My friend is a very intense man. When Gregory House sets his sights on something, he will stop at nothing to chase it down, solve the puzzle, get what he wants out of it. It can be a bad thing, but not always. Not when it comes to solving a particularly difficult case or convincing his best friend to come back home. Those are a few situations that call for some good old fashioned intensity. So when he had me pinned against the fridge, nothing short of the floor suddenly giving away was going to get me out of there. Not that I wanted to leave those deep, raw kisses for some damn pancakes. I was enjoying myself and it's safe to say that he was too.

The kitchen wasn't exactly the most comfortable place for him or for me. Soon I found myself being all but dragged to the bedroom. The intensity radiated off Greg the way a sidewalk radiates heat in the summer. He moved as fast as the cane would allow, pulling me behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder his eyes appeared to glow like blue flames.

We had barely crossed the threshold when he threw me in the general direction of the bed. I say he tried to throw me, but pushed too hard and nearly sent himself tumbling onto the floor. That was actually a good thing. If he hadn't been off balance then I would have gone through the wall and landed on the sidewalk.

"Take your shirt off," he ordered.

"Why should I?"

"Because I told you to, that's why. Now take your shirt off."

"Why don't you make me," I challenged. That's exactly what he wanted–he was smiling–and I was more than willing to give him all he could handle and then some.

"Jimmy, don't start something you aren't ready to finish."

"Have you gone soft in your old age, Greg?"

His smile didn't budge. "You have five seconds to take off your shirt or you're going to find out just how soft I am."

"And how are you going to do that, old man?"

"How about I rip that ugly thing right off your back. How does that sound, you queer?"

"You don't have the guts," I said, knowing full well that's exactly the sort of thing he would do given half a chance.

"I do and I will. It seems I have to get your attention again before I fuck you into next week."

"You already have my attention."

"Do I? Is that why you're so worried about your wardrobe?"

"I paid good money for my wardrobe."

"All the more reason."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he said, taking a few steps forward. "Are you one of those metrosexual pussies who's worried about ruining his precious shirt? Of course you are. I shouldn't expect anything less from a guy who gets a manicure and blow-dries his hair every morning. By the way, your five seconds ended twenty seconds ago."

I tried to duck out of his way, but he caught my collar. He wasn't off balance this time.

"Hold it!" I cried. "I'll take the damn shirt off, just give me a second–"

"Too late. You had your chance."

"Do you really have to ruin a perfectly good shirt just to prove a point?"

"I've ruined more for less," he said, placing a few soft kisses on my neck just to drive me insane.

My heart skipped a few beats. He was just so good at reducing me to a blubbering wreck without even trying. One of these days I might learn that he always wins when it comes to playing the twisted bedroom mind games. But then neither of us wouldn't have half as much fun as we were having now. Being a loser at this game had it's own rewards, and I was ready to collect.

"Can't we come to some kind of...compromise?" I asked, sounding a little too desperate for my liking.

Of course, Greg picked up on it the way a shark picks up the scent of blood. I tried to distract him with a few nibbles at his earlobe, threading my hands through his hair, trying to pick up where we left off in the kitchen. Distract him long enough to maneuver him to the bed and make him forget everything.

He wasn't buying it for a second. "Just what are you willing to trade for it?"

"What is there to trade?" I asked carefully. Why didn't I just take the damn shirt off and let him screw me senseless? That would have been too easy. I lost the game and this time I was really going to pay for it. The reward would be all his.

He gave me that damnable smug smile, then walked over the dresser and pulled two of my ties from his sock drawer.

"Are you going to tie me up or gag me?" I gulped.

"Both." He nodded at the bed. "Now get over there."