A/N-Thanks to all readers who are sticking with this even though I can't seem to do daily updates anymore, and all of the reviewers since last time: JLCH, lenasti16, Alltheloveinthew, LoveMyHouse, Josam, berenice, IHeartHouseCuddy, Bakerstreet Blues, OldSFfan, skieathuddyrepeat, , justlobe, LapizSilkwood, Mon Fogel, Suzieqlondon, ClareBear14, Little Greg, Jane Q. Doe, Abby, Alex, Huddygirl, LEfan77 and all of the Anonymous Guest reviewers.

*This chapter includes adult content.


-Day 3-Monday Evening-

After their dance class, House and Cuddy shopped for much needed clothing before heading back to the ship. They sat, quietly side by side, arm to arm, on the seats of the shuttle boat. Her arms were crossed and as he sat there, he felt her fingers extend, just a bit, to rest on his arm. "You thinking?" he asked.

"Not really thinking," she answered. "That…was unbelievably fun."

"It was pretty fun…wasn't it?" he asked. "Surprised even me."

She smiled at him, delicately, easily, probably as close to without thought as she was ever able to be in her adult life. They carried their acquisitions back, and he followed her lead. She went to her room first and stopped, leaning against the door and looking up at him.

"So…" House began, "You want to come up to my room, hang out tonight, until…tomorrow. Make any necessary phone calls together."

"I need a shower after all of that dancing," she said, staring at him while he looked around.

"Can I watch?" he joked, half hoping that she'd invite him.

"I'll be up as soon as I'm done," she said with a smile, kissing his cheek quickly before he walked down the hall, "I honestly had so much fun."

"Me too," he answered, while he was walking away.

When she was done showering and dressing, she went up to his room. he was already showered and waiting, wearing only his jeans. "You hungry?" he asked.

"You know…not really," she began, as she walked over to him. She reached up to kiss him, pulling him down toward her, but she could feel his hesitation. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I know that look," he said suspiciously.

"I thought…you liked that look."

"Under most circumstances I am immensely fond of that look…I'm actually that look's biggest fan…however…"

"Here we go," Cuddy said, sitting down on the bed, and placing her hands in her lap.

"What?" he asked.

"We're going to do what we almost always do. One runs while the other pursues."

"No we don't."

"Yea…we really do. The time's always right for one of us, but not the other. Well…almost always. It's fine, I don't want you to do anything you aren't into…but that's one of our great patterns."

"What about…tomorrow…and not wanting to have a 'one last time' sort of feeling."

"I'm not thinking, House. I'm tired of thinking. You seemed…like you were into it this morning…I thought you might still be into it tonight. It's fine. Let's just hang out and go check out the casino tonight…or the pool…whatever."

House sat next to her on the bed, opening his mouth several times to speak, but he continuously stopped himself from speaking and went back to his thoughts. Finally, after several tries, he said, "I guess we do…often do that."

"Yea, I know," she replied.

"So if you weren't thinking…what changed your mind now?"

"We were dancing most of the day…in each other's arms, touching. We had a good time…it was sort of…arousing I guess. My mind's been going in that direction for most of the day."

"Ah ha! I thought you weren't thinking," he playfully accused.

"I'm not. My mind is just sort of…hovering around the thought of sex since I woke up with you this morning."

"That…is so hot…" he replied.

She smiled, broadly, "I can wait a little longer."

"Yea," he said, nodding. "We'll hold off until a much better time."

"Sounds good," she said. "So…what do you want to do for now?"

He looked out the window for a minute and then sighed, "It'll be a few hours before the idiots go to bed."

He looked over at her, at a tiny little trail of water that dripped from her damp hair down her neck, accentuating the smooth stretch, the long, slender line from her jaw down to her shoulder. Remembering the times when he saw the same exact occurrence, years earlier, he recalled that, despite his attempts to foresee failure, he didn't actually anticipate the last time he'd see that. The last time he'd be allowed a moment of Cuddy unguarded. Once she broke up with him, there was little that could have destroyed the metaphorical walls they built.

He leaned much closer. She felt her skin flushing as he stared at her, the warmth spreading, almost uncomfortably, up her face to the top of her head. Reaching her ear, he whispered, "We could go check out the shuffleboard games…"

She immediately tilted her head, allowing him access to her neck. He kissed slowly, just tiny pecks, down her neck, to her shoulder and collarbone. She could feel all of the warmth that had pooled around her face flood southward as she softly moaned. "Or," he continued, "We could check out all of the ice sculptures at the buffet…I hear they're lovely."

She nearly giggled as she said, "You just teasing…playing games?"

"Probably," he answered. "But, by your logic, if I'm actually pursuing, it's your turn to run away…to stop it."

The toll of a day of closeness was evident: the escalation of attraction and desire until it could no longer be contained. "Can't count on me to stop it…I stopped thinking a few hours ago," she answered.

"You do know that this is really insane, don't you?" he asked.

"Oh yea, completely," soft whimper, "insane."

His hand settled on her opposite hip, farthest away from him, pulling her just a bit toward him. She leaned back down onto the bed, her hands moving to the back of his neck at the base of his skull, bringing him with her. He was half on her, half next to her, the warm length of her body pressed tightly between his form and the bed. He sighed his appreciation for the feeling of her against him, and she wrapped her arms around him, trying to pull him closer. "You should have," he said between kisses, "realistic expectations."

She chuckled at his concern, took his face in her hands and said, "No way."

"Huh?" he answered, temporarily stunned out of his veneration of her face and neck.

"I have never had realistic expectations of you…you thrive under pressure," she said, with a teasing inflection, before kissing him, and moving her body closer to his.

"I really do," he said when they broke apart.

"You aren't thinking about…that are you?"

"Who's thinking?" he said while his hand became steadily braver, roaming away from its former resting place on her hip to her waist and thigh. "I'm not thinking. I'm feeling," he continued, as his hand slipped between her skin and her shirt and rubbed the soft smoothness of her abdomen. Next he returned to her lips, "…and tasting," he said as he kissed her. He left her lips and lifted himself from her while he removed her shirt and bra, "…and experiencing, I like to do that."

He was watching the way her breath quickened, the way she was acting and reacting to each touch, each kiss. For all of Cuddy's cool and controlled professionalism, his attention still made her just a little bit nervous. With him there still was excitement, risk, tension, uncertainty. In spite of all of those associated feelings, or more accurately, partially because of those associated feelings, there was always heightened passion, a thrill to go along with the physical stimulation.

She felt as watched by him as she was the first time, every time, because every single time he was visually consuming her for his enjoyment. Although it was scrutiny, it was not for the purpose of judging but for pleasure, an enhancement of the situation. As always, he saw her as completely perfect.

She was far from passive as her hands sought and found every touch she missed, the shape of his shoulders, the strength of the muscles in his back and sides, and savoring the pleasantly familiar stubble against her skin. The thought did cross her mind, both of their minds, that they should probably stop this before it went too far, but the line that was so easily crossed was already well behind them, and neither had the desire or inclination to follow through with stopping something that felt so amazing, as well as frighteningly familiar.

He pulled one nipple into his mouth, feeling the jolt of excitement when she moaned in pleasure. His hand travelled to her sore breast, treating it gently, but lavishing it with an equal amount of attention. She was already wiggling beneath him, and there was something about her need, about the fact that he could already tell that she wanted him to fuck her before his jeans were even off, that aroused him beyond reason. He slipped off the edge of the bed, bringing her shorts with him, allowing his hands to skim over both legs, to feel the elevations of her body as both hands met near her heat. He kissed her through her panties, and felt her pushing up against him, trying to find some friction so that she could begin to sate her increasing need.

He slipped his fingers beneath the band of her panties to pull them down, watching as they crossed her thighs, her knees, her calves, and finally slipping them over her feet. He crawled back up, finally so near her that she could feel him, although he refused, at first, to touch her. His fingers were all along her thighs, the crease of her legs, her hips, and he kissed languidly closer to her core. He finally traced his tongue over her, to part her, so he could taste her fully while he held her hips as still as possible and she pushed upward. He focused his attention more directly, his tongue sliding and circling, and, moments after his fingers slipped into her wetness, she came. The anticipation, the patience, was too much for her body to tolerate any longer. He kept his fingers inside of her as the final pulses of her receding orgasm faded, and he placed steady upward pressure, keeping her stimulated without overstimulating. His face returned between her legs as he licked and lapped gently at her, just lightly at first, until he realized that she was moaning again.

He built her up again, slowly back toward a crest, her body writhing, and he was able to control the pace of her ascent much better. After allowing her to hover around her second orgasm he sent her crashing over. She sat up partially, the tension in her body causing her thighs to quiver along either side of his head. She flopped back and felt his fingers pressing and pulsing in her, "Please," she shouted, "God, please, you have to fuck me."

His eyes opened wide with amusement, "I don't have to do anything," he answered, while he moved up onto the bed, pulling off his jeans and lying next to her. "You were the one who said you had high expectations…that's like a dare…isn't it?"

Her hands were immediately on him, relishing the feeling of his hardness, the outward signs of his attraction to her, his need for her in that moment. She reached off of the bed for her shorts, pulling a condom from her pocket and hurriedly putting it on him. She straddled him, wasting little time, and guided their union. After two tentative plunges she was moving more quickly, her entire body experiencing the pleasure they were creating and wasting little time. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her incredible tightness, and the feeling that he knew exactly how it felt to be inside her, that, somehow, she felt different than anyone else.

His hands moved along her thighs, her hips, stomach and breasts, and he had to look, he couldn't help it. He held her hips against him, rocking and grinding them tightly together for a moment, and listening while she moaned at the different sensation. He sat up, then stood, with her legs wrapped around him, still inside her, and stepped toward the wall. He had a very pleased look on his face as his far more functional leg gave him the ability to slam into her against the wall, listening to the way she moaned, smashed between him and the kitschy wallpaper behind her. "Wanted to do this to you…for so long," he mumbled, never missing a beat. The tiredness of his body didn't even register compared to the pain he used to know.

He allowed his brain to really think about what they were doing, about the way she felt and sounded, and that he felt un-alone and whole, sexually, physically, for those few minutes. When she started to moan harder, when he knew her orgasm was close, his body began to release into bliss, his own orgasm triggering hers, while they clung to each other as if they held their last connection to safety.

He leaned against her, hand braced against the wall, as she slid back down to the ground, "Thank god for high expectations," she mumbled against his lips, kissing him gently.

House woke up two hours later to find Cuddy staring out the window, a bag of ice resting against her breast. He could see it, the terror that had settled in, as she waited those last few hours. The sexual tension had been a fantastic form of distraction, preventing her from thinking too long on the phone call that was only hours away. He snuck up behind her, kissing her cheek and whispering, "You sleep at all?"

"Not yet."

"I guess I did," he answered.

She laughed for a moment, "It was worth it. Believe me."

"And…sorry about that too," he said, pointing to the bag of ice.

"Still, completely worth it," she said with a devilish smirk.

He smiled, "What do you want to do? Want to go see what we can get into? OR…we could have sex again."

She acted as if she was deep in thought, "Listen to that crappy band in the bar…or sex…hmmmm."

She stood and approached him. "Seriously?" he asked, with sheer happiness and surprise, when he realized she wanted exactly what he wanted.

"Seriously!" she answered as she pushed him back toward the bed.


Later, they crept out of their room, stopping by a vending machine to eat food Cuddy swore she wouldn't be able to stomach, but surprisingly found to be very tasty. They walked around the deck of the ship, the sky dark except for the light from the quarter moon, their paths lit by small running lights along the edges of the railings of the boat and the occasional light next to a door. House smiled when she took his hand while they walked. "Thanks for preoccupying me," she said.

"Any time my penis can help us to attain mutual goals…I'm on board."

She giggled and shook her head as they walked. "So what actually happened to the real Will and Felicity?"

"Well, sadly, Felicity caught Will cheating…right after the wedding ceremony with a scantily clad guest."

"I'd figure a bridesmaid."

"That's what I might have thought in your position…but no. A guest."

"Too bad," Cuddy said.

"Yea…too bad," House agreed, "However, while they were struggling through their problems, you and I were reconciling ours. Their loss…our huge gain. You have to admit, the honeymoon dancing thing was probably the clincher."

"The clincher?"

"Yea…the final thing that got us to do what we've been doing pretty much ever since we got back from the dancing," House explained.

"It was…extremely romantic."

"See…stealing honeymoons rocks."

They smiled at one another, each trying to look calm, each trying to be a confident presence, while they awaited the results, but they could both see so easily through the façade, the silent fear behind their eyes.