"You know, being intentionally provocative isn't even remotely effective anymore." Cuddy sighed, swatting the copy of Penthouse down from in front of House's face.
"You know, there's a terrific article in here on advanced defibrillation techniques." House offered, flapping the magazine in her direction.
"Cheap porn doesn't exactly get my heart started." Cuddy snatched the magazine from his outstretched hand. "Why are you still here? It's almost midnight." She began to leaf absently through the magazine, all the while maintaining an expression of mild disinterest.
"Waiting for you to leave so I can go hunt for treasure in your office."
Cuddy glanced up from the magazine. "Really. Would you like me to draw you a map?"
"Patient seized, about an hour ago for the third time today, we're just cycling through anticonvulsants at the moment." House sighed, slumping back into his chair. "No point in leaving 'till she's stable."
Cuddy nodded, still flicking through the magazine. She paused, rotating the magazine 90 degrees, her expression somewhat bemused.
"Page 26?" House asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice as he watched her.
"That's just plain wrong." Cuddy extended her arms, shifting the magazine further from her face in an attempt to gain perspective. "You don't seriously get off on this stuff, do you?"
House chuckled, folding his arms across his chest.
"You tell me, Cuddy." He smiled. "Any of the pages glued together?"
Cuddy closed the magazine, thumbing quickly through the pages in a precursory check for any form of biological adhesive. "Of course, you read it for the articles."
"No, Wilson reads it for the articles. I borrowed it from him while he was at lunch."
Cuddy snorted. "For some reason the thought of you sitting around jacking off over bad porn is a little more believable than Wilson."
House reached forward, snatching the magazine back. "Fine, but as the great philosopher Clapton once said, 'before you accuse me, take a look at yourself.'"
"House, Clapton covered that. It's a Bo Diddley song." His eyes widened in astonishment. "And regardless of how many 'Girls gone wild' films you've seen, I don't spend all of my spare time sitting around masturbating."
"How did you know that was a Bo Diddley song?" House asked.
"I dated a guy who played guitar in a blues band." Cuddy replied nonchalantly. "Wasn't a big Clapton fan."
"Blasphemy!" House paused. "So you're telling me that you're not going to admit to combing the beavor every now and then?"
"Combing the beavor?" Cuddy laughed.
"70 percent of women admit to masturbating, 30 percent lie about it." House scratched his chin absently. "Which would put you at home, alone, with your vibrator and nipple clamps, in a state of complete denial."
"I don't own nipple clamps!" Cuddy scoffed. "And I never said I didn't masturbate, I just said I don't masturbate over bad porn."
"That's okay, Cuddy." House smiled. "I know you'll be thinking of me when you curl up at home tonight with your magic wand."
"Don't flatter yourself." Cuddy laughed. "If I want to fantasise about doctors I'll stick with George Clooney."
"Clooney? The guy's a pansy." House waved the magazine absently. "Laarson in Dermatology is the kind of guy you want to be thinking about while you're whacking off. Much better hair."
"Can you remind me why we're even talking about this?" Cuddy inquired, leaning forward to eyeball him across the desk. "It's been a long time since I've done any psych, but I get the distinct impression you're projecting your own covert behaviour onto me in an attempt to justify it to yourself."
"I could say the same thing to you." House countered.
"You're the one reading porn in an empty office at 11 o'clock at night."
"I like porn." House tilted his head, making it fractionally more difficult for her to stare him down. "What's it to you?"
"How often, House?" Cuddy pressed. "Once a day? Twice?"
"I have self restraint." House glared at her.
"Not that I've ever seen." Cuddy shot back. "You couldn't go a week without masturbating."
"Sure." House propped his head on his hands. "You want to bet on it?"
"You're kidding, right?" Cuddy laughed. "So you can go home and whack off every night and tell me in the morning that you didn't and take my money?"
"You don't trust me?" House feigned hurt.
"Everybody lies, House."
"True." House paused. "Can I just point out that's an original, not a cover of a Bo Diddley song."
Cuddy laughed. "I'm serious though, you couldn't go two weeks without masturbating."
"And I suppose you could?" House folded his arms across his chest.
"I have self restraint." Cuddy mirrored his posture. "You do not."
"I don't believe you." House leaned forward. "1000 in, first person to 'relieve themself' pays up."
"And how exactly are we going to police that?" Cuddy glared at him. "You're not going to adhere to an honour system."
"You're welcome to weigh the boys before I leave at night and again in the morning." House offered. "And I'll smell your fingers to make sure you haven't been patting the cat."
"Oh god!" Cuddy snorted. "How many euphemisms do you have?" House laughed. "Stupid question." Cuddy shook her head. "Neither of those is a solution."
"So come and stay at my place." House offered.
"That's actually not as absurd as it sounds." Cuddy replied, mulling over the idea. "But you'll stay at my place, I'm not staying at yours."
"Fine." House watched her carefully. "But if you're going to remove me from my natural environment then the wager goes up to 2000."
"2000?"
"Come on, Dean." House chuckled. "That's about half a day's pay for you isn't it."
"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Cuddy glared at him. "Deal, but I have one condition to add."
"What?" House asked warily.
"No hookers." Cuddy paused. "Paying for it is technically masturbation."
"Hmm." House briefly considered his avenues of protest. "Fair enough, but what about free of charge sex with another consenting adult?"
"House, if either of us were actually having sex, we wouldn't be having this conversation."