Title: ...To Make Me Feel This Way (Triquel to "What a Wicked Game to Play.." and "Work of the Devil")
Set During: Season 3
Disclaimer: No, I don't own House or Cuddy; if I did...well if I told you I'd have to kill you. :P
She’s got a body like the devil and she smells like sex. Truer, wiser words have never been spoken. At least not when Cuddy is concerned. Every inch of her heavenly form painstakingly carved out of the most exquisite material imaginable. And with the single purpose of setting fire to your soul; pulling the devil himself out of you. You’d cheat destiny just to be near her. But lust is just a simple chemical reaction, although you can’t say you agree.
You pull away now, and just look at her. The heat of your gaze causing color to flare into her cheeks. You love this affect you have on her: her skin jumping at your closeness, begging to be touched. And the way she touches you is like a needle in your veins, when she moves from her desk to lead you to the couch and her hands press against the skin of your stomach. She rises up on her toes to kiss you once more before you find yourselves strewn across the couch with her pressing her hips into yours. What is this you’re feeling? The two of you engulfed by passion, dominated by lust and a million other terrifically wrong reasons and feelings and feeling for more.
It’s funny how there always seems to be a bad word for such a good thing. Forget subtlety, you’re more for the conspicuous, anything to set the rumor mill atwitter, and anything to make her come undone against you. Surely it’s all about pain but even more about pleasure. The two go hand-in-hand so often in your life; like a couple so clearly ameshed and attached at the hip. She stiffens. Resistance, again, proof now, undeniable, that she is evil and full of empty promises. But you’re anything but sentimental.
You pull her down to you again, capturing her lips in another skillfully tantalizing kiss. And no, you’re not falling in love you’re just falling to pieces. When you lock your eyes on hers, the blue is both icy and smoldering and you hungrily welcome the pressure but even more the dizzying afterglow it will leave: hazy, heat-soaked and electrifying. And you want to commit all her curves to memory, her too-perfect figure enough to bring any man groveling to his knees. You want her emblazoned on the surface of your brain because…she makes you feel more alive than you ever thought possible. She is your highest high. But you are still anything but sentimental.