Work Text:
“Yes,” Cuddy snapped as soon as the telltale three-footed thumpthump—thump came into auditory range. “Whatever you want to do, just do it.”
The unusual tactic didn’t even slow House’s progress towards her desk. She kept up the pantomime of paperwork even as she mentally clicked through a slideshow of possible distractions—there was no stopping House once he’d committed to a course of action, only misdirection and stalling. She’d been holding the fascination of Nurse Becky’s unfortunate lip fillers in reserve for weeks now…
“Clearly, I’ve been going at this all wrong,” House began conducting his first movement in their symphony of parries and blows. “I ask to chop off an arm or infect the patient with influenza, you say no. I ask to cut off their head and—”
“Their head?!” Cuddy completely lost track of her plotting, as House no doubt intended, the smug bastard. “House. Decapitation is murder.”
“Even in New Jersey?”
“In all US states and territories.”
“Huh. Well, Plan B, I guess.”
“Just cutting off an ear?”
“That would be fun…” House scooted his butt along the line of Cuddy’s desk until he was tucked in against her legs, “but probably not neurologically useful for diagnosis. No, plan B is I seduce you into taking my side.”
Cuddy met his gaze with a dead-eyed stare. “Really.”
“My mouth is worth at least a few manslaughter charges,” House declared, leaning in.
“Not at work,” she demurred with the usual spine-tingling thrill of denying House, turning her face away so his stubble grazed her cheek.
“Okay, no kissing at work. Let me brainstorm some other mouth-related incentives.” House made a performance of crossing his arms and tapping his chin before lighting up with a ‘eureka!’ gesture: “How about oral?”
That turned Cuddy’s face right back around. “I’m not going down on you.” She pointedly didn’t add a location to that denial, indicating how she felt about being treated like a sex dispensary in any setting.
“Hey, I was offering, not requesting.”
Cuddy had sufficient professional training not to sputter aloud, but House no doubt knew her well enough to read the same in her flickering eyelashes going wide.
“You deserve to relax. You seem tense,” he added, that faux sweet tone of his gliding over Cuddy’s better judgement.
“Well, there is this crazy guy in my office asking to kill patients.”
“Asking to kill one patient. Temporarily. And provide oral sex to one hospital administrator.”
“As a trade?”
“Is that a yes?” House perked up.
“No.” (Cuddy was telling herself that as firmly as she was informing House.)
“Ah, well. I’ll just build up some general good will with my masterful tongue.”
House made no obvious move to head down south. He was…waiting for permission?
Fuck, that was hot.
Cuddy grabbed House’s face with both hands and kissed him hard. House went easily, first with a “hrmph?” then with a “mmm….” to bend into her arms.
“I thought—” he murmured against her mouth, “no kissing…”
Cuddy yanked his head back an inch to glare at him. “This isn’t kissing. This is…kicking the tires before a purchase.”
House’s grin melted warm and dangerous across his rough features, destroying his misanthropic facade and the reinforced steel around Cuddy’s heart in one devastating rush. “In that case, I’d better let you take me on a spin around the block.”
With a clumsy slide, a clatter of cane and flesh against plastic and oak, and an “oof!” House completed the journey under Cuddy’s desk. He peered up from the darkened cubby, blue eyes luminous.
“You look great from this angle,” Cuddy praised, petting his shadowed chin.
“So do you,” House shot back, hand already under her skirt.
He pressed his face to the inside of her thigh for an experimental nuzzle and Cuddy reprimanded, “No wasting time. I’ve got a phone call scheduled in fifteen.”
“Roger,” House managed to salute between her knees, “five minute wonder, coming right up.”
Cuddy may have passed another dry comment about his imagined expertise, except House had lifted her skirt and got his head under the hood like a mechanic going right for the fuel lines.
His mouth opened over the front of her panties and exhaled hot. She felt tension cut into her hips as he got his teeth in the elastic and tugged, dragging her thong down and into view halfway down her thighs. “Obstruction,” House explained, working the lace over her knees to drop to her ankles, “gotta clear the road. Legal obligation.”
Cuddy pursed her lips and offered an imperious nod, hoping he couldn’t feel her tremble as he disposed of that troublesome fabric barrier, tugged her legs wider over his shoulders, and dove back in with hands to spare.
His fingers gently spread her open, making way for his tongue to much more assertively acquaint itself with her pussy. House applied exactly the kind of pressure that could finish the job before the next gig in her agenda. The flat of his tongue rubbed hard over her clit to be replaced with lips, tightening and sucking on the nub before widening to offer more wet heat and his tongue slipping down and inside her, curling, fucking shallow in a mind-bending tease.
Cuddy bit her lower lip to trap the too-loud huffs and moans in her throat and grabbed the arms of her chair sharply enough to dig nails into the padding.
House worked deeper, head tilting for a better angle, fingers tracing circles over her mons as his mouth focused on penetrating her throbbing hole in rhythm with her flying pulse. Her skirt began to wrinkle upward. Cuddy grabbed the hem and yanked it down sharply to keep House obscured, bobbing obscenely beneath the taut fabric. Her hand closed over the round of his skull. She sank fingers into salt and coffee curls of hair, scratching nails over his scalp for a long, stretching moment of pleasure, before tightening her grip and directing him back a few degrees north.
Following direction willingly for probably the first time in his life, House refocused on his target and began to flick his tongue in devastating four-four time over her clit while a clever index finger dove down and kept her filled.
Cuddy broke into a pant. She dragged a hand down her face, hoped she wasn’t sweating enough to disrupt her makeup or clothes, and sent up a thanks to good fortune that her next conversation would offer visual privacy over the phone.
House was circling the tip of his tongue in luxurious, dragging circles around her clit, catching on the hood and wriggling until her eyes rolled back in her head, when the door committed its inevitable existential sin: it allowed someone to knock upon it.
“Um.” Cuddy said aloud, a word she hadn’t permitted to pass her lips since rigid high school debate training. It was the only word for it, however, because she could hardly shout “go away” at workplace knockers while on the clock, and “come in” was obviously a suicide maneuver.
Alas, the unformed sound was close enough to be mistaken for the syllable permitting entry, and Cuddy had lacked the foresight to imagine that she was about to get serviced at work by her most heavily insured employee and so had failed to lock the door.
Nurse Regina bustled in from her guard station at the clinic, all tight half-ponytail and efficiency and light perpetual annoyance as usual.
Cuddy froze. House froze, though who knew how long that would last. Cuddy kept the hand gripping his hair tight in place.
“Doctor Cuddy, it’s…” Unusually, Regina paused before offering whatever news had motivated her appearance. Her eyes flickered around the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” she spoke less briskly, “I thought you might be…in a meeting.”
“Nope.” Cuddy grinned tightly and spider-walked her free hand (the other still rodeo-tight on House’s mane) towards the phone. “About to be. Need something?” Okay, this was going quite well, considering. Cuddy thought her voice sounded exceptionally normal, thank you very much, and Regina seemed more bland than suspicious. And House was still behaving—
House put his tongue back inside her.
Cuddy felt her professional smile calcify into an alarming rictus. Her grip tightened on House’s head but he was an unbroken old stallion and no amount of spurring would slow him once he’d gotten up to a gallop.
“Right.” Regina shuffled. “Well, the clinic is pretty quiet, so I wasn’t gonna bother trying to round up delinquent staff. If that’s alright by you.”
Cuddy exhibited extreme bravery and coolness under fire as she didn’t even glance down at the delinquent staff currently up her skirt. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Nope,” Regina backed toward the door, and Cuddy wasn’t sure if she was projecting a sense of relief onto her unwanted visitor. “We can touch base after your next meeting.”
“Yep,” Cuddy managed to cough out without keening even though the calloused pad of House’s thumb was teasing at the tip of her clit as the office door clicked blessedly shut, fuck she was going to kill him as soon as he finished making her come—no, stop him from doing that—no, no definitely after that.
House, being an inveterate bastard, dropped his hand and slithered back out into the light, mouth gleaming damp. “Told you it was important to relax at work.”
“That wasn’t relaxing,” Cuddy hissed, patting her own cheek and finding it in telltale flame.
“But it was hot,” House argued, eyes sparkling with devilment.
Cuddy performed the only known effective safety procedure against that lethal grin. She shoved it back between her legs before he could see her answering smile. “Finish the job,” she ordered, “or I’ll double the clinic hours you’re skipping right now.”
House—unable to resist that jab—tried to reply but Cuddy held him firm. The movement of his lips against her pussy as he tried to argue definitely counted for a whole clinic shift in her book, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
She levered her right leg to rest higher over his shoulder and shimmied her skirt up to her hips to reveal House’s hardworking glory.
It was as hot as she’d feared, even worse than the excesses of imagination, actually seeing his head rock in a fervent lapping motion as he went to town on her clit with brow furrowed and fingers pumping a companion tune inside her. His eyelashes flicked up and shocking blue hooked and caught her—their gazes locked and her hand went soft and gentle, slipping down to cradle the nape of his neck.
The moment threaded, sugar-spun delicacy over a forbidden second. Then Cuddy clawed her fingers tight and House’s eyes narrowed with purpose and Cuddy had no choice but to throw her head back and squeeze tight around a moan as his tongue sent her toes curling.
“Oh fuck, fuck, right there, yes,” she started to murmur, uncontrollable, “right there, House, fuck…”
House may be incapable of following any other order or direction she’d ever given to him, but he complied with right there immediately, happily, and perfectly. He sucked and rocked and grabbed her ass to drag her in closer, nearly pulled her off the chair as she fucked his face harder, closer—
“Ahh—” her breath caught, pulled taut over the ridge of completion— “House…!”
He poured on a final burst of energy and flicked his tongue and fingers in unholy harmony upon and inside her and she reached the summit of orgasm with a glorious gasp and burst of light as her head fell past her shoulders, back arching, core tightening and hands forcing House to stay exactly where his body was most needed to keep hers balanced on this precipice for as long as possible.
House panted for air as she finally released him, her limbs going jelly and draping limply over her chair’s leather fittings, eyes faded low to slits but not quite closed. It was a great view, House mussed and breathing hard and tucked safe under the hook of her knee.
“So,” House prompted once he’d retrieved enough oxygen to speak. “How about that quid pro quo?”
“Well…” Cuddy teased the vowel out, stretching languorously and settling low in her seat.
“A head for some head?” House pursued his perceived advantage with a swirl of thumbs at her hips. “I’m sure the patient doesn’t need his noggin as bad as you need my licensed lips.”
“Maybe. I am a bureaucrat, as you often remind me,” Cuddy purred, stroking House’s cheek with the lazy backs of her fingers. “And you know what us bureaucrats need?”
“Surgical ass-stick removal?” House hazarded a guess.
“Everything…in triplicate.” Cuddy dragged House’s stubbled cheek back along the inside of her thigh. She watched as giddy understanding took hold. The sheer, eager joy of her worst employee ready and raring to sign on the dotted line was very nearly as good as what came next.
*****
“Doctor House is supposed to have clinic duty,” Martha tapped her nails on the intake desk, craning her neck, “so, I imagine he’s not here.”
Nurse Regina smirked, an expression she had cause to use far less than her top-mileage ‘what have you idiots done now’ frown. “Oh, he’s around. Earning his paycheck, for once.”
“…In the clinic?” Martha wondered, eyes wide.
“Under Cuddy’s desk,” Regina answered easily.
“You—you don’t—”
Laying out her deductions like Sherlock Holmes in floral scrubs, Regina explained, “I saw him go into her office. He never left. When I went in to grab him for the clinic…he was nowhere to be seen. And Dr. Cuddy looked very pink.”
Martha fish-mouthed for a moment before deciding the appropriate response was to make a terrier-style yelp and flee the scene, flats clicking wildly against the tile.
“Good for Doc Cuddy,” Regina muttered to herself. “Finally getting something worthwhile out of that walking HR violation.”