A/N: If you've read my other story, Domestication, you know I can't resist holiday smut. I think this is the naughtiest stuff I've written so far, so if you don't like that, you may want to skip the first half or so of this chapter. The second part is mostly about food, which is it own kind of sensual experience. (If you're on a diet, you may want to skip that part. :D ) Anyway, whatever part (s) you read, it hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: Don't Own, Etc.
Cuddy found House in the kitchen, trimming an unidentifiable kind of meat.
"That's weird," Cuddy commented. "It looks like some kind of bird, but it's dark meat. And the pieces are too big to be chicken thighs. Is it duck?"
"Duck isn't traditionally associated with Dutch holiday cuisine. That's more of an English thing," House informed her.
"I thought they liked partridge," Cuddy responded. "And, in A Christmas Carol, didn't Scrooge give the Cratchitt family a goose?"
"Just be happy you're not getting a possum, like the Clampett family," House warned.
"I can't believe you let a comment about a Christmas goose go by without mentioning my ass," Cuddy observed.
"Must be the kid's influence," House muttered, realizing he'd missed a great opportunity. "When's her nap, anyway?"
"I'd say within the hour," Cuddy replied.
House decided to pick up the pace. He put the meat in a big sealable plastic bag containing what looked a marinade of some sort. Then he chopped a few different kinds of vegetables, putting some in another plastic bag and putting others in their own individual bags. He also chopped quite a bit of onion and garlic, and he peeled and chopped a couple of fingers of ginger. He took something out of the freezer and put it in the refrigerator.
"That should do it for now," House stated as he washed his hands at the sink and turned around. "Is she ready to nap yet?"
"Sssh," Cuddy said softly as she walked through the kitchen and down the hall with a sleepy Rachael resting in her arms. "Meet me in the bedroom."
When it came to things like the opportunity to have sex, House was a man who didn't need to be asked twice. He limped as quickly as he could to Cuddy's bedroom, got undressed and climbed under the sheet.
Cuddy came in about five minutes later. She was going to get undressed in the bathroom, but she thought that seeing as how it was Christmas, she might as well give House a little show.
She began by slowly pulling her top off over her head, revealing a bright green lace push-up bra. House hadn't really been looking in her direction, but this got his attention.
"Cuddy, what are you doing?" House asked, with obvious interest.
She didn't answer him, but simply undid the top button of her pants. She slowly pulled the zipper down and placed her hands inside. She turned around and gradually eased the pants down, wiggling her butt to help them along. They slid down her legs and she unhurriedly stepped out of them.
She couldn't see House's face, but she thought she heard something coming from his direction. What was it? It sounded like some pretty heavy breathing. She turned around to face him and grabbed the toe of one of her socks. She leaned against the nearby dresser as she held up her leg and slowly pulled it off, gradually revealing her sole and then her toes. She wiggled her toes as they were freed from the sock. She did the same thing with her other foot. She had no idea if this part of the display was doing anything at all for House, but, this plus remembering what happened with the chocolate body paint on her feet from the previous evening was making her start to feel very wet.
She reached back and popped the clasp on her bra. She pulled the straps slowly over her shoulders until they drooped across her upper arms. She leaned forward and let the bra fall to the ground in front of her.
House, who was so far at least attempting to maintain his composure, let out a tiny gasp. Cuddy also noticed his hands, resting by his sides as he sat with his back against the headboard, were, for want of a better description, twitching.
"Do you want to touch me?" Cuddy asked seductively.
"Yes," House whispered as he stared at her breasts.
"Just let me touch myself first," Cuddy cooed as she slowly pulled down her panties and slid them off her feet. She sat on the edge of the dresser and spread her legs as widely as she could.
"Can you see from over there?" Cuddy inquired softly, making sure to let House know that this act she was about to perform was at least as much for his benefit as it was for hers.
"Yes," House managed to croak out, his eyes glued to Cuddy's core.
"Good," Cuddy said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm gonna come so much harder with you watching."
Cuddy noticed there was a bulge growing under House's sheet as her hand made its way down.
"I usually like to touch my lips first," Cuddy began with her narration as her fingers played softly against her folds. She slid them in a little bit. "Wow, I didn't know I was so wet."
She pulled out her fingers and put them to her mouth. She slowly licked them. Little Greg was standing up more now.
"As good as that tastes," Cuddy continued, "I need that juice for another reason." She reached down and put her index finger inside again. She pulled it out slowly and slid it up her folds. "Oh, there it is," she noted as her finger found her clit.
"I like to start out with the barest of touches," She explained breathlessly as her finger barely skimmed the tip. "After that, I like to pick up the pace slow-ly."
Cuddy was getting more and more excited and she knew she wouldn't be able to continue speaking coherently for much longer.
"Can you still see?" Cuddy asked, as much for her arousal as for his. House was barely able to force out an affirmative grunt. "God, this is going to feel so good."
Cuddy continued to rub, picking up the pace even more. She leaned back on one elbow to steady herself as she dug her heels into the top of the dresser. This allowed her to move her legs even farther apart and to push her pelvis to the very edge of the dresser.
Between the strip tease, the skillful stimulation Cuddy was already giving herself, and the fact that House had seen every second of it, it didn't take long for her to climax. Her feet came off the edge. The entire lower half of her body seized, including her toes curling, as she shook violently, releasing as hard as she could ever remember. After a few moments when she had no idea where she was, she came back to her senses and felt her legs get wobbly. She brought them down, still keeping them as far apart as possible to let House see her aftershocks.
She looked over at House and he had pulled back the sheet. His cock was at full attention.
"Cuddy," He groaned as he continued to watch her. He held open his arms, indicating she should join him in bed.
She slipped carefully off the dresser and walked on shaky legs over to him. She climbed on his lap and rubbed his cock on the outside of her lips. They were dripping wet.
"I want your huge cock fucking my hot cunt," Cuddy whispered, knowing that dirty talk just made House that much more aroused. He took over, placing his hands on her hips, maneuvering her so he could slide himself into her.
He began slowly, trying to savor the sensation of her all around him. Cuddy was having none of that. She began to slam up and down on him. "Fuck me harder," she demanded, "Fuck me as hard as you've ever fucked anyone in your life." Her head went back and her eyes closed.
House picked up his pace and at the same time he attacked her milky white, exposed throat, sucking and nipping at her. Cuddy's moans became more and more forceful. "Please make me come." Her quavering voice was a combination of intense lust and near-desperate begging.
House spread her legs wider and he pumped even deeper inside her. He was hitting her g-spot again and again, and she was seeing lights flashing before her eyes. It only took a couple more thrusts and she came even harder than she had on the dresser, falling against him as tears leaked down the sides of her face, her orgasm so deep and her release so complete that even her eyes let go.
House thrust only twice more and his orgasm seized him, stiffening his body as he emptied himself deep inside her. Cuddy continued to sit on House's lap with her forehead resting against his chest as she experienced aftershocks, and House enjoyed the feel of every one. Her body calmed as his erection faded.
They slid down under the covers and lay side by side, facing each other and looking into each others eyes. Every few seconds, one of them would lean over and kiss the other softly.
"That was amazing," House finally commented after kissing her for at least the seventh time.
"Which part did you like best?" Cuddy questioned playfully.
"Every fucking second," House answered. "I can't believe I thought you had any sexual inhibitions at all."
"Low-cut tops, tight skirts, 'do-me,' pumps," Cuddy said. "You can't be surprised that I'm an exhibitionist."
House's face curled into a wicked grin.
"What?" Cuddy asked.
"I was just thinking how hot it would be to fuck you in the main window of Macy's in Herald Square during the middle of the Thanksgiving parade," House leered.
"Every float would deflate, completely discouraged by the size of your dick," Cuddy joked.
House continued to smile as he put his arms around Cuddy and pulled her to him. She embraced him tightly in return. It was total, perfect sexual fulfillment for both of them, and it was nothing short of bliss.
They were asleep about a half hour when they heard Rachael stirring in her bedroom. Cuddy got up and quickly got dressed, leaving off her bra and panties, House noted. He sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon and evening until the kid went to bed.
He got up and got dressed as well, deciding to take Cuddy's lead and go commando. He thought after all that physical activity his leg should really be hurting him, but it wasn't too bad. Endorphins were wonderful things.
House went into the kitchen and put the oven on. He pulled out Cuddy's roasting pan from the cupboard above the refrigerator. He wondered why she even had one, since he doubted she had either the time or the inclination to roast meat. Someone must have given it to her as a gift. Probably her mother, hoping Cuddy would get married, quit her job, and spend all day every Sunday cooking a brisket for her rich Jewish husband and their three perfect children. And people thought he was delusional.
House reached in the refrigerator for the meat and the bag of combined vegetables. He put the meat and in center of the pan, placed the vegetables around it and poured the marinade over both. He inserted a meat thermometer he'd borrowed from Wilson's vast array of kitchen gadgets into the thickest part of the meat, being careful not to have the probe too close to a bone. The oven wasn't at full temperature yet, but he wasn't patient enough to wait for it. Besides, he'd never had any problems cooking anything he put in the oven before it had reached the designated temperature. He opened the door, slid the roasting pan in, and slapped the magnet on the back of the thermometer on to the front of the oven, checking one last time to make sure the alarm was set for the correct temperature.
He then grabbed a large pot and measured out some water. He measured out a little less than two thirds the amount of rice, put both in the pan and then on the stove, on a setting high enough to make the water boil.
He reached for Cuddy's wok, which was in a lower cabinet and much easier to get to than the roasting pan. When Cuddy cooked, she must have made quick meals like stir-fried vegetables. House didn't mind a stir-fry, as long as there was some meat in it, and as long as he didn't have to eat it every night. House retrieved some peanut oil from the cupboard and placed in on the counter next to the wok. He got a small bowl and mixed together some soy sauce and roasted sesame oil, along with some dry sherry. He put that in the refrigerator for later, next to the raw shrimp that had been thawing in there. He retrieved the individual bags of vegetables and put them near the wok as well.
The rice water was boiling, so House turned it lower and put the cover on it. He reminded himself to stir it on occasion as it cooked.
At this point in House's preparations, Cuddy entered the kitchen and put Rachael on the floor. She saw that House would be using the wok, hence, the stove, and she made a mental note to make sure Rachael was in another part of the kitchen when he did.
"Are we going to have another guessing game for tonight's menu?" Cuddy asked.
"It's a much simpler meal, at least as far as the combination of dishes is concerned," House hinted.
"Well, looking at the ingredients you have on the counter near the stove, is looks like some kind of stir fry," Cuddy commented.
"Close," House stated, "But not quite."
House picked up the lid to stir the rice and Cuddy saw it. "Fried rice?"
"What kind?" House asked.
"Vegetable?" Cuddy asked tentatively.
"How long have you known me?" House questioned derisively. "Do I even eat anything without meat, let alone cook without it?"
Cuddy went to the refrigerator and checked inside. "Shrimp! Shrimp fried rice!"
"Well, if you're going to cheat . . . " House responded with mock indignation.
"Shrimp fried rice is a traditional Dutch Christmas food?" Cuddy asked, remembering that House said he was making a Dutch menu. "Is it Indonesian?"
"There are Indonesian rice dishes, but fried rice is a Chinese-American dish," House stated.
"Then why are we having that?" Cuddy asked.
"To recognize the Christmas traditions of your people," House replied.
"I'm a Jew, we don't have Christmas traditions," Cuddy insisted.
"I thought most American Jews went to the movies and then out for Chinese food on Christmas Day," House asserted. "At least that's what Wilson told me."
"Well, Wilson is the last word on Jewish-American history and culture," Cuddy stated sarcastically, "Right up there with Rabbi Shmuley."
"Whatever," House responded like a dismissive tween. Cuddy wasn't sure if his dismissal was directed at Wilson or Shmuley. Cuddy didn't care as long as it wasn't aimed at her.
"Hey, I didn't see the other vegetables you cut up this morning in the refrigerator," Cuddy noted. "Where are they?"
"I think even you could figure that out, Cuddy," House informed her.
She noticed the thermometer on the outside of the oven and saw it was on. "You're roasting the vegetables and the meat!"
"Duh," House responded. ""Did you figure out what kind of meat it is yet?"
"Not yet. . . ." she hesitated.
"Ever the optimist, Cuddy," House observed. "Don't you know that will crush you?"
"Geez," Cuddy responded, rolling her eyes. "Happy Holidays to you, too, House."
"Just trying to warn you," House informed her.
"Well, let me see if I can figure this out," Cuddy puzzled. "It's some kind of bird, with dark meat, and it's not a duck, a goose or a partridge . . . "
"At that size, it would be a partridge with a serious thyroid condition," House mocked.
"Okay," Cuddy responded in frustration. "So it's a large bird with dark meat. Is it ostrich?"
"It's big, Cuddy, not gargantuan," House sneered. "Do you want me to tell you so you stop embarrassing yourself?"
"No!" Cuddy exclaimed. "I'm determined to figure out what meat it is."
"Said the vegetarian," House snarked.
There was a pause in the conversation. House loved the way Cuddy focused on this question as though the fate of the free world depended on it. Among other things, it was this kind of intensity that made her so good in bed. God, she'd been amazing that afternoon. Regardless of what happened between them after this, he knew he'd never forget what that felt like. He never wanted to give it up, give her up, but if he messed things up and he had to walk away, or she walked away from him, at least he'd have that incredible memory.
"House!" Cuddy exclaimed, her voice betraying her irritation, "House! Where did you go? I asked if the meat was pheasant."
"Yes," House answered quietly.
"Are you okay?" she inquired. His response should have been either pleased she finally figured it out, or sarcastic that she took so long. She didn't understand how he was reacting.
"Fine," House replied tersely.
"No you're not," Cuddy disagreed. "We were going back and forth playing . . .our game . . . having fun . . . and then you went away. Did I say anything that . . . ?"
"I said, it's fine," House murmured quietly.
"My hurting you is never okay. You understand that, don't you? Just tell me and I'll try to fix it. This afternoon was one of the best in my life. I don't ever want to lose that closeness," Cuddy stated emphatically.
She saw at least five different emotions pass across House's face within the next minute. And, if questioned, she was sure she couldn't identify any of them.
House stirred the rice, replaced the cover, and turned off the burner. "That has to sit for a few minutes . . . " he said, to no one in particular.
House walked over to Cuddy. He pulled her into his arms. "This afternoon was the best of my life, without a doubt. Except for all the other times I've been with you. I am going to screw this up. I know it, just like I know the moon is responsible for the tides. When that happens, please at least try to . . . let me say I'm sorry . . . consider letting me back in . . . "
Cuddy held House against her as tightly as she could. "There have been so many chances . . . for both of us . . . it must mean we need to be with each other . . . I could never turn you away."
They held each other for a few more minutes, swaying slightly to a rhythm no one else could hear. After a while, they became aware that Rachael had joined them, one arm around each of their legs.
As if on cue, they both reached down to pick her up. They continued moving slowly to their mental music, this time with Rachael there, too.
After a few minutes, she began to fidget and they let her down.
"Do you have anything else to do in the kitchen now?" Cuddy asked.
"Not until we get closer to dinner time," House replied.
"Do you want to go watch some TV?" Cuddy questioned.
"Sure," House answered. They retreated to the living room to watch "A Christmas Story." Cuddy didn't care what they watched as long as she could cuddle next to House. Interestingly enough, in spite of House's very strong opinions about what was "good" television, with Cuddy sitting there next to him, he didn't really care, either.
