OK, I've changed the rating of this story to M because of this section. I'm not really sure with ratings, so I figured I should, just to be on the safe side.

Solace – Chapter 4

House woke abruptly from his dream, cold sweat coursing down his back, running over and between his shoulder blades, making him shiver. First light was beginning to seep through the curtains, casting faint lines and deep shadows. He could still taste the dream in his mouth. Shivering, he pulled the covers tight around himself, sitting and staring at the wall until he began to feel warm and the damp sheet started to chafe. Birds twittered outside his window, making meaningless, tuneless sounds.

House rose, and crossed to the window. Pulling back the curtains, he looked out upon a clear, cold day. He opened the window a crack, wincing at the heightened noise, and put his face close to the frame, letting the biting air revive him. The memories of things that never happened in reality were burned onto his mind. Every time he blinked images appeared in negative behind his eyelids. He got frustrated trying to pin point them. When he tried to think back to the dream, to revisit that place, shivers ran up his spine and blood pulsed in his cock, but all he saw was a swirl of skin and heat, all wrapped up in red.

Staring blindly out of the window, House ran one hand down over his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs with his forefinger and pressing into the soft flesh below his diaphragm. He continued sliding his hand down, hooked a thumb around the waist band of his boxers, and pulled, shedding his last remaining item of clothing. Eyes closed, he tipped his head back as he began slowly trailing his fingers back and forth over his hardening cock. Pumping at an achingly slow speed, House filtered out the sounds of real life that had been constantly pounding at him, splintering his skull and penetrating his mind since…since then. He blocked it out, and rubbing his thumb over the head of his penis, found clearer moments of the dream returning to him. He could feel Wilson's mouth, warm and wet, wrapped around him. The sensation was as strong as if he was really there, and House's hips thrust. His back arched and he imagined James entering him, full and hard, moving inside him. House moved his hand faster. He could feel James gripping his hips, holding on as he thrust deeper, harder, sucking on the back of his neck as he slid in further with each buck of his hips. Burning spread over him. House tightened his fist and flicked his wrist faster until he came with a harsh groan echoing from the back of his throat.

House could still smell the semen on his hands as he walked through clinic and onwards to his office. As had become routine now, he did not speak to Cameron, Chase or Foreman, only sat in his office all day reviewing charts and writing instructions on them for the ducklings to pick up later. A scan crossed his desk and immediately he saw cancer presented. He stuck a purple sticker on the file and threw it to the other side of the room. Swinging his chair around, House looked out onto the balcony and tossed the lacrosse ball against the glass, catching it on rebound. Continuing the game with one hand, he flicked the dial of his iPod, and music blared from speakers, filling the office with noise. Heavy rhythm made the floor shake, vibrations travelling through House and shaking inside his chest.

Foreman brought him coffee in a red mug at 11 o'clock. He took it from him with a grunt of thanks and poured the dark bitter liquid into his mouth, gulping it down and scolding his throat. The hot drink made the insides of his mouth tingle, the soft skin of his cheeks protesting at the heat. He could still sense someone in the room but did not turn around. He tried to do nothing that would invite conversation, only stare at the balcony and wait to be left alone once more.

Foreman coughed. "You should take some leave."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion."

"So you plan to sit in this office and sign off on boring cases for the rest of your life?"

"It beats sitting at home thinking."

"How?"

House didn't answer. He just looked blankly out of the glass doors.

"You can't do your job like this."

House pointed over his shoulder to the stack of charts.

"He wouldn't want you to be like this."

House laughed bitterly. "True. But then he probably didn't want to die, either."

"Cuddy said the new guy starts tomorrow. If you want to clean out his office…" Foreman sighed. House faintly heard him say to the offers "I tried," as he walked into the outer office.

House bounced the ball against the glass one last time, before taking a small key from his desk drawer and venturing out onto the balcony. Cold air hit him full in the face, shaking him to the bone with vibrations stronger than the music had been. He bathed in it, in the intense feeling and spreading numbness.

Wilson's office had acquired a musty scent over the days it stood empty. A photo of Julie sat on the desk, turned face down. House hadn't known things had gotten to that point in his marriage. There was a stained coffee cup to the right of it. Nobody had been in here except to remove case files. A chewed up blue biro had leaked, leaving a dark blue stain on the wood. There was a thank you card on display in an open cabinet on the back wall. House did not need to open it to know it was from a little girl who had just gone into remission. Wilson had told him about it at lunch, joking that getting a card should be worth at least $50. House had seen that beyond the humour, Wilson was truly happy about it. It was the only time he had really understood why James had chosen to work in oncology.

Steadily, House filled boxes with James' things, some destined for the trash, some to be sent to Julie if she would take them, and a few things House wanted to keep for himself. The thank you card, the chewed biro, a board meeting memo and the pocket protector from his lab coat. He sifted through paperwork in the drawers, trying to find what was important and needed to be dealt with and what was irrelevant. In his outbox for internal mail there was an envelope marked "House". Greg ripped it open, and tipped the contents onto the now empty desk.

Two monster truck rally tickets and a note looked up at him.

If we do this, we could die. I'd be willing to risk it with you.

Oh, and I guarantee I'll be more fun than Cameron.

House smiled. James had always loved dramatics, and he must have been relishing seeing House burst into his office, flapping tickets in the air. He settled in James' chair and read the note over, turning the tickets between his fingers on the other hand. For the first time, House could feel himself crying.