He had been understandably dazed and exhausted when I helped him get dressed and brought him back here, barely saying five words along the way. The closet we were sleeping in was small, almost too small for the both of us as well as a bit stuffy, but it was nice and dark and that’s what really counted. We could certainly put up with it for another night or two.
The need to protect House, to make sure he was okay swelled up in me, ready to burst. I hugged him closer, as if he could ever be too close. He was curled up around me, his face buried in the crook of my neck, pretty pinning me in place. Fine with me, I thought and rubbed the back of his neck. He was still dead to the world while I was wide awake. But I wasn’t going anywhere just yet; no need for a clock to tell me that sundown was still forty-five minutes away. I threaded my fingers through his coarse hair, enjoying the feeling of it, like a cat’s tongue.
The first night in our forever. I wondered if House ever thought about how long forever is, about all the things we can do together now that nothing stood in our way. No more pain. No more addiction. No more annoying ex-wives. No more alimony payments. Nothing. Just the two of us. Wonderful, I thought and grinned like an idiot in the pitch black of the closet.
A low groan from House as he began to stir, his beard scratching my neck.
“Wilson?” He sounded tired and confused. His grip around my tightened.
“It’s okay, House,” I assured him, running my hand up and down his back in what I hoped was a soothing gesture.
It seemed to work as I could feel him loosen up a bit and let out sigh of immense relief.
“Not dark yet?” he asked.
“In a little while.”
“Are we sleeping in here again?”
“Can we at least get some damn pillows and blankets in here?”
I laughed quietly and promised that there would be plenty of pillows and blankets just for him.
“Damn right,” he muttered, then brought his hand up to my cheek as he began to work his mouth against my neck, his tongue tracing out patterns against my skin.
“A little early for that, isn’t it?” I asked, even as I tilted my head to the side to give him better access.
“Never too early,” he muttered as his mouth became more insistent, the nipping and sucking on my neck getting more intense.
Another groan filled the air and at first I didn’t realize it came from me. I felt his fingertips trace the planes of my cheek, trace the shape of my lower lip before they worked their way down my neck to my shirt. Those skillful fingers made short work of the buttons, undoing them without even looking. My shirt was pushed open and those fingers of his were all over every exposed inch of my skin. Another groan from me only seemed to fan the flames of his craving as his hand skirted lower and lower from my chest to my belly, finally stopping to grab my crotch.
I grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he could shove that wandering hand inside my pants. He looked up, irritated at the interruption. Both of us could see quite clearly in the dark and I could see very well that his eyes were stormy with lust.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
“What the hell for?”
“You do know the rules have changed now, right?” I said.
“Since last night.”
He scowled. “How does that work?”
“I made you what you are, therefore I’m in charge.”
That revelation seemed to amuse him more than anything. With his scowl twisting into a wicked grin, he asked “Is that a fact?” with a snort.
Those words were barely out of my mouth before House swung his leg over my hips, straddling me, and had my arms pinned above my head.
“Since when did I ever give a fuck about the rules?” The lust stormed back into his eyes with the strength of a Category 5 hurricane. He was the wind, I was the seaside shack and I was about to get blown off my foundation, leaving behind nothing but a concrete slab.
“Since never,” I answered, my voice weak and shaky.
“Exactly. And just what makes you think I’m going to start now?”
“Do us both a favor for the moment, Wilson, and don’t think.”
I made a feeble attempt to struggle and he laughed.
“Willing to hurt a cripple to make your great escape?”
“You’re not crippled anymore,” I reminded him.
“I’m still missing a muscle in my leg. Unless that great big hickey you gave me last night will magically make it grow back, the scar is still there and it always will be.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No. Do you want to know what does bother me?”
“Your nagging questions.”
He bent down and claimed my mouth with a brutal kiss. My eyes fluttered shut as his tongue slipped past my lips. He paused long enough to rip open my pants; I swore I heard a faint tink as the button hit the wall. Then he picked up right where he had been interrupted: his mouth crushing mine and his hand down my pants, those long, talented fingers wrapping around my cock and stroking up and down the length. His attack on my mouth continued, it was like he was starved for this and maybe he was. My brain began to short-circuit as his hand managed to find every sensitive area, every last nerve that was quickly sending me into a frenzy, reducing me to nothing but a bundle of raw sensations. He just kept stroking and stroking and I could feel every last ridge of his fingertips, every twist of his wrist, every flick of his thumb across the head. The pressure was building and building and I would have begged for relief if I could have spoken but all I could do was just lay there, shamelessly groaning and writhing underneath him as he fucked me with his hand and fucked my mouth with his tongue.
Every lit fuse eventually reaches its destination and blows something apart; I was no different. I cried out, my voice bouncing off the walls again and again as I came. From far away I could hear House’s voice but it was only jumbled nonsense that was drowned out by the roar of white noise that was exploding in my head.
Slowly but surely the everything swam back into focus. The first thing I saw was House and his smug grin.
“Welcome back, sunshine,” he said, without even making a token effort to hide the gloating in his voice, and gave me a chaste kiss on the mouth.
“Sure,” I muttered. “Thanks.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
“And you’re an ass.”
“You just figured that out?” House and his damnable smirk looked down at me. “You should have thought of that before deciding that spending the rest of forever with me was a good idea.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“Of course not. That would be admitting defeat and you’re just too damned proud for that.”
“If you say so.” I wasn’t the mood to argue with him. There were more important things to worry about, like getting my fill of both blood and him. “The sun’s down.”
“Good,” he said, getting to his knees. “Lets go.”
I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back down and said, “Not so fast.”
He tried to protest but his words were cut off when I thrust my hand between his legs and squeezed.
With my own wicked smirk I looked him right in the eye and declared, “It’s my turn.”
It was a relatively quiet New Year’s Eve, the first at our new loft. I figured it called for a little something special so I cooked up a fabulous spaghetti dinner while House supplied the champagne. Then we stuffed our faces with cheesecake while we watched the countdown on television. If chowing down about five thousand calories isn’t a great way to start off a new year and new decade, then I don’t know what is.
We drank but we didn’t get rip-roaring drunk. House usually gets depressed during the holidays and uses it as an excuse to down the booze, thus starting off the new year with a bitch of a hangover. But not this year. Things are different now. For the first time in a long time he has control of his addictions and demons and not the other way around. Another great way to start off the new decade.
I figured he deserved a little treat, a nice surprise to wake up to. So I fixed him some blueberry muffins and a glass of orange juice, setting them on a tray. A bottle of aspirin was added in case he had a hangover. Feeling like a butler, I brought the tray of food and over-the-counter medicine to the bedroom.
He was sprawled on his side of the bed, drooling all over the pillowcase. For a second I thought about taking a picture with my camera phone but decided one silly picture wasn’t worth getting my ass kicked over.
“Good morning!” I declared in a ridiculously chipper voice.
His eyes flew open and took a few moments to focus. Once he realized who I was and where he was, he began to pull himself up into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Nearly ten. I bring gifts.”
“Gifts? Christmas was last week, you scatter-brained Jew.”
“I brought you some breakfast.”
He looked up and blinked, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Breakfast in bed? Seriously?”
I held out the tray for his inspection.
“I see,” he said, sounding pleased as he propped himself up on a mountain of pillows. “Just what have I done to deserve this?”
“You’ve come a long way since Mayfield,” I replied while setting the tray on his lap, then sitting on the edge of bed.
“Have I?” He tore the top off a muffin and waited for my response.
“You’re off the Vicodin, we have this new loft here…I think we’re starting off the new year on the right foot.”
“Yes, we are.”
More than satisfied with his words I made no attempt to hide my face-splitting grin.
After a huge gulp of orange juice, House said, “You know I’m going to expect breakfast in bed every day now, right?”
“And you know this is only reserved for those rare special occasions.”
“So when’s the next super-duper ultra special occasion?”
“You’ll find out when I bring you breakfast again.”
“You didn’t bring any for yourself,” he noted, sounding a bit amused.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You lie like a rug,” he snorted, then handed me a muffin.
I blinked in amazement. “What’s the occasion?” I had to ask.
House smiled. “It’s a new year, Wilson, and I guarantee it’s going to be full of surprises.”