A/N: Thanks again for the reviews...you can't imagine how happy they make me :D This chapter is a little shorter (I decided to split it into two parts, so this one could end on a somewhat happy note...) and is mostly smutty fun...dedicated to my lovely Christinalicious on her birthday...
Remember December
Chapter 13
Cuddy opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room, and a strong arm draped around her waist.
Oh shit, no! She froze, inching the sheet a little higher and trying desperately not to wake him up.
This actually was not as bad as waking up next to him in her bed yesterday morning.
He had been tense. It was the first time since Stacy left that he had woken up next to anyone. Cuddy frankly was surprised that he didn't get up in the middle of the night and bolt, but the whole point behind this was to move on and seek out something approaching a normal life. He decided before he even had her panties off that he was staying the night.
But that morning had brought extreme awkwardness. They had no idea what to do with one another now, if they weren't fighting about work, if he wasn't insulting and/or ogling her ass, if they strayed too far from the comfortable routine that allowed them to be around each other every day without dredging up memories or indulging fantasies. Well it was too late for that now.
Cuddy remembered that this used to be much easier. She stood barefoot in her kitchen and poured herself some coffee and another cup for House, who was in her bathroom mumbling to himself.
Cuddy decided that as fantastic as the previous night was, it felt like a fling. Like a one night stand. It had helped them both actually. She finally got some closure with him, and he learned that it's okay to open himself up. Now they could both move on.
She had awkwardly attempted to explain this to him while they leaned against her kitchen counter sipping coffee, but House just laughed. He was familiar with Cuddy's fight or flight responses and he had done this particular dance with her for months in college. He just put his cup in the sink, kissed her quickly on the cheek and left. Last night was a good experience and he was dammed if he was going to let her ruin it. He was actually a little annoyed that she even tried.
House avoided her for the rest of that day, and avoided Wilson's phone calls as well. The man would know just by the tone of his voice what had transpired the night before, and House decided it was best to keep this one close to the vest. House was in a particularly jubilant mood though, and when he got to work that morning he picked through the stack of consult requests on his desk until he found one that was marginally interesting.
Then at about nine o'clock at night House heard a car pull up outside of his building. He peeked through the window and saw her silhouette nervously drumming the steering wheel of her car. House chuckled to himself and walked over to the bar where he had poured himself a scotch and dropped some ice cubes in a glass and poured one for her.
The slight tap came a few minutes later. House opened the door, a grin plastered to his face. "You're pathetic," he said. "I thought for sure you'd make it at least 48 hours before you came begging me for more sex." He handed her the drink he'd poured for her, cutting off whatever it was she was about to shoot back. "Come on then, let's get you drunk."
He took Cuddy's hand and led her into his apartment. Once the door was closed Cuddy turned around and House caught her lips and pulled her into a kiss that had been building in him all day long.
Cuddy couldn't help but smile against his lips. When he finally let her go, she turned away from him, a little embarrassed. She set the glass down on the bar untouched and turned back to face him.
"I just came to talk, House."
He lifted his eyebrows. "Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Talk. I hear ya…" But he was at her side again and again she was giggling like fifteen year old girl.
"Be serious for a second." She said. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes but sat down on a bar stool and waited for her to talk. But when she opened her mouth nothing came out.
House laughed. "You don't want things to change between us, and you're worried that we are making a mistake, because you don't think I'm ready for a real relationship," he offered.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Cuddy," he looked around his apartment searching for something or someone to help him out. Honestly he didn't know what to say to reassure her. He didn't want to lie to her or make promises he wasn't sure he could keep. Really more than anything he just wanted to take her shirt off.
When House didn't finish his sentence, Cuddy leaned against the bar next to him. "You aren't sure what you want, but you think we are having fun right now and we shouldn't stop because neither of us really knows what will happen."
House nodded slowly. Except for the part about taking her shirt off, that pretty much summed it up. "Yes," he said.
"And what if that isn't enough for me?" She asked.
House stared at her for a second and then shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?" She stared at him blankly as if he was asking her a trick question.
"I…I don't know—"
"Do you want to get married? Have kids?"
"What? No."
House shrugged again. He admitted to himself that was a risky little question…if she had said yes he probably would've proposed in that moment just so she wouldn't leave. "Then why not date me and just see what happens?"
Cuddy picked up her scotch and drank it very deliberately until the glass was empty. She would find it much harder to argue with his convoluted logic if she got sloshed first. His hand had already started creeping its way over to her shoulder and played small circles at the nape of her neck. Cuddy leaned into his hand and he swung around in the bar stool until he was facing her. Their knees touched and House rested a hand on her thigh. His fingers danced over the spot where her skirt met flesh and he leaned into her moving a hand over her cheek and taking in the scent of alcohol and anxiety. He lifted his chin and brushed over her lips.
"So, are we done talking?" He whispered against her lips.
Cuddy found herself dizzy and her hands trembling. It wasn't the alcohol; it was him. It always was. She scraped her nail over the harsh gruff of facial hair and leaned into him, trapping his lower lip between hers and tasting it.
That was all the encouragement House needed. He slid off the barstool and moved her backward into his bedroom. He fumbled with the buttons on her shirt and grew frustrated at their uncooperativeness. He considered ripping her shirt off, but she wasn't that drunk and he knew she'd get pissed. Instead he pulled it over her shoulders and tossed it aside. Cuddy pushed her skirt down and stepped out of it while House removed his own shirt. He stared at her mesmerized. Cuddy smiled that way she did that made his heart stop and when she reached for the zipper on his jeans, he really thought he might die.
He balanced himself with a hand on each of her bare hips as he kicked off his jeans. They stood just inches from one another naked, ragged breaths falling on hot skin and Cuddy moved her hands over his arms and around his neck, pulling his lips back down to hers. He moved them back until her calves touched the edge of his bed. He had granted his own hands freedom to find their way around a body that was once so familiar. Their hurried encounter the night before, left them both amazed at how well they moved together and how able they were to bring each other to the brink and back. But it left little time for exploration.
It is a strange thing, touching an old lover so many years later. The body never really forgets, but it's had time to change, to soften in some places and grow firm or calloused in others. And two decades of learning to be patient and understanding a lover's cues. This feels good, that tickles, too slow, too fast. That's just right. He settled her back on the bed and let his legs fall between hers. His lips followed a trail left by his fingers flitting over her breasts and stomach and settling on her hips. Cuddy let out a muffled plea when he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh and slid his thumb over her clit. She smelled like the body lotion he had seen in her bathroom that morning, and tasted like unrestrained arousal. He played his tongue over her and she pushed her hands into his hair and released his name from her lips in a breathless whisper. She squirmed under his hands and let her own hands travel the length of her body stopping to graze nipples erect and taunting, pleading to be touched.
"House…" She tugged at his back and arms, urging him to come back to her. She didn't want to come before he did. This made House smile, and he flicked his tongue over her once more before pushing himself up and crawling back to the top of the bed.
He fell on his side and hooked her leg around his thigh, rolling over and pulling her on top of him. As she rode him, he found a rhythm to match her own and clutched her hips to keep her from moving too quickly. He opened his eyes and watched her mouth expel a breath and hum each time she fell against him, sending a wave of electricity through her body. Again this feeling of being alive overwhelmed him. As easy as it would be to run away, to slip into a lonely existence of self destructive behavior, he rather liked this feeling. It didn't have the distinct ring of the miserable bastard he projected most of the time, but she was something of a kindred spirit in the way that she understood misery and she loved him either way. Maybe a little more this way.
House dug his fingers into her sides and cried out as her mouth collided with his and she pushed herself down into him one final time. She fell to his side and they both tried to catch their breath between bits of laughter.
They stared at the ceiling, and her hand fell on his chest. "I'm starving," she said. House smiled and glanced sideways to find her propped on her elbow, her wild brown hair falling into her eyes. He brushed it aside.
"What do you think this is," he said, "you sleep with me and now all of a sudden I owe you dinner…" But he was already pulling himself out of bed and pulling on a pair of sweatpants that had been tossed over the back of a chair. Cuddy pulled the sheet around her and watched House pad into the kitchen. "I think I've got some leftover enchiladas in here," he called back to her.
"You made enchiladas?" She called back.
"I could have," he said, pulling a covered dish from the refrigerator and sticking it the microwave. Cuddy laughed, it was much more likely that Wilson made them when was down over the weekend and left some behind, because he knew House never cooked.
A few minutes later House appeared back in at the door with a plate and two forks, and saw Cuddy had pulled on his pale pink dress shirt and crawled back under the sheet. He laughed. The last time she stole a shirt from him after their first night together in Michigan he never saw it again. Absently he wondered if she still had it.
He settle back into bed, his back against the headboard and his leg, which had started to throb since he had been limping all over his apartment and tumbling around with Cuddy for the last few hours. He had taken a pill while in the kitchen and was just waiting for it to kick in. Thankfully Cuddy didn't react when he cursed and grunted while crawling back into the bed.
"We are being really stupid about this," she said, once he was settled and cutting into their dinner.
"Oh would you stop. Here," he cut a piece of enchilada off with the side of his fork and held it up to her lips. Cuddy took a bite and her eyes rolled back into her head a little.
"Mmm god."
House laughed. Her sex face and her good food face were almost identical. "I have to say," he said, "it's a little cliché but that is a great look on you." He hooked his finger around the melted cheese still hanging from her lip and pulled it apart and sucked it into his mouth.
And that brought them to now. House chuckled against Cuddy's back, and she closed her eyes. "I don't know what you find so damn funny."
"You," he said, "panicking." She rolled over in his arms, the collar of his shirt flipped up a covered part of her lips. "Stop worrying, Cuddy. It's going to be fine."
"You have to stop making sexual remarks about me at work," she said.
"But I always make sexual remarks about you at work. If I stop now, people will get suspicious." He folded her collar down and wiggled his eyebrows. Cuddy smiled and rolled herself out of bed, leaning down to kiss him, before disappearing into his bathroom. Watching her walk away, a familiar fear caught hold of House and his chest tightened up. He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it, and pulled himself out of bed.