AN: A ton of thanks to the lovely Akemi1582 for beta'ing this for me! Happy New Year to all you, too. Hope it's a good one! Over the holidays I did post a one-shot "At First Glance" hence the lateness of this chapter. If you like college!H&C, you might like it. Shameless promotion, forgive me… As always, enjoy!
"Just when things are getting complicated
In the eye of the storm…
She flicks a red hot revelation
Off the tip of her tongue..."
"The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala" by the Arctic Monkeys
The fifteenth annual charity fundraiser was held at the Intercontinental Hotel in Princeton. The building reeked of money, new and old, but not in the gaudy, overly trying way. Someone who knew that "less-was-more" and clean lines were better than chaotic clutter designed it. Soft velvet settees were placed strategically in the lobby along its main wall. A large chandelier was hung in the middle of the ceiling, soft golden light beaming down through the hundreds of crystals adorned on it. Bellhops and busboys were running here and there with baggage or trays of drinks. Most of the women wore extravagant evening gowns and high heels; their make up applied to perfection. Men were wearing tuxes or solid colored suits, one or two of the more daring wearing top hats and tails. They all seemed to be floating over to the left were the entrance to the ballroom was located. In front of the entrance a large placard was placed announcing Princeton-Plainsboro's Fifteenth Annual Charity Gala. Four ushers were placed at the door checking reservations and guiding the incoming guests to their correct table.
House felt like he was being strangled in the monkey suit, as he referred to the tux in his head. He felt like a damned dandy with the flower in his first buttonhole. He wore a black tux with an immaculately pressed white collared shirt, black bow tie, and waistcoat. The cane he used was black with a silver wolf's head as an ornament. It was a boost to his self-confidence as he saw several of the women eye him with apparent appreciation. He ignored them, his mood too foul to even contemplate their own mild attractiveness.
He was on a mission.
Even though Cuddy had invited him that Sunday night at the horribly ended dinner, she had avoided him the whole week at the hospital. Unfortunately, Chase had brought in an excellent case that enthralled him and took his mind off of the hiding brunette. He had tried to randomly corner her when he had solved the case Wednesday night. She had most likely heard the steady thump of his cane before she slipped into an elevator, the doors closing before House could open his mouth to call out to her. He never found her the rest of the week as his fellows badgered him for a new case and distracted him endlessly. He bullied Thirteen into admitting Cuddy had given them a week free of clinic duty if they kept him away from her office. The betrayal of his fellows working for the Man was going to be met with severe consequences… but it would wait for now.
How did she expect him to answer her question honestly? Honestly, he didn't know if they would work. They proved once that what they had was volatile and fragile. He couldn't answer her. He hadn't; he had just sat there, staring at the end of the bed and watching her leave out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't say, "Yes." Yes implied forever which was an empty concept. There was no such thing. Especially for people like themselves. There was only now, until one of them died, got tired of their own bullshit, or found someone else. He had thought all week of what he was going to tell her, what he had wanted to tell her before this blasted event. He needed her to understand that he would never give her a clear answer. But her cowardice or pride refused to allow her to see him. She might have been hurt from his silence but it was truer than any words he could have uttered.
Well, Gregory House cleaned up well in a tux and he knew how to make a scene. He would coerce her into speaking with him here or suffer an embarrassing scene in front of the hundreds of donors in the room. Her love of the hospital and her fear for her reputation would make her listen. She would sacrifice her pride to avoid scandal. He stepped by the nearest usher and gave his name.
"Table 32, sir. Just over there by the bar," the usher told him, waving vaguely to the corner of the room.
The light was dim there except for over the bar itself. He found his table easily, farthest from the richest donors and, of course, Cuddy. Foreman, Chase, and Thirteen were sitting down and glanced at him wearily as he took his seat.
"You," he nodded to Chase, "go get me a drink. Surprise me."
"Hello to you, too," Thirteen said. "I thought you weren't supposed to drink." She looked stunning in a red, halter dress. He pointedly didn't compliment her as his eyes drifted over her form.
"I'm not, but you see, you're not my mother. There would be serious oedipal issues if you were," he sneered at her.
Chase looked between the two and muttered, "I'll be back." He stood up and made his way to the bar.
"Drinking isn't going to get Cuddy to talk to you," Foreman said matter-of-factly. The man had arrogance wafting off of him.
"Thirteen isn't going to sleep with you for wearing that ugly tie she likes, either."
Foreman rolled his eyes and leaned forward onto the table.
"She's just as miserable as you are, House. Stop deflecting and let us help you tonight."
"Just like you helped her all week," House snarled. "You guys aren't going to see a case for weeks! I'll have you working in geriatrics cleaning shit off the beds, washing the patients, grunt work for traitors and turncoats!"
Thirteen raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "You don't think you're overreacting?"
House exhaled angrily.
"If I am, it's Cuddy's fault… And all of yours for helping her."
Foreman's expression never changed at his outburst. It irritated House to no end. Thirteen tried not to look contrite but failed. Chase came back with drinks in hand in time to see him slouch further in his chair. He accepted his drink with ill grace and spoke before bringing the glass to his lips.
"What did you get me at the bar?"
"A Manhattan."
House nodded, took another sip of his drink, and scanned the room for the woman avoiding him. Every person whom his eyes fell on was older than him, white hair stark against fake tans or sallow skin. Garish pearls or costume jewelry shone bright from the overhead lights.
Blue eyes caught the sight of silver ones. And there she was.
His fellows knew the instance he had spotted the Dean. He sat up straight and leaned forward in his seat, his grip tightening on his glass. Cuddy was speaking with an older donor who kept trying to slip his arm around her waist. She wore a dark emerald green dress, sleeveless and sleek. It hugged every delicious curve and generously enhanced her charms. House felt and heard himself swallow.
"Dinner should be served in ten more minutes," a waiter stepped in front of him, obscuring his view.
"Got it," he snapped and turned away from the beautiful vision.
He threw the dirtiest look he could at the neurologist who was the first person to meet his eyes. The other man smirked. House looked over his shoulder and saw that Cuddy had moved out of sight. He turned the other way and couldn't find her among the throng. A hearty gulp of his strong, smooth drink calmed his ire for a moment but he was still annoyed. The bourbon and vermouth hadn't started to increase his courage yet.
"Did you ever think that by helping Cuddy, we were actually helping you this week?"
He stared at his cat-eyed fellow in disbelief. What utter shit was she trying to sell him?
"Think about it," she continued. "You needed to cool down and think about whatever you two fought about."
"You were more of a bastard this whole week," Chase piped up, sipping a clear, very carbonated drink. House guessed it was a gin and tonic.
"So you two were looking out for me?" He questioned.
Thirteen and Chase smiled at each other as if saying 'he finally understands' before grinning at him.
"What else?" Thirteen replied in a confident smile aimed to win him over.
"Bullshit."
House scowled at them both and saw Foreman laughing. Dinner was served at the time the waiter had indicated. A dozen of them had flown out of side doors laded with plates up their arms and working from the front of the room to the back. They were efficient, he had to give them that.
His team ate and chatted in amiable tones, throwing him glances from time to time. He dug into his roast beef with all the relish of a starving man. After the stress of the week, he was going to at the very least enjoy highly overpriced food and free libations. He couldn't remember when was the last time he had a full meal. With no one to bug during lunch, he was at a loss on what to do. He forced his mind to not think of past lunches. He listened attentively to the gossip at the table. Taub had not attended due to a court proceeding. No one elaborated. Thirteen was explaining why she was "playing the field" as Chase proudly announced he was taken and as content as he could be given the end of his playboy days. House had immediately texted Foreman under the table and bet him 100 dollars it would only last three weeks. The neurologist accepted. A talk with Chase was in order then before Foreman could get to him. All throughout the dinner, he sipped on his smooth drink, silently glad that Chase had good taste.
His glass was empty now.
House suddenly couldn't hear the steady hum of voices all around him. The ice in his glass had turned the remaining liquor from its dark caramel color into a light golden sheen at the bottom of the glass. He wanted another. The bourbon and vermouth mixture was heavenly. He could feel the alcohol's loving tendrils wrap around his mind and relax him, making him feel more confident than he had an hour ago. He debated on getting a second glass. If he was going to confront Cuddy tonight, he was going to be completely honest with her. The liquid courage would help, but it would make him unpredictable. A misconstrued joke would be taken as a jab and his sharp tongue would lead to him losing her. And if she smelled the alcohol on his breath… No, he was a coward but tired enough of being one that he would not use the drink as a shield. He went for the water.
Dinner had been an hour-long affair. Waiters and busboys cleaned the tables free of all plates and glasses except for the requisite coffee cup and desert plate. Some of the donors, no doubt influenced by the open bar, were leading their dates to the dance floor and swaying drunkenly in the dim light. The first song ended and another began. No green dress appeared in his line of vision.
"Isn't it mandatory for the Dean to dance?" He growled petulantly, interrupting his fellows' conversation.
"She's dancing in the middle with the very rich donor from California," Chase nodded his head to where a dais was erected and where the DJ was set up. Cuddy danced with a man who was the same height as her. He held her close and held one of her hands in his. Her other hand was resting on his shoulder. She was giving the guy her "please-write-me-a-check-now" face. The idiot didn't know she was faking the sincerity or flattery she was imposing onto him. The way she was smiling led him to believe it was the flattery.
The guy was in a plain suit, expensive-looking but the standard. He was a nonentity and easily forgotten in House's mind.
House watched Cuddy stealthily. When it looked like she had secured her goal, the way she titled her head further from his, he got to his feet. He had waited for her to finish her begging so she would be more amendable to him. Money did put her in a good mood. He ignored the twinge of pain that lanced through his leg and up his back. He weaved his way through the crowd, dodging dancers and other doctors. He made sure to stay out of Cuddy's sight. Taking a circular route he appeared behind her and gently tapped her shoulder. The donor gave him a disgruntled look.
"May I cut in?"
She stiffened at the sound of his voice before she turned to face him. Her silver eyes had been outlined perfectly by thin black eyeliner. It made her eyes seem sharper and fiercer. She wore a light sheen lip gloss that plumbed up her bottom lip so invitingly.
"If you will excuse me, Kyle?"
"Of course," the man contradicted his real wish. She slipped out of his grip and faced the man behind her.
House held out his hand and took several steps away from the jealous male. The poor sap had no clue that Cuddy would never give him the time of day in a normal situation. His money was the only thing Cuddy would want to see more.
When he couldn't feel the guy's eyes on him any longer, he wrapped his arms around her and stepped flush to her body. She gasped and tried to hide it by wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
He was surprised when she laid her temple against his cheek and felt her body relax against him. It wasn't in comfort or familiarity he knew; it was resignation.
"You've been avoiding me," he spoke directly into her ear.
"I know," she sighed. "I had a good reason."
"Which was?"
"I was hoping you'd give me more time to think of one."
He couldn't help but laugh and let it roll out of him in chuckles. With a jolt he realized he hadn't laughed in a while. Only one person had been able to break his stony exterior and let him freely laugh. The resignation left her posture and she stood straighter and leaned her head against his, her hot breath ghosting on his neck.
"I thought you would answer me right away," she spoke quietly. There was no need for it. The music was loud and covered all conversation between couples on the floor. The others around him were entwined with each other and paid them no attention.
"I can't," he tersely began. "Because I don't know. Just like you don't know. We can only try and not expect anything. Easiest really," he added as an afterthought.
For a fearful moment he thought Cuddy was going to pull away from him. His voice had been light and not that serious though his words were the honest truth. He couldn't give her a straight answer. It was against his nature. He tightened his grip on her waist, ensuring she wouldn't be able to step away from him.
They turned, their feet syncing and stepping in time to the slow, soulful beat that rang out from the speakers. He caught several of the staff looking over at them and hurriedly looking away. There would be gossip tomorrow at Princeton-Plainsboro. Everyone knew of their break up and the fiery backlash of his debauchery. Everyone suspected he had a hand in "his" death. Or was connected directly in some warped way as usual. He had never caught anyone speaking about that night but he knew it from the way they acted around him and the way their eyes would throw suspicion at him. The way they guiltily turned away meant that they seriously doubted the sense of their Dean again. He stole a glance at her. She wasn't exactly smiling, but she wasn't frowning either. Her eyes wandered over the people who were behind him, apparently staring. Her arms had snaked around his neck. She looked right in his arms.
"You owe me a date tomorrow," he said nonchalantly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her look up. She was puzzled by the abrupt change in the conversation.
"I do. The race is at six tomorrow. You should… bring an overnight bag."
He cricked his neck looking down so fast. She was blushing and again looking over his shoulder. Her eyes flickered up to his and she smiled more warmly than he had ever seen in months. When he next spoke, he made sure to brush his lips against her ear.
"What are you planning for after the race, Ms. Cuddy? I don't put out on the first date."
"I can only promise you that I'll make you breakfast," she told him huskily, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "And you would so put out in the first ten minutes," she scoffed.
Feeling himself react to her words and imagery, he stopped swaying with her and stepped back. She looked at him quizzically.
"You have successfully rendered my dancing useless for a good five to ten minutes," House grunted.
She raised an eyebrow and had a satisfied glow about herself. She placed a hand on her hip.
"Go sit down. I need to go get more money out of these people before the night's over," she purred to him.
He smiled, gave her a short mocking bow, and walked to where his team was sitting. They studied him as he got closer. All three were beaming. He threw himself into the chair he had vacated earlier and reached for his half-drunk water.
"So… what kind of court proceeding did Taub have to go to?"
The Team spilled everything they knew to their boss in the hope of forgiveness and redemption.
House didn't know why he lingered. He and Wilson would always stay at the end of the functions, harassing the cleaning staff and taking advantage of the last drinks given to them by a sympathetic bartender. They played poker, smoked, drank and went home when security threw them out. He sat on a stool at the bar, back to it and elbows resting on the counter. A sick wave of nostalgia washed over him. He had a cup of coffee resting by his left elbow that was half drunk. A janitor was sweeping up crumbs with a large broom. Busboys were removing the left over plates, table clothes, and centerpieces. Sadness fell over him, tangible and suffocating.
He missed Wilson.
He missed the annoying advice and lame jokes. He missed the boyish grin and small, brown eyes.
Nolan would have been proud to see him obsessing on his state of being. He was lonely. He was depressed and confused and angry. Cuddy did make him feel better but she wasn't always there and he would never expect her to be. Rachel was still her first priority and he understood that with perfect clarity.
After three months, he thought the pain of losing someone would lessen. Time did not heal all wounds. Whoever thought of that phrase was a moron. Ignoring the feeling of utter despair was what was really happening. The gaping chasm in his chest was just boarded up. Thinking of certain events and memories would shake those boards lose, but they held. He ignored those past memories as best as he could until, for some reason, it became unbearable watching total strangers clean. He was being ridiculous. He harshly swallowed and realized he was to the point of tears. His fists clenched. 'Get a grip!' he told himself. He was appalled he was so off-balance. He reached for his cane when a soft voice met his ears.
"You okay?"
He stood hunched over it and coughed, clearing his throat as best as he could. He felt her hand rub his back as she stepped next to him.
"I'm fine," he repeated the world's most famous lie.
"You're such a liar," she said, taking no offence and stepping into his personal space. She hugged him around the waist. Anger rose up in him. He wanted to shove her away, rage at her that she shared the blame, curse her for starting all this trouble...
He didn't though. It was an irrational impulse to make himself feel better. It was that primal need to threaten and enjoy the weakness and hurt in another; to take vicious satisfaction that someone hurt more than he did. As calmly as he could, he held her, head lowered to hers and trying to take comfort in the gesture.
"Tell me what's wrong," she whispered in his ear.
"Nothing," he gruffly said. "It's... nothing."
Her warmth was now welcoming and relaxed him. All thoughts of his best friend had been pushed to the back of his mind. Would the man have wanted him happy? Hadn't he bitched, badgered, and bothered him about his affection for the woman in front of him? His chest ached again at the thought of what his best friend would have thought of seeing his two other friends together again, embracing in a near-empty ballroom. He had always wanted House happy or, at least, content. Though he rarely showed it, he had wanted Wilson happy, too. He wanted the best for his friend.
And Wilson had died after seeing him at his worst.
"Let's get you home then," Cuddy interrupted his private diatribe. "I'll drive you."
He nodded, privately thankful she was there. He felt so sullen. It wasn't fair. The universe should have had order to it. Drug addicted bastards were supposed to die in horrible wrecks. Handsome, good oncologists were supposed to live to the ripe old age of 92, surrounded by ex-wives, children, and grandchildren. Lovely, intelligent women with power and brilliant careers were supposed to be happy and revel in their success.
He sardonically laughed at such a world. He was the worst type of closet romantic: a hopeful one.
With a grateful small smile to Cuddy, he let her lead him out of the empty room and into her car.
She had followed him inside. Cuddy had not said a word in the car as she drove him home and he had been grateful. Once inside his sanctuary, she asked him what was wrong again and he refused to tell her.
"Leave it," he rounded on her as he limped to his room. It was one in the morning and all he wanted to do was pass out in bed and wake up, hopefully after forgetting the last hour of this night. It had been mortifying to almost come to tears at the gala. The telltale click click of heels followed him. Lies, of various degrees of moroseness and morbidity, filtered through his mind. Each was more fantastical than the other so the chance of Cuddy believing the validity of even one of the lies was zip to none. Shaking her off seemed the more appropriate approach.
"I know you were thinking of Wilson," she snapped. "You can stop the machismo act."
He stopped at the threshold of his room and blocked her from going in.
"Why did it take a whole week, Cuddy, for you to speak with me? Did you not want to face me that bad?"
"You're an idiot," she said calmly. "You would have ignored me and hid in the MRI room if I hadn't answered one of your pertinent questions, too."
"Probably. I would have only taken three days to get back to normal. You took a whole work week," he sneered.
"Because I was hurt you didn't answer me! You're not the only one who needs time alone, House. Please, was it—Wilson, tonight?"
"Fine. It was. Now you can leave."
"House," she despairingly sighed.
The knot in his throat appeared again and he froze, his arms holding onto the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling over the edge of despair. Was it the alcohol that had his emotions running wild? Was his body so use to sobriety now that a glass of the finest hard liquor left him feeling sorrowful? His heart thudded in chest, reminding him to breathe. He jerkily inhaled. His muscles flinched when her hand met his back again, rubbing it in circular, soothing motions.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You don't have to say anything."
"Con—" he coughed to hide the stutter "Contradicting yourself now?"
He felt the heat rush to his face. His eyes felt heavy and water-logged. The bed in front of him had never looked so inviting. Sleep had never seemed like such luxury. Vicodin, a traitorous voice in his head said, would have dulled all the pain. A warm body pressed against his from behind, softness meeting the hard planes of his back. Arms wrapped around his stomach and chest. He felt the barest hint of lips pressed gently between his shoulder blades. All thoughts of Vicodin were banished from his mind.
"You'll feel better out of this suit," Cuddy unexpectedly said.
"Is that a promise?" he smarmily replied.
"If you help me with the zip to my dress."
This time he did turn in her arms. It killed him to say the next words.
"We—You don't have to—I mean, I'm not expecting anything." What a dunce, he thought.
The smile that spread across her face was worth the embarrassing cacophony his words had been.
"What a gentleman… Now where's Greg House and what have you done with him?"
"Oh, shut up."
The banter had lessened the pain in his chest. It was a relief he had not thrown out the woman before him in anger. He had been tempted to curse, ridicule, and torment her until she left the apartment. It was selfish using her as a distraction but he justified it with her offering to stay. There was no reason for him to look the gift horse in the mouth. Not this time.
He hobbled unsteadily into the room. He had already thrown the wolf's head cane into the closet in his living room. The jacket was the first item of clothing off. He heard a pair of heels being unceremoniously placed on the floor by her side of the bed.
"Unzip me?"
Her hair was over her right shoulder as her back faced him. With sure fingers, he found the small silver zip and pulled down gingerly, making sure not to snag her skin. There was no reveal of lace on her back and only a small sliver of it that covered her bottom.
"No bra?" he drawled.
"Couldn't with this dress. The bust of it has enough support though."
"I noticed."
Cuddy laughed huskily before sliding the garment down to the floor and picking it up to lay it folded in half on his dresser. His eyes were glued on the sleek expanse of olive skin bare for his viewing. A green barely-there thong was all that was left on her, show casing her bottom in perfection. She turned towards him and he could finally see her breasts and the flat planes of her stomach.
House felt like he was going to sway with dizziness as the blood rushed down to his cock. Cuddy was so fucking gorgeous. She could have had any prize male from the population worshiping at her feet. But she stood nearly naked in front of a disgruntled cripple. To focus on something other than his own self-castigation, he willed his fingers to deftly unbutton his stiff white shirt. When he tried to part the shirt, he realized he still had the bowtie on. He yanked it free from its knot and heard a suppressed giggle for his troubles. With the collared shirt off, he pulled his undershirt over his head and began to unzip his trousers. He froze for a moment. There was no way he would have the balance to take his trousers off with dignity after the Manhattan and with a massive hard-on. He kicked his shoes off to buy himself time. Cuddy took the decision away from him by walking to her side of the bed and slipping under the covers. She pretended to get comfortable, ignoring the way he quickly sat down and pulled trousers and underpants down his legs in one swift motion.
He took a deep breath, calming the boiling blood in his veins. For the third time that night, she ran her hands over his back, kneading lightly and comforting him effortlessly. He scooted towards the headboard and turned to face her. How could any prostitute be even considered a substitute for this beauty? Her breasts were full with dark hard-tipped nipples begging to be caressed. Her skin shone clear and tanner in his bedroom's lamplight. Her long legs were tucked under her as she leaned towards him. His eyes flickered down toward her mound, neatly groomed between her thighs.
His patience snapped.
His mouth covered hers a second later, teeth accidently gnashing together and tongues fighting for dominance. He couldn't get deep enough in her mouth. She was so hot, so wet that he knew other parts of her would be exactly the same. She mewled in his mouth, leaning backward to lay on one of his pillows. He followed her down, one hand behind her head, the other reaching for breasts. She gasped as he tugged on a turgid nipple. He pulled away from her mouth to kiss her cheek, her jaw, the soft portion of skin behind her ear, and down her neck, sloppily kissing her skin and teasing her with the barest hint of teeth. The hand that held the back of her head moved with him, and positioned itself under her shoulder. He gave her a love bite on the juncture where her neck turned into her shoulder. She cried out and ran her nails over his back. He hissed as he felt the scratches.
He kissed his way from her neck down her sternum to her breasts. House wrapped his lips around her left nipple, suckling her breast and gently scrapping it with his teeth. He felt one her hands grip his hair before running her nails over his scalp. He growled in pleasure and continued teasing her, moving to her right breast and giving it the same treatment. Her cries and whimpers were going to undo him. His erection was pressed into the mattress and he ground his hips against it with her every vocalization. Both their bodies were starting to sweat. As he enjoyed her breasts, he moved his left hand down her belly, fingers whispering against her skin, and through the small curls at the apex of her thighs. He softly touched and teased the outer skin before he slipped his hand down to cup her, fingers parting her labia and finding her extremely wet. His name was breathed above him.
He stopped his suckling and moved back towards her face. He kissed her lips, coaxing her to open for him. Her lips parted as she parted her thighs wider for his exploration. His middle finger delicately tapped on her clit, finding it hard and engorged already. She exhaled sharply. Entranced, he watched her expressions as he rubbed her clit, first only with his middle finger and then with his index joining. He moved both fingers down to the entrance of her vagina, gathering more of her natural lubrication and spreading it all over her clit and labia.
"Ah!" he groaned as he felt her hand close around his cock. He hadn't noticed her hands wandering, one holding onto the base of him and the other gripping his shoulder.
"Stop teasing me, House," she moaned. He would mentally store that look of complete lust on her face for decades to come he decided. He silenced her with his mouth, moving over her completely, his chest pressed down on hers, belly to belly. He felt the head of his cock meet her hot, wet core and shuddered in arousal. Without preamble, he slid into her, tight heat making him lurch forward sharply.
The urge to come came upon him suddenly and he stiffened, praying to nonexistent gods that he would last. He moved his forehead against hers and stared determinedly at the pillow inches from his face. Both her arms were wrapped around him, one letting her nails glide against the soft skin of his lower back, the other cradling his nape.
"Give me a minute," he rasped into her ear. He felt her cheek rub against his with her nod.
Sex with Cuddy was unbelievable. No wonder he had gone off the bend when she broke up with him; his thoughts were jumbled. Everything from her scent to her taste to her voice captivated him and was beyond sexy. She felt like she was made for him and his pleasure. If he kept his head straight, no other man would know her this way. He wanted to do nothing but spend days in this bed, fucking and making love to the woman under him. He knew she would enjoy both, but her responsibility would call her home tomorrow morning and destroy whatever illusions he was having at that moment. He felt her shift her hips and press against him. He moaned and answered her with a thrust.
"I thought you forgot about me," she whimpered in his ear, her lips tasting the shell of it.
"I can never forget you," he fiercely said, surprising them both with the declaration. His hips began a steady rhythm with her movements, slowly sliding in and out of her when he felt his control return.
"I missed this so much," she breathlessly whispered to him.
"Me, too."
Her hands had continued to roam his back and ass. His tempo increased so he slipped one arm under her to grip her shoulder for leverage, the other also going under her, but to her ass, gripping it and holding her up towards him. His thrusts quickened and became harder. Cuddy had let him hold her the way he wanted her, arching up to him now and not even trying to hold back her cries. House heard his name called out in his ear, heard her yell 'oh fuck! Right there!' and mutter nonsense he couldn't comprehend in his state of mind. He ground himself against her with every downward stroke, his pelvic bone pressing on her clit and feeling her tighten around him. Her movements became jerky and stiff and he knew he was about to make her come. His own orgasm was moving down his spine and straight to his cock.
"Come with me, Cuddy," he gasped. "I need to see—feel you come with me."
He was grinding her into his mattress now, hips swiveling and thrusting back and forth, trying to overwhelm her with the myriad sensations. Her hands dug into the upper part of his ass as she finally fell apart, his name shouted from her lips as she stiffened and writhed against him. Her vagina clamped onto his cock and forced him immobile. He came, pushing himself as deep inside her as he could reach, feeling his semen shoot from his cock and into her and washing over him again. He weakly ground against her, panting and feeling her aftershocks all around his half-hard cock. His head rested in the cradle of her shoulder.
They were both sweaty and shaky in their embrace. He gathered the last of his strength to get up, kiss her, and move off of her and out of the bed. She stayed on her back, eyes following him to the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth. She gasped as he cleaned their secretions from her. He wiped himself off as he limped to the bathroom and tossed the dirty cloth into the sink.
He climbed back onto his side of the bed, bringing the sheets and comforter up around them. Cuddy laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist. He wanted to laugh when he recognized she was already asleep.
He would have to tease her about it in the morning. With that last coherent thought, he too drifted off to sleep.