Title: Not The Last

Rating: M

Pairing: H/C

Summary: HouseCuddy fic. They were drunk. That was their excuse …the first time. What's their excuse now?

Author's Notes: This fic has absolutely no relation to my other fic. Still Huddy though. House and Cuddy forever! My second fic.

Genre: Romance

Chapter 1: Getting My Drink On

He had had another boring and miserable day. House sat alone in a bar, his coat on and a glass of scotch, one of many others, in his hand. He sighed. His leg pain had started to dull since he had begun drinking, but had not disappeared entirely. He had had to decide between getting drunk on alcohol or high on Vicodin. The alcohol had won just for the sake of old times and tradition. However, he had popped a couple of pills earlier.

"Another," House slurred at the bartender. "Thanks."

The barman raised a quizzical eyebrow at House but poured him another scotch all the same.

"You know," House said to the barman. "I pissed my boss off today. You ever done that?" His words spilled out lazily. "I always do. My boss, she's one hell of a woman, my boss. Rack like Angelina Jolie, ass like a goddess. Too bad I'm too much of an asshole to screw her."

The bartender nodded absently.

"Uh huh," he agreed disinterestedly. "Well, my boss is a bloke. So, I can't empathise with you. You know, you should go easy on that drink." He strolled away to serve another customer.

"Maybe I should shut up too," House gurgled into his glass.

He looked around the dark room. Everybody had a glass of some form of alcohol and almost everybody had company. There was a lot of laughing and hub bub in the background which just swirled around in the back of House's ears. He noticed another man, bald and younger than him, completely alone too, drowning in a whiskey. And there was a young woman at a table all by herself.

House turned back to his drink. He heard the doors open to the cold autumn night. It wasn't that chilly in the late fall, but cold enough for every second person to wear long coats. The doors shut again after whoever had entered or exited had cleared them. There was a whoosh as the cold air was sealed off again.

House looked around the room again because he was bored and he liked analysing people. Three older men were playing cards in a booth and two men and a woman were laughing raucously in the next one. He noticed a man with Cerebral Palsy sitting next to an older woman, probably his mother.

Then House noticed someone else by themselves, or should he say herself. She was bent over a glass and looked tired and worn out from stress. Her head was resting hopelessly in her hand while her other one lifted the alcohol to down it. House hadn't noticed her before so he assumed she must have been the one who'd entered before.

But this woman was strikingly different in one supreme way. She was probably different in many ways that House didn't know; but this one stood out like a rose in a garden of weeds (it wasn't an original metaphor), because House knew her. Of course he knew her, she was his boss.

Dr. Lisa Cuddy did not look up from her drink. She had not noticed him when she'd come in, and had still not seen him. House might have preferred to keep it that way. People said House was complicated; he didn't even understand himself. So he didn't know what made him stand up and limp over to sit down next to her.

"Dr. Cuddy," he said, acknowledging her existence, not to mention the fact he had just hobbled over to talk to her. "What a pleasant surprise. So you are joining us lonely people in our drowning session?"

At first she looked surprised and even a little annoyed to see him. Then she sighed into the counter.

"Hello House," she greeted him. "Yes, I guess I am," was her response. "I had a bad day. What about you?"

"Yes, that would be the reason I am here too. I can't really remember. So, while we're both here killing brain cells, let me buy you a drink. Bartender!" he yelled.

The barman sidled over.

"Uh," pondered House. "Two scotches for the lady and I." Then, without Cuddy's knowing, he pointed in her direction and mouthed "that's her". The bartender raised his eyebrows and made a face as if to say "nice".

Cuddy looked up, unaware of the little exchange that had just taken place.

"House," she said. "Why are you buying me a drink?"

"Well, you're not drunk enough yet," he told her innocently.

Cuddy laughed.

"I haven't been here as long as you yet," she said. "Only had one drink. I don't wanna know how many you've had."

"Good," he was grateful. "Because I can't remember." He sniggered and she grinned at him too.

The two colleagues conversed until the bar started to empty at about 11pm. Cuddy had now had a chance to get her drink on too and House had wound down on the scotch and was drowning in a beer.

House watched as Cuddy lifted her glass to her lips. He stared at her lips while she took a sip and then shook his head to get rid of the sensation the image had bestowed on him. He looked at his own drink, cursing his drunken self for letting him look at her that way. Not that he'd never done it before. He stopped himself there. But, after a second he had to admit he had been wanting to cover those feminine lips with his own.

Cuddy moved gracefully each time she took a sip and House admired the way she was still professionally balanced even when she was drunk. He watched her curves as she shifted in her seat. Cursing himself again, he turned away and put a hand up to obscure his view and discreetly crossed his legs tightly.

Then Cuddy's composure slipped for a second and she slammed her drink down on the bar.

"I'm so drunk," she blurted out, giggling.

Then House's alcohol intake took over again. He chuckled, snorting and doubling over.

"So am I," he laughed. He forgot about his earlier self chastising and leaned in towards her, resting his free arm on the bar and smiling at her friendlily. "I'm willing to bet my face has gone all red."

"Pffft," Cuddy snorted. "It has."

"Well, it is getting hot in here. I can't believe I'm still wearing this thing." He shrugged off his big coat.

"Yes it is." Cuddy took off her own jacket and House felt his gaze drop, against his will, towards her chest.

"Nice cleavage," he complimented without thinking." Then he took another swig of booze.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "Why thank you," she said, not bothering to cover her chest.

She didn't really care, and the pissed part of her wanted him to see it. Then she scolded herself for thinking something like that. But she couldn't stop her eyes straying to his crotch. She quickly looked away. Not there, she thought. And so she occupied herself by examining his face. House was always such a jerk. But a handsome jerk. She couldn't stop herself. His stubble was dark and she imagined it feeling rough against her skin. His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed and then he looked at her, those piercing, blue eyes penetrating her.

Neither of them cared anymore. They were both starting to feel an attraction to one another. They dismissed it as the effects of the drink and just as quickly forgot this thought anyway, contented to relish in the sound and sight of each other.

"You know," said House. "I think we've got a problem." Then he looked at her. His eyes were droopy. Both of them were just so drunk.

"You know," she answered. "I don't think we do."

House smiled slowly. He drifted down towards her. It wasn't hard, because they were already sitting so close, and he leaned his forehead against hers.

"I think we've reached a truce," he stated.

"Whatever," she dismissed his talk. Then she put a hand on his thigh. He shivered under her contact. It was his bad leg, but under her touch he felt no pain. "Just kiss me," she ordered.

"OK, I will."

"You better."

House put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her mouth up to his. He kissed her gently; but she wanted more from him, and he wanted to give it to her. The kiss deepened and the stools creaked as they leaned closer into each other without actually tipping over. House unleashed his tongue on hers. His now free hands crept around her waist and underneath her top to rub her back and explore her chest. She reached underneath his jacket and untucked his shirt, feeling his body through the material. They groped at each other and kissed each other not just on the mouth but all over. When they finally broke away, they were still holding each other. They stared into each other's blind drunk eyes and contemplated one another.

"I have to go," said House suddenly.

"So do I," she decided quickly.

They awkwardly detached themselves and House picked up his coat. He payed the bartender who winked at him and limped to the door, Cuddy flat on his heels with her jacket.

Outside it was cold. House donned his big coat over his short jacket and picked up his cell. He called a cab and stood around, waiting. He didn't look at Cuddy while he waited. She got annoyed and stormed up to him. She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"House," she said. He turned around but didn't meet her gaze, looking away from her. "House!" she snapped.

"Yes?" he mused, his eyes wandering.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"Because," he explained. "I'm afraid that if I do, I won't be able to look away." Then he looked at her and his expression froze, bemused.

"And what's so wrong with that?" she asked, advancing on him. She lifted a hand and brushed his hair with a finger. He inhaled sharply. Then she brushed her other hand over his groin area. He shivered.

"Well, then I might kiss you," he confessed. "And I might not be able to stop."

"Uh huh," she nodded, moving in closer. "Again; what's wrong with that?"

"I don't think I should," he said, managing to turn his head away from her. She used her hand to turn his face back towards her.

"You kissed me," she accused.

"You asked me too."

"You know what?" she challenged, annoyed at this show of soberness. "I didn't ask you, Dr. House. I told you. And guess what? I'm gonna tell you again. Kiss me," she demanded, grabbing both sides of his face. So he did. He kissed her long and deep and frantically.

Then the taxi pulled up. Cuddy was still clinging to the lapels of House's coat. They broke apart.

"Can I share your cab?" she breathed in the cool air, mist escaping her lips.

"Sure," he said. Then he opened the door for her. He climbed in after her. Sitting in the back of the cab was silent. House sat sideways and stretched out his leg over Cuddy's lap to make it more comfortable. "I hope you don't mind," he apologised.

"Of course not." Cuddy took this opportunity to roll up his trouser leg and stroke his long, lean limb. She untied his sneaker and slipped off his sock, sucking each of his toes, making him gasp. He rattled off his address to the driver and then continued to gasp over what was happening to his foot.

"All right," he said, flicking his foot out of her reach. "My turn. Gimme that leg of yours." She obliged, turning to face him and stretching her leg out next to his extended limb. He slipped off her shoe. "I hope we don't get there too quickly. This is going to be fun."

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