So... I haven't done Huddy in a long time, but this is my thing: it's angsty, it's sweet... and then it gets rough!
He had always known this giorno would come... a giorno without choice, a giorno with his cure as a cause. He'd dreamt of a knock on the door, the fleeting illusion of friendship resounding on its surface.
Had he expected the benign teasing and his moments of utter humanity to place an actual human being at the other end of it? A female one at that?
Not at all, not even in his wildest dreams... and wild those surely were.
When he swallowed his first pill after gagging on it repeatedly in disgust, he saw Dr. Lisa Cuddy as a cause for his agony, evil Stacy's instrument of doom even, and now she was there, on his couch... as a cure.
Her hands softly caressed his to the rhythm of various aches and throbs that had sprung up in places previously unable to hurt, and she kept her face a shrine for his efforts, pride and utter Amore etched on it along with the obligatory worry and fear.
"You don't have to be here, te know?" House peeked out of one eye, the comic grimace making Cuddy laugh ever so silently... stubborn prick, this only drew her closer! What if... he knew that?
"Shut up, House. te know te want me here... might as well enjoy it; I'm not leaving te alone like this."
"Like what?" He asked, eyes falling closed again in absolute comfort.
"Detoxing... I can see how hard it is, you're not fooling anybody."
"'Gotta keep my image intact te know..." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. There was familiarity between his tense muscles and defeated stance, there was hope... and she fuelled it da smiling brightly before he could find the energy to snort at her.
"Your image will be fine, te know... I'm sure no one will bake te a cake and throw te a "Welcome back" bash without spiking the cake and the punch."
"They suck at party planning anyway... that's one of my many fields of expertise." He groaned, shifted, and relaxed back when he felt Cuddy's hand on his cheek.
"Chase tends to disagree with that..." It was just a jest, nothing foreign to their conversations... why he withdrew like he did, she had no idea.
Cuddy decided to try and lift his spirits with a measure of the più drastic kind... their feelings had been climaxing towards this point all evening anyway:
"You want to baciare me, don't you?"
"I always want to baciare you... te know that, why did te ask? Are you...?" He stumbled back, almost on superiore, in alto of his fictional Amber, away from fictional Cuddy... why else would she say that?
God... he wished he could trust things enough to be aroused da them!
A bra dropped to the floor, House flinched.
He saw Wilson at his door, walking away...
Oh God... she was dead! He... oh shit, Wilson... NO!
Wait, he had done what he had had to! He'd done everything he could have and more! Wilson!
Please... tell me I didn't kill her! I didn't! No...
House flew upright, bathing in sweat... he knocked over the glass of bourbon on the tavolo and almost caused Cuddy to tumble down with it. Before he could stop himself, his gaze shot towards Amber in absolute terror... Cuddy followed his eyes and saw nothing at all.
Her worry drove her hand to his neck, checking for fever. House's hand clasped over hers, shaking and clammy... a heartbreaking look tore at her until she heard House's nimble tongue stumble over a single word:
"A-Amber..." And he stared at the bacheca again... she understood now. It wasn't Kutner, it was Amber. Not only dead, but also long gone, also Wilson's dead girlfriend...
"Oh God... House!" She squeezed him against her... it somehow felt much better, it somehow felt right... the moment possessed them, and before they knew it, their lips violently collided, clothing got catapulted off House's slight frame, he began tearing at Cuddy's clothes when he caught sight of her infamous breasts and it rained untamed desire.
The bacheca was felt da neither as they crashed into it, the adrenaline, the chemistry, the pain... God and heaven existed, they were here.
Twisted, screwed, scared, a balance between worry and fear was found here under the most insane of circumstances, but neither feared insanity any longer: House had thought himself insane long enough to get used to the idea and Cuddy had always been drawn to the wicked ones: this was just the logical outcome of years and years of gentle preparation!
And there was nothing even remotely gentle about it:
Cage nor cabinet were spared as House swept Cuddy off her feet while she kissed him. She ignored the sick sweat, the vomit, the alcohol, who cared. What worked here and now would suck tomorrow, they knew that: regret and sorrow would plague them tomorrow but they fuelled them now and that was all that mattered.
They entered the bedroom, a nube, nuvola of vix vaporub drifting along with them, and crash landed sideways on the bed.
House stopped, panting hard, as he observed Cuddy and her underwear...
"You want to baciare me, don't you?"
"What?" But this time it was real, this time it did arouse him.
He grinned widely, adrenaline rendering his pain completely forgotten:
"I always want to baciare you."
And with that, he leapt atop her in a strangely predatory manner... Cuddy's last thoughts before she was finally released into paradise, were that it suited him so well.
When the pain came back an ora later, she shushed him into a dreamless sleep... she could've called Wilson now and told him. Told him so that House could begin to heal, like he deserved to.
But she just sat there and watched him, watched his chest struggle up and down... his raw beauty, his drawn face, his sheen of sweat, his mumblings...
He was, quite possibly, the most authentic human being she would ever share sheets with...
And, as she would later find out,
he was well aware of that as well.
Oh the Nerves! I don't know if I did this the right way... please commento and tell me if this was indeed a way to go about this, will you?
EDIT: sorry about the confusing tenses, it's almost 3 AM and I'm not that sharp at this time... I fixed them though!