Heh. I don't have anything to say for this one. Thank you, everyone, for your continued support and reviews! It means a lot to me. I love reading what you guys have to say! I'm still in the process of editing this one, so you'll see some mistakes.

Settle for a Slowdown

"I don't know why you're mad at me," House was saying casually, "it's not like I threw up on you."

Cuddy grunted inarticulately in reply. The weight of his body on her legs was distracting and not welcomed, causing pressure on her lower abdomen that she did not need. She was lounging on her back, her body draped over the cushions listlessly. Being in his apartment gave House the right to sit where ever her wanted: he chose her legs. He leaned back into the chair, putting his weight onto her legs with enough leverage to keep from hurting her. The sentimentality of the effort was meaningless, a wasted effort, to Cuddy.

"I didn't have to be there," she reminded him, her words slow and groaning. Her stomach grumbled, as if agreeing, "I'm changing my pager number."

Their day apart had not been so separated, due in large part to House and his quick paging finger and his need to keep her on her toes. It was an embittering comfort to find House unchanged in his schedule to annoy her. Even now, in the comfort of his home, he maintained the teasing nature of their relationship.

She glowered at him dangerously as he shifted to get more comfortable.

"I needed someone to distract him. When you walked in and captivated his attention with your beauty, you distracted him from revisiting his lunch on me."

One of the numerous tactics House had used throughout the day to keep her struggling and irritated was paging her for consults on obviously benign cases. The Endocrinologist was not needed by the Diagnostician to conclude a patient, indeed, had the sniffles. He took advantage of the fact that she was morally and contractually obligated to answer all of the pages she received. She ordered him not to summon her for anything less than an emergency. That had simply encouraged him to put '911' tags on his pages.

Their shifts, through no fore planning on their parts, had ended at the same time. The last case House forced them to share was a middle aged man with food poisoning. House, knowing Cuddy was almost out the door, had called her for one last annoyance before signing out. The patient surprised them both by vomiting, though; only Cuddy had found herself in the line of fire. The smell triggered a psychosomatic reaction in her, her suppressed and largely ignored Flu symptoms suddenly roaring to life. She managed to make it to the sink, a few short yet epic steps away from the examination table, before her own stomach forced its contents up her throat. After that the Dean of Medicine had very little to say to her employee, leaving him to manage the rest of the case for himself. They left together, as they often did, no one but two young doctors paying them any mind.

"All right," Cuddy pulled at her legs in an effort to free herself, jerking suddenly as if to knock him off the sofa. It would not have triggered any guilt in her had she succeeded, "get up. I need to wash this smell off."

Be the door there sat a duffle bag with a change of clothes, toiletries, and some other personal affects from Cuddy's home. Beside it was another duffle bag, this one holding a change of clothes, toiletries, and various other personal affects from House's apartment. Both had gone to work carrying the idea that they might not return to their own places. There was no verbal discussion that led them to decide on House's home, but there they had ended up, and there they were happy to stay.

"If you mean a shower, I'm afraid mine is a bit complicated t use. I'll have to show you."

"Fine. Get it running for me. I like it hot."

"I bet you do," House looked down at her keenly, his eyes searching her body almost accusingly, "unfortunately, the shower gets water everywhere if you open the curtain while the water is running."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to fend for myself," Cuddy replied noncommittally, shrugging and sitting up. He looked at her, practically sitting on her lap, as impressed by her suggestion to shower alone as she was with his to join her. She knew exactly what he was trying to do, their morning together echoing in her mind, making her smile. Her expression caught him off guard, her sudden, honest display of affection for him ruining his attempt at sexual deviance, forcing him to realize that the bet they had so eagerly agreed upon was not as black and white as either had imagined. He moved in to kiss her, shifting his weight, but her words stopped him, continuing her conversation as if she did not notice him making a move on her, "or you'll just have a mess to clean up."

She escaped from him gracefully, using the slight freedom he gave her to slide her legs out from under him. She climbed effortlessly over the top of the sofa, as he could not do, standing facing him with the chair now between them. He stood, moving around the couch slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on her as if he expected her to scamper away. There was a tension between them that neither failed to recognize. House questioned the meaning of its being there, realizing with irritation that they had agreed to a full week of unrelenting torture.

The sexual tension between Doctor House and Doctor Cuddy was as much a recognizable part of their reputations as House's limp, cane and misanthropy, and Cuddy's hard lined approach to running the hospital. Their interaction constantly sparked rumors of a torrid affair. House often found himself listening at the nurse's stations, when they thought he was out of ear shot or not paying attention with the soundless earphones of his iPod to distract him, to the incredible manifestations of under sexed, over worked nurses as applied to the nights of passion House and Cuddy might have shared. He often found himself letting his mind wander, keeping his hands in constant check, their words guiding the kind of private visuals in his head that tortured him when he was alone. It didn't help that he knew how to see her naked, their past including one night that the nurses could do no justice to with their stories. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he wanted her.

Yet he could not get what he wanted. Their working environment, though it was not as strong a deterrent for him as it was for her, forbade it. More than that, their own hesitations marred any action to their physical attraction. He respected her, both her position at the hospital and her body as the most beautiful representation of her femininity. While he constantly pushed lines, he was always aware that they were playing on the same field. He would never have dared touch her without her consent.

Then he had that consent. Twice. More. He had her and she had him, and it was filling and all they wanted, but never enough. It was now, staring at her, in the middle of a coy game, that he realized he wanted her more than ever. It wasn't that he took the time they had already spent together for granted, but that he was insurmountably selfish. In that trait was its own, new torture: he still held his regard for her too highly to ask more of her then she was ready to give.

The bet was a bad idea. They had finally come together, and in a matter of hours had created a brand new obstacle between them. Taking her hands in his, leaning his cane on the sofa, he played his thumbs over her soft knuckles and fingers, silently telling her that he was more than willing to conquer the wall they had agreed to consensually build.

Cuddy stared at him, examining his lined face, wondering what he was thinking about.

"Come on," she said, a luscious, daring chuckle in her voice, "show me how it works."

He looked at her sharply, sensing a trap. He needed to define her words. If she was asking him to literally show her how to work the shower, then leave her to do it on her own, he needed to come up with some way to pursue his goal. Her tone, however, suggested that she wanted more from him. Treading carefully, he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Can I show you naked?"

She scoffed, taking her hands from him and folding them over her chest. In one moment her expression blossomed from critical and slightly coy to innocent. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

"I suppose we wouldn't want our clothes getting wet."

House smirked. He grabbed his cane and limped towards the bathroom, Cuddy catching up after fetching her bag from by the door. He had the curtain drawn fully open, the water running without splashing. Steam was billowing towards the ceiling. A quick glance let Cuddy see just how complicated his faucet was: almost the exact same brand as her own. She did not look surprised, and did not ask him to leave because of it. She danced her way out of her clothes, naked before him shamelessly, her steps into the shower ordering him to follow. Freeing himself from his clothes with a far less graceful performance than Cuddy displayed, his steps heavy and lumbering as he followed her without his cane.

The water was hot against their skin, though; House hardly noticed. Cuddy stood in front of him, open to most of the shower head's spray, while House stood as near to her as he could, the water that ran down her body also finding paths down his. His chest was in full contact with her back, his hands floating helplessly over her shoulders. She had a loofah and was working a lather over her soft body, inhaling the fresh fragrance deeply, as if breathing for the first time in hours. She hardly seemed aware of him, her eyes closed, her throat emitting a soft hum. He was afraid to touch her.

All he wanted to do was watch her, marveling at the way the beads of water that slipped down her shoulders followed the paths of imperfections in her skin that he could never hope to see, and did not want to believe really existed. He thought that putting his hand on her might break the look of serenity on her face. His efforts, the longer he watched her exotic body, were wasted – though, it was not his hands that touched her.

Her giggled made him clear his throat, embarrassed but refusing to blush. She turned her head over her shoulder, glancing down before looking up into his eyes.

"Don't get too excited. I haven't forgotten about our bet."

"Neither have I… this is a test."

House reached around her then, taking the sponge from her and, gently, rubbed the soap into her arm. She acquiesced, leaning back against him, letting her eyes droop as steam rose around them, a temperate cushion, the water a heated, massaging blanket. Moving deliberately, he washed her shoulders, her neck, her upper chest. He hesitated. Her hand slid over his and guided his next motions, and he reveled in her bold touch. Together they let the sponge explore her voluptuous breasts, her free hand sliding down his body and finding his throbbing carnality. He growled, pressing his soapy hands lustfully against her.

She murmured and gasped, her grip making him grunt in turn.

Then he remembered their deal. He did not move his hands, holding her tightly against him, his lips on her neck, her hair sticking to his body and face. It was really Cuddy who was losing the bet, so he really had no reason to stop. He was completely innocent, besides offering to take a simple shower with her. It wasn't his fault she affected him enough to make his muscles stiffen in only the way a boy could. She was the one encouraging it. He was just moving with her. Yet, even with his justification in mind, he moved his hands to her side, continuing with washing her with grit determination. She looked back at him, understanding instantly, and smiling gloriously.

She disengaged from him the best she could, taking a step forward. Turning, she kissed him on the cheek, very near to the edge of his lips. Her wanted to turn his head, catch her in a full kiss. So he did. It was deep and rough, passionate and dizzying. She broke away from him and looked at him with a trouble smile, knowing they were in dangers waters, both desperately needing what they had promised not to do, and both bearing too much pride to back down and let it happen. She opted for ignoring him, returning to her shower, taking the shampoo and working it into her drenched hair. It lathered quickly, thickly, and the perfume rose with the steam of the water. House reached around her, letting her wash, and turned the faucet towards the left. The water quickly began to run ice cold, causing Cuddy to jump and gasp.

Shampoo lather escaped from the top of her head and assaulted her eyes, stinging her mercilessly. She uttered a curse that made House laugh, which resulted in her elbow introducing itself to his stomach. Laughing harder, House took her hands and prevented her from rubbing the soap out of her eyes, easing them down and taking the task over for her. She trusted him, her eyes tightly shut, and let him turn her around to face him, his gentle touch washing the soap away. Still stinging, she kept her eyes closed, blind and feeling particularly exposed. His hands were still on her face, his palms over her cheeks, and soon she found him guiding her towards him. She expected him to kiss her, which he did, but not where she had imagined.

His lips met her eyelids, her nose, her forehead, her cheeks. His lips found hers, his hands in her hair, mindlessly washing the shampoo. A preventative measure in case it decided to go after the beautiful eyes he had so carefully saved.

Cuddy moved from him suddenly, leaving the shower and grabbing a nearby towel for herself. Wrapping it around her body, she tilted her head at him, water dripping into a newly formed puddle on the floor. He stared at her, leaning on the wall of the shower, both absorbing how exhausted and tortured the other one seemed. Frustrated in more senses of the word than she cared to think about, Cuddy left the room with her duffle bag. He heard a door close down the hall, surmising that she was now in his room to get dressed.

House stood under the bitterly cold water for a moment longer, to recover his bearings, then, wrapping a towel around his lower half, limped towards his room. Opening the door, he found her sitting on the bed, her hands in her hair, her exasperation clear. She looked at him with a sideways glance sighing.

"I think we need some ground rules."