"Gregory Edward House, get your butt over here this instant and teach me how to play!"
Oh, she'd used his full name that time. Now he knew he was in trouble. "But I don't wanna!" House whined pitifully, jutting out his lower lip to form an effective pout.
"But you promised!"
"Since when have I been a man of my word?"
Allison matched his pout, and being that she was his incredibly adorable wife, she quickly gained the upper hand. House tried to look in vain, but those puppy-dog eyes held him fast. Soundly defeated, he limped to the piano bench and sat beside his captor. "Fine. You win." He smirked. "Bet Wilson's just thrilled at the fact that you've got me leashed and collared."
Allison patted his head and cooed at him. "Yes, yes, now show me how to play, Greggy-weggy, that's a good dog."
Smiling at her mockery (I've taught her so well…), House took her hands and put them over the keys. The interaction sent chills up her spine; she'd never get used to it, this closeness, his warmth. There was no price tag for it, nothing in the world she'd rather have in exchange.
House put gentle pressure on her fingers, and she obediently pressed down on a set of white keys. The notes were lovely, but she felt that they held none of the magic they contained when he played. Allison wondered if she'd ever be able to play like that.
For the better part of an hour House alternated between praise ("I should charging you for this - how many teachers can say 'play Happy Birthday in thirty minutes or less!'") and annoyance ("Excuse me, I must go dig a grave for my eardrums…"), but Allison paid more attention to the steady breath on her neck. So intoxicating, it was almost like a drug to her.
"Ouch!" She turned wildly to her husband, giving him her best scowl. "What'd you poke me for?"
"Pay attention."