A/N: Smooth sailing – we all know what happens when things are going well. It means they're not going to last… Next chapter things get interesting, promise, but I couldn't resist these scenes – as lovey dovey as House is ever likely to get.

HHHHHHHH

House and Chloe woke late to the sound of a beeper, a message demanding his attendance at the hospital. While he showered and dressed, she stayed in bed, stretching, dozing, knowing she had a few hours before she needed to get to work.

"Are you going to stay in bed all day?" he asked, as he emerged from the bathroom and hunted for clothes. The thought of her lying in his bed all day waiting for him suddenly didn't seem quite so domesticated and he knew it would make his day very distracting indeed.

"I'd love to," she said, stifling a yawn. "I'm so tired I can't begin to explain it. But, no, I have to prepare for a meeting early this afternoon."

"So… tonight?"

She took a sultry pose in bed, shaking her hair over her shoulders, batted her eyelashes at him. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, then answered her own question, "I was thinking more of the same."

"What, you're not bored with constant sexual ecstasy yet?" He leered at her, flashing open the towel around his waist and giving his hips a playful thrust. "Plenty more where that came from."

She laughed. Did men ever grow out of showing off their dicks? "Pride cometh before a fall, they say."

"Pride isn't necessary in the face of overwhelming fact. After last night, I think we'd easily get an affidavit from the neighbours."

"Right." Chloe agreed sarcastically, then sat up further in the bed to give her a better vantage point to watch him dress. Tucking the sheet across her breasts and folding her arms she took great delight in silently observing him.

Having donned his clothing under her close scrutiny, he picked up his cane with a flourish and turned and bowed awkwardly. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Not really. Four out of ten. It'd go up to an eight if you'd do it again right now, but in reverse."

House walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, one arm on the bedhead so he could lean in close.

"If I did it in reverse we wouldn't be leaving this room today. My patient would die and your client would…well…go bankrupt or go to jail or experience some violent employee uprising, or whatever the hell it is that you help them with. Besides after today we've got a whole weekend for not-wearing clothes."

He made a move to stand up to leave but she reached up and pulled his head toward her. The kiss started out tamely enough, but as soon as she flicked out her tongue to taste his lips they were kissing passionately, almost violently. Eventually House pulled away, leaving both of them breathing raggedly.

"Just something for you to remember me by while you're at work." Chloe said, pointedly wiping the edge of her lips with a finger.

"Oh God," House sighed dramatically, "I so have to go to work."

"So go. Have a nice day." She gave him a playful push off the bed.

House got up and Chloe smiled to herself as he adjusted his jeans around the evident bulge.

"OK, so to be fair," he said. "You got a show this morning, so I'd like a show from you tonight, please miss. And I want to give you ten out of ten, so it'll definitely have to be in reverse."

"Bring out some of that wonderful 15-year-old scotch, and you're on. Now get out of here." Chloe snuggled back into the pillows as he walked out of the bedroom. The smile on her face faded to a rueful frown as she heard the door close. Oh damn, she thought, I think I'm falling for him. That can't be good.

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Although Chloe had only had to prepare for and turn up to a short meeting, she was still exhausted. The jetlag hadn't lifted and she had a sore back from the ridiculously small airline seat and long flying time. She seriously thought about booking a hotel and cancelling the night's plans, but what she really wanted was to be with someone in a home, not another anonymous hotel room.

She spent most of her life in hotel rooms: a corporate nomad, splitting her time primarily between Jersey, Chicago, and south-east Asia where her major clients were based, plus visiting wherever she needed to go in the world for presentations and meetings. So it was a sense of rare pleasure to fit a key into a lock of a real home, somewhere where someone kept pieces of their real self, she thought as she turned the key in Greg's front door.

When she walked in, he was already there, sitting on the piano stool facing away from the keyboard, chin resting on the handle of his cane, lost in thought. He didn't look up as she walked in.

She dropped her laptop case to the floor and sat down on the sofa, turning sideways and stretching all the way out, her head resting against the arm. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Then he turned toward the piano and started playing, some vaguely recognisable classic piece with a slightly jazz style. She smiled and closed her eyes. A random thought crossed her mind: this was all together far too good.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A couple of hours later, they sat side-by-side on the sofa finishing Thai take-out and drinking a bottle of pinot grigio. They'd been doing their usual flirty, debate-team competitive conversation. Really, Chloe thought, it was surprising how many words you could use to say almost nothing. Her realisation that morning that she might be falling for him made her determined to stay light-hearted. She could tell that even broaching the subject of relationship or commitment or – even worse, asking "what are you thinking?" – would spell the end to this rather lovely thing they had. She'd rather a pleasant now and an uncertain future, she decided.

She stretched, deliberately pushing out her breasts and shaking back her hair, knowing he would look.

"My back is sore from the flight." She said by way of explanation.

"I don't do massage." His tone was blunt, but the glint in his eye showed he'd picked up her thoughts.

"Didn't expect you to. But you might take my mind off it in other ways."

"What did you have in mind?"

"What's on TV tonight? I believe you have the remote."

He gave a short incredulous laugh and then faked a hurt look. "Do you really want to watch sitcoms?" he sighed. "Well, I guess we could check out TV Guide." As he spoke one hand moved over to her thigh and started lightly brushing upwards under her skirt.

She caught her breath, putting one hand flat against his chest as his fingers continued their journey.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, leaning in close to whisper in her ear as his hand started pressing into her, moving in slow, flat circles. "Re-runs of the OC? The L-Word? NCIS?" She whimpered slightly, arching her neck back so he could kiss and nip her neck in between suggestions.

"Heroes? CSI? Scrubs?"

She giggled, both at his words and at the tickling of his beard on her throat. At her giggle, he increased the pressure of his hand under her skirt and her giggle turned into a groan.

"God you're good," she whispered.

"I know." He smirked. "Both that I am good and also God."

"Hang on, how can you be God if you're an atheist?" Chloe asked. "Doesn't that nullify your own existence?" She lifted her head and looked at him, keeping eye contact as her hands moved across his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans.

"Stop philosophising with me woman. This isn't Sophie's World. What about my show?" His hand left its place under her skirt, causing her to gasp quietly at the cool dampness it left behind. He grabbed her hands and stopped them in the action of undoing his jeans. "You promised. Ten out of ten, remember?" He raised one eyebrow as if in dare.

She could wait. She knew she'd get what she wanted anyway. She stood up and went over to the CD collection. After a couple of minutes browsing she found exactly the right song. Knowing she'd made her lingerie selection that morning in preparation for this made her feel a little more confident than she otherwise would have been.

The CD slid smoothly into the CD player and she turned and started a silly, sexy dance as the music started. House threw his head back in genuine laugher as he recognised the opening guitar riffs of the song she'd selected: The Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go.

"Truly the inspired choice of every existential stripper," he said approvingly.