He limped off to the bedroom while I finished mopping up the mess in the bathroom. Water ended up everywhere–it was still dripping down the walls. But we had so much fun turning the bathroom into an aquarium I don't mind cleaning up. No less than four towels end up being hung over the shower rod to dry. I chuckled and turned off the light.

To my surprise the light was still on in the bedroom. Another surprise–he was sitting up in bed with a pile of pillows cushioning him against the headboard, looking very much the king in his castle. A faint smile appeared on his face when we locked eyes. He was waiting for me. Why, I don't know, but he was there, waiting patiently, knowing I would have to come through the door sooner or later. I lived there too and needed someplace to sleep.

"You want something?" I asked, trying not to stare and was completely unable to help it.

"That depends. What are you offering?" The faint smile became a knowing grin. That familiar mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, along with something else. It was something I didn't see too often in that context. It was longing, yearning, hunger, thirst, craving...and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"I'm not sure," I replied. "What exactly do you want?"

He reached over and patted my side of the bed, never taking his eyes off me.

So I walked over and climbed into my side of the bed, not that I wouldn't have anyway. I did want to see what he wanted, and he knows that in these moments I can't and won't deny him anything. Not when those hypnotic eyes are locked on to me like invisible tethers and are all but pulling me closer.

The second I threw the covers over my legs the lamp clicked off and his hand was on my chest, gently and firmly pushing me down. Blindly reaching up, my fingers stroked through his still-wet hair. His shirt was still damp and clinging, and he smelled like warm, fresh water and mint. I could feel him getting comfortable next me, carefully hooking his bad leg over my thighs to make me stay put while his thumb begin to trace the shape of my lower lip.

This wasn't about sex because that's not what he wanted. This was a million miles away from getting down and dirty in the kitchen. This wasn't about playing power games. This wasn't about lust, or getting off, or passion, or any other kind of carnal desires. This had nothing to with any of those things and everything to do with intimacy. He wanted intimacy. He wanted closeness, contact, the simple pleasure of touch, the sensation of my cool skin beneath his fingertips. After so many years spent alone every now and then he needed a reminder of why he didn't want to be alone again.

I lay back and took it all in. This was hardly the first time I had been pinned down while he did what he wanted with me, but this was the first time he had done it with such quiet determination. Usually it's accompanied with low growling orders, instructions, and various declarations of lust in the heat of the moment. But not tonight. Just the sound of his soft breathing. I didn't have the slightest clue of what set him down this strange path, and had the distinct feeling that he didn't really know either; just a driving force that was now far beyond his control. Then there was a soft flurry of kisses down my jaw and neck and I kept my mouth shut. Nothing else to do but enjoy the silence and all the sensations that went with it. I can't resist and don't want to. Right now I would drown with him in a lake of white fire, and when his mouth finds mine, warm and sweet and delicious, that's exactly what I do.

Everything disappears–the room, the night; all that I'm aware of is him, House, Gregory, and how being with him, being the person he loves, it's all so right on so many levels. Any past memories of arguments, harsh words, mistakes, bitter tears, they are all flung aside. They don't matter. He's all that matters because he's my entire world. Without him I'd be all alone in another cold hotel room or burning through another marriage because nice guys like me are supposed to have a good little wife by his side. A mistake I made three times. Not again. I'm right where I belong. And he is, too.

He would be here, alone, suffocating in his pain and pills. Letting it consume him until he could no longer find a way out. That's why he needs me here, so I can pull him back from brink and remind him that there is someone who cares about him even if he can't see that through the haze of pain. But there is no pain blocking his vision now. He's focused on me and only me. I love it, and I love him for it. I let myself be engulfed by that thought as I kiss him back.

Cool air rushes in as he breaks away, leaving me breathless and my mouth and chin burning, stinging from his stubble. He pulls his bad leg off me and grunts heavily. His leg is cramping again. He turns over and reaches for his pills. I shift over a bit to give him some room to stretch out while he downs a Vicodin. Which is exactly what he does, not before inching up as close as possible and still have room to move his leg if he had to. He pulls the covers back over us and rests his head on my shoulder.

Pain or no pain, he's still wants this closeness, this intimacy; something that is far beyond words as he hasn't spoken since I walked through the bedroom door. It's something he doesn't fully understand, he just knows that it's something he wants.

I don't understand it, either. But I know I want it and am willing do whatever it takes to get it.

The minutes continue to tick by. His taste is still in my mouth and I quietly revel in it as it slowly slides down my throat like rich honey. He's still partially covering me. I know he's not yet asleep, his shallow breathing tells me that. He nuzzles my neck for a moment and I let him. I can't deny him such a simple, thoughtful gesture, especially when it's for me, because in the quiet darkness of the bedroom I can't deny him anything. It's his to take and I'm willing to give it all.