Known Unknowns
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD. I don't own the song referenced in this fiction. I don't even completely own the computer I used to type this on. How sad XD.
Pairing: House/Cuddy.
Genre: Romance/Humor.
Rating: T (almost had a dirty M rated scene :O)
Spoiler: Season 6, episode 7. Known Unknowns.
Summary: "You cannot slow dance to Heart of Glass." Spoilers for 6x07.
"You cannot slow dance to Heart of Glass." Her voice is clear cut and absolutely certain, her face is plastered with an expression of disbelief that would scare off any weaker man and he thanks God that he is one stubborn son of a bitch.
"Who says?" And his hand is already clasping her's and leading them both out on to the dance floor all before she can register what is happening and how they had gone from mindlessly bantering back and forth to his request of a slow dance.
The club, the lights, the music, and the people spin around them as he slowly sways her so that she remains close enough to him to smell the scent of his drinks and aftershave while far enough apart to be considered appropriate for a slow dance. Deborah Harry's voice came to her later, about mid-way through the song, when the song was somewhere near it's chrous, and it took until this moment that she realized that she was close pressed to her dance partner that her cheek was laying over his heart and one of his hands was now clutching the swell of her butt.
She didn't move. She didn't breathe. She didn't dare blink.
But he was still dancing, she could feel his hand (the one currently not fondling her ass) resting on the part of her side that was exposed from where her shirt had ridden up, and the world was still swirling around her, the music finding it's tempo to the beat of this man's heart.
And she didn't move. Or breathe. Or even dare to blink.
Then there was clapping, lots of it, and it was loud too. A thundererous applaud swept through the club, echoing off the walls along with the drunken cheers of the dancing patrons. She wasn't sure why everyone was clapping until she remembered why she was tightly wrapped around this man, why her arms had moved from his shoulders to his back, embracing his large frame with her own. She wondered if he had stopped by now, dancing that is. It was embarrassing for her to admit to but once the realization had come to her mind she was sure that they had stopped ages ago and instead opted to tangle their limbs in one another as they occasionally swayed to the music.
"You're a good dancer." The words fall from her lips before she can stop them and she has to muster up the nerve to look at his face when the compliment reaches him.
"You know I asked you to dance because I saw you before with your friends and just about half the guys in the bar and you were pretty good at it." He pauses for a second and she's ready to pounce on the silence, afraid to go a moment with silence in case her heart is really beating hard enough for him to hear.
What's the point? She then asks herself. He can probably feel it, how close you two are standing.
"But then for me you barely move a muscle, I'm trying desperately to not take it personally." He jokes, she can see it in his face and in his sparkling blue eyes that suddenly make her want to plunge into an ocean, to stand on the edge of winter, to kiss him.
"Well if you ply a few more martinis I might be tempted to take you back to my apartment for some more energetic dancing." Her voice is husky and sensual but posses something else that he cannot describe, actually it doesn't matter, he's in love with it now.
A woolfish grin spreads over his features, his azure eyes dancing with enthusiasm, and suddenly every part of her body feels heated and aching, especially the small of her back where his hand has wandered to.
"Excuse me," a voice interupts and neither of them are too pleased but they turn way from each other anyway, his hand slipping from her back and her hip gently colliding with his. "I just wanted to say you two were amazing just now, I had no idea you could slow dance to that song. You two are a beautiful couple." She grins, blonde hair flouncing around her shoulder-blades.
"Thank you, Ms. Harry! I'm a huge fan." Her voice is pitched in excitement and for a second she honeslty believes she has died and gone to Heaven.
"Oh yeah, she practically dragged me out on the dance floor when you started singing Heart of Glass." He smirks, playing her and then with a wink adds; "It's her favourite you know."
The musician smiles and reaches out to shake of each their hands, unaware of the non-relationship status of the pair in front of her but neither care to correct her as they chat about songs and what the bar's serving and somehow they get on the topic of sports, which is completely lost on her. Eventually they retire from the conversation and the woman, talented and beautiful and blonde (no, not the woman he has spent the past fifteen minutes trying to feel up) moves her way through the crowd to the stage to continue on with her next upbeat song and he is tempted to ask her to dance with him to this one as well but stops short when he peers her into her eyes and sees her eagerness.
"Wanna get of out here?" She questions but her fingers are already twined in his and she's nodding towards the door, fully expecting him to come along and he doesn't dissapoint.
"You cannot slow dance to Heart of Glass." House tells her while relaxing against the bar with his drink in hand, not bothering to move at all.
He had already shot down her request to dance to the 1979 hit and now he was aiming to shoot this one down as well. Unfortunately for him Cuddy is not one to take "no" for an answer.
"Come on, House." Cuddy half-groans, half-smiles. "I managed to squeeze back into my old clothes and make my hair poofy enough to be considered 80s but not to kill the ozone layer."
House takes a swig of vodka and allows his eyes to roam lazily over her body, clad in an outfit very similar to one that he had stripped her of some 20 years ago. "I beg to differ." And yet he places his drink down on the bar—now empty for the third time tonight—and grasps her hand.
The can rests against the bar but he is still presently aware of his limp, he knows he can still dance, if not limitedly but she doesn't seem to care as she places her right hand over the span of his back while her left slides up his chest. At her closeness House is allowed to be impatient as he snakes one arms around her waist and to stroke her leg softly with his free hand before finding it's way back to her ass. They move surely at first and once the song picks up they slow down.
Cuddy is warm, firm, and familiar. House cannot deny his enjoyment in curling his fingers around her hip, swaying so slow with her while the world whirls around them, nor can he deny the fact that she looks so Goddamn good in those skin tight clothes and her 1980's-esque hairstyle. He bites back a grin when he feels her hand smooth over his chest and abdomen and back up again, he cannot believe how open she is being during this whole experience but he is far from displeased.
So House doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Doesn't even blink.
And his heart is racing and with her cheek pressed up against it he is sure she can hear, feel it, is probably grinning like a fool knowing she can make him like this. He sighs and sways his hips along with her's, letting their pelvises grind gently and their bodies mesh together. Suddenly the memory is fresh in his mind, flashing brilliant in his mind, her careful movements and her clouded over irises and her lips mouthing the words to the song against the fabric of his shirt.
And so he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Doesn't dare to blink.
Cuddy is the Devil woman, he is assured, as she makes a mess of him by simply rolling her hips and rubbing pelvises. So he pulls away, only for an instant, and tips her chin upwards to look him in the eye. She is smiling, her eyes big and blue and beautiful. He opens his mouth and no words come out, and because she is a mind reader—among other things—she perfects her posture and brushes her lips across his and continues to the delicate shell of his ear.
"You want to get out of here?"
Her voice is just as husky, just as playful, and just as sensual as it was two decades ago but this time he thinks he understands that hidden feeling in her tone; promise. House's face splits in two as she leads them off the dance floor, back to the bar, fetches his cane and drops a few bills down on the counter in front of the bartender who is mopping up some spilt liquor. House smirks back at the younger man as Cuddy twines her fingers in his and heads towards the doors, the bartender notices this and how House's hand remains on the swell of her ass and smirks back.
Cuddy has seemingly forgotten Wilson completely, she has forgotten her inhibition as well, and House likes it this way. It makes her a little crazy, a little more human, the woman he fell in love with twenty some years ago but she does not forget her drive, her passion, her desire to get what she wants when she wants it and how she wants it, much like the woman who he remains in love with. So he follows her, the agile steps in her clacking heels, the swing of her hips as she moves hurriedly to the elevators, the bounce of her hair over her shoulders, the sound of her still humming that same song.
He can no longer wait, he pins her to the elevator wall and kisses her full on the mouth, he lets her undress half of him on the elevator ride to her suite before the rest of his clothes come off in the doorway of the hotel room. They are tangle of limbs and clothing and heartbeats. Their hands are too slow and their kisses are too fast. She coils her legs around him and rakes her delicate fingers through his hair while he nips at her neck, unhooks her bra and tugs down her panties and groans when she gasps. The bed is too far away so they use the wall for a while, their eyes fluttering closed before flying wide open when bursts of passion and exhiliration rush through them. Her hair is softer now then it was twenty years ago when it was big, frizzy mess of curls and hairspray, her body is not as tight as it was before but her likes the way his hands flood with her breats, her nipples erect from his licks and kisses. For a moment he is dissapointed when her hands move from his face, his shoulders, his hair, but is elated when he feels her searching for the tent in his boxers.
The rest of the night is spent groping, nibbling, and thrusting. They are ruthless and relentless and unimaginably cruel to one another. Their nails scrape the other's back, their tongues lash against the most tender appendages, their skin scores with violet and rouge and bruises that will only present themselves in the morning. Then they slow down, caressing and fondling every inch of them they could get inside them, on them, around them. There are moments between orgasms and kisses that they fill with pants and song lyrics, music that swims in their minds along side the need to touch and taste and dismiss the rest of the world. The wild, passionate sex subsides into a rhythmatic, passionate love-making and much later the love-making subsides into a lapse of smiles and familiarity and actually using more than monosyllabic words to express the emotions that erode them.
House tells Cuddy she is one helluva a dancer.
Cuddy asks House how he knew Heart of Glass was her favourite song.
They kiss tenderly, only momentarily before he retracts and replies with something about irony.
Content, she lays down in his arms to sleep. Her heart thumping right next to his, completely real.
Author's Note: Well…you like? Hope so. It's been bugging me ever since I heard about episode 7 and I've been dying to write this one-shot. Don't why but it turned out far from what I expected, actually I didn't really know how it would but this certainly wasn't it. Leave some praise, critism, money, or whatever XD.