A/N-Hi all. This fic is the result of a prompt from a friend who didn't want to be credited formally, but I still feel I'm being remiss if I don't mention that the initial idea came from someone else's mind. Anyway, my friend, I hope I did your thought justice, and you like the story that resulted.
***Disclaimer-I don't own the characters of House, MD. This story contains adult language and content.
Set during early Season 3
-Living Well-
The shows on television were somewhat limited in the very early hours of a Tuesday morning. They settled on a show where people filmed their acts of revenge on unsuspecting victims. Most of them were childish, amateur pranks, but a few were amusing. Wilson was sitting at one end of House's sofa, both of them lulling in a pleasantly numb state of intoxication, when Wilson yawned, "You really need to get revenge on your team."
"Of course I do," House answered before a pause, "What for this time?"
"For their post-gunshot coma research."
House rubbed his thigh where the ache had since returned, searching his mind for clues about what Wilson was talking about, "Have any vengefully appropriate suggestions?"
"Something good. They gave Cuddy an unfair advantage. Now it's pretty clear that you like her. She has that over you."
"When exactly did I make it 'pretty clear' that I like her?"
"Are you that drunk?"
House nodded slowly, "Right, the coma research."
"You do know? I know you that you know…you always know."
"Yup, I always know." House continued more suspiciously, sitting up, "I'm just not sure which thing you're trying to know that I know."
"They really didn't say? I…I've had too much to drink. Forget it."
"Forget what? What did they not say?"
"I was thinking about someone else."
"You have other friends who've recently been shot and were subsequently in a coma?"
"My taxi is probably here," Wilson drunkenly replied as he stood and sauntered to the window. He was gone in moments, leaving House to pace in thought.
Cuddy was working at her desk when she heard a knock. She looked up, surprised at the person waiting outside, and waved for House to enter. "Is the sky falling? Hell has frozen over? You want to volunteer extra hours in the clinic this week?"
"All equally unlikely events," he answered while he closed the door.
"As is you knocking on the door. What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"Why are you knocking?"
"I want to be sure you're listening. This is important."
Cuddy closed the lid to her laptop, offering her full attention, "Go on."
"I've come to tell you that I don't like you."
She nodded, eyes widening slightly but her expression matter-of-fact, "Well thank you for that. It's all clear now, although I'm not sure why that's breaking news. I'm busy, go diagnose."
She returned to her work, but he interrogated, "You don't seem surprised by that?"
"Why would I be?"
"Certain sweater vest wearing people seem to equate my post-gunshot recuperation with proof that I may like you."
"Oh," she answered knowingly, tapping her finger on her desk while she thought of a response.
"Oh?"
She stopped tapping, purposefully making eye contact, "No one thought that really meant anything, least of all me. So you can go on not liking me, and rest assured that I know that to be the case. Now are we good?"
"Good," he replied, sitting down instead of leaving.
"What?" her exasperation showed.
"Which part of what I said while under would give sweater-man that impression?"
"What do you mean, what you said?"
"While I was under, what exactly did I say that he could interpret that way?"
"You didn't say anything, not to my knowledge. What did Wilson tell you, exactly?"
"Why don't you recount for me what it is that you know, to your knowledge."
"You'd rather talk to Wilson about this."
"Of course I'd rather talk to Wilson, but I'm asking you."
"So go find him, talk to him. And leave me out of it. This conversation is over."
House stood, taking steps lazily toward the door until he stopped. "You don't know, or you don't want to say?"
Her phone rang, and she smiled artificially before she answered, pointing to her door, "Goodbye."
When House went upstairs, he found his team around the table, discussing a case.
"All of these things point to an allergy," Cameron was explaining as House took his seat.
"But what allergy?" Foreman argued, "Maybe she's allergic to the autoimmune disease she has, and that's why all of her symptoms point to autoimmune."
"House," Cameron said, sliding a folder across the table, "test results are in. I'm going back to search the home, Foreman and Chase obviously missed something. What do you think?"
Opening the file, House's eyes skimmed the results, "Who decided to conduct experiments while I was incapacitated and defenseless to try to prove that I have a thing for Cuddy?"
"The case," Cameron clarified uncomfortably, "what do you think about the case?"
"Your attempt at redirection was unsuccessful."
Cameron stood, nodding quickly, "I'll be back, I'm going to search the home again."
"You would have done the same thing to us," Chase explained. "We thought, at some point, it would be very useful information."
"Did Cuddy know what you were doing?" House pried.
"Look, we weren't conducting experiments, we simply observed. You make it sound like we planned the whole thing. She was there, so she noticed on her own. Once she realized, she steered clear of your room. It's kind of ironic, you know? All of that time you spend trying to avoid Cuddy when the best way to avoid her is by expressing an interest."
"She avoided me?"
"She called for updates over the phone, but she didn't come back. Not after her second visit, well, except for the third visit that we sort of instigated, but she definitely tried to avoid it. Next time we need her to look the other way, you can just…tell her she has nice eyes. I'm going to help Cameron."
Foreman was focused on the file after his colleagues left, "Did you see her immunoglobulin levels? Cameron's wrong."
"I said Cuddy has nice eyes?" House asked skeptically.
"No, you didn't."
"Want a chance to be Daddy's favorite?"
"Cameron needs it more than I do," Foreman answered, closing the file, "Let me begin treatment. I'll start steroids for the-"
"I'll let you treat if you tell me your version of events while I was in a coma."
"Our patient is dying."
"Then I'm sure you'll do the right thing."
"You're reading too much into this, forget it. I wasn't standing by your bedside like other people were, so I don't know. Let me treat the patient while they're out wasting their time."
House nodded, "Start the steroids."
The next day, he returned to Cuddy's office, watching while she tried to fake a phone call as soon as she saw him. "Too late," he shouted, "put it down."
"What happened to knocking? That was such a refreshing change."
"Wilson told me what happened," House announced, standing in front of her desk as he leaned on his cane with both hands.
"Good," she answered. "How's your patient?"
"Still not dead. You're avoiding me?"
"Do you have a diagnosis?"
"Not exactly. Maybe. We'll see."
"I'm not avoiding anything, I'm busy. So if there's nothing else…"
"I don't think it proves anything."
She sighed, admitting, "Neither do I. I didn't say it meant anything. We both know that physical attraction and actually having feelings for someone can be completely opposing forces. They often are."
"Right," he nodded.
"I mean…obviously. Wilson misinterpreted a simple physiological response noticed by your team, they alone assigned it meaning. I had nothing to do with it. So you're turned on by me at some very basic level, who cares? Obviously you can't control what arouses you when you're in a coma. I thought nothing of it at the time, I'm going to continue thinking nothing of it. Now if you'll excuse me?"
"Physiological response," House parroted as he thought, confirming his suspicion.
"I guess you could argue it was coincidental," Cuddy continued, "but you have to admit that the correlation seemed pretty clear because it happened every time I was in the room. It still doesn't matter, being aroused by someone and liking them are not the same thing. You can be attracted to me physically and still not like me."
He was watching her so intently that she soon realized she was going on for much longer than she wanted. Then the truth dawned on her.
"Wilson didn't tell you, did he?" she asked when she realized he was looking for answers.
"Nope."
"Urgh," she complained, resting her forehead in her hand for a second. "Let it go. Everything was forgotten until you mentioned it again. Let's go back to forgetting it. Sometimes avoidance really is the best available strategy."
House nodded once, wincing unhappily as he pondered what he had learned. After a few seconds, he turned and casually walked out the door.
He acted normally over the next few days, neither avoiding her any more or less than usual while he treated his patient. Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief that perhaps he was uncomfortable enough to avoid the subject permanently. After his case was solved, House took a few days off. Monday afternoon, Cuddy called him, "Any thoughts about showing up to your place of employment?"
"I have several thoughts about that," he replied evasively.
"And what might those thoughts be?"
"I'm thinking of changing shifts."
"Typically you work the I-have-a-patient shift. I understand you currently have one. You've had a few days off, and now you have to come back."
"I decided I want to work the weekend shift instead of the more nebulous patient-having shift."
"Yesterday was Sunday and you weren't here then either."
"Because I just decided this morning that I wanted to switch. I'll update you again on Friday, at which time I may be interested in switching back to weekdays. We'll see."
Her voice grew softer for a moment, "Look…if I'm the reason you're uncomfortable, I will do whatever I can to make you feel more at ease."
"I'm not uncomfortable, I just don't like working. That's pretty much always been the case."
"Fine, you don't have to admit that you're uncomfortable, but just in case you are-"
"But I'm not."
"Attraction is just attraction. Just because it exists between two people doesn't mean anyone is going to act on it. And since there is no way in hell I would ever act on it, it's almost like it doesn't even exist."
"Are you, by any chance, part ostrich? If you refuse to accept the reality of the bomb ticking next to your head as the timer counts down to zero, it definitely won't hurt you because it doesn't exist? Interesting theory."
"You know what I mean," she answered stiffly.
"You're saying you'd never act on it…ever?"
"Neither of us would."
"But you're admitting within that admission that the attraction exists on your end."
"I admitted no such thing," she countered.
"You said it exists between two people who won't act on it."
"Theoretically."
"Nothing about this discussion is theoretical."
"I'm trying to let it go."
"Bringing it up is an interesting way of letting it go. I'm learning so much about how to be a good administrator today."
"I only brought it up because you're avoiding me."
"You're hoping that I'm avoiding you, aren't you?" he accused happily.
"I'm no longer discussing this, next topic."
"Let's see if that works as well as your other tactics."
"Your patient-"
"Still not distracted."
"I grabbed this case just for you, your patient has an abnormal-"
"You have interesting ideas about sexual overtures, Cuddy."
"It's not a sexual overture, it's a case."
"Many people would argue that the way to a man's heart is a really interesting case."
"I'm not trying to get to your heart, I'm trying to-"
"It's all about sex with you, isn't it?"
"House," she admonished with one familiar syllable.
"I'll be in in an hour," he said as he hung up.
He looked at the file on his table. He had already decided to take the case hours earlier when his team brought the information to his apartment.
A few days later, House was standing by his whiteboard when he saw Cuddy in the hallway. He tossed his marker to Chase before hurrying out after her. She was stepping onto the elevator, and when she saw him, she smiled and held the door, "Going down?" He started to smirk knowingly and she clarified, "To a lower floor."
He stepped on and announced, "I've been treated unfairly-"
"Go to HR."
"By you."
"Go to HR," she replied, staring ahead.
"You don't even want to know how you've mistreated me?"
"Not really. I'm sure it's very creative though."
"You have an unfair advantage because you think you have evidence that I'm attracted to you, but I haven't had the opportunity to collect counter-evidence."
"I will not allow you to put me into a coma."
"I wasn't suggesting a coma, but I like that you thought that's where I was going with it," he answered with a proud smirk.
"So what do you want?"
"You have the impression that I'm turned on merely by your presence."
"I guess. My presence, my voice, who knows…some fantasy hidden in that brain of yours? I have no idea what goes on in your unconscious mind."
"That's probably for the best."
"Agreed."
"The problem is that you want to pretend like you're not attracted to me too, even though you pretty much confessed that you were when we spoke on the phone," he accused, stopping the elevator and leaning against the side wall to watch her.
"Think whatever you want to…but release the emergency stop."
"I don't think, I know."
"If you feel you already know, then I don't know why you'd need further proof."
"You won't admit it, so I'll prove it to you."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm not."
"I'm not going to participate in some sort of performance so you can-"
"No performance necessary. Do normal Cuddy-stuff…all I need to do is be there," he answered, releasing the emergency stop button.
"I won't submit to any sort of examination so you can gather proof."
"I won't submit to conducting one," he replied as she stepped out of the elevator.
"Fine," she answered, turning back to see him remaining behind, "but your being there can't interfere with what I have to get done."
He bobbed his head while he disappeared behind the closing doors.
The next morning when she arrived, House was already waiting in the parking garage. He was leaning against his bike near the elevators.
"You're up early," she commented.
"I'd hate to be late," he answered, tapping his cane against his shoulder.
"For?"
"Your arrival, obviously."
She loudly breathed her disbelief while walking past him, "This is your big plan? You think you're going to say 'good morning' and I'm going to swoon and confess my deep, dark desires?"
"Did it work?"
"No. Try again tomorrow," she called back over her shoulder as she disappeared.
True to their agreement, he didn't really interfere with her day. She saw him once in the cafeteria when she went to buy coffee. He held the door open so she could walk through, and she felt his eyes while they skimmed up her calves and over her body as she walked to the counter.
The next morning, he was waiting for her again in the garage, this time, sitting on the hood of his car. She sauntered over to him while she casually scanned the sparsely occupied area around them. "How many mornings are you going to be here?" she asked as she confidently greeted him.
"As many as I need to."
"I didn't even know you could wake up this early."
"Maybe I didn't go to bed yet," he suggested while he looked her over. "Love that top."
"Thank you."
"The red bra's great too," he added after closer examination.
"So today's strategy is complimenting my wardrobe?"
"No strategy. I just appreciate the way you're displaying it."
"Well," she said with a patronizing tone as she began to walk away, "I'm glad you approve."
"Cuddy?" he asked in a tone that made her wary of the upcoming question. "The whole coma thing…I'm just surprised you've never used that against me."
Cuddy stepped directly in front of him, addressing him with a tone of complete sobriety, "I tried to save you the embarrassment, checked on you from a distance. I also spoke with your team about the inappropriateness of their test and reminded them about confidentiality and the terms of their employment. In short, I threatened their jobs if they breached privacy. I wouldn't use that against you and I didn't want anyone else using it against you either."
The levity was gone from his expression, and he offered only an understanding nod, but she could sense his appreciation. She smiled subtly in return before she spun around and continued her walk into the hospital as if nothing had ever stopped her in the first place.
He continued to show up in many places where she could be found, once catching her eye while she took donors on a tour of the hospital, and again later when she was discussing an issue with a nurse in the clinic. Each time she'd nod or politely smile or completely ignore him, and try to remain completely poised. It was making her crazy. It started to seem as if every moment of her day was either about feeling him watching her or anticipating the next time it was going to happen. She loved and hated it at the same time.
She started to select her outfits even more carefully, something to highlight one feature each day, but only one. After all, she didn't want it to appear that she was trying to make him as crazy as he was making her.
Slipping out to lunch a few days later, she went shopping. This was a rare indulgence for her in the middle of the day, but she picked a time when she was certain he wouldn't notice her absence. After gathering the pieces that she liked the most, she took a few steps toward the dressing room, and there he was. Swallowing her surprise, she tried to recover her cool, but already felt too imbalanced for her liking. "Why are you here?"
"I thought I could help," he answered, looking strangely at ease at a place where he definitely didn't seem to belong.
"I think you've crossed the line."
"Which line? I'm not interfering with your work, not asking you to do anything you wouldn't normally do. You should be thrilled, I'm following the rules."
"Bending them."
"Not breaking," he answered, sitting on a chair in front of the dressing rooms.
When he held out his hand, she scoffed, "What?"
"I'll hold your bag."
Her look was a mix of horror and complete shock, like she was searching for some response but couldn't focus enough to determine what sort of answer she wanted to give.
"I've done this before," he explained, "I have actually dated women. Go try stuff on, then come show me."
She weighed the thought for a second. "You just want to look through my stuff," she accused, holding her purse closer to her body and watching him gaze admiringly before she retreated into the dressing room.
Once she emerged from the dressing room, he scrutinized, taking plenty of time before he commented, "I don't like that one."
"Why?"
"I thought hiding your hips was impossible, but clearly it's not."
She turned, looking in the mirror and finally admitting, "I don't really like it either."
"I know. Try something else."
Returning a few minutes later in a more form-flattering outfit, he approved silently.
"You like this one better?" she asked. "I love this one."
He signaled for her to turn around and she did, examining her own image in the mirror, stopping only when she saw him in the reflection. With a steady approach, he stood behind her, only an inch or two away. "It's nice, for work."
"That's what it's for."
"The girls show themselves off no matter what you wear, but you never wear anything that shows your back. Something that starts here," he signaled with his fingers and demonstrated the shape over the clothing she wore. "And is cut down like this," he continued to explain.
She could feel her pulse in her neck and knew that he could sense the strength of her reaction. "Backless isn't really work attire," she said through a gradually steadied voice. "Maybe if you went to more fundraisers or awards ceremonies…or even some of the nicer conferences, you'd see those dresses. You don't go to those sorts of things."
"I saw you wear a dress like that once…it was long, but had a slit cut up the side, so it almost looked appropriate until you walked," his hand drifted to her leg, the tip of his middle finger tracing the height of the slit as it was in his memory. "I think it was about this high," he said to her in the mirror.
Another moment of thought tried to cross her mind but she was becoming caught up, "I think it was higher," she answered, her smaller hand covering his and guiding him to the appropriate height.
"You might be right about that," he answered so closely that she could feel his breath on her neck.
"Did that dress gather at the hip here?" she asked, taking his other hand and bringing it to the correct spot. "House?" she pried after a minute when she noticed he wasn't answering.
His eyes certainly weren't apologetic or displeased, but he was busy indulging in the moment. He wasn't even cognizant enough to decide if he was upset that she was outplaying his current hand.
A saleswoman approached from the side, clearing her throat, "Need any help, ma'am?"
Cuddy answered, distractedly, "No, I'm fine, thanks."
After the saleswoman left, House leaned down, his face near Cuddy's, and whispered, "I know you're turned on right now, you can't deny it. We're standing here in this pretentious store, fully clothed, hands in relatively appropriate places, and you're already thinking about the things I could do to your less appropriate places. Admit it."
She turned around, breaking away from his hands, "Dream on, House. I'll admit, it's not unpleasant, but-"
"OK," he answered with great acceptance before he limped right out the door.
The sudden lack of him echoed everywhere she went. In the clinic, her arrival the next morning, as she walked beneath the balcony, he was missing everywhere. Even when she saw him, he wasn't interested in the way he had been. It was as if he'd suddenly disconnected their connection.
A few days later, she called him into her office, "I approved the experimental treatment you want to use."
"Great," he answered immediately. "You couldn't call to tell me that?"
"I have a favor to ask."
"Not feeling favorish today."
"You don't even want to hear me out?"
"What is it?"
"I have an awards dinner next week. Any chance you want to go dress shopping? I need someone to hold my purse and evaluate."
He stared ahead, and she couldn't tell if he was angry, indifferent or deep in thought. "No thanks," he finally answered.
"OK," she replied, sadly. "Just…thought I'd ask."
As he was leaving, he stopped to explain, "After a while, one-sided attraction gets boring. Even if you don't act on it, it's better when both parties are involved. But when just one person is interested, it's like playing tug-of-war alone or, better yet, strip poker. I'm sitting here with pocket aces, wearing only my boxers, holding a rope…that's not so thrilling. Once I found out it wasn't mutual, it stopped being fun. If I want to be the only one turned on, I'll grab some porn."
"It's not like that."
"Don't get me wrong, I'll enjoy the view if it's there, but I'm done chasing you around to get it. I'll pass on the invite."
She could hear the blinds shaking against the windows when he closed the door, and she tightened her eyes with frustration while she tried to decide how suddenly she was the one who was doing the pursuing. This problem lingered somewhere in her thoughts for nearly the entire day, not always at the forefront, but always nagging somewhere in her mind.
House didn't leave until nearly ten that night. When he approached his car, Cuddy was there, waiting. She wasn't wearing the clothes that she knew tempted him, she had on jeans and a sweater, and leaned against his car, reading. "I was hoping you were going home tonight," she said as she placed her book on the hood.
"I'm used to being punished for the stuff I do intentionally. Who knew that a hard-on while in a coma was going to cause me this much trouble."
"It was three…not one. But I'm not here to talk about that."
"What do you need?"
"I lied in the store the other day."
"I know."
"You could tell?"
"You were turned on, it was obvious. And it wasn't the first time."
She took two steps closer, her teeth pinching her lower lip, "If you knew it was true, why'd you leave?"
"Because I'm not going to beg you to admit it. Obviously the thought of confessing an attraction to me was something that made you very uncomfortable. Half the fucking hospital probably heard that I was pitching tents in my sleep for you, but you can't even admit to me, privately, that I make you hot?"
"I was playing, teasing, it was all part of this game, and then you ran off in the middle of a hand."
"Everyone already saw my cards and you wouldn't even let me peek at yours."
"I thought you were peeking at mine. I thought that's what we were doing."
House looked away, staring into his car, "Do you need anything else or can I go?"
"I need something else," she answered, stepping even closer and whispering, "I'm so unbelievably frustrated. I wanted you every time I saw you watching me, and I was definitely contemplating having sex with you in a dressing room, and that was a pretty public place. Even if I probably wouldn't have followed through, it's impressive that you were making me think about it. But you're difficult, and I thought that if I admitted that I wanted you, you'd disappear. I thought maybe you just wanted the upper hand again."
She took his wrist, turning him so he leaned against the concrete wall in a darkened corner. Cuddy grabbed his face between both of her hands and kissed him, quickly but decisively making the move to prove her interest. The kiss lasted a few seconds at most, her full lips zinging a reaction through him. Her eyes seemed to expect rejection, but his hands wrapped around her narrow waist and steadily pulled her closer. Once she was leaning against him, his hands ventured lower, slipping into the pockets at the back of her jeans while he also seemed to anticipate a rejection. "Want to get outta here," she offered, "unless you aren't attracted to me anymore."
"I didn't say I wasn't attracted," he said with a slight groan as he felt her moving against him, "I said I wasn't going to chase you."
"Come home with me."
"My place."
"Sure," she agreed, "I'll drive."
He watched her as she drove, both enjoying the moment of anticipation and hoping the wait would soon be over. Neither of them spoke, it seemed pointless to discuss the weather, movies or the status of his latest patient. They didn't care about that at the time. Lightening crackled against the sky, occasionally flashing so brightly that Cuddy would squint from the light. Fat raindrops slapped and splattered against the windshield just as they pulled up to his apartment. They hurried in as best as they could while the downpour pelted at them.
Flipping the light switch as soon as they got inside, he realized what he should have noticed before, the power was out. A dim safety light illuminated the hallway, but once the door to his apartment was closed, everything was pitch black. Even the streetlights that usually cast a subtle glow through each of his windows offered no assistance. "I have a…candle or flashlight," he mumbled as he reached for his shelves, but she kept him from his task.
Without a word, her hands slid up his chest and onto his shoulders where the fabric was wet from rain. He felt her fingers freeing each button on his shirt until she could push it off of his body. She pulled at his tee shirt as she began to step backwards down the hall. When she finally spoke, she suggested, "I think we can find our way around without any light, don't you?"
They didn't dash down the hall, they were disrobing as they went, steadily shedding unwanted coverings from their bodies. An occasional flash of lightening seemed a stunning visual reminder of who they were touching. Each image was available for only a few seconds, burned like a photograph on 35mm film lit by a flashbulb. He stepped her back until her legs hit the bed, and she seemed to flutter into the sheets, pulling him with her. Their hands moved, seeing what their eyes could not. For days they'd watched each other, taunted, visually promised things that left the other with a hollow, desperate ache, but as they explored each other on his bed, they could see nothing except those momentary snapshots allowed by the lightening. And they could feel everything.
He used his fingertips to build the vision of her in his mind, and he could hear every tiny, seemingly insignificant noise she made. He could hear her skin move on the sheets, her breaths, her sighs and moans, each little sound that came from her. His hands held her down against the bed, pushing against her ribcage to keep her still. As soon as he let go, his hands scooped her thighs up and over his shoulders, and his mouth covered her sex. There was no building of anticipation because all he wanted to do was be there, to taste her, to make her glad she'd wanted him. She sighed out an extended, "Oh god," when he first slid between her thighs and his tongue glided through her wet folds, his lips surrounding her clit.
He felt her back arch and loved the way she tilted her body toward him because she wanted more. Her nails dug into the back of his head as she gasped approvals. For a moment, she began to pull away, but his arms locked her legs in place around his neck because he couldn't even comprehend stopping at that point. The wet, silky feeling of her in his mouth as his tongue slid hungrily against her met a need that he had long tried to suppress. There was a flash of lightening, his eyes darting up her body, drinking in a vision of her that lasted less than a second. Her back was arched, the light casting the shadows of a perfectly curved body. Her mouth was open, eyes squinted shut, her one hand sliding down her own neck, the other still on the back of his head because the pleasure had become so intense that she couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to move away or obliterate the existence of space between them.
That vision, that one tiny glimpse of her immediately before orgasm, sent arousal surging to his already rampant erection. When she came, he could feel the way her entire body was consumed, her voice was both shaky and strong, her reactions completely uncontrolled.
The moment that she had power over her muscles again, she rolled him over, gasping as she guided their union. She was still stimulated from her orgasm, her body tight and quivering in a way that captivated his every thought and made him exist only right there.
Cuddy languidly rode him, her hair tickling along his skin when she leaned forward to kiss him. "You couldn't tell me that you wanted me?"
"Nope," he began, groaning when she stubbornly stopped moving.
"Tell me you want me," she asked, pulsing her muscles around him, but otherwise unmoving.
"Isn't that obvious?"
He felt her shrug disappointedly as she answered, "Forget it."
She started to move again, just as sexy and beautiful, even in the dark, as she'd been in all of his fantasies. She was startled when he suddenly rolled her under him. "I want you," he growled, pinning her hands at her sides before he plunged deeply inside her.
"I want you," she answered as they shared a few breaths without moving, momentarily allowing their desire to exist in the open.
The pause ended when their bodies complained too loudly, each, at times, fighting for control until fighting for it seemed to get in the way. With wordless agreement they started to collaborate, each of them finding a rhythm that seemed so natural that it was almost too easy to fall into. Her desire met his, her body responding erotically to each thrust, pivot and touch in a way that made him feel more wanted than he had ever felt. He came in a powerfully consuming moment that resulted from the culmination of a fantasy that had gone unanswered for too long.
They rested quietly against each other with gratefully deep breaths and heavy bodies until Cuddy noticed, "Power's back on."
There were a few uncomfortable seconds where they both seemed to realize the extent to which they were exposed. They were on top of his bed, completely naked and utterly vulnerable since the covers and one pillow were pushed onto the floor. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she was bracing herself for whatever he was going to say. "I can't believe you didn't just hop on that while I was out."
"What?" she laughed softly.
"When I was in a coma, you didn't just kick everyone out and have your way with me."
"Because every woman's dream is a man that won't move?"
"Unconscious men are less difficult."
She tightened her arm around him, "I like difficult."
He inhaled deeply and finally answered, "Me too. But I'm going to remember you said that."
"Got revenge on my team," House told Wilson in the hospital lobby while they waited for the elevator the next day.
"What did you do?"
"Didn't some dead English guy once say that 'living well is the best revenge'?"
"I've heard that," Wilson admitted, "but that's not really your style."
"For the most part, it's complete crap, but if the revenge fits."
"Just tell me what you did."
"Hey Wilson," Cuddy said as she approached, greeting him before she turned to House with a look that was supposed to seem casual, "Good morning."
"Good morning," House answered, flashing something that seemed scandalously close to a smile.
"Can we meet later to discuss the…thing we need to discuss."
"Sure. Six?"
"Six is good," she nodded slowly a few times, holding his gaze for a few extra seconds before she turned her focus back to Wilson. "Everything OK up in oncology?"
"Fine," Wilson replied as he continued to study the behavior of his two friends.
"Great. I have to go, I have a meeting with HR," she explained. Just before she walked away, she arched an eyebrow at House, "See ya."
"See ya," House answered, watching her walk away until an elbow jabbed at his side to get his attention.
Wilson gestured toward the open elevator, asking in a panicky voice, "Is she…is she what you did?"
House feigned a look of outrage that morphed into something more satisfied as he stepped on the elevator, "You're reading a lot into 'see ya.' She's helping me with my ongoing pursuit of revenge."
-The End-
"Living well is the best revenge." -George Herbert