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Taken Seriously Their Own Strictures
by Laura
Taken Seriously Their Own Strictures
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sports Medicine
Feedback: Is lovely, in all its forms.
Summary: His inhale is felt against the inside of her wrist; he licks his lips, a twinkle in his eye, and she's drowning.
::.::.::
Two left turns later she still hadn't the slightest idea where they were headed. The roads were pretty empty at that hour and she always loved the feeling of owning something. He had been quiet for the past twenty minutes. She wouldn't call it a comfortable silence. It was a questionable silence; she wasn't sure if it really existed between them or if they just didn't have anything to say.
"Is your leg bothering you?"
He turned towards her with heavy-lidded eyes. She looked away quickly, not ready for that kind of honesty.
"I would count the number of times you've asked me that tonight on one hand, but then I'd need a hand with a million fingers."
He wishes people would trust him to take care of himself. "It's fine."
"You've been quiet."
"Why are you here?"
"You asked me-"
"No. That's incidental and a lie. Way to cover your bases."
"It's not a lie."
"That's what your brain wants you to think. Take this left up here."
She pressed the button on her left to lower the window a few inches. The cool air forces her tresses into flight. She's jealous of the ease in which the strands dance, trembling and fluttering with the wind.
Flicking her turn signal, "We're not allowed here after dark."
"Is this some kind of game I don't understand? I ask you questions and you don't answer them. Not directly. But you do answer questions that I don't ask. I can't wait until my turn."
She takes the left, reluctantly. "Now?"
"Keep to the right. The road winds around the back of the building."
He's forgotten that making new friends is a hassle. It's always easier when people already know you. Then you can make jokes at their expense and borrow money.
"What now?"
"This may sound drastic," feigning confused look, "but it's a parking lot, so you should park the car."
He leaned to get his cane from the back seat, and by the time she'd turned the engine off he was opening the door to get out of the car. She grabbed the keys and followed him.
"What are we doing here?"
"Why do you think?"
Her gaze sweeping over their surroundings, she considers that he may actually be crazy. The directions he'd been feeding her for almost forty minutes had led them to a high school. Specifically, it was the track located behind the high school.
She shrugged her shoulders. Interesting.
"Grab the food from the car," with a nod of his head, "we're going for a walk. I'll wait."
When she gets back to him with the food, he's standing with his left hand out towards her.
"Did you want your food now?"
"No. I," sighing, "I have a problem with my leg. Not my manners."
"Oh." She hands him the bag.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. She trails a few steps behind him, content to follow and see where this leads. He stops walking when they get to the side of the bleachers that surround a section of the track. He's looking at the top, where the announcer's box is; his face suggests something of a challenge.
"There. That's where I want to eat."
"This won't hurt your leg?"
He hands her the bag of food and smiles. It's the type of smile of one who's about to do something they shouldn't.
"It might, but you're a doctor. You can make it better. Get moving."
She starts walking up the skinny aisle that leads up to the announcer's box. Without having to turn around she knows that he's not watching where he steps.
"I know you're staring at my ass."
"It's swinging back and forth in my face with every step you take. It's not so much me staring as it is your aforementioned ass blocking my field of vision."
"Can't you stare at something else?"
"If you want to walk backwards I would gladly stare at your-"
"Enough."
He's worried for a second that he's gone too far, but he won't apologize. Doesn't even entertain the thought. He realizes they're at the box already.
"The door is padlocked, Greg."
The emphasis she just on his name; it could've been the tone, perhaps she's out of breath from the walk (he doubts it), or another thing entirely, but it was dripping with something he's sure isn't sold in stores. It sends a shiver down his spine. He gets a better grip on his cane.
"How thick do you think that door is?"
She takes a step closer to get a better look at the door. On one hand, he really loves a woman that does what you ask her to do. On the other hand, he's afraid eventually he'll ask something of her that she can't possibly give.
"Looks inexpensive. Probably just a piece of plywood."
He moves to stand next to her, and then gives the door a cursory glance.
"I don't know about you," in a hushed whisper, "I really don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little felonious."
"Are you serious?"
"Very. Take a few steps back."
She did what he asked and started nervously looking around. There's always a nosy person in the vicinity when a law is being broken. They always have a video camera.
He slides his cane into the space between the door and the loose latch onto which the padlock is locked. Pressing down on the cane, which acts as a lever, the cheap latch disconnects from the door with a `thud'. He opens the now unlocked door and is about to walk inside when she interrupts him.
"Doesn't it bother you? That you just broke a law?"
"Actually it was quite invigorating. The fact that you were present while a law was broken makes you an accessory. That's quite a sexy title for you."
She moves to stand next to him, and peers into the musty room.
"We shouldn't go in here."
"The door is open. Having second thoughts?"
"I don't know-"
"Have some fun with an old man."
"Are you saying all the time I've been talking to you I could've spent talking an old man into giving me his Social Security checks?"
"Don't use the sarcasm so much. You're very smart and very pretty. It's too much of a contrast."
She stares at him and it's the first time she's really seen him. There have been glimpses, a moment in her day when he's just a man that gives her a genuine smile. She wants to kiss him, but doesn't want what happens next. They're so tangled in their jobs and the related politics; it'd be such a bad idea to get caught up in each other. Her hand is on the doorjamb, against his side, before she knows it. His inhale is felt against the inside of her wrist; he licks his lips, a twinkle in his eye, and she's drowning.
He grabs her waist and takes one step, then another, until she's pressed against the other side of the door jam. She's got nowhere to go, and just to make sure he moves closer, pushing his body against her. Any contact he can get. Looking down at her, he speculates on just how many things she's going to make him regret. Sliding his knee between her legs, he eases her thighs apart. The friction makes her groan and causes her cheeks and neck to blush. She's got a sweaty palm sliding from his knee to the waist of his pants. She hesitates when she has her thumb tucked into his belt loop. He looks her dead in the eye and dares her into action. Quirking an eyebrow, one of her fingers, which is quickly followed by two more, dip into the waist of his pants. She trails her fingers along the inside of his waistband, towards the button of his jeans. The muscles in his stomach tremble from the contact with her knuckles. His blood going south once again, he decides she should know.
"You're ticklish," she says, with enough smugness in her voice to make him proud.
"You," he leans forward and whispers in her ear, "are so many things I couldn't possibly list them all."
"You're smart. Tell me one of the things I am."
Dipping her hand lower, she plays with the coarse hair beneath her fingers.
"Please?"
He grinds against her, slowly and with a purpose.
"You," he grinds again, proudly, as if he's practically boasting with his erection, "are bad."
She wraps a leg around him because it feels that good, that's all she currently cares about.
"You did say I was an accessory." She slips her hands underneath his t-shirt; his chest is tight and warm, she wants to taste it.
"You're my accessory."
Leaning down, he's intent on mapping out her collarbone with his tongue, when:
"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!"
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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