ticcyyy: (Default)
ticcyyy ([personal profile] ticcyyy) wrote2010-04-09 02:26 pm

Turn And Turn Again - part 1/4

title: Turn And Turn Again
pairings: House/Cuddy, Lucas/Cuddy
rating: NC-17
words this chapter: 2,400
disclaimer: When the vulture flies sideways, the moon has hair on its upper lip.
notes: Big thanks to [livejournal.com profile] januarynineteen for looking this over and assuring me it's ok, and [livejournal.com profile] usomitai for the encouragement and beta. ♥ Any glitches and mistakes are my own!

summary: When Cuddy wakes in the middle of the night, House is still there.

Turn And Turn Again
part one

by ticcy

When Cuddy wakes in the middle of the night, House is still there.
For the longest moment, she's startled to the point where she can't stop staring at him through the dark as she clutches the bed sheets against her chest to cover up her nakedness. It would be just like House, after all, to pretend to be asleep. Perhaps his eyes would snap open and he'd utter in that sarcastic, rumbling voice of his, "Boo." He's never above humiliating her and what better time to do that than when she's at her most vulnerable - nude, in her own bed, dread stirring quietly in the pit of her stomach.
Cuddy tightens her hand on the sheets and holds her breath when he lets out a quiet snore. The prank she's expecting him to unleash on her never comes, though, and she cautiously relaxes. Turning her head away to look across the room as she sits up, she rakes a hand through her messy tangle of hair, sweeping it away from her face. The next thought that strikes her has everything to do with House but nothing to do with him and his pranks.
In fact, the possibility of him scaring the crap out of her now seems so insignificant next to thinking, What the hell have I done? Cuddy knows she's not a stupid woman. Well, most of the time, anyway. Not when it comes to work, not when it comes to things she knows she's capable of handling. And she always likes to think she's perfectly capable of handling House on top of all her other stresses and daily responsibilities. 

Not right now, however. He's as naked in her bed as she is and this isn't supposed to be the way things went when he'd showed up at her door earlier in the night, long after Rachel had been put to bed.
She was supposed to have closed the front door on him; told him that whatever tricks he was up to wasn't going to work on her, not anymore. She's over him. She'd wanted to believe that, anyway. She has Lucas; she has no need to waste her time with a guy who can't untangle himself from his own emotional knots. She'd wasted enough of her time waiting for House to do something, to say something, only to find herself hurt again and again and again.
Yet, when House had swept in on her tonight and kissed her after a good five minutes passed of him standing awkwardly in her front hall, she hadn't pushed him away. She should have. Half her mind had been screaming at her to do exactly that. But another part of her had become been flooded with a sudden rush of feelings, familiar and sharp and exciting as she'd crushed her mouth back to his. All the loneliness that encompasses her each night Lucas is working had got the better of her and, god, she'd never craved being wanted as badly as she had right then, in her hallway, pressed up against the wall while House's mouth devoured her and then pinned down on her bed beneath House while he kissed her in places that made her quiver until she ached.
But now… 

She swallows. It's too late to wish she'd acted differently. As quietly as possible, she slides out of bed, grabs her dressing gown and tiptoes out of the room. She goes to Rachel's room first after throwing her robe on. Rachel is fast asleep, lips puckered, body curled up tight in the foetal position she still sleeps in even as a toddler. Cuddy reaches down and touches her hair. She strokes it from her face and rubs her back. Rachel stirs but doesn't wake. Cuddy can't help being disappointed - if she had Rachel to tend to, she wouldn't have to think about what she's done with House or that he's lying in her bed asleep, as though he's always belonged there.
She considers waking Rachel but decides against it. She leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her, and she makes her way to the bathroom. For a while, she leans back against the wall with her arms folded over her chest and her eyes closed. She feels neither guilty right now, nor ashamed. Right now, she's feeling… She sighs, a deep and unsteady exhale. She doesn't know what she's feeling. Numb. She reaches up to her face and scrubs it hard with her hands before exiting the bathroom again.
She knows what she has to do: she has to wake House, tell him to leave and give him no room for arguments or snide remarks. She enters the room and approaches the bed but when she leans over to shake him, she falters. He looks so surprisingly vulnerable. Sleep has taken away the bitter hardness always displayed on his face. His wrinkles even appear a little softer, a little less deep-set. He almost looks like the House he could have been had all the things he'd struggled with in his life never happened. Telling him to leave suddenly seems much easier thought than done. She needs time to think, to process what on earth she'd succumbed to. She's not ready to face the barbs that House will inevitably throw at her. She straightens, turns around and slowly sinks onto the edge of the mattress.
Her entire body jolts with fright. She whips her head around to House. Her heart pounds and she stares at him staring right back at her, a sleepy but curious expression on his face. "I don't want to talk about it," she immediately replies, her voice hushed.
She braces herself for the verbal daggers. Leering questions, cruel jabs, sardonic comments that will hit her right where it hurts. But to her surprise, he just nods after a pause and looks away.
Cuddy frowns. No, she wants to say. No, that's not what you're supposed to do. You're supposed to do what you always do: be a bastard, give me a reason to throw you out without throwing any of the attention on me. She licks her lips and presses them together. "I think you should--"
"You told me you wanted me to stay."
She stiffens. Did she say that? She doesn't remember saying that. Then the memory hits her like a punch to the chest: while he'd still been buried deep inside her, her orgasm fresh and still pumping through her body, she'd breathed against his mouth as she held his face in her hands, "Don't leave this time."
Bastard. Bastard. She turns a sharp gaze back on him. He's always so contrary, always doing the exact opposite to everything she demands. Why did he listen to her this time? He wasn't supposed to listen to her. He should have known she was riding off an entanglement of emotions and endorphins. "I've changed my mind," she says.
"Bit late for that."
"House, leave."
"And what will that solve?"
Cuddy makes a few silent motions with her mouth, words suddenly frozen on her tongue. He's right, damn him. Telling him to leave won't solve anything. She doesn't want him to know that, though. She always finds a way to work around House, always. She can do it again this time, too.
"Admit it," House continues. "Lucas doesn't give you what you want."
Again, her eyes snap back to him. "You wouldn't don’t have the first clue what Lucas gives me."
"Hmmm, no." He props himself up on his elbows, bed sheet draped over his middle and his chest exposed. "I think you pretty much gave it away to me the minute you let my tongue into your mouth."
"I didn't… I wasn't…"
"What’re are you gonna tell him?"
"How does that even concern you?"
House gives a wave of his hands that's so flippant, she almost launches herself at him to slap him across the face. "Well, you kinda slept with your employee, in the very bed you have sex with your boyfriend in. I think that concerns me just a little."
She stares at him, bewildered. She thinks she sees a hint of nervousness on his face, though it's dark in the room and she really doesn't want to turn on the light to get a better look. She doesn't want to look at him at all. Suddenly feeling exposed, she crosses her arms over her middle in attempt to shield herself from him. "I need you to leave."
She expects him to be contrary like always. To her surprise, he sits up after a moment of silence and gets out of the bed. He gathers his clothes and she watches him with suspicion the entire time, again waiting for him to deliver a punch line. Cuddy chews her bottom lip while he dresses without a word. She's confused as to whether she's glad he's doing as he's told for once or if she’d prefer something familiar like his contrary nature to bite out at her. She can't see his face. She half wishes she could. Maybe if she could read his expression, make sense of something… 

She clasps her dressing gown tighter up around her neck and keeps her eyes averted as he starts heading for the door. But then she turns quickly. "House," she begins.
He stops. She waits for him to acknowledge her with a glance or a reply but when neither happens after a suffocating pause, she continues, "Why did you even come here?"
At last, he throws a look towards her. "Doesn't matter," he replies.
His response makes her feel more nervous than relieved. She should be thankful he's saying that it doesn't matter. It means she doesn't have to explain anything further to him. Except House very rarely lets issues slide. He never says something doesn't matter unless there's a reason. Cuddy decides then and there that she doesn't want to know what the reason is, just like she doesn't want to discuss this, just like she doesn't want to talk about what Lucas does and doesn’t give her.
"No," she agrees quietly. "I guess it doesn't."
House trades another glance with her before he steps out into the hall. She listens to his retreating footfalls, followed by the front door being opened and then closed. She tightens her arms around her middle and becomes aware of all the places on her body that she'd felt him earlier in the night. The lingering ache between her legs that she always gets after sex, and dried sweat under her breasts and down her back. She's almost certain that every kiss, suck and lick House had placed on her skin can be seen. On her nipples, her stomach, her neck, between her thighs.
Lucas, she thinks. Lucas will know. He'll be able to tell. He can discern anything from the most unassuming of looks. Guilt floods through her veins and fills her chest like a dam that's burst and she rips her robe off, disgusted at herself and furious at House, and absolutely at a loss for what to do. Her skin is crawling with guilt, as though it's oozing from every pore. She makes a beeline for the shower and starts scrubbing herself the moment she steps under the spray, scrubbing and scrubbing until her skin is pink and raw and every hint of House is erased from her body. She tries her hardest not to think about him, either. Or Lucas.
The harder she tries, however, the harder it is to block them out. She sees them both so vividly in her mind. Lucas' face. House's hands on her body. Lucas' voice. House deep inside her, the way she'd never wanted to let him go. Lucas' scent. That manly, musky scent of his that's become part of the scent in her house and on her clothes and all around her. The way House had kissed her, how powerless she'd felt, how much she craved him. How Lucas makes love to her, passionate and skilled and with all the tricks that get her off. The way House had made love to her and how alive she'd felt for the first time in as long as she could remember.
She shuts the shower off and the bathroom plunges into silence. Steam curls around her while she stands motionless, eyes closed, stomach churning with guilt uglier than sin. She loves Lucas. Maybe not as much as he loves her, but she does love him. She's happy with him. As happy as she'll ever get, anyway. It doesn't matter if he doesn't give her what she needs; at least she's no longer lonely. Though, she probably will be soon, again, because she's an idiot, a fucking idiot who always manages to screw up every relationship she's ever had.
Her skin prickles as a waft of cool air touches her skin. She steps out of the shower and grabs the towel, and she rubs herself down furiously. Just as she throws her robe back on and opens the bathroom door, she hears the front door close. She freezes. She hears footsteps in the hallway and watches Lucas enter the bedroom, rubbing a palm against his eye with a wide yawn.
"Oh," he says when he notices her. "Hey."
Cuddy manages a smile, one she hopes looks genuine. "Hi."
"Strange time to shower."
"Oh, I…" Cuddy turns the light off. She approaches Lucas with a fumbling wave of her hands. "I couldn't sleep. I thought maybe a shower might relax me."
He gives her a boyish smile and she tries not to stiffen as his hands reach for her and pull her to him. "Maybe I can help with that," he murmurs, his lips brushing over hers.
Cuddy swallows. With all her might, she shoves every ounce of guilt bubbling away inside her as far down as possible. She smiles back at him and drapes her arms around his shoulders, feeling his hands slide down over her ass. "Maybe you could," she agrees.


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