by Kass


This one's set after "Forever," 2 x 22.

My thanks to Michelle for beta!

House was reading Maxim with his ankles propped up on his desk when Wilson appeared in his office. He'd heard Wilson's steps coming down the hall; at 10pm the floor was almost empty.

"Hey. You want to go someplace for a drink?"

House considered that. Drink sounded good. Going out, less so. "I have whiskey at home," he pointed out.

Wilson grimaced. "No thanks."

House put on a startled face. "You'd prefer I stocked rum?"

"I'm tired of your living room. Which," Wilson added before House could interrupt, "beats the crap out of mine, but is still a living room."

"Ahh," House said, nodding sagely. "You want to pick up chicks."

Wilson snorted.

"Think we should bring one home?"

That got a laugh. It was fun making Wilson laugh. "Fine," House said, crossing the room to pick up his helmet. "Let's go."

House liked the Nightery on Third, first because it was navigable (too many bars had steps up and down, trying to create an air of sophistication by adding changes in elevation for no reason) and second because the piano guy was as good as he was.

He knew Cuddy went there sometimes, too. So he wasn't surprised to see her sitting alone with a martini at the big oak bar.

"Fancy running into you here," he said, making his way to the bar, knowing Wilson would follow. He sat to her right; Wilson, to her left.

"Great," Cuddy said, tipping back the end of her drink. "Just what I need." She turned half-toward Wilson. "Here to mock me?"

Wilson raised his palms, defensive. "What? Look, I'm sorry about the PCR the other night’—"

"Let's get the single parent jokes out of the way."

"I don't’—" Bafflement was written on Wilson's face. Such an expressive mouth, House thought, then stifled the thought. Wilson opting not to move back in had sent the clear message that whatever they'd had wasn't going to resume, and House didn't feel like being melancholy tonight.

She turned toward House. "You...didn't tell him."

House gave a tiny shrug. "I didn't think you wanted me to."

"I didn't," she said, exasperated, then motioned to the bartender for another. "God. The one time in your life you actually keep your mouth shut.’—Martini, please."

"Make it two," Wilson said.

"Maker's Mark. Neat."

She waited until the bartender had slid down the bar to pour their drinks, then sighed. "Fine. Might as well tell him now."

"Cuddy's on fertility meds," House said, and waited for the light to dawn in Wilson's eyes.

It didn't take long. "Oh," he said. "Lisa, I'm flattered."

"What, just because I considered sleeping with you we're on a first-name basis?"

Wilson had the grace to blush.

House grinned. "I'm still waiting for my dinner-date."

"Yeah. Keep waiting." The bartender arrived with the drinks and Cuddy handed him a twenty before either of the men could object. "Wilson mitigates you. Without him, you're basically unbearable."

The response arose in House's mind fully-formed. House threw a glance at Wilson as best he could with Cuddy sitting between them. Ah, what the hell. "If Wilson mitigates me, how about us together?"

Wilson choked on his drink. Cuddy just stared at House. "I'm going to assume you're kidding."

He had been, but she was obviously taking him seriously. The evening suddenly had the capacity to turn out far more interesting than he had imagined.

Especially because Wilson didn't seem to be objecting.

"C'mon," House said, expansively. "It'd be like Russian roulette, only’—"

"Only not," Wilson said, dryly.

"Whenever your kid did something smart, you could thank me, and when he did something conniving, you could blame Wilson."

"More like, whenever she did something charming, you could thank me, and when she did something annoying, you could blame House." If Wilson was slinging banter, he had to be okay with the idea. Right?

Cuddy stared at her glass. "You're both certifiable," she said. There were high spots of color in her cheeks, and her eyes were dilated. Clear signs of arousal.

Which was apparently contagious. This was, House thought, very like the flush of excitement brought on by playing a poker hand. He leaned in and murmured, just loud enough for Wilson to hear, "you're thinking about it, aren't you?"

Just like in poker, Cuddy was trying hard to look composed, and she almost succeeded. Except for the flush that ran down her neck and disappeared beneath the ruffled white of her low-cut blouse. Autonomic response could be a real bitch.

"Maybe I'm certifiable," she said, finally, but she was smiling through lowered lashes. That looked like a 'yes' to House.

House slid off the barstool’—why couldn't office chairs be this easy?’—and picked up his helmet. "If we get to your place before you do, we'll let ourselves in," he said, breezily.

He half-expected to hear an objection, some sign that Cuddy was bundling herself back into the rational role she was so attached to, but she just nodded and slid past Wilson to walk out first. When her body brushed against his Wilson inhaled, stiffening. It made House want to gasp.

Ladies first had its advantages. Especially when the ladies in question were wearing skirts like this one. House admired the curve of her ass all the way to the door.

On the sidewalk, Cuddy headed for her car and he turned toward his bike. After a few steps she called "House," and both men turned. "Drive fast."

Wilson didn't say a word the whole way to Cuddy's house. Well, maybe he did, but between the wind and his helmet House had a good excuse not to listen. Cuddy must've known a back way; she beat them to her house, and by the time they got to the bedroom her blouse and skirt were off, leaving a lacy white bra and a black silk slip. Wilson went for undressing first; House went for Cuddy.

She was as aggressive in kissing as she was in everything else. House liked that. He dropped his cane and leaned on her instead. Her breasts were as magnificent as he'd always imagined, and a well-placed pinch and rub made her gasp into his mouth.

She gave as good as she got, too. He was wearing a button-down over a t-shirt and she still managed to rake a fingernail unerringly over his nipple. Just rough enough.

He felt Wilson's arms reach around her, fine hands stroking his shoulders through his shirt. House pulled back and opened his eyes: naked Wilson behind her, biting at the back of her neck. "Hold that thought," House said, his voice lower than usual, and made his way to the dresser so he could lean on it and undress. It was hard to focus on the buttons of his shirt when Wilson's hands were unhooking Cuddy's bra and skimming the slip down over her hips, but he managed.

He limped over to the bed and sat at its edge, watching the show.

"I hope you don't think you can just pass me back and forth all night," Cuddy said. It was a good attempt at taking control, though it was undercut by the breathlessness in her tone.

"You seem to be enjoying it so far," House pointed out.

"C'mere," Wilson said, lying back against her nest of pillows, and Cuddy obliged.

It was a pretty picture, Cuddy reclining regally into Wilson's arms. Wilson was paying a lot of attention to her neck, with stunning results’—when Cuddy blushed it definitely went all the way down.

House considered, and rejected, the niceties of foreplay. He nudged her legs open, then slid a finger inside and gave a little twist, biting back the urge to laugh when Cuddy groaned. He tugged her bedside drawer open for the Astroglide he had guessed would be there. The sound drew her eyes open, and she watched as he slicked himself.

Under most circumstances House didn't like people staring at him, but in this case, he thought, he could make an exception. Cuddy looked almost delirious already, from Wilson's mouth and roaming hands and probably his cock pressed against her ass, and her gaze made House harder.

Fucking her was slightly awkward’—figuring out where to put his knees, and how to keep his leg protected enough that it wouldn't spasm at the wrong moment’—but worth the work. She gasped and bit his ear; Wilson murmured obscene encouragements. House liked that more than he wanted to admit.

"You...okay down there?" House managed, proud that his voice still worked.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Wilson sounded desperate.

"Don't you two ever shut up?"

House gave a particularly deep thrust and Cuddy convulsed around him deliciously. The ripple of orgasm.

"God," Wilson muttered.

"You have no idea," House said, and came.

He rolled away, still breathing hard, and Cuddy shifted to let Wilson up. She looked practically boneless, her body pink with a full-body flush. Wilson, on the other hand, looked tense enough for all three of them. Made sense; he was still waiting for his fun.

Might as well cut the Gordian knot. "Which one of us do you intend to fuck?"

It was oddly adorable how Wilson managed to look horny and annoyed at the same time. Also genuinely conflicted.

"The 'Russian roulette' plan implies me," Cuddy pointed out.

"You might be able to have your way with me another night," House allowed. It was okay to admit that, now that he knew Wilson wasn't as over him as he'd been pretending to be.

Wilson's look was full of promise. "If I twist your arm."

"You might need some remedial anatomy lessons," House began.

"Hey. Woman over here, waiting," Cuddy pointed out.

Wilson's chagrin was almost comical. "I'll get right on that," he promised, and House rolled his eyes.

"Um’—do you want to ’—" Wilson made a vague gesture that apparently meant "trade places," or something like it.

"I'm pretty happy where I am," Cuddy said.

"Okay," Wilson said, and leaned over to bite the inside of her thigh.

"It's not a’—statement," Cuddy went on, voice getting lower as Wilson gave her a long slow lick. "About’—God’—anything."

"Yeah. We get it," House said, and watched her head slide back between a pair of pillows. "You just want to be fucked through the mattress again."

Cuddy's laugh turned into a gasp as Wilson slid inside. She had to be feeling tender, but she wasn't complaining. Sighing, but he was pretty sure that didn't count.

Watching Wilson's ass flex as he moved inside her was almost enough to make House hard again. He propped himself up on his good side and ran his hand down Wilson's back. Gave an experimental squeeze, considered the possibilities of a smack.

Wilson kept at it for a while. House bored easily, even watching two absurdly attractive people fuck right next to him. Also he had the uncomfortable feeling that Wilson was ignoring him. When he'd been the one doing the deed, he'd been hyperconscious of Wilson's low murmur of encouragement.

So he leaned closer to Wilson's ear and started talking. "I know just how good that feels."

Wilson gasped and shuddered a little. The reaction was just what House was looking for; suddenly he was involved again.

"So unbelievably hot." It was a clichˆ©, but it was true, and from the increased pace it looked like his ploy was working. He wondered how long Wilson would be able to hold out. As casually as he could manage, House added, "Probably still wet from me..."

Wilson groaned as he stiffened and came. Guess the idea that House had been there first did something for him. House liked knowing that.

"I can't believe I'm about to get on a motorcycle."

"Better you than Cuddy," House pointed out, tugging his jacket on.

Cuddy snickered and rolled over, her arm cradling the comforter. She looked startlingly beautiful, drowsy and well-fucked. House felt an instant's regret that there was no way this would happen again.

"I'm glad someone thinks you're funny," Wilson muttered. "Okay, I'm good to go."

House considered calling "hope you conceive" as they left the room, but didn't. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that, actually. Cuddy pregnant was liable to be an even bigger pain in the ass than usual, and he really didn't want to think about the implications of a child.

But hey. Her breasts would get even more impressive. So maybe it was a win-win.

"I'm not taking you to your apartment," House said as he stashed his cane on the side of the bike. "It's late and my place is closer."

"Your couch still stinks."

"So sleep in the bed."

He felt Wilson shrug against his back. "Okay," he said.

Once they were moving there was no way Wilson could hear him. "Make pancakes in the morning and you can fuck me silly," House said, into the wind. Wilson's arms were tight around him. House smiled.

The End