I'm sorry about the major delay in updating. My editor has had some personal struggles lately,and is no longer able to help me with this project. Then I found I'm pregant, and all things fandom got pushed to the back burner for a while. That said, I know I'm not going to get around to editing the rest of the story so I decided to post the rest of it as is. Please excuse any errors you find. As always I love feedback, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. There are about 10 more chapters, and I'll make sure to note the last one as final.

Thanks for reading,

Raven

TITLE: Chapter 11 Hot Fudge

AUTHOR: new_raven

PAIRING: House/Chris

RATING: R

WARNINGS: Dirty

SUMMARY: It's about damn time.

DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.

If anyone had asked, House would have sworn he wasn't looking for her. He stopped by work on a Saturday, to get a book. Yes, he had lingered in his office for half an hour and taken the long way down to the lobby, past the cafeteria and the gift shop, but that didn't mean he was checking in on Chris. It was pure coincidence that he caught her closing up the gift shop.

"How long have you been here?" He asked her.

"I just covered the last two hours." She said.

He reworded the question. "When was the last time you went home?"

"Last night, why?" She shrugged.

"You were wearing that shirt under your sweater yesterday."

She could have been wearing the same shirt for dozens of reasons, but she couldn't think of any of them, at that moment. "Fine, I didn't go home. The guy I dog sit for doesn't care if I stay at his place. I stayed there last night."

"What about the night before that?" House asked.

How did he know? She'd been so careful, not to be seen. Could he really read that much from her shirt? "Fourth floor waiting room," she admitted.

House shook his head. "And tonight?"

Chris rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but I thought I might sneak into an on call room. I know it's dumb. It's just that, I hate that house. I've always hated it and if I…"

House had heard enough. He motioned with his head, for her to follow, and continued walking towards the door. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Chris asked, already walking with him.

"My place."

Chris didn't protest about getting on the bike this time. She took the helmet from him, and sat behind him with a smile. She wrapped her arms around him as they took off, and wondered if he could feel her heart beating against his back. It startled her a little, when he pulled up onto the sidewalk to park. She didn't comment, as he led the way through the green door of the apartment building. She didn't realize she was holding her breath in anticipation, until he opened the door.

"Make yourself at home." House told her, as he hooked his cane on the crown molding and hobbled down the hall.

She was standing in House's house. Chris didn't move, but turned her head to watch his progress. She was thrilled to see him move around the apartment, with relative ease. He used chairs, tables, and even the walls for extra support but wasn't dependent on the cane. When he disappeared through a doorway, she tried to take in the room she was standing in. The first thing she saw was the piano, and she smiled to herself, imaging him sitting there playing it.

She had almost expected his home to be an extension of his office, but the apartment was much warmer than she'd imagined. As she looked around the room, she realized that there were books, journals, and magazines everywhere. It wasn't cluttered, but almost every surface held some sort of reading material. That explained how he knew so damn much.

He came back down around the corner, and then disappeared again, this time into the kitchen. He called out, to ask if she wanted a beer. She declined as she inspected the medical journals on the coffee table.

House returned and put an ashtray in front of her. Chris put her pack of cigarettes next to it, but didn't light one. He was retreating down the hall again, when she called after him.

"I guess I'll take the couch." She said with a mostly straight face.

He turned back to her with his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed in confusion, until he saw the twinkle in her eye. "Oh, shut up." He shook his head and turned into the bedroom.

She kicked off her boots, tucked them under the table, and unclipped her hair before following him. House sat at the foot of the bed taking off his shoes. Chris stood in the doorway, torn between watching him and surveying his bedroom for the first time. When he looked up at her, and invited her in, with a wave of his hand, she felt her stomach twisting in giddy little knots.

She started to say something, but remembered how words had failed them in the past, and decided to act instead. Standing in front of him, just an arm's length away, she grabbed the bottom of her shirt, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to the ground beside her. She held his gaze, measuring his reaction to her body, as she unclasped her bra and let it drop near her shirt. Complicated and brilliant as he was, at that moment, the deepest thought in his mind was: "Yay boobs!", and it was written in a smile, all over his face.

House reached for her, and she moved into his arms. He kissed her breasts, then between them, and a line down her stomach, until he reached her belly button. She unzipped her jeans, and House let his hands follow the trail of freshly exposed skin, as she pushed them down past her knees. She kicked them aside as House kissed her hips and thighs, his fingers tracing lines down her back and across her butt.

She pulled his face to hers, and kissed his lips, groping for the hem of his shirt, and pulling it carefully over his head, as their tongues met. Her fingers greedily explored his skin. His chest was solid, with just enough hair to run her fingers through, and as she did she almost couldn't believe this was finally happening. She leaned down to kiss his neck and shoulder. She hesitated, reaching for his lap, not sure what exactly might bother his leg.

He knew what she was thinking, and took a condom from his pocket, before pulling his jeans off. He held his breath, as he revealed his wound. He was prepared for a gasp or shudder, but no horror registered on her face, only a hint of sadness, when she cupped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. She kissed him, as if to say "I want you, just the way you are", and if she'd had more courage left, she would have knelt and kissed his leg.

He pulled her to him again, and this time she straddled him, ever so carefully balancing on his left side and stretching her knee over his right leg. He cupped her ass and pulled her closer, as she pressed against him and kissed him again. She was shaking as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head and resisted the urge to bite her lower lip, "a little nervous."

"Why?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

"It's been a while and you're so…" She paused searching for the right word, and House braced himself for "mature", "experienced", or some other word synonymous with old. "…amazing." She finally said, looking at his mouth. "I'd hate to disappoint."

He smiled, truly surprised. "You couldn't, even if you tried." He kissed her softly.

She smiled against his lips. "So when do my three minutes start?"

"Now."

The sex was that good. They had both expected it to be good. The relationship never would have developed to this stage, if there hadn't been such a strong attraction, but they hadn't anticipated this. This was like expecting an ice-cream sundae with chocolate syrup, and getting it with hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry instead. Chris had never even had hot fudge. Sure, she'd had sex, but nothing compared to this. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that House could read her mind. She tried not to think too hard, about how much practice it must have taken to reach his level of expertise.

He couldn't get over the way she reacted to him. It was even easier than usual for him to find the spot that made her breath catch, and a rhythm that made her legs shake. His every touch elicited a moan, gasp, or shudder from her. These were not the theatrical cries of a bored hooker. They were not the measure sighs of the sexually oppressed. This was just a girl, who liked sex, unabashedly enjoying it, with him. She made no effort to quiet herself, except for when she spoke in whispers or pressed face to his skin, and he doubted if she was even aware of what she was doing, or what it did to him.

He couldn't understand how a woman, who would not have asked for a ride to work in a snow storm, if the buses had stopped running, could beg him not to stop. When she breathed a desperate "Please!" against his neck, he had to struggle to contain himself, for the first time in years. Most women, once they'd reached a certain age, had been in enough relationships that they began to measure their orgasmic potential by that of their mate. For lesbians, there were no limits. Every other woman accepted one to two orgasms, for every one that her partner had. If she needed more than that she was on her own.

Chris had not gotten that memo. It never occurred to her that he might not want to continue. His fingers and lips worked perfectly fine, great in fact. So why not use them? House never got tired of giving her what she asked for. Though he couldn't match her climax for climax, he found that he did rise to the occasion, more often than he would have expected to be possible, thanks to her infectious enthusiasm.

House had only ever had hot fudge with Stacy, and that had taken a few months to perfect. After his leg, she had been almost afraid to touch him, letting her guilt bleed into the bedroom. Now he couldn't remember back to the great sex, without thinking of what it was like after his surgery.

Cuddy had come very close, in fact physically she was as good as anyone he'd ever had, but there had been something else lacking. He always had the feeling that her mind was only half there. He was forever competing for her attention, and proving that he deserved her. What drew him to her, after college, and Stacy, and so many years, had been the idea that someone who really knew him, and had known him for so long, could love him. In hind sight, he thought he might have had better lick with Wilson.

Now, this girl who barely knew him, who barely knew herself, saw something in him that even she couldn't explain. She didn't scowl at him when he took an extra Vicodin or tell him to take out the trash. She wouldn't ask for anything he couldn't give, because she didn't know how to receive anything more than this. She expected nothing from him, so that whatever he did right was a delightful surprise, and what he did wrong was fodder for their verbal brawls.

He flopped back on the bed, and pulled her down against his chest. She fell on top of him, panting even harder than before. After a while she raised her head enough to kiss him and look him in the eye.

"Did you learn that in med school?" She grinned.

"You could say that." House smirked back.

"Can we do it again?"

House woke unusually early for a Sunday morning. A light rain fell against the windows and the clouds made the room darker than it should have been at eight in the morning. Chris lay next to him with one knee pulled almost to her chest and one fist curled around the pillow. She had clearly lost, but not forsaken, the battle for covers during the night. Only a corner of the sheet was draped over her hips, and she held it there with one hand.

House watched her without a move or a sound. When she opened her eyes and looked across the pillow at him, a smile lit up her face. She burrowed under the sheet and wrapped herself around him, giving a content sigh and closing her eyes again.

"Where do you have to be today?" House asked.

She thought for a moment and replied with a yawn, "nowhere."

"Are you observing the Sabbath?"

"Sometimes I babysit. I used to go to the Laundromat and the grocery store, but I don't need any food. I did laundry on Wednesday because I didn't have anything else to do." She could not explain how hard it was to fill her free time.

"What do you want to do?"

"Hmm?" She pondered and smiled up at him. "You?"

"I'll get some little blue pills on Monday, but we may have a few hours of downtime today."

"Is that safe?"

"Down time?"

"Viagra? You know, since you don't really need Viagra."

"No, that's not safe." House shook his head.

"Oh, you shouldn't take that then." She tried not to look disappointed.

House laughed and kissed the top of her head. Chris slid off of him and propped herself up on one arm so that she was looking down into his eyes.

"Sex first," she said.

House nodded.

"Then we should have pancakes."

"Pizza can be delivered."

"I'll make the pancakes, assuming you have all the stuff. If not, I'll just lick syrup off you until you're ready for phase three." She winked at him.

"I like your plan." House pulled her down and kissed her.

"Wait, you haven't heard phase three yet."

"Unless there's an ant hill involved, I think I get the general idea."

"Yeah but after we've replenished our strength with carbs and corn syrup, I want rough, dirty, embarrassing bruises in the morning sex."

House sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh really?"

"Yep." She nodded and leaned down to nibble his earlobe. "Maybe in the kitchen?"

Chris tried not to make a face when she walked into the kitchen, wearing House's t-shirt from the night before. There was a crusty pan on the stove and dishes piled in one side of the sink. His pantry was pretty well stocked, but the fridge held nothing but beer, condiments, expired milk and questionable eggs.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" He said as he came in behind her.

"It smells like you."

"I smell like me even more."

"You wouldn't, after I made a shirt out of you." She teased, and moved a stack of pizza boxes to get to the pantry.

"The maid quit." House told her.

"Hey, I wasn't judging you out loud." She rummaged through the shelves. "You've got the mix. All we need is milk… if those eggs are good."

"The syrup's in the fridge. You should warm it up a little, before you get started." House smirked.

"I'll go get the milk. You can stay here and recuperate." She set the box of baking mix on the counter.

"Just give me your keys and your wallet. I will have to put pants on though."

"I'll go."

"I could come with you." She offered.

"That's a terrible idea. Then we'd both have to put on pants." He swatted her on the butt.

She squealed. "Hurry back."

She started cleaning the dishes she knew she would need for making breakfast, as he got ready to go. When he locked the door behind him, she did what any normal person would do; snoop through his stuff. She found several prescription pain killers and decongestants in the medicine cabinet as well as the usual over-the-counter stuff. The drawer of his bed side table held condoms, lube, and a few dirty magazines. She inspected the pages for wear and stains, the brunette schoolgirl seemed to be a favorite.

When he returned she was standing by the tallest bookshelf, smoking a cigarette, and reading the titles. She was amused and impressed to find everything, from H.P. Lovecraft to the Federalist Papers, mixed in among the endless medical tomes. His books were in no order that she could discern, but she was certain that if she moved one, he'd notice. House held out a sack and a carton of milk. She put out her cigarette and took the goods to the kitchen.

"You could have mentioned you have a waffle iron." She called through the doorway.

"You wanted pancakes."

"That's because I didn't think you'd have a waffle iron." She said.

"It's Wilson's, and I'm not going back to the store." He told her, as he joined her in the kitchen.

"No need, same ingredients." She found a fresh pack of Camel Lights as she unpacked the eggs. "Ooh the good stuff."

"In case I want one. Yours are disgusting."

"Your face." She said without looking up at him, while she cracked the eggs over the mixing bowl.

"My face?" He asked.

"Yeah, you know, it's like 'your mom' but safer if you don't know if a person's mom is a touchy subject."

"Right," House nodded and set the syrup and peanut butter on the counter next to her. "My mom is not a touchy subject."

"Good to know," Chris sprayed the waffle iron, "but if it's not your mom… what is wrong with you?"

"Your face."

She laughed and slopped a scoop of batter onto the iron. She poured a glass of milk and offered it to House. He declined, and she kept it for herself. "Whole milk?" She asked after she tasted it.

"You didn't specify." He said.

"I like it, but the one in the fridge is two percent."

"It was this or skim." He lied.

"Good choice then." She opened the iron. "Hey look, it's a waffle."

House gave a fake gasp. "Amazing."

She finished the waffles and they sat on the couch to eat. "Why do you keep your syrup in the fridge?"

She asked, as she poured some over her plate.

"It's organic or something. Wilson bought it."

She'd never tasted real maple syrup, much less organic real maple syrup. She read the label, as she took a bite, and moaned with her mouth full. "Oh my god, that's amazing"

"Try it with the peanut butter." House held a bite up for her.

She leaned over his plate and took the bite, then groaned and leaned back on the couch. "Mmmm, that's got to be the sex hormones. Nothing tastes that good."

"You're so cute…" Chris purred and rolled on top of him, "and sexy, and smart. Really, I don't know how anyone keeps their pants on around you."

They were in his bed. House was satisfied and relaxed with his eyes closed, but not quite dozing. She was kissing his neck and blowing in his ear. "Again?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"Please?" She begged, more for his benefit than hers.

"How can you still be horny?"

"I'm twenty-one, and it's been a long time, and it's never been this good. You're actually really lucky. You must have been like Gandhi in another life."

He laughed and pushed her over so he could roll on top of her. "Ok, one more. Keep telling me how hot I am."

"Mmm, you're a freaking rock star."