A/N: This idea came to me while I was re-watching "The Itch" for about the millionth time and I thought, Hmm…what if… This fic doesn't follow any sort of timeline and there are no spoilers to my knowledge. Please let me know what you think!! :D

He always calls when he's going to be late. Tonight was no exception. Don't wait up, he'd said. Those words should hurt, but they don't. When she thought about it, they never had, but she kept those thoughts locked away, safe in her subconscious. The truth did no one any good, their relationship worked because each labored under the delusion that the other was above reproach.

It was after midnight, the paperwork was finished, the mail sorted and the bills paid. She was surfing the web to kill time while she waited for her linens to finish their cycle in the dryer. Her ears caught the soft beeping from the laundry room and she logged off, shutting down the computer. She pulled her sheets from the dryer, her body absorbing the warmth.

Climbing the steps to the bedroom, she switched on a lamp and dropped the linens onto the luxurious bed. It was a selfish purchase but one she would never regret. When her eyes landed on the wrought iron head and footboard, she felt drawn to it, as if it were a work of art. After a mattress test that wasn't nearly as fun as it sounded, she made the purchase impulsively. And she could count on one hand the number of times she had been so reckless in the pursuit of material acquisition.

As she secured the fitted sheet, her mind wandered to the degree that she wasn't paying the slightest attention to the task at hand. After smoothing the duvet, she spotted the top sheet lying on the antique chest at the end of the bed. Cursing her inattention, she pulled the light comforter from the bed and laid it over the chest and quickly put on the flat sheet.

She gathered the comforter in her arms, meaning to finish making up the bed, but movement from the doorway made her jump, her hand flying to her chest. As she calmed her racing heart, she wondered how long he had been standing there, watching.

"God! What are you doing? You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you here?"

"You know why."

Expelling a breath, she closed her eyes. Giving the duvet one last tug, she folded the sheet back, ignoring the flash of diamonds from her wedding set, and extinguished the light. Slipping out of the scrub pants she was wearing, she crawled onto the bed, biting her lip as she felt the mattress dip under his weight.

"Let's get this over with. He'll be home soon." She tried to sound cool but her heart was already pounding with anticipation.

"The hell he will. We both know where he is tonight."

She didn't comment. Instead, she pulled the fitted tee over her head and tossed it across the room. A shiver zipped up her spine as his bare leg brushed hers, relishing the pleasurable sensation of the coarse hair against her baby smooth skin.

He lay on his back beside her and she straddled his leg, rubbing against the firm muscle of his thigh as her lips found his. Deftly, he unhooked her bra and tossed it in the direction of the footboard. His hands slid upward from her slim waist to her breasts, teasing the sensitive skin with his nails. Shivering, she whimpered into his mouth, tracing his lower lip with her tongue.

Accepting her invitation, he opened his mouth, greeting her tongue with his own. She broke away with a gasp as his thumbs caressed her nipples and she ground her hips against him.

He felt her damp heat through her lacy panties, the color was irrelevant—they were all his favorites, and pulled her closer, suckling her nipples. Her hips began to move in earnest at the added stimulation and he lowered his hands to her hips, encouraging it.

"God, yes," she whimpered. Her hands were splayed against his chest, fingers curling as the pleasure mounted, her short nails pressing into his skin. "Please."

He pulled his mouth from her breasts and halted her movement against him, growling, "No."

She uttered a pitiful sound of protest and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. But his grip was iron; she wasn't going anywhere soon.

"Please. I need…"

"Do you fuck him here?" he demanded, his voice low.

"What?" She sounded honestly distressed by his question.

"Do you fuck him here? Is that what the two of you do in this big bed?"

"That's not—" She broke off, crying out as he bit her nipple, the pain morphing into pleasure that made her uneasy.

"Do you?"

"No!" she relented, breathless with desire. "This is my bed. Our bed."

She could not see the relief on his face. He wanted to feel smug but found that the idea of her fucking him here distressed him more than he had possibly imagined. The tiny whimper that escaped her brought him back to the present and he released her, his hand moving between them. He stroked her clit, varying speed and motion, growing impossibly harder with each sensual sound she uttered.

Gripping his hand, she pinned it to the mattress beside her and shifted. She taunted him, slowly shifting her hips, dragging her wetness the length of his penis to the ridge at the head, stimulating her clit, and reversing, only to traverse the same course again and again. He easily broke free from her grip and laid his hands on her thighs, fingers tightening rhythmically with her movements.

She was close, almost too close and she pulled away. Taking his erection in hand, she slid onto his hardness, taking him in almost completely. She stifled a groan and rose, sinking down onto him fully this time, her hands on his chest for balance.

This was no time for waiting; she was ready for him, her inner walls warm and slick, giving his cock a tantalizing squeeze each time their hips met. Her movements where lazy but firm and he met her with equal force. Fast and hard had its time and place but he preferred a slow burn, watching his lover go out of her mind as he took her to the brink again and again before finally setting her free.

He wished there was a light on; he wanted to see her above him. She was beautiful in passion, how could such a lovely woman in everyday living not be? But he settled for his other senses, heightened as they were, breathing in the scent of their lovemaking and her own unique smell, listening to the erotic sounds she made, allowing his hands to explore her without restriction.

Closing her eyes, she bent forward, kissing him lazily. He reciprocated, nipping her lower lip playfully, pulling a husky chuckle from her throat. Unsatisfied with this position, she leaned back, resting her palm against his knee for balance as she worked her hips.

"Yes," she moaned breathlessly, finding the friction she needed.

"God, you're so fuckin' hot," he growled. He gripped her hips, then her thighs, and back to her hips again. She drove him out of his mind, a feat that no other woman had accomplished thus far.

Spreading her thighs wider, she sat upright again, her movements more forceful and heading toward erratic. She was close to orgasm, and he was in no better shape. She strained to take more of him in, she wanted him deeper, but they were as close as they could possibly be.

He made a minor adjustment and bumped her womb and she cried out. "Oh God, yes! Don't stop," she whispered, her breathing hard and fast.

Never one to deny a lady in the bedroom, he kept up the pace and angle, biting his lip as he listened to her come undone. She was exquisite; her body contracting around his, moaning of ecstasy, her hips moving against his, softer now, as she sought to prolong the high.

He nearly lost it, hearing her, feeling her unravel for him, because of him. As she collapsed against him, panting, uttering soft sounds of satiation, he tenderly caressed the sweat-slicked skin of her lower back, hips and firm, sexy backside.

"Oh God, that was so good," she sighed, kissing his jaw.

"Hmm," he answered, non-committal.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"In case you didn't notice, I'm still waiting for my turn."

She smirked and sat up, gazing into his eyes. "I bet you're just aching to come."

"You have no idea."

"Well, I guess I should do something to—" she broke off, squeaking as his thumb brushed her clit, her body arching into his, seeking more.

"Yeah, I guess you should if you want more of this."

Her hips were already moving without her consent, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. This man knew just how to touch her, to make her come alive under his hands. She had never known anyone like him and she had never dreamed he was sitting on such a wonderful talent.

She flexed around him, alternating the tempo, keeping him off-guard and luring him nearer to his own peak. He continued to work the heart of her pleasure, turning her body against her, but she was unable to find it in herself to care because she was climaxing again, bringing him with her this time.

They lay together, chest to chest, her face pressed against his neck, his hands gently caressing her arms, dropping affectionate kisses into her sweaty hair. Lost to their own post-coital bliss, neither noticed the man standing silently in the doorway, illuminated by the lights from the first floor.

Without a sound, he pulled the door to the jamb, turned and walked away.

"You know you can't stay here, right?" she said sleepily.

"Aww, mom! C'mon! I'm tired and I'm already comfortable."

"No. James will be home and you cannot be here."

"Fine." His tone was sullen and she was certain his expression was too.

"What did you think was going to happen? I'd leave James, move in with you and become your sex slave?"

"Well, not exactly in those words, but some variation of them, yeah."

"I'm sorry. I've invested too much into this marriage to let it go now. You had your chance; you should have acted on it."

He didn't speak, just pulled away and began yanking his clothing on in the darkness.

"House," she said gently, switching on a lamp beside the bed, "Don't get pissed off. You knew what this was when I let you take me to bed two years ago."

"Don't you dare get all moral and self-righteous with me! He's fucking every woman he meets, including terminal patients! He doesn't deserve you or your loyalty! Fuck your vows."

"I think we just did. And he doesn't have my loyalty. I'm thinking of our reputations—all of our reputations. Imagine the scandal. Best case scenario, we all lose our jobs. Do you really think it won't follow us? That no one will care?"

He didn't answer because he knew she was right. She always was, no matter how many times they had this same argument. Nor did he resist her when she crossed the bed on her knees and pulled him to her, her lush curves pressed against him.

"Choose me."

"I did. Years ago. But you just never asked and then Wilson stepped up to the plate instead." Her smile was melancholy, despite the affection for him shining in her blue eyes. She caressed his jaw with the backs of her fingers and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. "I love you, Greg."

"Back 'atcha, Partypants. To infinity."

She smiled at their old joke and said huskily, "To infinity, squared."

~The End~