Disclaimer: I do not own House.
Chapter 1: Rehab
He's been going to the meetings for god knows how long.
So far, the only thing good that came out of it was the entrainment. The pathetic jerks that went to rehab and their constant whining have been an amusing ride
.
The man sitting next to him smells of urine.
"Fucking drug addicts." House grits his teeth, restraining himself, holding back another out-burst. It never really helped though – he'd never had self control and soon enough he'd be saying something snide, making someone cry and getting the group instructor mad.
He doesn't belong here with the junkies and whores, he is able, he is functioning and he is in pain.
Another session has ended earlier and the credit goes to him for manipulating two ex coke whores into a fight.
House walks slowly through the corridor, his head bowed and his attention fixed on the noise his shoes and his cane make on the green rubber flooring. From the rooms beside him he can hear crying, whining – people who pity themselves for ruining their own life. He rolls his eyes and continues to limp slowly.
The last room near the fire exit is quiet. As he passes close, he hears no sobbing coming from inside. His typical curiosity is awaken, so he creeps closer to the door, noticing it's not entirely close.
He licks his lips and leans in to eavesdrop.
"Excuse me." A female voice is heard from behind him.
Before he even manages to back away, he feels himself being pushed aside. The woman is in her 20s, perhaps 25 or less, she is short even with her high stiletto heels and she is wearing a black dress with a cropped fake green fur coat. The woman opens the door wider and then stands in the entrance and stares at him blankly.
Her eyes are big, blue and painted black.
"Are you planning to stand here all night or are you going to join us?"
He furrows his brow in confusion and then takes a peek inside. It seems like the meeting for an average bunch of addicts.
"I am not sure I got the right group…" He mumbles and instantly wants to smack himself on the head. He hates those god damn sessions, what the hell is he thinking trying to sneak into another one? A brief look at the woman's cleavage makes it all clear to him, and once again, he desperately needs his pills.
"Sex addicts" She states and then turns her back to him again, entering the room.
"Sex addicts? Must be fun," he thinks to himself and decides to follow her inside.
The group eyes him questioningly. He gives them an exaggerated fake smirk to them and takes a seat behind the woman, leaning his chin against his cane.
"I see we have a new member here…" The instructor speaks, staring at House with slight suspicion. "We do not use real names here friend, so feel free to choose your nickname."
"Cuddy." Greg answers, smiling mischievously.
"Cuddy it is then Sir, I am your counselor, Albert, and this is our sex addicts meeting. I am afraid you're a bit late though seeing as how the session is about to end."
Greg shrugs. He couldn't care less. The woman sits in front of him, with her long legs stretched and crossed together and her arms folded across her chest. She listens carefully as a guy tells the story of how he almost fucked the family's cat and had his wife and kids leave him.
It's hard to fight the laughter. "Why haven't I been here before? This group is so much fun he thinks to himself.
10 minutes later, the session ends and he walks away, limping slowly down the corridor.
"What happened to your leg?" He hears the familiar voice call behind him.
He turns his head and the woman appears beside him. He looks down at her. Her head barely reaches his shoulder.
"Old war wound, back from the days," he answers and she smiles, displaying a white row of teeth between glossy purple lips.
"Does it hurt?"
"All the time," he replies and continues walking, attempting to get rid of her.
He loves to look but he never really fancies taking them back home. Hookers are the exception. He turns his head to the side again and sees her staring back at him through her long dark lashes.
"What?" he stops and asks her, leaning down so he can inspect her more closely. She is not painful to look at, and she certainly look like trouble.
"I need a ride home," she says sweetly, batting her lashes with tenderness.
He rolls his eyes and glances behind them to see if there is anyone else in the corridor – anyone else who can give her a ride.
Everyone else has already gone home, the hallway is empty and dark.
"I ride a motorcycle," he states.
"I don't care," she answers, shrugging her petite shoulders.
He sighs and nods unwillingly. Giving her a ride is the last thing he wants to do right now, but it seems like she is not leaving him much of a choice.
"Where do you live?" he asks, and a broad smile quickly appears on her face.
The ride to her home seems like forever to him, mainly because of the fact that every time she presses herself tightly against his body he feels himself getting hard.
It has been too long, he is in too much pain.
She climbs off the vehicle and then stands in front of him.
"You are not really from our group…"
"Not your group," he replays nervously, praying for her to quit snooping around and just go inside.
"Don't tell me… AA?"
"I'm from the 'none of your business" group." He replays coldly and then gives her a ridicules sardonic smirk.
She is not impressed, and not hurt by his behavior. Instead she stands there smiling, with her glossy lips and her white teeth. "Drugs." She says.
He lifts up his brow with wonder. Sneaky little minx.
"I'm right, ain't I?"
"Prescription meds," he answers, feeling his mouth becoming dry just by the sound of these words. They taste bitter on his tongue.
"You don't look like the average drug addict," she says, observing his appearance.
He scoffs and then glares back at her figure, "Funny, you look just like a sex addict."
She shrugs and then begins to creep closer, standing next to his motorcycle.
"Why are you at the meetings?" she asks him, placing her wrist on the handle of his motorbike.
He rolls his eyes with frustration, wishing she will just go home and stop interrogating him. He doesn't like to talk about him problems, he doesn't like to talk about his personal life with her type of people.
"What is it to you?"
"Curiosity." She says and pushes her tongue between her teeth, smiling teasingly.
Greg narrows his eyes and stares at her, irritated. "I have a pain problem, and it seems like right now you're a part of it."
"Pain? Because of the leg?" She asks him and traces her dark purple nails across the leather saddle, drawing invisible squares.
His eyes track her movements. She is leaning close, close enough for him to gape down her the cleavage of her dress.
He remains silent, looking at her with what seems like menacing glare. She is not frightened, nearly moved at all.
"They are forcing you into this, aren't they? Caught you chasing the dragon at work, gave you an ultimatum."
"Who are you supposed to be? Sherlock Holmes?" he asks her with mockery.
She scoffs "I am not just a pretty face, sweetheart."
"No, you're a nice pair of tits as well." He replies.
To his surprise she laughs loudly and then moves even closer to him. He can smell her perfume, "Deep Red", sensual, mysterious.
"Are you in pain right now?" she asks, and stares at his leg.
He stares at it as well, and places his hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently. "I am, and you're quite a pain as well, so why don't you just go?"
"Big tough boy, aren't you?" She pouts mockingly "I am not making you stay."
He remains silent, knowing she is right. If he wanted to go, he'd be gone ages ago, but he is being an idiot, remaining there with her.
"You know, if you want it, all you have to do is just ask." She suggests and raises her eyebrows with mischief.
At first he frowns, unable to realize what she just meant.
She leans to him, placing her hand on his good thigh and pressing hard. He nearly jumps, he didn't foresee her action
"Sex releases endorphins" she says "My addiction, your addiction, I think we can be beneficial to each other tonight…" she suggests, tightening her grip on his thigh.
He is quick to brush her hand away, and then shifts in his seat awkwardly "You're half my age," He states and then asks himself why on earth he just refused her.
He needs his Vicodin, he needs his sweet relief.
The woman stands straight and backs away shrugging.
"Well it could be you, it could be anyone else. Goodnight then Sir, and thanks for the ride."
With that she turns away and walks slowly into the building, swaying her hips seductively. House stares at her behinds as she moves, strutting away from him. His pain increases in both his thigh, and the uncomfortable swelling in the crotch of his jeans.
She is young, attractive, and the pain is great and torturing. He figures that someone like her won't call him later, won't follow him around once they're done. All of it sounds convenient.
Carefully he dismounts his bike and follows her inside.
The dim lobby is so quiet that he can hear the buzzing sound of the electricity. His eyes search for her silently when he feels a delicate hand grab his wrist and pull him into the stairwell.
She presses against the wall aggressively, her palms pushing flat against his chest. Her kisses are passionate, her purple gloss smears all over his thin lips. At first he is bemused by her forwardness, but very soon, lust takes over – leading his actions. He allows his hands to trace her lower back softly until reaching her small buttocks, which then leads into pushing her against his swollen erection.
The woman whimpers into his mouth, feeling his hard cock poking at her abdomen. This, combined with the warmth between them makes her wet and eager for him. They stand kissing and groping underneath the orange light of the staircase.
House's leg is throbbing with pain, and his hands work their way to her underwear, attempting to pull them down. He is in such desperate need right now, imagining how he is about to fuck her right there, against the wall of some stinking lobby.
.
When she suddenly pushes him back, eliciting a rather loud protest from him. In order to quiet him, she presses a finger against his lips and then slowly begins to kneel down till she is at the level of his groin. She stares at him with hungry eyes, licking her lips in anticipation while her hands work his belt.
Overwhelmed, he stares down at her with a gaping mouth. He has never met a girl like this, not even in college. He has no interest in seeing her again after this night, but right now he feels that at the very least, he needs to know her name.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"No names," she insists, and pulls the zipper of his jeans down.
"First letter," he demands and then groans as he feels her cold hand gripping his erection.
"K," she answers, stroking him gently and observing the length of his manhood, "what's your name, big boy?"
He arches against the wall and groans with pleasure once again, closing his eyes.
"Sorry, you said no names…" he answers horasly.
She crooks her eyebrow and while she holds him in her hand she moves her other hand to his pocket, pulling out his wallet.
She flips the small leather folder open and views his driver's license.
"Gregory…House…" she whispers loudly enough for him to hear and before he is able to say anything she returns the wallet to his pocket and begins to trace her tongue along his shaft. House moans and leans his head against the wall, asking himself what good deed he has committed in order to deserve such delightful treatment. The woman licks him slowly and softly, not taking him into her mouth, yet slicking her flexible tongue down his large erection.
He groans and closes his eyes, pushing his groin further toward her. "Take me in…" he demands.
But then she suddenly stops, and pulls away from him.
He opens his eyes quickly, and sees her moving away from him, climbing up the stairs and then leaning her back against the wall and staring at him seductively.
"Hey…" Greg protests and quickly tucks his painfully hard arousal back into his pants.
She chuckles and then quickly runs up the remainder of the stairs, urging him to follow her. She slows down, several times, allowing him to keep her pace and to nearly catch her just so that she can teasingly run away again. When she reaches her apartment, she leans against the door and waits for him to approach her. He smiles and leans against her, trying to kiss her. She kisses him swiftly and opens the door causing them both to stumble inside.
They are on the floor, struggling with each other, vying for control, flipping each other over – fighting to be on top. Being a man he has the upper hand, even with his disability he is endlessly stronger than her. The leg aches but he is successful to pin her down and tear her underwear away. He has his hands holding her thighs apart and he lowers himself between her legs.
He unzips his jeans and positioning himself to enter her but just before he is able to penetrate she successfully flips them, swapping positions so that she is on top. She smiles victoriously at his expression of surprise. Her hands reach between her legs and she grasp his erection driving him inside her with a loud gasp. He bucks his hips, staring at her dancing above him and allowing himself to grab her waist, in order to pull her down to meet his thrusts. She moans with every pound and cries out loudly, using her knees as leverage against the cold floor, increasing the pace until she feels her orgasm filling her with pleasure and sweeping her away. House uses this opportunity to flip her, and holds her down again, pinning her hands to the floor as he plunges into her: roughly, quickly. As his climax draws near he feels himself lose whatever control he had and fucks her mercilessly until he finally comes into her, releasing a loud grunt.
3 hours later he wakes up in her bed. She is sleeping soundly with her back to him. He stares at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail of what they did with one another before slowly climbing off her bed, being careful not to wake her. He dresses quietly and searches for his cane. The pain is starting to return again, but sadly for him he had already drained her enough to sleep for the next 24 hours.
Now there is nothing that can help him.
He paces through her house, avoiding stepping in any of the mess they made as he approaches the door. Just before he leaves he takes a quick glance back into her home.
He hopes to never see her again.