Author's note: Okay, so I literally have no idea how to write this honeymoon fic. But there has been an uprising among my readers so I feel obliged. My solution? Totally letting myself off the hook with this "scenes" concept (meaning: I have no actual story plan.) But I thought this first night was kinda cute. Eventually, I suppose they'll have real conversations about adopting Rachel and Cuddy's cold feet and shit like that, but for now just sexyfuntimes.
Walter, who worked the night shift at the Beltway Roadside Inn, rubbed his eyes and blinked.
What stood before him looked like a pair of escapees from a punk rock costume party: A woman—a total MILF, by the way—wearing a soiled and shredded wedding dress and combat boots and a tall guy with a cane in a heavy leather jacket, loosened bowtie, and tuxedo pants.
They were holding hands and seemed to be in obnoxiously good moods.
"Uh, can I help you?" Walter said.
"The honeymoon suite please!" the man demanded, thumping the counter.
"We don't have a honeymoon suite," Walter said, scratching his head. "This is a motel."
"Oh. . .a shame. Well in that case, your finest deluxe penthouse, with a view!"
"We have singles and doubles," Walter said.
"Is there at least turn down service?" the guy continued.
The woman laughed, swatted him.
"House, leave the kid alone," she said.
"Do you want the room or what?" Walter said wearily. He was tired and stoned and all of this merriment was beginning to work his last nerve.
"I assume you accept Platinum American Express reward points?" House said.
Walter shrugged.
"No. . .just cash and regular credit cards."
"He's kidding," the woman said, giving House a tight hug. "Always."
House looked down at her adoringly.
"Not always," he said.
They kissed—a "get a room" kind of kiss. Which, of course, was exactly what they were doing.
"How many nights?" Walter said, impatiently.
"Lovey, should we summer here the whole month?" House said, in an affected British accent.
"One night," the MILF said to Walter. "And we'll take a double."
"Also, we'll need a wakeup call tomorrow morning," House added.
"What time?" Walter said.
House looked up, surprised.
"Wait. You actually do wake-up calls?"
"Yeah. It's an automated system," Walter said.
"Nevermind then. We are vagabonds, living off the road, without a plan in sight. Wakeup calls are for insurance salesmen, corporate drones, and other tools of The Man."
Walter nodded. At last, a point of agreement.
"Right on, bro," he said, and made the rock and roll devil horn sign.
House made it in return and they nodded at each other in solidarity.
The couple paid for the room and, laughing, headed down the hall.
That guy is so getting laid tonight, Walter thought jealously, watching them rush away.
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When they got to the room—a cramped, dark space with heavy curtains, wood-paneling, and an unintentionally ironic Rembrandt reproduction over the bed—Cuddy continued with the game.
"I do believe that William and Kate also honeymooned here," she said.
But House folded his arms in dismay.
"This will not do," he said. "Not at all. BRB."
And he left.
He was back 30 minutes later with a plastic bag from a nearby convenience store.
Cuddy was on the bed, with wet hair, in a robe.
"Hey, you got clean without me," he pouted. "Not fair."
"House, we both know that when we shower together, not a lot of 'showering' goes on, if you know what I mean."
She peered at the bag. "Whatya got there?"
"A few accoutrements I picked up to convert this plain old room into a room fit for my new bride," he said.
He reached into the bag, magician-style, and pulled out a six-pack of beer and two red Solo cups.
"They had no champagne, but I've been told Miller is the champagne of beers," he said, opening the bottles on his belt buckle and pouring the frothy liquid.
"Ewwww," Cuddy said, but she took a cup from him.
They clicked glasses and drank.
"And they had no rose petals to scatter across the bed, so I got these"—he reached into the bag and grabbed a packet of Red Hots candies, which he proceeded to toss onto the bed.
"If I end up with Red Hots in my crotch, I know who to blame," Cuddy said.
"Oooh, kinky," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.
He reached into the bag again.
"And to work up our appetite for the Red Hots—which also is my new nickname for you, by the way—" he pulled out a small bag of marijuana, with rolling papers, and a lighter.
"House!" she said scoldingly. "Where did you get that?"
"I bought it off Walter," House said. "He looked so comfortably numb before . . ."
Cuddy wrinkled her nose.
"I haven't smoked weed since college," she said.
"Ha ha. You said weed," House said. He dropped the baggie back in the bag. "But actually, I was just kidding. This is not for tonight. It's for when we get to the Grand Canyon."
"We're going to the Grand Canyon?"
"All road trips must eventually lead to the Grand Canyon," House said.
"House. . .that's 2000 miles away."
"What part of cross-country road trip didn't you understand?"
"The part where we only have a week off from work. We'll see, okay?"
"Okay," he said. "And finally . . .they had no candles for romantic mood lighting, so I got these!"
Two sparklers, which he proceeded to light. The flames snapped and crackled in his hands.
He handed her one.
"House! That's a fire hazard!" she yelped, handing it back to him.
"But very celebratory," he said.
"Go in the bathroom and put them out. And run water on them. . . Those weren't the kind of fireworks I had in mind for tonight."
"Say no more. You had me at fireworks," he said, limping quickly into the bathroom.
He ran water over the sparklers. The sink filled with smoke and black ash.
He came back into the room.
"I just remembered that you're naked under that robe," he said, grinning at her.
"That's generally how it works," she said.
He stood in front of her, slowly untied the robe. It dropped on the bed.
He gazed at her, his face slack with desire.
"You're so fucking gorgeous," he said, sitting down on the bed, kissing her neck, fondling her.
"House, you're so dirty. . ."
"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet," he said, patting his lap.
Rolling her eyes, but smiling, she slid onto his lap, straddled him.
"Much better," he said, pulling her toward him.
"I'm actually sort of turned by the feel of your leather jacket against my skin," she whispered in his ear.
"Aaaaand. . . I just came," he said.
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