Disclaimer: Don't own them. Do own my imagination which can be just as good.

VI

All roads lead to Rome. All breaths and touches and secret glances lead to this one moment.

She opened her apartment door and flicked on the switch letting the light flood in around her and wake her up momentarily. Her hands shook with desire but in the harsh light of the halcyon bulb she felt small and stupid and afraid.

House followed her, dumbly, stepping into uncharted territory.

She moved over to her couch and started to tidy her cushions and throws away.

He scanned her bookshelf: a beguiling mix of chick lit and medical journals and the odd classic gathering dust.

She moved over to the window and pulled the curtains shut feeling him watching her back. She tried to stand up straight and tall, pretend to be cool. Pretend.

She span around. He rested his full body back against the door and watched her curiously.

She didn't know what to do with her arms so she crossed them and cleared her throat: "Would you like a drink?"

He shrugged. "I'm okay."

You're supposed to say yes. You're supposed to go over to the couch and let me make you a whiskey sour and talk to me and tell me little bits and pieces about your life. You're supposed to compliment me on the décor of the room. You're supposed to laugh at my poor attempts at jokes. You're supposed to be someone else.

She took a tentative step towards him. "Do you want me to take your jacket?"

He shrugged again.

She wondered about music. Did she have any CDs that he'd actually approve of? Probably not. She'd never planned this far ahead before. The idea that they'd even kiss had always seemed so remote.

"Please," She nodded her head to the couch, "Take a seat."

"I'm okay," he said, a slight smirk escaping from the corners of his mouth.

Was it over before it had begun?

She let her hands drop to her hips and frowned.

He raised his eyebrows at the sudden movement.

She sighed: "Why are you making this so difficult?"

After a moment's silence he removed his jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair. He flung his cane on top.

"It's supposed to be." He said softly. "This isn't something that should be taken lightly."

She was startled to see a glimpse of concern in his face and it threw her for a second.

"Right." She tried to sound calm and relaxed but her heart was fluttering and she was losing her battle to control it. "Well, good because I've thought about it a lot and you should know…I don't do this every day."

She swallowed hard and moved towards him. Pushing him back into the door. Pinning his arms there with her hands. She moved them slowly along his muscular biceps and up to his hands. Trapped.

The move had both shocked and fascinated him and as she pressed into him she could feel his erection beginning to press into her stomach.

Her eyes changed from green to brown and then back again as she studied his face, nipping his bottom lip with her teeth and then left a trail of kisses along the neckline of his tshirt as her breasts brushed his chest.

He gasped. She grinned.

He broke free of her grasp and put his hands on her waist, searching for skin beneath her t-shirt and making her shiver as his fingers circled her pelvic bone.

He started to kiss her hard. Sucking life and breath and anxiety out of her and replacing all of it with the smell of cigars and after-shave and an almost tangible heat.

His hands moved up her body playing with her bra straps. She ran her fingers across his smooth tight stomach and felt his muscles ripple and then relax as she started to unbuckle his belt.

"There are some guys," Her friend Amy had once said to her when they'd sat up late watching an old Clint Eastwood movie. "Who you just know are gonna be good. They don't have to be good looking, they don't even have to be nice people but you just know that they're gonna be so good with their hands. They've got experience and they know how to work it and it shows in everything they do."

House's hands pulled her tshirt over her head and started to caress her nipples through her bra. She thought she was going to die.

She managed to unbutton his jeans and pull them half way down his thighs. She slid her hand into his boxers. He was huge and hard. She was about to look down to see just what she was dealing with when he suddenly grabbed her chin and pulled her face flush to his.

She watched his eyes closely and time started to slow down. Their breathing began to synchronise. It was happening. It was so good. He slowly slid into her, his eyelids fluttering briefly as she tightened around him, and they began to move, a rhythm developing between them.

He thrust, hard, firm, slowly, into her and she started to melt around him. Her eyes saw his pupils expand and saw her own reflection. A wanton expression. Tongue running across her lips. A bead of sweat on her forehead. And she could have been dying. But she wasn't. She was being fucked, hard, by House and as he slid further and deeper into her she couldn't decide which seemed more unlikely, his cock inside her or being dead.

The rhythm got faster. The room got hotter. Her eyes started to close. He pushed her into the door, gauging her reaction with every stroke. She grabbed his ass and brought him further to her. He was as deep as he could go. As deep as anyone had ever been.

She was going to come. She wanted to tell him. Make him see what he'd done to her. Let him know that he was the best fuck she'd ever had but all she could do was breath and whimper and gasp and dig her fingers into his ass and look up at the ceiling and begin to shudder wildly as the sensation rocked her body from the throbbing muscles in her forehead to the curl of her toes.

She fell back against the door. Unable to breathe. He stayed inside her riding out his own orgasm, banging against the door, his eyes dark with possession and desire.

And then he shuddered too as he bit his lip and raised his chin up to the ceiling, stretching up to his full height before slamming back down inside her for the last time.

She grabbed his shoulders. Reluctant to feel him pull out of her.

He wiped the bead of sweat from her forehead and carefully removed himself. He pulled his jeans back up and picked up his cane.

Her mind was muddled and her breathing was finally slowing down. She sank to the ground as she pulled her tshirt on. But then realised that she couldn't get up. Her world was a snowglobe and he'd just shaken it up completely. Little pieces of who she was fell back down slowly as she looked around her apartment and caught sight of old photographs on shelves and her slippers tucked under the couch.

"God," she muttered. Tears sprung to her eyes quite unexpectedly and she managed to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

House turned to look at her on the ground. His face reddened.

She collected herself and stood up, pulling her pants up and combing her hair with her fingers.

"Well." He said, simply.

She waited for a snarky remark but there was little to say and they both knew it.

She looked at him. His fingers gripped his bad thigh and she felt a wave of sympathy for him.

"I'll get you some water," She said. Meaning for his Vicodin.

"Yeah," He said. "I'm feeling kind of breathless."

She moved to head to the kitchen, to step around him, not daring to tempt fate.

"Wait" He said as she squeezed past him.

She paused.

He ran a finger down the back of her neck and tucked the label into her shirt. She trembled and he replaced his finger with a soft and gentle kiss at the top of her spine.

Boy, you're in trouble.