[ house's arm rests on the back of veronica's chair, his lips to her ear, but his eyes are on cooper. he gives him a honeyed once-over, dark eyes devouring, until he speaks against veronica's cheek, his voice a deep, calculated croon: ]
Marvelous thing, isn't he? Cooper Howard, star of stage and screen, gracing our presence from Mount Olympus. Your silver-screen god, and he looks at you as if you're whipped cream. Won't you indulge me, darling, and let him fuck you?
[ he presses a kiss to her cheek, feeling it flush red, practically sensing her heartbeat quicken. butterflies, always on the wing of a hurricane, the way house throws cooper a glance. they stare at each other, and cooper lights a cigarette, smiling around the filter. he takes in a long drag, and yes, he's curious. he has to be. with hushed whispers and blushing skin, cooper finds himself wondering what veronica is feeling, what house said, and why the curve of her breasts cause him to shift his hips in his seat.
he can picture it, naturally, veronica on her back, digging her red-painted nails down his spine. cooper has to admit that part of him also wonders what it's like to have house kiss him like that, the tickle of his facial hair, the smooth whiskey and cigarettes that give forth to that voice of his. demanding, commanding, powerful. he isn't hollywood - he's global, fingers in every pie, and he's staring at cooper with a flame of a thousand nukes in his eyes.
no one has ever made cooper this weak so quickly, but veronica's lips parting to reveal a playful smile has him taken. he wants her, so very badly, and if he isn't mistaken, house wants it, too. maybe this is what's to be said for the ridiculously wealthy - they have particular appetites. sex, drugs, and cooper's seen worse, but this isn't a horrible thing. no, not at all.
house notes the small hesitation in cooper's eyes, and he leans forward, picking up his cigarette case. he plucks one out, taps it on the back of the case, then places it between his lips. he lights up, thick smoke back into his nostrils, and he points at cooper with two fingers. ]
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Marvelous thing, isn't he? Cooper Howard, star of stage and screen, gracing our presence from Mount Olympus. Your silver-screen god, and he looks at you as if you're whipped cream. Won't you indulge me, darling, and let him fuck you?
[ he presses a kiss to her cheek, feeling it flush red, practically sensing her heartbeat quicken. butterflies, always on the wing of a hurricane, the way house throws cooper a glance. they stare at each other, and cooper lights a cigarette, smiling around the filter. he takes in a long drag, and yes, he's curious. he has to be. with hushed whispers and blushing skin, cooper finds himself wondering what veronica is feeling, what house said, and why the curve of her breasts cause him to shift his hips in his seat.
he can picture it, naturally, veronica on her back, digging her red-painted nails down his spine. cooper has to admit that part of him also wonders what it's like to have house kiss him like that, the tickle of his facial hair, the smooth whiskey and cigarettes that give forth to that voice of his. demanding, commanding, powerful. he isn't hollywood - he's global, fingers in every pie, and he's staring at cooper with a flame of a thousand nukes in his eyes.
no one has ever made cooper this weak so quickly, but veronica's lips parting to reveal a playful smile has him taken. he wants her, so very badly, and if he isn't mistaken, house wants it, too. maybe this is what's to be said for the ridiculously wealthy - they have particular appetites. sex, drugs, and cooper's seen worse, but this isn't a horrible thing. no, not at all.
house notes the small hesitation in cooper's eyes, and he leans forward, picking up his cigarette case. he plucks one out, taps it on the back of the case, then places it between his lips. he lights up, thick smoke back into his nostrils, and he points at cooper with two fingers. ]
Would you like to hear a simple proposal?