Lending a Hand

Cuddy closed her eyes and counted to five. It didn’t help much, but it gave her 
a moment of time she desperately needed to save face.

When she opened her eyes again House was still slouched against the exam 
table, looking at her. He wasn’t smirking quite as much; the look on his face 
was that of a man uncertain if he’d crossed the line or not, but interested in 
finding out. His eyes locked on hers, and she felt a rush of exasperated 
amusement.

Men.

House in particular.

“So let me get this straight. In order to get you do cover my clinic hours this 
week, you want . . . manual gratification?”

“Oooh, putting that college vocabulary to work for you—smart!” he praised. 
“But the more basic terminology will do.” House leaned back against the exam 
table, relaxing a bit, amused at being in the catbird seat at the moment. 
Cuddy had no options left, personnel-wise, not really, and although she could 
simply assign him to cover her hours, she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust 
he’d do them.

She needed to sweeten the deal, he told her. Hence his request.

Which she was pretending to consider, apparently. House fought his smirk for 
a moment longer, enjoying her embarrassment, because this was his Cuddy, 
and desperate as she was, she’d never actually DO it, not in a million . . . .

“All right then. Let’s get started,” she murmured, and stepped to the door, 
locking it. House stared for a second, stunned; catching his expression Cuddy 
bit her lips to keep from laughing out loud. She locked gazes with him, and in 
that pulsing moment House realized his request had gone from a crude joke 
meant to annoy her into a dare; a challenge of wills and balls.

“I hope you have limber wrists,” he warned her, his voice a little thick. Cuddy 
flicked off the lights, startling him again. She looked over her shoulder at 
House.

“This doesn’t leave this room—“ she warned. House smirked.

“Depends on whether you leave the door open or not—I’m a distance man 
myself.”

“House—“ she started, but he beckoned her closer, and when Cuddy was 
within arm’s reach, he pulled her forward by her shoulders, looking into her 
face.

“Shhhh . . . you’ve set the mood, let’s see if we can get into it,” he breathed in 
her face, looking vulnerable for a moment. Cuddy tried to speak, but slowly 
House bent his face forward and kissed her.

His lips rested on hers lightly, the merest brush of contact, and the 
overwhelming warmth of his big, male presence sparked tingles all through 
her body. Cuddy gasped softly, and taking this as an invitation, House 
pressed his mouth more firmly on hers, sliding his hands from her shoulders 
around her narrow back.

Cuddy clutched him, drinking him in. Dizzily she let go of thoughts of 
schedules and reports and agendas, just savoring the prickle of House’s 
whiskers against her cheeks, the slippery tease of his tongue wetly dancing 
with hers. It took effort to break away long minutes later, but she needed to 
breathe.

House let her for a quick second, then dropped his mouth back on hers, 
coaxing her in to a deeper kiss, feeling a surge of lust so strong it was nearly intoxicating. Oh yeah, Cuddy’s mouth was worth plundering, as pillowy and 
sexy in taste as he always thought it would be. Her tongue flicked over his, 
hot and pliant, a wicked little taunt worth sucking.

They kept kissing, shifting against each other. House had his ass resting 
against the edge of the exam table and Cuddy resting against him, her hands bracing now against the crinkly paper on either side of his hips. Cuddy fought 
the urge to wriggle; the feel of House’s big hands cupping her shoulder blades 
was nice. When he started to move the right one under her arm for a quick 
grope though, she pulled up, scowling.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Should—“ he growled back against her lips, “—be obvious.”

“Copping a feel was NOT on the menu,” she tried to argue. House nibbled one 
of her eyebrows, distracting her.

“Yeeah. You have the girls pressed so hard against me they’re practically 
imprinted with my Tee shirt logo—thought I’d make them welcome.”

“This is supposed to be about a hand job—“ came her protest, even as she 
arched into his waiting palm. House chuckled.

“My hands HAVE a job--ohhh. Always knew these beauties were Cs even 
though you flaunt them like Ds, Cuddy.”

She didn’t say anything, the retort melting away under the talented flick of 
House’s thumb against her stiff nipple through her blouse; he toyed with 
tender finesse, lightly kissing the corner of her quivering mouth as he did so. 
Cuddy shivered, and slid her hands from the paper on either side of his hips.

“Greg . . . “ she muttered, a little breathlessly, “I . . .”

“ . . . love it. Don’t lie to me, Cuddles. Accelerated heart rate, dilated pupils—I 
bet you’ve got majorly damp panties now.”

His slight crudeness made her scowl, but even as she pressed a hand to his 
chest to push him away, House caught it and licked her palm, letting his 
stubble tickle the tender center of it. “Love that thought—see?” Carefully he 
guided her hand down to the thick ridge along his fly, where the denim bulged.

Cuddy gave a little groan of protest. “That can-NOT all be you.”

“You’re right—I grafted parts of a Clydesdale in during my Urology rotation,” 
he told her, pulling his most sincere face. Cuddy took a moment to kiss him 
again, her hand sliding along his crotch.

“I don’t remember sitting in on THAT organ donation committee,” she teased 
back, nipping his upper lip. The temperature in the exam room had gone up 
by several degrees, and it wasn’t the only thing rising. Cuddy shifted and 
House nibbled his way down her neck, taking time out to lick along her pulse 
point.

“Black market deal, from Budweiser,” House replied, his words muffled 
against her skin. “You rub nice, through denim.”

Cuddy looked down and watched her splayed hand stroke him; House gave a 
low rumble of pleasure. When she looked up, he was staring at her again, his 
eyes half closed in pleasure and provocation.

“So about that hand job?” he prodded softly.

It only took a minute to find the tube of K-Y in the drawer with the 
thermometers, and unzip House’s fly. Cuddy touched him; the thick rise of 
his erection fitted into her hand, her fingers curling around the blunt heat of it 
as she squeezed lightly. House throbbed, lifting his shoulders and turning his 
face up to the ceiling in a gasp of pleasure. “Ohhhhhyeahhhhh—“

He dropped his hand down over hers, wrapping his grip over her small one in 
a tighter squeeze as his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer. 
House pressed his mouth against her ear through her hair, his husky whisper 
slow and unfocused. “Like this. Harder—-feels good.”

Breathing erratically, Cuddy squeezed, marveling in the suede softness of his 
skin stretched so tightly over his rigid erection. Heat radiated off his cock, and 
she could feel the thick veins on it. She stroked, the lubricant letting her 
fingers glide over the length of House’s prick. He made a happy sound deep in 
his throat.

“Damn it, that’s niiiiice—“ he confessed, guiding her fingers up and down in a 
slow, deliberate pump of pleasure. House licked her cheek, and moved to kiss Cuddy again; she opened her lips for his questing tongue.

House tugged her to straddle his good thigh and kept kissing her; kept 
thrusting himself into her slick fist as the lubricant made little wet sounds in 
the darkened exam room stroke after slow stroke. The scent of musk and 
sweat rose up; Cuddy felt the subtle change as his cock thickened and his 
breathing shallowed out. She pressed herself against his thigh, hot and tingly 
herself, her own moans low and urgent.

“I’m . . . going to come—“ House whispered her urgently, “Lisa—ohhh . . .”

Cuddy squeezed his prick again, following the sweet pressure of his grip over 
hers, and pushing hard, rubbed herself against his thigh more urgently. House shuddered, his free arm around her tightening as he moaned into her mouth.

Thickly, the first hot gush spurted up, dribbling down through their fingers. 
Others followed, but Cuddy was beyond caring for the moment as she tensed 
hard herself, burying her face against House’s shoulder, her own orgasm 
flaring between her thighs in pulsing throbs of uncontrollable pleasure.

For a few moments they clung to each other, breathing hard, stunned and 
boneless. Cuddy nipped at House’s jacket lapel, not meeting his eyes as she 
tried to think of what to say.

She couldn’t come up with anything, although the wild urge to thank him 
sprang to mind. When she risked a glance up at his face, House looked 
equally chagrined.

“Youuuu---“ he accused, breaking into a grin. Cuddy lifted her chin, all too 
aware of how red her face must have been. She reluctantly let go of his 
softening prick and turned to the sink, turning on the tap, sticking her hands 
under the water.

“Yes, well let’s say I got caught up in the moment, all right? I assure you it 
won’t happen next time—“ The minute the words left her mouth she flushed 
again. House pushed himself away from the exam table and reached for the 
paper towels, laughing softly.

“You said it—-the next time.” Carefully he reached over and tipped her face 
towards him, kissing her softly. “This is why you’re the dean—-your talent for negotiating with the staff. MY staff in particular.”

“Greg—“ she muttered, still flushed. He kissed her again, and smiled.

“So this works the other way too, right? If I need to get out of clinic 
hours . . . ?” he let the sentence trail off. Cuddy stared at him a long moment, 
but she couldn’t hold her serious expression; the corner of her mouth went up slightly.

“I’m open to negotiations anytime next week, Doctor House.”

He whistled softly. “Count on me to lend a hand, Doctor Cuddy.”

They left the exam room together, each clutching files, both of them grinning.

end