A/N: I so appreciate every review. Thank you to those who've left them. There's a little House/Stacy in here, but never fear, it won't go very far or last very long.

Mark is now your patient, and has finally admitted that something is wrong. You stand outside his room and watch as Stacy curls up on the bed beside him and they hold each other through the fear. Once upon a time that was you, taking the comfort she gave as you faced an uncertain future. That devotion she now freely offers to her husband was, should be, yours. A resentment bubbles up from deep within you and you have to turn away, seeking refuge in a long forgotten spot.

Stacy finds you there, on the roof, a place you haven't ventured in five years. Seeing her with Mark, knowing the extent of her concern unnerves you. The little green-eyed monster sitting on your shoulder whispers in your ear about the unfairness of it all, how she is supposed to be with you.

Now here she is, crying out her worries in your arms and all you can think is, she still fits. You may have even said it out loud, though you can't be sure. The feel of her in your arms does things to your insides, melts the ice in your veins until it is a warmth tingling through you. Most people would not suspect that you have a romantic side, that you crave affection and touch like any other human. Maybe more so, because you have a tactile need to experience things with all your senses. Holding Stacy is a familiar reminder of things past, some good, some bad, but all things you'd taken for granted at one time.

The mystery of what ails Mark remains unsolved at at the moment, though your mind is far from finished mulling over all the symptoms. But while one portion of your brain whirs and hums with the medical possibilities, another part savors the feel of a woman in your arms, your ego swelling at the thought of her seeking comfort from you, while her husband lies sleeping in another room several floors below.

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That little moment of holding Stacy on the roof has fully awakened your need for affection. It's as if you've detoxed from any kind of caring touch over the years and now you've gotten another hit. You want more, you think, as you sit on the couch with your bourbon in hand and the television flickering in front of you. And if you can't get it from Stacy, you know there is another option in Allison. With just a little prodding, she'd...

The sound of the key turning in the lock interrupts your thoughts, and you turn and watch her come through the door, drop her bag on the chair and remove her hoodie, the way she does every night. Allison is both a mystery and almost entirely predictable at the same time, you think. With a smile and a yawn, she moves off to the bedroom, and you hear her getting ready for bed and realize the sounds of her little routine have become a comfort to you, that you are a lot less lonely in her quiet presence.

Hefting yourself off the couch, you follow her and sit on the bed, watching as she pulls the band out of her hair to release it from its ponytail, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and plain cotton panties, her jeans folded neatly on the chair. Something overcomes you in that moment, and you stand and put your arms around her from behind, pressing kisses to her neck and up her jawline. Turning her as you kiss, you aim for her mouth and when she moves her head away, you drop your hands in frustration and sit heavily on the bed.

"I want to kiss you," you say, "I don't see why that's a problem."

Sighing heavily, she sits beside you but keeps her gaze focused on the floor. "You know the rules," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Rules are for working girls. You're not that anymore, so the rules no longer apply," you argue, studying her profile, the curve of her nose and the way her long dark lashes brush her skin.

"I know, but... kissing is so intimate."

"So what! We have sex all the time; I'd say that's also pretty intimate." After a pause and a heavy sigh, you add, "Kissing doesn't have to mean anything."

Her face is thoughtful as she contemplates your words, and you can see she is giving in. Finally looking up at you, she says, "I haven't been kissed in a long time. Not since my husband. I'm afraid I'm out of practice."

"It's kind of like riding a bike," you joke, moving in and cupping her face. The truth is, you haven't kissed a woman on the mouth in a long time either. Not since Stacy. And while the sex with Allison is amazing, satisfying, mind-blowing even, you want desperately to know what it is like to feel her soft lips on yours. You lower your face to hers, kissing her tentatively, like taking a first sip of wine, and then deepening the kiss as she responds. The moment she opens her mouth and gives entrance to your tongue, you are lost, unaware of anything but the tantalizing taste of her, the sensation of tongue against tongue.

She breaks away long enough to tug your shirt over your head, followed by her own, and then you are pressing your lips to hers again like she is water in the midst of a desert, while she undoes your jeans and pushes them down your legs. Stepping out of them, you lower her to the bed without ceasing the movement of your mouth, sucking and nibbling on her tongue, her lips.

Pressing her hands to your chest, she pushes against you, until you are looking down on her with confusion, unable to understand why she would stop such a pleasurable activity.

"Get a condom," she pants, and you comply, eager to get back to kissing her.

Taking it from your hands, she tears it open and rolls it on you, the touch of her delicate fingers on your cock making it twitch with anticipation. She pushes you back against the headboard, and straddles you, sinking slowly down as you reclaim her lips, inhaling each gasp and puff of breath as she moves on you. Your hands slide up her back, pressing her so that her breasts touch your bare chest, one hand moving back down to cup her ass and move with the steady undulation of her hips. But all the while you can not stop kissing her, going in for hit after hit after hit until you think you might overdose on the high she gives you.

She begins moving faster and you are right there with her, forced to stop kissing her so frequently lest you suffocate as your heartbeat speeds up and your breath comes in heavy pants. The headboard thumps against the wall like the drumbeat of an ancient ritual and then she is touching herself and you and you cry out and spill yourself into the condom as her tight heat squeezes and pulses around you.

You watch her as she tries to catch her breath, shivering in the cool air of the room, her skin aglow with a light sheen of sweat. And you realize that one thing you love about sex with Allison is that you can make her lose control, she who so carefully controls every aspect of her life from the way she accounts for every dime she makes to the way she refuses just about every offer of help. It bolsters your ego that you can send her over the edge, make her throw her head back with such intense pleasure that she can't disguise it, make her body seize with orgasm and then fall into a nearly comatose bliss from the satisfaction of what you've done to her.

Moving off you, she smiles a sleepy smile and drags the covers up over her naked body and goes to sleep. You pull the condom off and dispose of it before joining her, your mind free for the moment to rest and contemplate this new addiction that is Allison and her sweet kisses. All other mysteries but the woman beside you be damned. They can wait.