The hunger inside won't go away, it's starting to rise
Who: House, Tammy (Non-player character); Wilson eventually. Closed.
Where: House's apartment.
What: House goes ahead with his plans.
When: Tuesday, 28th March, 2006; about 4.30PM.
OOC: Small fic from House's perspective. Fic contains adult content.
Complete
Sitting alone in his apartment, on his sofa, House was clutching the phone in one hand and a scrap of paper with the telephone number he’d just dialled in his other hand, wondering -- if not hoping -- if this was going to be the solution to everything.
After the day he’d had at work -- the morning that between Wilson that had seemed almost normal in spite of everything, the confrontation with Cuddy in the coma patient’s room, capped off with a heated discussion with Tholom in the chapel that left House feeling emotionally battered and bruised -- he’d come home early. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving; he merely packed his things up and left.
The first thing he did when he arrived at home was reluctantly take a shower, making it as quick as possible -- the events that had unfolded the night before in the shower were vivid as clear crystal in his mind and with the knots that were twisting and turning in his stomach, he truly didn’t want to spend any more time in there than he needed to. He tried in vain to block the mental images out as he scrubbed his hair and face, tried in vain to not let his mind wander back to the fact that Cuddy had figured out what was happening, tried in vain to push his panic back beneath the surface where it had been bubbling ever since waking up with Wilson in that B&B in Pennsylvania.
Dried and dressed, House attempted to quench the churning in his gut with a stiff drink of whisky, thinking that five in the afternoon was much too early to contemplate drowning his panic away into temporary oblivion. The whisky did nothing but fuel the churning even more, though the alcohol running through his veins made the rest of him feel slightly numb. It was in the midst of this numbness, as though the numbness brought about a sense of clarity to him, that House decided impulsively to fetch the phone and the telephone number and after calling the number he requested what he was after and then resolutely hung up.
Which brought him to the point of sitting there in silence, phone and number still clutched in his hand. He deliberately refused to let his mind go over the details of the day; he merely kept an ear out, staring at the floor fixedly.
The knock to the door gave him a slight jolt of surprise. Setting the phone down on the coffee table, along with the scrap of paper, House gathered up his cane and stood, and slowly made his way to the door. Bracing his hand around the handle, House closed his eyes briefly, a fleeting thought of ‘This could make things much worse’ crossing his mind, but he pushed that thought aside and opened the door.
The woman on the other side of the door gave him a hesitant smile. It wasn’t Paula, like he’d asked for. She was just as pretty as Paula, though. She had long dark blonde hair, blue eyes that showed a hint of nervousness, as though she’d been in the prostitution business a while but not long enough yet for it to harden her to stone.
“Hi,” she greeted hesitantly, sweeping a strand of hair from her face.
House didn’t smile back. “Hi,” he replied as he leaned against the door; another fleeting thought crossed his mind, a thought that now would be a good time to thank her for coming but her services would no longer be needed. He pushed that thought aside defiantly. “You are…?”
“Tammy,” she replied promptly.
House nodded his head in acknowledgment, saying in a low voice, “Hi, Tammy.” He waited a beat before he opened the door for her, stepping back to let her in. He watched her cross the threshold and all’s House could think about was Wilson; what Wilson would think if he found out, how much this was going to hurt Wilson if he found out, what the hell was he going to do if this didn’t put right any of his confusion.
He shut the door harder than he needed to, trying to shut all those thoughts out of his head.
House then turned to look at Tammy, seeing her shrugging out of her coat. He forced his eyes to roam over her body, looking at the shape of her breasts underneath her shirt, the curves of her waist and hips, the slenderness of her thighs outlined in the tight skirt she was wearing. His heart felt like it was in his throat. Not because he was aroused, but because he found himself doubting this was going to work.
“Where do you want to--”
House cut her off by raising his hand to silence her. “Please,” he said in a murmur, “don’t talk. I’ll pay you extra if it means getting you not to talk.”
Tammy looked affronted for a moment and then smoothed her expression out to impassiveness again. She nodded silently and waited for his instruction, subtly glancing around his apartment with a dart of her eyes.
Slowly walking towards her, House forced his mind into silence, staring down at Tammy’s face when he was standing directly in front of her. “We’ll go to the…” He stopped a moment. To the bedroom, he was going to say. He suddenly felt wrong doing that. He felt he couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t. Not after Wilson and he had… “Uh, here,” he finished, gesturing to the couch.
Tammy just nodded silently and stepped back, set her bag down and began to promptly undress.
House almost felt like he couldn’t watch her. He bowed his head as if wanting to peer at the floor, but forced his eyes to remain trained on her as she stripped her shirt off. “Wait,” House stopped her before she unclipped her bra. He wanted to feel a woman under his hands, even if he didn’t know her. Maybe if he felt her body while undressing her… “I want to…” He gestured his hand as if to indicate he wanted to undress her himself.
“I’d rather do it myself,” she replied, breaking the one rule he’d given her.
“I’ll pay you another one hundred dollars,” he cut in sharply.
Tammy opened her mouth as if to retort and then snapped her mouth closed again. She then merely nodded her agreement.
Gesturing for her to come to the sofa, he began to do just that; sliding his palms over her skin, tracing her curves with his hands as he peeled the clothes from her body. He shut his eyes when his hands were on her breasts and he tried to focus his mind away from Wilson, tried to think about how amazing a woman could feel underneath his palms. He tried. He tried hard. And women did feel amazing. But somehow…
He snapped his eyes open when he felt her tugging his pants down. He almost protested and then decided against it. Yes, maybe moving onto other things was better. Better than trying to think himself into not thinking about Wilson. His clothes were shed and House sat back on the sofa, watching her look at his scar.
“How’d you--”
“Ignore it,” he cut her off abruptly.
She faltered. “Does it--”
“There any part of ‘don’t talk’ that you don’t understand?”
That affronted look was on her face again, gone swiftly as she merely nodded and began to work a condom onto him.
He was hard, sure. He wasn’t feeling into this, though. He tried to reason that it was because he was just stressed, but he knew deep down that was a cop out.
She stood between his spread legs, looking down at him uncertainly. He knew what she was going to ask. How did he want to do this? Before she could ask him, he gestured for her to lie down and after briefly standing to let her do that, House then awkwardly climbed onto the sofa and settled his hips between her legs.
There was absolutely no passion in this. Compared to what he experienced with Wilson… He pushed that out of his mind as he entered her almost mechanically, staring awkwardly away from her as he did so. His thrusts were jerky and unenthused at first but soon he found himself moving in and out fast, almost aggressively, frustration and fear being the reason for how hard he was pressing into her.
Pushing his forehead against her shoulder he gritted his teeth as he felt his peak approaching, though the build up felt empty. This was nothing like it was with Wilson. Nothing. The whole time, Wilson was etched at the back of his mind like an itch that he couldn’t reach and as he began to climax he let out a frustrated grunt, the orgasm feeling completely empty and unsatisfactory.
He slumped on top of Tammy, breathing heavily, about to ask her how he much owed when he heard the front door opening.
Where: House's apartment.
What: House goes ahead with his plans.
When: Tuesday, 28th March, 2006; about 4.30PM.
OOC: Small fic from House's perspective. Fic contains adult content.
Complete
Sitting alone in his apartment, on his sofa, House was clutching the phone in one hand and a scrap of paper with the telephone number he’d just dialled in his other hand, wondering -- if not hoping -- if this was going to be the solution to everything.
After the day he’d had at work -- the morning that between Wilson that had seemed almost normal in spite of everything, the confrontation with Cuddy in the coma patient’s room, capped off with a heated discussion with Tholom in the chapel that left House feeling emotionally battered and bruised -- he’d come home early. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving; he merely packed his things up and left.
The first thing he did when he arrived at home was reluctantly take a shower, making it as quick as possible -- the events that had unfolded the night before in the shower were vivid as clear crystal in his mind and with the knots that were twisting and turning in his stomach, he truly didn’t want to spend any more time in there than he needed to. He tried in vain to block the mental images out as he scrubbed his hair and face, tried in vain to not let his mind wander back to the fact that Cuddy had figured out what was happening, tried in vain to push his panic back beneath the surface where it had been bubbling ever since waking up with Wilson in that B&B in Pennsylvania.
Dried and dressed, House attempted to quench the churning in his gut with a stiff drink of whisky, thinking that five in the afternoon was much too early to contemplate drowning his panic away into temporary oblivion. The whisky did nothing but fuel the churning even more, though the alcohol running through his veins made the rest of him feel slightly numb. It was in the midst of this numbness, as though the numbness brought about a sense of clarity to him, that House decided impulsively to fetch the phone and the telephone number and after calling the number he requested what he was after and then resolutely hung up.
Which brought him to the point of sitting there in silence, phone and number still clutched in his hand. He deliberately refused to let his mind go over the details of the day; he merely kept an ear out, staring at the floor fixedly.
The knock to the door gave him a slight jolt of surprise. Setting the phone down on the coffee table, along with the scrap of paper, House gathered up his cane and stood, and slowly made his way to the door. Bracing his hand around the handle, House closed his eyes briefly, a fleeting thought of ‘This could make things much worse’ crossing his mind, but he pushed that thought aside and opened the door.
The woman on the other side of the door gave him a hesitant smile. It wasn’t Paula, like he’d asked for. She was just as pretty as Paula, though. She had long dark blonde hair, blue eyes that showed a hint of nervousness, as though she’d been in the prostitution business a while but not long enough yet for it to harden her to stone.
“Hi,” she greeted hesitantly, sweeping a strand of hair from her face.
House didn’t smile back. “Hi,” he replied as he leaned against the door; another fleeting thought crossed his mind, a thought that now would be a good time to thank her for coming but her services would no longer be needed. He pushed that thought aside defiantly. “You are…?”
“Tammy,” she replied promptly.
House nodded his head in acknowledgment, saying in a low voice, “Hi, Tammy.” He waited a beat before he opened the door for her, stepping back to let her in. He watched her cross the threshold and all’s House could think about was Wilson; what Wilson would think if he found out, how much this was going to hurt Wilson if he found out, what the hell was he going to do if this didn’t put right any of his confusion.
He shut the door harder than he needed to, trying to shut all those thoughts out of his head.
House then turned to look at Tammy, seeing her shrugging out of her coat. He forced his eyes to roam over her body, looking at the shape of her breasts underneath her shirt, the curves of her waist and hips, the slenderness of her thighs outlined in the tight skirt she was wearing. His heart felt like it was in his throat. Not because he was aroused, but because he found himself doubting this was going to work.
“Where do you want to--”
House cut her off by raising his hand to silence her. “Please,” he said in a murmur, “don’t talk. I’ll pay you extra if it means getting you not to talk.”
Tammy looked affronted for a moment and then smoothed her expression out to impassiveness again. She nodded silently and waited for his instruction, subtly glancing around his apartment with a dart of her eyes.
Slowly walking towards her, House forced his mind into silence, staring down at Tammy’s face when he was standing directly in front of her. “We’ll go to the…” He stopped a moment. To the bedroom, he was going to say. He suddenly felt wrong doing that. He felt he couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t. Not after Wilson and he had… “Uh, here,” he finished, gesturing to the couch.
Tammy just nodded silently and stepped back, set her bag down and began to promptly undress.
House almost felt like he couldn’t watch her. He bowed his head as if wanting to peer at the floor, but forced his eyes to remain trained on her as she stripped her shirt off. “Wait,” House stopped her before she unclipped her bra. He wanted to feel a woman under his hands, even if he didn’t know her. Maybe if he felt her body while undressing her… “I want to…” He gestured his hand as if to indicate he wanted to undress her himself.
“I’d rather do it myself,” she replied, breaking the one rule he’d given her.
“I’ll pay you another one hundred dollars,” he cut in sharply.
Tammy opened her mouth as if to retort and then snapped her mouth closed again. She then merely nodded her agreement.
Gesturing for her to come to the sofa, he began to do just that; sliding his palms over her skin, tracing her curves with his hands as he peeled the clothes from her body. He shut his eyes when his hands were on her breasts and he tried to focus his mind away from Wilson, tried to think about how amazing a woman could feel underneath his palms. He tried. He tried hard. And women did feel amazing. But somehow…
He snapped his eyes open when he felt her tugging his pants down. He almost protested and then decided against it. Yes, maybe moving onto other things was better. Better than trying to think himself into not thinking about Wilson. His clothes were shed and House sat back on the sofa, watching her look at his scar.
“How’d you--”
“Ignore it,” he cut her off abruptly.
She faltered. “Does it--”
“There any part of ‘don’t talk’ that you don’t understand?”
That affronted look was on her face again, gone swiftly as she merely nodded and began to work a condom onto him.
He was hard, sure. He wasn’t feeling into this, though. He tried to reason that it was because he was just stressed, but he knew deep down that was a cop out.
She stood between his spread legs, looking down at him uncertainly. He knew what she was going to ask. How did he want to do this? Before she could ask him, he gestured for her to lie down and after briefly standing to let her do that, House then awkwardly climbed onto the sofa and settled his hips between her legs.
There was absolutely no passion in this. Compared to what he experienced with Wilson… He pushed that out of his mind as he entered her almost mechanically, staring awkwardly away from her as he did so. His thrusts were jerky and unenthused at first but soon he found himself moving in and out fast, almost aggressively, frustration and fear being the reason for how hard he was pressing into her.
Pushing his forehead against her shoulder he gritted his teeth as he felt his peak approaching, though the build up felt empty. This was nothing like it was with Wilson. Nothing. The whole time, Wilson was etched at the back of his mind like an itch that he couldn’t reach and as he began to climax he let out a frustrated grunt, the orgasm feeling completely empty and unsatisfactory.
He slumped on top of Tammy, breathing heavily, about to ask her how he much owed when he heard the front door opening.