Fandom: House MD
Challenge/Prompt: 7snogs, #2. Jealousy
Summary: House/Cuddy after 2X17 "All In". Drunk!Cuddy. Stoned(ish)!House.
Author’s Notes: I aim to write an "All In" thing for all kinds of pairings, due to my formalwear fetish. Just another snapshot thing, because I didn't feel plotful.
When Jimmy’s run out of money to bet with, and decides he’s going to sleep on the couch in his office because he’s too drunk to get himself home safely, House takes that as a sign that he ought to go home too. But halfway there he gets another idea, changes the direction of his bike, and brings it roaring outside Cuddy’s (far too nice) house. The lights are on. She’s waiting for him. Or maybe she isn’t. A smile graces his lips anyway.
She’s still in that blue dress when she answers the door, her dark hair curling around her shoulders. She’s abandoned the heels though, and she looks a little unsteady. House wonders vaguely just how many spritzers she drank, and then reflects that he can’t remember how much Vicodin and caffeine he’s ingested over the last few hours anyway, so he’s in no position to judge.
“Going to let me in?” he asks. She considers him with her head on one side.
“You called my breasts lopsided,” Cuddy informs him. If he didn’t know her better he’d swear she was sulking. As it is, even when practically out of her head on alcohol, Lisa Cuddy Does Not Sulk. It’s a thing. House waves his hand vaguely.
“I’ve called your breasts lots of things,” he points out. “You’re going to hold this one against me?”
She gives him a Look. Sighing, House bends a little so he’s face to face with her chest, pushed up in that midnight blue dress and looking incredibly irresistible. He fights down the urge to leer.
“Now, girls,” he says in as placating a fashion he can manage while stoned on relief and God knows what else, while Cuddy makes a sound that’s a cross between a snort of amusement and disgust, “We’ve been good friends these last couple of years, so what do you say? Am I forgiven?”
Curiously enough, her breasts remain silent. House straightens up and watches Cuddy’s hand twitch like she’s considering slapping him. Instead, she steps back and allows him to walk in. He hasn’t been back here since he was bouncing on her bed and investigating her thongs with a little too much relish. It hasn’t changed at all.
“That silver cane is just *tacky*, by the way,” she says, as the two of them walk into her living room. Cuddy falls back into the sofa and House sits down beside her. “Where did you get it?”
“I’ve got this friend, he’s a pimp…” House murmurs vaguely, leaning back and closing his eyes because the world is going a little bit fuzzy and he’s tired as hell.
“Any reason I’m appreciating your shining company?” Cuddy enquires, shifting so that she can look at him.
“I owed your funbags an apology,” House mutters, trying to pull all his thoughts back together. There’s a pause. “Any particular reason you did everything in your power to get me off the case tonight?”
“Ah,” Cuddy says, like she’s just worked out that he’s come around to have a go at her. “You could have killed Ian.”
“But I didn’t.”
“But you could have. I’ve seen you do this too many times-”
“Had this conversation with Wilson already,” House informs her shortly, opening his eyes again. “It was boring enough to sit through the first time.”
Cuddy shakes her head in an incredulous fashion, her dark hair falling into her eyes.
“Were you just jealous of the way I was looking at Cameron?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes at her. “’Cause I can *totally* make up the leering time tomorrow, if you like.”
“Oddly enough, no, I’m not jealous of Cameron,” Cuddy tells him loftily, and then pauses. “Besides, I saw where you were staring all poker game.”
He lets his eyes stray back to her cleavage.
“Hmmm. No, I think you’re still jealous of little miss Cameron and that lovely red dress.”
“You really should know me better than you do,” Cuddy informs him with an edge of a laugh in her voice.
“I know you well enough,” he replies, giving her a highly significant look and waiting for her to blush. But she’s not like Cameron or Wilson or Chase and she doesn’t colour. Instead she returns his gaze, *daring* him to do something.
His hand skims up her thigh, pushing the blue silk out of the way, feeling pantyhose give way to warm, warm skin. He slides his hand up higher, fingers finding the lacy edge of her thong, and how utterly wet she is.
“Told you so,” House tells her, shrugging, but he doesn’t move his hand. Cuddy winks at him and her face breaks into a grin of the kind she doesn’t normally give around him.
“I’m very drunk,” she replies, like it’s an excuse. Which it isn’t. She’s had a thing for him since he came to work for her. And he… well, he won’t ever admit what he thinks about her.
She shivers and moves her hips against his hand. He pulls away and a hiss of frustration slips between her teeth. He gives her a winning smile.
“I hate you,” she mutters, leaning back and closing her own eyes. House pauses before leaning in to kiss her, because he’s pretty much out of it with exhaustion and narcotics, and she did look *really good* tonight.
“Admit it,” he whispers against her mouth, “You were jealous of Cameron. Just a little.”
“Oh no,” she whispers back, “I knew you’d be here tonight for me.”
“I left the lights on, didn’t I?”