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When Cuddy steps back from kissing House, fingertips still lingering on his throat, she’s not sure what reaction she’s expecting from Wilson.
Confusion, maybe- she hadn’t had the chance to tell him about the broken engagement yet, and it was new enough that some of Lucas’s socks were still loose in her drawer. Even Wilson had put two and two together about her and House missing the same day of work, there were several steps between that point and this one he’d need to make sense of where they were. Perhaps there would be more disbelief, more of that narrow-eyed scepticism from when they’d first stepped into his office. Evidence of his enduring belief that House is more likely to pull off an elaborate prank than actually attempt a real relationship; a somewhat valid belief, considering her and House’s track record with one another.
However, if any of those thoughts are in Wilson’s head, not a trace of them have made it to his expression. Instead, he seems jarringly neutral. Borderline indifferent, staring silently across the space that divides his desk and their outlines in his doorway as if nothing of any importance has occurred. Still, but not relaxed- while his body language seems placid, there’s something alive in his eyes, rippling in concentric circles at the perimeters of his expanded pupils. As if the confirmation that she and House are together has dropped like a rock into his consciousness, the only sign that the news has disrupted his universe. A dissonant note that throws his nonchalant exterior sharply off-key.
There’s another beat until Wilson speaks. Under her fingers, Cuddy can feel House’s throat move, feel him drawing in a breath to power some comment that will break the hanging quiet; but instead, Wilson gets there first.
“Okay.” Wilson says. And his tone sounds how he looks, utterly unperturbed. But once again, his gaze gives him away. The way it flickers between her and House is unmistakably his poker face; the way he examines his hand, tracks the bluffs and folds around the table ahead of a play.
“Okay?” House repeats, before Cuddy can find an appropriate way to respond to that level of non-response, or whatever it is that lurks beneath its surface.
Wilson doubles down with a shrug, spreading his palms in an exaggerated performance of apathy. “Okay, you’re together. I believe you- you can go to your meeting with HR now.”
That meeting, in fact, wasn’t for another half an hour. Cuddy had just told House it was earlier to make sure that when he showed up late, he would be on time. That gives her enough room to chase down whatever was behind Wilson’s façade, to prevent it from slipping away into their collective graveyard of unsaid words and weathering cracks in the headstones there. “That’s it?” she asks, letting go of House’s neck to place her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised as she begins the interrogation. “I’m not expecting you to congratulate us, but I would have thought you’d have a little more to say than just “okay” when you found out.”
“What is there to say? You’re together now.” Wilson replies, and there’s definitely an edge to it this time- although an edge of what, Cuddy still can’t determine. “You and House are going to date, and you’re going to keep supervising him, and everything will be fine. You’ve convinced me- I’m sure you’ll do a fine job of convincing the HR department as well.”
Sarcasm. That’s what it was. Less heavy handed than when House delivers it, but it’s there all the same. Flinty, steel-capped syllables, sharp and clipped. The impact has House stiffening beside her, straightening to his full height from his usual slouch with defensiveness- Cuddy can feel without having to look at him. There’s tension in Wilson’s jaw, too. A hardness to his stillness, like he’s trying to make his body into a shell to contain his thoughts.
“We’ve worked together for years- we'd already banged once, and we’ve been two steps away from banging each other the entire time since then.” House objects, and that’s certainly not how Cuddy would have phrased it; but she feels obliged to agree, considering Wilson’s strange bout of protest against the concept of them dating. “Seems like it’s been working out fine so far. All we did was make it official.”
“Oh, absolutely- no issues whatsoever.” Wilson comments mildly, tilting his head to look up at House’s glowering form. Deceptively casual, but his eyes narrow just slightly with a touch of derision. “Except for the fact that you both think you need to be in charge all the time, and you don’t know when to give in, and she always gives in to you- even when she knows you need to be handled. I know this has never posed a problem for either of you before, professionally or personally.”
Cuddy bites her lip, lacking a counter for Wilson’s rhetoric; House seems equally speechless, faltering in the pause without any of his usual comebacks. Wilson continues smoothly, with more faux detachment, as if he couldn’t be less invested the topic. “But then again, what would I know?” He muses idly, “I’m just the person who you both tell all of your secrets to, including how you feel about each other. Which is why you came in here to let me know, personally, that you’re together- so I would give you my approval and tell you that I think this is a great idea, like you do with everything. So here I am, doing that.”
Wilson finishes in a showy flourish, gesturing toward them, mock conceding, with a single loose wrist. As Cuddy glances towards House, his teeth are gritted, knuckles tight around the handle of his cane. “So, what- you think we’ll break up if we don’t have your blessing?” He fires back, and Wilson raises an eyebrow, clasping his hands in front of him on his desk. Although he probably doesn’t intend it, Cuddy finds the pose distinctly villainous- it gives her the feeling that she and House have wandered right into his lair, enmeshing themselves further into a trap the more they try to talk their way out.
“You have my blessing.” Wilson responds, blatantly disingenuous. “Which is great for you. Because if you didn’t think I thought it was a good idea, you’d start performatively overcompensating for it to show me how great of a couple you are. Which would make things way worse, because of the issues, which do not exist, that I already outlined; and then, instead of trying to work on those issues- because there aren’t any- you would either try to get me to fix it, or you’d just break up, so I would have to fix it anyway.”
Cuddy opens her mouth to contradict him, but Wilson cuts her off. “Obviously, that’s not the case. If that were true, you would do something crazy, like come into my office and make out in front of me so I can see how happy and in love you are.” He imparts, “But you must have nothing to prove, considering I’ve been more passionate with my great aunt than you were in your little display.”
‘We weren’t-“ Cuddy starts, but it’s difficult to find a place for it to go. As much as she’d like to deny it, she had gotten a tiny thrill from knowing Wilson was watching her and House kiss. A lingering symptom of her the crush on him she’d been nursing for the past decade or so; but it was a harmless crush, one that she shared with practically every other woman at the hospital.
Perhaps it was a little satisfying to know that the crush had been mutual, and for Wilson to know that House had successfully pursued the lead that he'd never picked up. That could have been the reason House had also reacted to Wilson watching them- been a bit handsier with her before she rebuffed him initially, kissed her a touch harder than he would have usually when she relented.
At the same time, it had felt wrong to do it- House pulled back like he'd been burned when it happened, and Cuddy had done the same. Now, Cuddy still feels like she’s been burnt, as if Wilson’s eyes are searing holes through the two of them as he patiently waits for a reply.
The feeling of doing something wrong hadn’t detracted from the way her heart had sped up, or how good it had felt. If anything, it was partially the cause. Maybe, even if she hadn’t realised it, she had come here to show off for Wilson- showing off for Wilson was one of House’s favourite pastimes, and Wilson had always been their voice of reason independently. Now that she and House came with collective terms, a we, an us, it seemed as if, on some level they’d expected the status quo to continue.
To her right, House is quiet. Concerningly quiet. Like when Rachel stops babbling to herself in the next room, and Cuddy walks in to find her painting a nail-polish mural on the wall. When she looks at House, he’s still staring Wilson down- working something over in his head, flexing and unflexing his hand on the hook of his cane. “What would we have to do to convince you that we’re going to work out?” He says at last, and Wilson sighs, leaning back in his chair as he folds both of his bare forearms across his chest.
“So, we’re cutting out the middleman, are we?” Wilson asks- although ostensibly, it’s a question for House, it’s Cuddy that his eyes are directed towards, dark and simmering. “Or rather, bringing the middleman in early. I suppose it makes sense- if you were to have any issues, you’d want to make them my problem now, before they have a chance to take root. If I’m wrong, you can go to HR without anything to worry about, and if I’m right, you’ll have me to help work them out.”
“You are wrong,” Cuddy protests, but even she doesn’t believe it. Wilson had been right. The nagging doubt really is sticking to her now, and it’ll cling to the back of her mind for the entire meeting if she can’t shake it. She and House will share the same shadow whether they like it or not, a ghost in the room. Wilson’s approval hanging over them. His critical gaze, haunting them well beyond the doorstep of his office.
“Really?” As much as she hates it, Wilson’s goading tone makes goosebumps rise at the back of Cuddy’s neck. The dominating, know-it-all lilt, borderline cocky; it makes her feel corralled, like she and House have finally unspooled enough rope to hang themselves with. “In which case, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble proving that.”
Another silence captures the air in the room- House fiddling with his cane, Cuddy speechless, and Wilson just surveying the pair of them, up and down. Dissecting them, drawing his own conclusions with a nod. “House, lock the door, would you? Cuddy-” He sweeps his laptop to the side, clearing a spot on the edge of the desk across the other side of his piles of notes before tapping the empty wood, “-take a seat.”
In lieu of anything to rebut him, Cuddy heeds the instruction- with a touch more dignity than House, who fiddles shakily with the lock, notably out of his step with his usually destructively confident self. She slots herself into the space with a glance over her shoulder, catching sight of Wilson, still observing her, steady and challenging. When she turns back to House, his stare is still hot on her vertebrae. Although she can’t see it, he must gesture for House, who comes to stand at the threshold of her knees; only just grazing the edge of her skirt as Cuddy squeezes her thighs together with an odd sense of propriety.
“What now?” House demands. All bravado, lit up with defiance. Albeit, there’s clear apprehension in his free hand, hovering uncertainly by her hemline. Cuddy wonders how Wilson must look right now- how she must look, fingers squeezing the edge of the desk to disguise the restless energy that threatens to overtake her. While she’s doubtful of what Wilson’s direction to lock his door entails for his test of their relationship, she’s glad for it. She can’t imagine what the three of them would look like together if anyone walked in on them. What explanation she could find for why she and House have let Wilson lead them to this point, or why they would be compelled to follow him beyond it.
If Cuddy had to describe Wilson to a stranger, “intimidating” is probably the last word that would come to mind. He’s always been gentle to a fault; although usually, it’s himself who bears the brunt of the fallout of his own kindness. But now, his words feel weighty, soft but commanding, although delivered with his usual subdued attitude. “I think it’s obvious- keep doing what you were.”
“You don’t mean…” Cuddy begins, twisting to look back towards him as her voice trails off. Wilson’s arms remain folded. God help her, the view of the wiry muscles that snake beneath his rolled sleeves still does something to her, despite her newly-minted boyfriend less than an inch away. There’s a challenging set to his jaw, a dare in the way he holds himself; one that makes her feel compelled to push back against him. That makes her feel as though as absurd as his suggestion is, the only way to deny Wilson is to obey him. That to call it off and walk out would be slinking away in defeat, leaving the itchy sensation of needing to prove him wrong thoroughly unscratched.
“Why not? It’s the new part of your relationship- the part where any problems are most likely to emerge.” Wilson says with a shrug, as if there’s nothing weird about the suggestion at all. “Besides, you were perfectly happy to give me a demonstration when you came in here. You’re the ones who wanted to give me a show- you might as well see it through.”
The feeling flares again, and once Cuddy faces House, she can see it in his eyes as well. The two of them have always been competitive, generally and with one another; as House hooks his cane over the edge of the desk, Cuddy parts her legs to allow him to step closer, suppressing a shiver as his hands settle on either side of her waist. Sick as this particular game of chicken may be, it’s not one that she’s willing to lose. Not when Wilson’s expectant regard is still puncturing into her like a threaded needle; weaving the three of them into a warped web, another one of the twisted games that have intertwined herself, House, and Wilson.
Behind Cuddy, there’s a rustling sound as Wilson stands, leaning in for a better look- near enough that his breath is tactile against her hair, that she can sense the heat radiating from his body. “Go on,” he murmurs, low and goading. “Show me how good you are for each other.”
As much as Cuddy has been anticipating House’s lips on her own, things begin… Awkwardly. House leans in too far and she surges up too quickly, mismatched and mistimed with his tongue against her teeth. It’s clumsy in a way that seems almost teenage, at complete odds with how in sync their bodies had been throughout rounds one to four the day prior. It’s as though Wilson’s presence, his role as their evaluator, has made them completely forget how to be around one another. Wilson lays bare the thorny points where she and House butt heads again and again as he clicks his tongue sardonically, tsking at the fumbling way they go at one another with audible disparagement.
“Clearly, you two don’t need my help. This is going swimmingly.” Wilson ridicules- Cuddy’s protest turns into a gasp when she feels his hand trace over her hair, carefully sweeping it away from her neck to let it trail down her back. “House, you have to start slower. Warm her up a little. Try here first.”
Where Cuddy had gasped, House outright hisses when Wilson touches him. With good reason, too. While Wilson had been gentle, almost professional with Cuddy as he brushed her hair aside, he tugs roughly at House’s crown to pull him to the collar of her shirt; keeps his hand fisted there as House glares up at him with venomous indignance. Even with all of his outrage at being corrected, House complies nonetheless, pressing his lips to Cuddy’s throat with a gentleness that seems almost mockingly theatrical. A barely-there brush that has Cuddy canting her head loosely, responding to the lightness of it with a wordless request for him to carry on.
“See? She likes it. Don’t you, Cuddy?” Wilson prompts, and Cuddy squeezes the edge of the desk so firmly her knuckles must be devoid of blood and colour- propelled by a squeamish, aroused clench in her chest at having her desire so clinically called out. “Tell him. House needs direction. You have to make him give you what you want, or he’ll never listen to you.”
It’s true- the same point Cuddy’s failed at time and time again when it comes to getting House to behave himself. Wilson’s always been House’s keeper, the firm hand to her soft touch. As daunting as the idea of taking House’s reigns is to her, the urge to convince Wilson that she can handle him ignites her.
“More,” she tells House, and feels his breath get harsh against her pulse point, feels his lips tremble as he places another achingly delicate kiss there. “Keep doing that- it’s good.”
Wilson’s palm leaves House’s hair, then. Being himself, House immediately takes the opportunity to act out, drawing his tongue from the edge of her neckline to just beneath her jaw with disobedient impatience; but this time, it’s Cuddy that catches him, roughly grabbing his chin in her fingers to oblige him to look at her. “I said keep going,” she instructs acutely.
House's pupils blow, glassy and liquid. Shakily, he returns his lips to their place, mouthing deferentially at Cuddy’s neck as she wraps her hand around his nape. Making sure to threateningly ghost her sharp nails along his skin as she does it. “Well done,” Wilson purrs, and the praise goes straight to Cuddy’s lower abdomen, her thighs tensing around House’s hips automatically at the words. “House responds well to structure- punishment and reward. You can let him kiss you once he’s shown you he can behave himself.”
House does respond well. Keeps his tongue mostly to himself, between gentle, open-mouthed presses of his lips along the line of Cuddy’s throat that have her digging her nails into his neck. Both of them are panting when House next lifts his head, and the only words he manages to get out are a quiet, pleading “Can I-” before Cuddy pulls him back in for a kiss; yanking him with such force that they almost topple back into Wilson behind them.
“Slower,” Wilson reprimands, and she and House acquiesce, as difficult as it is when they’re so riled up. Whereas earlier, they’d been out of sync, they move like honey together under Wilson’s command; although the pressure of his touch has left their skin, Cuddy still feels her motions being guided by him, instinctively seeking the glow of his approval in every measured graze of her lips tracing House’s. Listening to the way Wilson sighs when she teases House, licking over his lower lip and into his mouth just to let Wilson hear how it makes the other man whimper. House seems just as determined to show Wilson how well he can do what he’s told, holding his hands tense at her either side of Cuddy’s hips. Straining against his obvious impulse to tighten down, to grip her hard enough to bruise.
Inevitably, House breaks first, drawing Cuddy closer in an attempt to grind up into her; but right away, Wilson cuts him off with a pointed “No.” That’s all it takes for House to spring back, for Cuddy to drop her hands to her thighs. For a moment, she’s worried they’ve gone too far, broken the spell. But that thought couldn’t be further from reality- because then, Wilson’s fingertips are at her top button. In spite of his desk giving her a boost, his face is still well above hers when she looks up at it. Expression neutrally inquiring, but with his cheekbones flushed, a shade darker than when she’d last seen him.
“May I?” Wilson questions, and it’s clear what he intends. House sucks in a deep breath, a sound that’s both wounded and carnal; and as wrong as it is, that makes Cuddy certain of how she wants to answer. When she gives a silent nod, Wilson closes in, working unhurriedly at her top button then moving on to the next.
As Wilson reveals more and more of Cuddy’s chest, she tilts her head back towards House, watching his tongue prod his lower lip at the sight. Once again, Wilson is a perfect gentleman, careful not to touch anything more than her buttons and their fabric frames; but the arbitrary modesty of it all serves an opposite purpose. The clinical way he undresses her, stopping just under the lace at the bottom of her bra to leave her partially exposed, makes it seem so much dirtier. Like he’s not even affected by what’s happening, while Cuddy’s nipples are visibly hard through the material and House is almost drooling in front of them.
There’s a breath on her ear, harsh and dry, that startles Cuddy with the realisation that Wilson’s face is right beside hers. “Let’s try again.” He whispers, loud enough for House to hear. “Cuddy, why don’t you show House where you want his hands?”
This time, when House steps in, Cuddy takes his wrists, guiding his palms to her breasts. Wilson takes up a seat on the other corner of the desk, observing under hanging lashes as she slides her fingers over House’s own to direct him. House repeats the motion once Cuddy lets go and strokes over the half-uncovered cups of her bra, the heel of his hand catching her nipples- his enormous, wild eyes bouncing back and forth from her cleavage to Wilson’s face to gauge his judgement.
“Harder,” Wilson says, a touch raspy. House obliges him by squeezing at Cuddy’s chest; which has her sucking her lower lip into her mouth to hold back a moan at the pressure. “Really, House, I don’t know why you always have to either bulldoze Cuddy or treat her like she’s made of glass. It’s not that difficult to just give her what she needs. Kiss her again.”
Wilson loses it a bit at the end there, cracking with more than just casual, speculative interest. House obeys him with a groan against Cuddy’s mouth, a shuddering reaction to Wilson’s evident desire to see them together. The idea that only Wilson knows what Cuddy needs, that neither she nor House have the capacity to decide what that is, makes her head spin. Makes the blood rush to her brain- makes her push her breasts into House’s palms, arching her back so Wilson can see it too.
“Easy,” Wilson chuckles, shaking his head with a fond sort of condescension at how obvious they’re being. “You’ve got to make him wait for it. I’ll make sure he takes care of you.”
Possessive. That makes it sound as if Cuddy’s pleasure is Wilson’s responsibility. As if House barely exists as anything more than a way for Wilson to get her off. As if House is his responsibility, too, and the other end of his leash lies in Wilson’s hand. But where Cuddy would think House would be upset by that concept, he whines. Drops his hands from her body to the table to hold himself up, prevent himself from touching her without permission. “Please,” he begs, and Cuddy can't determine if it’s meant for her directly; but something about how he says it makes her feel like he knows Wilson has the final say.
“That’s good, House,” Wilson cajoles, but there’s a sweetness to it, a sense of pride in the degradation of it all. “Cuddy, this is the part where you give him a reward.”
Reaching uncertainly upwards to quell the ache in her tits, Cuddy pulls at the top of her bra, slipping it away at each side and revealing her nipples. House drops his head automatically to mouth at them ravenously, sucking wetly when she throws her neck back with a sigh. Her hand hovers above his hair; when she throws a glance towards Wilson for confirmation, he nods at her, the corner of his mouth turning upwards at the way she only follows through with wresting House closer once he gives his assent.
“You like some teeth here, don’t you?” Wilson comments neutrally, and House obeys him without question. Wilson must see Cuddy’s eyes widen with shock when he bites down, just before she clenches her lids shut at the carefully-applied sharpness of House’s incisors- based on how he resumes. “That’s right, I remember you saying that. You see, House, Cuddy’s told me practically everything that turns her on; I’m pretty certain I know things even you haven’t figured out yet.”
Cuddy blushes to her sternum, every tipsy conversation she’d had with Wilson flooding back to her in fragments of half-empty wineglasses and poorly-lit rooms. All of the one-night stands Wilson had received a play-by-play of, a highlight reel of comments she’d spent countless hungover mornings hoping he would forget. Just normal, innocent conversations between two good friends who happened to have a bit of a crush on one another. Nothing she’d ever thought would make its way to House- who once again, doesn’t seem put off by Wilson lording his knowledge of her body over him. His face is flushed too, scorching against her chest while he keeps tonguing and biting at her nipples, starkly overeager in response to Wilson’s assertion that he knows best.
Fuck, she’s wet. Cuddy can feel it when she wriggles on the desk, clinging to her panties and threatening to leave an iridescent streak on the wood beneath her. Without meaning to, she finds herself pushing at the top of House’s head, guiding his mouth from her tits and towards her pussy to soothe the heat gathered there. But when his lips pass the point of her navel, Wilson interrupts again-
“Wait.”
It's enough to freeze Cuddy and House in place. Him in an awkward half-crouch at her feet, gripping the desk to support himself; and her with a claw in his hair, held tight enough that it must hurt. If Wilson makes them stop touching each other again, Cuddy doesn’t know what she’ll do first. Scream, or combust right there on the spot. Storm out of the office, hauling House in tow, paw at him in a supply closet- leave unsatisfied regardless of the outcome with the knowledge that Wilson had been right about them. That he would be disappointed in them.
Instead, all he does is rise to his feet. Rounding the desk to stand beside House, Wilson stares imperceptibly down at Cuddy in a way that makes her feel a maximum of two inches tall.
“You give him what he wants too easily, Cuddy. You always have. But we can work on it.” Wilson tells her, sounding nothing less than entirely composed- at the same time, he knees House roughly in the chest, knocking him to the floor without so much as a glance in his direction. It’s a hard hit, hard enough that House audibly grunts as Cuddy’s connection to his hair is severed; but without her to hold him up, he stays on his knees. Gazing up at Wilson as if he’d take another, and another, and then more than that, if the other man told him to.
“Why don’t you let me show you how to treat him?”
Another one of Wilson’s suggestions. Suggestions that, at this point, feel much more like orders. Wilson waits for Cuddy’s response nonetheless, but it’s clearly pure courtesy; his fingers are on House’s jaw the moment she lowers her head to watch, turning his head to take Cuddy out of his field of vision and dominate his eyeline.
House’s mouth is already open slightly when Wilson squeezes on either side to prompt him to widen it further. “What was it you said when you told me about the time you hooked up with Cuddy in college?” He murmurs, and Cuddy can’t help but notice his breathing is heavier after getting his hands on House like this, getting to see him beneath them.
Brows tilting upwards, House makes an attempt at speaking, only getting as far as “Don’t-“ before Wilson’s hand clenches to abort it. Cuddy’s chest mimics the movement; as confronting as it is to know that the parts of House’s sex life where she had made a cameo weren’t too sacred to be shared with Wilson, it feels good to see his turn at having his secrets come to light after hers have already been disseminated. Furthermore, she wants to know what had been so important that he’d remembered it in the decades since they’d first been together, important enough that it had been filed away in Wilson’s memory as well.
“Tastiest pussy you’ve ever had, right?” Wilson recites, the crudeness of the sentence sticking oddly in his mouth. It’s the kind of crass crack that would fit right between House’s lips, but stretches the syllables of Wilson’s usually painfully polite vocabulary. In a word, it’s gross. Nonetheless, it makes Cuddy shiver. Either from the words themselves, or hearing them come from Wilson; she can’t know if the slow, ravenous way he repeats them is an imitation of House, or if the enthusiasm is all Wilson’s own.
Groaning with humiliation, House tries to shake his head, to free himself from Wilson’s grasp. Wilson does let him go, but only to shove his hand in his face and force House to press his tongue into the space connecting his middle and ring fingers. “Show me.” Wilson growls, the civility of how he’d spoken to Cuddy disappearing in the vicious snarl that takes over his face. Handsome even in his cruelty, his eyes drip venom, all the way down the strong line of his nose and straight into House’s face. “Show me how you’d taste her, and maybe I’ll let you do it again.”
Here, Cuddy’s sure that House will reach his limit. Throw Wilson off, tell him he’s crazy, tell Cuddy she’s crazy too for enabling it. A reverse of their usual positions, where House wants something unbelievable and Wilson’s laying into Cuddy when she considers giving it to him. Normally, House is the most unhinged of them all. Perhaps that’s why, rather than doing any of that, he just tilts his head back and gives in- running the flat of his tongue up between Wilson’s knuckles with a filthy, nakedly submissive moan.
It shouldn’t be hot. The shining trails of House’s spit across Wilson’s fingers, the desperation with which he licks at the other man’s skin. It shouldn’t be hot that Wilson looks so deliberately bored by it, although his other hand twitches by his side with every pass of House’s tongue- and it definitely shouldn’t be hot when Wilson starts criticising House’s performance, castigating him for his greed. You’re going way too fast, it’s not a race. Use less pressure. Are you sure you’ve done this before? Really, House, this is amateurish. The hookers you hire deserve Oscars for convincing you that you know how to give a woman what she wants.
Despite it all, Cuddy’s thighs are crushed together, cramped shut in an instinctive rush to get any pressure against the throb in her cunt. Alive all over, completely unable to unlock her eyes from House’s lips and Wilson’s fingers while he mouths at the inverted V in the middle again and again. He’s sloppy with it, arrhythmic and messy as he treats the webbing that separates Wilson’s fingers like a clit- the enthusiasm with which he tongues the skin there only increasing with every insult Wilson deigns to spit his way. Is it wanting her that has House so needy, Cuddy wonders, or is it the pure feeling of Wilson’s hand dominating his mouth? Is it earning Wilson’s validation that drives him, or is being demeaned enough to get him this worked up on its own?
Would House take cock the same way he eats pussy? Would he still be this thirsty for it? Would a dick down his throat have him as drunk as he is sucking on Wilson’s knuckles? Would he take it as easily as he had when Cuddy had ridden his face, or would he gag, choke for air, panic; then swallow it down as deep as he can fit it anyway? Cuddy wants to find out. Maybe she can find a way to make Wilson think it would be good for her and House to test that, the same way Wilson had made them think that this would be a good idea in the first place.
Apparently, there’s no time for that at present. Not when Wilson’s pulling at House again, dragging him until his cheek skims the tip of Cuddy’s knee. “Christ, House, you’re even more pathetic than I expected- I can’t believe she let you touch her once, let alone a second time.” He hisses. “Cuddy, spread your legs.”
In this position, House absolutely looks pathetic. As much as she knows Wilson’s lying, that House is just as irritatingly good in bed as he is at everything else, it’s a difficult case to make when House is nodding in frantic agreement, nosing at the little bit of Cuddy’s skin that he can get at like a poorly trained dog as she slides her thighs open. “Control yourself.” Wilson barks; although really, it seems like he’s doing it as a reminder to himself just as much as he is for House. His free hand, the one that isn’t in House’s hair, is still clenching and unclenching tensely at his side, and Wilson has to take a long and unsteady breath to recommence.
Seemingly collected, Wilson guides House to press his lips to the inside of Cuddy’s knee, who repeats it at each point of her inner thigh he can reach as he’s directed closer to the centre of her legs. Wilson’s spit-glossed knuckles adorn the back of House’s hair as his palm flexes on his crown- the lustrous hue of their high, glimmering ridges is a stain of how low Wilson’s brought them so far and a promise of how much further he could make them go. That thought has Cuddy panting by the time House’s breath hits the apex of her cunt, only Wilson’s hold and a layer of fabric between his mouth and her.
“Kiss it.” Wilson whispers, once he gets House there.
Cuddy’s biting her lip as House concedes, flattening the high noise caught in her throat at how gentle it comes. House takes his time with acting out the command, kissing deliberate and worshipful over her clit. Burying his nose in lace, letting Cuddy feel the slickness of his mouth against the wetness of her pussy underneath her panties; then Wilson tows his head back, frustratingly just out of grinding distance. “That’s good. Now, what should he say, Cuddy?”
House’s lips are just as shiny as Wilson’s fingers- Cuddy’s cunt must be shiny like that too, where it soaks her underwear. Cuddy’s mouth feels dry at the thought that House could have been able to taste how drenched she is, and how badly she needs to know if she’s as delicious as he remembers.
“Say thank you,” she replies, surprising herself with it, at how blatantly demanding she sounds. It’s like the words are coming from someone else’s lips- and yet, she can’t deny how good they feel in hers.
It seems House and Wilson like her when she’s demanding; although Wilson just raises an eyebrow at her, his fingers dig bluntly everywhere, both into House and the side of his own thigh. House, however, is much more obvious, with his snowballing pupils and the tipsy way his mouth falls open at her tone giving away how worked up it makes him.
“Thank you.” House makes it sound like he’s begging- raw like his tongue is already, like he's just as unquenched as Cuddy feels. “Thank you for letting me kiss your pussy.” He doubles down when Wilson pets at him encouragingly, only relaxing into the touch once he’s certain they’re satisfied with him.
“I would have asked for a “please”, but the outcome is the same.” Wilson purrs conspiratorially to Cuddy, and arousal crawls from pulse point to pulse point when he takes her wrist in his hand and places it on top of his own- their fingers interwoven, creating butterfly-net lattice patterns in House’s hair. “House, do it how I taught you. Let her take it from you.”
Under Wilson’s supervision, House brings his tongue up Cuddy’s clothed pussy, long and slow enough to have her digging her nails into Wilson’s metacarpals. When she tries to push down, to impel House to be rougher or ride his face, Wilson’s hand remains a strong, insistent weight; keeping House and his mouth at the same distance, making her endure the languid speed he’s determined to set. House’s stubble catches on the lace over her lips with a coarse friction, too much and not enough all at once. As it builds, Cuddy finds herself moaning openly- the wet sounds of House eating her out through the barrier of her panties and Wilson’s ragged breathing slipping beneath her punched-out cries as they fill the office around them.
Her vocalisation seems to snap Wilson out of the fog; or push him deeper into it as he slides his hand out from underneath Cuddy’s, taking her face in his palms and ceding a modicum of control over House to her. Making soft nonsense hushing noises, encouraging her to use the other man’s mouth. “God, yes, make him suck it,” Wilson gasps when she angles her wrist to yank House’s head upwards, sinking his philtrum into her bush and shoving her filigree-shaded clit between his lips- tortured, as if the sight of House’s open-mouthed kisses to Cuddy’s cunt are making him forget himself. Like they’re undoing him like they are her, cracking his veneer of impartial authority to let the feral depravity that lines it seep through.
The thick, heavy tent in Wilson’s pants must be unbearable by now. It’s been obvious since House’s lips first met his fingers; his cock straining towards House’s face, it must have been twitching against his thigh, leaking in his boxers as House pressed the tip of his tongue to the underside of his palm. If Wilson’s pent up enough, as pent up as she and House are, maybe he’ll decide House isn’t good enough to taste her even like this- have House sit on his hands and kneel at his feet as he lines himself up with her pussy, fill it in the same way House is fucking his tongue into her hole through the lace. Treat House like he can’t even make his own girlfriend cum, like only Wilson knows how to give her what she deserves-
“Stop.”
“Ah-“ Cuddy objects, before she can really register what Wilson’s saying, Not that she’s any happier once she figures it out. To say nothing of House, who looks genuinely offended when Wilson takes him by his shoulder to wrench his face out of the crux of her thighs.
“What is your problem? I was going to make her-“
House shuts up as soon as Wilson lowers himself to his eye level, swift and menacing. The snatch of House’s usual self, snapped out of his trance by Wilson’s denial doesn’t last long. Not when Wilson takes his tongue in the middle of his thumb and forefinger, tugging it jarringly out of his mouth to lay flat against his drenched, kiss-swollen lower lip.
“You were indulging yourself.” Wilson corrects him through gritted teeth. “Both of you. This is about discipline, not what you want. How can you keep each other in check in the rest of your lives if you can’t do it here?”
Cowed, House clenches his eyes closed, and Wilson lets him free- bringing himself back to his feet so he can return to the side of the desk, he lightly brushes a hand over Cuddy’s clavicle. “Lie back, please. House, get up- you two call for more help than I thought.”
Papers fan in the diaphanous whirls of Cuddy’s hair as she leans herself down onto the desk, her body knocking them loose and unmaking their neat piles. Above her, she sees Wilson, and then House once he can stand. Teetering on opposing sides of her neck and her navel as they circle to their positions in her orbit; House sucking his abused tongue back into his mouth, subdued once more. Wilson, dark eyed and intoxicated with power as he places both hands on the edge of the desk to lean over the pair of them.
“You don’t need me to tell you what comes next, right?”
The Wilson delivers that is outright demeaning- Cuddy loves how House falls over himself to obey him, fumbling at the button of his jeans. His cock is pink and sticky at the head as it bounces out of his zipper, fever hot against the outside of Cuddy’s spit-soaked panties. At first, Wilson observes quietly; but when House goes to line up with Cuddy’s hole, dick gripped in his fist, he intervenes.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
House hesitates, the circle of his fingers flexing at the base of his cock. “I thought you wanted me to-“
“Absolutely not.” Wilson shakes his head. If Cuddy cranes, she can spot the scorn in his expression, the way he’s looking at House as if he’s suggesting something unbelievably ludicrous. “If you did that, you would be having sex in front of me, and that would be insane. This is just a friend helping friends- of course I’m not going to let you fuck Cuddy on my desk.”
The suggestion that she and House are the perverts for being turned on, that they need Wilson’s permission to be intimate with each other, is bad on its own. Worse when Wilson leans forwards, snagging his pointer finger just under the elastic border of Cuddy’s underwear to pry it away from her pussy and expose the sheen of her lips to House. Sparks go off at his touch, even if it’s just at the edge of her pelvis- when she looks down, seeing strings of her own slickness cling between the material and her bush makes her blood fizz in her veins.
“You’re going to fuck these, instead. I got her panties wet for you- now you get to use them to practice for the real thing.”
“That’s-“ Disgusting. Horrible. The hottest thing she’s ever heard. There’s no good way for Cuddy to finish that sentence. In any case, it becomes an embarrassing, muffled squeak when the tip of House’s erection brushes her labia, hardly enough to feel. It’s not something House is meaning to do, an act of absolute instinct. He’s hypnotised, stalled under Wilson’s attention, helpless in the face of it regardless of how humiliating it may be.
“Come on, House. Fuck her panties.” Wilson spits out, and the air feels pendulous with his provocation. It makes Cuddy dizzy that he doesn’t bother to acknowledge her, as if he already knows that she’d say yes if pressed. Like he can tell how much she wants it, like he’s fully aware she’ll take any form of stimulation she can get; like he knows that the fact that it will cost House his pride means so little to her. “You want me to think you know what to do with her- try harder to sell me on it this time.”
Surrender comes in the form of House bowing his head, downright obsequious as he fits his dick underneath the fabric. Slotting cautiously into the interstice that’s been made for him, both fearing and welcoming Wilson’s reprimand in the shy little flickers of his lashes while he looks to the other man for approval. Wilson stays silent, stony-faced, and removes his finger to let the lace snap back down- drawing a startled groan and a genuine yelp from Cuddy and House respectively as the tip of House’s erection is trapped against her clit.
Even with her underwear there, it’s wet enough to be transparent; Wilson must be able to see everything from his position. The full length of House’s cock and the rouged, kiss-swollen folds it glides through with each experimental thrust, Cuddy’s fingers digging into the expensive, polished wood grain in response to House rubbing off between her cunt and her panties.
Torturous. That’s the most accurate descriptor for how it feels. Having House’s dick so close to her hole, but not quite inside, has Cuddy tightening sharply around nothing- papers scattering to the floor around them as she undulates beneath him, half-dressed and thoroughly debauched. By now, her relationship with House is more of a spectacle than a demonstration for Wilson, who’s trawled them mercilessly into this state of degeneracy. Corrupted them with their own desire; leaving them rolling the same boulder up the hill, further from proving they can control themselves without Wilson to do it for them than they were initially.
When Cuddy’s pelvis bucks up and her knees attempt to press back together, to offer her some kind of shield, Wilson curses. “No- Damn it, House, hold her down so I can see.” He demands. Both of House’s palms hook across her inner thighs to push her legs apart. Automatic, without a thought to disobey, revealing Cuddy’s sticky labia and his twitching erection to Wilson’s covetous gaze as he leans in closer with his teeth dug into his lower lip “Look at you two. Dripping all over each other, just from this. You’re a mess. How did you ever think you could do this without me?”
Relentlessly, Wilson drills them. Like he’s angry at them for pursuing each other without his direct approval. It makes the way House grinds on Cuddy seem even more like a punishment. A losing battle, one where they could never convince him that they could manage on their own. Never has the charade been more apparent. That not only are Cuddy and House this powerless, but that Wilson was never doing this for their benefit. That the need to watch them consummate their relationship is a selfish one; that the fascination with which he studies Cuddy’s pussy glossing the shaft of House’s erection is all his own.
For what it’s worth, they’ve proven what was allegedly, their hypothesis. Cuddy is certain she and House won’t be able to touch each other like this without Wilson. Not after becoming so graphically aware of what his presence contributes to them, both individually and as a couple.
Wilson’s spectre had already been lingering in the background of House and Cuddy’s sex life since the moment they’d made things official. Now, they have this. Lightning in a bottle. The dragon they’d be chasing if they tried to forget everything they experienced here and never speak of it again in the aftermath. What Wilson had argued they were already pursuing before he’d talked Cuddy through House making out with her cunt over her underwear, then coerced the other man to hump it under the lace.
“You want to know how it feels, don’t you?”
Cuddy doesn’t expect to speak. It comes out husky, the inside of her throat parched from her cries. It jars Wilson, too- who thus far has been completely fixated on House’s dick slipping in and out from underneath her panties, coming back wetter every time. The gasoline brown hue of his irides fades under dazed black globes, his dilated eyes sparking at the interjection. Meanwhile, House’s teeth are gritted when she looks down at him. Biceps strained beneath his shirt, evidence of where she’d ridden his mouth still opalescent on his lips.
“Tell him, House.”
He needs a moment to get it; but when House eventually raises his head, there’s a familiar squint to the lines under his lashes, a challenging knot in the muscles of his jaw. As cartoonishly stunned as he is by the sensation of Cuddy's pussy against him, he still rises to any opportunity to piss Wilson off once given it.
“Silky,” He moans, sounding just as ruined as she had, just as wrecked as Wilson’s inhale is while House meets his burning stare. “Warm. Drooling whenever it meets my tip. Christ, Wilson, I can’t stop thinking about how tight she is.”
Wilson’s fingers make track marks on the wood beside Cuddy’s own, his hands turning rigid. House rolls his hips exaggeratedly, quicker than any tempo that’s been set for them before now; thrusting up into fabric that tents over the head of his cock and making sure Wilson sees every inch of how far he can stretch it.
“Best pussy I’ve ever fucked, too- not that you would know about that.” He comments, which has Wilson growling; rageful, undisciplined. His façade breaking down, laying bare the greed it conceals.
Jealousy. Hot, liquid, and poisonous. That’s what Wilson had been feeling when she’d first kissed House, what he’s feeling now while he’s watching them go at it- competing tinges of desire and envy etched into his expression. Like he can’t decide which one of them he wants more, but would give up either to see them have one another. It’s an emotion that seems like a stranger to Wilson, the chronic giver. And yet, that’s what had been behind all of this; not the fear that House and Cuddy would tear each other apart, but the fear that they would leave him behind. Not that they wouldn’t be enough for each other, but that they could, and that Wilson would lose his power over him. That’s why he had needed to insert himself- rather a dam for their tide, he’s a net for it to flow through, an interstitial piece and a spectator to their chaos.
Cuddy notices that she’s rocking her hips on the desk, unbidden, sliding her drenched cunt against House’s erection. “You know why I let House fuck me again?” She questions. “Because he grew up and actually asked me for it. You couldn’t do that much. You had to trail us into some convoluted game instead of being an adult about it.”
At that, Wilson flinches. Cuddy grins up at him, victorious, at last refusing to be the one to blink first. Pushing back like he’d told her she couldn’t, working with House to drive him to madness. Using his own avarice and resentment as a weapon. Confronting the paper tiger of his supposed control and unmasking the flagrant, voracious longing that it cloaks.
“You needed this that badly.” She murmurs, watching Wilson’s lips part with agonised carnality; bruising his arched, beautiful cheekbones as he fights with himself, with his desire to have both House and Cuddy and let them have each other. “So desperate to know, even once. You just had to see what we looked like together.”
House’s hips stutter, rutting between Cuddy’s cunt and her panties in incongruous, patchwork grinds. The angle on her clit is perfect, especially when she slides her pussy up against him, putting the pressure exactly where she wants it. Rubbing it just right, enough that if House can keep it up for just a moment longer, if Wilson lets her continue berating him, she’ll finally get to cum-
There’s a noise, clouded somewhere in the hazy background. It takes Cuddy time to realise that it’s Wilson, speaking. “Enough.” He groans, like he’s been slapped in the face, hurt and anguished. “Fuck, enough. House, pull out.”
It’s like an ice bath. Wilson’s objection suspends Cuddy; House’s compliance is immediate. She jumps when her underwear flicks back to cover her, as much as it can when the material is this soaked- the slick sound has Wilson turning away from them, bringing a hand to his face so he can bite down hard on his knuckles.
“But-” House tries pointlessly.
“Get dressed.” Wilson hisses, through his skin and teeth. Can he still taste House’s spit on his fingers? Cuddy thinks, before she can stop herself, subduing a shudder at the idea.
Getting dressed doesn’t take that much, once she and House have righted themselves. Wilson had left them mostly covered- regardless, he keeps his back turned to them as House re-buckles his belt and Cuddy fixes her buttons. Prim about it, giving them privacy, like he hasn’t seen everything they’d uncovered prior to the climax- or lack thereof- of whatever this had been. The lack of orgasm has Cuddy completely off center, robotically following along with smoothing out her blouse, all of the non-compliance dissipating smokily from her exhausted limbs. When she’s finished, Wilson’s looking at his watch with his back still towards the pair of them.
“You’re five minutes away from being late for your meeting.” Wilson tonelessly announces. As he swings to face House and Cuddy, he looks almost calm- if not for the red, raw edges of his lashline, the dullness of his pinprick pupils. “You can go to HR just fine now. I’m convinced- you have my blessing.”
Jesus Christ. Cuddy’s going to have to go to this meeting to talk about her boyfriend and employee smelling like sex and shifting her jittering legs. The boyfriend and employee she just had intercourse with on hospital grounds, despite Wilson’s earlier claim that what had transpired somehow didn’t count. On another employee’s desk, with the other employee as an active, participatory audience. Should she book a separate meeting with them to explain that, or should they just do it now, while House's precum is still stuck to her cunt by the mishandled fabric covering it?
“This is insane.” House opposes, for none of the correct reasons, to Wilson’s sterile this is fine attitude. “I mean, you didn’t even let us finish.”
“It’s not about getting you off.” Wilson denies hastily. “It was to prove a point. Congratulations. You have my blessing. I’m convinced.”
In all honesty, it feels more like a condemnation. A tarnish, a brand on House and Cuddy, as themselves and as a couple.
“I was right.” Wilson continues- and doesn’t abandon the thread when Cuddy opens her mouth to ask how that could possibly be true. “You two can cooperate, but only if I’m there to hold both of you accountable. With me, you have a chain of command.”
This time, Wilson gives her a breath to weigh in. But Cuddy lets it dangle, losing her resistance just as swiftly as she’d lost her defiance. Wilson had always been her and House’s balance, their counterweight; although now, it’s impossible to say if that’s from genuine need or just a product of Wilson’s manipulation. By this point, it hardly seems to matter. The situation can no longer be undone- and Wilson's sway over House, Cuddy, and their relationship feels more prescient and inevitable than ever.
“You can tell HR you can work together without lying. Just don’t tell them what you did to figure that out.” Wilson finishes, and waves towards the door of his office. Outwardly dismissive, shooing Cuddy and House away like he isn’t visibly still hard in his pants. “Go on. You’ve got this.”
For a second, they’re motionless. Cuddy would really like to take House’s hand in her own and squeeze it for comfort, but if she touches him, she’ll probably end up shoving his fingers back between her legs. So instead, she just sighs- House gathers his cane, silently unlocks the door, and holds it open, avoiding eye contact. Defeated, preparing to make a retreat.
“Before you go-“
It’s almost funny, the way she and House swivel back in an instant. Wilson’s breathing is still heavy as he watches them at his desk, the rise and fall of his chest visible from where they stand– his own pyrrhic victory coming back to bite him.
“I think it’s obvious that you two are undertrained. We still have a lot to test.”
House chokes quietly, and Cuddy is incredibly aware of her own nails digging into her palms. Under the milling sounds of monitors and orderlies in the distant corridor, Wilson’s voice is barely audible- thick and measured, molasses and black tar dripping from every syllable at how eagerly Cuddy and House await his commands. “If you can behave yourselves for the rest of today, you can meet me back here this afternoon to pick up where we left off.”
The air is viscous, humid, somewhere between real and not. Beside Cuddy, House is leaning hard on his cane. If she checked his pulse, it would be hammering. Hers absolutely is. Wilson’s must be, too- beating at the sweat-bright hollow in the base of his throat, just above the loose knot of his tie. Even with impending doom and admin at her back, all Cuddy can think about is how much she wants to find out how it tastes in House’s mouth. How sure she is that House would plead for the chance if she proposed it.
“Okay.” Cuddy responds at last. With a hazy vow drifting in Wilson's office, she and House take their leave- anticipation and static at their fingertips, a set of keen, hungry eyes trained on their spines.