And hey, I got a package from karaokegal today! How made of awesome is that woman, I ask? Pretty epically awesome, I do believe. Thank you for the shirt, K-legal; please to be having this heartrending, soul-baring fic at your party now. =)
Title: Lucky Thirteen
Pairing: Amber (Cutthroat Bitch)/Thirteen
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 1,902
Spoilers: 97 Seconds
Summary: What exactly is Thirteen hiding? Co-starring rhinoceroses, Banana Republic, and, um, genderfuck.
Notes: Written for karaokegal's Come As You're Not Halloween party.
“What are you doing?”
Amber jumped, then did her best to appear nonchalant. It wasn’t as incriminating as it looked, hunching furtively over House’s computer in the dead of the night. Nothing suspicious at all. “Tap dancing,” she deadpanned, frantically hitting the back button.
If it had been one of the men asking, all it would have taken was a good, level glare and they would have blinked, rolled their eyes, and walked right back out. She was almost positive it would’ve been that easy. Thirteen, because Murphy’s Law was apparently working overtime, didn’t seem nearly as eager to write it off as Amber doing something bizarre and underhanded that was better off ignored. Wonderful. Didn’t she have something better to do? “You’re going through his porn stash?”
In theory, it was a brilliant plan. You could tell a lot about a person by the kind of websites they bookmarked, without fail. Though Amber liked to think House saved most of these for shock value and not personal gratification. She hoped he wasn’t that eccentric.
“It said Banana Republic,” she grumbled. Another barrage of back-button clicks, which just caused a trio of airbrushed-into-plasticity redheads to show up onscreen.
“That’s one way of putting it.” The redheads disappeared and another window immediately popped up. Thirteen amicably perched on the desk, head drooping to one side like a raindrop on a stem too heavy.
“Bold and clever,” Amber squinted, tilting her head as well. What the hell was…? “You could have any job you want with that combination.”
Now there was a wide-eyed waif with pale hair and mercifully small breasts peering innocently at them. Thank God she hadn’t clicked on the bookmark that was actually labeled ‘OMG HOT PRON’. Though she supposed there was a good chance that one really did link to a Banana Republic page. House was probably one of those people who posted TV spoilers in enormous fonts and spammed strangers’ MySpace pages with pictures of cats in his spare time. “That one’s not bad,” Thirteen commented as Amber steadfastly tried to eliminate the waif. “You think?”
What was wrong with her? Psyching someone out over a dead dog was the kind of thing that essentially guaranteed they would avoid you like the plague. Getting psyched out over a lingerie model was several steps down. Amber almost wanted to coo at her for growing teeth. “That’s your secret? You’re batting for the other team? Go have a sexuality crisis with some high school kids and get yourself an ‘I Kiss Girls’ button. I’m not into that.” It was hard to sound scornful and intimidating with rhinoceroses humping six inches away.
“Bullshit. You’d lick Cuddy’s clit all night if you thought she’d put in a good word for you.”
Amber couldn’t deny that. “Even if I would, it’s not your business.”
“Going through other people’s computers isn’t either.” An easy flash of too-white teeth. “You really thought you’d see what he’d been eyeing at Banana Republic, maybe bribe him with a new belt or something?”
“Of course not,” Amber shot back placidly. “He wears the same belt every day, so I doubt he’d abandon something that worn-in for a new one.” She couldn’t resist adding, all wide-eyed disbelief, “What, you didn’t notice that?”
“I pay attention to work, not accessories.”
“Speaking of accessories…” Amber settled for shutting the computer down entirely, turning in House’s chair as the rhinoceroses flickered and disappeared. “He’s never had more than one woman at a time on his team, you know. He also likes it when people argue with each other in order to disprove theories and get to an answer by process of elimination. I’m just cultivating that relationship. It wouldn’t kill you to play along, for both of our sakes.”
“Some of us don’t need to cultivate. Or snoop. Or bribe to secure a job. Maybe you haven’t heard, but some people? Actually have confidence in their abilities.” Those freakishly green almond-shaped eyes glimmered impishly in the lamplight.
“No,” Amber corrected, drawing out the word for a few moments in the hope it would make Thirteen squirm, which it didn’t, “you have confidence that pretending you’re hiding something scandalous will make House keep you around to work on. Though you do have it right that being the hot lesbian will definitely pique his interest, if that’s your plan.” It really was a good plan, too, to the point of concerning her, and she made a mental note to deal with that later. She’d thrown it away as a wisecrack, but what if Thirteen really did like women? Given what she’d just seen, House definitely appreciated that sort of thing. Maybe she should accidentally let him overhear her talking on the phone with a fabricated girlfriend and fill that niche before Thirteen had a chance.
“Or it could actually be true that I’ve got a secret.”
This was getting mundane. Amber rolled her eyes. “Oh, and you’re so mysterious. Walking around being tragic and witty, you’re his ideal woman, aren’t you? Since you obviously want me to ask, go ahead and say it. What’s your big secret?”
Thirteen grinned. The remark seemed to amuse the hell out of her. “House is a very perceptive person. Why do you think he fired the rest of the girls’ team but kept me?”
“Because he gave you a sympathy fuck after you killed our patient?”
Thirteen was grinning wider, white and gleaming in the dimly lit office. Amber frowned. Was it just her or did the other’s smile look a little too…sharp? The woman seriously had too many teeth. Maybe that’s what she was hiding, some kind of genetic mutation, a tragic past of deformities and discrimination, her inbred salt-miner family’s inability to afford braces, the fact that she was actually spawn of the devil.
Now she was just being ridiculous. “Not quite,” Thirteen replied, and undid the button on her slacks.
Amber was prurient enough to keep looking. Evidently Thirteen had picked up some prowess in the intimidation department if she was about to do with it looked she was about to do…interesting. Big damn deal, she wanted to say. So you have a humiliating tattoo. A piercing. A…”Holy shit.”
For what felt like about ten minutes, she gaped, realized she was gaping and shut her mouth, then gaped again. “You…get turned on by rhinoceroses?” she managed to twitter out absurdly.
“They’re a close second to blondes who won’t shut up.”
Amber’s face felt like Silly Putty. It wasn’t that she hadn’t entertained thoughts of giving out a judicious blowjob in this very room, if the circumstances became dire enough, but this wasn’t the precise set of genitals she’d pictured encountering on face level. In a vertiginous rush of adrenaline, she shot to her feet. “What the fuck…”
“You’ve been hanging out in here looking at all that accidental porn and talking about cultivating a relationship. It’s only fair to give you some kind of recompense for that, don’t you think?”
“I can’t stand you,” was all she could think to blurt out.
“You don’t have to like in order to fuck,” Thirteen wrapped a slim hand around her cock and Amber felt her cheeks flush just thinking that sentence, let alone watching the reality. The hand lazily began to move, Thirteen’s thighs parting a little more where they were visible above the rumpled waist of her unfastened pants, and the remaining blood in Amber’s system shot insistently downward.
“I’ll tell you what happens next,” Thirteen continued calmly, tapping the index finger of her free hand to the collar of Amber’s shirt. “You’re an intelligent, independent woman who loves a challenge.” The fingertip hooked into her neckline, drawing the cloth taut. “You don’t run away from the unfamiliar, obviously.” Thirteen smoothly thumbed over the top button. “Right?” Amber drew in a sharp breath and gave a small, jerky nod. Thirteen smiled, closemouthed this time, and traced a slow line down over a nipple, which was clearly only hard because it was a little chilly in the office. Amber shivered—for, she informed herself, the same reason. “And now you’re going to step out of your panties, get that nice skirt up out of the way, and let me fuck you over the desk.”
“You’re insane.” Against her will, Amber felt her breath hitching as those delicate fingers began undoing her buttons. There was probably no way to blame the temperature for that. If anything, it was starting to feel like a pressure cooker in there. Thirteen was watching her intently.
“You’d let House do it if you thought it’d get you the job. Bend over with your pretty ass in the air, do whatever he said. Or maybe you’d do it anyway, just for the hell of it. Just so you’d know you had.”
It wasn’t fair. Thirteen was already a little younger, a little prettier, a little more inscrutable. Definitely a threat, even without the additional assets. Amber nearly choked on a hysterical little laugh.
Undeterred, Thirteen cleared her throat significantly. Amber lifted her skirt higher, biting her lip as the other woman moved forward, bearing down as she bent her over the desk. “I mean it. I really don’t like you,” she squeaked, moaning and straining to spread her legs and press back against the hardness skimming slickly against her. She tensed as Thirteen’s cockhead rubbed up between her legs and went stabbing into the wet little slit there. Her fingernails left indentations in her palms, nipples tight against the chill of the desk.
As Thirteen relentlessly plundered her pussy, fucking into the scalding cavern of her sex, Amber could almost believe the whole thing was a particularly peculiar dream. Maybe she passed out in House’s office after one of the other fellowship candidates grew enough balls to slip her something—“God,” she sputtered, squirming reflexively in response to the unfortunate wording and the sudden sharp nip to the side of her neck. “Beg me for it,” Thirteen was purring infuriatingly. “Come on. Say my name.”
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t know your goddamn–“ From the start, Amber had been half-tempted to start calling her something completely embarrassing instead of catering to this ‘call me Thirteen’ sorority-hazing crap. Gracie Lou Freebush came to mind. So did Akasha, Queen of the Damned. Then again, Thirteen would probably just take it as a compliment.
Thirteen thrust in hard, filling her, making her tremble and cry out. Amber moaned and orgasmed against the desk, shuddering hard. Part of her still couldn’t process it all: facedown with her blouse undone and her skirt rucked up and Thirteen’s cock pressing up inside her and Thirteen’s lips soft and heated at her ear. Thirteen. Hissing, more adamantly than that slight, laid-back little tramp had ever sounded: “My name’s Thirteen, you fucking idiot.”
She felt it when Thirteen was about to shoot her wad and Amber was sure she was never going to be able to scrape that phrase out of her mind. Her body quivered against the cool varnished wood of the desk as Thirteen pulled out and came, molten gushes of sperm slopping over the backs of her thighs, dribbling down.
Clumsily, completely disheveled and completely speechless, Amber turned over onto her back and tried to catch her breath.
“Oh, by the way.” Thirteen jerked her head at House’s computer without batting an eye. “Is that camera on?”