House fic: Revenge is Best Served Smokin' Hot (Cuddy/various)
Title: Revenge is Best Served Smokin' Hot
Fandom: House
Pairings: Cuddy/Tritter, Cuddy/Foreman, Cuddy/Wilson, Cuddy/Julie Whitner, Cuddy/Cameron/Chase, Cuddy/Cameron, Cuddy/House
Rating: teen
Words: 1202
Notes: Sometimes, all you can do is write crackfic. Spoilers for 'Insensitive' - if you haven't seen it, this won't make much sense.
Summary: Five Valentines Cuddy never gave House.
No doubt he thinks she's come to her senses, wants to confess her sins, and that's why he so readily agrees to join her for a drink. She wears something low cut (not, as House might suggest, for lack of anything else in her wardrobe) and drops a few unsubtle hints about how there are always other ways of getting what you want.
Detective Mike Tritter is not an idiot; he catches on fast. And if he notices the webcam positioned on the dresser, just peeking out from under a brightly coloured scarf, he chooses not to say anything.
It hardly matters if he knows, it doesn't even matter if his motives here are even less scrupulous than her own. Because when he's nailing her into the wall beside her bed, she knows House is watching.
*
Foreman is on the rebound, and she sits across from him in the cafeteria and talks to him the way House never will - as a colleague, an equal. "It's not easy, it certainly hasn't gotten any easier for me," she says, and touches his arm. He seeks her out after that, asks her advice when he doesn't really need it, brings her coffee. She crosses her legs and looks up at him from under lowered eyelashes. He asks her out, she locks her office door and suggests they stay in.
Conveniently, House is on duty in the clinic when this happens.
Seducing Wilson isn't a problem, either. He seems to make some sort of automatic mental association between seeing a woman crying and seeing her naked, which is half the work done right there. All it takes are the words, "I could use someone to talk to," and then he's the one asking her to dinner. The rest of the evening writes itself.
"God help us if House finds out," he says at one point.
"When," she corrects. Equal parts because he will, of course he will, and because this is entirely the point.
Everyone knows what Chase and Cameron are doing. She walks in on them mid-tryst in an empty patient room and can't help smiling as they stammer and try to explain. She closes the door behind her and invites herself to join in - it's not like they're in any position to refuse.
She doesn't know if House ever finds out about that, but it turns out so well she doesn't actually care.
She goes for a drink with Julie Whitner, and the next day as they're moving down the corridor together she catches House's eye and places a hand on the back of the woman's chair.
"Jimmy," she calls one day when she knows House can hear. She knows how it irritates him, their newfound familiarity. "Hey, do you have Stacy's number? I should have it but I can't for the life of me find it."
She watches House wheel around and stalk off while Wilson simply gapes at her and she knows she's won.
"I get it," he says later as he comes lumbering into her office. "I never should have doubted the full force of the Cuddy sex appeal - you can have anyone you want, and why shouldn't you?"
Not anyone, she thinks, and wonders why victories over House always seem so hollow.
*
It's a shot in the dark, a one-off suggestion she never really thought would produce any results, but Cameron surprises her - is, in fact, more than open to the idea.
"You're not pissed at House, too, are you?" she asks the younger woman
"You seem pissed enough at House for both of us," Cameron replies.
With her hand on the connecting door, Cuddy makes another suggestion. Cameron raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and they pull the door open together.
"And to think I was going to make a move on Chase," she murmurs, when Cuddy has her splayed out over House's desk, shirt unbuttoned, tailored pants dangling from one foot.
As she's going down on Cameron, she imagines House returning to his office. Maybe there'll be a lingering scent, maybe his desk will be just a little too out of order - he'll know something happened, but he won't know exactly what.
She'll know, and Cameron will know, and neither of them will ever tell him.
*
All it takes is a phone call. Her sister Laurie, now a successful lawyer, still has her connections, and Cuddy knows that by tomorrow, House will be blacklisted at every escort agency in town. Hell, in the entire tri-state area.
It makes perfect sense - he ruins her date, she makes sure he never gets one again.
*
"What happened? Impromptu pyjama party not go so well?"
He's smug, and she's pissed, and she makes sure he knows it. "You chased him off, happy?"
"Oh," he smothers a laugh, "That's such a shame. I was really rooting for you two crazy kids."
And then he does laugh, which she was expecting, and she reaches up and grabs his chin and his attention equally fast. "Here's the thing. I don't care why you did it. I don't care if you like me, don't like me, are in fact a miserable excuse for a human being, the fact is, now there's just one more thing you owe me. And you are going to make it up to me. Right now."
She kisses him, and from there it's almost too easy, pushing him down into his chair, the way he looks up at her, the way his fingers slide under her blouse, as if he knew it all along.
"No strings," she warns, playing her part, "It's not like we haven't been here before."
"Like riding a bike. An old, slightly rusty bike, with a well-worn -"
"Shut up."
He smiles against the skin of her neck, but he does shut up, and she counts down the seconds with the rasp of his stubble on her lips and his hands on her ass. She waits for just the right moment, which happens to be after he sucks in a breath when her touch skims his waistband, but before he gets all her buttons undone, and then climbs off his lap.
"If you're looking for a condom, my office isn't quite the revolving door of sexual exploits rumour would have it, and anyway, I wouldn't have thought a little fluid exchange would be a problem for you. You won't catch anything from me, and I think you should take it as a compliment I'm willing to assume the same about you so -"
He's still talking because she's standing over him fixing her blouse and straightening her skirt and he doesn't know what's going on. When he stops talking, it's because he's figured it out, staring up at her for a moment in mute comprehension.
"You're leaving me hanging."
"Sucks, doesn't it?" She smiles. "See, I might be desperate, House, but I'm not that desperate. Not anymore." She stops in the doorway, looks down at his lap. "Have fun with that."
She leaves, knowing that the look on his face will provide a lot more satisfaction than anything else that might have happened here. And it will last longer, too.
Fandom: House
Pairings: Cuddy/Tritter, Cuddy/Foreman, Cuddy/Wilson, Cuddy/Julie Whitner, Cuddy/Cameron/Chase, Cuddy/Cameron, Cuddy/House
Rating: teen
Words: 1202
Notes: Sometimes, all you can do is write crackfic. Spoilers for 'Insensitive' - if you haven't seen it, this won't make much sense.
Summary: Five Valentines Cuddy never gave House.
No doubt he thinks she's come to her senses, wants to confess her sins, and that's why he so readily agrees to join her for a drink. She wears something low cut (not, as House might suggest, for lack of anything else in her wardrobe) and drops a few unsubtle hints about how there are always other ways of getting what you want.
Detective Mike Tritter is not an idiot; he catches on fast. And if he notices the webcam positioned on the dresser, just peeking out from under a brightly coloured scarf, he chooses not to say anything.
It hardly matters if he knows, it doesn't even matter if his motives here are even less scrupulous than her own. Because when he's nailing her into the wall beside her bed, she knows House is watching.
*
Foreman is on the rebound, and she sits across from him in the cafeteria and talks to him the way House never will - as a colleague, an equal. "It's not easy, it certainly hasn't gotten any easier for me," she says, and touches his arm. He seeks her out after that, asks her advice when he doesn't really need it, brings her coffee. She crosses her legs and looks up at him from under lowered eyelashes. He asks her out, she locks her office door and suggests they stay in.
Conveniently, House is on duty in the clinic when this happens.
Seducing Wilson isn't a problem, either. He seems to make some sort of automatic mental association between seeing a woman crying and seeing her naked, which is half the work done right there. All it takes are the words, "I could use someone to talk to," and then he's the one asking her to dinner. The rest of the evening writes itself.
"God help us if House finds out," he says at one point.
"When," she corrects. Equal parts because he will, of course he will, and because this is entirely the point.
Everyone knows what Chase and Cameron are doing. She walks in on them mid-tryst in an empty patient room and can't help smiling as they stammer and try to explain. She closes the door behind her and invites herself to join in - it's not like they're in any position to refuse.
She doesn't know if House ever finds out about that, but it turns out so well she doesn't actually care.
She goes for a drink with Julie Whitner, and the next day as they're moving down the corridor together she catches House's eye and places a hand on the back of the woman's chair.
"Jimmy," she calls one day when she knows House can hear. She knows how it irritates him, their newfound familiarity. "Hey, do you have Stacy's number? I should have it but I can't for the life of me find it."
She watches House wheel around and stalk off while Wilson simply gapes at her and she knows she's won.
"I get it," he says later as he comes lumbering into her office. "I never should have doubted the full force of the Cuddy sex appeal - you can have anyone you want, and why shouldn't you?"
Not anyone, she thinks, and wonders why victories over House always seem so hollow.
*
It's a shot in the dark, a one-off suggestion she never really thought would produce any results, but Cameron surprises her - is, in fact, more than open to the idea.
"You're not pissed at House, too, are you?" she asks the younger woman
"You seem pissed enough at House for both of us," Cameron replies.
With her hand on the connecting door, Cuddy makes another suggestion. Cameron raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and they pull the door open together.
"And to think I was going to make a move on Chase," she murmurs, when Cuddy has her splayed out over House's desk, shirt unbuttoned, tailored pants dangling from one foot.
As she's going down on Cameron, she imagines House returning to his office. Maybe there'll be a lingering scent, maybe his desk will be just a little too out of order - he'll know something happened, but he won't know exactly what.
She'll know, and Cameron will know, and neither of them will ever tell him.
*
All it takes is a phone call. Her sister Laurie, now a successful lawyer, still has her connections, and Cuddy knows that by tomorrow, House will be blacklisted at every escort agency in town. Hell, in the entire tri-state area.
It makes perfect sense - he ruins her date, she makes sure he never gets one again.
*
"What happened? Impromptu pyjama party not go so well?"
He's smug, and she's pissed, and she makes sure he knows it. "You chased him off, happy?"
"Oh," he smothers a laugh, "That's such a shame. I was really rooting for you two crazy kids."
And then he does laugh, which she was expecting, and she reaches up and grabs his chin and his attention equally fast. "Here's the thing. I don't care why you did it. I don't care if you like me, don't like me, are in fact a miserable excuse for a human being, the fact is, now there's just one more thing you owe me. And you are going to make it up to me. Right now."
She kisses him, and from there it's almost too easy, pushing him down into his chair, the way he looks up at her, the way his fingers slide under her blouse, as if he knew it all along.
"No strings," she warns, playing her part, "It's not like we haven't been here before."
"Like riding a bike. An old, slightly rusty bike, with a well-worn -"
"Shut up."
He smiles against the skin of her neck, but he does shut up, and she counts down the seconds with the rasp of his stubble on her lips and his hands on her ass. She waits for just the right moment, which happens to be after he sucks in a breath when her touch skims his waistband, but before he gets all her buttons undone, and then climbs off his lap.
"If you're looking for a condom, my office isn't quite the revolving door of sexual exploits rumour would have it, and anyway, I wouldn't have thought a little fluid exchange would be a problem for you. You won't catch anything from me, and I think you should take it as a compliment I'm willing to assume the same about you so -"
He's still talking because she's standing over him fixing her blouse and straightening her skirt and he doesn't know what's going on. When he stops talking, it's because he's figured it out, staring up at her for a moment in mute comprehension.
"You're leaving me hanging."
"Sucks, doesn't it?" She smiles. "See, I might be desperate, House, but I'm not that desperate. Not anymore." She stops in the doorway, looks down at his lap. "Have fun with that."
She leaves, knowing that the look on his face will provide a lot more satisfaction than anything else that might have happened here. And it will last longer, too.