Heatwave
Two-thirty in the afternoon, and the New Jersey summer heatwave has penetrated every corner of my apartment to the point where it feels like I'm suffocating in a gas chamber. The central air conditioning has broken down, which only makes matters – and my mood – worse, and just as I'm weighing up the pros and cons of either taking a cold shower or standing in front of the freezer with the door open to cool down, my cell phone rings.
It's Cuddy.
"I need some help," she says, before I get a chance to tell her to bother Wilson instead because I'm currently too busy being super glued to my couch by my sweat.
"Why, what's wrong?" I instantly ask in alarm.
One thing you have to understand about Cuddy is, she's 39 weeks pregnant. I'd like to blame that solely on her, except my sperm is part of the reason why she's due to squeeze a seven-pound parasite out of her vagina within the next week. And I'm loathe to admit it, but lately I've been feeling more than a little on edge because of that very fact.
I hear her huff into the phone and I have a sudden attack of panic. Oh crap, oh crap, she's going into labour. I've known this inevitable day was going to come for the last 39 weeks, but nothing can prepare you for The Moment that---
"I want some ice cream."
It takes me a minute to catch on to what she's saying because I'm too busy seeing my life flash before my eyes. Then realisation strikes. "You want ice cream?" I repeat, unsure if I heard her correctly.
I listen to Cuddy huffing again. It's a weird, sharp exhale, the same kind of noise overweight people make when they've had to climb a flight of stairs. I'm not sure if she's doing that because she's uncomfortable or what, but it's one of the most unattractive sounds I think I've ever heard Cuddy make. "Yeah," she says after a pause.
Relief floods through me at her confirmation. Promptly followed by a stab of indignance. "You've got ice cream," I argue.
"No, I haven't."
"Yes, you have; I brought some around for you the other day." I say this with a distinct tone of resentment because part of the agreement of getting Cuddy knocked up (the natural way – that was my part of the bargain) was that even though she's harvesting 23 of my chromosomes, I don't have to have anything to do with whatever comes crawling out of her body at the end of the nine months. That agreement still stands, except watching Cuddy's stomach expand over the months has caused me to feel increasingly and unwillingly responsible for both her and the bundle of doom. Being unwillingly responsible means doing things for Cuddy that I wouldn't normally do, out of obligation. Like buy her ice cream and take it around to her place. She calls it an act of charity but I've reminded her on more than enough occasions that I plan to claim it all back on tax and sexual favours.
"It's all gone," she whines.
"You ate the whole thing?" I reply, a little incredulous.
"It's hot! I was hungry!"
I snort. I run my thumb across my eyebrow, annoyed with myself that I feel obliged to fulfil Cuddy's request. "You want ice cream, get Wilson to get you some," I say.
I'm about to dismiss the conversation by pulling the phone from my ear when Cuddy whines again, "House."
If there's one thing I've learned about pregnancy in the last almost nine months, it's that pregnant women sure as hell know how to whine until they get their way. It's like being driven insane with white noise. Cuddy's no exception, especially during this last trimester.
"Cuddy," I mimic, pressing the phone back to my ear.
"House, I need ice cream."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"You don't," I retort, because being whined at makes me argumentative.
"House," Cuddy says sharply. "I'm hot, I'm uncomfortable, I've had this kid kicking me in the ribs all morning, I can't stop peeing--"
"You should've thought of all that before you opted to to breed," I cut in.
"--get me the damn ice cream."
Cuddy keeps up the whining for a further two minutes before I finally give in. She tells me she wants vanilla chocolate chip, and then starts listing a few other things, which turns out to be an entire shopping list. I fetch a pen and paper and viciously scribble down everything she wants, and then inform her irritably that I'll be around shortly.
I end the call with a violent stab of my thumb on the end call button. Pressing buttons to end calls is so much less dramatic and satisfying than slamming a phone down. I phone Wilson before doing anything else because I plan to get out of doing this. Wilson has been more or less a surrogate partner to Cuddy through her pregnancy, so it makes sense to make him do the shopping. Except after the tenth ring I realise the bastard isn't going to answer. I try his home, I try his office, even though it's a Saturday, and I try his cell phone one last time before admitting defeat.
Crap.
I peel my sweaty self away from my couch with an audible squelching sound and contemplate having a tantrum. I choose not to because it's hot enough in my apartment as it is, and making myself even more hot and bothered will do nothing but make things worse.
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed. I gather up my car keys and pocket the list of things to get, and head out of my apartment into the scorching summer afternoon.
I shop at Kroger. I feel like a moron, pushing a shopping cart around the store with a list clutched in my hand, like I'm some kind of pensioner. The only upside to the experience is that the store is air conditioned; a welcome reprieve from the New Jersey heatwave.
I wander around the aisles with my cane hooked over the handlebar of the shopping cart, pushing other shopping carts and toddlers that are in my way out of my path. I pick up some bread, milk, a pound of apples and grapes, and when I reach the frozen meat section I decide, while spending ten minutes trying to locate a leg of lamb, that Cuddy owes me a pay rise, a better insurance deal, tax cuts and a lifetime supply of sexual favours.
When I finally reach the checkout area, I'm met with the sight of lines a mile long, all of them with mothers that have shopping carts full of stuff and screaming kids hanging off their limbs. Turns out that only three of the ten checkouts are open. I join the one with the shortest line and find myself being stared at the entire time by a grubby, androgynous-looking toddler in the shopping cart in front of me. I try to scare it by glaring menacingly, which only makes the kid giggle. I decide then and there that Cuddy is insane for wanting one of those things for herself.
Even though the line I'm in is the shortest, I end up having to wait almost twenty minutes before I'm served. The bill comes to a grand total of $94.91. I resentfully pay with cash because Cuddy doesn't deserve the interest that would accrue if I paid with my credit card, and I pocket the receipt when it's handed to me. I figure if I keep every single receipt as evidence of all the money I've spent on Cuddy in the last few months, I can use it as a means of guilt blackmail when there comes a time that I want something in return.
The moment I step out of the store, I'm instantly attacked by UV rays and flies. Trying to make a shopping cart go in the direction I want it to while swatting flies away from my face is a much harder endeavour to accomplish than it should be, and by the time I reach my car, my leg is in agony, I'm pouring with sweat and I'm about ready to dump all of Cuddy's groceries onto the ground so I can jump on them.
I pile her shopping into the trunk of my car, not caring that I've squashed her grapes or bent her bread out of shape, and leave the cart standing haphazard in the empty car space next to mine because I'm in too much pain to push it all the way back to the store. I collapse into the driver's seat and pop a Vicodin before doing anything else; mopping away sweat that is pouring down my face. The inside of the car is like a furnace and for once, I decide Wilson is actually right: it's time I got a new car. Preferably one with air conditioning that works.
I wait ten minutes for the Vicodin to start kicking in before I finally start up the car. I pull out of the parking lot, onto the main road, and make my way to Cuddy's place.
By the time I'm standing on Cuddy's front porch, I'm bathed in so much sweat that my shirt is stuck to my chest and back, and the big damp patch on the seat of my jeans looks like I've wet myself. I pound against Cuddy's door with the handle of my cane. When Cuddy answers, she greets me with a pleased smile. I pointedly refuse to return her smile by scowling at her.
"Hey," she says. She then flinches. "My god, it's hot out there."
"You don't say," I reply dryly.
She steps back and lets the door open wider. "Come in. Be quick, or you'll let all the heat inside."
I ponder demanding that she help me with bringing in the groceries, but as I watch her waddle away uncomfortably, I decide to not be bastard for now. I'm as quick as my bum leg allows, making three trips to the car and back before I finally shut myself inside Cuddy's home. She has the air conditioning cranked up to almost subzero; it feels so heavenly that some of my irritation instantly dissipates.
I lug all the shopping into the kitchen and dump it on the floor by the fridge, just as Cuddy holds out a glass of water. I take it gratefully and scull back the contents in a few large gulps, and then hand the glass back to her for more. She faces to the sink to refill it and I take the opportunity to note how odd she looks, barely able to reach the tap because her massive belly is in the way between her and the kitchen counter. And by massive, I mean massive. In fact, I'm positive her belly has grown even more since I last saw her, a few days ago, which was when I brought ice cream around the last time. She looks like she's on the brink of exploding. It's a wonder she can still stand upright.
"Here you go," she says when she turns back to me with the glass.
I take it. "You owe me, big time."
"You know I'm grateful."
I pause to take a long gulp of water. "You still owe me," I reply before wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
"Me being grateful isn't enough?" Before I can answer, she adds in a mutter, "Of course it isn't."
"You know it isn't," I agree firmly.
"Let me guess," she replies wryly, leaning back against the counter. "You want it owed back in full with sexual exploits and a month off clinic duty when I return to work."
"Two months off clinic duty."
"No deal."
"Three months?" I try.
"You're supposed to bargain down, not up," she argues.
"Considering doing your grocery shopping is a lot more than what I bargained for when I agreed to donating sperm, I think I have every right to raise the stakes."
I watch the expression on Cuddy's face drop from challenging to relenting. "I'm well aware of that, House. And I mean it when I say I'm grateful. You know I am."
"Yeah, but nothing says grateful like a blow job as a means of expressing thanks."
Cuddy laughs dryly. "Nice try," she replies.
"I'm serious!" I protest, even though I'm not really being serious at all.
Cuddy just smiles at me in that 'you can't fool me' way of hers, and rises up on her tiptoes to peck me on the cheek. I'm quick to try and dodge out of her way, but she's just as quick at grabbing me by the back of the neck: she yanks me down and presses a firm kiss on my temple. I screw my face up in distaste, even though I'm not actually that bothered.
"Yuck," I say when I'm finally able to extract myself from her clutches.
"You love it," Cuddy shoots back good naturedly, smiling.
I try really hard not to smile back because I still want to be irritated that I've had to go shopping for her, except it's hard to stay irritated with her when she's being playful. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as she faces towards the bags of groceries on the floor; I try to suppress it by lifting my shirt and using a corner of it to rub the sweat from my face.
I look back up just in time to see Cuddy squatting down towards one of the bags. I have to admit, it's not a very attractive thing to watch, not with the way Cuddy puffs loudly as she grabs at the edge of the counter for balance. She makes a whiny sound of discomfort that resembles something similar to a sick cat and, without thinking, I'm instantly at her side. I inwardly roll my eyes at myself for being so jumpy. I ignore the indignant look Cuddy gives me as I grab up one of the grocery bags with one hand and help her stand back up with the other.
Cuddy snatches the bag from me once she's back on her feet. "I'm capable of doing this myself."
I snatch the bag back from her. "You fall, there's only me to help you up."
"I'm not going to fall." She grabs the bag back again.
"But in the instance that you do, I don't want to have to call in Greenpeace to come and rescue a beached whale from your kitchen floor."
I make an attempt to snatch the bag back once again, only to flinch away from Cuddy when she slaps me across the arm.
"Don't be such an ass," she snaps.
"Just saying it like it is."
That earns me another swat across the arm and I decide that if I want to live, I'd be best to keep my mouth shut for the time being. I let her keep the bag and pick up another one from the floor instead. She waddles across to the pantry to put stuff away, while I open the fridge and start unpacking the bag containing milk, butter and cheese. Silence falls over the kitchen, save for the rustling of plastic bags and the sound of Cuddy's feet moving around on the floor. She returns to my side when she's finished putting the first bag of groceries away, and I wordlessly hand her another bag from the floor while holding the fridge door open with my shoulder. She smiles and pecks another kiss on my cheek, which I accept with a scowl, and as she places the bag on the counter to start pulling stuff out, I'm suddenly struck by how domestic this is. It's more than a little disturbing.
It becomes tenfold more disturbing as I find myself picturing this very same scene being played out, except with the added detail of a little kid running around between us. Clinging to Cuddy's leg or chewing on my cane, or maybe ramming a tricycle into one of Cuddy's cupboards.
"You squashed my bread!"
Cuddy's exclamation snaps me out of my momentary visit to the twilight zone and I look across at her. Sure enough, she's holding up a lop-sided loaf of bread. Very lop-sided.
"Oops?" I offer, not very sincerely.
She throws me an exasperated look and then slaps the bread down onto the counter. "Everyone knows you're not supposed to put the bread in with the bulky items."
"Hey, I didn't pack those grocery bags," I argue.
"You still could've removed the bread from the bag before dumping it all in the trunk of your car."
I shove the frozen peas into the freezer. "It was hot. My leg hurt. Your precious bread was the last thing on my mind at the time."
She shoots me a mock infuriated look, which I return just as mockingly. She then resumes rummaging through the bag, while I return to putting stuff away in the freezer.
"You got the ice cream, right?" Cuddy asks after another pause.
"Is that a trick question?"
"Where is it?"
I nod towards the remaining bags of groceries on the floor. "Down there somewhere."
Cuddy starts to waddle around me to said bags. "Chocolate chip, like I asked?"
"It was either get a flavour of ice cream that you didn't request just to annoy you, or choose life," I reply. "I chose life. So yes – chocolate chip, like you asked."
I hear a plastic bag rustling. "You chose wisely," Cuddy says. "For once."
"I figured my life is worth more than a tub of ice cream."
Cuddy yanks a drawer open and rummages cutlery around. "If only you were that sensible when it came to dictations or clinic duty."
"The boss is a lot scarier when she's infected with pregnancy hormones."
The drawer slams shut, and Cuddy replies in an amused tone, "I'll have to remember that in future."
As I shove a bag of frozen carrots into the freezer, I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Cuddy heading out of the kitchen towards the living room with the ice cream and a spoon. I open my mouth to demand she come back and help me finish the job, but watching her awkwardly attempt to sit down makes me decide to leave her be for now.
When I'm finally done, I heap all the empty plastic bags on the counter for Cuddy to deal with later because I can't be bothered dealing with them myself, and I grab up my cane and head out to the living room.
I flop down on the couch, next to Cuddy, and close my eyes. "You owe me exactly two hundred and forty nine sexual favours."
"Oh, please," Cuddy snorts. "You so haven't been inconvenienced that much."
"I so totally have," I argue, opening my eyes to look at Cuddy. "I did all your shopping today--" I stretch my hand out to start ticking off my points; "--I bought you ice cream the other day, I helped you do your laundry because Wilson wasn't on-call to do it for you--"
"On-call for me or for you?" Cuddy cuts in dryly.
"I'm beginning to feel like a reusable meal ticket."
Cuddy drops the ice cream tub to her thigh and looks at me, exasperated. "For God's sake, House, it's not like I expect you do any of this for me." she exclaims. "I've never expected you to do anything."
"You're always phoning me," I point out.
"And you've never once said no whenever I've asked for your help," Cuddy snaps.
I open my mouth to argue against that point, except Cuddy is actually right. As much as she may whine at me over the phone and as much as I hate being whined at, I've never actively said no. That's only because I feel stupidly responsible, I stubbornly think to myself as I watch Cuddy return to her ice cream. It has nothing to do with enjoying being included and involved in Cuddy's life, not at all.
"You going to offer me some?" I say after a pause.
"Offer you some what?" Cuddy replies shortly.
Realising Cuddy is annoyed with me for what I said about feeling like a meal ticket, I roll my eyes as I let my head fall back against the couch again. "Some ice cream," I clarify.
Cuddy glances at me, and I open my mouth again, to indicate I want a spoonful.
She looks back to her dessert. "You should've got your own."
"You should learn to share," I counter.
"Like you of all people would know about sharing," Cuddy retorts. She's spooning up some ice cream as she says this, though, and she moves the spoon across to me. "Here."
I accept the spoonful, crunching the chocolate chips between my teeth and then licking my lips as I swallow. "So, you come up with a name yet?"
Cuddy gives me a weird look. "Since when have you started caring about what name the baby's going to have?"
I shrug. "Since now."
"Why?"
I shrug again. "Something to talk about, isn't it?" Cuddy rolls her eyes at me, and I add, "Half of the kid's genes are mine. I want to know the kid isn't going to end up being called something that would make a name like Engelbert Humperdinck pale in comparison."
"As if I would give our child a name as absurd as Englebert Humperdinck."
"Our child?" I echo incredulously.
Cuddy suddenly looks mildly flustered. She gives a quick, dismissive toss of her head as though to brush off her Freudian slip. "Well... technically, yes."
"Wow," I say after a dramatic pause. I'm not really sure how to take the whole 'our child' thing because the whole 'our child' thing was something we both agreed wasn't going to be up for discussion; that was one of the conditions of me donating sperm. The thing is I've been hanging around Cuddy so much the last few months that I can't find it in myself to be freaked out about the timebomb growing in Cuddy's stomach as 'our child'. I do, however, feel a stab of panic at the reminder that 'our child' is going to come clawing its way into the world from between Cuddy's legs like something out of a Stephen King novel, any day now.
"In that case, anything remotely resembling Englebert or Humperdinck is out of the question," I add after another pause once I've managed to calm myself back down.
"You want a say in what name the baby gets now?" Cuddy asks incredulously.
"Englebert is definitely out of the question," I continue. "So is Elvis, Cliff and and any name that rhymes with a female body part."
Cuddy looks at me in amusement. "I should call it Englebert, just to piss you off."
"To piss me off? It's not me that's going to have to live with the name."
"No, you'd just have to live with knowing I named half your genes Englebert."
"Englebert Cuddy." I say the name slowly, drawing the vowels out. "You'd be a cruel mother to inflict a curse like that on your first-born child."
"Luckily for my first-born child, I don't intend on being a cruel mother."
"Thank God for that," I agree. I watch Cuddy spoon up another mouthful of ice cream for herself. I shift on the couch and lean towards Cuddy until I've got my head against her shoulder.
"Go away," Cuddy instantly says.
I ignore her. "Please, sir, can I have some more?"
She looks down at me, and I put on my best imploring expression as I open my mouth expectantly. Cuddy rolls her eyes again, but obliges. Just as she's spooning some more up for herself, I reach my finger into her ice cream to scoop a dollop up. Cuddy is quick to slap my knuckles with the back of her spoon.
"Ahh!" I hiss, yanking my hand back.
"Hands off!" she exclaims.
"You're sharing your spoon with me, what difference does it make?"
I reach up to dab some ice cream onto the tip of her nose, and Cuddy bats my hand away in annoyance, replying, "Hands off my ice cream if you want to live."
I bat back at her hand playfully, which earns another smack of the spoon against my knuckles. "Ow," I complain in a laugh, and because annoying Cuddy is a fun game, I attempt to make a swipe at her spoon. I miss the first two times; she keeps swatting at me, until I manage to grab a hold of her wrist.
"House," Cuddy warns.
"Cuddy," I mimic mock seriously. I attempt to wrestle the spoon from her until she's laughing in frustration and trying to shove me back with her elbow. She finally succeeds and I let out an uncomfortable groan at being elbowed in the ribs. "Ow, ow, alright."
"Don't come between a pregnant woman and her ice cream," Cuddy says, nudging me until I'm forced to sit upright, away from her. She points the spoon threateningly at me as I rub the tender spot on my ribs where she got me. "You stink, by the way."
"Well, of course I stink," I retort. "You been outside today? It's like Armageddon. God's wrath is so fiery, it has its own thermostat. Cranked up to 'The Sinners Are Toast'."
"You planning on staying?"
I give her a confused look. "Is that an offer or a threat?"
Cuddy points her spoon in the direction of the bathroom. "Go and shower."
"And what if I say no?"
"Then you're going home."
I pause to I consider my options. I could either stay here in Cuddy's luxurious igloo, safe from God's thermostatic vengeance, or I could go home and roast to death. Somehow, indulging in comfort seems more appealing. "Fair enough," I say. I push myself up from the couch and reach for my cane. "You need anything while I'm up?"
"Switch the TV on."
I do as I'm told, and even place the remote within Cuddy's reach because I know I'll have to double back and get it for her if I don't. I then head off the bathroom.
I have a lukewarm shower and by the time I'm done, I feel a million times better. Because I have no clean clothes to wear, I sneak into Cuddy's bedroom and rummage around in her drawers. I take the opportunity to check out a few of her panties and bra, and am a little horrified when I come across a big pair of maternity underwear. It's like a parachute. I stuff them back into her drawer and immediately try to erase them from memory as I continue searching for something to wear.
I unearth a t-shirt and a pair of track pants in the bottom drawer, probably belonging to some temporary boyfriend of Cuddy's from long ago. The t-shirt is a bit too big and the track pants are too short and ride up my ankles, but they'll do for now. I shut the drawers and head back out to the living room.
"You went through my drawers," Cuddy accuses in exasperation.
I give her a look as I round the coffee table. "Do you always have to state the obvious?" I slump down on the couch. "Had nothing to wear. What do you expect?"
"You could've asked me first!"
"Why? Where's the fun in that?" I reach across to the remote control resting on her thigh.
Cuddy snatches the remote up and shoots me an aggravated look. I roll my eyes but decide to let her be for now, and focus on the TV. I have no idea what show it is she's watching, but thirty seconds in and I'm already bored. It's some programme aimed specifically at women; I can tell by the cheesy swell of emotion-evoking music that accompanies the equally cheesy scene being played out between what I assume is mother and daughter.
Regardless, after a few minutes, I find myself glued to the TV because I'm actually too tired to do anything else. Somewhere during the middle of the show, Cuddy shifts around on the couch until she's stretched out on it, and she props her feet on my good leg.
I look down at them and notice the oedema in her ankles; a common symptom of pregnancy. Her feet are white and her nails are in need of a trim because she evidently can't reach them anymore, thanks to the massive gut she's got. Without giving it too much thought I place my hand on one of her feet and start absently massaging it as I return my attention to the television.
I have no recollection of falling asleep, but one minute I'm staring blankly at the TV and the next, I'm being nudged with a foot against my leg. I jerk awake and blink, confused as to where the hell I am until I look across at Cuddy. I feel something wet on my chin and realise I've been drooling.
"What time is it?" I murmur sleepily, wiping the drool away with the back of my hand.
"Almost four." Cuddy looks amused. "You were snoring."
I frown at her. I squeeze my eyes shut before stretching them wide open to make myself wake up. "I was?"
"So attractive," she says dryly.
"That's me," I agree around a loud yawn.
"I need a hand up," Cuddy says. "Need to go to the bathroom."
Along with yawning comes a sudden urge to stretch, and I take my time stretching my arms and back until my spine pops. "What do you need my help for?" I drop my hands back to my lap and let my head fall back against the couch. "Can't you just roll off the couch, like a normal walrus?"
I let out a hiss of pain at being kicked in the good thigh with Cuddy's foot.
"Alright," I relent. I feel too groggy to get up, but I make myself shift to the edge of the couch and then stand up. I launch into another long stretch before offering my hand down to Cuddy to help her off the couch; with how big and bulky she is, it's a struggle to get Cuddy to her feet. "I feel like I'm rescuing a whale," I say, which earns me a slaps on the chest once she's standing.
I rub my chest as I follow Cuddy to the bathroom. I need to go, too, so I wait outside while she does her thing. Except she takes longer than my bladder is willing to wait and, without knocking, I open the door and poke my head in.
I'm met with the sight of Cuddy sitting like a Buddha on the toilet.
"Nice," I remark.
"House!" She shoos at me in surprise. "Get out!"
"What's taking you so long?" I complain.
"Get out."
I duck back out and shut the door when Cuddy throws a toilet roll towards me; I hear it thud against the door and then drop to the floor. A moment later, the toilet flushes and after hearing the tap running, Cuddy then flings the door open. "The baby is pressing on my bladder, that's what took me so long," she snaps. "Hurry up, I want to have a shower."
I hold my hands up in surrender and edge around Cuddy, into the bathroom. "Your wish is my command, Buddha."
I manage to close the door before Cuddy gets a chance to slap me again. That doesn't stop her from admonishing me with another slap to my chest when I come back out of the bathroom a few minutes later.
"Whoa," I exclaim.
"Disturb me in the shower and you die," she warns.
"Wow. I'm scared."
"So you should be," she replies sharply. She enters the bathroom and closes the door firmly.
"What, I can't come in and soap your breasts?" I call through the door.
Cuddy doesn't answer me. I consider walking in on her when I hear the shower running, then decide that I want my jugular vein to stay intact with my neck, so I leave her to it.
I go to her bedroom, instead. I set my cane aside and launch myself onto her bed, landing on my back on the middle of the mattress. The place where it all began. I've gotten sex a couple of other times since she fell pregnant, though not much. Just casual sex. I close my eyes and let my mind wander to the last time she and I had sex, which was about a month ago. That was probably one of the most interesting sexual experiences I've ever had in my life; you haven't lived until you've been dragged around the bed by a sex-crazed pregnant woman.
Without meaning to, because of how much the heat has taken it out of me, I start to doze off again.
I'm jolted awake by a sudden dip in the bed, followed by a sharp prod to my ribs. I shoot Cuddy a startled look. "Christ," I mutter.
"What're you doing on my bed?" she asks firmly.
I feel annoyed at being woken up so suddenly. "What does it look like?" I snap back at her.
She gives me a look as she drags her damp, tangled hair away from her face, though she doesn't answer me. She kneels up on the bed instead, and the thin cotton material that her dress is made of shows an outline of her areolas. I look closely at them, because I can, as she carefully lies down on her side. I spend few moments watching her caress her belly.
"Baby's moving a lot this afternoon," Cuddy says, looking down at her belly.
I continue silently watching her, though as the minutes tick on, I grow curious to feel the kid moving. As much as I don't particularly want to get too attached to it, I can't deny that it's my kid in Cuddy's belly. Curiosity outweighs aversion right now. I roll onto my side and scoot down the bed until I'm eye level with Cuddy's stomach. I lean in, bracing a hand against her hip as I press my ear to her belly. I hear a churn of muffled gurgling sounds, followed by a noise that resembles something that a mythical creature of the deep would make. As I listen, I feel Cuddy lay a hand on the side of my head.
"Sounds like you've swallowed Barry White," I comment.
I adjust my ear on her belly and just as I do, I feel a bump against my cheek, followed by a weird rolling movement. I'm no obstetrician, but I make a guess based upon the position of where the movement was that maybe that was the bundle of doom's shoulder. Whatever it is, I'm filled with a bizarre sense of awe. Or maybe it's fear at the realisation of what I've contributed to creating – a beast that's going to end up sucking the life out of everything around it, the way all babies do.
"It's like something out of Alien," I add.
Cuddy's fingers thread through my hair. "How do you think I feel?"
"Like the Queen Alien?" I suggest. "You do bear a striking resemblance."
I expect to be slapped, but Cuddy laughs dryly instead. "And you're in my lair..." she begins in a teasing tone. I lift my head my head from her belly and give her a suspicious look. "There's no escape."
I narrow my eyes. "You've already eaten Barry White," I reply. "I don't consent to being eaten."
"My lair, my rules," she retorts.
"My body, my choice to live."
"You should've thought of that before stepping foot into my bedroom."
I smirk in amusement. "You don't scare me."
Cuddy raises her brows challengingly. "Oh, don't I?"
I smile at the smile she gives me, and then lower my ear back to her belly again. I feel her hand stroking my hair as I move my ear around to various parts of her stomach, eventually getting a stiff neck from holding it craned for so long. I shift back up the bed and allow Cuddy to pull my head in so it's resting on her chest. I have a good view down the front of her dress, so I see no reason to complain.
"Thank you," Cuddy says after a pause.
"For what?" I say down at her breasts.
"For everything." I feel both of Cuddy's hands stroke through my hair affectionately. I'd shrug her away, except I'm not actually bothered. "You didn't have to do any of the things you've done."
"I don't mind," I reply honestly.
Cuddy nudges my head up and she presses a kiss to my forehead. "I know you don't."
I screw my face up at how sappy this is getting, though I don't make any effort to put a stop to it. I drop my head back down to her chest and then lower my face to nuzzle it against her breasts. I feel Cuddy's hand stroke my hair again, and seeing she's not stopping me, I press my face in a little firmer. I run my chin across her left nipple, which feels hard and when Cuddy slides her hand down to the back of my neck in encouragement, I'm suddenly very interested in getting closer.
I caress her belly while nosing at her nipple, and then lift my face to her throat. She arches her neck and I press a kiss to it, followed by another. I hear her let out a shaky breath and feel her fingers digging into the back of my neck, so I start kissing her throat slowly. She tugs my face away after a few moments and I meet her mouth, kissing deeply with tongue.
I'm a little short of breath by the time Cuddy lets me pull back. "Is this your idea of eating me?" I ask.
"I believe this was your idea of repayment."
"If that involves being eaten--" I begin.
I'm interrupted by Cuddy tugging at me roughly. "Shut up."
I comply. I'm too interested in her breasts to want to talk, anyway. I drop my face back to her chest and this time tease one of her nipples through the material of her dress. Cuddy lets out a gasp and grabs at my head. Either her nipples are really sensitive or she's really horny; either way, I find how she tugs frantically at my head to angle my mouth straight over her nipple extremely hot. Especially with the sounds she makes as I suck a little harder on it.
The logistics of sex with a heavily pregnant woman, however, doesn't strike me until I realise I can't climb on top of her, and can't actually pull Cuddy close to me. I end up fumbling around her belly clumsily as I attempt to try and push her dress up, and I come to the conclusion after a few seconds of wrestling with the material that it's not going to work.
Luckily, Cuddy seems to have the same idea as me, though watching her ungracefully try to shimmy her dress up over her massive middle is probably one of the less erotic things I've seen in my life. "You want help with that?" I ask.
"You get undressed," she orders.
Okay, I can do that. I'm a lot quicker at it than Cuddy is, too; I whip my top off and toss it over the edge of the bed, and do the same with my pants. She's still struggling out of her dress when I lie back down on my side, naked. I prop my head on the heel of my hand and watch her endeavour with amusement.
"You know, if I was a judge at a stripping contest, I think I'd give you a score of D minus," I remark.
Cuddy's got her dress tangled up around her head by this point. "You want to improve my score, you'll help me get this damn thing off," she snaps from within the confines of the material.
"Actually, it's more amusing to watch you do it."
"House," she warns.
I do as she tells me to. I work the dress off her arms and let her toss it aside, while I gather her breast in my hand. Aside from the fact that the size of her areolas and the Montgomery's tubercles that dot them are a little freaky, her boobs are otherwise awesome. Much bigger due to being pregnant; about two cup sizes bigger. They're fuller, more rounded, and evidently sensitive. When I lean in to lick at her nipple, I feel Cuddy's hands drop to my head and pull me closer. I urge her to lie back and I stretch out on my side while indulging in her breast, sucking and biting and licking.
I'm interrupted in mid-suck by Cuddy shoving me back. I look at her in bemusement. "Getting dizzy," she explains a little breathlessly as she struggles onto her side to face me. "Baby's pressing on my aorta."
"Ah."
I don't have too much time to be annoyed at the rude interruption because Cuddy palms her breast in one hand and yanks me forward with her other. My face is mashed in against her boobs, though I obediently start licking and teasing her nipple again. She groans and arches towards me, which causes me to be pushed back by her massive stomach. I shuffle down the bed a little until I'm able to fit myself around the shape of her body, and I resume paying attention to her breasts.
"I always knew your mouth was good for something other than smart ass remarks," Cuddy breathes.
"My mouth is good at a lot of things," I say, though my words come out muffled because I have large mouthful of mammary.
"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full."
I pull away from her breast with a loud slurping sound. "Giving me a lecture on manners in a sexual situation seems kind of ironic, don't you think?"
"Less talking, more eating," Cuddy orders. She starts pushing me around again, this time in the direction of her legs. I go willingly, though navigating around her belly makes things a little interesting. I keep bumping it with my face or my head every time I shift further down the bed.
"I feel like I'm a Contiki tour of Lisa Cuddy's body," I say as my face is shoved between her thighs. "See all the major sights in a whirlwind tour."
"You've seen the major sights a million times over," she replies. "It's not like you're missing anything."
"They're the parts I like visiting the most."
Cuddy shoves at me again. "Get on with it."
I do as I'm told, and nuzzle my face in against her crotch over the material of her panties. I hear Cuddy groan loudly. She snatches at my hair and opens her legs wider, and when I lick slowly upwards she arches against me.
"House," she gasps.
I glance up and realise I can't see over her mountainous belly. All I see is stomach and a big bump where her belly button has popped right out. For some reason I'm reminded of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, the part when Richard Dreyfuss made a large sculpture of the mountain out of mashed potato. "This is an interesting view," I say against her crotch.
She gasps louder and twists my hair sharply, which makes me hiss in pain. The fact that her thighs are trembling and that she's rocking her hips against my face indicates she's clearly impatient for me to continue. I consider being an ass and making her wait, but change my mind again when she yanks my hair a second time. I kind of value my hair follicles enough to want to remain attached to them.
I peel her panties down her thighs just enough so that I can touch her clit with my tongue. I'm positive I'm going to end up with an injury with the way Cuddy's clinging onto my hair like I'm some kind of playground equipment, so I forcefully extract myself from her clutches to remove her panties the rest of the way. I then settle back between her thighs and set to work. I don't know how I don't end up with a broken nose with the way Cuddy rocks her hips wildly against my face, but when she comes not more than a few minutes later, it's one of the most violent orgasm I've ever witnessed her having.
More bizarrely is when I look up at her belly. The whole thing has tightened into a firm, hard ball; her uterus contracting sharply around the baby. From this angle, it looks a little frightening. Cuddy doesn't seem to notice: she's still gasping, one hand tangled in her hair and the other hand stretching a hand down towards me.
"Come up here," she slurs.
I pull away from her and wipe my face on the bed covers, and then crawl up towards her. I let her push me into the place she wants me, which turns out to be behind her. I settle on my side, my chest pressed to her back, and I reach around to cup her breast while kissing her shoulder. As much as my penis is trying to drill a hole into her lower back, I ignore it in favour of letting Cuddy take the lead for what she wants because not only is it hot when a woman takes charge in bed, I'm also a little terrified of hurting her.
In fact, when she clutches at her belly with a grunt, I have a moment of panic. "You okay?" I ask warily.
She groans, which doesn't help my panicking at all. Until she lets out a throaty laugh. "You have no idea."
Relief floods through me. Followed by a burst of egotism. "That's a good thing, right?" I ask in a cocky tone.
"Stop talking."
She makes me stop talking by reaching back to grasp my head and turning hers to meet my mouth. The angle is awkward as we kiss. I pull back and press my face in against the back of her neck when I feel her hand brush against my penis. I kiss behind her ear when she starts stroking me and soon I'm nudging at her impatiently. I shift down and as she scissors her legs open, and I angle myself up towards her.
The thing is I've never had sex this way before, not with a pregnant woman, so I don't actually know where I'm aiming. I stop kissing her neck in favour of screwing one eye shut in concentration as I feel around for the entrance to Cuddy's vagina with the tip of my penis.
"I know it's around here somewhere..." I mutter. "I need a map. I feel like I'm navigating through space, looking for a wormhole."
Suddenly, I think I find it. I push forward firmly.
Cuddy gasps sharply and slaps my hip hard. "That's the wrong wormhole," she snaps.
"Ow!" My hip instantly stings from the way her fingers crack against my skin. "You going to help me navigate?" I snap back at her.
Cuddy mutters something under her breath, and then I feel her fingers fumbling around on Mr. Happy. Except Mr. Happy isn't being as happy as he was a few moments ago, thanks to the vicious slap just inflicted to my hip. "You're a shocking pilot," Cuddy says.
I splutter as I cop a mouthful of Cuddy's damp hair. Spitting it out, I retort, "Let's see you do better, Chewbacca."
"Only when your Millennium Falcon is back up to speed," she replies dryly, stroking my slowly flagging penis. "Otherwise, you'll be on your own, Hand Solo."
I smile in amusement. "The slap you gave to my hip created a disturbance in the force."
Cuddy snorts. She focuses on stroking me, and I help her until Mr. Happy is alert again. This time, Cuddy guides me and I have to angle and grind my pelvis forward in order to reach the correct wormhole. Once engaged, I start pushing in... only for my penis to pop back out.
Cuddy tries again, and I really have no idea how she's able to reach around her belly like that, but somehow she does. I manage to slide all the way into her this time and I establish a tentative rhythm to make sure I'm actually in properly. I flop out again when I start thrusting. I curse while Cuddy laughs as she guides me back inside her and this time, it works. It takes a little while to find a rhythm, but once we do, it's all good.
I stroke my hand over her breast and her belly, liking the way she's all feminine and soft curves. When she cranes her neck to kiss me, I clutch the side of her face to hold her to me, though we're both breathing too heavily to be able to kiss with any coordination. She reaches up and grabs the back of my head, pressing my face to her hair as the pace picks up. I'm vaguely aware of Cuddy stroking herself when I hear her utter a few loud, hitched gasps as she orgasms again – a lot gentler and nowhere near as violent this time. I clutch her close to me when I finally start reaching that point of intense pleasure, and stifle a groan against her shoulder.
I relax against Cuddy, breathing fast. She strokes the back of my neck and I kiss the back of hers and as we both calm down, she reaches for my hand and draws my arm over her, locking her fingers with mine.
"You're forgiven for making me go shopping," I murmur after a short pause.
Cuddy laughs. "What happened to you not minding?"
"I lied."
She laughs again. "Right," she replies disbelievingly.
"It's true," I say without bothering to sound convincing.
Cuddy tugs my arm up around her chest and settles more comfortably against me. I take her non-response as a cue that she's not interested in conversation, which suits me fine. I tell myself I'm not snuggling, just invading Cuddy's space as I tighten my arm around her and bury my face in against the back of her neck. I'm happy not think about why I'm invading her space, either, especially seeing she and I aren't technically involved with each other in any way except to drive each other crazy. Except for the part where I feel annoyingly responsible for her, perhaps even a little protective if I wanted to be really honest with myself. Which I don't.
I doze off for the third time this afternoon, deliberately paying little attention to the way Cuddy is clutching my hand to her chest. I have vivid dreams about Chewbacca the Wookie, sculptures of pregnant stomachs made out of mashed potato and something involving Englebert Humperdinck wearing a diaperm and when I wake up a couple of hours later, I spend a few minutes wondering how the hell I went from minding my own business in the stifling confines of my apartment, to doing Cuddy's shopping, to being a human foetal monitor and then sex.
I realise with a growing sense of apprehension that any day now, the creature feeding off Cuddy's body is going to make its Imperial March into the world and my life is going to take a drastic turn for the worse. And there's going to be no way out of it.
Crap.
Despite myself, I start to smile.
end