Trust and Control

Author: starhawk2005

Summary: Cameron lets House have full control over her.

Notes: Disclaimer: Yeah, I obviously don't own them. Cuz if I did, I'd be making them do things that are too hot, even for FOX. Pity the poor smut-writer.
Special thanks to: My S.O. for beta'ing.
Author note: Since I'm conveniently ignoring the arrival of Stacy in this fic, it could be viewed as an AU…or alternatively, since I don't recall there being any explicit explanation of exactly how much time passed between "Love Hurts" and "Three Stories", this story could slot into canon if you squint.

It had been two months since their abortive "date".

After House's "diagnostic" speech, they had spent most of the rest of the evening alternating between uncomfortable silences and awkward, stilted shop-talk.

The next day, and for the rest of the next week or so, Allison had been grilled constantly by various PPTH staff members. At first, she did her best to act as though they'd had a pleasant time and all was well. Luckily, the grilling stopped at around the same time that she got tired of maintaining the charade.

For the rest of the first month after the 'date-debacle', as she'd come to think of it, she did her best to maintain her cool around House, but she found herself constantly on the lookout for cues from him as to whether he was going to change his mind, whether he was going to pursue anything further with her.

But he seemed to be completely disinterested, now. There wasn't even the mild flirtation ('What about sex?' 'Well, it could work. I'm older, certainly, and we work together….but maybe you like that?') that he had sometimes engaged in, before she had asked him if he liked her.

By the beginning of the second month, she'd had enough of waiting and pining. One night, she went home and regarded the dried corsage. She'd been keeping it on her coffee table.

She'd gotten into the habit long ago of drying and saving the flowers she received on dates. She had a whole box in storage full of such mementos from various guys, from her late hubby Thomas...and so she'd saved the corsage House had gotten her,partially out of habit, but also because it had seemed to her to have some special significance. Getting her flowers had not been part of the deal, yet he had done it anyways, and even been adorably nervous as he'd given it to her. And so she had wondered for awhile, even after his cruel diagnosis of her, if the flowers were a sign that a 'soft and mushy' House was starting to leak through the cold armoured exterior.

But since the date he'd been consistently cold and distant, dashing her remaining hopes. And it made her feel like a fool, taking that gamble, opening up so much, and now they were back to square one. Not as big a gaffe as Chase had made, ratting on House to Vogler, but still a mistake. So that night, she threw the corsage out, and came to a decision. Not a strange one, for her - she'd done something similar after Thomas had died, when she'd been in such grief that the thought of even getting close to another person had been way too painful – but she had to execute her plan carefully. Because if Chase or Foreman or even Wilson noticed, they might suspect that the date hadn't been all roses and that she'd gotten hurt, and she didn't need that added shame, tacked on to the shame she already felt.

Her plan was simple. Although it hadn't started out that way - she'd merely worn makeup and flattering clothes because she'd wanted to, much like Dr. Cuddy and her low-cut blouses - being feminine had come in her mind to be associated with attracting House. Something which she supposed now had been inevitable, ever since he had told her that he had hired her partially because of her looks.

And now that he had rejected her, she no longer wanted to be feminine. Every morning when she got up and fixed her hair and makeup so carefully, when she tried to select a combination of clothing which would come across as professional yet slightly revealing at the same time, it was a reminder that she was doing this for nothing, that House didn't want her.

So, over the course of the next month, she tried her best to slowly phase out these obsolete efforts. She cut out the mascara first, and gradually the lipstick. She kept the blush, because she was too pale without it and people started asking her if she was ill. She wore her hair pulled back tightly off of her face.

She stopped wearing skirts at all to PPTH, and instead wore pants, which got gradually baggier as time went on, as did her tops.

She did her best to make all these changes as gradually as possible. Chase seemed oblivious, which was good. She caught Wilson looking at her with a faintly puzzled expression from time to time, but he seemed unable to put his finger on what it was about her that was bothering him.

The only people to notice the change in her were Cuddy and Foreman. When they were alone (which was rare), Cuddy looked sad for Allison, but she never said anything directly. Eric had clued in by the end of the second month, but although Allison loved Eric like an older brother, she remembered his teasing ('How's your tummy?') before she had tried to quit, and she didn't want to deal with that - or his pity. So when he asked her if she was OK, she just said she was fine, and buried herself in her work until he left her alone.

In any case, House said nothing at all about her change in appearance - assuming he'd even noticed - for the entire month. And so by the start of the third month, A.D. (After Date), Allison was starting to feel a bit better, safer in her own skin.

Her position at PPTH was stable, she hadn't made any mistakes for House to pick on, she was working well with Eric and had even managed to work out a truce of sorts with Chase. Her stomach no longer fluttered when House walked into the room or leaned over her to check something or stood beside her at the whiteboard or the xray viewer. She no longer cared – or at least, had convinced herself that she didn't.

But predictably, just when she was starting to feel that she was centered again, House started to screw around again. He became as flirty as he'd been before the date, perhaps more so. There were the comments he'd already trotted out in the past: 'Cameron's prettier than you' and 'Cameron's my girl', but he was even starting to make comments about her breasts ('funbags', he had called them one day, and 'melons' a few days later) and ass (which was even stranger given the current way she was dressing). And that was pushing it, even for him.

She was starting to hate going to work in the morning, as had happened during the reign of Vogler, and decided to try to deal with the problem head-on. Not that such an approach had worked so well on the date, but like she'd said to House before quitting, she had two ways of dealing with things. One was in her control, and one was to leave the control to others. And leaving House free to flirt and sexually harass her in his own particular way was starting to grate.

House was sitting in his office, wasting time surfing the Net, when she poked her head in and asked to speak with him. He got that look on his face like he knew a major fight was coming, and popped a Vicodin.

Allison walked in, and decided to come straight to the point. "You're messing with me. Why?"

House didn't answer her question directly – as usual. "You've been letting yourself go, Dr. Cameron. Considering I hired you to serve as an art piece in my office, you're not doing your job. I may have to reconsider hiring you back."

He was trying to get her angry, she knew that. Didn't make it any easier to try to withhold her temper, but she knew what he was up to. They'd done this 'dance' before.

"How much care I take on my appearance is no business of yours." she replied. Calmly. Reasonably.

"It's my business if it's a symptom of something that will affect your work." he said.

"It's not." she said, holding onto her anger with both hands. How dare he act as though she was letting her feelings get in the way of her job? She'd performed just as well after their 'date' as before it. She certainly hadn't angio'd the wrong leg on any patients…..

House was looking slyly at her. "Denial is my trick, Dr. Cameron. Pick a different one for yourself."

She didn't know what to say to that. Just stood there and looked at him, wondering how she could ever have thought that having it out with him had been a good idea. He'd just steamroller her and her emotions like he'd done before…

Finally, he seemed to get impatient with her silence. "Maybe, it's that I don't want my employees to be lying to themselves…sets a dangerous precedent. Short hop from lying to themselves to lying to me….It's one thing if my patients lie to me. If my employees lie to me…." He let his voice trail off. And he still had that sly look, like this was some kind of game.

"I'm not lying to myself." she bit out. She was the one trying to come to grips with the emotional crap that had happened between them, and trying to do a good job at PPTH, and he was the one working to destabilize that, she reminded herself.

"Bullshit, Dr. Cameron." Suddenly, all hints of amusement were gone from his face. "You still mistakenly think you love me, and you're in mourning because of it….that's what all this-" he indicated her state of dress with a sweep of his cane – "is about."

So what? she thought to herself. It's my problem. "Doesn't matter." Butt out, asshole.

"It does." he said, sounding sincere for the first time since she'd walked into his office. "You have to move on, Cameron, and stop moping over-"

She could feel tears burning like acid behind her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. That was the only saving grace throughout this whole debacle…she'd done a lot of stupid things, shown way too much of her emotions, but she hadn't yet broken down and bawled….and she wasn't going to start now. "I'll mope if I want to…." She started to add that it was none of his affair, but instead, what came out of her mouth was: "You didn't give me a chance, you didn't give us a chance." And then she stopped herself, inwardly horrified at the realization that he was, in fact, correct. All that emotional shit that she thought that she had dealt with, had put to bed, was all still there, just under the surface of the defenses she'd been trying to construct ever since the night of the date….Was this what it was like to be House, except that his defenses were better constructed than hers?

House sighed and rubbed his hand over his stubble. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. Almost defeated, she realized. "Allison. You can't give me what I need. It would never work."

Something had changed, she realized. A chink in those defenses. She had to capitalize on it, now, before he shored them up again…."There's that denial." She said, locking gazes with him defiantly.

He said nothing in return, just sat and met her stare for stare.

Still defiant, she continued, "You want me. Otherwise, you wouldn't give a fuck-"

He cut her off, his voice rising. "You don't know what I want."

She put her hands on her hips, still staring him down. "Try me." she challenged.

There was a long pause…and then, he got this look on his face that Allison could only describe as….predatory. "What if I wanted you naked….and totally helpless? Completely in my power, under my control? Would you give up that much to me, Allison? You 'love' me that much?"

He was serious. And she realized that it fit completely with his personality. He was always trying to control everything – control the pain with Vicodin, control other people with his cutting remarks, control people by getting 'the dirt' on them whenever he could, control the diseases the patients presented with….it made perfect sense that he'd want control in the bedroom, too, where he'd be arguably most vulnerable.

And what he didn't know was that she had experience with this kind of thing. Not a whole helluva lot of experience – Thomas hadn't been into that, even before he got sick – but a few guys she'd been involved with had been, and it had been…interesting. Different. So she wasn't about to get scared off, even if that was House's intention.

"You may think me a total innocent – what did you call me? 'A stuffed animal made by grandma'? – but I know a thing or two about that kind of play."

"I see…" he paused. "And if I wanted to tie you up? To be rough with you?" Boy, he was really trying hard to scare her.

Apprehension was indeed starting to coil inside her, but she made herself continue. "As long as you don't hurt me, I'm fine with anything you dish out."

He shook his head as if dazed, as if he thought he was dreaming and expected to wake up any minute. But his voice was steady as he answered her. "No, I'm not into pain….I know it too well."

"Then I agree to your terms." she said…and waited.

She thought for a moment he was going to bail, but then he glanced at the clock. 6:15p.m. Past the time to go home. He got up slowly and awkwardly from his chair, and limped towards her. She found herself suddenly unable to meet his eyes, a mix of excitement and nervousness joining her apprehension. It was one thing to agree to submit to someone, it was another thing entirely to actually do it. But she wasn't going to back down. She wanted him, and if this was the way to get him…she'd do it.

"Put out your hand," he told her, and once she had done so, he put a set of keys into it. "You know where my place is." His voice was low, deep, commanding, and Allison had to suppress a sudden shudder of desire. "Go there, let yourself in. I'll be there shortly. If I find you kneeling on the floor in my bedroom when I get there, I'll take it as a sign that you definitely want this. If you're not there, I'll know you've changed your mind, and we won't speak of this ever again. Clear?"

Not trusting her voice, she gave a short sharp nod. She glanced up quickly at him, but was unable to handle the intensity of his gaze for very long. "Good girl. Now go."

Wow, this was exciting…and scary. She'd let herself into House's place, and then gone immediately to his bedroom, resisting the urge to poke around and see what she could find out about him. She had no idea how long he'd make her wait, and she didn't want to get caught in a position that he could interpret as a refusal.

So after entering his bedroom, she kneeled down at the foot of his bed – which was huge, and a four-poster, no less – and waited.

About 10 minutes passed. At first, she contented herself with examining everything she could see from her position on the floor. The closet with its rumpled clothes and carelessly piled sneakers. The pictures on the walls – sepia photos of nature scenes. The striped pattern on the comforter. The scattered books on the dresser and end tables. The mostly clean ashtray on one of the night-tables. She breathed in, smelling his scent in the air.

Another 10 minutes passed, and nervousness was beginning to overtake all other emotions. What if he never came? What if this was all another cruel trick? Her knees were aching by now – the floors were hardwood, after all – and she tried not to panic.

Finally, though, she thought she heard the thump of his cane on the porch outside, and she barely had time to wonder how he was going to get in, considering she had his keys, when she heard keys rattling in the lock – must have a spare set, she thought – and the door opening.

A moment later she heard the door being shut, and then there was the familiar rhythm of his thump-pause-step gait, getting closer. And she simultaneously felt relieved and more nervous. Relieved, because he was here, but nervous, because what would he do to her? What would he make her do?

He entered the bedroom and paused, and she glanced up at him quickly, before lowering her eyes again. Still unable to meet his eyes for very long.

"You know what a safeword is?" he asked her. His voice still low, husky.

"Yes." she said. It was strangely hard to get the word out of her throat, the warring emotions inside her wreaking havoc with her most basic functions.

"Good. We'll use 'pineapple' today. You say 'pineapple', and I'll know it's too much for you and I'll stop."

She nodded her head, no longer trusting her voice. He came towards her, and then startled her by leaning down, grabbing her chin, and making her look up at him. "But," he said, clearly not finished. "you're only to use the safeword if things are really getting too scary for you. You use it to try and fuck with me, to test me, and you can forget the whole thing. Understand?"

"Yes." Her voice shaky.

"Good." He released her, and moved back to the doorway, leaning against the wall. "Now get up."

She did, wincing as her knees protested. She resisted the urge to massage the aches out of them. She snuck another quick glance at him, but couldn't read anything from his face. He might have been reading a medical journal, for all the emotion he was showing.

"Strip." he said. Again, no emotion, like it was nothing.

She hesitated. Not that she didn't want this, want him, but again, it was one thing to fantasize, and another to actually do it.

He noted her hesitation, and his voice hardened. "Strip…or leave. Your choice, Allison."

She kept her eyes on the floor, and started removing her clothes, trying to remember how to breathe. First her flats, then the loose shirt, then her baggy pants, and her trouser socks. She left them in a pile on the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she removed her bra and panties, finally standing there naked and exposed and nervous – and aroused beyond belief – in front of House.

"Push your clothes out of the way." He pointed to a spot near him with his cane, and she obeyed him. "Now stand in the middle of the floor." She did that, too.

She kept her eyes on the floor as he limped towards her. Feeling her face heat as he slowly limped around her, taking everything in, inspecting her. She could feel his eyes on her naked flesh like burning coals, and tried not to shudder. Tried not to notice the growing wetness between her legs. She hoped he liked what he saw, but of course she wasn't going to ask him.

Finally, he seemed to have had his fill of examining her.

"Don't move." he ordered her, before walking behind her and in the direction of one of the night-tables she'd noticed earlier. She heard him open a drawer and rummage around.

A moment later he was directly behind her, and she sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as he wound something soft and opaque around her eyes. He knotted it firmly at the back of her skull, rendering her completely blind. Which was both comforting - now she didn't have to watch him watching her - and nerve-wracking.

He ordered her back to her knees, and she obeyed, her knees protesting a little at the hard floor underneath them again so soon, feeling a little clumsy without her sight to guide her descent. If he'd wanted her helpless, he was certainly making good on it.

She heard him move in front of her, and there was a pause. Allison tried to relax, tried to control her nervousness. House reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her up on her knees and then pulling her forward and against him, until her cheek was pressed against the hard warm bulge in his jeans.

Although she was enjoying the feel of him through the cloth, his size shocked her. And she felt her apprehension rising even more. He had said he wanted to be rough with her. Was he going to force her to take him down her throat? He had promised he wouldn't hurt her, but...

His hand was still wrapped around the back of her neck, but then he released his grip, moving both hands to her hair. He began to take her hair out of the tight bun she had been wearing it in all day. He loosened the bobby pins and elastic, pausing to massage her scalp gently, and then he started to comb his fingers through the freed strands.

She'd been a little hesitant when it came to letting her boyfriends toy with her hair, ever since one of them had gotten in the habit of roughly raking his hands through it, yanking his fingers right through the tangles and hurting her. But House was being too careful, gently running his fingers through the strands and patiently loosening the tangles as he encountered them. Until finally he had arranged her hair to his satisfaction.

There was another pause. Now, he's going to make me unzip him, she thought. But instead, he told her to stand up.

She got back up, one of his hands under her elbow and assisting her, this time. He didn't release her, but guided her backwards, until she felt his bed against the backs of her knees. He pushed her down onto the bed, and ordered her to move backwards, telling her when to stop.

And so she wound up lying on House's bed on her back, naked, blindfolded, wondering what he was going to do next. She could hear him moving around, more drawers being opened, but she had no clue what he was doing. She was covered in gooseflesh, her nipples already stiff even though he hadn't even touched them, could feel the air cool on the moisture between her legs, feel the softness of the comforter underneath her…

He was coming back to the bed, and then she felt his warm fingers take hold of her left ankle. He began wrapping something around it, and she realized he was tying her to the bed. She tried again to relax, to surrender….it was safe, here in his power, she told herself. He wasn't going to hurt her. And yet, she remembered what he had said many months ago, though not in this context: "You always trust me. That's a big mistake."

He'd secured one ankle, and was starting on the other, and despite her resolve, she could feel herself starting to tremble. Although how much was fear/nervousness, how much anticipation, and how much simply due to the coolness of the room, she couldn't have said.

Done with her feet, she heard him limping towards her right side, and she felt him lift her slightly so he could slide a small pillow under her hips. His strong hand took hold of her wrist and began according it the same treatment as her ankles. He tied it firmly, so that most of her limbs were now stretched out and pinned to the bed, and she could barely move.

He unhurriedly went back around to the other side of the bed, completing her bondage by securing her free hand, and then it was done – she was completely helpless. She could barely move. She certainly couldn't escape.

"OK?" his voice came from somewhere above her, softer than she ever would have expected to hear from him.

She tried to answer him, but her voice failed her.

He touched her face, cupping her cheek. "You have to answer me, Allison. You have to let me know you're OK."

He does care. And she finally managed to reply. "I'm OK."

"Good. We'll proceed, then."

But instead of touching her, he went still. And then it was like he had disappeared, even though he was still standing beside her. Silence filled the room – she couldn't even hear him breathing - and she tensed a little, waiting to see what he would do, where he would touch her.

She jumped about six feet – or would have, if she hadn't been tied down – when his fingers began to trace along her collarbone. With her sight taken from her, all her other senses seemed heightened, her skin especially responding more powerfully than usual to being caressed. She felt the bed shift as he sat down next to her, and then felt his other hand warm on her side for a moment, before his fingertips moved to follow along the lines of her ribs, his calluses rasping against her skin. It was both arousing and tickling at the same time, and she squirmed helplessly against her bonds, hearing him chuckle.

One hand moved up, fingers stroking her throat, and the other down, sliding along her flat – and taut, haha – belly. The hand on her stomach just brushing her skin – his hand wasn't actually touching her skin, but she could feel the soft downy hairs on the surface bending as he stroked his hand along them, and she moaned, trying to arch her back and press herself more firmly against his teasing fingers – but of course prevented by the bindings.

He suddenly pulled both hands from her and then grabbed her breasts, thumbs rubbing against her erect nipples, and then he began to squeeze and tug and tweak, making her squirm even more, moan even louder. His breath warm on her ear, his clean manly scent getting stronger as he leaned in. "You like that, don't you, Allison?"

Her mouth was dry, and she had to swallow a couple times. "Yes."

"Say my name, Allison. I want to hear you say it."

Which name, she wondered? House? Greg? She called him 'House' every day, so… "Yes…Greg."

"Niiiice. You'll be screaming it later, but that'll do for now." That predatory look was back on his face, she was sure – she could hear it in his voice. And it made her feel both more nervous and more aroused, as had been the case all along.

His mouth suddenly fastened on her nipple, sucking and nipping, his other hand continuing to pinch her free nipple roughly, and Allison groaned, feeling sweat break out all over her body.

He switched his mouth to her other breast, this time drawing wet circles around her areola with his tongue, then softly biting the white flesh, finally rubbing his stubbled cheek roughly against tender skin…she couldn't keep her head from thrashing from side-to-side, couldn't keep the begging note out of her voice as she said his name again….

He chuckled once more. "That's my name, all right….Excuse me while I go check out some prime real estate." He pulled back from her completely, and then got slowly up from the bed.

A few moments later the bed dipped again as he settled himself at the foot, this time sliding himself up, until she felt his hard, sinewy shoulder against her right thigh. And his cane – cool, hard, unyielding – resting against her other leg.

"Are you wet for me, Allison? Let's find out, shall we?" His hands on her, pulling her apart. She gasped, feeling very exposed…and liking it.

"So beautiful," he said, that odd strange softness back in his voice. His fingers on her, first toying with the curls of her pubic hair, tugging gently, then smoothing them back. And then tracing along the edges of her outer lips, teasing her. Moving inward to run slow tortuous lines up and down along her inner lips, pressing a fingertip barely inside her to sample the tender flesh just inside her entrance.

She was moaning, pulling on her bonds, trying instinctively to thrust her hips against him. Trying to push her burning clit against any part of him that she could. "Please, Greg, don't tease me…"

"You have no say in the matter, little girl. If I want to tease you like this all night, you can't do anything about it." And continuing to avoid her swollen clit with his strokes….coming nearer and nearer, but then veering away to caress a less sensitive area.

She didn't know how long he tormented her that way, she only knew that it went on for awhile, and her whole body felt hot, sweaty, shaky with her need….she was sure the comforter beneath her was soaked with her juices and her sweat.

And just when she thought she would break down and beg him unashamedly, she felt his grip on her shift, his fingers easing her swollen clit completely free of its hood so he could suck it deep into his mouth, and she nearly did scream in reaction.

He shoved something – it felt like a couple fingers – deeply inside her, all the while continuing to suck ruthlessly on her hyper-sensitive flesh. She was gasping, moaning, begging him….it was so intense, she could no longer tell if what she was feeling was pleasure or pain or both…but it was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. And he wasn't stopping.

It was too much. She was being totally overwhelmed by what he was doing to her…something had to give….and then she shrieked and came harder than she ever had in her life….

When she finally came back to herself, House still had his fingers inside her, gently rotating against her quivering walls, but he was no longer torturing her clit. Instead, she could feel his lips, tongue, and stubble on her thighs. He licked at her skin, tasting her sweat, pressing kisses and love-bites along the insides of her pinned legs. Occasionally letting his mouth wander between her legs to taste the juices still seeping out of her.

She had almost completely recovered from her orgasm…when he started again. She felt herself stretching around him as he added two more fingers to the ones already inside her, and then she felt him pick up the cane from where it had lain against her leg – the wood now warm from her skin – and an instant later felt something hard and unyielding moving in firm circles against her clit.

It had to be the handle of his cane, she realized. And then all rational thought was lost, and she could only moan and squirm all over again, pleading with him….though whether she was begging him to stop or continue, even she wasn't sure…

It felt like he had his whole hand inside her – and maybe he did – and her clit felt like it was on fire, the feeling of the hard cane handle relentlessly pushing her closer to another orgasm with every rub against her knob….this time she did scream his name, as she descended into her second orgasm of the night….

This time, as she came back down to earth, he withdrew from both her and the bed, and she could hear the rustle of clothing as he stripped himself down. There was a pause, during which she was not sure what he was doing, but then she heard him moving towards the head of the bed. Was he going to untie her for their final act?

But instead he slid his erection into her bound hand, and she realized he'd put on a condom at some point….God, he was huge…even with the way he had stretched her earlier, she was a little apprehensive about how he'd be able to fit inside her….she stroked her fingers along his length a few times, wanting to give him back at least some measure of the delight he'd already given her…

"Just wanted you to know that 'protection' was going to be involved. So, have no worries on that score." he said quietly above her. And then pulled himself out of her hand and walked back to the foot of the bed.

When he was finished positioning himself, he was on top of her, partially leaning on her with most of his weight on the bed, and she could tell most of his weight was on his uninjured side. She felt his cock against the entrance to her body, and again felt the urge to arch her back, to press against him, but there was nothing she could do.

He pressed himself carefully inside her, slow centimeter by centimeter. It was a little uncomfortable at times, but Allison wouldn't have traded that feeling for anything. And finally it seemed he could go no further, and he stopped, letting her get used to the feeling of him inside her. Eventually, he started moving slowly inside her, each stroke long and gentle, his hand seeking her clit and caressing it again, making her inner muscles clutch at him in reaction.

But then he pulled his hand from between her legs – presumably for more leverage – and began thrusting harder and faster inside her, his own breaths coming in gasps now, his hands – well, she supposed it had to be his hands – making deep indents in the bed on either side of Allison's torso as he tried to hold himself up above her….

He was getting harder and harder inside her, thrusting more roughly against her, and although she would never have thought that she could climax three times in one night...it was happening again.

House suddenly stopped moving, and he groaned out her name himself as he gave in to his own release, Allison joining him a few moments later...

He was lying on his side, against her, their bodies pasted together with sweat. She felt him slide a lazy hand up along her body, and then he was pushing the blindfold off her face.

She blinked a few times, eyes unused to even the dim lighting in the bedroom, and then looked up to meet House's cobalt gaze.

He was smiling at her, really smiling at her, something she had never seen before - had never expected to see, really, even when she had been actively pursuing him. And then he leaned in and kissed her, their mouths meeting at last.

He hitched himself back to the foot of the bed, and then got slowly up, starting to release her bonds. First her ankles, massaging her legs as she winced, the muscles stiff from lack of movement.

Then her arms, which he also treated to a massage. Allison had never felt so sated or so sleepy, and once Greg's wonderful hands had taken most of the stiffness out of her limbs, she found that she could barely keep her eyes open.

But she wasn't sure if he wanted her to stay the night, even after what they had shared, so she forced herself to open her eyes and meet his gaze again. "Is it OK if I...did you want me to...?" She found herself unable to complete the sentence.

"Yes, stay here with me...Be right back." He went into the bathroom, and Allison turned over onto her stomach and snuggled under the covers.

Greg came back a few minutes later, turning off the lights and sliding under the sheets next to - but a little apart from - her. Taking her hand as she turned to face him. "I'd get closer to you, but I don't want my leg to accidentally get whacked in our sleep." There was that uncharacteristically quiet voice again.

"I understand." she said. She did. But she had one more thing to say, and she struggled to stay awake long enough to say it. "Thank you, Greg. And I do love you." And then she laid her fingertips on his lips, forestalling any reply he might have made. "And I don't need to hear you say it in return. You showed me, tonight, and that's enough for me."

But she did slip her hand under the covers to gently caress his bad thigh, feeling the scars and the deep depression in the flesh where muscle tissue was now absent. "And I don't love you for this. I love you."

She pulled her hand back. And, unable to resist a last parting shot, she muttered sleepily, "And if you ever dare to suggest otherwise again, you're gonna be the one tied to the bed and tormented, Gregory."

She was sinking into sleep so fast, she wasn't sure if she was dreaming his reply, but it seemed to her that he said, "Promises, promises, Alli."

But it didn't really matter what words he used. All she needed was his quiet voice in her ear, to send her down into sweet dreams…