Still unsure of how much Stacy wanted House on a motorcycle with a few drinks in him, she insisted on the two of them taking the bus home. It was just late enough that the driver was ready to turn in for the night, making Princeton Plainsboro Hospital the last stop on his route.
It was peaceful being the only two people on the ride home, Stacy reflected as they rode back towards House's place, her head propped against his shoulder, bouncing against his collarbone as the bus went over a speed bump. Unconsciously, Stacy nestled herself in closer against the inside of House's coat, and she felt his fingers drifting up, hesitantly, to brush through her hair. It was frigid, and she could feel him still shaking against her as the few remaining cars and street signs passed beside them.
Stacy couldn't remember the last time she'd spent this kind of quality time with someone, just sitting alone, no rush to undress, no hurry to reveal her mystery to an eager audience with a low budget of time. With Mark, lately, it had always been a sort of mechanical, necessary endeavor, rushed and fruitless as she struggled to salvage their marriage with her remaining bartering chip of physicality.
Here, she felt not so much safe as comforted, placated by House's seeming desire just to sit with her and watch the dark get darker, as the hours rolled closer to midnight. Every now and then, she'd turn to look up at him, checking for a wrinkle of concern, or frustration on his hard, careworn face. He sat as peacefully as she did, his breaths rising with hers, his fingers still twined in her hair, stroking almost absently.
The bus came to a stop a few blocks away from where House lived, and Stacy led him down the steps, into the night air. House stopped, and unzipped his coat, taking it off of one shoulder and tucking Stacy in-between him, and his sheathed arm, wrapping the free arm of the coat around her. "I thought you weren't a gentleman," she noted, pressing closer to him beneath the jacket.
"I'm not," shrugged House. The two of them started off down the street, Stacy watching her breaths catch in the air with little frozen puffs, trying to align her steps with House's less rhythmic gait.
"You never actually had anything to eat," House noted, attempting what he seemed to believe was appropriate concern. "Are you hungry?"
"No." Stacy shook her head, and kept walking.
At House's front door, he fumbled in the pockets of his coat with one arm for the key. Stacy reached across him, dipping her hand into his pocket and closing her fingers around the cold metal. Stepping out, dropping the shoulder of House's cold that she'd been holding up around herself, Stacy fitted the key into the lock, and opened the door.
House stepped inside, and she followed, feeling the warmth of the room seeping into her as House closed the door behind them with a thud. No longer having any need for his coat, he threw it off, and it landed on the couch before skidding off to fall to the floor, where he left it.
"It's warm in here," Stacy said, unnecessarily.
"Some like it hot," chuckled House.
Stacy stepped towards him, and reached out, curling her fingers into the pockets of his sweatshirt, and pulling him to her. She kissed him, feeling his cold cheeks warming slowly against hers, his frigid lips pliable after a moment as she pressed hers insistently against them.
They stood there for a moment, House's arms pinning Stacy to him, his hands running up and down her back. She reached up and pulled on the hood of his sweatshirt, bringing it over his head and letting it fall to floor in front of him. House stepped over it, kicking it into a pile behind him, and kissed her again.
"Your eyes are open," Stacy murmured into the collar of his shirt. "It's disconcerting."
"Don't be picky," House reminded, his lips moving down to massage her neck. "If you close yours, you won't notice."
Stacy pulled House down on to his couch, only remembering at the last minute to brace him as his leg hit the front of it. Apparently unperturbed, House stood, knees bent, against the front of the couch, one hand clenched around the armrest awkwardly as he kissed her. Stacy giggled despite herself, and House stopped, raising an eyebrow.
"What?" He asked.
"Nothing," Stacy replied, reaching up for him again, but House held himself out of reach.
"You giggled," he said. "You don't giggle, you more chuckle, or snigger."
"Snigger's derogatory," Stacy said. "I don't snigger."
"You do," insisted House. "Honestly that was more of a snigger than a real giggle."
Stacy laughed at him again, and this time managed to pull him to her with an outstretched arm, House's resistance ebbing as he folded himself down on the couch beside her. "Thank god," she whispered, "that wasn't really very comfortable."
"You're telling me," House agreed. He eased Stacy gently back against the armrest, using that same armrest to pull himself up towards her receptive mouth. His fingers found her shoulder blades, then the zipper of her jacket, undoing it and sliding the zipper down to release her from it. The jacket fell behind her, and Stacy leaned back, her thigh finding the cold metal of the zipper.
"Ouch," she muttered. She flung the jacket away from her, to join the sweatshirt on the floor. House was playing with the buttons on her blouse, sliding them undone one by one, working his way down towards her waist. She reached down and undid the final two buttons. Stacy was thankful for the warmth of the room as House pushed the sleeves of her shirt back over her shoulders, removing the thing entirely.
A little cold, now, Stacy was quick to return the favor, pulling House's shirt up over his head in order to press herself closer against her, warming herself with the heat of bodily contact. His breathing suddenly sped up, and Stacy tried to avoid a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge of a job well done.
With a little exhalation, House pulled himself on top of Stacy, kissing her shoulders as his fingers fumbled for the zipper of her jeans. Stacy breathed into his neck, her eyelashes brushing almost unnoticeably against his bare chest as she let herself relax against him.
As he slipped her jeans down over her knees, House shook his head, with a darkly resigned grunt. "It's like running with scissors," he muttered. "This will only end in tears."
Author's Note: You can breathe now, I promise the rating stays teen. ;)