31.

Cuddy was not at her most subtle first thing in the morning. This was the first thing that occurred to him upon waking to find her nuzzling the side of his face while her hand did other things under the covers.

"Good, you're awake," she said as soon as his eyes were open.

"Good," he agreed, "Otherwise I never would have caught you molesting me in my sleep."

She raised herself up a little and planted her mouth over his, ignoring him in favour of kissing him.

"I need to pee," he complained when she let him up for air.

She rolled her eyes and her hands pushed against his chest as she levered herself up to swing a leg over him. "You can pee any time."

"Sure. Next board meeting, I'll come in and christen the new upholstery." He winced as she leaned forward, her full weight, it felt like, suddenly pressing on his bladder. "Molest you in your sleep next time, see how you like it," he muttered.

She was just smiling, though, as she began kissing her way down his chest.

And all right, he thought, warming to the idea, maybe this wasn't so bad.

"Morning people," he groaned as Cuddy made her way humming - actually humming - into the bathroom. He couldn't muster much vitriol behind it, strangely enough. In fact, there might have been something approaching a silly grin on his face as he settled himself back against Cuddy's numerous pillows.

He still had to pee, but he could live with it for the time being.

He was really starting to like weekends. Not that he hadn't always liked weekends, but now weekends were when he and Cuddy pretended to be A Couple. It was a process that bore remarkable resemblance to actually being A Couple, only with far more indifference and a tendency to act like they intensely disliked each other on weekdays.

Just because she'd renewed his all-access pass to the garden of Cuddly delights didn't mean she wasn't still a total drag on occasion. Or most of the time, really.

But then there were the weekends, and a Cuddy who had discovered the wonders of second trimester sex. Life was good.

Reaching over, he retrieved the portable handset from the nightstand, dialled in a familiar number, and listened as it went through to Wilson's voicemail.

"Hey, you know that thing where pregnant women can't get enough sex? Have I mentioned that it's awesome? Anyway, I'm at Cuddy's. Call me back as soon as you get this..." He hit the button to end the call before adding, "And I'll give you all the gory details."

He put down the phone and smiled at Cuddy, who gave him an airy look as if she didn't believe for a second a fine, upstanding young man like James Wilson would ever indulge in lurid sex talk.

He couldn't wait until Wilson, doing his dutiful friend thing, called back in record time. He'd have to make sure it was Cuddy who answered the phone.

Yes, he thought, lying back with his hands behind his head, weekends were fun.

"Just how many consecutive hours are you planning on sitting there? Are you trying to set some kind of couch-potato record?"

He used his very best whiny-teenager voice. "But Mom, it's Saturday!"

"There's a big, beautiful world out there, you know," she drawled, getting into character.

"It's cold outside. I don't frolic as well as I used to."

His answer was an unsympathetic snort as she bent to clear up his collection of coffee cups, and the remains of his breakfast and late-morning snack from the coffee table. She was red in the face by the time she straightened up, arms laden, and he couldn't help smiling as she left the room. There was a not-very-small part of him that found great satisfaction in seeing her increasingly incapacitated by her condition.

In other words, she was getting fat and it was fun to watch.

Cuddy, however, was in the midst of her Saturday morning cleaning frenzy - a lifelong habit, he suspected, only compounded by her recently acquired nesting instinct. A little thing like carrying a bowling ball strapped to her middle wasn't going to stop her.

Which had nothing to do with his need to interrupt the process every five minutes. Or at least every commercial break, anyway.

"Hey Mom?" he called out, hitting the mute button on attractive women trying to sell him shampoo.

"What?" Footsteps approaching, then she stuck her head around the door, one pink rubber glove-covered hand wrapping around the frame.

"Kind of creepy that you answer to that."

"Or maybe you're just so very juvenile I often find myself confused about the nature of our relationship." She rolled her eyes and disappeared. He realised he hadn't actually gotten to the point.

"Hey Mom?"

There was pointedly no answer this time.

"Hey woman I'm currently sleeping with?" Footsteps again and she reappeared. "Jimmy's coming over to play today. That's okay, right?"

"Here? You have your own apartment, last I checked."

"But you're here. Where else would I want to be?" he said in his most completely sincere tone.

She immediately looked suspicious. "What are you and Jimmy going to be getting up to?"

"I was thinking we'd build a fort out of sofa cushions. Pretend to be pirates."

"Which translates in grown-up speak as?"

"Watch sports, drink beer? Might still do the pirate thing, though, if you're into it. What do you say, wanna walk my plank?"

"Maybe later. I have to -"

"Shiver me timbers? Swab my deck?"

"Do any of those things mean anything different?"

He shrugged. "Just fun to say. Whatever double meaning your over-sexed mind is coming up with -"

"Well I'm going to be out for a few hours, so I'm not actually going to be here," she spoke over the top of him.

To which his mental response was 'even better', some hint of which must have shown on his face because she said, "I think you should do your entertaining in your own home."

"This is my home away from home?" he offered. "I can't be bothered relocating? Stop trying to impede my attempts to integrate our lives together, you big commitment-phobe? Pick one."

She put up her hands in defeat. "Fine, whatever. I have to run some errands, check in at work, go to the gym," she listed off, "Then I'll probably stop at the market on the way home. Any requests?"

"I want a pony and a shiny red fire truck."

"Or...?"

"That you stop imposing your need to constantly stuff every second of your day with mindless busy work on the people around you."

"I was thinking more like chips and dip for your playdate with Wilson, but I'll see what I can do."

And here came the instructions.

"Any mess you make, you clean up. Use coasters and wipe up any spills. If anyone calls, don't answer it, just let the machine pick up. I mean it."

"No mess, no phone privileges? That's all? So it's okay if we dress up in your underwear and high heels and pretend to be drag queens?"

She smirked. "As long as you take pictures."

"New rule," House said without taking his eyes off the television. "Every time the players make physical contact in a way that makes you feel funny in your pants, take a drink."

As he and Wilson watched, two women on the screen stood very close, heads together, conversing breathily before taking up positions on the court. Beer bottles raised in unison.

"Basically, before every serve -"

"Take a drink."

"Good rule.

The wonders of women's beach volleyball. It was a sport just begging for a drinking game - which he was more than happy to put into effect.

"So," Wilson said, attempting and failing to draw House's attention away from the riveting entertainment, "When is she coming back, again?"

"Could be any minute now," he replied, observing out of the corner of his eye Wilson's increasingly nervous fidgeting.

"Why don't I -" he started to move but cut off abruptly as House slapped his cane down across his friend's lap. Wilson sat back and stared at him. "Or not? What -"

"Leave it."

"But -"

"Leave. It."

Wilson sighed heavily, no doubt knowing he wasn't going to like the reason. But he was Wilson, so of course he asked anyway. "Why?"

"You're my guest, you should be relaxing. Have another drink - I'm pretty sure the red team just made out."

"Technically, we're both Cuddy's guests, she's going to be home any minute, and you won't let me tidy up - again, I have to say, why?"

House looked around them, at the half-eaten pizza, empty bottles, various salty snack foods spilling all over the place - all of which he'd insisted Wilson bring over - really, it was quite an impressive mess for just a few short hour's effort.

In fact, it was probably the most mess the room had ever seen.

"This," he told Wilson, still holding him in place with the strategically placed cane, "Is why you've never been able to hold onto your wives. Too busy trying to keep them happy. That's your problem. You can't make people happy, they either are or they aren't."

"Whereas if you do your best to make them unhappy -"

"Anyone will smile if you're nice to them. It's how they act when they want to kill you, that's the real tell."

Wilson sighed resignedly and rubbed his forehead. "Thank you so much for inviting me to partake in your little mind games. Always a pleasure. Wait." He grabbed for the remote lying in between them and hit mute. "Is that her car?"

"Hey, it's even better with the sound off." He leaned forward to grab a handful of Cheetos.

Beside him, Wilson quietly panicked. Eventually, the front door opened, then closed.

They both looked up to see her standing in the entryway with a bag of groceries under one arm and a gym bag slung over her shoulder. Eyebrows raised, she surveyed the room.

"I think I would have preferred pillow forts," she said.

Wilson spread his hands apologetically. "I'm sorry. He's... testing your boundaries. Or something."

She shrugged, letting the gym bag fall on a chair. "I think he knows exactly where my boundaries are, and this is just a reminder he's a big boy and I'm not the boss of him here."

"If anywhere," House contributed, drawing their attention back to him. "Both of you are so far off base I'm embarrassed to know you." They looked unconvinced and he cried out, "I'm a slob! This is what I do. I'm unkempt, I'm untidy, I'm lazy. I leave dishes in the sink for days and have things dropping spores in my refrigerator and I really don't care." To illustrate his point he pointed his cane at a crumpled napkin on the edge of the coffee table and sent it over the edge onto the floor.

Cuddy and Wilson shared a look. Then sighed in unison. It was freakish the way they did that.

Then Wilson, suddenly realising he was free of his makeshift lap bar, jumped to his feet. "Let me help with that," he said, relieving her of the groceries. "I'll put these away, you should sit down."

She didn't even pretend to argue. "Thanks, know where the kitchen is?"

"Same place as the beer," House reminded him. "Of which I'll have another. Two." Wilson left and he watched Cuddy stepping out of her shoes. "Are you really going to stand for that? He's treating you like an invalid."

"He's being nice," she said as she came to sit beside him. "I appreciate a change every once in a while." As soon as she was seated she shifted and gave a little hiss as she pressed a hand against her side.

He pushed it out of the way with his own, feeling as a second kick aimed with deadly precision at her liver. "How's Junior?"

"Turning somersaults since I was at the gym." She smiled ruefully.

"I thought I caught a whiff of enterprise about you." Leaning in towards her he pressed his nose against her hair and breathed in. "Or maybe it's B.O. - such a turn on."

"My yoga class is hardly strenuous, I didn't even break a sweat. Unlike when I had to take the stairs up to the ICU when I got to work..."

"Elevators?"

"I'm bringing the lawyers in on this on Monday. Maybe the threat of legal action will help them figure out why the hell they keep stalling."

He leaned in again. "Ah yes, administrative fervour, that's what that tantalising scent is. With just a hint of petty vengeance. Now that is a turn on," he rumbled, and she giggled, her arms coming up around his neck and lifting her face to his. They were mid-make-out when a voice interrupted them.

"Okay, I'll just... pretend this isn't completely weird." Giving his head a shake, Wilson hovered warily for a moment longer before sitting back down on the other end of the couch.

Cuddy, meanwhile, swatted his chest. "You did that on purpose."

He leaned past her to address Wilson. "Better or worse than that time you walked in on your parents having sex?"

Wilson made a face. "Never, ever tell him things when you think he's too drunk to remember."

"It wasn't when he was a kid, either. It was last year."

Cuddy laughed, patting Wilson's shoulder. "I never would have fallen for that in the first place. You know he'd never be drunk enough to forget anything good."

"Well see, some people get talkative," House said, turning to her pointedly, "Others just sleep with inappropriate people."

"And some spend so much of their time in an altered mental state, alcohol just doesn't make much difference," Wilson offered.

"Speaking of which, where's my beer?"

"Oh, that's right I was going to ask - before you two went all PDA on me - can I get you anything?"

This was, of course, not directed at him.

"Now you're just showing off," he muttered, and contemplated turning the sound back on the TV. But no, it really was better like this.

Cuddy smiled at Wilson. "I'd love some juice, thank you. You don't have to, you know, I'm not -"

"It's no problem, I'm already running House's errands so," he shrugged as he rose off the couch.

"Oh, there's some leftover couscous salad in the fridge, too," she added, almost sheepishly, "If you wouldn't mind."

"Coming right up."

Show off and a suck up.

"Someone is going to have to clean up this mess, you know," Cuddy said, looking at him as he glowered at the one thing in the room that didn't deserve it. TV had so rarely let him down.

"And I vote for the idiot who created it," she added when he didn't respond.

"I vote Mr Maid. He likes to feel needed."

She shook her head. "I am never leaving you alone here again."

"Now you've figured out my true motive."

Huffing in disbelief at his comment she nonetheless edged closer. "You are such a liar," she said, leaning into his side.

"You have a bed, you know," he said, looking down at her head on his shoulder.

"Last I heard you had a couch and TV of your own, but I don't see you using them. What is this, anyway?"

He drew away to gape at her. "Only the greatest sporting innovation of all time."

He proceeded to introduce her to the magic of modern athletic attire and, once Wilson returned, to debate whether chugging was called for whenever someone's face hit sand. It was decided chugging should be reserved for the covetous moment when an errant lycra panty had to be dislodged from someone's buttcrack.

Cuddy, meanwhile, made short work of her salad, following it up with two slices of pizza. She was a drowsy weight against him after a while, commenting less and less. He didn't mind pulling pillow duty, even if it meant he was immobilised and therefore couldn't reach any of the array of offerings laid out on the coffee table. That was what Wilson was for, anyway.

Besides which, he was enjoying it, her presence at his side, in between him and Wilson, it was easy and uncomplicated. And it was what he wanted. He always enjoyed getting what he wanted.

Cuddy, on the other hand, was a pain when she got what she wanted.

"You cleaned."

He did, technically, but she was sounding far too pleased about it. "So I carted some trash. That's my job as man of the house, temporary or otherwise."

"You cleaned."

"You say that as if I live in abject squalor."

"I'm a slob, I'm not doing it and you can't make me," she mimicked in a deep voice, which he decided to ignore since it was nothing remotely like his own distinctive tenor.

He watched, instead, as she propped up her foot on the edge of the dressing table and started applying lotion.

"You're surprisingly bendy for someone of your... carriage."

She looked up from what she was doing and favoured him with a near blinding smile, which might have seemed out of place, given his comment, but considering what he thought was coming next, was actually a predictable result.

"I am, aren't I?" she agreed, switching one leg for the other, and proceeding to slather that limb, too, in a manner that could almost be considered pornographic. Especially since she was only wearing panties and a tank top, the latter of which covering not much of anything, her bountiful curves spilling out of it everywhere.

She was coming towards him now, more of the lotion being smoothed up her arms. The sway to her hips might have looked ridiculous on any other moderately-and fast-working-towards-heavily pregnant woman. Somehow, she made it work.

Knees on the bed, one leg swinging over his as she settled herself over him, hovering rather than thumping her full weight down on his lap as she had quickly learned not to do - and there was that smile again. He smiled back.

"I've noticed something," he said.

"Oh?" She was only feigning interest, being far more concerned with licking his neck.

"Every time I say something that would leave most people feeling, I don't know, hurt, or upset, or just plain pissed, you seem much more inclined to come and launch yourself at me."

"Your point?"

"It turns you on when I insult you. No wonder you've liked me so much all these years."

She brought her face up to his, her nose brushing against his. There was more smiling. "Maybe I just think you're cute," she said.

"Cute?" A more objective observer might have said that came out in a whine. He'd never claimed to be objective. He started to protest further but she quickly covered his mouth with hers, firmly and convincingly, in a way that brooked no argument.

Not that he was planning on arguing.

Well, only a little.

Rolling her off him he pinned her down easily - once she was on her back she was far more over-turned turtle than over-sexed vixen.

"Course, your hormones are so screwed up right now you don't know what you're doing," he said as she craned upwards and nipped at his chin before capturing his lower lip between her teeth to suckle and nip at it. All right, maybe half turtle, half vixen. "If you're not crying," his next words, spoken against her mouth, "You're horny, or cleaning obsessively. You shouldn't be operating heavy machinery, let alone making decisions that affect the healthcare of hundreds of people a day."

"Enough with the sweet talk," she all but growled. "You had me at 'horny'."

He still had her by the arms but her lower half was free and the next thing he knew was a toe hooking in his waistband and yanking down his shorts. Limber, indeed. Now he was impressed.