A Dark Inclination (1/3)
Title: A Dark Inclination, Part 1
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls 50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
She realizes, as Cole leaves, that this has been the oddest way she’s gone about to ruin someone else’s fun. And considering the person she’s messing around with is House, Cuddy understands that that’s saying a lot. But it is true - and truly screwed up that, instead of talking about what’s going on, they play a version of tug-of-war that involves her thong and his future staff.
At the moment, she’s waiting for him to limp his moronic self into her office, the news that he has fired Cole spreading through the hospital and into her office faster than House is able to move. And as she waits, she contemplates the very real possibility that she’s the one who instigated this convoluted contest.
Of course, Cuddy doesn’t actually think this is her fault or that House has been justified to behave the way he has. But as she paces back and forth in front of her desk, she can’t help but think that she’s the one who got the ball rolling a week ago. Because it was a week ago that she called attention to what they’d been doing the past couple months, and somehow that doesn’t seem like a coincidence to her.
They’d been sleeping together carelessly for a while now, a slew of nights that involved little more than a silent acknowledgement that they were going to screw one another senseless and say nothing more. If they’d talked at all, it had been the kind of conversation they’d perfected - all wit and insult, all challenge and no concession. Meaningless bits of dialogue, like how he couldn’t get out of clinic duty simply because he’d given the boss multiple orgasms or impolite reminders that she wanted two names for his new team as she’d ridden him hard, had been the norm.
Would still be the norm, she thinks, if she hadn’t been so displeased by House’s obvious crush on Dr. Terzi.
Cuddy hates the way her lips shape themselves into a sneer at the other doctor’s name. She doesn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend - especially not House’s jealous girlfriend.
But she realizes that that desire doesn’t really matter. Because while Cuddy had never wanted to be the envious type, she’d found herself rankled by the attention House had bestowed upon the other woman anyway. And so, once Terzi had been fired, once the documentary crew had left, Cuddy had been blindly emboldened to reveal to him a part of herself she hadn’t even believed existed.
That night, several glasses of wine in both of their systems, House and Cuddy had both been particularly insistent on getting laid. Sprawled on the couch, empty Chinese food cartons disposed of on her coffee table, they’d been far too interested in one another to consider the cramped space they were in.
One of his hands had slipped underneath her blouse roughly, a button falling off in the process. His rough fingers sliding underneath her bra, he had eagerly run a thumb over her already hardened nipple. His other hand had been working her skirt up her hips, and as they’d kissed, she’d been fumbling with the fly on his jeans.
The distinct metallic sound of his zipper being pulled apart tooth by tooth had cut through the hushed sounds of their labored breathing and hard kissing. And the second she’d managed to free his erection, he’d asked - well, not so much asked as practically demanded - “Give me a blow job.”
His dick in her hand, she’d slowly stroked him, his skin hot to the touch, to his full hardness. The temptation to taste him had been there, had been something she probably would have done under different circumstances. But after seeing him flirt and act like an ass (even more so than usual), Cuddy hadn’t been interested. If anything, she’d thought that he should be the one on his knees. So she’d shaken her head and told him in a punishing voice, “That’s not going to happen.”
House had frowned at her response, despite his grip on her breast tightening as her thumb flitted over the top of his prick. “Come on,” he’d replied slowly, his breathing labored and mind too distracted to come up with any convincing argument.
She’d let go of him by then, her hands reaching behind her back to undo her own zipper. As annoyed as she’d been, the sex in general was too good to deny herself. He hadn’t deserved it then, but she certainly had. “You can’t spend your days flirting with whoever the hell you want and then come to me and expect -”
“Well, obviously, I can, if you’re taking off your skirt in order to have sex with me,” House had pointed out in irritation, his hand curling around his cock and stroking lightly.
And it had been then, that off-handed comment he’d said in annoyance, that Cuddy had wondered what it was that they were doing exactly.
They weren’t in a relationship, she’d thought. Even if she’d wanted to use that word, what kind of relationship was it if it were the kind that allowed for the kind of incessant flirting that made her privately fume?
The questions ones she had no answers for, she’d sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him. Reality had begun to sink into her, and she hadn’t been able to shake it away soon enough. The moment ruined for her, she’d said almost mournfully, “We can’t keep doing this.”
“You’re right,” he’d agreed easily. His fingers clasping around her wrist, it had then become almost immediately apparent that he either had no idea what she was talking about or just didn’t care, because he’d told her, “My dick is so hard it hurts. Forget the blow job.”
He’d tugged on her, but she’d refused to move. Instead, she’d shaken her head. “That’s not what I mean, you moron.” Angrily brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, she’d explained, “I’m talking about how we’ve been running around like two horny teenagers with nothing to lose.”
The words had come out more harried than she’d wanted them to. Her hands wildly gesticulating in front of her hadn’t helped matters. Not that it had really mattered; House hadn’t seemed concerned by the situation at all. “Yeah. I figured you were referring to something I don’t care about,” he’d responded snottily. “I was just hoping you’d take the hint and have sex with me, so we could avoid this conversation.”
“I just think…” she’d begun to say, her voice tight with emotion. “That we can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep… randomly having sex.”
Their situation had sounded even more childish and ridiculous when she’d said those words.
Becoming increasingly agitated, she’d reminded him, “We’re adults, House. We’re supposed to have actual, not-screwed-up relationships - relationships with weddings and children and don’t include activities like speculating about the kind of bra I’m wearing at work or hiring someone just so you can flirt with her -”
“So that’s what this is about,” House had interrupted, quickly deducing what had set this off. “This is about Terzi and -”
“No.”
“Yes, it is.”
She’d decided to relent… a little. “Well, that didn’t help. But that’s not…” Her voice had trailed off, the words she’d wanted to say just out of reach. And when she had managed to figure what it was she wanted to tell him, she hadn’t been able to keep the sadness out of her tone or her gaze. “I just think… we’re too old to be doing… this.”
“According to… who exactly?” he’d asked curiously.
Shaking her head, Cuddy had answered, “Me.” When he hadn’t said anything, she’d continued, “Seeing you flirt the past few days… I guess it’s made me realize that, as much as I like this, I need something else from you.”
And never missing a beat, House had responded by gesturing to his penis, still painfully hard and ready for her. “I have more - a lot more - to give you,” he’d replied sarcastically, eyebrows waggling dramatically as though to entice her.
But what it had done had been to effectively end the conversation she’d wanted to have.
Because as serious as she’d been, as serious as she’d wanted him to be, she’d realized in that moment that… he wasn’t going to give her the answer she wanted.
He wasn’t going to say anything of substance at all.
She’d known in that moment that he wasn’t going to give her a relationship or risk not getting laid by saying he didn’t want a relationship.
That fact had stung - not that she’d wanted to show that to him. The hurt he’d caused her not something she’d wanted to advertise, she’d only allowed her irritation over the situation to bleed through her walls and surface for him to see.
And standing up, Cuddy had yanked down her skirt. Through gritted teeth, she’d nearly snarled out a “Fine,” before straddling him. His dick easily sliding into her, the conversation had ended, a finger running along her clit moments later making her forget all too easily just how annoyed she was.
But that hadn’t been the end to it. Because the next work day, House was asking his fellows for her thong, and Cuddy can’t believe that the two things are unrelated.
Of course, she’s not sure how they might be related. She’s not entirely unconvinced that this isn’t a mere power play, something he would have done regardless of the conversation they’d just had. But she also knows that House doesn’t do anything without a reason, without an agenda, and it makes more sense that he’s trying to prove something - although God only knows what.
Her inability to read his actions with the same accuracy that he can do the same to her is annoying.
And so the second he bursts through her office doors, she’s agitated and ready for a fight. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks, arms folding across her chest.
“Apparently spending the next five minutes being yelled at, instead of doing naughty things to your thong,” he says in mocking lamentation.
“You gave yourself a potentially lethal blood - ”
“And I’m fine, Mommy.”
He unceremoniously shuts the door behind him with his cane. Which means he’s not annoyed with her, or at least nowhere near as irritated with her as she is with him; when he is that irate, he slams things or tries to get away from her as quickly as possible, leaving no room for interpretation over just how he feels.
Still, Cuddy doesn’t feel at ease at the moment. He’s not responding, just looking at her innocently, making her feel as though she’s about to fall into one of his carefully laid traps.
Naturally, though, it’s not in her nature to back down from her own irritation in order to avoid a fight. It’s certainly not her character to back down, because he’s been sick for part of the day. If it was, she could never be mad at him, as he always puts himself in that position. “You fired the one person who would be good for you.”
“He didn’t play by the rules,” House defends easily, moving closer to her.
“Since when do you care about following rules?”
“Since I decided to care,” he replies quickly.
Reaching behind herself, Cuddy grabs a couple of manila folders on her desk and moves towards the file cabinets in her office. She has a feeling that this conversation won’t resolve itself in a short amount of time; he’s clearly decided to keep her in suspense, and she’s okay with that. But she needs to get some last minute work done in the meantime. Without looking in his direction, she says, “You told them to get my thong. He got it. He did what you wanted.”
“No,” House disagrees, using the voice he would probably use if he were talking to a child. As he stalks towards her, he tells her, “The point was for him to do something without you knowing.”
He comes to stand behind her, not that she turns around to look at him; she doesn’t need to; she can feel his disapproving eyes on her back, and she has no desire to let him see the unsettling effect it has on her. “He got the thong,” House concedes. “But you gave it to him. And honestly….”
His voice trails off dangerously, and before she has any sense to turn around or move out of the way, he’s pressed his body to hers. Pushed against the file cabinet, she has nowhere to go, no way to escape. His arms coming down on either side of her body, he’s balancing his weight on the metal top of the cabinet. Which has the effect of making sure she has no choice but to stay exactly where she is - completely under his control.
And that means she can’t move when he puts his warm lips to her ear and whispers with a harsh edge to his voice, “I don’t like it.”
She ignores him and places another folder into its appropriate place, offering no immediate response, which makes him say, “Last week you pout because of Terzi. This week you’re giving away your panties to the highest bidder.”
Injecting a hint of venom in her voice, Cuddy finally responds snottily, “You’re only pissed, because I messed with your little game.”
“No. I’m just trying to figure out if you interfered in ‘my little game’ because you thought it would make me jealous -”
She snorts loudly at the accusation. “I am not trying to make you -”
“Well, then you’re a previously undiagnosed schizophrenic,” he finishes easily, ignoring her attempt at a denial.
Rolling her eyes, Cuddy retorts, “Yeah, I’m the one with the mental illness.” She shoves another file into the drawer. “Considering you’re the lunatic who made stealing the boss’s panties a game, that’s rich.”
He sighs dramatically then, his chin resting on her shoulder.
It’s so inappropriate, dangerous even, to be doing this at work.
Especially when he moves one his hands to grip her tightly around her waist, because, although right now they aren’t visible from the doorway, she is aware that it will be hard for them to quickly extract themselves if someone does walk in.
But before she can even issue a warning, House says, “You know I was going to give you a chance to earn your thong back -”
“You can keep it,” she interrupts in earnest. “Honestly, given what you’ve probably already done to it, I’m not interested in having it returned.”
Ignoring her, he continues condescendingly, “But I don’t think you’re very sorry for interrupting my fun, and now -”
She spins around to face him, a smug look on her face. “Why would I feel bad about that?” Honestly, Cuddy thinks, if he’s looking for contrition, he should look elsewhere, because she has no intention of apologizing for meddling with his games.
He ignores her question and continues talking. “Now I’m thinking you should be punished,” he draws out lasciviously, in a manner designed to catch her attention.
And it works, because as soon as the word, punished, is mentioned, she’s scoffing, folding her arms across her chest. “Right. You’re going to punish me,” she repeats, the words sounding even more ludicrous coming out of her mouth. “What are you going to do, House - send me to bed without dinner? Give me a time out in my office? Spank me?”
Naturally, House pretends to consider it - as though it’s actually an offer. “You know… that sounds about right,” he tells her in a low voice, one of his hands moving to palm her ass in a way that suggests he’s truly interested.
Which makes her nervous enough to push him away. Her hands shoving his chest, he can’t help but stumble back a little, probably making his thigh ache painfully. But moving back to her desk, Cuddy isn’t concerned about that, about him. “We are at work,” she reminds him angrily.
“Hmm,” he says, nodding his head in understanding. “Sorry. I forgot you drew the line somewhere between giving your panties to an employee and letting another one touch your ass.”
She wants to shout out a retort, wants to yell until her voice is hoarse that it was at his insistence that there was a clamor for her underwear to begin with. But she doesn’t do that, because she’s incredibly aware of her assistant being only ten feet or so away - and the clinic being just beyond that. So she tells him through gritted teeth, “Go find a sick person to harass.”
“In a minute.” There’s no missing that he sounds equally annoyed. But whereas her voice was borderline whiney, his is… gruff and low.
To be honest, it’s not entirely unlike how he sounds when he’s balls deep inside of her and ordering her to do something to get him off. And just as she thinks it then, she thinks now that his harsh words should be offensive to her.
Well… maybe it is a little, but nevertheless, it turns her on, wetness beginning to pool between her legs. Much to her dismay if not her surprise, she realizes, because at this point in their lives, she thinks she should be able to resist House and his little tricks. She should be able to ignore him and push him out of her life and find someone who vaguely approaches normal.
But the fact is that she’s never known how to say no to his games. And in this case, more than the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, it’s the collective allure of the power play, something that House knows she’s drawn to and that he can’t deny himself. As he takes a step closer to her, he tells her, “We still have to settle the matter of your punishment.”
In all honesty, Cuddy isn’t sure how far House is willing to take this. But as is usually her way, she is hesitant to blink first. “Well, if you want to spank me -”
“I do,” he interrupts pointedly, his blue eyes narrowing on her, waiting for her to crumble under the challenge. “Since you haven’t apologized yet, it seems to me you need an incentive.”
She can’t help but look away, her fingers lightly touching the pen on her desk. She’s not sure she wants to go down the rabbit hole, isn’t sure that she wants to dare House to do what he’s suggesting. But then…
Part of her is absolutely convinced that he won’t go through with it. Because as overbearing and abrasive as he can be, she’s never taken him for someone who enjoys physical punishment of any sort. And so, with that in mind, she confidently calls his bluff. “Fine. But it’ll have to wait until after work.”
His own fingers beginning to drum against the chair in front of him, House asks, “Hoping I’ll chicken out if we wait a couple hours?”
“Is that your way of saying you will?”
“Is that your way of saying that you want me to?” he throws back at her.
She brushes off the implication in his question. “I’m not afraid. I can easily handle anything you throw my way.”
He smirks. “I guess we’ll see after work. My place.” He turns to leave, calling to her over his shoulder in a warning voice, “Don’t be late.”
But in the end, Cuddy is going to be late, she realizes only ten minutes or so after he’s left her office. Because she’s had a last minute meeting with an overly conversational donor added to her calendar, and by the time, she’s shoved him out the door, it’s way past the hour House would have expected her at his apartment.
Which means when she does show up at his place, he’s going to be bitchy and childish and whiny, and none of those things really turn her on. But at this point, Cuddy knows that she doesn’t really have any choice but to show up; he’ll be obnoxious tonight but nowhere near the same level of obnoxious as when he thinks she’s backed out.
So really, the best she can do is make a peace offering, which comes, in this case, in the form of Thai food and beer. Picking up the dinner on the way to his apartment, she makes sure to pick up the things he likes the most - including some little appetizer called “golden bags” that she’s sure he enjoys solely for the inappropriate jokes he can make.
Unfortunately by the time she arrives at his apartment, it’s obvious that House is angry. Closing the door behind her with her foot, Cuddy announces her presence by saying, “Sorry I’m late. There was a donor and….”
She shakes her head, her voice trailing off. She doesn’t want to relive the horror of that particular meeting if she doesn’t have to, and given that House doesn’t look remotely interested, his back turned to her, she stops talking.
He’s sitting on the couch in the near dark, only a small light in one of the corners on and burning way too dimly to give the large room any real brightness. His gaze, as best she can tell, is on the fireplace, and his shoulders are set harshly, his displeasure so clear that she can’t help but roll her eyes at the childish display. “You’re late,” he finally growls.
As she shrugs herself out of her coat, precariously balancing the take out and liquor in her hands, she replies with slight irritation, “That’s what I said.”
“I told you not to be late.”
She drops her coat on the back of the couch and places the food in her hands on the coffee table in front of him. “Well, you know I contemplated on telling my assistant to cancel my meeting because of the kinky sex games you clearly have planned for me,” she tells him sarcastically. “And then I realized that that was stupid. I mean as enticing as this all sounds, I’m not exactly in a rush to be spanked.”
He smirks, fiddling with the glass of scotch she didn’t notice until now in his hands. “Afraid?”
“Of course not,” Cuddy replies with a scowl.
Really, she’s not afraid as much as she is confused by the whole thing. But then again, she also realizes that if there really is fear inside of her, she’s not going to admit it to herself, much less to him, because she knows that he’ll easily see through her and know that she’s afraid. And then, although she is sure that he won’t continue, he will make fun of her, taunt her, which would be, simply put, irritating.
His smirk turns into a wolfish grin. “And yet… you’re still over there.”
She fights back, “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Then come here.”
The challenge is clearly visible in his eyes. He’s daring her to make her choice, to either let him do what he’s been saying he’ll do or tell him that she’s no longer game. And the latter is obviously no option at all. Because just as she’s willing to part with her thong for a chance to outdo him, she’s willing to risk a spanking if only to prove that he won’t do it.
She slinks over to him, her own challenging look meeting his. But House is still unconvinced, because as she stops in front of him, he notes, “You don’t think I’m going to go through with this.” He sets his scotch to the side so he can focus on her.
“No,” Cuddy disagrees haughtily, even if part of her does believe that. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Good,” he tells her, leaning forward, his fingers gripping the edge of her skirt. He yanks hard on the material, pulling the fabric up over her hips so that it’s bunched around her waist. Only her thong keeps her from being completely bottomless, from being exposed to him.
And Cuddy can’t help but gasp at his actions, her legs teetering on the thin points of her heels. Which makes him look at her in disappointment. “You should know by now when I’m serious,” he says with light dismay.
Ignoring the comment, she reaches down and takes off her shoes. To herself, she can admit that she’s made a misstep by allowing any shock to show at all. But it really couldn’t be helped, because even if she could have known that he was serious, she knows that there really was no predicting that he would tug at her clothing like that. Or rather, she thinks wryly, there was no predicting that he would do that when they weren’t trying to have sex as quickly as possible.
Obviously taking her silence for fear, House offers carefully, “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll give you a way out.” His fingers drum tantalizingly on her thighs, reminding her just how exposed she really is. “All you have to do is admit that you screwed up by -”
“I didn’t screw up. You’re just angry that someone had the balls to mess with your little game,” she interrupts knowingly.
He slides a warm hand across the smooth plane of her thigh. Moving between her legs, his fingers cup her mound through the tight silk of her thong. Somehow he manages to turn her body against her, her nipples tightening and folds becoming slick instinctively because he’s this close to her.
It’s a fact that she hates, a fact that she wishes would become false so that she can return to normal. Return to a life where she doesn’t feel the need to have sex with House any chance she can at least. But right about now, her clitoris beginning to pulse at his nearness, she thinks that will never happen.
Suddenly interrupting her thoughts, House says, “Doesn’t feel like you have any balls.”
Admittedly, it’s hard to go for haughty when he’s got a hand between her legs, but she goes for it nevertheless. “Metaphorical balls, jackass.”
He smirks. “You’re pretty cocky for someone about to be punished.” As he taunts her, he slips his fingers into her thong, his thumb holding the material away from her body so he can lightly stroke her.
He’s still not penetrating her, but his finger circles her clit in slow motions. That she is already wet and eager does not go unnoticed by him, which she hates. “Interesting,” House murmurs. “This is turning you on?”
He doesn’t wait for her to answer, and at first, she’s grateful for that, because she’s not sure what she wants to say to him. But when he speaks again, all thoughts of gratitude go out the window, because he asks, “Does the idea of being forced over my knee, being spanked over and over make you wet, Cuddy? Is that what you want - to be treated like that?”
She closes her eyes so that she can ignore the way he’s looking at her expectantly, knowingly. But in doing so, Cuddy understands that the missing sense only amplifies the others, and now she can feel his fingers sliding through her wetness even more intensely, hear how slick she is. And she has to fight to tell him, “No.”
Which he clearly doesn’t believe for a second. At that moment, as soon as the word is out of her mouth, House slips two of his fingers inside of her easily, just as easily disproving her denial in the process. “Your lips say no, but these lips are saying something else. Don’t you think?” he asks her quietly.
As he flicks her clit with his thumb, Cuddy answers his question half-heartedly, shaking her head, “No.”
“You’re lying,” House points out with dismay, pumping his fingers in and out of her at a painfully slow pace.
Opening her eyes, she gives him the best glare she possibly can while still allowing herself to enjoy the pleasure his hand is giving her in rough thrusts. “I’m not lying,” she says in a tight voice.
His reaction is to pull his fingers out of her, to remove his hand completely from between her thighs. Holding it up to her, he makes sure she can see what they both know is on his skin. Though the lighting in the room is dim, Cuddy can easily make out her juices on him. “So then you’re always this wet?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re always this ready to be fucked?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “When someone’s fingering me, yes.”
Irritation is beginning to clamor within her body, almost as fervently as her desire for him to have sex with her is. The combination not a foreign one, it’s what defines their relationship, she knows. The need to annoy mixed with the need to screw, the need to hate the game even as they keep playing it - this is what they do. And she both hates it and loves it, despises it and gets off on it, just as she can tell by the irritation in his eyes that he does too.
At that moment, House shakes his head and says, “You’re still lying.” But before Cuddy can deny that, he continues, “Don’t worry, though… I’ll give you what your tight, wet pussy is telling me it wants, even if you’re too scared to admit it.”
He roughly shoves a hand in her thong once more, his knuckles rubbing against her briefly as he pushes her panties down till they’re hanging around the middle of her thighs. And although he’s then content to sit back, leave the underwear where it is, and stare at her lustily, she’s not feeling the same.
In all honesty, she’s feeling a little ridiculous with her skirt bunched and thong pulled down just enough so that her ass and vagina are bare. Actually, she feels completely ridiculous, not just because of the nudity, but also because of her sudden, bizarre embarrassment over it - as though he hasn’t seen her naked before. He’s fucked her in just about every way imaginable, given her shots of menotropins, among other things.
Which she knows, making her feel like an idiot for even thinking that this is embarrassing in some way. Because it’s not, certainly not when compared to all the other things he’s done to her or said to her, and she knows that. But nevertheless, Cuddy can feel her cheeks begin to turn red.
So she tries to cover it by muttering, “Yeah, don’t listen to anything I say.” Reaching down, she pulls her thong the rest of the way off and tosses it aside as she says, “My vagina is much more honest.”
“I don’t think I said you could take that off,” he snaps, referring to the thong strewn across the floor.
She is unmoved. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to you hiring forty interns, but you did it anyway.”
“And I didn’t agree to be followed around by a documentary crew, so they could turn my practice into an episode of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, but I did it anyway, and you made money from that,” he says with a shrug. She wants to respond to that, but he doesn’t give her the chance. His fingers curling under the waist band of her skirt, House instructs her firmly, “Now, enough talk; get over my knee.”
There should be a moment of hesitation on her part, she thinks. There should be that split second where she realizes that there’s no backing out beyond this point, because even if he’ll let her go, her pride won’t acquiesce so easily.
But there isn’t that little bit of doubt niggling in the back of her mind. She’s so blind with the desire to beat him at his own game that there’s not even a little piece of her thinking about chickening out.
Her jaw clenched together, eyes assertive and arrogant, Cuddy climbs onto the couch. She’s a little awkward at it, despite not feeling all that nervous by what she’s doing. Her knees pressing into the sofa cushions, she’s trying to avoid accidentally hitting his thigh and his crotch (even if he really does deserve a kick in the balls). Because, God help her, but she is actually hoping that they’ll have sex tonight, and as tempting as hurting him is, she can’t do it. As much as this kind of kink allows for it, putting him in any more pain will make sex impossible.
And so, Cuddy lowers herself onto his lap slowly, her hips and thighs most resting on his good leg. Which inevitably means that he’ll be able to get a better swing his hand, she realizes.
He’ll be able to hit her harder.
Well, assuming that he actually does go through with it, she tells herself.
Mentally sighing at that moment, she wonders once again why they are so screwed up, why they can’t go on dates instead of fucking over take out, why they refuse to spend days “in the dog house” and instead choose this.
She wonders:
Why do they have to be like this all the time?
Of course… Cuddy understands that her feelings would have more validation if she weren’t lying across him right now, waiting for him to spank her. But she has no more time to consider the matter as House asks suddenly, “You ready?”
She turns her head back toward him. “If you’re going to do this, would you please hurry it up? My dinner’s getting cold, and I’m tired of listening to you talk. So, please, get on with -”
Her words are abruptly cut off as he does just that - get on with it. The flat palm of his hand comes crashing down full force against her ass, a loud snap ringing through the air. The noise swallows the squeak (she actually squeaks) his action elicits. Which she would be grateful for if it weren’t for the fact that it hurts.
Every bit of skin his hand has come into contact with burns - stings. Itchy heat radiates along her flushed cheeks, and she can’t help but squirm a little at the uncomfortable feeling.
House notices the movement and decides, apparently, that it’s the perfect opportunity to taunt her (although when does he ever think it’s a bad time to do that, she wonders bitterly). “Wow,” he says in mock surprise. “One slap and you’re already itching to get away.”
Scowling she nearly snarls, “Go to hell.”
His left arm pins her to the spot, his fingers gripping her waist tightly; she can’t move, won’t be able to avoid being spanked, and she tenses at that knowledge. Because although she has no doubts that House would never go too far in this (it’s probably one thing she thinks he is capable of showing restraint in), she’s still aware that this is going farther than she thought they would go. After all, clearly when she gave her thong to Cole, she wasn’t expecting to end up here. And knowing that, she’s a little unsure as to whether or not she wants this to continue.
But the decision is practically wrenched from her hands when House tells her, “Admit you screwed up - tell me what a sorry little whore you are - and we don’t have to do this.” The tone of his voice is one that almost makes his words sound as though he’s being kind, the soft volume nearly enough to take the shock out of the idea of being called a whore. Nearly enough, but definitely not enough, she realizes, her entire demeanor changing as soon as she hears the insult.
It’s not so much that she feels demeaned. She’s pretty sure you have to be having sex with more than one person in order to be a whore, and her sex life has been in a coma outside of what she has with House. No, the issue for her is that he still thinks he’s earned any sort of an apology. Or more to the point, she’s annoyed that he thinks that she’s scared and/or embarrassed enough by one slap to completely reverse her position and give him what he wants.
That is never going to happen, if she can help it. Because even though she doesn’t really want to be spanked any more, Cuddy knows that that is a far more desirable thing to go through than to say she’s sorry for pulling the sorts of acts House does all the time.
Craning her head around so that she can look at him, she defiantly tells him, “Do what you want. I am never going to apologize.”
His immediate reaction is something that approaches a broad smile. Technically it’s a grin, Cuddy thinks, but on him, it looks all wrong, the expression about as fitting for him as a pink tutu. She’s not used to seeing him happy, not used to seeing him so intently pleased by something. And that she’s inadvertently told him the one thing he clearly wanted her to say irritates her even as part of her is secretly content with that fact.
Of course, he doesn’t give her much of an opportunity to consider the dichotomy before her. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he confesses, practically sounding thrilled at the thought of being able to continue.
She wonders briefly how long he’s been wanting to do this if he sounds that excited at the mere thought of it. Memories of all the instances he’s mentioned bondage and spanking flit through her mind. But she thinks that, more than alluding to specific interests, at the time, he was just looking for a way to make her uncomfortable, manipulate her… play with her. She thinks the same can probably said for his actions right now.
Certainly, he’s outplayed her in this instance, creating a set of circumstances that gives him a victory no matter what; either she chose to get spanked or beg for his forgiveness, and she knows he would have been happy either way.
Oddly enough, part of her is almost impressed by his maneuvering. Taking advantage of her stubbornness, using her participation in his stupid little panty game - it’s all something he’s perfectly choreographed, a wonderful demonstration of just how well he knows her and how to manipulate her. And while she could be irritated about that fact, she’s not at all annoyed.
She could be counting her losses, but it is not in her nature to back down or give up. House has won this round, and she accepts the defeat. Even as some part of her wishes things between them were different, she finds herself not wanting that at all, finds herself instead looking for the next move she needs to make to one up him.
That’s why it’s easy to lay across his lap and wait for him to punish her; because in her mind, she’s already passed the moment. In her head, this is in some odd way finished and done, and now she’s trying to decide what she needs to do to win the next round.
But in thinking that, she begins to suspect that she’s already emerged victorious. Because as her body tenses for the next slap, she realizes that it’s not coming. She waits and waits, for what feels like forever but can’t be more than a handful of seconds. Yet he doesn’t hit her.
Slowly she turns her head around and sees the expectant look on his face.
He’s giving her another chance to apologize. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t need to say it. But he does.
“If you just admitted that you were trying to get a reaction out of me, none of this would have to happen.”
She purposely stays silent. If she says she was trying to get a response from him, then that will set him into overdrive while he tries to figure out why she would do that. If she admits what he wants, she loses by backing down - and loses again by then having him get to the root of her motivation. And that’s not what she wants.
“Oh I see,” she says patronizingly. “You keep giving me ways out of this, because really, you’re too afraid to -”
The comment is cut off by him slapping her once more. The blow lands equally between her cheeks, on the swell of her ass. Perfectly placed she’ll be reminded of the act when she sits down, she thinks. The pain it creates is sharp and makes her skin hot instantly. There was no big wind up, no dramatic raise of the hand - just a quick movement against her ass that makes her realize how much it will hurt if he continues.
Continue on to the rest of the fic
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, a tiny bit of Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for house_cuddy's secret santa activity. I received autumnrain78 who asked for a fic that involved the prompt, red thong, and contained sex - the more perverted the better. This also fulls 50kinkyways prompt 46. Writer's Choice (watersports)
Warning: This fic contains sex, spanking, and watersports (specifically the consumption of urine). If this bothers you, do not read.
Summary: Giving Cole her thong sends Cuddy down a path she could have never anticipated. Set after "You Don't Want to Know." Established Huddy relationship.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
She realizes, as Cole leaves, that this has been the oddest way she’s gone about to ruin someone else’s fun. And considering the person she’s messing around with is House, Cuddy understands that that’s saying a lot. But it is true - and truly screwed up that, instead of talking about what’s going on, they play a version of tug-of-war that involves her thong and his future staff.
At the moment, she’s waiting for him to limp his moronic self into her office, the news that he has fired Cole spreading through the hospital and into her office faster than House is able to move. And as she waits, she contemplates the very real possibility that she’s the one who instigated this convoluted contest.
Of course, Cuddy doesn’t actually think this is her fault or that House has been justified to behave the way he has. But as she paces back and forth in front of her desk, she can’t help but think that she’s the one who got the ball rolling a week ago. Because it was a week ago that she called attention to what they’d been doing the past couple months, and somehow that doesn’t seem like a coincidence to her.
They’d been sleeping together carelessly for a while now, a slew of nights that involved little more than a silent acknowledgement that they were going to screw one another senseless and say nothing more. If they’d talked at all, it had been the kind of conversation they’d perfected - all wit and insult, all challenge and no concession. Meaningless bits of dialogue, like how he couldn’t get out of clinic duty simply because he’d given the boss multiple orgasms or impolite reminders that she wanted two names for his new team as she’d ridden him hard, had been the norm.
Would still be the norm, she thinks, if she hadn’t been so displeased by House’s obvious crush on Dr. Terzi.
Cuddy hates the way her lips shape themselves into a sneer at the other doctor’s name. She doesn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend - especially not House’s jealous girlfriend.
But she realizes that that desire doesn’t really matter. Because while Cuddy had never wanted to be the envious type, she’d found herself rankled by the attention House had bestowed upon the other woman anyway. And so, once Terzi had been fired, once the documentary crew had left, Cuddy had been blindly emboldened to reveal to him a part of herself she hadn’t even believed existed.
That night, several glasses of wine in both of their systems, House and Cuddy had both been particularly insistent on getting laid. Sprawled on the couch, empty Chinese food cartons disposed of on her coffee table, they’d been far too interested in one another to consider the cramped space they were in.
One of his hands had slipped underneath her blouse roughly, a button falling off in the process. His rough fingers sliding underneath her bra, he had eagerly run a thumb over her already hardened nipple. His other hand had been working her skirt up her hips, and as they’d kissed, she’d been fumbling with the fly on his jeans.
The distinct metallic sound of his zipper being pulled apart tooth by tooth had cut through the hushed sounds of their labored breathing and hard kissing. And the second she’d managed to free his erection, he’d asked - well, not so much asked as practically demanded - “Give me a blow job.”
His dick in her hand, she’d slowly stroked him, his skin hot to the touch, to his full hardness. The temptation to taste him had been there, had been something she probably would have done under different circumstances. But after seeing him flirt and act like an ass (even more so than usual), Cuddy hadn’t been interested. If anything, she’d thought that he should be the one on his knees. So she’d shaken her head and told him in a punishing voice, “That’s not going to happen.”
House had frowned at her response, despite his grip on her breast tightening as her thumb flitted over the top of his prick. “Come on,” he’d replied slowly, his breathing labored and mind too distracted to come up with any convincing argument.
She’d let go of him by then, her hands reaching behind her back to undo her own zipper. As annoyed as she’d been, the sex in general was too good to deny herself. He hadn’t deserved it then, but she certainly had. “You can’t spend your days flirting with whoever the hell you want and then come to me and expect -”
“Well, obviously, I can, if you’re taking off your skirt in order to have sex with me,” House had pointed out in irritation, his hand curling around his cock and stroking lightly.
And it had been then, that off-handed comment he’d said in annoyance, that Cuddy had wondered what it was that they were doing exactly.
They weren’t in a relationship, she’d thought. Even if she’d wanted to use that word, what kind of relationship was it if it were the kind that allowed for the kind of incessant flirting that made her privately fume?
The questions ones she had no answers for, she’d sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him. Reality had begun to sink into her, and she hadn’t been able to shake it away soon enough. The moment ruined for her, she’d said almost mournfully, “We can’t keep doing this.”
“You’re right,” he’d agreed easily. His fingers clasping around her wrist, it had then become almost immediately apparent that he either had no idea what she was talking about or just didn’t care, because he’d told her, “My dick is so hard it hurts. Forget the blow job.”
He’d tugged on her, but she’d refused to move. Instead, she’d shaken her head. “That’s not what I mean, you moron.” Angrily brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, she’d explained, “I’m talking about how we’ve been running around like two horny teenagers with nothing to lose.”
The words had come out more harried than she’d wanted them to. Her hands wildly gesticulating in front of her hadn’t helped matters. Not that it had really mattered; House hadn’t seemed concerned by the situation at all. “Yeah. I figured you were referring to something I don’t care about,” he’d responded snottily. “I was just hoping you’d take the hint and have sex with me, so we could avoid this conversation.”
“I just think…” she’d begun to say, her voice tight with emotion. “That we can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep… randomly having sex.”
Their situation had sounded even more childish and ridiculous when she’d said those words.
Becoming increasingly agitated, she’d reminded him, “We’re adults, House. We’re supposed to have actual, not-screwed-up relationships - relationships with weddings and children and don’t include activities like speculating about the kind of bra I’m wearing at work or hiring someone just so you can flirt with her -”
“So that’s what this is about,” House had interrupted, quickly deducing what had set this off. “This is about Terzi and -”
“No.”
“Yes, it is.”
She’d decided to relent… a little. “Well, that didn’t help. But that’s not…” Her voice had trailed off, the words she’d wanted to say just out of reach. And when she had managed to figure what it was she wanted to tell him, she hadn’t been able to keep the sadness out of her tone or her gaze. “I just think… we’re too old to be doing… this.”
“According to… who exactly?” he’d asked curiously.
Shaking her head, Cuddy had answered, “Me.” When he hadn’t said anything, she’d continued, “Seeing you flirt the past few days… I guess it’s made me realize that, as much as I like this, I need something else from you.”
And never missing a beat, House had responded by gesturing to his penis, still painfully hard and ready for her. “I have more - a lot more - to give you,” he’d replied sarcastically, eyebrows waggling dramatically as though to entice her.
But what it had done had been to effectively end the conversation she’d wanted to have.
Because as serious as she’d been, as serious as she’d wanted him to be, she’d realized in that moment that… he wasn’t going to give her the answer she wanted.
He wasn’t going to say anything of substance at all.
She’d known in that moment that he wasn’t going to give her a relationship or risk not getting laid by saying he didn’t want a relationship.
That fact had stung - not that she’d wanted to show that to him. The hurt he’d caused her not something she’d wanted to advertise, she’d only allowed her irritation over the situation to bleed through her walls and surface for him to see.
And standing up, Cuddy had yanked down her skirt. Through gritted teeth, she’d nearly snarled out a “Fine,” before straddling him. His dick easily sliding into her, the conversation had ended, a finger running along her clit moments later making her forget all too easily just how annoyed she was.
But that hadn’t been the end to it. Because the next work day, House was asking his fellows for her thong, and Cuddy can’t believe that the two things are unrelated.
Of course, she’s not sure how they might be related. She’s not entirely unconvinced that this isn’t a mere power play, something he would have done regardless of the conversation they’d just had. But she also knows that House doesn’t do anything without a reason, without an agenda, and it makes more sense that he’s trying to prove something - although God only knows what.
Her inability to read his actions with the same accuracy that he can do the same to her is annoying.
And so the second he bursts through her office doors, she’s agitated and ready for a fight. “What the hell are you doing?” she asks, arms folding across her chest.
“Apparently spending the next five minutes being yelled at, instead of doing naughty things to your thong,” he says in mocking lamentation.
“You gave yourself a potentially lethal blood - ”
“And I’m fine, Mommy.”
He unceremoniously shuts the door behind him with his cane. Which means he’s not annoyed with her, or at least nowhere near as irritated with her as she is with him; when he is that irate, he slams things or tries to get away from her as quickly as possible, leaving no room for interpretation over just how he feels.
Still, Cuddy doesn’t feel at ease at the moment. He’s not responding, just looking at her innocently, making her feel as though she’s about to fall into one of his carefully laid traps.
Naturally, though, it’s not in her nature to back down from her own irritation in order to avoid a fight. It’s certainly not her character to back down, because he’s been sick for part of the day. If it was, she could never be mad at him, as he always puts himself in that position. “You fired the one person who would be good for you.”
“He didn’t play by the rules,” House defends easily, moving closer to her.
“Since when do you care about following rules?”
“Since I decided to care,” he replies quickly.
Reaching behind herself, Cuddy grabs a couple of manila folders on her desk and moves towards the file cabinets in her office. She has a feeling that this conversation won’t resolve itself in a short amount of time; he’s clearly decided to keep her in suspense, and she’s okay with that. But she needs to get some last minute work done in the meantime. Without looking in his direction, she says, “You told them to get my thong. He got it. He did what you wanted.”
“No,” House disagrees, using the voice he would probably use if he were talking to a child. As he stalks towards her, he tells her, “The point was for him to do something without you knowing.”
He comes to stand behind her, not that she turns around to look at him; she doesn’t need to; she can feel his disapproving eyes on her back, and she has no desire to let him see the unsettling effect it has on her. “He got the thong,” House concedes. “But you gave it to him. And honestly….”
His voice trails off dangerously, and before she has any sense to turn around or move out of the way, he’s pressed his body to hers. Pushed against the file cabinet, she has nowhere to go, no way to escape. His arms coming down on either side of her body, he’s balancing his weight on the metal top of the cabinet. Which has the effect of making sure she has no choice but to stay exactly where she is - completely under his control.
And that means she can’t move when he puts his warm lips to her ear and whispers with a harsh edge to his voice, “I don’t like it.”
She ignores him and places another folder into its appropriate place, offering no immediate response, which makes him say, “Last week you pout because of Terzi. This week you’re giving away your panties to the highest bidder.”
Injecting a hint of venom in her voice, Cuddy finally responds snottily, “You’re only pissed, because I messed with your little game.”
“No. I’m just trying to figure out if you interfered in ‘my little game’ because you thought it would make me jealous -”
She snorts loudly at the accusation. “I am not trying to make you -”
“Well, then you’re a previously undiagnosed schizophrenic,” he finishes easily, ignoring her attempt at a denial.
Rolling her eyes, Cuddy retorts, “Yeah, I’m the one with the mental illness.” She shoves another file into the drawer. “Considering you’re the lunatic who made stealing the boss’s panties a game, that’s rich.”
He sighs dramatically then, his chin resting on her shoulder.
It’s so inappropriate, dangerous even, to be doing this at work.
Especially when he moves one his hands to grip her tightly around her waist, because, although right now they aren’t visible from the doorway, she is aware that it will be hard for them to quickly extract themselves if someone does walk in.
But before she can even issue a warning, House says, “You know I was going to give you a chance to earn your thong back -”
“You can keep it,” she interrupts in earnest. “Honestly, given what you’ve probably already done to it, I’m not interested in having it returned.”
Ignoring her, he continues condescendingly, “But I don’t think you’re very sorry for interrupting my fun, and now -”
She spins around to face him, a smug look on her face. “Why would I feel bad about that?” Honestly, Cuddy thinks, if he’s looking for contrition, he should look elsewhere, because she has no intention of apologizing for meddling with his games.
He ignores her question and continues talking. “Now I’m thinking you should be punished,” he draws out lasciviously, in a manner designed to catch her attention.
And it works, because as soon as the word, punished, is mentioned, she’s scoffing, folding her arms across her chest. “Right. You’re going to punish me,” she repeats, the words sounding even more ludicrous coming out of her mouth. “What are you going to do, House - send me to bed without dinner? Give me a time out in my office? Spank me?”
Naturally, House pretends to consider it - as though it’s actually an offer. “You know… that sounds about right,” he tells her in a low voice, one of his hands moving to palm her ass in a way that suggests he’s truly interested.
Which makes her nervous enough to push him away. Her hands shoving his chest, he can’t help but stumble back a little, probably making his thigh ache painfully. But moving back to her desk, Cuddy isn’t concerned about that, about him. “We are at work,” she reminds him angrily.
“Hmm,” he says, nodding his head in understanding. “Sorry. I forgot you drew the line somewhere between giving your panties to an employee and letting another one touch your ass.”
She wants to shout out a retort, wants to yell until her voice is hoarse that it was at his insistence that there was a clamor for her underwear to begin with. But she doesn’t do that, because she’s incredibly aware of her assistant being only ten feet or so away - and the clinic being just beyond that. So she tells him through gritted teeth, “Go find a sick person to harass.”
“In a minute.” There’s no missing that he sounds equally annoyed. But whereas her voice was borderline whiney, his is… gruff and low.
To be honest, it’s not entirely unlike how he sounds when he’s balls deep inside of her and ordering her to do something to get him off. And just as she thinks it then, she thinks now that his harsh words should be offensive to her.
Well… maybe it is a little, but nevertheless, it turns her on, wetness beginning to pool between her legs. Much to her dismay if not her surprise, she realizes, because at this point in their lives, she thinks she should be able to resist House and his little tricks. She should be able to ignore him and push him out of her life and find someone who vaguely approaches normal.
But the fact is that she’s never known how to say no to his games. And in this case, more than the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, it’s the collective allure of the power play, something that House knows she’s drawn to and that he can’t deny himself. As he takes a step closer to her, he tells her, “We still have to settle the matter of your punishment.”
In all honesty, Cuddy isn’t sure how far House is willing to take this. But as is usually her way, she is hesitant to blink first. “Well, if you want to spank me -”
“I do,” he interrupts pointedly, his blue eyes narrowing on her, waiting for her to crumble under the challenge. “Since you haven’t apologized yet, it seems to me you need an incentive.”
She can’t help but look away, her fingers lightly touching the pen on her desk. She’s not sure she wants to go down the rabbit hole, isn’t sure that she wants to dare House to do what he’s suggesting. But then…
Part of her is absolutely convinced that he won’t go through with it. Because as overbearing and abrasive as he can be, she’s never taken him for someone who enjoys physical punishment of any sort. And so, with that in mind, she confidently calls his bluff. “Fine. But it’ll have to wait until after work.”
His own fingers beginning to drum against the chair in front of him, House asks, “Hoping I’ll chicken out if we wait a couple hours?”
“Is that your way of saying you will?”
“Is that your way of saying that you want me to?” he throws back at her.
She brushes off the implication in his question. “I’m not afraid. I can easily handle anything you throw my way.”
He smirks. “I guess we’ll see after work. My place.” He turns to leave, calling to her over his shoulder in a warning voice, “Don’t be late.”
But in the end, Cuddy is going to be late, she realizes only ten minutes or so after he’s left her office. Because she’s had a last minute meeting with an overly conversational donor added to her calendar, and by the time, she’s shoved him out the door, it’s way past the hour House would have expected her at his apartment.
Which means when she does show up at his place, he’s going to be bitchy and childish and whiny, and none of those things really turn her on. But at this point, Cuddy knows that she doesn’t really have any choice but to show up; he’ll be obnoxious tonight but nowhere near the same level of obnoxious as when he thinks she’s backed out.
So really, the best she can do is make a peace offering, which comes, in this case, in the form of Thai food and beer. Picking up the dinner on the way to his apartment, she makes sure to pick up the things he likes the most - including some little appetizer called “golden bags” that she’s sure he enjoys solely for the inappropriate jokes he can make.
Unfortunately by the time she arrives at his apartment, it’s obvious that House is angry. Closing the door behind her with her foot, Cuddy announces her presence by saying, “Sorry I’m late. There was a donor and….”
She shakes her head, her voice trailing off. She doesn’t want to relive the horror of that particular meeting if she doesn’t have to, and given that House doesn’t look remotely interested, his back turned to her, she stops talking.
He’s sitting on the couch in the near dark, only a small light in one of the corners on and burning way too dimly to give the large room any real brightness. His gaze, as best she can tell, is on the fireplace, and his shoulders are set harshly, his displeasure so clear that she can’t help but roll her eyes at the childish display. “You’re late,” he finally growls.
As she shrugs herself out of her coat, precariously balancing the take out and liquor in her hands, she replies with slight irritation, “That’s what I said.”
“I told you not to be late.”
She drops her coat on the back of the couch and places the food in her hands on the coffee table in front of him. “Well, you know I contemplated on telling my assistant to cancel my meeting because of the kinky sex games you clearly have planned for me,” she tells him sarcastically. “And then I realized that that was stupid. I mean as enticing as this all sounds, I’m not exactly in a rush to be spanked.”
He smirks, fiddling with the glass of scotch she didn’t notice until now in his hands. “Afraid?”
“Of course not,” Cuddy replies with a scowl.
Really, she’s not afraid as much as she is confused by the whole thing. But then again, she also realizes that if there really is fear inside of her, she’s not going to admit it to herself, much less to him, because she knows that he’ll easily see through her and know that she’s afraid. And then, although she is sure that he won’t continue, he will make fun of her, taunt her, which would be, simply put, irritating.
His smirk turns into a wolfish grin. “And yet… you’re still over there.”
She fights back, “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Then come here.”
The challenge is clearly visible in his eyes. He’s daring her to make her choice, to either let him do what he’s been saying he’ll do or tell him that she’s no longer game. And the latter is obviously no option at all. Because just as she’s willing to part with her thong for a chance to outdo him, she’s willing to risk a spanking if only to prove that he won’t do it.
She slinks over to him, her own challenging look meeting his. But House is still unconvinced, because as she stops in front of him, he notes, “You don’t think I’m going to go through with this.” He sets his scotch to the side so he can focus on her.
“No,” Cuddy disagrees haughtily, even if part of her does believe that. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Good,” he tells her, leaning forward, his fingers gripping the edge of her skirt. He yanks hard on the material, pulling the fabric up over her hips so that it’s bunched around her waist. Only her thong keeps her from being completely bottomless, from being exposed to him.
And Cuddy can’t help but gasp at his actions, her legs teetering on the thin points of her heels. Which makes him look at her in disappointment. “You should know by now when I’m serious,” he says with light dismay.
Ignoring the comment, she reaches down and takes off her shoes. To herself, she can admit that she’s made a misstep by allowing any shock to show at all. But it really couldn’t be helped, because even if she could have known that he was serious, she knows that there really was no predicting that he would tug at her clothing like that. Or rather, she thinks wryly, there was no predicting that he would do that when they weren’t trying to have sex as quickly as possible.
Obviously taking her silence for fear, House offers carefully, “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll give you a way out.” His fingers drum tantalizingly on her thighs, reminding her just how exposed she really is. “All you have to do is admit that you screwed up by -”
“I didn’t screw up. You’re just angry that someone had the balls to mess with your little game,” she interrupts knowingly.
He slides a warm hand across the smooth plane of her thigh. Moving between her legs, his fingers cup her mound through the tight silk of her thong. Somehow he manages to turn her body against her, her nipples tightening and folds becoming slick instinctively because he’s this close to her.
It’s a fact that she hates, a fact that she wishes would become false so that she can return to normal. Return to a life where she doesn’t feel the need to have sex with House any chance she can at least. But right about now, her clitoris beginning to pulse at his nearness, she thinks that will never happen.
Suddenly interrupting her thoughts, House says, “Doesn’t feel like you have any balls.”
Admittedly, it’s hard to go for haughty when he’s got a hand between her legs, but she goes for it nevertheless. “Metaphorical balls, jackass.”
He smirks. “You’re pretty cocky for someone about to be punished.” As he taunts her, he slips his fingers into her thong, his thumb holding the material away from her body so he can lightly stroke her.
He’s still not penetrating her, but his finger circles her clit in slow motions. That she is already wet and eager does not go unnoticed by him, which she hates. “Interesting,” House murmurs. “This is turning you on?”
He doesn’t wait for her to answer, and at first, she’s grateful for that, because she’s not sure what she wants to say to him. But when he speaks again, all thoughts of gratitude go out the window, because he asks, “Does the idea of being forced over my knee, being spanked over and over make you wet, Cuddy? Is that what you want - to be treated like that?”
She closes her eyes so that she can ignore the way he’s looking at her expectantly, knowingly. But in doing so, Cuddy understands that the missing sense only amplifies the others, and now she can feel his fingers sliding through her wetness even more intensely, hear how slick she is. And she has to fight to tell him, “No.”
Which he clearly doesn’t believe for a second. At that moment, as soon as the word is out of her mouth, House slips two of his fingers inside of her easily, just as easily disproving her denial in the process. “Your lips say no, but these lips are saying something else. Don’t you think?” he asks her quietly.
As he flicks her clit with his thumb, Cuddy answers his question half-heartedly, shaking her head, “No.”
“You’re lying,” House points out with dismay, pumping his fingers in and out of her at a painfully slow pace.
Opening her eyes, she gives him the best glare she possibly can while still allowing herself to enjoy the pleasure his hand is giving her in rough thrusts. “I’m not lying,” she says in a tight voice.
His reaction is to pull his fingers out of her, to remove his hand completely from between her thighs. Holding it up to her, he makes sure she can see what they both know is on his skin. Though the lighting in the room is dim, Cuddy can easily make out her juices on him. “So then you’re always this wet?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re always this ready to be fucked?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “When someone’s fingering me, yes.”
Irritation is beginning to clamor within her body, almost as fervently as her desire for him to have sex with her is. The combination not a foreign one, it’s what defines their relationship, she knows. The need to annoy mixed with the need to screw, the need to hate the game even as they keep playing it - this is what they do. And she both hates it and loves it, despises it and gets off on it, just as she can tell by the irritation in his eyes that he does too.
At that moment, House shakes his head and says, “You’re still lying.” But before Cuddy can deny that, he continues, “Don’t worry, though… I’ll give you what your tight, wet pussy is telling me it wants, even if you’re too scared to admit it.”
He roughly shoves a hand in her thong once more, his knuckles rubbing against her briefly as he pushes her panties down till they’re hanging around the middle of her thighs. And although he’s then content to sit back, leave the underwear where it is, and stare at her lustily, she’s not feeling the same.
In all honesty, she’s feeling a little ridiculous with her skirt bunched and thong pulled down just enough so that her ass and vagina are bare. Actually, she feels completely ridiculous, not just because of the nudity, but also because of her sudden, bizarre embarrassment over it - as though he hasn’t seen her naked before. He’s fucked her in just about every way imaginable, given her shots of menotropins, among other things.
Which she knows, making her feel like an idiot for even thinking that this is embarrassing in some way. Because it’s not, certainly not when compared to all the other things he’s done to her or said to her, and she knows that. But nevertheless, Cuddy can feel her cheeks begin to turn red.
So she tries to cover it by muttering, “Yeah, don’t listen to anything I say.” Reaching down, she pulls her thong the rest of the way off and tosses it aside as she says, “My vagina is much more honest.”
“I don’t think I said you could take that off,” he snaps, referring to the thong strewn across the floor.
She is unmoved. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to you hiring forty interns, but you did it anyway.”
“And I didn’t agree to be followed around by a documentary crew, so they could turn my practice into an episode of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, but I did it anyway, and you made money from that,” he says with a shrug. She wants to respond to that, but he doesn’t give her the chance. His fingers curling under the waist band of her skirt, House instructs her firmly, “Now, enough talk; get over my knee.”
There should be a moment of hesitation on her part, she thinks. There should be that split second where she realizes that there’s no backing out beyond this point, because even if he’ll let her go, her pride won’t acquiesce so easily.
But there isn’t that little bit of doubt niggling in the back of her mind. She’s so blind with the desire to beat him at his own game that there’s not even a little piece of her thinking about chickening out.
Her jaw clenched together, eyes assertive and arrogant, Cuddy climbs onto the couch. She’s a little awkward at it, despite not feeling all that nervous by what she’s doing. Her knees pressing into the sofa cushions, she’s trying to avoid accidentally hitting his thigh and his crotch (even if he really does deserve a kick in the balls). Because, God help her, but she is actually hoping that they’ll have sex tonight, and as tempting as hurting him is, she can’t do it. As much as this kind of kink allows for it, putting him in any more pain will make sex impossible.
And so, Cuddy lowers herself onto his lap slowly, her hips and thighs most resting on his good leg. Which inevitably means that he’ll be able to get a better swing his hand, she realizes.
He’ll be able to hit her harder.
Well, assuming that he actually does go through with it, she tells herself.
Mentally sighing at that moment, she wonders once again why they are so screwed up, why they can’t go on dates instead of fucking over take out, why they refuse to spend days “in the dog house” and instead choose this.
She wonders:
Why do they have to be like this all the time?
Of course… Cuddy understands that her feelings would have more validation if she weren’t lying across him right now, waiting for him to spank her. But she has no more time to consider the matter as House asks suddenly, “You ready?”
She turns her head back toward him. “If you’re going to do this, would you please hurry it up? My dinner’s getting cold, and I’m tired of listening to you talk. So, please, get on with -”
Her words are abruptly cut off as he does just that - get on with it. The flat palm of his hand comes crashing down full force against her ass, a loud snap ringing through the air. The noise swallows the squeak (she actually squeaks) his action elicits. Which she would be grateful for if it weren’t for the fact that it hurts.
Every bit of skin his hand has come into contact with burns - stings. Itchy heat radiates along her flushed cheeks, and she can’t help but squirm a little at the uncomfortable feeling.
House notices the movement and decides, apparently, that it’s the perfect opportunity to taunt her (although when does he ever think it’s a bad time to do that, she wonders bitterly). “Wow,” he says in mock surprise. “One slap and you’re already itching to get away.”
Scowling she nearly snarls, “Go to hell.”
His left arm pins her to the spot, his fingers gripping her waist tightly; she can’t move, won’t be able to avoid being spanked, and she tenses at that knowledge. Because although she has no doubts that House would never go too far in this (it’s probably one thing she thinks he is capable of showing restraint in), she’s still aware that this is going farther than she thought they would go. After all, clearly when she gave her thong to Cole, she wasn’t expecting to end up here. And knowing that, she’s a little unsure as to whether or not she wants this to continue.
But the decision is practically wrenched from her hands when House tells her, “Admit you screwed up - tell me what a sorry little whore you are - and we don’t have to do this.” The tone of his voice is one that almost makes his words sound as though he’s being kind, the soft volume nearly enough to take the shock out of the idea of being called a whore. Nearly enough, but definitely not enough, she realizes, her entire demeanor changing as soon as she hears the insult.
It’s not so much that she feels demeaned. She’s pretty sure you have to be having sex with more than one person in order to be a whore, and her sex life has been in a coma outside of what she has with House. No, the issue for her is that he still thinks he’s earned any sort of an apology. Or more to the point, she’s annoyed that he thinks that she’s scared and/or embarrassed enough by one slap to completely reverse her position and give him what he wants.
That is never going to happen, if she can help it. Because even though she doesn’t really want to be spanked any more, Cuddy knows that that is a far more desirable thing to go through than to say she’s sorry for pulling the sorts of acts House does all the time.
Craning her head around so that she can look at him, she defiantly tells him, “Do what you want. I am never going to apologize.”
His immediate reaction is something that approaches a broad smile. Technically it’s a grin, Cuddy thinks, but on him, it looks all wrong, the expression about as fitting for him as a pink tutu. She’s not used to seeing him happy, not used to seeing him so intently pleased by something. And that she’s inadvertently told him the one thing he clearly wanted her to say irritates her even as part of her is secretly content with that fact.
Of course, he doesn’t give her much of an opportunity to consider the dichotomy before her. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he confesses, practically sounding thrilled at the thought of being able to continue.
She wonders briefly how long he’s been wanting to do this if he sounds that excited at the mere thought of it. Memories of all the instances he’s mentioned bondage and spanking flit through her mind. But she thinks that, more than alluding to specific interests, at the time, he was just looking for a way to make her uncomfortable, manipulate her… play with her. She thinks the same can probably said for his actions right now.
Certainly, he’s outplayed her in this instance, creating a set of circumstances that gives him a victory no matter what; either she chose to get spanked or beg for his forgiveness, and she knows he would have been happy either way.
Oddly enough, part of her is almost impressed by his maneuvering. Taking advantage of her stubbornness, using her participation in his stupid little panty game - it’s all something he’s perfectly choreographed, a wonderful demonstration of just how well he knows her and how to manipulate her. And while she could be irritated about that fact, she’s not at all annoyed.
She could be counting her losses, but it is not in her nature to back down or give up. House has won this round, and she accepts the defeat. Even as some part of her wishes things between them were different, she finds herself not wanting that at all, finds herself instead looking for the next move she needs to make to one up him.
That’s why it’s easy to lay across his lap and wait for him to punish her; because in her mind, she’s already passed the moment. In her head, this is in some odd way finished and done, and now she’s trying to decide what she needs to do to win the next round.
But in thinking that, she begins to suspect that she’s already emerged victorious. Because as her body tenses for the next slap, she realizes that it’s not coming. She waits and waits, for what feels like forever but can’t be more than a handful of seconds. Yet he doesn’t hit her.
Slowly she turns her head around and sees the expectant look on his face.
He’s giving her another chance to apologize. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t need to say it. But he does.
“If you just admitted that you were trying to get a reaction out of me, none of this would have to happen.”
She purposely stays silent. If she says she was trying to get a response from him, then that will set him into overdrive while he tries to figure out why she would do that. If she admits what he wants, she loses by backing down - and loses again by then having him get to the root of her motivation. And that’s not what she wants.
“Oh I see,” she says patronizingly. “You keep giving me ways out of this, because really, you’re too afraid to -”
The comment is cut off by him slapping her once more. The blow lands equally between her cheeks, on the swell of her ass. Perfectly placed she’ll be reminded of the act when she sits down, she thinks. The pain it creates is sharp and makes her skin hot instantly. There was no big wind up, no dramatic raise of the hand - just a quick movement against her ass that makes her realize how much it will hurt if he continues.
Continue on to the rest of the fic