Does the Queen of the Night ever really die?

Far too close for comfort now, if you considered ‘comfort’ the remaining few whips of your self control.  Even when she shifted so that she wasn’t exactly touching him in any more, but more straddling his outstretched legs, it was all consuming.  All at once, he didn’t give a damn about Bruce Springsteen; he was locked into her burning gaze as she snared him in with it, knowing that she was using it to her full advantage and willing throwing himself into her trap.  She bit down on her bottom lip, and he couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to.  She had this way of doing this, she always had.  It had often worked out quite well during shoots, because he was generally supposed to be looking at her like he was undressing every inch of her with his eyes, but he knew she knew the truth, that there had been a fine line between acting and the real deal.

Of course, it worked, it took literally seconds for him to realize she was going for the remote again, he’d been that long gone.  Her smaller hand meshed around his, as he hung onto that stupid piece of electronic filled plastic, realizing that they were not so unlike two flirting schoolchildren here, playing out some silly game.  Truthfully, he couldn’t even remember what he’d just been teasing her about.  The Boss, right.

Wrestling with her grasp, he twisted his torso a bit and drew up his knees so they were now touching her sides.  It was time he forfeit this game, because he knew he was going to lose, although ‘lose’ was something of a subjective term here.  Working his thumb over her hand, he actually forced her to press the mute button down with it, and just like that, the Boss was rendered silent.

It did please her to know that she had the same effect on him that he had on her, and once again he was looking at her in that fashion that had led many to believe they weren't only acting. His gaze leering at her, at every bit of exposed skin of hers, maybe she should be just a bit creeped out by him. Nonetheless though that pull started low in her abdomen, the one she knew would only get worse before it would explode within her.

Then suddenly she was caught, surrounded by his body and equally trapped. Feeling his hand envelope hers she wanted to press into it, just for... what for? Forcing it away? Contact? She couldn't answer that herself, what had started as an easy tease to get her will had now crossed over into a game of seduction, each of them trying to one up the other. Sitting across his lap, not straddling him yet she turned her head to look at him. Feeling his hand on her hip she so desperately wanted him to roam, explore, force her to surrender to his touch but it just stayed put.

What was obvious though, to both of them, and ultimately disappointing, was her forced distance from him, even as they sat together up against the headboard and stared blankly at the television screen; not that he blamed her, he knew this was turning into some kind of excruciating battle of wills for them both.  He might have even suggested he leave, if only to save them from this, but he was afraid she’d take that wrong way, instead of the way he meant it; which was, he’d be doing it so they wouldn’t have to keep being put through the torture of desperately needing jump one another’s bones again.  Which of course led him right back to the realization that if they hadn’t had sex in the first place, they would have at least just been sitting here, dealing with their more usual, tempered amount of sexual tension.  Too late; the entire dynamic had been cranked up to ‘fuck me now’, and that was turning out to be a lot harder to temper than he’d ever thought.

She inadvertently bumped her knee into his thigh as she settled in at her ‘safe’ distance from him, and even as she was muttering her own, nearly inaudible, ‘sorry’, he was doing the exact same thing; their utterly inauthentic apologies sounding out in near unison as they avoided looking at one another.  Not sorry whatsoever; she could bump into him any time she wanted.  How unbelievably awkward.

Her dislike for the Boss was vocalized at last, and Hugh’s little smirk widened. A few seconds later, and she was going for the remote that was still clutched in his hand; compromising their personal bubbles of sexual denial in an instant.  He saw her going for it, leaning across him, and realized all at once what that meant; he could let her have the remote and she’d no doubt retract back into her former, distanced, place, or he could hold his long arm out and likely cause her to fall across his lap for her efforts.  That was a bit puerile really; a man tactic if there ever was one, but it most certainly went through his mind as a viable option.

His smirk was long gone, instead that intense gaze was locked onto her as her body tented over his; her smell, her closeness, her heat, all of it invading his senses.  And as if on its own fruition, his arm shot out at the last moment, moving the remote not entirely out of her reach, but about halfway out, far enough to cause her to have to go over the top of him if she wanted it, really wanted it.

She wasn't sure he really knew her dislike or rather hatred for Springsteen's music, but now that he did he did use it to his advantage. Somehow she was pretty sure he was just dong it to spite her. Oh sometimes, she wanted to strangle him. Instinctively she raised her hand higher as he stretched his to savior his control over the TV program, Lisa stretched more on instinct because with any planned and well executed move she would have managed to shift her weight more towards her other foot. But she didn't, effectively throwing herself off balance landing spread eagle in his lap, her chest and stomach on his thighs. He was so warm, and smelled so musky, so distinctly him. It wasn't an aftershave or a perfume which she was sure Hugh wouldn't use. It was just a man smelling like an actual man. Oh before she strangled him there were other things he was good for. Definitely.

While she wanted to bask in the feeling of being so close to him 'the Boss' was yelling in her ear about the great advantage of being born on this side of the Atlantic, aiding the logical part of her brain. Pushing herself up on her arms and knees she was on all fours, his legs under her trunk. Just as she was about to make another attempt his warm, moist breath grazed her shoulder, involuntary she arched closer to him, wanting him to make contact, before her brain even had a chance to process the information. It hadn't been a careless whisper of desire, no, it had been Hugh declaring his fondness of Bruce Springsteen. At his next comment she just huffed. He was the British one, he hadn't even been born in this god given country.

Once again, seconds ticked by where all they did was look at one another, lost in pale gazes, enraptured by her.  To say he was getting mixed signals from her was an understatement; it was as if her body was saying ‘yes’, while her heart and mind seemed to have different versions of ‘no’ on deck.  What the hell was he supposed to do?  If he gave in to temptation he risked pushing her too far, and that would most definitely be the end of this.  If he did nothing, would she get frustrated with him to the point of having him leave anyways?  He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to be here, with her; even if it was just sitting and talking for awhile longer, avoiding the ‘unsafe’ subjects.  So he settled on a scant touch and a light tease, and hoped for the best.

Luckily, that was a wise move, she was at least amused.  ”I suppose it does,” he replied with a slanted grin/  ”One can only imagine what it would have earned me if I had a proper kettle to boil.”  A little too cheeky perhaps, but she still had his hand trapped beneath hers, and he could feel her heartbeat thudding through the press of her fingertips.  Who knows what might have happened next, if he hadn’t diverted with the ever stupid distraction of television watching; truthfully, he wished he could have channeled a bit of Gregory House’s confidence right now, then again, that most would have ended up with him getting slapped and booted out.

He was about as enthusiastic about the prospect of TV watching as she was, but too late, he’d said it, best to follow through.  ”No idea…”  Once he was rid of his boots, he scooted over, fetched the remote from the nigh stand, and clicked it on.  ”No sports, I promise,” he chuckled, flipping through the hotel’s available channels until he settled on a random concert fundraiser on VH1, where Bruce Springsteen happened to be on stage at the moment. “Oh look, it’s the Boss, your fellow East Coast-ian.”  Music, had to be at least a mutually good viewing choice, right?

Of course she did notice his less than eager response to his own proposal of wanting to watch TV. As he made himself at home Lisa had to consciously command her body scoot over, all her senses telling her how nice it would be to snuggle up to his broad warm frame, his arm protectively around her. Drawing in her bottom lip, chewing on it she left a few inches between them so they weren't touching before she pulled her knees up and under herself, her knee grazing his thigh. “Sorry.” She murmured almost inaudibly, not sure if he had heard her, not really caring either. The contact had sent her heart rate through the sky once more. She wasn't sorry for bumping into his leg, if anything she was sorry it didn't last longer.

He was really sitting here on her bed with her just a few inches from him. The press or anyone who'd find out about this would have a field day, but so far... well today at least they'd behaved. It was surreal to sit here next to him, in a setting that had become her home, where she'd slept. Where she'd like to sleep with him, in every sense of the word as long as he was just there. Present with her, united in not only a physical but spiritual way.

Knowing he had intended it as a joke she couldn't bring herself to laugh. Laurie-Edelstein dynasty? This was way too serious, as much as she wanted to believe in such a thing, how would his children react, if she were to... no she probably wouldn't even be able to have a child of her own at this stage but still. What did he think. What did he expect? She wasn't that much younger than him after all. Oh god, what if she wouldn't be able to hold him because of his kids, even if he did leave his wife? What if he actually wanted more kids? Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, hoping to calm her racing heart. It always astounded her how he could send her mind racing in opposite directions, send her emotions on a roller coaster ride.

Her hand began to tickle, warm itself from his body heat or maybe it was the feeling of his naked hand on hers that made her smile. “Oh yeah, boiling water for yourself earns you my hand?” She questioned, resting her hand in his much larger one even after he'd kissed her, drowning in his amazingly blue eyes. How as that colour even real? It always looked photoshopped to her and probably to most others, but just staring at them she knew that there was a whole universe contained behind them, most of that universe was filled with loneliness and pain. In that moment she swore herself that she would change that, change his life, for the better, the happier, no matter what it would take.

As he broke his gaze she reprimanded herself, how could she be so easy? Lisa was sure the desire had been written all over her face, cheeks and neck slightly flushed like a caught school girl, pupils dilated. At least he hadn't pushed his luck. Though then again what if he had? Should she now be thankful he was a gentleman or curse his entire family for raising him with manners? Oh damn that Britishness he embodied. Never had she met a man who conflicted her even close to the way Hugh made her feel.

Cuddy’s Backbone