Warning: Return of the smut.
XXI - Soap
They have swapped keys now. They tell themselves that it doesn't mean anything; it's just a matter of convenience. She finishes work late and finds herself parking outside his place rather than pulling into her own driveway. She is not disappointed to find him already asleep. Instead, she grins as she takes in the image of this long-limbed man sprawled across the bed. She strips to her underwear and slips under the covers, fitting her petite body into the remaining space beside him. She thinks he will get a surprise when he wakes. He already knows she is there.
The sun comes up. He rolls onto his back, one arm hitting her and the other across his chest, rising and falling gently. She grins to herself and takes his arm. She examines the paleness of his wrist – the way it contrasts with the tanned skin on the outer side of his arm. She traces her finger over the tiny blue bulging veins. She doesn't know, but he is awake, lying with his eyes closed, feeling this. She touches her lips to this strangely beautiful wrist. He watches her with one eye open. She turns his arm over and kisses the back of his hand, before placing it gently by his side. She rolls on her side and presses her face into his t-shirt: the smell of him in the morning, warm and musky. Her hand moves over his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles of the material. She looks up at him, before pulling herself along his body and holding herself up to stare down at his face. You're beautiful, she thinks. It is becoming ever more apparent that her feelings for him may be problematic. They had an agreement. No strings. Casual. Is there a foreseeable end to this? She had implied there would be. Had this implication been sincere? No. She feels a pang of guilt. She had lied, mislead. She does not want to let him go. But, she had made a sort of promise and if he says so, she will have to force herself to cut the ties. The prospect is greatly distressing. She wonders if there is anything she could do, or say to change this. I think I'm in love with you. No. I know I'm in love with you. I AM in love with you.
Her fingers comb through the hair at his temples. Brown, greying, soft hair. She lowers her face to his, kissing his chin, feeling the sharp prickle of whiskers on the delicate skin of her lips. She opens her mouth slightly, making little nips on his jaw with her front teeth. He opens his eyes and grins at this. She notices. Her smile widens and her finger pokes the dimple on his cheek. He is captivated. This is what he has awoken to – a perfectly lovely face, like the subject of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, smiling down at him. She tries to kiss his lips.
'I've got morning breath,' he grumbles in his waking voice.
'Shut up, I don't care,' she presses her lips against his demandingly.
She sends her hand under her the blankets to discover his erection.
'Oh yes! Morning glory.' She tugs at his arm, trying to pull him against her.
He laughs, exposing his perfectly straight white teeth. 'I'm not even fully awake yet.'
'Ah, but you're fully erect. Get up and play.'
She is above him on bended knees and takes his hand, using her own to guide it under her singlet to caress her breast.
'I'm going to run a shower. That should wake you up,' she says.
She lowers her body, moving her ass against his erection. He groans.
'Come on…it's all hot and wet, you can slam me up against the tiles or take me from behind…whatever you want.' She speaks in her sleaziest phone sex voice.
She lifts her knee over him and slides off the bed. As she walks towards the bathroom she pulls her singlet off and discards it on the floor, exposing her bare back to him.
In the bathroom, she turns the taps and watches the glass fog up as she removes her white cotton panties. After a few seconds under the water, she spots him in the doorway leaning heavily on his cane. She grins.
'Get over here.'
He complies and she reaches for him, splashing water over his pyjamas.
'Hey, you're making me all wet,' he jokes.
'Just returning the favour,' she says, raising her eyebrows, 'get naked and get in here.'
'Yes mistress.' He hooks his cane on the towel rack and pulls his shirt over his head.
He lets his pyjama pants fall to the floor and joins her in the shower. The steam fills his lungs and he feels the sweat on his brow immediately. He is still fully erect and she gently pushes him against the glass, swabbing his chest with a loofa in one hand and gripping his cock with the other.
'I can't believe you were going to waste this beautiful erection,' she says, grinning as she begins stroking him.
His head rests on the glass and he shuts his eyes, moaning.
'It's a gift,' she says, still grinning.
She twists her wrist when she reaches the base of his cock and makes circles with her thumb when she reaches the head. She stops stroking when she hears his breathing pause. She guides his right hand between her legs to show him how wet the sight of his erection has made her. She urges him to slip a finger inside her, gasping her approval.
'So, how do you want me?' she asks.
Without a word, he turns her gently. She bends for him, parting her legs. His hands splay on her hips and his cock gently parts the taut muscles of her opening. Despite the muscular tension, he slides into her easily, as he always does. Her body is expecting him, readies itself for him, welcomes this blissful invasion.
'Slowly,' she mutters, grasping the handrail he has had installed to steady himself when he showers.
She feels his whiskers graze her shoulder as he nods, acknowledging her request. He begins to move his hips, pushing himself into her leisurely. She moves too, gently rocking her hips back to him. One of his hands moves from her hip to her breast, cupping briefly before slipping lower. She twitches and he feels her tighten around his cock as his fingers drift over her lower belly and slide between her folds.
'Oh!' she moans as his skilful pianist's fingers tease her clit.
'Christ, you're going to make me come already!' She gasps, and the thick hot air fills her throat.
He grins to himself, sucking on her shoulder, still thrusting into her slowly. He continues teasing with his fingers and she gasps again, and then again as she comes. Her spasms squeeze him tight - causing his orgasm to rush forth into her like a sudden gust of violent wind.
They go to work separately. They part at his door. He takes his bike and she takes her car.
'I have to go home and change first,' she tells him. Her cheeks are flushed pink, from the sex and the heat of the shower.
'What's wrong with that outfit?' he says half sarcastically, helmet in hand, eyeing her.
'I wore it yesterday, people will think there's something going on.' She smiles, as she unlocks her car.
'You're going to be late,' he says.
'I don't care. If you fuck me like that every morning, eventually I won't bother going to work at all!'
This comment makes him grin. She ducks into her car and slams the door. He pulls his helmet on. He rides only marginally above the speed limit, but it feels as if he is speeding the whole way. He notices he is still grinning when he removes his helmet at the hospital.
Wilson finds House in his office during lunch.
'So, Julie kicked you out again,' House says.
'What…how did you…?'
'You've been wearing the same tie for the last two days. You never do that. And your shirt is unironed.'
Wilson sighs, sitting on the chair opposite House's desk. 'Yeah,' he says, 'it's not going well.'
Silence.
'So how's it going with Emerson?' Wilson asks, trying to sound casual, 'you two still…?' he lets his voice trail off. It is the most tactful way he can think to ask about his friend's sex life.
House looks at Wilson. He is not going to let him get away with this easily. 'What?' he asks innocently.
'Are you still…?' Wilson struggles.
'Doing the nasty, the horizontal tango?' House says, 'Giving each other 'special' hugs? Bumping uglies? Getting down and dirty? Can't think of any more euphemisms...'
Wilson sighs. 'Yes, that's exactly how I was trying to phrase it…are you still getting down and dirty?' he says sarcastically, rigidly.
Wouldn't you like to know? House thinks. In the shower, over a desk, in the car, on the sofa, a naughty nurse outfit, over the piano, on the kitchen floor, a hand-job in the disabled toilet at the state art gallery, necking in movie theaters and behind bookshelves in public libraries…
'Why, are you waiting for an invitation or something?' House says acerbically, 'want me to ask her if she minds making a Paris Hilton style home movie, for your own personal viewing?'
Wilson wrinkles his nose, 'I'm sorry I asked.'
House grins to himself. Mission accomplished.
'Why are you so unwilling to talk about this?' Wilson says, curiously, 'I must admit, it's not completely out of character, but you are being particularly evasive this time around.'
House says nothing.
'Not even a hint here or there…' Wilson continues, 'if it was just sex, I'm sure you would be bragging, even if only subtly…'
Silence.
'Are you in love with her?' Wilson asks in an accusing tone.
House laughs dismissively.
She is at his place again that night. He is in the shower, she is making spaghetti bolognaise in the kitchen. The phone rings beside her. Without even thinking, she lifts it.
'Hello,' she says.
'Oh… hello, I think I must have the wrong number,' a female voice says down the line.
'Oh no, sorry, did you want to speak to Greg?' Lee asks.
She feels her cheeks blush, realising what she has done. She imagines that this woman must be his mother. She wonders how he will react.
'Yes…' the voice says hesitantly.
'Ok, hold on a moment.'
She places the phone down carefully on the bench top and finds him in the bathroom. Messy wet hair, towel around his waist. Usually when she catches him like this she wants to hold him, press her face against the freshly plumped, hydrated skin of his bare chest and inhale the clean soap smell. But now she is apprehensive.
'Greg…'
He looks at her. She cringes.
'The phone rang. I accidentally answered it. I think it's your mother,' she says.
'Accidentally?'
'Yeah, sorry, I must have thought I was at home.'
He nods once, biting his bottom lip in thought. She relaxes. He doesn't seem to be upset. He limps to the kitchen. She follows, staying back in the lounge and sitting on the couch. He lifts the phone, watching her.
'Hello,' he says. Pause. 'Hi mom.' Pause. 'Yeah.' Pause. 'Mmm hmm.'
He turns away from her. 'Yeah, she's my girlfriend,' he says quietly.
She smiles, laughs, clamps her hand over her mouth.
'Ah, no mom,' he says, 'no…' Pause. 'Alright.'
He holds his hand over the phone and turns back to Lee.
'She wants to talk to you,' he says.
She raises her eyebrows, stands – moves into the kitchen laughing quietly.
'I'm glad you think it's funny,' he whispers as he hands the phone to her.
'Hello,' she says.
'Hi, I'm Blythe,' his mother says warmly.
She knows her son. She is not surprised that he has kept this from her. She will not pry too much. She only wants to hear the soft Australian female voice again, just briefly...
'Hi…I'm Lee, nice to meet you,' Lee says.
'Well it's not really a meeting is it? Maybe one day I will get to meet you in the flesh.'
'Yeah, that would be nice.'
'How long have you been dating Greg?'
'Ah…'
She thinks. Dating? How cute, how innocent. But what does that mean? Actually, physically going out to public places together? In that case, about a month… sleeping with on the other hand – about six months. She doesn't imagine this will go down well.
'A few months,' she says.
'Oh, that's nice.'
Silence.
'Ok, well, nice talking to you dear,' Blythe says.
'Yes, you too, goodbye,' Lee replies, before handing the phone back to House.
She laughs to herself and he can't help but smile as he watches her while saying 'yeah,' down the phone.
He continues to talk to his mother, uttering monosyllables like a typical son, while she playfully tries to unwrap his towel. He attempts to swat her hands away, and has to cover the phone to prevent his mother from hearing her laughter. Finally she has his towel open, and he cannot believe it, but she kneels in front of him and takes him into her mouth. He pauses in shock, his mouth forms a wide O. His mother must have been demanding to know what was going on because he says 'yeah, I'm still here mom,' his voice strained with pleasure. She grins, looking up at him. He regards his erection.
'Mom, something's come up. I'm going to have to call you back,' he says breathlessly, before slamming the phone back on its cradle.
He watches her as she works.
'You were trying to suck me off while I was talking to my mother!' he says, flabbergasted.
She nods, licking him. 'You looked like you needed rescuing from the conversation.'
'I…oh!…. I can't believe you did that! Mmm, you're… such a dirty girl…' he mutters.
'Well apparently, I'm your dirty girlfriend…' she says, offering him a mischievous grin before taking him back into her mouth.