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2 Step
by Michelleann68
I stop and just look, like a general sizing up a battlefield. It's amazing what this man does to me. In the big picture he's breathtaking, but each individual part is heart stopping. He knows it on some level, as well, and that might explain the self-assured way he stands, waiting, wanting me to say something to give in, to tell him what he does to me.
We've played these games before, two generals in battle. I surrender not as quickly this time. I want to watch the anticipation grow and develop, see the slight flush his skin takes on, anticipate his breath getting just the tiniest bit shallower. Watch for ....there it is, the smooth movement of a swallow: my gaze is getting to him now. He loves the game as much as I do.
Slowly I cast my eyes down, not to avoid his eyes but to admire each individual part. Taking him in piece by piece hoping it will delay my desire, my weakness if you wish. I know, I'm just fooling my self. With each movement of my gaze, my desire grows three fold. It's funny sometimes I forget what life is like not wanting him, not feeling him grow slick and hard against my skin, watching his eyes grow bright with anticipation and satisfaction, hearing his voice grow heavy with desire, the purr in my ear, the stubble satisfying an itch my desire for him creates. I give my thoughts away with a shiver: he knows, a slight quirk of his mouth, a light in his face turned on.
We play the game too much not to notice everything. It's the details we both appreciate so much. A shiver, a moan, or a grunt, each sound he makes, I can catalogue what each one means and how much closer he is to the edge, how much he needs me to push him or pull him, to hold him close and to taste him. Of course, he could do the same for me and it is that level of awareness that turns me on even more. God damnit, I silently tell myself, my head falls forward and I bring my hand up to rub my neck and refocus on the game at hand.
I notice his cuffs, not buttoned, he expects that I will just rip off his shirt and take him. I generally have trouble controlling my desire for him, but tonight, I want to take it slow, to feel his desire rise, to make him ask me, no demand release from me. The game is always fun, and in the end no matter what happens we both win. I know this, but I think that sometimes in pursuit of the win he forgets.
In this glass room, I feel like we are two tigers sizing each other up. He is not my prey, but the other lion in the room. We both stalk and practice our hunting skills. I know that I would never really hurt him, but I am still working on convincing him, he is safe with me.
I take one step forward, he stiffens slightly. The anticipation electrifies the air in the room. I lick my lips whetting them and pacing myself. I'm not ready to take him, or ready to be taken as the case may be. Today, I am enjoying the hunt too much. He likes it too; I feel his focus on my mouth, watching me, anticipating my reaction to his gaze. He shifts his weight and leans on the doorway. Internally I smile, sneaking my tongue out to touch my lower lip, one more time. One point to Dr. Wilson.
Battles like this remind me of why I love him; he is my equal in everyway. Not that he always believes that. It's my job to remind him. For the hard exterior that greets everyone else, I know the softer side of Greg. I close my eyes bringing back the memory of the clean soapy scent mixed with hospital and heat. It's intoxicating. I stifle the urge to make the two steps to grab him, to breathe in his scent.
Taking a deep breath, I need to remember to focus on the battle at hand. I falter. Closing my eyes, I count to ten. Opening them, I gaze up and am greeted with a pair of hooded blue eyes, sizing me up looking for my weak spot, ready to pounce. I can tell, feel, perceive, whatever... that he is as close to surrender and I am. So I wait and he takes in a shallow breath. I have never been this close to victory before. But I wait, patience is a virtue, it is all about timing at this point.
He is standing in the doorway bracing one arm on the frame, trying to look relaxed. I feel adrift with desire, standing in the center of the room. I want to steady myself, re-acquire my footing and I feel almost naked standing here watching him watching me. One more step forward, if asked I would say it was just to find my balance, but we both know that is a lie. He smiles a true genuine smile. One that makes me want to forget the game and just walk up to him, and place a gentle kiss on both beautiful blue eyes, so they will stop staring into me. I close my eyes as a smile creeps across my face. I lower my head and shake it gently.
He is ready to give up and forfeit, but only the years of practice keeps him here and keeps us both in this game of anticipation and patience. He moves, again shifting his position, forward half a step. I can almost touch him if I straightened out my arm. I close my eyes and think of touching his face, feeling the day of stubble, coarse against my skin. The electricity in the room courses though me, one more step forward. I move as though controlled by magnets. I am drawn, it stopped being a matter a choice, and it just is, no questions. I don't label what we have anymore; I just love him.
Now we are at a stalemate. Two small paces separate both of us from what we both want, need, desire, hell they all run together when it comes to us. Which one of us will break, no, that's not fair, which one will give up this one and allow the other to declare a victory in this battle of wills. I should just give in, like I usually do. He has always been better at chicken then I am. I am more pragmatic, but today I want to win.
A little inward chuckle and I know the jig is up. One point to him. I take one more step forward and bring my hand up to his cheek, my thumb grazes his stubble and he leans into the caress his eyes close gently, as his head tilts. His tongue snakes out to whet his lips waiting for mine to join his. Gently I pull him forward. I am not ready for a complete forfeit; a small loss of territory is acceptable; I will not give him a complete victory. He stumbles into my embrace. I steady him with my other hand landing on his waist. Gently, I guide his face to mine, threading my fingers through his hair. I sigh at the warmth I feel in his skin. I inhale deeply. God, I want him. My eyes are open and I gaze into him. He slowly opens his eyes and looks back at me; his eyes are lit from within.
My fingers caressed his jawline and a receptive head leans into the caress.
We are tied. I can claim victory if I let my prey come to me.
Leaning forward, I tease his lips open with light nips, the gentlest of love bites, along his lower lip. A deep moan works its way up his throat and then, out into the room. I press my lips hard, lips meeting lips. A crash of skin. My hands steady on his hips, I don't make another advance happy to be right here taunting him, egging him on, feeling his desire and need grow. He makes his move, his hand snakes up my back and he grasps my hair to hold my head in place. My arms slide around his back anchoring him to me.
His cane falls to the ground. We both ignore the interruption.
His tongue meets mine, I feel his body grow stiff under my fingers, I wrap my arms tighter around his waist as he keeps me in his space. This is the way I like our kisses, nothing tentative, we both negotiate for control, happy to pass it off, back and forth.
But tonight I am playing a game, and I can smell victory.
Nose meets nose, teeth gnash into teeth, arms play against growing damp skin, we are merged. He has control and speeds up the pace. His need is greater; I feel the hunger as he pulls me closer and closer so I am almost pulled into him.
Now is the time. I know he is seeking more, he is lost in the moment, his brain is frantically seeking to take this someplace, so we can finish. But not today.
It takes all my effort to pull away. I reach down and place his cane in his hand.
He looks confused, perplexed, and wanton. His lips are swollen and face is flush, I stare for an extra moment just to capture this and put it in my scrapbook of favorite looks, the one I mentally flip through when he is not around
I kiss the tip of his nose and run my fingers through his damp hair.
"See you at home," and I walk away.
'Tease," his voice cracks.
I smile a big smile, a satisfied smile, hands on my hips and shaking my head, I relish my short lived victory.
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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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