A/N: Alright, so I've come to the conclusion that when I sit down to write more of Truth and I end up stumped, it helps to write something else. So here's another installment for Touch.

Disclaimer: Damn I wish I owned House right now. And Beethoven for that matter. Or at least a couple of songs. Okay, moving on…

GHMDGHMDGHMD

She sat alone in the dark save for the moonlight shimmering through the curtains. She sipped a warm mug of tea as she waited for him to come. He always came at two-fifteen. Her eyes were wide with longing, with lust. She reached up a slender hand to rub her neck, already working her way into a frenzy by imagining his fingers floating delicately along her own. She took deep, even breaths and set her mug down on the table as she moved to get up.

Three small raps set her heart beating even harder and she opened the door to his long face. His eyes were icy hot with only the moonlight reflecting from them. Never breaking her gaze, she languidly relieved him of his cane and set it aside. He wouldn't need it tonight. 'I'm here,' he said, a small smirk decorating his face. 'I knew you would be,' she replied, returning the smirk. It was an inside joke; not even Wilson knew what it meant.

He removed his coat and she laid it on the couch. He reached up to sift his fingers through her hair, and she turned into his palm to lay a faint kiss there. 'Play,' she whispered. She'd run out one weekend and bought a baby grand and forced herself to make room for it, just so he could play for her when he came. 'Play for me.' He'd never even played for Stacy, but he played for her. He always played Beethoven.

The only thing she didn't like about his piano playing was simply that he couldn't touch her at the same time. So she'd lean against the piano and close her eyes, imagining his fingers dancing across her skin much as they danced across the ivory. Watching her in this state of bliss made him smile. Watching him in the same state of bliss as he played made her smile.

He landed on the last note of 'Fur Elise' and stopped to look at her. She was a vision of fairy-tale hair and always in deep blue. She always wore blue for him. Her eyes weren't exactly blue and they weren't exactly green; they changed color like a rare chameleon from an unknown jungle in India. Indeed, she was a chameleon, or more beautifully a prism; the many facets of her personality that he'd discovered along the way only intrigued him more.

She smiled that smile, the one that started from the left corner of her mouth and slowly spread until her face lit up with its own halo. She gracefully slipped between him and the piano, sitting sideways on his lap, careful to keep her weight shifted to his left leg. Her arms moved to stealthily wrap themselves around his frame, her hands beginning their dance across sinewy muscle and taut skin. He was in better shape than most people realized, but she knew.

He traced the angles of her face, eventually letting his hands rest along the line of her jaw, cupping her face in them. First, he kissed her forehead. As he moved to kiss each of her eyelids, she traced a finger along the line of his ear for a moment before threading her hands through his hair. Slow, delicate, this was how they always moved together, as if the night would go on forever. Finally his lips met hers, warm and soft. They paused, breathing in each other's scents and souls.

There were no words spoken; words weren't needed in the moonlight. They paused again, and he reached around her body to play 'Moonlight Sonata' while she kissed his chin and rested her head against his chest. His heart beat in sync with her own, steady and calm. Cameron marveled at the fact that he could hold her and play at the same time, and he didn't do it very often because the strange position would make his leg ache.

The last notes echoed through the room and then she stood. She took his hands and led him to her bed, still smiling that contented smile. She'd been surprised at first to discover that House enjoyed just…kissing her. The sex itself was lovely, but what took up most of their time before dawn finally arrived was touching, kissing, feeling with hearts and hands. It couldn't be described, but when he touched her, she felt like some fine piece of china, strong but still breakable. Beautiful, but still serving an important purpose.

When she woke in the morning after these moonlight fantasies, she would still smile to herself and look forward to the day ahead, when, every once in a while, in the lab or maybe catching her before she left the conference room to check on a patient, he'd say softly to her, 'I'm here.'

Fin