I watch him as he sleeps. You would think that once asleep, he would be rid of his ideas and worries and intensities, but he looks concentrated as if he's trying to figure out the precise workings of the human mind during REM. He is free of demons and plagues, but never free of his thoughts. His brow is furrowed, his eyelids concealing those keen, piercing blue eyes. He needs to shave when he wakes up, but probably won't. Hobo chic is his thing.

He's as old as my father and I don't care. I don't have daddy issues, I wasn't molested as a child, I'm not mentally ill. I've never dated a man this much my senior before, it's not a fetish or a habit. I'm not after his money. I knew the second I met him that I would have him. I've never been as attracted to any other man as I am to this man. I am twenty two years old, fresh out of college, working part time at a coffee shop, dating a man who is forty eight. I don't give a shit.

I consider watching him sleep until he wakes up, his blue eyes meeting my blue eyes and letting out a series of angry questions peppered with profanity. Today is his day off, though, and the last thing I want to do is start it off with his irritation. I lightly kiss his ear, my lips just barely grazing the lobe, and crawl from the warmth of his bed, not bothering to put anything on over my tank top and thong.

The kitchen is immaculate, as I like to keep it, but through no effort on his part. I start a pot of coffee and take out the things I need and start making macadamia pancakes, his favorite. I got the recipe from Wilson a few weeks after I met him, intending to make them as a surprise one morning. I was exactly what he was looking for, exactly what he needed.

The last thing Dr. Gregory House wants is some simpering little thing clinging to him, looking for him to be a gentleman, be the man they would marry. That isn't House. I clean, I cook, I satisfy his every need and when he needs me gone or feels suffocated, I'm gone for a few days. I know when he is getting restless and feels held down and have the good sense to get out of his way before he blows up; and I know exactly when he needs me back.

I pour the pancake batter into the hot skillet, coated with butter, and set to getting his tray ready. The strawberries that hadn't been eaten last night are cut into small pieces and put into a small green bowl. I flip the pancakes at just the right time and pour his coffee into a chipped red mug. I have just enough time to eat a yogurt before taking the pancakes out of the pan and arranging them on his plate, the maple syrup sitting next to the strawberries. I take the time to brush my teeth and put on deodorant before bringing the breakfast tray in. I do my best to keep myself looking and smelling good for him.

I walk back into the bedroom, always keeping quiet lest I wake the beast from his slumber in an unpleasant manner. He's already awake, sitting up and looking at the empty space next to him, curious as to why I'm not there. He looks up at me with raised eyebrows. His eyes travel from my face to my breasts to the tray to my lack of pants. I lay the tray across his legs and crawl back into bed with him.

There is an offhand compliment on the pancakes, but no thank yous are exchanged between us, no I love yous, no sweethearts or honeys. He doesn't offer me a bite of anything and I don't ask. There are few words between us until I take the tray away and return to bed. He makes some remark about being a dirty man and I kiss him.

He tastes like maple syrup and before I know it, his fingers tuck themselves under the waist of my underwear. There is a moment right before I lower myself onto him, a moment of tension, of excitement, of anticipation and then he's inside me and all there is… is complete ecstasy.

xXxXx

I wake up half expecting her to be staring at me like an idiot. I know she does it to get a rise out of me and make me squirm. I'm about to let out a curse at her, about to tell her to get out, but I open my eyes and she isn't there. The spot where she's supposed to be is vacant and cold. She's been gone for a while.

I knew one day this would come, where I'd wake up and she'd be out of my life forever. I'll curse her and tell myself I'm better off and all I'll miss is the sex and the cleaning. What can I expect from a girl more than half my age? From a girl who should be with a guy her age that isn't an angry crippled addict? I'll bitch at Wilson for a couple weeks and move on.

She's exactly what I need and exactly what I want: uncomplicated, undemanding and completely dedicated. She cleans without my having to ask, she cooks gourmet quality meals and keeps up with me in bed, doing anything I ask with a smile. Her body isn't supermodel perfect, but she is beautiful. She knows I don't want her to love me, I don't want her to be around me constantly. It's almost like she can read my mind; she leaves when I need her to but she comes back when I start to miss her. I would never tell her I miss her. I don't want to miss her, I don't want to need her. I want to be okay if she leaves and never think twice… but I don't want that either.

I suppose it's just as well that I spend my day off alone, brooding.

Just as I'm about to pity my old, foolish crippled self, she's in the doorway. Her honey brown hair is disheveled, but not a complete mess. She's still beautiful without makeup, natural and soft and young. She's calm and pleased… and not wearing a bra; it's cold. She's made me breakfast: pancakes, strawberries and a cup of coffee. I see my other breakfast, too; she's not wearing pants.

She puts the tray across my lap gently. She's just careful of my leg enough that I know she cares but not too much so I feel like a gimp. She crawls into bed next to me and rests her head just by my shoulder.

Macadamia pancakes. She must've gotten the recipe from Wilson when I wasn't paying attention. I tell her they're good and continue eating. They're better than good, even better than Wilson's. I won't tell her that, won't say thank you. I don't want her to feel needed and get clingy. I'll never be the man she could marry, start a life with, have children with. I can never give her the impression that I could be that.

I finish eating and she gets rid of the tray. I tell her I'm a dirty man ready for the rest of my breakfast and I kiss her. She's brushed her teeth and tastes minty. I pull down those pesky underpants and she straddles me. I grip her hips and close my eyes and let myself be consumed by complete ecstasy.