­­­­­­­­A/N: For those of you anxiously awaiting the continuation of Truth, I'm working on it, I'm gonna pull an all-nighter tonight, and I'm beginning a four-day weekend. In the meantime, I hope this can tide you over – and encourage lovely reviews :D

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He gently smoothed his hands through her auburn hair, pulling on the loose curls to let them bounce against her cheek. Her small smile was the stuff of poetry; her lips soft and waiting as he moved to run his long fingers across them. Her eyes shone with desire and he wondered again why he'd made such an ass of himself on that date so many months ago.

A steady rain murmured against the windows as they sat together at his piano. She moved, and suddenly found herself in his lap, her back to the keys. As he wrapped his arms around her, she ran her delicate fingers along his forehead and down to his cheekbones, briefly fingering his eyelids, and finally along the unshaven edge of his chin.

He paused to move his half-full glass of scotch from atop the piano to a place where it wouldn't be knocked over before he gave her back his attention. He looked at her face once more, pondering the ultimate puzzle that she was before he gave in and kissed her fiercely.

He liked to be in charge, and had been amazed to learn that she didn't mind. Not many of his past relationships were worth mentioning, and in each of those he had somehow ended up dominated, Stacy being no exception. But that was the past, and this, this was now. Here was a woman, so many years younger than himself but with an old soul. She understood him and for some reason loved him anyway.

Still, as his hands roamed and as he tasted her and felt her body grow warmer against him, he was gentle with her, more out of respect for who she was than anything else. He had learned how strong a person she really was underneath her sadness and her geniality.

She seemed to only share those secret parts of herself with people she admired, respected, and loved. He kept that part of her, the real her, close to his heart.

She fingered his soft curls as he wrapped his arms a little tighter and began to stand up, his right hand landing clumsily onto the keys, ringing random notes together as he struggled to hold on to her and stand at the same time. She surprised him again by hopping down before he hurt himself and quickly led him to the bedroom, a serious look of understanding on her face.

They awkwardly maneuvered out of their clothes once there, and although the moment wasn't anything that could be scripted, it was real, and it was the two of them, together at last. He vowed to himself never to let go of her again.

He lowered himself to the bed and into her welcoming smile, and she reached up once more to travel the length of his body with her fingertips.

They made love hurriedly, as if there were no tomorrow, and as they lay together afterward with a small touch here, a light kiss there, she finally spoke.

"House," her voice decorated the silence, "I love you. I need you."

And then he woke up alone again; his leg throbbing like it did every morning. He sighed heavily as he wondered if he'd ever be able to get over her. The rain came relentlessly down outside, and finally he got up to get a couple of Vicodin and a glass of scotch.