Fic: Temporary Arrangements
Dec. 23rd, 2008 10:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swatkatTitle: Temporary Arrangements
Fandom: House, M.D
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy
Words: 1047
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me.
Summary: There's comfort to be had in temporary arrangements.
A/N: This is set in the One Time Thing-verse, but can be read as a standalone. It is set in some mythical time in S2 and features an established threesome. Your comments are welcome. For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic50 prompt #002: Middles.
*
'Did you know that an adult giraffe's kick is so powerful that it can decapitate a lion?'
'Hmm,' Cuddy says, not looking up from her spreadsheets.
House is on her couch, fiddling with his laptop and occasionally throwing in a comment about her breasts or the glasses that she's finally fished out from the hiding place at the back of her drawer, now that her ophthalmologist has handed her an ultimatum.
And, truth be told, she was getting tired of the headaches.
'And for your information, Rod Stewart once worked as a gravedigger,' House tells her, and this time she has to say, 'And I should care because?'
It's bait, of course, though she's not sure what the ulterior motive is right now.
'Knowledge, Cuddy,' House says, solemn.
'Right,' Cuddy snorts. House shoots her a faux injured look.
With House, there's always an ulterior motive. Even if it is only to irritate her and rile her up.
A few minutes of blessed silence: Cuddy squints at the figures in front of her; she's still getting used to the glasses. Her feet are cold. She considers fetching a pair of socks. It's getting colder now, and she prefers to keep the heat down until it is absolutely necessary.
And then House announces, 'Forty percent of American adults cannot fill out a bank deposit slip properly.' Loudly.
Or hospital admission forms, for that matter, she thinks, and says, 'Did you save all of these up so that you could annoy me all evening?'
'unnecessaryknowledge.com,' Wilson chimes in before House has the opportunity to respond. 'He's already tried that once with me today,' he says, rummaging through the contents of her refrigerator.
There's flour in his hair, she notes. His sleeves are rolled. 'There's a site like that?' Cuddy says. 'Wait. Of course there is. I wouldn't be surprised if he runs the website.' 'He', meaning House. There was very little she would put past him.
'You're repeating your tricks,' Wilson tells House, before disappearing back into her kitchen. He has been putting it to excellent use, and she is nothing if not grateful for that.
'I'm growing old. There's only so much I can learn,' House yells, not particularly ashamed at having been exposed.
'You're losing your touch,' Wilson yells back.
'It's Friday night. I'm exhausted. Why are you even here?' Cuddy asks. It has been a long, stressful week, and she's been looking forward to a quiet evening to herself. Which, of course, is pretty much an impossibility now that House is here and determined to be a nuisance.
'I missed you,' House says. 'And by you, I'm referring to your breasts.'
Cuddy sighs. And because any response will only serve to encourage him, returns to the spreadsheet before her, which appears to be growing more perplexing by the minute.
'Did you know that pregnant female polar bears actually go into a modified hibernation state?' House says.
*
Wilson's hands, she thinks, are magic. Large and warm against her back, soothing and caressing her tired muscles. Hands of a healer, as they say.
She groans as he works out a stubborn, painful knot. It's practically decadent.
'Ever considered an alternative profession?' she says.
'More of a lucrative side business, actually,' he says.
'You already have one dedicated client,' she tells him, unable to stifle a gasp as his palms press upon a particularly vulnerable spot.
'At your service. Whenever you wish.' His tone is flirtatious now, and she finds herself smiling up at him. Wilson smiles back.
And so of course House has to interject: 'That's so sweet. I'm touched. You do realise that he's sucking up to you?'
He's pouting now, and so Cuddy says, 'It's working,' biting back a smile. And, after a moment's consideration, extends a foot, saying, 'You can give me a footrub if you want.'
House gives her a withering glare.
*
'Guest room.'
'But – '
'I'm tired. And the last time we tried this, you nearly kicked me out of my bed,' Cuddy says. She really is tired, and in no mood to entertain a very petulant House. Growing even more petulant by the minute.
'You should get a bigger bed,' he says.
'You should sleep in the guest room,' she retorts.
She glances beseechingly at Wilson, who's still on her couch, reading a book. 'Don't look at me, I'm happy either way,' Wilson says, not looking up from his book.
'Wimp,' House says.
'I won't have sex with you,' Cuddy tries to reason. 'Wilson might.'
'Actually, I've got this headache coming on – '
'Not tonight, dear,' House mimics, 'It's that time of the month again.'
'Guest room,' she says firmly, propelling him in that direction with a hand on his forearm.
She likes her bed just the way it is, she thinks, as she settles under the covers.
She falls asleep to the sound of House having a loud disagreement with Wilson in the other room.
*
Her alarm goes off at seven; an hour later, for the weekend. She stretches luxuriously, shivering a little as she pushes the covers aside.
On her way out she spots Wilson, stretched out in what looks like a very uncomfortable posture on her couch.
She steps outside. It's bright and clear and a little chilly—just the day for a run.
By the time she returns she's sweaty and panting, her calf muscles burning. Wilson's in the kitchen, scrambling eggs.
'You have to do something about your couch,' he says.
'Let me guess,' Cuddy says between big gulps of water, 'House threw a tantrum?'
'He said it would be better for his health if I stayed away from him,' Wilson says. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
They are mid-kiss when a voice proclaims, 'I'm hungry. Where's breakfast?'
'Good morning to you too,' Wilson says as they break apart.
Wilson goes back to making breakfast. Cuddy makes coffee. House steals the newspaper and recedes to the living room.
She can hear the ruffle of pages being handled, faint against the louder sounds of the kitchen, utensils being moved and the hiss of the frying pan. And she knows that if she ventures into the living room in a few minutes she'll find House immersed in the paper, filling in the crossword in ink.
*
End
Note: Unnecessary Knowledge.
Fandom: House, M.D
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy
Words: 1047
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me.
Summary: There's comfort to be had in temporary arrangements.
A/N: This is set in the One Time Thing-verse, but can be read as a standalone. It is set in some mythical time in S2 and features an established threesome. Your comments are welcome. For the
housefic50 prompt #002: Middles.*
'Did you know that an adult giraffe's kick is so powerful that it can decapitate a lion?'
'Hmm,' Cuddy says, not looking up from her spreadsheets.
House is on her couch, fiddling with his laptop and occasionally throwing in a comment about her breasts or the glasses that she's finally fished out from the hiding place at the back of her drawer, now that her ophthalmologist has handed her an ultimatum.
And, truth be told, she was getting tired of the headaches.
'And for your information, Rod Stewart once worked as a gravedigger,' House tells her, and this time she has to say, 'And I should care because?'
It's bait, of course, though she's not sure what the ulterior motive is right now.
'Knowledge, Cuddy,' House says, solemn.
'Right,' Cuddy snorts. House shoots her a faux injured look.
With House, there's always an ulterior motive. Even if it is only to irritate her and rile her up.
A few minutes of blessed silence: Cuddy squints at the figures in front of her; she's still getting used to the glasses. Her feet are cold. She considers fetching a pair of socks. It's getting colder now, and she prefers to keep the heat down until it is absolutely necessary.
And then House announces, 'Forty percent of American adults cannot fill out a bank deposit slip properly.' Loudly.
Or hospital admission forms, for that matter, she thinks, and says, 'Did you save all of these up so that you could annoy me all evening?'
'unnecessaryknowledge.com,' Wilson chimes in before House has the opportunity to respond. 'He's already tried that once with me today,' he says, rummaging through the contents of her refrigerator.
There's flour in his hair, she notes. His sleeves are rolled. 'There's a site like that?' Cuddy says. 'Wait. Of course there is. I wouldn't be surprised if he runs the website.' 'He', meaning House. There was very little she would put past him.
'You're repeating your tricks,' Wilson tells House, before disappearing back into her kitchen. He has been putting it to excellent use, and she is nothing if not grateful for that.
'I'm growing old. There's only so much I can learn,' House yells, not particularly ashamed at having been exposed.
'You're losing your touch,' Wilson yells back.
'It's Friday night. I'm exhausted. Why are you even here?' Cuddy asks. It has been a long, stressful week, and she's been looking forward to a quiet evening to herself. Which, of course, is pretty much an impossibility now that House is here and determined to be a nuisance.
'I missed you,' House says. 'And by you, I'm referring to your breasts.'
Cuddy sighs. And because any response will only serve to encourage him, returns to the spreadsheet before her, which appears to be growing more perplexing by the minute.
'Did you know that pregnant female polar bears actually go into a modified hibernation state?' House says.
*
Wilson's hands, she thinks, are magic. Large and warm against her back, soothing and caressing her tired muscles. Hands of a healer, as they say.
She groans as he works out a stubborn, painful knot. It's practically decadent.
'Ever considered an alternative profession?' she says.
'More of a lucrative side business, actually,' he says.
'You already have one dedicated client,' she tells him, unable to stifle a gasp as his palms press upon a particularly vulnerable spot.
'At your service. Whenever you wish.' His tone is flirtatious now, and she finds herself smiling up at him. Wilson smiles back.
And so of course House has to interject: 'That's so sweet. I'm touched. You do realise that he's sucking up to you?'
He's pouting now, and so Cuddy says, 'It's working,' biting back a smile. And, after a moment's consideration, extends a foot, saying, 'You can give me a footrub if you want.'
House gives her a withering glare.
*
'Guest room.'
'But – '
'I'm tired. And the last time we tried this, you nearly kicked me out of my bed,' Cuddy says. She really is tired, and in no mood to entertain a very petulant House. Growing even more petulant by the minute.
'You should get a bigger bed,' he says.
'You should sleep in the guest room,' she retorts.
She glances beseechingly at Wilson, who's still on her couch, reading a book. 'Don't look at me, I'm happy either way,' Wilson says, not looking up from his book.
'Wimp,' House says.
'I won't have sex with you,' Cuddy tries to reason. 'Wilson might.'
'Actually, I've got this headache coming on – '
'Not tonight, dear,' House mimics, 'It's that time of the month again.'
'Guest room,' she says firmly, propelling him in that direction with a hand on his forearm.
She likes her bed just the way it is, she thinks, as she settles under the covers.
She falls asleep to the sound of House having a loud disagreement with Wilson in the other room.
*
Her alarm goes off at seven; an hour later, for the weekend. She stretches luxuriously, shivering a little as she pushes the covers aside.
On her way out she spots Wilson, stretched out in what looks like a very uncomfortable posture on her couch.
She steps outside. It's bright and clear and a little chilly—just the day for a run.
By the time she returns she's sweaty and panting, her calf muscles burning. Wilson's in the kitchen, scrambling eggs.
'You have to do something about your couch,' he says.
'Let me guess,' Cuddy says between big gulps of water, 'House threw a tantrum?'
'He said it would be better for his health if I stayed away from him,' Wilson says. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
They are mid-kiss when a voice proclaims, 'I'm hungry. Where's breakfast?'
'Good morning to you too,' Wilson says as they break apart.
Wilson goes back to making breakfast. Cuddy makes coffee. House steals the newspaper and recedes to the living room.
She can hear the ruffle of pages being handled, faint against the louder sounds of the kitchen, utensils being moved and the hiss of the frying pan. And she knows that if she ventures into the living room in a few minutes she'll find House immersed in the paper, filling in the crossword in ink.
*
End
Note: Unnecessary Knowledge.
