Title: For Procreational Purposes Only
Author: Connecticut Junkie
Rating: M for Mature
Summary: Mild Spoilers through season 3. Cuddy enlists House's mad baby making skills.
Note: Evil Nurse Brenda is my shout out to the Television Without Pity recaps of House, which are awesome. And in my play universe, somewhere way in the past, House and Cuddy briefly fornicated. Also thanks to Rebecca for the beta. Enjoy!
House was handing off another useless file full of useless medical complaints to one of the useless nurses when Cuddy came barging through the Clinic doors.
"My office, now."
She was already back out the doors before House could respond. Evil Nurse Brenda had grabbed the file from him, rolled her eyes, and said, "We all know what comes next. Insert generic Cuddy-needs-sex joke here."
House raised his eyebrows. "Am I that predictable?"
Evil Nurse Brenda shrugged. "No. Cuddy's just that horny."
"I like you," House told her, before heading out of the Clinic. "Your sarcasm enhances your plain features."
"Asshole."
When he entered Cuddy's office, House noticed she was already standing at the window, using her desk as a barrier between them. He dropped into the chair, acting as nonchalant as possible.
"You know, you should give Evil Nurse Brenda a raise."
Cuddy just raised an eyebrow at him.
"I call her that because Horrid Bitch Nurse Brenda doesn't sound quite as catchy," he explained.
"Did it ever occur to you to just call her 'Nurse'?"
"Must've slipped my mind. Now, what did you want? Did you want me to service you? Orally, manually, conventionally, or did you want to go really kinky and let me use the cane?"
Cuddy blushed. House waited for her witty retort but none was forthcoming. "Nothing? You're not dying are you? Because if you are, let me call Cameron and you can have a nice civil ceremony. I'll videotape the consummation of the marriage."
"Pervert," Cuddy finally got out.
"I'm not the one who's blushing. Now, in case you didn't notice, I was actually doing Clinic duty, and unless this counts as part of my time, I'd rather get it over with while the waiting room's only half full of idiots. See, I said half full because I'm an optimist."
"I almost stole a baby today!" Cuddy blurted out.
For a moment, House was speechless. "Next time, go for the stereo. Less money on the resale, but easier to get rid of on the black market."
Between hyperventilating breaths, Cuddy explained. "I was walking through the maternity ward, and this new mother let me hold her baby, and I seriously thought about what would happen if I just made a mad dash for the exit! I've completely lost my mind!"
"But not your telltale biological clock."
"I guess not. I mean, I'd given up. I'd accepted that I wasn't going to do it. But now…"
"Now you want to try again. And I'm here because you want me to Edgar Allen Poke you?"
"That's not even clever!"
"Your heaving bosoms are distracting me."
"So will you?"
"Will I what?"
"Will you help me? Please."
"Help you do what?"
House could swear Cuddy growled at him. "You know." She mimicked injecting a syringe.
He shrugged. "Maybe. I'd have to inspect the area first. Make sure the injection site hasn't gotten too saggy and cellulite-ridden. It makes it so much harder to properly do the injection."
Cuddy slammed her hand on the table. "Fine! You want your cheap feel, here! Just agree to do the damn thing." She grabbed a syringe and alcohol swab from her desk, stormed around, shimmied her tight tweed skirt over her hips and bent over the desk. It was more access than medically necessary, but also the only way he might shut up.
After several uncomfortable seconds passed without a word, she nervously looked over her shoulder. "Don't make me beg, House."
It was too hard to comment when all the blood in his body had left his brain and headed for his groin. When Cuddy was providing him with perfect fantasy material, only it was real. He reached out, running his hand over her leg, feeling the perfect thigh muscle tremble under his touch and her own exertion. He let his fingers follow the lace curve of her thong that was visible just under the bunched up tweed, then run down to her ass, circling the area where he had injected her the last time, so many months ago.
Then he smacked her. "No."
The redness in her face was anger this time, not embarrassment. "What?"
"No," he repeated, as if she was mentally challenged. "At least, not until you ask me what you really wanted to ask me."
"That was what I really wanted to ask you."
"Not today. What you were going to ask me when you came to my office after I injected you the first time."
Cuddy frowned. "I don't remember."
He smacked her ass again, lighter, almost teasingly. "Liar. Naughty, naughty liar."
"You are behaving inappropriately!"
"Says the woman whose skirt is around her waist."
"Strictly for a medical exam by a professional for procreational purposes." His hand was still on her ass, and he started tapping out a rhythm as if he was playing a piano.
"I don't believe you," he said, switching from tapping to stroking. "And do you want to know why?"
"No," Cuddy answered, vainly thinking it would end the conversation.
"Because your pretty pink panties- see I can alliterate too- aren't pink in a certain area that I can see because I happen to have an excellent vantage point from this seat. They are in fact, a nice, deep, arousing shade of red. And why are they that color, Dr. House? Do explain! You do have such amazing powers of deduction. Why thank you! They are red because they are wet, because you, my dear Cuddy, are just dripping with excitement from the thought of procreating with me. Good, old-fashioned procreation. The kind where I inject you with my big, hard man syringe and fill you up with baby-making love juice."
"You make me want to vomit," Cuddy hissed.
House grabbed her ass and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping an arm around her waist and another around her neck, tangling his hand in her hair and tilting her face so she could see him. "And you make me want to come."
He said it with all seriousness, holding her gaze and her head so she couldn't look away. She didn't say anything, at a loss for words after that. Instead, she settled for guiding his hand away from her waist to between her legs. When he made contact she moaned, embarrassed he'd been right but feeling far too good to let it get to her. She writhed against him, being careful not to put too much weight on his bad leg while putting just enough friction on his cock. He grunted, using the hand in her hair to gain access to her neck, wanting to leave a mark on her. Let them have matching marks, never mind that his was made by a bullet and hers by a possessive man. He whispered to her, things filthy and sweet, and plunged his fingers deeper inside. When she shuddered around him, he stood up, turning her around and dropping her onto the desk before resuming his seat.
It left him at a perfect height, and he was content to gaze at her for a few seconds as she lay spread out on her desk, legs open, panties askew, chest heaving with every breath. He peeled the panties off, stuffing them in his pocket, before resting her legs on his shoulders. He didn't want to waste time kissing and nibbling his way up; instead he wanted to taste her, see if she tasted the way he remembered or if time had made her better the way it did a good scotch. He leaned forward, his stubble rasping against skin tender and smooth- noting that he was right, Brazilian it was- and not even bothering to suppress the grin as she choked out a half-whimper, half-moan when his tongue made contact. He stayed there, lapping up her juices and savoring her sex sounds until the ache in his cock became stronger than the ache in his leg.
He stood, letting most of his body weight rest on his good leg, and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her brow knitted, but her face was flushed and the edges of her mouth were turned up in a contented way. "You are a naughty girl," he told her, and she opened one eye at him.
"At least you've stopped calling me a man. Although you, of all people, should have known that already."
He shrugged. "Maybe I was too drunk to remember."
"Now who's the liar?"
"Don't push me. I just might take my services elsewhere."
Cuddy pouted and rolled her hips at him. "Wilson doesn't need that. Not as much as I do."
"Minx." House tugged the buttons of her blouse open and pushed her bra off her breasts. "Finally! The twins come out of hiding. Oh…that's right. They were never hidden in the first place."
"Shut up and fuck me already."
"I love when you're bossy," he said, carefully opening his pants. "It's such a turn on."
"If you don't get that cock of yours inside me soon, I'm doubling your clinic hours and forcing you to go to a Sensitivity in the Workplace seminar."
House grinned at her. "Then close your eyes and think of England."
"Ooh, roman-" Cuddy started to say, but never finished, as he thrust himself inside her. Her words became whimpers, growing louder and more frenetic as he increased his pace. He pressed his hands against her thighs and pushed her legs down, spreading them as wide as possible, almost touching the desk. It further reinforced his belief that Yoga should be mandatory for all hot women.
Cuddy was moaning, panting, and clawing at the desk, trying to get hold of anything for leverage. He could tell she was close, and he slid his hand from her thigh to her clit. "You have to come for me, Cuddy. Orgasm increases the risk of conception," he told her, panting the words out between thrusts. "Think of the children!" he exclaimed in his best mock-concerned voice. Cuddy laughed, but before he had the nerve to chide her for laughing during sex, she came, letting out a strangled cry and hooking her legs around his waist. Stand-up sex wasn't the most comfortable position for him, and he stopped trying to hold back, coming inside her while her walls were still milking him from her orgasm.
He managed not to collapse, enjoying the feel of still being inside, and tried to catch his breath. "Holy fuck, Cuddy. That vagina's too tight to be real. It's gotta be man-made."
She brushed hair off her sweaty forehead and gave him a death glare. "You are an ass."
"And you're not even ovulating!" he accused. "You just used me for sex!" He couldn't even work up the energy to pretend to make it sound like she'd hurt him.
"We'll just count this one as practice, then. It does make perfect."
He pulled out, sliding a three ring binder under her butt to keep her uterus tilted. Just in case. "I'm already perfect."
"No you're not. You forgot something."
House rolled his eyes, hunting down the syringe that had gotten lost in the heat of things. He found it, efficiently swabbed and injected her. "All done. I do have a lollipop you can suck on since you've been such a good girl."
"Pervert. And you're still forgetting something."
House gave her a blank stare. Cuddy pouted back. The blanker his look, the harder she pouted. He finally got it.
"You don't need that for procreation."
"This isn't procreation. It's practice."
He leaned across the desk and cradled her head in his hand. "Fine. Although I never should have told you it turns me on when you're bossy." His kiss was surprisingly gentle, almost chaste, and just when it was to the point of unbearable, he switched, sliding his tongue along hers, crushing her mouth, enjoying the way she matched him. She broke it off before he was ready, and he hoped that she couldn't see disappointment in his face.
"Go rest on the couch. Your leg's probably killing you."
He surprised her again when he brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Just for the record, you're a much better kisser than Cameron."
"Just for the record, so are you."
"Girl on girl jokes never get old. Unlike your uterus." He stroked her lower abdomen. "Swim, my pretties."
He moved off her, collapsing on her couch and fishing in his pocket for his Vicodin. Her panties were wrapped around the bottle, and he had to disentangle them before popping it open and dry swallowing a couple. He smirked. It was definitely worth the wait.
-the end-