Chapter Three: Bed, Bath and Beyond

The rain began shortly after seven and didn’t let up; grey clouds hung low over the sky, thick 
and dark. Occasional flashes of lightning cut through the darkness and the wind howled 
mournfully through the trees. Cuddy glanced worriedly out at the koi pond through her kitchen 
window, wondering if she should tarp it over or not; the storm was due to abate in a few hours, 
but if more than five inches fell the pump was sure to back up.

As she debated whether or not to get into her raingear and check, the doorbell rang. Curious, 
Cuddy padded barefoot down the hallway, wondering who would be at her door in this squall. 
The hospital would have called first, as would her dad . . .. Carefully she checked the spy hole, 
stunned at the sight of a blue eye glaring back at her. After flipping the locks, she yanked the 
door open, letting in a gust of soaking rain, and a waterlogged House.

“What the HELL are you doing out in this?” she demanded throatily, even as she noticed the 
way his hair curled when wet, the trickles of water along his temples and chin. He pushed past 
her and dripped on the carpet, running a hand over his face.

“I came . . . to get my tie. I left it here.” He growled. Cuddy, who had been struggling to close 
the door, shot him an astonished look.

“Your TIE? You decide at eight-thirty at night that you need to drive over in this monsoon to get 
your TIE?”

“It’s the only one I have.” He replied in a tone of patient reasonableness.

“The only one you have—“ she echoed in disbelief. “Of course—that makes sense. You pull in 
a salary that would support an ENTIRE Third World village for a year, but you have only one 
tie.”

“What would be the point of having any others? If I HAD more than one, people would expect 
me to wear them regularly. Every day! And from that point on, it would escalate—I’d have to 
buy dress shirts and slacks, I’d be shamed into Florsheims and aftershave and before you 
know it, patients and staff alike would confuse me with Wilson, which would clearly be one of 
the signs of the Apocalypse. It would be anarchy. Chaos. Dogs and cats, living together—“

Cuddy rolled her eyes and pushed past him back down the hall to the kitchen; House followed 
her, keeping his expression determinedly serious even though he took a long moment to study 
her shapely ass through her jeans. She gripped one of the kitchen chairs firmly, trying to fight 
the bemused giggles that threatened to well out of her.

God, House back again, with an excuse lamer than—well, lamer than HE was.

Why?

“Fine. Go get your tie from wherever you left it. I have to get my koi covered.”

“The pond?” House glanced out the window, assessing the problem immediately. “Right—
flooding would overtax your biopump. Where do you keep the tarp?”

Cuddy glanced up at him, startled; House gave a careless little shrug. “Basic ecosystem, not 
THAT hard to figure out the mechanics necessary to maintain it. I repeat—tarp?”

“Side of the house in the gardening shed—“ Cuddy replied, slipping into a pair of rain boots 
that stood at the back door. House moved to open it and she shot him a worried glance. “Hey!”

“It’s okay--I’m already soaked. Come on—the sooner we get the job done, the sooner we can 
get back inside and you can spoil me with lavish praise and hot cocoa.”

Cuddy hesitated; the tarp was heavy, and having another set of hands WOULD make it 
easier . . . she grabbed for her poncho and followed House out the back door, bracing against 
the cold.

It took longer than she wanted, and by the time the bright blue tarp was tented over the entire 
pond, Cuddy could barely feel her fingers. The poncho hadn’t done much to keep the rain off, 
and now her hair was soaked. House had the audacity to look almost cheerful as he tamped 
down a corner of the tarp with the end of his cane. He was completely saturated, his hair dark, 
his scruffy beard a charcoal smudge over his cheeks and chin. Looking at him, Cuddy 
shivered, not entirely from the chill, and motioned for them to head back inside. Overhead the 
ominous boom of thunder echoed.  They slipped into the kitchen, and into the light and warmth 
once again.

“Don’t m-move, I’ll get us some towels—“ she ordered, slipping out of her rain boots and 
scooting down the hall. In the master bathroom Cuddy flicked on the water for the tub, threw in 
a few capfuls of bubbles, and then yanked a stack of freshly folded towels out, carrying three 
back with her. House took the offered one and draped it over his head, rubbing vigorously.

“Rescuing fish from excess water—“ he mused, “How droll.”

“But necessary. Thank you.” Cuddy muttered, not looking at him. She tugged off her wet 
sweatshirt, and realized a moment too late that her teeshirt underneath was equally soaked 
and clinging to her like a second skin. House whistled, and defensively she crossed her arms 
over her chest.

“Knock it OFF.”

“What? I’ll have you know that was genuine admiration.” He snickered, pulling the towel off his 
head.

“Right. You spent the majority of our time at work trying to think of new ways to reduce our conversations to sniping about my chest, and now I’m expected to believe that in private you’d 
be nice?”

House looked sullen for a moment, and mumbled; Cuddy prodded him with a defiant look of 
her own. “What?”

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t nice—but it WAS sincere.” He admitted, gazing off towards the top of 
her refrigerator.

And it had been, he confided to himself. The gorgeous rounded swell of those breasts, topped 
with big perky nipples jutting out would be haunting his memory for a while.

Cuddy turned and toweled her own hair off, not sure quite what to say to that, and in the 
sudden lull of the conversation the hiss of the distant bathwater sounded loud. House cheered 
up visibly.

“That’s not for you, it’s for ME.” Cuddy growled. He leaned heavily on his cane and shot her a 
mulish look.

“Come on! I’ve been out in that storm two times now. I need a bath twice as much as you do.”

“It’s MY tub.” She growled. He cocked his head, unwilling to give an inch, and the atmosphere 
of the kitchen took on an added interesting tension Cuddy felt right under her stomach.

“”Yeah, well making an estimate on the size of your water heater, there’s only going to be 
enough for a single bath in the next few hours and I damn well want a piece of that 
action—here . . . “ he dug in the hip pocket of his jeans and fished out a quarter. “Flip you for 
it.”

Cuddy looked at the coin in his wet palm as if he were offering her a rat dropping. “No! My tub, 
MY bath!”

“Sheesh! If you put it THAT way, sure. Where’s your Hippocratic Oath NOW, Doctor Cuddy? 
Maybe this should just be a matter of eminent domain.” House groused, flipping the quarter 
high into the air. It arced up, glittering, and promptly landed inside the dish of the overhead light, 
clinking faintly as it did so.

 Both of them stared upward at the round, dark silhouette visible through the glass.

“Okay, THAT was unexpected,” House admitted, a trifle embarrassed. Cuddy gave a noisy 
sigh.

“Great, now I’ll have to get it down. You’re not getting that bath. LIVE with it.” She grumbled, 
climbing on a chair and stepping up on the table. House reached out a hand, bracing her damp, denim-covered hip and for a second they both watched at his strong fingers sliding down her 
thigh.

“Falling would be a BAD thing,” he mumbled. Cuddy nodded tightly, and looked up, trying to get 
a grip on her balance.

And breathing.

She reached a hand up to the ceiling, bracing herself against it and peered into the light.

“Fine, I think I can get it before it gets too hot. Ew, dead moths . . . anyway, as soon as I give 
you your quarter back I expect you GONE, okay? We have WAAY too much to deal with 
without getting into mind games right now, House. I’ll bring your stupid tie in to work tomorrow, 
and I thank you for help with the tarp, but I think all this has gone FAR enough . . . “ Cuddy 
muttered, fishing in the light fixture as she spoke. Her slender fingers managed to grip the coin 
and triumphantly she pulled it out. “Aha!”

She looked around the empty kitchen. “Damn it!”

Carefully clambering off the table, she scooted down the hall, turned to the other hall and 
charged into her bedroom, catching her toes on the pile of discarded clothes lying wetly on the 
carpet outside the bathroom. Her fury welled up both at the mess, and the unfairness of it all, 
and when she raised her face to look through the bathroom doorway, she gritted her teeth, 
hard.

Why did he have to look so . . . . so GOOD? It wasn’t fair! The strong lines of House’s broad shoulders were above the white bath foam, which contrasted strongly with his dark sandpaper 
stubble along his throat and face. He glanced up at her, gave a saintly smile and waggled his 
fingers as she noticed the wet cursive curls of chest hair between his pecs.

“I’m SO glad you opted to assign this as part of my ongoing treatment, and by golly, I could 
even get used to the bubbles. Very aromatheraputic of you.”

Cuddy suddenly harbored the nagging suspicion that House had deliberately tossed the coin 
into the light. This was further confirmed by his unmissable smirk, and seeing it, her eyes 
narrowed.

“You ARE the most self-centered, thankless, impolite—“ she began. House raised his 
foam-covered fingers higher, holding off her further commentary.

“Fine. Fifty-fifty. I’ll split the bath with you. Can’t get any fairer than that, right?”

The sheer chutzpah of his words hit Cuddy hard and she gave a little growl. Reaching for a 
towel, her expression shifted to a furious smile as she snapped it off the counter.

“You’re damn right.”

House looked momentarily taken back; he hadn’t expected such ferocity to his suggestion, and 
too late he remembered that Cuddy rarely bluffed. She stepped out of sight; immediately his overheated imagination filled in the details for the sounds coming from beyond the doorframe.

Oh yeah—This was going to be a problem judging by the way his periscope was rising. 
Casually House settled down lower in the hot water, thinking about the most unappetizing things 
he could: surgery on septic hemorrhoids, Vogler in a tiny Speedo, Viagra Myron and Mona in 
the throes of geriatric passion. His mind rebelled, but under the surface, Mr. Happy persisted, 
far too aware that CuddywasgettingNAKEDYEAH.

House took a deep breath, prepared to brazen it out.

And---stay deeply underwater.

He looked up as Cuddy peered around the doorway, her long dark hair pinned up, her one 
visible shoulder gloriously bare.

“Close. Your. Eyes.” She commanded. House leaned his head back against the tile in a 
posture reminiscent of a lazy tomcat. Okay, perhaps there were ways of bluffing that could 
prove interesting. Just because she had all his clothes didn’t mean he wasn’t in a position to 
negotiate.

“And if I don’t--?” he questioned, politely. Cuddy held up his car keys and House blinked as 
visions of them tumbling down a sewer passed through his mind. Cuddy said nothing, and he 
made a show of exaggeratedly closing his eyes.

“You peek, you DIE, House. I start with the car and work my way through the things you 
REALLY care about. Like body parts.”

House tried opening one eye a tiny bit, and heard her growl again.

“Closed, NOW.”

“You really need to do something about that type A personality of yours, Doctor Cuddy. I don’t 
know if I can trust my health care in the hands of a woman so upTIGHT. Maybe a few anger management classes or say, a nice hot bath—“ he shot back as he heard the faint sloshes 
coming down the steps. Quickly he dropped his arms back into the water, hoping like hell there 
was enough foam still to keep the surface of the water covered. “Can I open them yet? I get claustrophobic.”

“Not unless you want to be the first blind diagnostician employed by Princeton-Plainsboro.”

“Escalating to violence—definitely a sign of mental breakdown there.”

“Shut up.”

“Verbal abuse too.”

“Oh GOD this is hot!” she purred, and at the sound of her throaty appreciation, House gritted 
his teeth. “Ohhh yesss---“

“Now it’s excessive verbal abuse—“ he accused, his voice slightly strangled. He shifted under 
the water, squeezing his thighs together, ignoring the lance of pain from the right one. Cuddy 
laughed, settling into the bath with a happy sigh.

“Okay--”

“Yeah, when there’s nothing to SEE now—“ he whined out of habit. House blinked, gaze 
sweeping over to see her sitting opposite him, glaring.

Damn Cuddy was pretty. All that long dark glossy hair was piled up and pinned loosely, with 
stray curls dangling down. Her small feminine shoulders rose above the suds, and the wet 
glorious upper curves of her chest sloped away into the water in THE most tantalizing way—

“You can stop staring anytime,” she snapped, glaring back. House lingered in meeting her 
eyes, gratified to see a familiar flush along her cheeks.

“Dear Penthouse,” he drawled, “You’ll NEVER believe what sort of hot water I got into recently 
with my lusciously curvy five foot nine one hundred and twenty pound lady boss—“

“--I weight one seventeen,” Cuddy protested, blinking. House shook his head.

“Let’s not start this affair off with lies, shall we? Where was I— ah yes. The naughty minx lured 
me in with tawdry promises of aqua-therapy, but little did I KNOW—“

“—That she was going to throw me out on my ASS if I didn’t shut up and pass the soap. And 
move your big feet.”

Deflated but wary, House picked up the bar of mint-scented soap on the ledge behind him and 
passed it to her with overstated courtesy, shifting slightly away from her. Cuddy reached for it, 
but the bar slipped, dropping into the depths with a ‘plunk’ under the foam. House fought a grin. Cuddy’s elegant brows drew together.

“You did that on purpose,” came her accusation. He managed an expression of hurt 
innocence, shaking his head. Cuddy sighed. She reached her foot around, sliding it across the 
bottom of the tub, and managed to locate the soap. Carefully herding it up a wall with her toes, 
her concentration broke when she realized House was staring at her again. “What?”

“Take many baths with Marvin?”

“No. And his name was Myron.”

“Was? Not is? Wow, moved him into past tense, even though he’s not dead. Myron must have 
been a bad, bad boy in the Cuddy scheme of things.” He mused. She reached down and 
grabbed the soap, trying to keep her head above the foam. It was difficult not to let her irritation 
shift into a mild panic; House was not only being a pain, he was too damn close, in a lot of 
ways.

“This unnatural curiosity of yours about my personal life is getting annoying.” She managed 
through gritted teeth as she slowly lathered up her arms. House turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“I find it . . . interesting. Normally in the soap opera atmosphere of hospital gossip, I’d have 
heard something about a breakup. You know how the nurses LOVE to keep tabs on all that 
juicy stuff. I hear they have a betting pool on how long Wilson’s marriage is going to last THIS 
time, and when he’s going to put the moves on his new officemate.”

Cuddy said nothing, working foam up in her palms. The sight was enough to distract House for 
a few seconds before he started again. “Anyway, with nary a peep from our angels of mercy, I 
got to thinking. You didn’t WANT anyone to know you’d broken things off with Martin.”

“—Myron.”

“--Whatever. And the primary reason for something like THAT would mostly like be—“ he 
cocked his head thoughtfully, “A scandal. Makes sense—having the Chief of Medicine 
involved in something illegal or immoral? Ooooooh. Bad publicity for the hospital. Big no-no in 
the career department. How’m I doing so far?”

“I think . . .” Cuddy hissed, “You’re full of—“ House reached over swiftly and clamped a wet 
palm over her mouth, his glance irritated.

“--Crap. Yes, I get accused of that a lot, but I’m not wrong. So I abused my position of power as 
Chief of Infectious Diseases and took a look through the public health database to see if one 
Myron Feldstein was there. Found him, too.”

Cuddy went pale; her eyes narrowed dangerously and she rose up a bit out of the water. The combination of her fury and nudity stunned House for a long moment, and he froze, blue eyes 
very wide. She heaved the bar of soap and threw it; it thwacked him in the center of his chest, 
breaking his concentration.

“You bastard! Why can’t you just leave well enough alone!” she growled. Turning, Cuddy 
climbed out quickly, fishing for the towel she’d left close at hand, wrapping herself in it so quickly 
that House only had a quick glimpse of sleek bare skin between sliding gobs of suds as she 
clambered out.

His lust warred with the odd deflated feeling in his gut; it was like being punched in the stomach, 
but worse. Fretfully House listened to Cuddy slam drawers in the bedroom and closed his 
eyes. Not good. Slowly he began to climb out, gripping the rail tightly just as something came 
sailing through the doorway to land in the bathwater.

His clothes.

“Cuddy!” he groused, helplessly watching his jeans sink under the diminishing suds to be 
followed by his shirt. “Jesus, calm down!”

“Why should I? I’m being harassed by one of my doctors over matters that are none of his 
damned business!” came her infuriated shout.

“I’m a doctor; your health IS my damned business! Myron got treated for various STDs a total 
of eleven times in the last two years—“ House snapped, wrapping a towel around his hips and 
tucking the ends in. “—Which makes him a walking sack of shit who doesn’t deserve you, all 
right?”

“No argument there. Now get OUT.”

House glanced back at the tub and winced. Carefully he unhooked his cane from the towel 
rack and lowered it into the water, prodding for a moment.

“Not going to happen now. I have a serious aversion to driving naked; I stick to the vinyl seats something terrible.”

Cuddy strode in and posed in the doorway, bracing one hand on the frame. She was still in a 
towel herself, but had undone her hair and held a nightgown clutched in the other hand.

“Then wear your precious TIE for all I care! I’m still reeling from the thought that you felt the 
NEED to dig up the sordid details of my humiliation. Why can’t you just back off?”

“Because . . . I needed to know.” House mumbled, not looking at her. The explanation seemed 
hollow even to his own ears. He pulled his cane out of the bubbly depths and wiped it against 
the towel around his waist. Cuddy gave a short, hard laugh, feeling bitterness well up inside her 
as she looked at him.

“Why? So you can tell everyone about how your boss had a fiancé who preferred to screw 
guys in public bathrooms rather than her? Yeah, that would certainly put you over big with the 
nurse’s grapevine, wouldn’t it? Of course the ramifications wouldn’t bother—“

“--Wait a minute, WAIT a minute—Myron was a colon cowboy?” House growled, stunned. “I 
just thought he was dating hookers.”

Cuddy blinked and flushed; House drew in a quick breath as the moment pulsed between them, 
insight hitting hard. He stumped over to stare down at her unmoving profile.

“Crap. He made you his beard, didn’t he?” He demanded urgently. “Wooed you to give himself 
a respectable public image.”

Cuddy lifted her chin, and while tears sparkled in her eyes, she refused to let them fall, 
preferring to angrily smudge them away with the heel of her hand.

“Big joke, ha-ha. How many closet homosexuals does it take to screw over the head of Princeton-Plainsboro? Answer, NONE, they don’t swing that way---“ she muttered huskily. 
“So--happy now? Thrilled that you’ve got the big picture?”

“No.”

House waited until she looked up at him; they stood so closely in the doorway that they were 
nearly touching. He noticed the hollows of her throat, and the way a few damp curls clung to 
her temples. He wanted to stroke her.

Cuddy felt a renewed, unwelcome surge of desire move through her, at odds with the pang in 
her chest. Defensively she pulled her towel more tightly around her. “Screw you.”

“Eventually,” House muttered. He narrowed his eyes and gently backed her against the 
doorframe, ruthlessly trapping her there, and although his expression stayed bleak, Cuddy was 
keenly aware that he was looming. “So you were fooled by an ambitious asshole with a hidden 
agenda. He used you for his own priorities and in the process put you and everything you care 
about at risk: your reputation, your career, your health—“

“--Not that,” Cuddy shook her head jerkily. “We never . . . he told me it was because my 
scars—and he couldn’t—“

House cocked his head. “Scars?”

Cuddy flushed again, the pink racing down her slender throat. She closed her eyes and he 
noted how dark her lashes were. How overwhelmingly good she smelled.

“Yes, I have scars. You’re not the only person with a few, you know. Myron claimed they turned
him off, so every time we tried to . . . be intimate . . . Jesus, why am I even explaining this to 
you?”

And THAT was when he pulled her into his arms.

The sweet press of skin to skin was almost too much, and Cuddy swallowed a gasp as she let 
herself be engulfed by the warmth. For a moment she resisted, but her need was too great and 
his temptation too close; gratefully she pressed her face into his shoulder. House smelt of mild 
musk and soap. She fought a sob.

“I’m completely shitty at this—“ House muttered helplessly. “You know that. NOT a warm cuddly person.” Nevertheless his hands slid up to cup her naked shoulder blades; they fit perfectly into 
his palms. Cuddy gave a tired laugh.

“Yeah, I know you’re not. As comforting as a stainless steel gurney.”

Nevertheless they stayed in their embrace, not daring to move, relaxing into it. Molding against 
each other through the terrycloth towels. House gave a soft little groan, trying not to give in to 
the urge to press harder.

“You’re short. This is damned disconcerting. Show me your scars.”

Cuddy pulled away and shot him a skeptical look. “No.”

“Ah come on—you’ve already seen mine. Think of it as Show and Tell for doctors.”

She managed a crooked grin at his wheedling tone, but shook her head. “They’re not pretty.”

His expression flinted up again, and House pressed his mouth to her forehead, his lips moving 
against her skin. “Scars aren’t about beauty; they’re about courage.”

That took a little of her fear away; Cuddy drew in a deep breath, deeper than she’d thought she COULD take. House slid his hands from her back to the top of her shoulders, helping her 
brace a little, peeking a bit down her cleavage out of habit. Cuddy’s hair brushed the back of 
his hands, silky and warm.

“Oy—now I’m nervous.”

“Like I buy that. Come on, you’re made of sterner stuff. You eat egos for breakfast and tread 
on little interns' hopes and dreams with your wicked high heels—“ House reminded her. 
“--Which is probably why Chase has these dominatrix fantasies about you.”

Cuddy arched an eyebrow and looked up at House. “Chase?”

“He’s graduating from dirty deeds done with sheep.”  As he spoke, House tugged Cuddy over 
towards the bed. He sat down heavily, hooking the cane on the footboard. Cuddy saw his 
expression was patiently stern; as if he was prepared to wait for hours until she conceded.

It unnerved her a little, that melancholy blue-eyed gaze of his, the one that moved through the 
surface of things and found the inner workings of the puzzles. When House was thinking, she imagined at times that the universe held its breath. 

He thrust his jaw out a little. “So. Tell me about your scars.”

Cuddy spoke up. “Scoliosis, when I was ten. Forty-three degrees. I wore a brace for two 
miserable years while I waited for the surgery. Anterior, lumbar fusion.” She turned her back to 
House and carefully let the towel loosen enough to slide down her torso.

House held his breath, and fought very hard not to let the insistent throbbing under his towel 
distract him, but the sight of Cuddy’s bare back, curvy and finely boned, nearly undid his 
concentration. He reached out a hand, letting his fingertips glide along the thin smooth lines 
running parallel to the little indentations of her vertebra. She shivered.

“It was a success of course, but . . . “ Cuddy paused, fighting a little moan as House’s fingers 
stroked her skin, “ . . . all I was thrilled about was . . . “ Now she could feel his breath on her 
spine, “ . . . NOT having to wear that damned Milwaukee brace . . . “

“Classic job here . . . minimal scarring, fusion appears functional,” House huskily told her. He 
lightly brushed his cheek against the back of her hip, enjoying the warmth that radiated from her 
petite frame. Cuddy’s helpless little groan thrilled him.

“Yeah . . . um, but I do have the  . . . the scars . . . “ she gulped. The towel was slipping lower 
now, and she felt House’s nose touch the small of her back. He dragged it across her skin 
from one side of her backbone to the other, and the heat of his lips--- “What are you . . . 
doing?”

“Proving to you that Myron not only was a lying bastard of the first degree, but also that I really, REALLY like seeing this side of you. She-Beast you may be at the office, but right now, all I 
see is THE perfect ass to eat grape jelly off of. Do you have any?”

“What?” startled, Cuddy glanced over her shoulder at House, who took that precise moment to
bend forward and lightly nip the rounded curve of one cheek.  She let out a low cry, 
half-stunned, half-aroused at the microfine scrape of his whiskers, the heat of his soft mouth. 
On wobbly legs Cuddy spun around, clutching her towel, but it snagged against House’s knee 
and unpeeled from her torso, dangling from her nerveless hands when she finally faced him.

“Jelly. Or jam—hell, even peanut butter would do at the moment.” He intoned in a serious 
voice. Cuddy gaped at him, blinking in the bedside lamplight. His gaze locked on hers, bright 
and merciless, and the beat of his pulse along his throat was quick.

“You . . . “ she floundered, blushing at the sight of his tented towel. House nodded, reaching up 
for her arms, sliding his warm palms up them and tugging her down.

“Damn right I do. Tell me yes or no.”

“Greg---“ she swayed, leaning in, drawn by the naked heat in his eyes. Her hair slithered over 
her shoulders, dark and wild; House’s fingers tightened on her bare shoulders. “Yes. Yes.”

“Good.” He pulled her to him, into his waiting kiss. Cuddy slid her arms around his lean torso 
and this time the press of skin held a frisson of perfection. She started to lose her balance, but 
House caught her against his body, and leaned back, taking her with him, letting her rest on his 
chest. She pressed her mouth hungrily to his, surging through the freedom of it. He laughed 
against her lips.

“Better move your knee, or this is going to have a very sudden, very BAD ending, She-Beast.” 

Cuddy gave a squeal and fumbled a bit; House impatiently yanked her towel off and flung it 
away all while kissing her. She gurgled, suddenly hungry for the taste of him, the feel of muscle 
and fur and lean masculine strength. 

They tangled limbs, taking and giving kisses, touching with the quiet desperation of unspoken 
desire. The lamplight lent softness to the focus of the moment and eventually another towel slid 
off the side of the bed.

Finally, House rolled the pair of them over, and braced a strong forearm near the side of her 
head as he nuzzled Cuddy’s neck. She wriggled, shifting her thighs apart, cradling his hips 
between them. He grunted softly.

“Damn it—“

“Pill.”

“Okay—“ came his slightly relieved sigh. “Works for me.”

Cuddy stroked his back with one hand, and slid the other between their bodies, caressing him, 
guiding him. She gave a little shudder.

“It’s . . . been a while. I’m not good—oooOHHHH!” came her startled howl as House rocked 
his hips forward, driving deeply in. His own deep groan echoed against her shoulder.

“Unnghhhh!” His beard scraped, the hot pant of his breath making Cuddy’s skin tingle. She 
clutched his back, gasping in a soft whimper. House tensed, pausing a moment to breathe into 
her small ear. He whispered something, and Cuddy slid the instep of her foot up one of his 
furry calves. The movement widened her thighs, and House shifted, finding a slow, relentless 
rhythm. She groaned, her hips beginning to wriggle, and just like that their bodies meshed, 
suddenly moving together in sexual synchronicity, muscle and sweat and heat making the 
bedsprings creak.

House lost himself in the maddening sweetness of the little-boned woman under him. So taut 
and strong, so—

He laughed, even as his own lustful urgency grew, speeding up, stroke upon stroke.

So loud.

Cuddy’s neck arched up, and she clenched around him, low growly sounds of pleasure leaking 
out of her lips; House kissed her deeply, immensely satisfied to swallow her cry of his name 
while he came, deep and hard on the end of her climax.

When Cuddy woke up, she tensed, all too aware of too many things all at once. She ached in 
places she hadn’t ached in for quite a while. The bedroom was dark, and chilly; with a tug, she 
pulled a section of the satin quilt free of the hulk softly snoring next to her. Sleepily, House 
rolled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, settling in against her back.

She tried to frown, but somehow her mouth couldn’t do it. Here, in the dark, the sound of the 
rain pattering against the window and the big warm press of House’s body to her spine made it 
hard to think straight. It was comforting, and she tried not to think about how it would have to 
end in a few hours. With a sigh, she pushed back against him.

“Do NOT do that unless you mean business.” He warned her in a groggy voice, arm tightening 
around her waist. Cuddy gave an exasperated sigh through her grin.

“I need warmth. You’re stealing all the covers.”

“I need sex. The best way to get it is to make you seek me out.”

“So I have to put out to get a section of blanket, is THAT it?”

“The beauty of my plan lies in its simplicity.” House murmured, nosing gently in the hair at the 
crown of her head. “Desperate woman, horny man.”

“I could just get up and turn up the thermostat.” Cuddy told him. House made a scoffing noise, 
and ground himself against her ass as he stroked her thigh with his big palm.

“I don’t think so. Your thermostat is waaaay off in the living room, and the ambient temperature 
in this place is such that you’d be MUCH better off just letting me have my evil way with you.”

“What if I just steal the covers back?” she asked, but lazily. His touch shifted to the front of her
thigh and Cuddy groaned a little.

“Not going to happen. I’m bigger, and meaner than you are.”

“He-Beast.” She accused, rubbing back against him. House growled against the back of her 
neck.

“Yep. Slake my lust and I might be willing to surrender a few feet of quilt.” 

“What a negotiator—so forceful, so—whoa—direct!” came her little squeal as House slid his 
hand between her thighs, fingers raking through the fluffy fur. He nipped her earlobe.

“Last chance for peaceful barter—“

Cuddy chuckled and rolled over; shifting swiftly, she pushed him on his back and planted 
kisses down his chest in a straight line between his pecs. She moved lower, down his stomach. 
House sucked in a surprised breath, but hesitated, and in that lovely pause, she knelt and slid 
her dainty hand around him, her breath hot against his straining shaft.

“Are you SURE you have the upper hand?” she laughed, throatily, and dipped her head. House 
gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the quilt as pleasure washed through him in hot waves 
rolling up from between his hips. Cuddy’s long hair cascaded over his stomach and thighs, 
brushing with every move of her head.

“You know . . . suddenly . . . yielding has a whole new . . . appeal for me—“ he grunted. In the 
dark she gave a muffled giggle, and long delicious moments later, House slid a hand to grip her shoulder.

“Gotta . . . . Stop—“ he warned in a low voice. “Seriously—“

Cuddy brushed his hand away and purred as she kept going; with a sigh of erotic surrender, 
House arched his head back in the pillows, his fingers stroking her back. “Ohhhhhkaaayy—“ 
he gasped. “You win---“


Later he held her until he was sure she was asleep. When he heard her soft, even breathing, 
he stiffly slipped out of bed, leaning heavily on the cane and fishing through his still damp pants 
in the bathroom for the little bottle of Vicodin, and dry swallowed a dose absently. He held the 
pants for a moment in an agony of inner debate, torn between two simple actions.

Leave?

Stay?