It wasn't sexual, what they did. It was and had been many things since it had started, but it had never been about sex. It had been curious, angry, comforting, funny, and they had managed sensual a few times, but it had never been sexual. Most people would find that strange; most people would find even doing it strange. Cuddy had the first few times as well, but she didn't find it odd that it wasn't sexual between them. House had explained very little to her about his motivations, and she had explained nothing to him about hers. The most of it was simply understood, and that was part of the beauty of it. If they had discussed it that would have become awkward, much like it was the first time, which had been an accident. It hadn't been about sex that time either.
It had been about a headache and about frustration and about the fact that it was a little past midnight and Cuddy still couldn't get her budget report to balance and it was almost definitely House's fault. The knot in the pit of her stomach wasn't the good kind one feels when they're aroused, but Cuddy figured that pretending it was might make it go away anyhow. Besides, her eyes were starting to cross from looking at numbers and Excel for too long, and when she got this tense she had a habit of wearing her shoulders for earrings, which she's obviously been doing if the tension headache she was getting was any indication. After switching her web browser to InPrivate surfing, Cuddy pulled up a few of her standby sites: one with original erotic stories, some adult fan fiction, and another with free lesbian video clips.
She liked the original stories because she could create the characters and settings in her mind, and the fan fiction was great because there was no way Aragorn and Legolas had gotten it on or were ever going to get it on, but reading about what they'd probably done while they were hanging around waiting for death at Helm's Deep was almost as good as having watched it. Still, nothing beat watching a bored, unsatisfied housewife find a way to pay the cleaning lady anyway after discovering her husband had taken the checkbook. Cuddy occasionally marveled at the convenience of masturbation, and this was one of those times. While it paled in some ways when compared to partner sex, it definitely had its advantages. No partner to worry about pleasing or teaching how to please her, no relationship to maintain, no foreplay, and honestly, who knew what she liked better than her? With the proper motivation, she had the job done in under three minutes, head clear, muscles relaxed, headache gone and House standing at the door. Wait. House standing at the door?!?!?!?!
He'd left. She had seen him leave. She had run out herself to grab a quick salad from the deli down the street and he'd been getting on his bike and leaving. What she did not know was he was just dashing out to grab a burger from Garden of Eatin' and then, like her, he'd come back. But he obviously hadn't seen anything. Even House wouldn't be able to hide his reaction if he'd just watched his boss shove a hand up her skirt and get herself off watching lesbian porn. His expression was far too even to have seen it.
She got up and unlocked the door, making sure her skirt was back down where it belonged as she stood. When she worked this late, she never kept her office door unlocked, because there were worse people than House that may want to invite themselves in when they didn't think anyone was around, and by the time security got up to her office (assuming, of course, they were even watching the monitors and not sharing fries with House), it would be all over but the crying. She opened the door and House made a move to step into her office, but she leaned against the door frame, making it clear that she didn't want to get into a discussion with him.
"Yes?" she prompted.
"I just got your email, and you know what? You'd be about the last person I'd expect to get an email from, here, at midnight on a Friday night when everyone else is out partying, or home with their significant others. Forgoing all those comforts to do the budget report, I mean, that's dedication right there."
"You're an ass. What do you want."
"I don't have my expense reports from last month. Or any other month, for that matter."
"Then who does? Cameron?"
"Well, if she did, I'd be surprised, considering they were never submitted. They were never even created."
Cuddy stood there envisioning at least three novel ways to murder House and hide the body by morning that she hadn't previously fantasized about. Without his expense reports, hers was never going to balance, and the Budget Committee would just love that. "So what am I supposed to do, House? The committee is going to wonder exactly what you did with $3,122 dollars last month. They're a little funny that way."
House huffed, unaffected. "I dunno. Make something up. Always works for me."
Cuddy turned and headed back to her desk, with House right behind her. She turned on him venomously. "House, get out of here. Your blood is going to be nearly impossible to get out of this carpet before the janitor comes in to vacuum."
"So wound up, Cuddy. And I don't see why, considering…" The hand gesture he made caused the blood to drain from Cuddy's face. "Oh come on. Don't be embarrassed," he continued, still ridiculing. "Everyone does it. In fact, where do you think I was when your email came in? If I'd have known, I'd have sure been up here a lot sooner discussing those facts and fingers…uh…figures."
"House…just…please. I was…I had a headache and…" As though there was anything she could say that would make this situation less uncomfortable.
"What were you looking at?" House peered over her computer monitor curiously. "Oooo…I'd have never guessed." He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "So, you're into girls then?"
There was no dealing with House when he got like this about anything, only appeasing him. Cuddy couldn't even come up with a plan of attack for dealing with him when he got like this about this, because it had obviously never happened before. Appeasing him worked in other situations, and it was looking like her best bet now. "If I tell you, will you leave?"
He cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "That would depend on your answer, I suppose. But it's possible."
Cuddy took a deep breath and tried to center herself. "No. I don't like girls. Now leave."
"See, now I can't leave. Because if you don't like girls, that obviously creates a paradox because you were watching lesbian porn. So, either you're lying, or there's some other reason you were watching what you were watching, and you know how I am about things that don't make sense. By the way, would you mind emailing me that link?"
"Fine." Of all the people in the world, she knew best how House got about puzzles. She had to concede. "But then you're leaving, even if I have to call security to persuade you to do it."
House cradled his chin in his hand and leaned forward. "Go on. Inquiring minds want to know."
"When I watch women together, it's more of a turn on because it's easier to relate to what they're feeling. And lesbian porn is usually less…theatric…than straight porn." She could feel her cheeks burning. "Happy now?"
"Happier. Just wondering if –"
"House! Get out of here!"
"Not until I know if you saw me standing there." He spat the sentence out as a child asks for a piece of candy he knows he's not going to get, so the act of asking is the only bit of control he has left over the situation.
"I was a little busy."
"Damn. I'd hoped that's why you got off so fast. Some people like to be watched, you know."
"Well, I'm not one of them."
"Damn again. Because I'd really love to watch you." There was something strange in House's voice. He wasn't jibing or ridiculing anymore, he was…sincere?
"Just get out of here."
House turned with a flourish. "If you change your mind just, you know, send me an email or something, OK?" The smirk was back in his voice and the door closed. Cuddy was sure then she'd misinterpreted what he'd said. She was just tired, embarrassed. He couldn't have meant that, could he? They bantered like this all the time, after all, and neither of them ever meant all those innuendos and double entendres. This was just one more.
"House!"
He turned and re-opened the door a crack, peeking his head back in.
"Not a word. Please?"
"Who would believe me?" He smiled softly and closed the door again.
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It had been a week. Cuddy had appealed to the Budget Committee for an extension, which they had been loath to give. She'd asked for two weeks. They'd granted her one and she considered herself lucky to have even that as she sat at her computer putting the finishing touches on her largely-falsified budget report. It was past one in the morning. Before Cuddy turned her computer off, she glanced up at the door. The disappointment she felt when she saw no one standing there took her by surprise.
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It had been a month. House had said nothing to her and she'd heard nothing from anyone else. There'd been no half concealed barbs in the lounge, no snickers behind hands, no heavy silences when she'd walked into a room.
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Cuddy couldn't remember when it had first happened, but it never failed. On those nights when she was distracted and her thoughts wandered, when her mind flashed from one former lover to another to the lovers she wished she had, all without success, the thought of House's eyes on her was what got her off every time. She didn't let it bother her; after all, it was just a fantasy.
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It had been seven weeks and three days. The discussion had been awkward but necessary, and House had been strangely agreeable and willing to compromise. Cuddy hung her purse on the coat tree just inside House's door. House was in the kitchen, making himself a drink.
"Do you want anything?" he asked without looking at her. The ease of his manner made her even more nervous.
"What are you having?"
"Bourbon. What else would I be having?"
"That's fine. No ice though."
House reached up into the cabinet and pulled down a second highball glass. He filled it a quarter of the way full and turned around to show it to her. It was the first time she'd seen his face tonight. "Little more." He poured another splash of liquor into the glass and looked again for her approval. She nodded and reached out her hand. He placed the glass into it and she took a sip, squinting slightly at the taste. She'd forgotten how much hard liquor burned. He sat down in the recliner and motioned for her to sit as well. She hadn't realized she was still standing.
She took another sip. "I'm surprised you're not paying someone for this."
House crossed his legs and leaned back, the picture of nonchalance and refinement. "Wouldn't be the same. Besides, I exaggerate."
"What do you mean?" Cuddy unconsciously mimicked his posture.
"To which?"
"Both."
"It would be too – what was the word you used? Theatric. And I really don't…pay…that much."
"Don't need to?" It was too obvious a quip to let it go.
House shrugged. "Don't need it." Cuddy cocked her head and one eyebrow in disbelief. "You see how many pills I take. You're a doctor. Figure it out." House didn't see a need to explain to her (at least not right now) about how sex to him was more of a bodily function than anything he felt a need to make a priority in his life, and as long as he still had the use of his hands that was just fine by him. He didn't go into the gory details of what heavy, long term opiate use does to one's sexual function and how even masturbating was more work than it was worth most times. He'd never confess to her that he'd been without human connection and contact for so long he'd forgotten how to miss it. All of that was more words than this arrangement needed.
"Wilson told me once that he's come over a few times and there's been…" she cut herself off, unable to verbalize it.
"I didn't say I never have. I just said I don't as often as people think I do, and I don't deny the rumors. Hell, I've even fueled them. Started a few myself, too."
"Why?"
"Keeps things interesting. Besides, normal men have sex, so…"
"Not with hookers."
"It beats rumors going around that you never get laid." The subtle smile directed at Cuddy did not go unnoticed by her.
"So you want people to think you're normal?"
"Not too normal. That's why I start all the hooker rumors."
"But they're not all rumors."
"Not all of them, no."
"This isn't normal."
"But yet, you're here. Speaking of, are you…are we…"
Cuddy took another long pull off of her drink, leaving only one more sip in the glass.
"Here?" The open space of the living room made her feel exposed.
"Would you prefer the bedroom?"
"No…I…here's good, I guess." Not in the bedroom. Too intimate.
House leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him.
The last sip of Cuddy's drink didn't last long. "Do you want me to ---" she gestured to indicate her clothing.
"However you're most comfortable." They both smiled at the irony.
"I can't believe I'm doing this."
"I can't believe you are either." Over the last 20 years, Cuddy had heard House's voice reflect many emotions. She'd never heard awe before tonight.
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She'd masturbated in front of a man before, a few times, actually, but it had always been a part of sex. A man had never sat there, fully dressed, watching with an expression somewhere between curiosity and admiration, and that man had absolutely never been House, nor had she ever predicted in a thousand lifetimes that it ever would be.
She'd finally gotten up the courage to ask him about it, ask him if it was really what he wanted, and he'd admitted it freely with no banter and no pretense. She'd approached him out of curiosity and because she couldn't get the fantasy out her head. She'd done it as much for herself as for him, and he'd asked very little of her, almost nothing, really. All he wanted was to watch. He'd promised not to touch her and he hadn't, except when he'd squeezed her arm and thanked her as he walked her to the door. He'd sworn he wouldn't make any lewd or degrading remarks, and he hadn't. He hadn't even said a word. They had agreed that she didn't need to get undressed at all if she didn't want to, so she'd left her clothes on except for her underwear, and those she'd removed out of necessity alone.
It had taken her longer than she thought it would. It had to have been a good half hour before she was able to let go and let it happen, but House had seemed content to wait. Cuddy didn't think he'd watched so much as he'd observed. She was sure he'd noticed every emotion she'd passed through as nervousness gave way to curiosity, curiosity became exhibitionism which became arousal which lead, by default, to release.
Afterward she'd felt defenseless and had tried to apologize for being so inhibited and for not letting him see more of what he probably wanted to see but he wouldn't let her. He'd cut her off and said only that she'd done perfectly and then he'd called her amazing…absolutely amazing.
House had upheld his end of the bargain like a perfect gentlemen and that, in itself, had laid many of Cuddy's concerns to rest. The second time was much easier.
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Though neither of them admitted it – in truth, they never really discussed it – it had, in many ways, become more intimate to them than sex. Sex was always done together. Instead, they were experiencing something together that was almost always done in private.
After the nerves wore off, it had become a thrill. Cuddy wanted to see if she could get House to break, to make him want to touch her despite his promises that he wouldn't, or to touch himself. She knew very well she had no idea what she'd do if she succeeded in either endeavor, but that knowledge didn't stop her from trying; in fact, it gave her more motivation to try harder. House, however, had chastised her when she'd tried to show off too much. He'd told her if he wanted a show, he'd pay someone for one and was more than a little upset to have to even mention it because they'd had that discussion already. Cuddy was a little confused, a bit embarrassed, but after some thought she was mostly relieved. She'd actually started to enjoy the evening every week or so she'd spend at his apartment, and was grateful that he wanted her to as well, rather than wanting her to do it solely for him.
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Every now and then Cuddy cursed herself for informing House about her fertility treatments. He'd kept track of her menstrual cycle and knew the exact day when her hormones would have her climbing the walls with desire. Of course she ended up at his apartment that night. It was also that night she discovered the down side of their arrangement.
"I've been thinking about this all day." She was practically salivating as she stripped her clothes off and sat down.
"Obviously," House confirmed as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch.
"You weren't?" she spiked right back at him, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Of course I was. I have a calendar too you know."
"You're a real…oh god…bastard."
"You know, that insult loses a lot of its heat when you moan it out." House leaned back against the arm of the couch, and Cuddy could swear she could physically feel his eyes on her. "God that looks like it feels good." No matter how many times he watched her, his voice never lost that edge of amazement.
"It does…oh… yeah it does. You have no idea."
"No, but I wish I did. They say a woman's clitoris has something like a hundred times more nerve endings than a man's entire penis."
"House…don't…with the medical stuff." Cuddy was almost panting.
"Sorry. I just mean, if my hand felt as good on me as yours apparently feels on you…. Hey, is it true that women get more sensitive when they're ovulating?"
Cuddy whined in a mix of exasperation and pleasure. There was no situation in which House would cease to be House. "What do you ah…think…I just wanna get off so bad."
"Don't let me stop you," House muttered, mesmerized.
"I was hoping you'd…help me."
"What?"
"Touch me. I want you to touch me." Even Cuddy knew it was all hormones doing it to her, she just wanted the contact so badly.
"I…I promised."
"I'm asking you to. House please…m'so close. Just let me finish in your hand."
"Can't…I can't."
"Yes you….oh…" Cuddy let her head fall back against the couch cushion. "You've watched me enough to…oh my fucking god…know how I like it."
"Cuddy…I can't." House sat up straight to watch more closely. "But I'm right here. Don't hold back. Let me see you come."
"House…"
"Right here, right next to you. Wow…that's gotta be good…show me how good it feels."
With two hard gasps and a moan that made the walls reverberate, she did. House was transfixed the entire time. She opened her eyes and turned her head, her eyes capturing his. "Damn," she murmured offhandedly as she pulled the throw from the back of the couch around her shoulders.
"You can say that again," House smiled.
"Why wouldn't you…before?" Cuddy tried to sound casual and merely curious later as she pulled her blazer back on.
"You don't really want me to."
"Really? News to me."
"Cuddy, if I…"
She interrupted him brashly, the first trapping of anger stirring at the base of her spine. "So, it's like this? You've seen me naked once or twice a week for the last how many months, you've watched me get myself off, and if you don't remember we've actually had sex before, but if you touch me now, it turns into something entirely different?"
"Exactly." House's voice was even and reasonable, robbing Cuddy of all her anger.
"Gregory House, I will never understand you," she said as she opened the door to the hallway.
"No, you probably won't."
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It was the first time it had happened at her place. He'd kissed her through the tears of a heartbroken would-be mother, and then turned toward her bedroom. Without even kicking his shoes off he'd gingerly sat down on her bed, as though if he moved too much she'd realize he was there. He'd sat with his back against the headboard and held his hand out to her. She didn't take it at first and when her hand finally touched his, it felt forbidden and took all her strength with it. Cuddy allowed herself to be settled between his thighs, her back pressed against his chest, his body so familiar to her but at the same time so alien, the heat and the scent of leather and man so out of place in this room.
House brushed her sweaty and tear-soaked hair off her forehead and neck and wrapped his arm around her waist. "OK…It's OK," he repeated softly in her ear, over and over, like an incantation. "I've got you."
It was the first and only time he ever touched her. He never told her, of course, but he felt guilty for weeks for breaking his promise.
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Cuddy had always wondered how a man with a cane and a limp could move so gracefully that he could be sitting down for lunch with her before she was even aware of his presence.
"What's with all the makeup?"
"It's called sleep deprivation. Not all of us can grab a nap in the clinic whenever we want. Or in Wilson's office. Or in your office. Or our cars. Or…do you see where I'm going with this?"
"Yeah, I see. It's called lying. Or fibbing. Or not telling the truth. Or bullshitting. Do you see where I'm going with this? What's with all the makeup?"
"Fine, House. If you really must know, I have a date tonight. Dinner at 7:00 at Del Ray's and then Faust, I assume you can find out where it's being played....since you're going to show up there anyway."
"I am most certainly not going to show up there. What kind of man do you think I am?"
"The jealous kind who stalks me and then ruins my dates."
"Cuddy, you wound me."
"I don't belong to you, House."
"I never said you did."
"You don't have to. It's written all over your face."
"Oh, you mean when you're naked on my couch? That's not jealousy, Cuddy."
"Fine, then prove it. Leave me alone tonight, and nothing changes between us. It's just a date. I'm not with him. I wanted to see the play."
"Fine. I never insinuated anything else. That was all you."
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There are certain things a woman never tells a man. She never tells him he's wearing too much cologne, or that his hair is beginning to thin. She never tells him how many men she's been with, or at least she never tells him the truth. She never tells him how much she makes, especially if it's more than him, or that she drives a nicer car than he does. She never tells him his penis is anything other than huge or that she's had better.
And she never, ever, under any circumstances tells him she was thinking about someone else while she was in bed with him. She never tells him that it wasn't his tongue that made her moan and scream and grip futile handfuls of her satin sheets; instead it was the analytical icy blue eyes staring at her through the window.
