Title: The One Where They're Girls and Foreman Finally Gets Used to the Fact
Pairing: House/Foreman, slight House/Wilson (girl!House, girl!Wilson, and girl!Foreman)
Rating: R/NC-17
Author: Culumacilinte
Warnings: Crack and genderfuck abound- I blame thedeadparrot, brilliant person that she is.
Disclaimer: House MD belongs entirely to David Shore, etc, etc, and the dear Messrs. House and Foreman to the brilliant Hugh Laurie and Omar Epps, respectively. I own nothing, and am getting no money from the writing of this fic, only my own sick satisfaction. Additionally, the AU genderfuck universe that I am writing in belongs to thedeadparrot, who started it.
Summary: House notices that Foreman has not been taking advantage of his sudden gender switch as the others have, and decides that this needs to be remedied.
One of the most entertaining things about the entire hospital having switched genders (besides his own breasts and pussy, the entertainment value of which House thought would never grow old) was simply getting to see how everyone looked as the opposite sex. It was one of those things, House figured, that you subconsciously wondered about, but never really gave any thought to until it actually happened. Which, of course, in a normal world, would never have occurred, but then, Princeton-Plainsborough had never existed in a normal world.
House himself looked rather as one might have expected, which he found strangely disappointing. He had lost a few inches, but then, who had ever heard of a six-foot-two woman? His craggy features had softened and smoothed, and his gauntness had been transformed into something he might have called willowy, had he been the sort of man to use words like 'willowy.' His breasts were of moderate size, as suited his thin frame, his hips narrow, and his legs muscular and deliciously long, just as they had been when he had been when he was a man. Now though, he could show them off with skirts rather shorter than was strictly allowed, and even with his limp, he could feel the stares as he walked down the corridor. The only thing which was really surprising was his hair; it had remained the same colour- a sort of chestnut brown shot with grey, which he had never really cared for- but now it fell in wild curls below his shoulders, untamable and (he thought) rather beautiful.
Wilson was a babe. There was no other word for it; he too was shorter than he had been, but he had curves any woman would kill for. Breasts full and round, a soft, slender waist, and shapely hips leading into legs which the eye could not help but follow. His skin had softened as well, and his shrewd brown eyes were now doe-huge, with lashes any model would envy. His hair was smooth and silky, falling in a shining bob several inches below his ears, with a side-swept fringe across the forehead.
Cameron rather amused House in her appearance as a man; she had grown some, but she was still short for a man, and rather weedy at that. Slim, if he was being polite. However, her feminine softness had given way to rather appealing planes and angles, awkward though she was in them. Her hair, which was darker than it had been, was overlong, and fell into her eyes, giving her the look of a self-styled 'emo' boy, something which House constantly teased her about.
Chase was a porn star; tall and slender with obnoxiously perky breasts and cheekbones that could cut glass. His lips were a perfect pink, pouty moue, and his eyes with their improbably dark lashes were a bright, clear aqua-blue. However, probably his most noticeable feature was his hair; a waterfall of shimmering gold cascading over his shoulders and halfway down his back. It was smooth and sleek and straighter than any flat-iron could ever have achieved, and it danced as Chase walked.
Cuddy was suitably manly and handsome, with thick, dark hair that she oiled back from a face which, though it retained some of her old angularity, had broadened and filled out. Her jaw was strong and square, and marred with the slight blue tinge of not-quite-shaven stubble. Cuddy was very tall indeed, and muscular to boot; where those magnificent breasts had once been, she now had a pair of impressive pecs, and whenever she crossed her arms, her biceps strained against the fabric of her shirt. She seemed the least phased of all of them by this sudden change, and looked suspiciously comfortable in her man's body, as though the authority she had always had was now encapsulated by her body as well as her mind.
But Foreman… Foreman was House's favourite. He looked like an African goddess; he was still bald, but the delicate curvature of his skull, and the huge dark eyes and fine cheekbones made it beautiful. He was almost as tall as he had been, and now had a body that positively begged for stares. His breasts were full and firm, and his ass… goddamn, it couldn't even justifiably be called an ass- it was unabashedly a booty, and it seemed to defy gravity. The way his thighs filled the figure-hugging pants he wore was utterly distracting, and the curve of his calves in the come-fuck-me heels he wore was enough to make anyone drool.
But, despite the clothes Foreman wore, and the unbelievable sexiness he had as a woman, he was- as far as House knew- the only one of the entire staff who hadn't taken advantage of his new anatomy. And that, as far as House was concerned, was a veritable crime, one which must be remedied as soon as possible. So, in a spirit of nobility and selflessness, he decided to take it upon himself to do so.
"Hey, Foreman." He sidled up to him the next day as Foreman was scanning a couple of x-rays. The other man didn't even bother looking up, but his voice was irritated as he answered.
"Fuck off, House." Foreman's new voice was a contralto purr that sent shivers all through House's body, and he favoured the other man (woman?) with the sort of smile that never failed to make Wilson weak at the knees. He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, the first part of that sounds good, but I don't know about the 'off'."
Foreman looked up, exasperated. "Is that what this is about? Christ, House!" He threw the x-rays down onto the table, irritated, "Does everyone in the hospital think that this is somehow an invitation to stop working and just fuck all the time?"
House shrugged, looking down at his own breasts. "With these, why not?" He transferred his gaze to Foreman's rather more ample chest then, smirking. "And with those… definitely."
To House's infinite delight, Foreman actually blushed at this, those delicate cheekbones colouring in a way which was absolutely enticing. He grinned, and saw Foreman flush yet more. "Why, Eric…" he purred, "that female libido not quite as easy to control as you'd thought, mm?"
Foreman arched one sculpted eyebrow contemptuously. "And what would you know about controlling your libido, House? From what I've heard, you've slept with half the staff since this whole fiasco."
"Oh, not quite half," said House thoughtfully, "After all- I haven't slept with you yet."
He favoured Foreman with a dazzling smile, and the other man looked down, his irritation plain. "I said, fuck off," Foreman growled again, and House laughed outright, tossing his hair over one shoulder.
"And what if I don't want to?" He asked, his voice teasing, leaning over so that his blouse gaped and he was sure Foreman would get an eyeful (he wasn't wearing a bra today).
If Foreman noticed House's blatant flirtation- and House was sure he did- he gave no sign, save for a slightly awkward shift of his feet, the heels squeaking slightly against the floor. Gazing at House steadily, in a way which had that delicious sherbet warmth twisting in House's abdomen, he said nothing, but looked down once again and shuffled the x-rays he had been examining into a neat pile.
"See you, House," he said, and walked off. House watched him go with no little appreciation, for that ass of his was truly a magnificent thing, before shouting after him.
"Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave, Foreman!"
There were scattered sniggers from a few of the staff as Foreman left, and House smirked after him as he pivoted on his heel to go. However, he didn't get far, as almost the instant he turned, he collided with James Wilson, who instinctually reached out to keep him from falling. Instead of irritably shrugging off Wilson's hands as he normally would have done, he actually smiled at the other man. Smiled gratefully, at that. It was with some horror that he realised this and pulled back, confused. Must be those damned female hormones; perhaps he was close to getting his period… but no. He shut down that train of thought as fast as ever he could; menstruation in the context of his body was not something he wanted to think about until he absolutely had to.
Wilson gave him an odd look. "What were you doing?"
"Torturing Foreman," answered House promptly, and Wilson raised an eyebrow, those full lips of his curving into a smile. They were a very flattering burgundy color today, House noted, and it seemed only logical to lean in and kiss them. Which he did, with no little relish.
When he pulled back, Wilson looked at him with an expression of pure confusion. "What?" He managed, and House just smirked.
"Nothing, dear." He patted Wilson condescendingly and limped off, putting a little more hip into his walk than was perhaps strictly necessary.
The next time House saw Foreman that day, he slapped his ass.
"House!" Foreman whirled around angrily, "I told you- oh."
He stopped short, staring blankly at House, who had donned a bra and unbuttoned his shirt so far down that it could easily be seen; dark pink, a half-cup confection of lace and silk with enough lift to make House's B-cups look like C's. House was leaning saucily on his cane (and how was it that a cripple was able to make his own cane look saucy? It just shouldn't be allowed, Foreman decided), and he had exchanged his skirt for a pair of very tight jeans, which firmly encased his long, long legs, making them seem to go on forever. House smirked.
"Something to say, Foreman?"
"I-" Foreman floundered for a moment, and then tore his gaze away from House's cleavage with some effort, looking dazed, "Shouldn't you button up your shirt?" He settled on, his gaze now rather frantic.
House shrugged, arching one eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know that it's all that important. After all," he leered, "there's no-one else here, is there?"
Foreman looked about himself, realising rather desperately that the corridor was entirely empty of both staff and patients; it was just he and House. He swallowed hard, feeling a hot rush of arousal wash through him, and tightened his legs ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. It didn't help, now that he was a woman. House smirked at him once again, those blue eyes flicking down to Foreman's breasts, and Foreman looked down himself, his cheeks flushing once again as he saw the small hard points of his nipples poking against the fabric of his shirt. His hands flew up to cover them, grabbing awkwardly at his chest, and House snickered.
"Nice not to have to ask now, isn't it?"
"What?" Foreman's fine brow was twisted in confusion and embarrassment; it was a good look on him, thought House.
"Well, whenever you want a feel of a nice pair of tits- they're right there. No fees to pay, nothin'."
He winked lasciviously at Foreman, who once again felt the blood rush to his cheeks. It must be part and parcel with being a woman, all this blushing; it was a bit ridiculous, really. However, any extended thought on that was cut short by the sudden realisation that his underwear (plain cotton, thank you very much) were feeling rather more wet than was entirely normal, and that heat between his thighs which had flamed into being as soon as he'd seen House throbbed, sweet and slick and more unnerving than anything he'd ever felt.
"Yeah well," he managed, "not everyone has to resort to finding a hooker when they need to get laid."
But, much to his chagrin, House only grinned more dangerously yet, limping over until there were only inches separating them (and only centimetres at bust level). "Exactly, Dr. Foreman," he purred, and then, before Foreman even had a chance to register it, a hand snuck out and pinched one of Foreman's nipples, making him gasp and recoil, even as his breasts, seemingly of their own accord, pushed themselves further into House's touch.
"Why, there we go," said House, with an air of mocking discovery, "And there was no monetary transaction whatsoever. Funny how these things work."
And with that he left, buttoning up his shirt as he went, leaving Foreman to gape after his retreating back.
He kept this up over the course of the next day or so, going out of his way to torment Foreman, to draw him out and tease him as much as he could. And he saw quite clearly that his efforts were not in vain; Foreman began to avoid him, and whenever they were forced to relate personally, House recognized the tightened breathing and dilated pupils which he had become quite intimately familiar with as signs of female arousal.
Not, of course, that House himself was immune to any unfortunate effects of associating too closely with the other doctor; more than once he was forced to take a detour to the ladies' room to take care of himself. He was only thankful that his arousal was much more discreet now that he was a woman, though going to the bathroom for a quick jerk was less easy than it had been. It actually took some effort to bring himself to climax, but the afterglow that stayed with him throughout the day was more than worth it.
Finally though, as he sat across from Foreman at lunch one day, his legs crossed in his very short skirt, one foot bumping against the other man's calf, lazily fellating a pen and making ridiculous bedroom eyes at him, Foreman snapped. Quietly, he stood, glaring with a venom that matched even House at his most acerbic. Forcing a bland smile onto his face, he tilted his head to one side, looking at House.
"Could you accompany me for just a moment, Dr. House? There was something I wanted to ask you about." His voice was even, level, with a feigned pleasantness that set House's skin to tingling.
He leered. "But of course, Dr. Foreman." Two could play this game, after all.
Foreman strode out into the hallway, and House took a moment to appreciate the view; he was magnificent in his fury, his eyes dark and his nostrils flared, full lips set in a thin line, breasts heaving within the clinging top. House followed the other man into an empty diagnostics room, where he whirled around to continue glaring at House.
"What do you want, House?"
"Oh, that's quite simple," said House matter-of-factly, "I want you."
Foreman's mouth fell open ever so slightly, and House licked his lips, savoring the sight. "What?" He asked, his voice light and mocking, "had you not thought of that? Or," he pouted, "did you think I was only teasing? Not good enough for you, Foreman?"
"I-" Foreman stared, not quite comprehending, and House ran a lazy hand through his hair, tossing it just slightly for Foreman's benefit.
"You're insane, you know that." It was not a question, and House very nearly sniggered.
"Fine line between genius and insanity and all that- you know."
They stood for a moment, House lazily running his eyes up and down Foreman's body, and Foreman shaking his head slightly with disbelief, before turning toward the door as if to leave. However, before he could do so, House's cane snapped out, catching him across the chest and pinning him to the wall.
It was always surprising to people how fast House could be, even with his cane, and he took advantage of that now, lunging forward and pressing himself against Foreman. The other man gasped as a hand snaked in between his legs, House's middle finger pressing against his clitoris.
"Fuck!" He hissed, biting down on his lip, but House only pressed harder, sending waves of hot, clenching pleasure spiraling through Foreman's abdomen. House grinned rather breathlessly.
"Like that, do you Foreman?"
"I-oh, fuck- House!"
House raised one eyebrow delicately and looked at Foreman from under lowered lashes, his gaze coquettish. Deliberately, he removed his hand. "Something wrong?"
"Not if you put your hand back where it was a minute ago, no." Foreman's voice was a growl, and the smug expression which flitted across House's countenance at his words would ordinarily have been unbearable, but he had reached such a ridiculously heightened state of arousal that he couldn't care less.
House was fumbling with the button to his pants then, his fingers awkward and rushed as he cursed to himself, until Foreman smirked vaguely and reached down himself to snap open the button. As soon as he had done so, House frantically tore at the fabric and his pants were pooling around his ankles and one of those long hands was shoved down the front of his panties and House's finger was sliding into him and oh fuck that felt good.
"Christ, you're wet," House mumbled, his fingers circling Foreman's clit, and Foreman managed to nod and grunt an affirmative before House did something particularly clever and his head fell back against the wall with a dull 'clunk.'
It was nothing like the build of a male orgasm; concentrated and intense. Instead, the constant, circling touch on his clit seemed to send a veritable ocean of sensation crashing throughout his entire body, waves upon waves of pleasure, by turns unbearably forceful and pleasurably gentle. Experimentally, he clenched the muscles lining the inside of his pussy, and felt a sudden bolt of pleasure tear through him; he let out a strange, breathy noise that was neither a whimper nor a moan, but something in between, and he heard House groan.
"Fuck, Foreman, touch me."
The ragged desperation in House's voice made Foreman's breath catch in his throat and, unthinking, he opened eyes which he hadn't before realised were closed. The sight before him sent another shudder of arousal coursing out through his nerves; House's eyes were bluer than he had ever seen them, half-lidded, pupils dark with wanting; his cheeks were flushed, his chest rising and falling. He was looking directly at Foreman, and hastily, Foreman insinuated a hand under House's skirt, pulling down what felt like silk underwear to touch House in turn.
House was so wet that Foreman's finger slid right up into the hot dampness of his pussy, and the instant he did, House let out a little whimper, and that noise, combined with the pressure of House's finger on Foreman's own clit proved to be too much. The pressure that had been building within him exploded, and his whole body shuddered with it, tremors upon tremors wracking him to his very core until he simply could not stand it and the darkness claimed him.
He must have passed out for an instant, for when he opened his eyes he was on the floor, slumped against the wall, his legs tangled in front of him. His entire body was swimming in a hazy warmth and there was a sort of vague buzzing sensation in his abdomen and between his thighs. So this is what women mean when they talk about afterglow, he thought dimly. However, his muddled, post-coital thoughts were interrupted by a hissed curse from above him and he looked up just in time to see House, his hand moving beneath the hem of his skirt, inhale sharply and then lean heavily on his cane, his whole body slumped. Breathing heavily, he limped over to a chair sitting in the corner and fell into it, his legs splayed out before him.
"You ok?" Foreman could only muster the slightest amount of concern, but it seemed that no more was needed, for House snorted derisively.
"I've just had a fucking amazing orgasm, yeah I'm alright. Christ, I love being a woman." He sighed, tipping his head back and smiling blissfully.
Foreman shook his head. "You have no idea how weird it is hearing you say that."
But House only gave him an evil grin, and, holding up a hand, beckoned with two fingers. "Come here, young Dr. Foreman, and allow me to teach you about the joys of multiple orgasms."
And so he did, and when it came down to it, Foreman realised that House was right after all; being a woman was not all that bad.