Baby, you're as cool as a cucumber
MDNI!!! Warnings: masturbation, sex
Summary: House is never home. What's a girl to do when she's horny, in love, and left alone too long?
Or, that one time when House caught you masturbating... and didn't leave.
The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.
The knife could be plastic; could be metal.
Ignoring the weird, hazy feeling in your chest, you briefly ponder upon the density and tensile strength of this tension—and then stop. What you're doing is irrational and desperate and—
and House has barely been home as of late.
You know you're being stupid—being needy. You know his cases work him to the bone; you know his cases help him get his mind off his leg—but sometimes you find yourself wishing that he knew you could help him with that.
You're no diagnostic anomaly, but you do think you could keep him occupied. In more ways than one.
Mostly in the dead of the night.
Like most nights, you toss and turn in bed. Your silk nightie goes woefully unappreciated, and the sheets are irritatingly unrumpled. The space next to you is glaringly empty when you throw an arm out in frustration.
You won't be awake to see House when he comes home—but you can certainly imagine it.
You know how he'd look. Blue eyes bright against dark stubble, weary from sleep. Mouth tugged into a perpetual scowl—but you think he'd soften when no one's looking.
He'd unlock the front door quietly enough. Dim lights and the subtle thrum of the fridge would greet him. He'd take a second to take it in—the realization he no longer has to pretend—to keep up the pretenses of being okay—and his shoulders would subtly slump as he locks the door behind him.
The floorboards would creak heavily as he'd make his way down the hallway, and the ceramic would clink quietly as he'd drop the keys in their place and limp to the bedroom.
He'd tentatively push the door open.
The room would be dark, but his eyes would be sharp enough to see your sleeping form in the bed. He'd sigh, leave his cane leaning against the wall, and limp closer to the bed.
House would often sleep in just his boxers and a shirt. You know because you're in charge of washing his laundry. You find yourself picturing how he'd take off his shirt, and blush.
You wonder if he'd ever feel disappointed you were asleep. That he'd ever hope you were lying awake, waiting for him.
The thought makes your stomach flip. Suddenly very aware of the growing heat between your thighs, you gulp heavily and roll onto your stomach, but that only makes things worse.
The bed smells more like him this way: the antiseptic of the hospital, and something deep and musky.
You hesitate, and then slide a hand into your underwear.
Instead of jumping head-first into sensation, you take a second to trace your clit with a finger and wonder how House would do it.
You're worked up enough that it doesn't take long until sensation rapidly blooms and you're wet. You slide a finger down to your slit, dip a fingertip in the slick, and go back to drawing circles on your clit.
The sensation builds up and you hold back a gasp.
House could be bad-tempered, ungracious, and condescending. Would that translate to his behavior in bed?
You imagine him standing at the foot of the bed, leering at you as you strip. He'd tell you to show him how you touch yourself when he's not there—he'd smirk and say he wants to check if you're going it right.
Would he take one look at how you tremble, mock you, and then push your hands out of the way so that he could do it better?
You think about House behind you, rasping and groaning into your ear as he grinds his hips against you. You see him pumping a finger into you with one hand and gripping your hip tightly with the other.
It's enough to push you over the edge.
Going limp, you slowly push yourself back onto your back and exhale. There's a mess between your thighs and lingering slick on your hand, so you go to the bathroom to wash up. By the time you get back, change into a fresh set of underwear, and tuck yourself back into bed, the front door opens.
It's a lot easier to be in the same room as House sexual want-wise. But it's a lot harder to look at his face, knowing that you were jacking off to it not five minutes ago.
"Hand me the analgesic," House says, and you jerk.
He stares at you, blue eyes glinting even while partially shrouded in darkness. "Coffee crash? Told you this would happen."
You grab the tube and throw it to him, crossing your arms. "Caffeine has absolutely no effect on me whatsoever," you announce staunchly as House surveys you warily. "I can go without it in the morning And I can sleep with it all night."
You suddenly realize he might think of the other reasons you might not be asleep, and then backtrack.
"I guess there's a first time for everything, though," you say and then flop pathetically onto your side, hiding your face from him.
House hums and pulls off his shoes, settling into bed. You may or may not notice him groan softly as he lies down, and you may or may not want to masturbate again.
Or straddle him. Or have sex with him. Now that House's here, the possibilities are endless.
You know you'd never have the guts to actually act on any of them, though.
What if he thought you were stupid? What if he wanted nothing to do with you that way?
Morning, evening, and night.
The next day, House wakes up before you for once. You shower, have breakfast, and then he drives the two of you to the hospital.
You get home a few hours before he does, do your homework, and tuck in around the time you usually do.
Only... you end up getting too worked up to sleep.
The bed smells like him. It's maddening.
House almost walks in on you once.
You're on your back, fingering yourself. You moan as you brush against something that makes your whole body jerk, but it's not enough—never enough—your fingers are too clumsy or too small or just not House's—
The front door opens, but the adrenaline from getting caught dangles a strong orgasm in front of you. The tap of House's cane and his uneven gait grow louder, come closer, and you huff as you wretch your hand away right before your climax crashes over you—right before the bedroom door creaks open.
You end up rolling onto the floor as you jerk your hand out of your shorts, but ignore the weird looks he shoots you when he sees your red face and mussed hair.
House blinks at you as you scramble up.
“You scared me,” you tell him, still out of breath. “Knock next time, mister.”
House limps toward the bed, frowning at you. “I sleep here too,” he says, bemused. His eyes linger around your torso and pelvis, so you quickly get under the covers, still smiling.
Oh god, you hope you haven't made a mess.
“Well,” you cough, “good night.”
You burrow into the sheets, staring daggers into the wall in front of you. Terror grips you like a beast, and you shake in its grip.
House sighs, and then then sits on the bed.
You're more careful the next night, but you're still awake when House gets home.
“Still awake,” he drawls, lips tugging into a smirk. He drops his cane onto the floor. “What happened, you wanted to stay up and kiss me goodnight?”
“Nope,” you say, your voice a little too shrill. “I need coffee to study, but it has its downsides.” You discreetly adjust your clothes under the blanket.
You tell yourself you're imagining how he seems to come home earlier.
You spill coffee on yourself. You can't risk being thirty minutes late to your morning lecture so you end up walking into class with a pink skirt stained brown.
Y2K color pairing, anyone?
Your classmates don't agree. You tense as they stare and snicker at you.
You tell yourself it can't get any worse than this, and the universe immediately proves you wrong when a patient throws up on you at the very end of your shift.
You stare at their sallow, sorry face in horror, and then slowly look down at yourself. There's barf—yellow barf— gathering between your breasts and dripping off your shirt onto the floor.
Your trachea burns as the smell of bile wafts up to your nose. It's disgusting.
“I'm so sorry,” the patient says, and against every instinct of preservation in your body, you gag.
“You can go home early,” your attendant says stiffly, and you waste no time hurrying to the bathroom.
It takes you ten minutes to scrub vomit off your skin and clothes. You’re pretty sure your bra is permanently stained.
It’s too bad. It was your favorite.
Your coat covers the stain on your shirt, and the bus ride is thankfully uneventful.
The front door shuts behind you with a quiet click as you sigh in relief. Finally home.
You toe off your shoes, strip, and shower. The water is borderline boiling, but it does wonders for the knots in your muscles. You play the radio as you dry off and moisturize.
After you wear your pajamas, you're making coffee in the kitchen when you notice a box on the island.
Feeling as though every fiber of your muscles stuck its fingers into a power outlet, you grab the parcel and examine it quickly. You almost drop it in your haste, but exhale loudly when you see it's just a brown parcel with your name on it.
Nothing… inherently suspicious.
You thumb at the edge, the cardboard scratchy to the feel. Should you open it now? You check your watch. You definitely have enough time. House won't be home for another two hours.
You tiptoe quietly to the bedroom, simultaneously excited and anxious. The box is quickly torn open and you set the vibrator on the nightstand. After you've cleaned it, gotten naked, and belly-flopped onto the bed, you hesitantly turn it on and flinch violently as a loud buzzing fills the apartment.
It's way too loud. You switch it to a lower setting.
With some pillows propping you up, you settle on your back and run the vibrator along your vulva.
You inhale sharply and squirm. It's… intense. Intense enough you begin to wonder if you'll even be able to finish like this or if you'd overstimulate yourself and end up killing the possibility of orgasming today.
Sighing, you try to think of House again. House, who would never even know you masturbate to him in his bed every evening. You try to imagine how it'd be like if he was here—if he'd let you touch him. House, who you'd straddle and rock against until he was hard in his jeans. House, who'd be reduced to a gasping, moaning mess while you suck his cock.
You're breathing hard now, and wet enough that the vibrator easily slips inside you. You keen and throw your head back as you slowly push it in all the way. If you close your eyes, you can pretend it's House inside you—fucking you—and you moan out his name as you begin to slide the vibrator out and—
And shriek as the bedroom door opens and House stares at you, open-mouthed.
You yanks the sheets over yourself and stare back at him, horrified. The vibrator buzzes particularly loudly in your hand, drawing the attention of both you and House to itself.
It's coated in fluids. Your fluids. You hurriedly switch it off and look back at House in mortification.
"I'm—it's not—I wasn't—" You swallow. "It's not what it looks like."
"Right," House says slowly, finally snapping his jaw shut. He limps into the room. "So, you just recreationally store medical devices in your vagina? Is that a preventative treatment plan, or just lifestyle maintenance?"
"What—" You shake your head. "No, I—"
He interrupts you. Again. ¨You've been acting off all week. Insomnia, prolonged agitation, vasodilation, chronic bedhead—" You blush again as he shrugs. "You blamed it on caffeine, I blamed it on having a Type A people-pleaser squatting in my apartment. Turns out you were just embarrassing yourself. I was wrong, you were lying."
You stiffen as House drops onto the bed, next to you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you're inadvertently brought closer to him. He looks at you expectantly as you prickle in self-consciousness.
He smiles at you. It's a small and satisfied, and it makes your stomach flip hard enough that you think you'll throw up. "You've just got the hots for me.
Pursing your lips, you look away. "You weren't supposed to be home so early."
"Normal people would leave right above now."
You sit up straight, gesturing him towards the door eagerly. "Please leave."
House frowns at you, insulted. "I said normal people."
"Well?" He continues, cheerfully. "Don't stop on my account. I'm invested now."
You're an unflattering bright red now. "I can't just—"
"Mhm," he tilts his head. "Go on."
You stare at him, waiting for him to laugh and tell you he's joking. After several seconds pass, you hesitantly switch on the vibrator and settle on your back again.
House notices how your hands shake. "Oh for God's sake—"
"I don't know how to do this!" You tell him, and he rolls his eyes. "It's different when I'm not alone."
He gestures for you to scoot over, so you make space for him to awkwardly crawl between your legs. You're reminded of your fantasies involving you, him, and a clinic room, and wonder if there are limits to how hot your face can go.
"Um," you say, making a fantastic contribution to human speech as House tosses the vibrator away and pushes your thighs further apart.
You squirm as he parts your lips, peering between your legs with an unnerving intensity you'd only ever seen him direct at his cases. He thumbs at your clit—making you jerk—and pushes a finger into you.
"You know, if you wanted me to pet your kitty, you could've just asked." There's a humiliating, wet squelching sound as House scissors his fingers inside you, and you mutter the willpower to scoff and push lightly at his shoulder.
"That is such a weird way of putting it," you groan out, and muffle a whimper as he nuzzles into your neck. The sheet covering you was pushed away some time in the last two minutes, so the cold drafts from the AC make you shiver. His stubble is scratchy against your skin, and you jump as his free hand comes up to fondle your breasts.
"Nice," he says appreciatively, and you roll your eyes.
"I probably would have finished fifteen minutes ago if you hadn't interrupted, so the least you can do is make…" you gesture between the two of you, "this worth my while."
House clucks in disapproval, and you yelp as he nips at your throat. "Needy," he rasps, and speeds up the movement of his hand before you can retort.
It only takes a few minutes before you're gasping under him. House's eyes are dark and half-lidded, flicking between your breasts and where his fingers disappear into you. He pinches one of your nipples, and you thrash in his grip as your orgasm washes over you.
You take a few minutes to catch your breath. House's body is still partially draped over you, and his eyes track the rise and fall of your chest. "That was… nice," you say. You shift slightly and swallow as your hip brushes against something hard.
You purse your lip and give House a thumbs up. "Do you want me to return the favor?"
House rolls off you, grunting as he moves his bad leg. "Depends. Are you referring to anal fingering or penetrative sex?"
You shrug, trying your best to seem nonchalant. "Sex."
He crosses his arms below his head. "Condoms are in the nightstand."
You stand and walk over to retrieve a packet—without the sheet, and immediately regret it as House bites his lip and ogles at you until you're sitting next to him again.
Part A) checked. Part B) ?
"Do you need help with your pants?" You ask, and House shakes his head as he unbuckles his belt. He grimaces as he lifts his hips to push his jeans down, and you wait patiently for him to take his boxers off.
"I still need access to, y'know—" you wave the condom packet— "so I can put this on."
House sighs, and pulls himself out of his his boxers.
You hand him the condom, which he rips out of its sheath and puts on. You busy yourself in the meanwhile with brushing your hair back and inching closer to him.
House huffs in surprise as you straddle him. "Wow," he says, placing his hands on your hips. "Five minutes ago you were dying of embarrassment. This was unexpected."
You make a face at him. "I'm returning the favor," you say innocently.
After you've straddled him, you hesitate and then gingerly take his cock in your hand. You make eye contact with him and grimace, and then awkwardly place your free hand on his chest as leverage and line him up.
"Okay," you say, mildly hyperventilating.
"Yep, House retorts, and then grunts as you squeeze the head lightly in response. Funny. You take a deep breath and slowly sink down onto his cock, focusing on your breathing—it burns despite how wet you are—until he's inside you all the way and your thighs are flush against his hip bones.
The two of you are breathing heavily at this point. Your stomach flips as you think, this is real, you're having sex with house.
"Okay," you say, panicking, "am I supposed to move back and forth or bounce up and down—"
"For God's sake—" House bites out, and the both of you howl as he thrusts up unevenly into you.
"House," you force out, rocking in his lap, rubbing your clit against his public bone until both of you moan from the friction. His hands slide across your back to grab at your waist, gripping tightly as you begin to ride his cock.
House throws his head back as you rake your fingernails lightly along the flushed skin of his chest.
"God," he grits out, and you keen as he presses love bites all along the top of your breasts.
It's getting difficult to keep a rhythm now. Your thighs burn from the exertion but it feels good enough for you to keep going. You dig your nails into House's shoulder as he shoves a hand between your legs and rubs at your clit.
The tip of his cock hits something inside you that forces a strangled sound out of your throat.
You press your mouth to House's for the first time, and moan wantonly into his mouth as a spring coils tightly in your stomach and snaps—just as he grips your head to pull you closer.
House finishes inside the condom after a few more snaps of his hips into you. He pulses inside you as he comes, and you collapse on top of him.
Your hair's sweaty and disgusting and sticking to your forehead.
Your heart beats like a hummingbird trying to break free out of your ribcage. House's skin is damp and he's already rubbing his thigh hard as it spasms, but you're pressed into his chest and you're as happy as you've ever been.
You poke at his face, smiling shyly at him.
"Go to sleep," House says gruffly, and you rest your head against his chest.
We got the good ending yayy.
Please like or reblog f you enjoyed :)
This was my first actual proper smut fic so please be nice. I love comments so feel free to scream about anything you liked
this fic was set loosely in my house x reader fic turnabout, where we imagine if this happened instead of reader pining over house for ages. But don't worry, this oneshot did not provide you with any spoilers and you don't need to have read turnabout to understand this. that being said, if you like angst, do check that out! :)