shook the washcloth at her abruptly. "Earth to Cuddy. You gonna take this? My hand's getting all wet."
Cuddy snatched it out of his hand with one of hers, then slapped his hand like he was a child reaching for a cookie. But he didn't recoil and instead captured her thumb between his thumb and fingers.
"You seem tense," he teased, pressing the pad of his thumb into her palm and moving it in small circles. "You sure you don't want me to turn this into some kind of stress-reducing spa experience."
"I'm tense because a strange man puked on me and now I'm afraid of a nurse coming in here to find my employee with the most sexual harassment complaints against him hanging out in the nurses' showers," she hissed. "Not to mention, at spas the practitioners generally stay fully clothed, pervert."
House laughed quietly and withdrew his hand. "Suit yourself, Cuddy," he said. She heard him start moving slowly toward the lockers. "But, I don't know why you blame me for everything, darling. You and your mysterious ways are just as serious."
"Oh, God," she sighed, knowing now that the whole god-blessed hospital knew all that had transpired.
"Don't worry, Cuddy. I like you and your mysterious ways." She heard him moving closer to the door… It was the panic of his impending departure that made her so rash. She didn't have time to be witty.
"Do you?" she asked him. She heard his footsteps pause.
"What?... I mean… What?" he stammered.
She'd flustered him , which was fun and thrilling after all the teasing he had just done. Asking what he felt… well, he may as well be naked too. She let it just hang there for a second. "I'm just trying to help with your hard-to-reach places," she said quietly, treading carefully. She heard him exhale and could picture the expression on his face. It was the look he had whenever he was deliberating his next move, often on patients, but sometimes on others.
"Oh, I get it," he said, slapping his knee and offering a theatrical chuckle. "My hard-to-reach places."
"You're deflecting," she observed.
"So are you."
She pulled the curtain back a bit again and met his eyes across the locker room, twenty feet between them. She raised an eyebrow and he raised one back. She bit her lip and finally said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this a game?" he inquired suspiciously.
"Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question."
He looked at her seriously and took a step back toward the showers. "No," he answered. "It's not."
She grinned a little, then stuck one foot over the threshold of the shower, revealing a titillating length of leg. House's eyes moved up the length of her leg, then flickered to her face again. "Do you think about us?" Cuddy asked.
House licked his lip. "Constantly."
"Let me rephrase," Cuddy objected. "Do you think about us with clothes on?"
He swallowed. "Yeah… yeah."
She slung her arm over the metal bar holding the curtain, hooking her hand on it and swaying out enough t reveal a hint of torso to him, but still turned inward enough to hide the best parts. She tilted her head and studied him. His face was subtly displaying a battle. He would ogle her water-beaded skin and look intoxicated, lustful. Then he'd meet her eyes again and struggle to lock his gaze, his eyes darting to the side as she tried to read him. He took a few more steps toward her.
"Are you scared?" she asked him.
Now he locked eyes with her. "Are you?"
She smiled at him. "Kind of," she admitted. "Now you."
His eyebrows knit together, showing his effort to go there. "Terrified."
Her smile shifted from one of self-consciousness to one of sympathy. "Don't be," she told him. Then she tossed the wet washcloth at him and it made contact with his chest with a satisfying splat. She laughed her throaty laugh and retreated into the steam, worried about his retaliation. House cleared the remaining distance quickly and stood outside the stall, the curtain half-open and revealing slices of Cuddy's body. He slid the curtain open, took a moment to take her in fully, admiring every smooth, toned inch of her, then stepped in fully clothed, sliding the curtain shut behind him.
"Jesus, House!" Cuddy laughed. But he didn't laugh, and the intense way he looked at her stopped her short.
"Jesus, Cuddy," he mimicked, his eyes slowly moving over her shape. She'd truly never been looked at this way before. Sure, she knew she was beautiful and horny men had ogled her and were eager to grope. But House's look exhibited true admiration, awe even. He took his time, looking at every dip and curve. He made no move to touch her yet, almost seeming to be unsure if he was allowed to. They stood there while the hot water pulsed against their sides.
Cuddy's face tilted up at him, her smallness so much more evident in bare feet. "Don't be terrified," she said. She reached a hand up and touched his cheek. The physical contact caused the emotional tension of the whole exchange to be overtaken by the sexual tension. His large hand curved around her hip, pulling her gently against him. She sucked in her breath, so completely turned on she almost whimpered. Her lips parted as she struggled to breathe, and she was struck at the juxtaposition of his demeanors – so full of winks and nudges and twinkling eyes when they were flirting, but now so intent and focused and reserved when she was actually standing there in his arms.
She couldn't help teasing. It was all too much. "You're not gonna puke on me, are you?" she asked.
He smirked at her, snapping out of his adoring reverie a bit. "You're not into that? I got some mis-information then… Damn. Never had to hire that guy to get you all hot and bothered, I guess." He bent his head and his mouth met the spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. Cuddy went weak in the knees. "I promise," he murmured against her skin, "I haven't puked on a naked woman since the tenth grade." She felt his smile against her neck and it filled her heart for some reason, this private evidence that he did, in fact, have teeth.
She laughed. "What a stud."
His hands slid down her arms, found her wrists, and gently guided them upward while he stepped against her, pressing her back against the wet tile and gently pinning her arms there too. He continued kissing down her body, his lips teasing along her breasts, licking and sucking water droplets that slid down her body. "I've been told I've got game," he mumbled back, always wanting the last word. The feeling of his stubble scratching lightly against the space between her breasts made her believe it.
"Yeah, by women you pay to tell you that," she couldn't help tossing back. His mouth closed around her nipple and she moaned slightly, totally undercutting her sniping.
"I pay them to go away and stop begging for more," he said, but he was laughing before the words were even out of his mouth, amusing himself as much as her with their stupid banter. Cuddy half laughed and half shuddered, feeling almost weightless between the solidness of his body and the wall.
She felt his fingers run from one of her knees up the length of her thigh, curving back to cup her ass. She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, feeling the hardness of his body through the heavy wet fabric clinging to it. She was finding a button on his shirt to fumble with when he dropped to his knees in front of her, holding her hips in his hands. His mouth met her heat and she cried out a little, startling herself by how it echoed off the tile walls. House was unflustered, though, and continued his worship of her. And that's what it was, and what made it different from any other sexual encounters she'd had in recent years. He was so careful, so concentrated on learning her and pleasing her, she felt powerful at the same time that she was at his mercy. It was all about her as his tongue moved along her folds. He'd move his mouth ways that she thought were perfect, that pushed her higher and higher, that made her beg him not to stop, but just as she'd plateau in her ascent, he'd change something subtle and she'd swear this was actually what she didn't want him to stop. She was so close that her toes were starting to curl in the puddles at her feet when the locker room door swung open and two boisterous voices chatting about a patient filled the locker room. Cuddy startled and froze, her hands flying to the back of House's head, as if she could hide him or something. House didn't miss a beat though, seeming oblivious to this turn of events. He continued stimulating her and Cuddy felt that desire that had coiled inside of her refusing to sit unsprung because of… well, anything. When House's fingers pressed deeper into her hips and thighs, she lost it and had the most bizarre experience of coming silently, the effort of staying quiet somehow enhancing the rolling waves inside her body, making her climax harder and longer than she'd thought possible.
When she finally felt too sensitive and gently guided him away from her, he stayed there, kissing her stomach and running his hands along her body while she shook and twitched against the tile, leaning her arms into his shoulders to keep from falling. She heard the nurses leave and let out a luxurious sigh, laughing a little at how crazy that was. She was just about to thank him for his skilled performance when she felt his mouth on her again.
"House," she said, breathless. "You don't have to - "
"Shut up," he replied. He looked up at her for a moment and she saw his face, forehead beaded with water and eyes filled with desire. "'Have to'" he mocked in disgust, shaking his head briefly.
And then she felt the heat of his mouth blending with the heat of the water pelting her body. After such a recent orgasm, her body was hungry for more and she was chasing it almost immediately. The sight of this man – simultaneously her adversary and her fantasy –kneeling in front of her, taking pleasure in giving her pleasure - destroyed any logical part of her brain that was still trying to communicate. She bit her lip and allowed him to guide her thigh upward, opening more to him. She was breathing in short little puffs and stifling her impulses to moan. But he paused for a moment to murmur, "I wanna hear you, Cuddy."
Well, fuck. You can't just have the man you've wanted for two decades say something like that and not oblige, right? That would be rude.
Cuddy writhed in his arms, crying out her orgasm with long, deep moans that became high pitch cries, whispering things like "Please" and "God" and "Fuck" and "House" to string together meaningless sentences that still communicated everything she wanted to say. She shuddered and closed her legs against him, searching for friction against him. He sucked her gently into his mouth, extending her pleasure still further. When the climax retreated and she slid down the wall, spent, he was there to scoop her up. He sat on the small tile bench build into the shower and she collapsed against his chest, straddling him without hesitation. She took her time regaining her breath and ability to speak while he trailed his finger up and down her back.
Eventually Cuddy was able to sit up and look down at him, her wet hair sticking to her face and dripping water onto his. "Holy shit," was all she could think to say to address what had just occurred. House smirked at her.
"But in a good way?"
She smiled widely and ran the tip of her nose down his. Looking at his earnest expression and feeling her own sexual satisfaction made her want to get him off so badly. Here he was all smug and proud, acting as if his sexual release were some kind of afterthought. But that expression faded as she opened his pants and touched him, his nonchalance becoming strain and urgency on his face. The feeling of her touch made him want more, and soon. And Cuddy wasn't in the mood for teasing him anymore. She shifted her hips, lifting so he could shift his, and lowered herself onto him. As he entered her, filling her, she closed her eyes and hugged his head to her chest. They simultaneously exhaled a tension they'd been maintaining for years. She moved slowly around him and he wove one set of fingers into her wet hair and pressed the others into her thigh. She felt his hips gently twitching upward in an impulse to meet her. He was eager for her, impatient for his own pleasure. In that little movement she realized he actually was capable of putting his needs second.
Cuddy began riding him faster, harder, knowing that the wet clothes that still clung to his legs and rubbed the insides of her thighs would leave marks. She wanted marks. She wanted this to last beyond this shower. She looked down at his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth was trailing over her neck and breasts in a sloppy, haphazard way. He was distracted, and she was the reason, and she felt omnipotent. When he growled her name and lightly bit her shoulder she focused on moving with the rhythm of his orgasm, taking him deep inside her and pressing her body along his while he lay his head back against the tiles, looking skyward behind closed lids. She pushed as he pushed, slowed as he slowed, and was eventually sitting still, perched on his lap with him still inside her. She saw him smile lazily while his head still lolled against the wall, his eyes still closed. More evidence that he actually had the capability.
"Holy shit," he slurred.
"But in a good way?" she asked, giggling a little, and feeling silly. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Are you less terrified?" she asked, flirting again.
He blinked and his smile faded. "I'm more." She bit her lip, knit her brows.
Cuddy cupped his face. "Maybe you could come by tonight," she said, a little shyly. "Actually take your clothes off."
House rolled his eyes. "See? This is why I get hookers," he lamented. But then he looked at her and smiled, a little shy himself. "Yeah. I will." They stood there, entangled, dripping, drunk with all that had just happened. They couldn't stop smiling and shifting their glances away from each other, overwhelmed. "About that brain biopsy…" he said, laying his head back again.
"This was just a power play, then, eh?" she teased, only half-kidding.
He searched her eyes so intently, she felt like he could see her thoughts. "What I won't do for my patients," he teased back quietly. But then he kissed her. They hadn't kissed, she realized then. He was slowly moving his lips along hers, parting them with his tongue, cupping her face in his hands. Their mouths moved slowly, tasting and exploring and reveling. He finally pulled back and grinned a tiny bit. "Can't you see? I love you, sugarbutt," he said. She laughed. He didn't.
He took one of her hands, examining her fingertips. "You're pruning," he informed her.
"Um, you're soaking," she replied. She stood up, allowing him to rise in his heavy, wet clothes.
"Call me when you've decided to give me what I want," he said. He kissed her lightly again, then stepped backwards out of the shower, winking at her before politely closing the curtain between them. Cuddy stood there and shut the water off, listening as he sloshed out of the locker room, dripping pools of water behind him in the halls as he walked back up to his office.
"I will," she whispered into the empty locker room.