Fic: White (Lisa Cuddy, gen, House MD)
So, in an attempt to clear up some of my promt table promts, I took all of my various "color" prompts and put them in a document, figuring that they should be pretty easy to do, and it would knock out about 15 or so stories pretty quickly.
That was last Sunday. Today, when looking for inspiration, my promt generator gave me:
"POV - third person (omniscient) / lisa cuddy (hmd) / white"
And as "Varietypack100: 019. White ; housefic50 : 013. White" was one of the things on my list, here is the result.
Character(s): Lisa Cuddy
Genre: Gen/Het
Spoilers: None.
Cuddy doesn't wear white. Reds, and blacks are her shades; charcoal is the perennial favorite for her suits, and when she really wants to impress, she wears blue. White is plain and stark, makes her look tense and pale and washed out.
White is the color of her seldom worn lab coat. While it occasionally provides an intersting frame for her very nice rack, it hides all of her other generous curves in its , especially, when she stretches it out by clenching her fists down in the pockets, like she does when she is anxious. Luckily, as an administrator, she doesn't have to wear it often. Unfortunately, House is one of the people she will drag it out for, so when he opens his eyes after surgery, its blinding whiteness is one of the first things that he sees.
White is the color of sheets on the hospital bed, not the delicate florals and paisleys that she prefers on her own bed. There's a shocking pink blanket thrown across the lower half of the bed in the recovery room, but it just makes her look even more pale, as he stands out of her line of sight and watches the tears roll down her blanched face. He fights the conflicting urges to pull it off of the bed, and fling it across the room in pique, and to gather it tight around her like a cocoon and absorb her tears with the shoulder of his (not white) shirt, and just the right words. Instead, he stalks off to get a cup of raspberry tea with honey, and a cup of peppermint tea that he can sip instead of talk, while they both can pretend to be anywhere but here.
Lisa doesn't wear white, and Greg doesn't mind. He prefers a whore to the Madonna any day, the occasional naughty school girl fantasy aside. At this minute, though, watching her walk down the aisle, he could almost change his mind.
**********
My Scroll of Dragons
That was last Sunday. Today, when looking for inspiration, my promt generator gave me:
"POV - third person (omniscient) / lisa cuddy (hmd) / white"
And as "Varietypack100: 019. White ; housefic50 : 013. White" was one of the things on my list, here is the result.
Character(s): Lisa Cuddy
Genre: Gen/Het
Spoilers: None.
Cuddy doesn't wear white. Reds, and blacks are her shades; charcoal is the perennial favorite for her suits, and when she really wants to impress, she wears blue. White is plain and stark, makes her look tense and pale and washed out.
White is the color of her seldom worn lab coat. While it occasionally provides an intersting frame for her very nice rack, it hides all of her other generous curves in its , especially, when she stretches it out by clenching her fists down in the pockets, like she does when she is anxious. Luckily, as an administrator, she doesn't have to wear it often. Unfortunately, House is one of the people she will drag it out for, so when he opens his eyes after surgery, its blinding whiteness is one of the first things that he sees.
White is the color of sheets on the hospital bed, not the delicate florals and paisleys that she prefers on her own bed. There's a shocking pink blanket thrown across the lower half of the bed in the recovery room, but it just makes her look even more pale, as he stands out of her line of sight and watches the tears roll down her blanched face. He fights the conflicting urges to pull it off of the bed, and fling it across the room in pique, and to gather it tight around her like a cocoon and absorb her tears with the shoulder of his (not white) shirt, and just the right words. Instead, he stalks off to get a cup of raspberry tea with honey, and a cup of peppermint tea that he can sip instead of talk, while they both can pretend to be anywhere but here.
Lisa doesn't wear white, and Greg doesn't mind. He prefers a whore to the Madonna any day, the occasional naughty school girl fantasy aside. At this minute, though, watching her walk down the aisle, he could almost change his mind.
**********
My Scroll of Dragons