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They wake her when they come back, failing to keep their bickering quiet enough not to be heard from the living room, then setting off a small explosion of noise in the bathroom before finally managing to more or less shush themselves. By the time they make their way to their bedroom, she’s almost on the edge of sleep again.
The bed shifts. One of House’s sneaky hands crawls its way beneath her sleep shirt. His breath, when he whispers into her ear, smells like mint — small mercies. "You asleep?"
She manages to force out some noise that's half a hum and half a grunt of annoyance. He answers with a snicker. There's some shuffling behind her and muffled whispering — Cmere and Give me a sec and Wilson and House — and it's enough for her to decide that if they're not gonna let her fall asleep in peace, they could at least make themselves useful. She can satisfy herself on her own when they're out on their little boy-nights, but if they're back while she can still ask for this… well. She's never said no to such an opportunity.
She stretches her legs and then pulls one of them up. Her shirt hikes up as planned. Their eyes on her are almost a physical weight after that.
House gives in first because he's predictable like that. He drags a finger across her panties. The fabric is still tacky and slightly cold and his touch is so gentle, a tease; she shivers.
"Someone's been playing with her wittle fingies before bed," he murmurs but she heard him swallow before he opened his mouth. She grins into her pillow and opens her legs a bit wider, as far as she has the energy to like this—warm and already drifting from her first quick orgasm.
"You're late," she snarks. Jim's laugh is distant, drifting from somewhere seemingly far away. House's finger presses against her hole through the fabric. She shivers again. Her heart skips a beat. She's suddenly so aware of how… empty she is.
She reaches back for House — he's close and he's teasing — and he grabs her hand. She squeezes back.
"Wanna do the honors?" he asks someone — not her — he asks Jim.
"Huh?"
She huffs again and contemplates throwing her pillow at the man, but that's so much effort and, anyway, House squeezes her hand again and says, the smirk so fucking blatant in his voice, that she wants someone to fuck her. It's true. She does. That's the whole point of this. It's obvious.
She coaxes her tired brain into moving a hand down to her hips and pulling off her underwear, but it's all clumsy and useless and — House takes them off for her. He pushes at her thighs so her legs spread again, and—ah. That familiar wetness, the ache. The pulse of need. The emptiness. The anticipation thrumming under her skin.
She shoves her useless hand under herself and rubs a few sloppy circles against her clit to quell the want, before her muscles tire and she sinks further against the bed. House is dragging his fingers against her thigh and it's so nice. He's kissing her shoulder. He's whispering all kinds of nonsense in Jim's direction.
"See? She wants it so bad. Wants your dick inside her wet wittle cunny…"
"House —"
"What? Have you regained your virginity overnight?"
"She's half asleep for fuck's sake —"
"Half being the operative word here. Not that I think she'd mind if you had a little fun if she was full asleep… Thoughts, Cuddy?"
Lisa swings her free leg and hits someone — Jim by the sound of it — before resettling. She grinds down against her fingers. Her arm is all static-y from lying on it, but she ignores it, even though the sensation is not all that pleasant; her arm is where she wants it to be, 'til the two idiots she decided to stick with get on with it.
House snorts. "Isn't that what kids these days call… enthusiastic consent?"
Jim moves closer from the lower edge of the bed. His knee touches the inside of hers, but he keeps his hands to himself. Boredom swells, she's getting bored — of this, of drawing it out, of waiting; she has half a mind to grab that vibrator she keeps in the drawer and finish herself off on her own again — but if there is one thing she loathes more than going to sleep without release, it's moving.
"What about you?" Jim asks above her. His hand falls to her leg. She wishes he would just give in already.
"Not in the mood," House says neutrally.
"What?"
"Get on with it, Wilson," he replies, "You know I like to watch."
There's fabric moving and the sound of a zipper being undone and then a wet sound of spit no doubt hitting House's palm and then — because it's House and House is an annoying asshole — an over-exaggerated moan that grates on her ears.
"Need me to guide it in?" House jeers and finally, finally it works: a second later, the tip of Jim's perfect cock is against her pulsing cunt and then he's inside her and filling her up and falling to his hands and knees and keening into her ear. She bites her lip until it hurts, until she feels a bit more awake, until the sparks spreading all over her body with every thrust stop pulling her deeper into the dizzy, hazy veil of unconscious, surrendered pleasure.
"That's a good boy," House calls from the side. "Look how much she's liking it. Look how good your pretty cock is, Wilson."
If the hour were any later, if the time wasn't creeping past midnight, maybe Lisa would be able to appreciate the strain in his voice, the coalescing image in her mind's eye of him jerking off to the sight of her while Jim fucks her; but like this, it's much too late for her to care. There's only her heartbeat that pulses between her legs, the drag of her clit against the ridges of her fingers, and Jim's cock hitting all the right spots inside her. She feels so full. So ready to explode, to be pulled under the weight of it all. So overwhelmed. So grateful they got around to this tonight.
"She's … ling … sleep." House's voice drifts towards her. She tries to catch it. Tries to open her mouth and say she's still awake. Wants to tell him off for lying. But she's so close. And all of her feels like a live wire. And only when House squeezes her hand does she realize her grip has slackened.
"… your back into it… ake her up…"
Jim speeds up. The bed shakes under her. She shakes under Jim. Then freezes. Seizes up. Comes with a long choked off groan that leaves her trembling.
Jim's hand is petting her hip. Her arm is numb. She's drooled on the pillow. She's lying face-first in her spit. But she feels so good. And so nice. And so sleepy. And so —
…startled when something — someone — pulls her backwards and jerks her awake, just as something warm and thick fills her up.
"Careful there, Wilson," someone says — House says — behind her, with amusement. "She's not a fleshlight for you to jerk around. She's a person."
Lisa presses her forehead against the mattress and finds House's hand again. It's an awkward angle, with her hips half lifted off the bed and Jim half bowed over her back, his shaky hands gripping her sides, his softening dick still inside her.
Though, she doesn't really mind the dick part — but she does wish they could maneuver into a more comfortable position. She tries to shimmy lower so Jim could spoon her, but he slips out as soon as she moves. She tightens her hole as he leaves her and shivers at the sensation. With a deep breath, she settles again. Any other time, she'd make House finger her until she's oversensitive but she's not in the mood to fake an argument with him right now.
Jim moves away from her and she almost wants to start a real argument with him about enjoying the moment and the plausibility of falling asleep without a fucking post-coital shower when she manages to decipher his tone in the fast, pointed whispering coming from the other side of the room.
"It's fine," House drawls. "You can ask her tomorrow. Come to bed."
"I can't come to bed, House, I —"
"You had sex with your girlfriend. For fuck's sake, Wilson, get a grip —"
"I can't be here right now. I — I need to —"
"You need to go to sleep."
"I can't sleep right now. I can't — after this —"
"After sex? Weird, heard it's great for insomnia."
"House, please — I don't feel up for jokes right now —"
"Augh. Fine! You spoil sport! We can ask her now."
House tumbles across the room and then Lisa can feel the thump of him dropping to sit by the bed next to her head. He pokes her cheek. She opens one eye and glares at him to the best of her abilities. "What do you want?"
"Wilson left a gift for you in your sacred temple."
It's the proof of her exhaustion that it makes her snort. "What do you want?"
House leans closer. The finger that poked her face starts trailing circles across her palm resting on the pillow. "Ask me if he liked it?"
She almost asks him what, which part, what exactly was there not to like, but their little back and forth was clear enough that she doesn't really need him to explain. Between the two of them, House still knows Jim better than she does. House knows what he needs.
"Did he like it?"
House shoots her a quick grin and then leans over to presumably meet Jim's eyes. "She's asking if you liked it."
There's a very, very, very long pause. For a second, Lisa thinks she's fallen asleep and missed the answer but then: "N-No." And then, a second after, "She was asleep, House! Of course I didn't—"
She looks at House then rolls her eyes pointedly. He barks a laugh.
"She literally just rolled her eyes at you!" he proclaims loudly. Lisa can hear him shuffling across the room before letting himself fall on the bed. "See? It's fiiiiiine. Now can we get on with the show? There are more important things we should be doing."
House pats the empty spot between her and himself.
Jim sighs. "Let me guess? You?" After only a brief hesitation, he finally crawls back up the bed too.
"You'd think, huh?" There's something so warm in House's voice. It's unexpected. It makes her ache in a wholly different sort of way. Inexplicably, she reaches back for something — for purchase. It's Jim who catches her this time. She moves her thumb against his knuckles and feels the bed dip further when he relaxes.
"Nope!" House crows. "Wrong answer! You lose! Better luck next time!"
"What's the correct answer?" Jim asks, wearily.
A moment, and then, "Sleeping, duh."
Jim is silent for a second — and Lisa can, for once, sympathize with his surprise. She feels him settle closer to her. She can hear the soft clearing of his voice, and then that voice asking, "Sleeping?"
"Yes. Sleeping," House answers as if this is a normal occurrence. As if he is the one who has to corral his two raucous partners into bed every night. "We should go to sleep."
"Who are you," Jim whispers, "and what have you done with House?"
The bed squeaks softly with House's movement; Lisa makes a mental note to push the buying of a new mattress further up on their list of priorities. Jim moves too and she's forced to readjust as well, lest she fall off the edge. When they're settled though, House clears his throat pointedly.
"I can't fuck you if I'm tired," he tells Jim. Lisa feels her mouth curve into a smile. The rumble of Jim's quiet laugh flutters against her back.
"You fuck me? What's this — the Opposite Day?"
"Yes, I, Gregory House, intend to fuck you, James Wilson," House intones. To Lisa's faraway ears, it almost sounds like a vow. And then her head is full of tuxedos and rings and flower arrangements and —
"Go to sleep, Wilson — you're breakfast."
"That's not as sexy as you think it is."
"I'm not trying to be sexy — I'm trying to let you know that I'll eat you for breakfast," House replies. "Well… Tiny-you. Not you -you. Nom, nom…"
It's clear to her that sleep is pulling at him too; he's slower than usual. Lazier. Leaving all sorts of lingering silences between sentences that are mostly filled with Jim's incredulous, breathy laughter.
"Fuck, House… Go to bed," Jim wheezes.
"See?" House mutters. "You agree we should be going to bed."
"You can't sleep if you're talking."
Lisa pats the closest part of Jim she's able to reach — a patch of skin on his… hip? — and snickers softly. "You're underestimating his abilities."