just about to put
on her lipstick.
stops just outside
the glass door, brought up short by the sight of her,
one elbow braced on her
desk holding a compact open as she pouts for the
mirror, the fingers of the
other hand delicately gripping the tube. The rush of
heat through his system is
instantaneous, a slam of testosterone-fueled desire
right down the long muscles
of his stomach and straight to his balls. He blinks, staying still,
won’t notice him shifting there at the glass-paneled
door but she does,
shooting him an exasperated look. She snaps the compact
knows the voyeuristic
moment is over and pushes the door open. He
tries to remember exactly why he’s
here; something to do with a lawsuit, but
it’s at the back of his thoughts now.
Shoved aside by the image of Cuddy
dolling herself up; primping in such a very
girly way. House knows all women
do this after a fashion, that even Cameron
wears lipstick, albeit in far more
lipstick is rarely
subtle though, and that’s what gets to him. When she wears
chooses shades that House likes to imagine match the
thong panties he pawed
through so greedily half a year ago. Deep pinks,
dusty lavenders, frosted
cinnamons—shades he’s seen on her generous
mouth and loves to fantasize about
on her fabulous tushie. Bright colors; bold colors. Shades that demand
attention and get it—at least from House.
wears pinks when she
visits the children’s wards. The color of bubblegum, sweet
and tempting. House
suspects Cuddy doesn’t consciously realize her
choice, or how it probably
soothes the kiddies. It doesn’t soothe him in the
least—pink gives her a hint
of innocence, and because House knows Cuddy
is NOT innocent, the indecent
thoughts he harbors on Pink days are all her
wears lavenders for
meetings with lawyers and hospital visitors and dignitaries. The purple
show she’s sensual but business-like; a woman balancing
nurturing and nurses,
as it were. House likes the violet-tinted
shades because they make him think of
hot house grapes and ripe plums, and
how edible Cuddy’s mouth must be under the
tempting richness of her lipstick.
what do you want?”
comes her husky demand, breaking into his
reverie. He doesn’t answer, and looks
down at her, eyes flickering to the tube
in her hand. Tortoiseshell case, gold
his jaw tighten,
feels his cock tighten in uncontrollable response.
Cuddy is putting on the red.
has only a few little
genuine kinks, and fascination with this shade is
one of them. Not just any red
lipstick but THIS shade. Fire engine red, candy
apple red, corvette red, a
glossy wet fuck-me shade of red that leaves him
with a sweaty upper lip and all
the little hairs up on the back of his neck when
he sees Cuddy wearing it.
knows that every time
he’s ever had an argument with Cuddy she’s
been wearing this red lipstick.
Every time he’s yelled at her, or leered at her,
or made comments that would
get him kicked out of any other hospital, it’s
been on a day she’s been wearing
this red lipstick.
the red gets to
him. Every time.
is that shade
called?” he demands abruptly, knowing he’s staring
not quite capable of
looking away. Cuddy glances at the tube she’s
lipstick. In your
hand,” he rasps, trying to look as if he doesn’t
about the answer.
Cuddy isn’t fooled though, not completely. She looks
at it and slowly
with the finesse of
a stripper drawing off a glove, Cuddy sets the
compact down and twists the
little tube, letting the bullet of gleaming red rise
up almost obscenely from
the base. In the light of her office the shade is
crimson, scarlet and
cochineal all in one, gaudy and slutty and House is
fighting a hard on. He
comes closer, trying to hide it under the edge of the
desk but of course he’s
too tall. Cuddy waves the lipstick at him.
have thought you’d be
able to tell it’s red, House.”
but what’s the name?”
he replies testily now. “Cosmetic companies
spend thousands to come up with new
ways to re-label red. I want to know
what cutesy description this one has.”
cups her chin in her
free hand and leans forward, deepening her
cleavage. Cuddy is evil, House
decides. Hot, but evil.
smiles a little. “Right
now I’m on my way to have lunch with Mr. Gordon Melcherson of
He’s hoping to sell me a new MRI machine
at full price. I on the other hand, am
not interested in paying one hundred and seventy thousand dollars for
little bullet shrapnel fiasco, House, so I’m
using feminine wiles to help lower
blinks. Cuddy waves
the lipstick again, like a matador taunting a bull.
going to flirt with
a technogoober salesman to knock a couple thou off
the price?” he asks, grimly
amused but still focused on the lipstick. Cuddy
nods very slowly.
YOU sure as hell
aren’t going to do it, and we need a new machine,
Greg. So if you don’t mind, I
have to get ready.”
nothing. He minds.
He minds like hell, but Cuddy has a point and
more importantly, she’d figure
out this weird little fetish pretty damned quickly. Cuddy can be
quick on the uptake at times. House watches her carefully flick the
open again and study herself in it, then bring the
tube of lipstick up and
lightly smear it against her full bottom lip.
sweep of color is
shockingly sensual, leaving a bright band along the
plump curve. House fights
not to draw in a breath. Cuddy pouts a little, gliding
the tip of the brilliant
red bullet up along the sweet arch of her upper lip,
working as carefully as an
artist on a canvas. She opens her mouth widely,
lightly touching the corners,
then brings the compact closer to study the
knows if she glances
to her right, she’ll see a result he can’t
so he leans over the desk
all the better to obscure the heavy ridge in his
look like a whore,” he
growls softly at her, angry and aroused, miserable
in a way that Vicodin will
never help, alcohol will never touch.
lifts her chin. When
she turns to look at him, House can’t help but
stare at that beautiful mouth,
ripe and red, glossy, tempting every cell in his
weary body. It’s such a
naughty mouth now; a mouth meant for kissing and
biting and dragging along a
naked body. That red should be left on sheets,
and skin as a badge of sex.
it’s driving you
crazy,” she finishes for him. House says nothing, which
all the more
damning. Cuddy rises, setting her lipstick down on the middle
blotter and moves sinuously around her desk. Very carefully
rises up on
tiptoe, almost leaning on House, her pretty, pretty mouth close
his ear. He
fights the shiver when her warm breath caresses it. She whispers.
called Blow Job Red .
. .” she breathes into House’s ear with a low
“I’ll lock the door after
me, if you need a few minutes—“
Cuddy slinks away,
leaving him standing there, robbed of words, of
breath, of functional thought.
slides one big damp
palm down the throbbing ridge along the fly of his
jeans. He closes his eyes.
minutes. Yeah. That’s
about all it’s going to take.