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Raise
by michelleann68
Turning on my side, I prop myself up and admire the human form in front of me. He tenses up slightly, unsure of my next move. My hand, smooths the lines, and my knuckles scratch against his stubble, enjoying the feeling against my skin. I lean over and drop my lips onto his in a chaste kiss. His hand slides up my arm and pulls me into a more urgent kiss, I pull back reminding him who is in charge now.
My arm is pinned down next to my torso. The ball of control is now in his court. It is not like I don't trust him; I do more then anyone else. I am use to having some sort of say. I close my eyes and try to just relax, not to anticipate, and to just breathe. Trust is tricky for me, but if I cannot trust James; that would be like not trusting myself. I trust myself as a doctor; I have never doubted my expertise or judgment there, but as a human? I often feel ill equipped to participate with the rest of the human race, like I missed the lesson, or failed the test. Tonight, I feel human, and that is unnerving. I feel him slowly dragging his hands down my body as the weight on the bed shifts. The Vicodin still doing its job, I feel only a dull ache in my quad when his fingers slowly map out the scar he is accessing and re-assuring.
I settle myself at the base of his body. I look up at his still form, it's tense, not fully trusting. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, I wait for it to fall into a natural rhythm. My thumbs press into the heel of his foot and move them up. An audible groan echoes in the quiet space. I knead and press to work the tension out of the arch of his foot. Not taking my eyes off him, I make a gentle progression up his foot. My thumb rubs along the Abductor hallucis pressing his big toe backwards. Enjoying the arch of his foot and the small exhale of air I hear from the head of the bed. I give myself a small inward smile; knowing that people do not get this close to him, do not penetrate the bricks he stacks around him. Sliding my hands down and dig my index fingers into his ankles feeling for the Tibialis posterior and gently press the knots out of the muscle. The sweat from his skin eases the journey.
I feel his hand rub across my knees and rotate the kneecap gently. His hands work their way up my legs with care. I tense a little, afraid of his reaction. My weathered legs would never make it into the new Victoria's Secret catalog. His fingers are right there probing, soothing, and reassuring me that it is okay. His fingers stroke the vastus lateralis and work their way up to my pelvis.
I flatten out my hands and sweep up his gastrocnemius, gently kneading and searching out the wide flat soleus muscle in each leg. Comparing the muscles as I work my way up, the damage in the aftermath of the infarction is evident. His right leg less developed, the muscles tighter, it leaves his body uneven. I am attentive to the tone and strength that he carries. The human body still amazes me. All these systems find a way to work in harmony to keep us alive keep us moving and living. I press my fingers into his abdomen and sneak a feel of his liver, slightly inflamed, which is to be expected. To divert attention, I press my lips to his sternum; drag my tongue up his torso, tasting him. I straddle his hips, settling my body onto his.
His smooth, callus free fingers work themselves into my scalp. My eyes roll back in ecstasy. Slowly and methodically, I feel him map out the shape of my skull, gently rolling over the ridges and valleys. His hands follow the hard bone down to the back of my head, sliding down the Occipital bone, and resting at my Cervical vertebrae. I appreciate the care, and the massage. Human contact feels so good. Tonight James has been full of surprises.
The tension in trapezius is palatable. He carries around so much, so no wonder; he is all tension and knots. I keep the pressure on his Rectus capitis lateralis and press my lips to his. Wedging his mouth open, my hands travel down his shoulders and settle on his biceps. He raises his hands to touch me, but I do not want that right now, it's about his needs, and maybe more about my need to give. Maintaining the kiss I take his hands in mine, raise his hands over his head, holding them in place with one hand.
Ok, I can give up control. Let go a little. I trust James sometimes more then I trust myself. I spend so much time shoving my agenda down everyone's throats. Even when he is not looking, he takes such care of me. I tell him that he cares too much, but I am afraid of him giving all his care away and someday there will be none left for me. I need that part so much more. Closing my eyes, I give in and feel his hand dance across my body. His other hand firmly keeps me in place reminding me some times it can be about what he wants to give not about what I need.
His shoulders relax and I think it is safe for me to let go and finish what I have started. I press my thumbs into his clavicles. His eyes tighten; his shoulders fold into the soft sheets. Gently my fingers work down his chest, stopping at his sternum. I lengthen my body and press it against his legs. Propped up on my elbows I center my efforts on his hip flexor. I listen to his breath speeding up. With one hand, I trail a finger across his inner thigh. My other hand flattens out holding him in place. I pause and look at his relaxed body spread out and vulnerable in the moonlight, eyes closed, mouth lax.
He pauses, I wonder if tonight is too much for him. Every cloud has a dark and sinister lining. My mind races with what to say to him, to reassure him, to not lose him. Never mind. The gentle pressure of his thumb presses into my groin his mouth captures me. His tongued works over the tip licking and dragging. I move my hips to meet his mouth,, encouraging, no demanding that he pick up the pace. Parts of me, that have been dormant, spring to life. I am engulfed in his hot, wet mouth, his tongue sweeps back and forth, and his mouth moves up and down finding a speed between breath taking and pulse stopping. We find a perfect harmony, until I stop him. Tonight needs to be about us.
I look up, questioning. I can feel him so close to release. "No. Together." Comes out of his mouth, much less like a demand and more like a plea. I am a little confused, not really capable of rational thought.. He makes a move to pull me up and on to him, and I get the idea. I straddle his good leg and align our erections the best I can. My thumb runs over the tip and I spread the liquid coating, both of us. Our hands meet and fingers weave together and we both start to find a rhythm that works. We fall into a disjoined cadence; I look down searching for an answer. Nothing is going right.
Damn, my fuckin leg. I can't get any leverage in this position. We both push against each other and look to find the right pressure and obtain the right motion. It's not going to work this way. My free arm is below him and I pull his arm to get his attention. "Otherside" I think he is listening to me, I feel his body shift across me and I buck into him, as the hair on his groin brushes across the head. I bite my lip, focusing, not ready to let go. I struggle to hang on, a few more minutes; I am vibrating with energy.
I settle in on the other side. My leg is bent over his hips and his leg is bent behind me resting on my hamstring. We are pressed together finding friction and leverage and settle into a natural tempo. Our bodies are like puzzle pieces fitted together. Our fingers interlaced, as we stroke and pull each other towards oblivion. I close my eyes and press my face into his neck with all the strength I can muster. I see the room filled with vibrant colors all moving and swirling in time to our bodies. I feel tightness in my balls telling me I am close. I do not want to hang on anymore; I want to release, to feel, to let myself go; to be transformed by touch. One final push and I groan, release, and fall limp against his body. Every hair on me on end; emptied and filled at the same time. He falls quickly after me; a deep growl that seems apart from him fills the room.
My neck arched and head pressed into the soft down pillow, I am spent. From the neck down, I feel my spine sink into the padded bedding, slowly, one vertebrae at a time. The aftershocks continue to race through my body. I ease my leg down and fully stretch out on the mattress, held in place by a very warm body.
The paint that swirled around us, in vibrant energetic colors, crashes down, sinking into my skin, changing me, awakening me. I use one arm to possessively hold me to him, grounding me, the other rests on my side. I listen as our heartbeats and breathing slow down, the symphony of noise that pounded in my ears now rocks me to sleep. The sweat and seamen are just the physical remnants of our bond.
We lay together for what seems like hours. I have no desire to look at the clock or count the minutes until he leaves. My entire body is lax. Even if I tried to move, I doubt I would accomplish that task. In this one moment, I am free of pain.
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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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