You Really Don't Want to Know
Just like many mothers before her, there was one piece of advice Arlene Cuddy never let her little Lisa leave the house without, even at a very young age: never go anywhere without a spare pair of underwear. And it was one of the rare points of wisdom to which she'd listened to her mother and taken heed of her words. Today was one of those occasions on which it was a very, very good idea. Lisa Cuddy had been so rushed off her feet all day that it was almost 6pm before she got a moment, alone in her office to slip into her spare panties, having handed over her original pair to Dr. Cole before lunch. It wasn't a decision she'd taken lightly but he'd been very persuasive and a chance to control House's game was a chance anyone would be stupid to surpass, whatever she had to do to get it. She slid out of her high-heeled courts, and standing on her carpeted office floor without them meant she was at least 5 inches shorter. She drew the blinds at the windows and turned her back to the door before reaching into her handbag and pulling out a pair of red lace panties almost identical to those she put on this morning. As well as always having a spare pair, the spare pair always had to match.
As she lifted her right leg to step into them and pull them on under her skirt, she heard the familiar sound of wood knocking on glass behind her. She flushed bright red, screwed the panties tightly in her hand and threw them as quickly as possible into the top drawer of her desk that was standing open. She quickly slammed it shut before spinning around in time to see Greg House slide into her office. Hoping she wasn't too obviously flustered, she straightened her shirt and cleared her throat. "What do you want, House?"
House looked her up and down, considering, but made sure his face didn't give anything away. "I came to find out whether the panties Cole handed over were the pair you were wearing, or were the spare pair you always keep in your bag." He continued eyeing her up, but his face was nothing more than mildly interested to ensure she couldn't tell what he knew or what he'd seen.
She tried not to look too surprised at his knowledge of the contents of her handbag. "Go home. Go sexually harass one of your hookers; your boss has better things to do." She was pretty sure her nonchalance was extremely unbelievable but she wouldn't give up the facade. She returned to packing her handbag and then stepped back into her shoes, avoiding his eyes and attempting to act as natural as possible. And failing.
"Stop."
She looked up suddenly, surprised by his order. Subconsciously however, she obeyed, and remained standing behind her shoes, looking at him. "Why?"
He walked closer to her, slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, until there was barely a foot between them. "I don't need to ask the question I came to ask anymore, I got my answer." He then reached past her, over the desk and pulled open the top drawer to reveal the red lace. He then picked them up with the tips of his thumb and forefinger and suspended them in front of his nose, as if to inspect them.
"House, what the hell are you doing, give them back!" Cuddy reached up to grab her panties out of his hand but he had surprisingly quick reflexes and she didn't manage before he dragged them out of her reached. She was slowly getting redder as her face was feeling more hot, but oddly the sight of her pants in his hand possibly in combination with the fact that she wasn't wearing any, was making her feel funny.
"Oh no, they're mine now." House then lifted them higher and sniffed at them suspiciously. "And these haven't been worn..." He saw the mortified look on her face and cut across her before she had the chance to shout a barrage of protests at him. "Cuddy, shut up. In answer to your next question, yes, I can smell your sex. But OH, MY, GOD, you haven't been wearing underwear all day!"
Having never felt so embarrassed in her life, she even jumped and made a grab for her panties in his hand but again was unsuccessful. "Give them here House. NOW." She attempted to use her authoritative, administrative voice to make him listened to her but she knew it was futile before the words even became out of her mouth.
Knowing she was flustered and desperate and therefore had let down her guard, he took his chance and went in for the kill. For the seconds she was facing away from him, he grabbed her ass, accompanied with another "OH, MY, GOD! There really is nothing there!"
Furious, she span round, slapped his hands from her body and gave him the most piercing stare she could manage. The grin on his face screamed that he presumed he'd won, and that and the fact that despite everything she was still feeling extremely funny, infuriated her even more. But she was still intelligent enough to know that brute force and anger were never going to win this battle. She had to play smart, mean, and dirty. "No, there isn't. There's absolutely nothing there. But you know what? That's for you to imagine and me to enjoy. Now go home and enjoy that thought yourself. Alone." She returned to stepping into her heels, leaving him with her panties.
He followed her excitedly with his eyes, battling not to let her words effect him and not to let his imagination run wild. "Lisa, if you want to pretend you're not already enjoying yourself, you might want to wear a better padded bra."
His use of her name caught her off guard and it was difficult to come back from that, especially when she was suddenly extremely self-conscious about him looking at her. She knew there were other possible tell-tale signs of how he was making her feel. But this just meant she was getting increasingly angry with herself – he never usually had this effect on her. She blamed it partially on the fact that she'd spent all day without underwear and that played it's part in making her feel more sexual. But she knew it couldn't be entirely blamed on that. She worked to stem the self-loathing for even a second – long enough to fight back. Stepping closer to him, close enough that he could probably feel her hot breath on him, she looked straight into his eyes. "And if you want to pretend you're not already enjoying yourself, you might want to... Oh, wait, there's nothing you can do about that." She pointed to his crotch, which incidentally was telling her she wasn't the only one feeling funny. Yet, she knew, it wasn't as embarrassing for him because he'd never hidden his sexual attraction to her.
House knew that if she wanted to screw with him, this was a game of temptation and seduction she wasn't going to win. He was also pretty sure she knew that too, which left him wondering why she even started to play in the first place. From this he could only draw one conclusion – she wanted to lose, because she liked where this was going. But he knew he daren't hope for such a miracle. "I can prove it much easier than you can." He took a step forward, to which she responded with a step back. He continued this dance until she unknowingly backed into her desk. When she had nowhere to escape to, he reached out and placed a hand on her thigh.
"Get your hands off me House. I'm not yours to touch." What kind of argument was that? Cuddy knew that wasn't an argument, and so did he, as she looked up at his satisfied smirk. She also knew part of her didn't mean it – she was just searching for any kind of defence because she was desperate. Shamefully, in more ways than one, and that was not something she wished to enlighten him to. And with the position of his hands, he was in dangerously close territory to finding out.
He was confident that he knew her well enough to know for sure that she was bluffing, and he wasn't about to get arrested for sexual harassment. "You've been mine since that night in Michigan. And don't deny it..." The memories of her were flooding back to him, similar to riding a bike, except instead she was riding him. And he could see a remarkably similar look in her eyes – that distant roaring flame of desire and passion – no matter how hard she tried to hide it. He took his chances and slid his hand round the back of her leg, intending her to use it to lift herself to perch on the edge of her desk.
For some bizarre, unfathomable reason, especially unbeknown to herself, she found herself obeying his silent orders. With the tips of her toes she pushed up from the soft floor and used his hand to slide herself on the edge of her desk. Their eye levels were only slightly more equal at this point, but she still didn't let hers leave his for a second. More than anything in fear of what he might do if she did. Though she still maintained her resolve, and she steeled herself to retaliate, even if she was ashamed of the unmistakeable flare in her eyes she knew had given her away. "I wasn't even yours then." But she couldn't trust herself to say any more. Her breath was bated and her skin was burning – automatic reactions. And sensations in her abdomen were going crazy, her heart thumping a million miles an hour.
"Maybe you weren't. But you are now." He could sense her weakening and her defences crumbling and he felt a sense of exhilaration. But oddly for him, this emotion wasn't prompted by winning. It was prompted by a bubbling lust he'd worked so hard to contain for nigh on 20 years rising to the surface. "That's why you won't stop me doing this." He proceeded to run his hand down her thigh, and then back up; but the return journey was under the fabric of her skirt, instead of on top. Her skin felt no different to that night in Michigan, either.
She couldn't help it – a shiver ran through her whole body at his touch. It was only at this moment she dared tear her gaze from his, but only to close her eyes. Partially in shame – she'd given in to the temptation of the one thing she swore to herself she'd never do again – but partially in anticipation, because there had effectively been 20 years of foreplay leading up to this moment.
His hand reached the top of her thigh and even from there he could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. His fingers reached and touched the soft flesh – and he still got some sort of medieval thrill from the confirmation that she'd spent a day without underwear. It took only seconds for his fingers to become sticky and he felt her whole body tense in response to the movement.
The moment he touched her she knew he'd won. She'd never have the self-discipline or the self-control to make him stop. But still, as a simple instinct from years of hiding from him, she kept her gasp to herself. Her eyes suddenly snapped open and the blazing excitement in her own was identical to that in his.
"Let go, Lisa..." Other than earlier that night, House hadn't called her Lisa since the last time they'd wound up in bed together. That in itself was an aphrodisiac for them both. He reached up and popped the buttons on her black shirt, one by one, until it opened and fell loosely over her arched shoulders.
At that moment she reached forward, grabbed his lapel, and pulled him closer to her. Her one hands worked on his shirt, flicking open the buttons until she reached his bare chest. Her hand ran over his rough skin and down, beginning to tug on his belt buckle. "Greg..."
And what happened after that, you really, really, don't want to know.