Tuesday afternoon, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
The clinic was crowded and busy; Cuddy shot the triage nurse a
glance and picked up a file, determined to get things moving along,
little tired herself but determined not to show it.
“Let’s see, we’ve got three rooms
ready--okay, Mr. Delmaccio, you’re
the sound of her voice, the old wino slumped on the waiting room
up and beamed at Cuddy, flashing her a smile that looked like a rotting
“Miss Smoky! Gawd, I’d know your voice anywhere,
"Excuse me?" Cuddy blurted, startled.
"Oh yeah, I remember,” he cackled, looking pleased with
ago, but it's the same voice. Yew got me through a lotta lonely
. . . “ he announced loudly enough to be heard all through
Cuddy flashed him a tight, unamused smile and herded him into exam
“I’m afraid you’ve got me mixed up with
someone else, Mr. Delmaccio . . .
here’s Doctor House.”
“No it’s yew, Miss Smoky, from fifteen years ago, I
KNOW it! Doncha
th’ time you tol me ALL about playn’ tennis with no
undies on? Or
about spankin’ your roommate in college? Ah those were
times . . . “ the
wino mumbled in a daze, his hand moving not so subtly to his
In the exam room, House glanced up from his Gameboy at the derelict
then at Cuddy, his expression one of lofty amusement. Cuddy
sneered back, and
slapped the file on the exam table. “Our clearly
complaining of stomach pain, Doctor House. I expect you to get
right on the
case,” she warned, stepping out briskly and closing the
Quickly she shot a sharp look around the clinic waiting room, but
to be paying any attention to her, and Cuddy took the moment
slink off to
the ladies’ room.
Her hands were shaking slightly.
She splashed a little water on her face to cool it off, certain that
blushing. Dear God—after all these years, who would have ever
she’d be . . . recognized? Cuddy glanced at her reflection in
The first summer in Michigan.
It was an easy summer job, Glenda assured her. Just talk to old farts
line and tell them some perverted story. Listen for what gets them off
it up. Ten dollars an hour and fifteen percent of the phone tab. You
when you want, but morning calls are the best because the creeps are
work behind office doors charging it to their companies.
She didn’t want to—it sounded sick. But the pay too
textbooks--even used ones--were outrageous. Flipping burgers
somewhere for a mere five-twenty an hour wouldn't add much to
her budget; even
with her student loans.
Glenda had offered to walk her through it, coaching her and after the
days, Cuddy had realized with a weird pride that she was good at it.
had . . . a knack.
A voice and an imagination.
She sighed, gripping the edges of the sink. Nearly a decade ago; behind
now. Damn it, she was a chief administrator! Dean of a major
a respected member of the community--light years away from
Smoky of the
That wasn’t HER anymore.
Cuddy drew in a deep breath and kept staring at herself in the mirror,
back. How many calls? How many regulars? Once the money had
it didn’t seem too bad, aside from getting bored with most of
There had been one or two, but for the most part it was all talk,
anything more than an easy way to pay the bills.
With a scowl, Cuddy shook her head. A wino—nobody would take
seriously . .
. then she remembered who was treating him, and blanched all
10:46 PM Tuesday night, 18446 Magnolia Lane
“Hello, is this Miss Smoky?” came the low, almost
seductive question. Cuddy
“Oh I agree, not funny. Intriguing, and illuminating, but not
funny. I always
thought you were a GOOD girl, Cuddy, and now I find you have a
This makes things much more interesting.”
“I don’t care what that patient said, I’m
NOT Miss Smoky, and you certainly
can’t take his word for anything, House. Obviously I remind
him of someone—
case of mistake identity, nothing more.”
“Is that what the defense claims? Because it’s not
holding up, Miss Smoky.
little conversation with the patient puts the first holes in THAT
Our source is Harold G. Bilmar of Grand Rapids
fairly sure you remember that state, don’t you, Miss Smoky?
Home to a certain
both you and I attended?” came his ruthless question. Cuddy
lip; when House took that tone it meant he wasn’t bluffing.
“It’s a big country, House. Lots of people come
mean every one of them
has perfect hearing, or accurate memories for that
“True, true—and given the amount of sterno our
fellow Wolverine has
the intervening years I’d normally give you the benefit of
Harold was able to cough up a few details along with some
lung chunks, and
those mesh rather nicely with some Internet research I did.
It turns out that
the time frame for his patronage of Miss Smoky’s
services does indeed
coincide with your first year at school. Furthermore . . .
his voice trailed
away, and Cuddy heard him breathing softly.
“Furthermore what?” she snapped, wondering why she
didn’t simply hang up
him. House’s voice came back on the line, a little
rough-edged, but still
“Furthermore, he elaborated the details of a session or two.
Cuddy—tennis without panties? You were on the junior varsity
You’d KNOW all about tennis, panties or not. Too many
Don’t make me go through the yearbooks to find your roommate
questions, not at this late date.” This last came out in a
realized the sound wasn’t sexual at all.
She recognized it, and a pang of concern flared through her. Carefully
sighed into the phone. “Damn it . . . you’re in
pain, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” House snapped back over
the line. “The fact that
calling you at eleven on a school night? Just answer the question,
“If you’re in pain—“
“Not an ‘if’ and I AM doing something
about it, if you’ll just cooperate for a
damned minute here—“ came his waspish reply. Cuddy
took a breath,
the sweet oddness of the moment; of the absurdly tender situation
facing her here.
She could hang up; God knew what House would do, but it probably
She could reason with him.
She could . . . talk to him.
“Lisa?” he whispered into the phone, and that soft
little pain-filled plea
suddenly made the choice for her. Drawing in a deep breath, she settled
her bed and closed her eyes.
“Doctor Greg . . . “ She breathed into the phone,
feeling the slow rush come
back to her. “You can call me Smoky.”
“Well, that’s more like it,” House
grunted, his reply a little guarded.
Cuddy laughed throatily, thinking fast. What next--oh yeah--“
So you decided
give me a call . . . I love that.”
“You do?” this came out in a slightly cynical
snort. Cuddy gave a purr in
“Oh you bet. I get lonely in my little bed here, all alone.
Nobody to talk to .
. . nobody to touch but myself . . . .” she trailed off. Over
the line came the
of House’s breathing, low and deep.
“You . . . touch yourself,” he muttered.
Cuddy flexed her toes, absurdly pleased; fifteen years and she still
knack. She made a tiny purr again. “Yes. I know
it’s a naughty thing to do,
Doctor Greg, but when I get these urges it’s just so hard to
ignore them . . .
those hot little pangs deep between my thighs . . . “
“Those can be . . . hard to ignore—“ he
sighed, his voice lower. Cuddy sighed.
“They get really bad when I wear my thongs. I always buy them
a size too
and so the tiny little silk panel just rubs and rubs between my legs
day. It just makes me so squirmy, and by the end of the day my thong is
. . . “
The noise House made on the other end of the line was midway between
and a growl; Cuddy felt her nipples harden against the eyelet of her
She let her hand glide over her breast wonderingly as she
again, her own
voice lower in timbre now.
“Sometimes it gets so bad I just take my thong off and go
around the hospital
without panties. I have to be careful though about it though, because
knew I was walking around naked under my skirt they might try to . . .
“ . . . Touch you . . . “ House finished hoarsely,
“Slide a hand up—“
“Oh that would be nasty, Doctor Greg,” Cuddy cooed,
feeling a flush of heat
over her skin. She tried to concentrate, but the hand not holding the
slid down her stomach. “If you did that, you’d find
out how turned on I was . .
how wet . . . “
“Jesus, you’re too damned good at
this—“ House groaned a little, trying to
funny and not succeeding. Cuddy laughed softly and breathed a bit
into the phone, her hand sliding lower.
“Oh no, I’m not good, I’m a bad, bad girl
. . . guess where my hand is right
now?” She groaned into the line. The reckless pleasure
flooded her senses as
she cupped the fur between her thighs.
Dear God this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. House was the
one who was
supposed to be turned on and touching himself, not her. Cuddy pressed
against the soft curls between her legs.
“I have a good idea where your hand is, Lisa, but I have a
one . .
. “ House growled, his voice suddenly louder. Startled, Cuddy
of a key in a lock; of her front door opening. She froze, and by
decided to move it was too late; big as life, House stood framed
doorway, snapping his cell phone shut, looking down at her
on her bed,
her hand inside her panties.
He breathed hard, nostrils flaring. “Show me.”
Cuddy stared up, into his bright blue eyes, seeing the sweat of pain
arousal dampening his hairline and staining the armpits of his shirt.
shifted, licking her lips.
“Greg . . . “
“Show me . . . “ his tone had changed from a
command to a quiet, hunger-
plea. Cuddy slowly dropped her phone. Carefully, she drew in a
Very slowly, she let her eyes half-close, and shifted her fingers
her other hand she slowly pushed down her panties.
“When I get . . . turned on, I take a shower, and get into
bed,” she murmured.
“Sometimes I get in naked, but usually I wear my nightgown. I
love the feel of
the lace on my skin. And then I touch myself, really really
“Um hmmm,” House moaned. He was looming over her
bed now, watching her
rapt eyes in the low light of the lamp. Cuddy shifted her thighs
raking through her curls.
“And I tease . . . myself. I touch everywhere between my legs
but the hottest
spot . . . “ came her thick confession. House opened his
mouth, breathing a
little more raggedly. Cuddy stroked one hand along the cleft of her
rubbed her bare, flat stomach with the other.
For a moment neither of them spoke, but the sound of their breathing
room. House pressed a hand to his fly, swallowing hard.
Cuddy nodded. “Yeah. Ohhhhh yeah.”
They exploded; Cuddy lunged up for him as House dropped down,
a wet clash of teeth and lips. Hands fumbled, tugged, freed; Cuddy
against House’s tongue as he yanked her nightie up. With a
squeaks of the
bedsprings they managed to both fit on the bed; House
flattened his palms on
the mattress on either side of her heaving ribs. Cuddy wrapped her
around his hips, struggling with his jeans.
“Damn it, WANT you—“
“You’ll GET me, just don’t claw my ass
raw,” House hissed, rocking his hips
forward. In one glorious thrust he plunged into her, and Cuddy groaned,
slender throat arching as the pleasure flared, driving all rational
He was thick, and hot; moving deep in strong thrusts and the wet sound
bodies merged with the creaking of the bed, with her own
House dropped his face to the side of her neck and Cuddy felt
of his breath on her skin along with the nip of his teeth.
“Jesus H. Chrrrrrist you’re fucking tiiiiight . . .
“ came his slightly anguished
growl, “Goddamn it . . .”
“Harder, baby—“ Cuddy gasped, clenching,
feeling the hot quick surge of
lust knifing through her, the undeniable tension drawing closer
smack of their stomachs. House chuffed, big strong body responding
to the low command in her voice, and he tensed, driving deep,
pinning her even
as he grunted his pleasure against the tender skin of her
throat, his beard
“FuckfuckfuckGodcomminnnngg—“ he growled
in a husky animal tone that
in her mind even as she clung to him, lost in the sweet crest
Later he slept, slumped against her breast, nose pushed into her
Cuddy gently stroked his damp hair, indulging herself in the rare
cuddle him. It wouldn’t last long, she suspected; the
endorphins would wear
off, and House would probably pull back from the offered tenderness.
But for now he was relaxed, and neither of them had to get up any time
and it felt good to have him in her arms, and safe. Cuddy started to
drifting into sleep when she felt his lips move.
“You . . . amaze me.”
She smiled and kissed his forehead.