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The Zodiac Club
by gena
The Zodiac Club
Dr. Gregory House cursed his foolishness for the hundredth time as he followed the hostess down a flight of stone stairs. He glared at the people who stepped aside for him and actually growled at the man who reached out to steady him when his cane slipped. He never let his infirmity stop him from doing what he wanted but even he would have thought twice if he'd realized how difficult it would be to reach this club. House gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on his cane as well as the handrail and continued downward. He didn't usually go out during conventions, not since the infarction, anyway, but impulsively he'd stopped for dinner at a tiny, dark restaurant on some side street. The aroma of spices and bread and food simmering for hours had drawn him inside. House had let himself relax and when the dark eyed waiter had slipped him a black business card something inside him had shivered.
The Zodiac. The name sounded melodramatic in the extreme, conjuring visions of Kim Novak doing the twist and Jack Lemmon pounding the bongos or something. House wouldn't have thought anything could induce him to check out a ridiculous place like with a name like that on the last night he had to spend in Baltimore. He was tired, and the cold, wet weather had his leg aching so much he'd doubled his Vicodin dosage. But something about the waiter's penetrating gaze and the conviction in his voice when he'd said "It will bring you your heart's desire" while laying down the card, had caused a feeling of such longing to come over him it had nearly taken his breath away. So House found himself hobbling through a crowded nightclub and seated at a tiny front row seat. The place was murky, an underground brick lined room in the warehouse district. Amber candles flickered on the tables, giving the place a warmth and intimacy its scale should have made impossible and neatly hiding the faces of all but the closest people. Men and women in formal dress outnumbered those in jeans, lending a sophisticated air but it was the underlying sense of excitement, a frizz of expectation that colored every look, every casual glance towards the stage. House could feel it raising the hairs on the back of his neck, making his shoulders stiff with tension. The audience buzzed with it, anxiety building as if everyone was just holding their breath waiting for - whatever it was that was going to happen.
One of the silent black clad waitresses glided by his table, depositing a drink he hadn't asked for in an ornate crystal glass. House raised it, taking a tentative sip, and was surprised to find scotch neat just the way he liked it. He took another sip and let it sooth the knots in his soul before glancing around, watching the shadows shift and flicker and faces to swim in and out of view among them. Something caught his attention at a table just to the right of his, a small group of men and women chatting amicably. House leaned forward, the tone of one particular laugh drawing him in, eyes seeking the flash of smooth cheek he had glimpsed. There - a young man, high cheekbones, skin as fair as a spring morning, but his eyes as dark as the shadows around them. House blinked as the man sensed his gaze and met his eye, something passed between them, something that made House's breath catch in his throat, something that felt like a door opening. He could feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment, a phenomena that had not occurred in years. The young man held his gaze, forcing House to look away first and when he did he drew a calming breath, compelling himself to relax after the electric jolt that the other man's eyes had sent through him. He wasn't into guys, sure some of them, like this kid, were beautiful, but he'd never done more than appreciate their looks. He wasn't lonely, he reminded himself, he craved solitude now. People were fools he could only tolerate so long, and besides someone that pretty would be too weak, too easily intimidated for him now. House knew what he had become, and reveled in the bitter anger that kept him apart, shielded. "Your heart's desire." The phrase returned to House, echoing inside his head on the lips of the young man. The strange waiter had promised him that's what he would find at The Zodiac.
House shook his head, trying to clear it. It was at that moment that the music began. At first he barely noticed it, just a slight hum at the edge of his hearing but soon it swelled, pushed across the room by speakers set high above his head. He could feel it brushing over him, making his skin tingle. A bass thump joined in the silvery whisper, sounding like a heart beating all around them, as if they had fallen into the belly of a mysterious beast. The room fell silent, all eyes now on the darkened stage, as something black moved in the shadows. House didn't know what to expect as the curtains parted but when the golden light pooled right in front of him, he knew this would be a night he would remember for a long, long time. Two candelabras, each at least six feet in height loomed over a single gilded chair. All other source of illumination had been extinguished, leaving the rest of the stage in blackness. A sense of dreaded excitement crawled up his spine, making House shudder even before the otherworldly forms thunder into view.
Three women, all breathtaking and voluptuous, looking like warrior goddesses striding out to witness a sacrifice, skin gleaming in the soft golden light, moved to the beat of the music. House could not look away; their bodies mimicked the music, writhing as it wove a sensual pattern across the air, their limbs gliding around each other with aching sexuality. House dared a look at his fellow patrons and saw that they too were enthralled by the sight. Never before had he seen such women, it was like Bathsheba, Boudica and Helen of Troy had stepped out of history to display their seductive talents for the modern populous. Each commanded attention, their sure and sensual attitude demanding that all eyes belonged to them. They prowled the stage, their stare challenging all who looked upon them and when one set of jade eyes locked with his, House felt his blood boil in his veins. He would have accepted her unspoken invitation but at that moment the other two made a triumphant sound and she turned, releasing him from her hold.
They had selected the young man; the one of the high cheekbones and dark eyes, and somehow that made it even better. House swallowed the drink still in his fist and watched as that innocent was led up onto the stage, his clumsy steps accompanied by lusty shouts and whistles. His cheeks could have been red with embarrassment or only the ambient light, but his demeanor shouted fear. He tried to smile, to join in the joke but it seemed beyond him and House had the urge to rush the stage and rescue him. His leg gave a twinge of pain just then as if a reminder that his white knight days were long over. And so he sat, right fist curled around the head of his cane, left clutching his drink and he watched as the young man fell into the chair, a wave of thick hair tumbling over his forehead and obscuring one of those luminous eyes.
They circled him like birds of prey, stripping him bare with their hands. His tie slipped to the stage floor, they tore the buttons from his shirt and let it lie like the flayed skin of some exotic fruit, his own pale flesh gleaming under the mellow lights, succulent and inviting. House sat forward, as the women lifted the young man's arms, slipping the shirt completely off and binding each wrist to a candelabra. One straddled his lap, her hips swaying in time with the music, the others kissed along his back and neck taking their pleasure with vampiric ease. The man's head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat in an open invitation to plunder and they did, suckling and nipping with abandon. In his seat House swallowed painfully. It had been nearly a year since he'd felt stirred by anything; the constant pain and his dependency on the drugs to dull it had dampened his sexual appetite as well but right now the faint flutter of excitement in his gut made his throat dry.
He'd watched strip shows, kinky sex shows and everyday porn, but none of it had ever compared with watching this vulnerable young man forcibly seduced by three beautiful women. House tried to slow his breathing and find that place where he could think but the image before him made it impossible. He fished into his pocket, fingers closing over the smooth surface of his pill bottle and drew it out. He downed a Vicodin with the ease of long practice, reveling in the slow numbing of his senses. On the stage before him, the young man lowered his chin and opened his eyes. It was as if in that split second a trap had been sprung, a ruse perpetrated and the tables turned on everyone in the room. Those deep brown eyes locked with House's and a sultry smiled spread across his full lips, changing his appearance from that of nave conquest to erudite conqueror. He tugged one arm free of his restraints, then the other, gripping the hips of the woman straddling him, pressing in to her with a feral expression on his face. For several long moments they moved in a sensual grind, music and breath and the rasp of clothing on skin filling House's ears. Before him the once shy youth rose, sure in his prowess, his face hungry, bending the woman over the chair, his hands white on her dark thighs, dragging the hem of her skirt higher. She snaked an arm back, curling it behind his neck to encourage his kisses.
The transformation from innocent youth to sexual aggressor snagged House's mind, twirling it on edge, making him yearn for hands and mouth in a youth he would not have thought possible. An odd weightless feeling had taken hold of his gut, the same nearly breathless squeeze that had caught him as a child on the first hill of a roller-coaster. He could feel that same anticipation emanating from those around him, voyeurs all, they wanted to experience that shift from taken to taker. The music quickened, pounding with unflagging rhythm, imitating the young man's movements. The other two women had wrapped themselves around him, hands and mouths devouring much the same way as he plundered the women he held. House was panting with the effort to hold himself back. If he'd been able, he knew he would have leapt onto the stage and done the same to the young man. And the thought scared him. He couldn't afford spontaneity now, he had lost the simple ability to follow his instincts because he needed to make concessions for his disability. House hated it, more than the pain that wracked his body, more than the weakness, more than the pity. His life was no longer his own, but if he could have - that boy would have been his.
The lights shifted again, sparkling off the young man's hair, and the woman's breasts, sending shadows of the golden candelabras slithering over the crowd. House watched as the young man again raised his head and locked eyes with him. Silent communication flowed between them, and for an instant House felt transported; it was him bent over the chair, his skin slick with sweat and his voice crying out in pleasure. Just as quickly as it began, the tableau ended and House was again merely watching the scene taking place before him. The young man grew frantic, his body shaking, tensing, stilling in silent ecstasy, then he collapsed across the woman, panting for a moment as the audience gasped in relief, their hoarse voices cracking as speech returned and they shook themselves from the web woven around them. House could feel himself trembling, his cane clattering against the edge of the table like his bones rattling inside his skin. The lights dimmed, plunging the nightclub into complete darkness then rose slowly. On stage the women gathered around the young man, kissing him but this time with sisterly affection. He smiled, the shy endearing smile House had first seen but when their gazes met for the third time, all pretense seemed to drop away and he stood more exposed than he had during the sexual exhibit. House felt his own walls disappear, the longing which had dogged him since Stacy's departure returned and for just an instant he allowed himself to desire.
Applause drown out anything else, the young man blinked, his dark eyes traveling around the room as if just seeing it, his expression twisted for an instant. House imagined he saw a flash of longing, of pain barely concealed. A moment passed and House saw those fine lips twist - a word he could not read formed there and vanished much as the performers themselves did, whisked away on a wave of adulation. House sat for a long time, staring at the head of his cane and wondering what had possessed him. Nothing which had taken place this night was something he would normally do. It was as if he had lost all sense of who and what he was, it left him feeling oddly vulnerable and he was about to get to his feet when the waitress appeared at his elbow again. "Dr. House," she said quietly and he wondered how she knew his name. "There's been an accident backstage, could you come with me?"
He would have refused but that same strange instinct which had driven him all night pulled him to his feet. He followed her, stumbling once as they wound through the numerous tables. The lights had gone down again and on stage a new set of actors were performing another graphic scene of physical gratification. He was led along a hallway behind the stage area, and he could see the other performers getting ready. The place, though it reeked of stale sweat, and sex, also carried traces of an exotic scent, one that reminded House of the spicy nights he'd enjoyed at Carnival. He limped along feeling as if he were traveling deeper and deeper into a surreal world. Masks of feathers and beads peered at him from shadowed nooks while bare yellow bulbs glinted off the huge candelabras, and gleamed on silken sheets and sparked on cage bars, all items lining the hall like a welcoming procession as he made his way among them. House had an urge to turn around, to leave before he faced whatever lay at the end of this journey but the thought came to late and he was shown to a shabby wooden door, the waitress knocked and left.
"Who- oh, thank goodness," a tiny woman with graying blond hair opened the door. "Please, Dr. House, come in." House limped inside.
"This better be important," House growled. He wasn't sure he'd made the right decision, the strange young man had set his emotions on edge and his leg had begun to ache again. Suddenly his hotel seemed like the one place he wanted to be, not some dingy little dressing room in some nightclub.
"Yes, yes, it's James," she said as if he would know immediately what she was talking about - and deep down, House thought he did. "Please, he fell. It's his arm." She indicated another door behind him, opening it. Inside House could hear the labored breathing of someone in pain. He stepped closer and saw that it was the young man from the stage. "James," the older woman said, "James, I've brought a doctor."
House moved inside, taking a look at the man lying on the bed. He had his eyes closed and his hand pressed to his left wrist. Pale and sweating, face twisted in pain, he still had the scent of sex on his skin and House felt his stomach leap at the sight of him. "I need to sit down," he said to the woman, not sure if it was his leg forcing him to say these words or the wanton sight before him. He heard her fussing in the corner and a moment later she moved a chair near the bed and House sat down. "Easy, James," he whispered and reached for the smooth flesh. His fingers played over James' skin, brushing aside his hand so that he could explore the swollen wrist. "Not broken," he said, "just a bad sprain."
"Is there a g-good sprain," James asked. He blinked at House. "This hurts a-a lot."
"Really? I would have thought it felt good," House said. He probed the joint a bit more, "I figured a guy like you would get off on pain."
"If I did talking you would keep me hard as a rock," James barked. He stared at House, anger snapping in his eyes, but from the wry twist of his lips House suspected the anger wasn't really aimed at him. House felt a tickle of admiration stir in the pit of his stomach but refused to let it show on his face. He turned the younger man's wrist slowly and James let out a howl.
"Don't be a baby," House said but he stopped his examination and turned to the woman. "I need something to wrap this with." She scurried away without a world and he turned back to James. "You'll live. Might not jerk off for a while but I think you'll survive."
"That's your expert opinion?"
House grinned. "The opinion of Dr. Gregory House is considered a money back guarantee in many places."
The younger man's eyes went wide. "You're Dr. House?"
Uneasy, House stilled his hands, looking James in the eye. "You've heard of me?" House demanded, staring at James.
"Yeah, sure I've heard of you," James said. "Uh, I - that is before this," he used his uninjured hand to gesture around the room, "I was a resident at Baltimore General. You were a legend." He stopped, cheeks going red as his glance fell on the cane propped beside House. "I've - kinda lost touch with the medical world so, uh, you know......"
"Who are you?"
"Oh, sorry. Wilson, uh, James Wilson." House continued to stare at James Wilson. In the brown depths of his eyes, House thought he could see whole worlds flashing by, places he had never been but would love to visit. Warm mahogany, nutmeg, amber and chocolate, colors that carried weight, that reflected the earth and all its stability. House had been told by many people that his own eyes were the color of a clear sky, cloudless, something you could get lost in, vast, and endless. He'd always thought maybe that explained why he was the way he was - why he could see things others couldn't, piece it all together out of fragments no one else understood. Soaring high above the world he had longed for the rich earth, the varied shades of brown that some people possessed. Stacy's eyes had been the mossy brown color of river rocks, a smooth and tranquil mix but hard and sometimes cold. Wilson's eyes were liquid and deep and warm. The squeak of the door behind them opening made House look over his shoulder, the woman had returned with an Ace bandage and some ice. This was too strange, too weird - the restaurant, the card, his heart's desire. House set to work on Wilson's wrist, wrapping it and packing it with the ice.
"You'll be fine in a week or so, don't lift anything heavy." He picked up his cane and got carefully to his feet.
"Thanks," Wilson said. He rose, right hand making an aborted move, as if he'd been about to reach out to House. "I'm - thanks."
House turned away. Since the infarction his world had changed. There were no more lazy nights with the woman he loved, no sunny afternoons on the golf course, no early morning runs. He lived in the florescent twilight of his office, surrounded by his books working on cases no one else could solve. Before, he had been nationally known, now he was world famous - the reclusive Dr. House, able to solve the most baffling cases without ever leaving his office. He should have been, if not happy, then satisfied, but it all felt empty. He had lost so much, and given up the rest and now he realized that he wanted something solid, he wanted the world. "I have one more night in Baltimore," he said quietly. There was a soft rustling behind him and then Wilson's hand touched his. Warmth crept upwards from the spot, spreading like one of the diseases he studied, but he already knew the effect this on would have on him.
"Maybe we can spend it together," Wilson suggested. House nodded, not really sure what he was doing, but even then wondering what the possibilities were that he had found his heart's desire.
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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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