Author's Note: Well, I've written this much - I figured I may as well post it! Let me know if you think it's gonna be worth continuing - you all know I love reviews...lol x
House poured himself a drink; the troubles from the last case plaguing his mind. Sure, he'd managed to prove that Weber was a bad scientist…but, it hadn't brought the rapture he'd hoped it would. It was almost a disappointment to see his college foe angry at him for sending the email that shut him down; even having Cuddy there as a witness wasn't enough to please him. He still felt…miserable.
It wasn't about Stacy…that's what he kept telling himself; it has nothing to do with sending her away at all, despite what Wilson might think. The whole migraine inducing, LSD, antidepressants curing headache, shamble had absolutely nothing to do with her. Nor did the fact he'd called out to the agency for an attractive, medium length, dark haired young lady to join him in his celebration of Weber's downfall…
He downed his drink after he heard a knock at the door; he hoped the alcohol would allow him to shut off and stop his inner voices from ruining what would be $580 well spent on one night. Actually it's more likely to be one hour, his inner voice taunted mercilessly, already ignoring his futile attempts at muting it.
He paused at the door, shaking off the feeling that he'd stood up a little too quickly, by taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment. As he pulled open the door, he saw the person the other side move slightly; she was probably relieved that he'd answered. He wondered how many calls the agency got that involved pranks and false addresses; he concluded it would also be just as infuriating to find you've knocked at the client's door and they'd changed their mind.
He refrained from looking her up and down judgmentally; they'd be time for that later…if he could bring himself to do it, that is. "I'm Paula" she said, friendliness coming through in her soft tone.
"Hey Paula" he replied instinctively, warily keeping his tone as light as her own; it was better for the throbbing in his temples if they both kept it that way.
"How you doing? You work over at the college? Or are you full-time over at the-"
"I'm looking for a distraction" he cut her off rudely, her tone wasn't that soothing for his head; "You don't need to talk to do that, do you?" he asked, looking to her expectantly. She smiled and shook her head; stepping back slightly, he allowed her in, keeping his hand firmly on the doorknob as the sweet smell of musk passed by his nostrils. The agency had really outdone themselves; she was close enough to what he'd requested over the phone…and she'd be worth the tip. That, he could already tell.
Within seconds of the door slamming shut, she was on him. She crashed him into the frame with such force; it actually winded him for a second and he dropped his cane. No matter, he wouldn't need it again – not until the morning.
He quickly came to the conclusion that she was either extremely attracted to him, or she found him repulsive and wanted out of there asap...he chose not to think about either option as he braced himself with one hand on the door knob and the other on her shoulder.
Her hands were the first thing to give away her inexperience as they fumbled nervously, torn between whether they found his arse, or the back of his neck, more comforting to hold while she roughly chewed on his earlobe; the rest of her body seemingly intent on pinning him against his own front door as though they were wrestling for the most dominant position in his living room. She was winning, easily.
Grunting as she found something far more interesting to handle down the front of his pants, House realised that maybe he'd gotten her all wrong. She wasn't inexperienced; she was playing inexperienced – that was her thing. He had to admit, it was much more fun thinking that she was new to the game, rather than an old hand; he cursed his bloody mind for roaming again and ruining his pleasure so far. He wished that, just once, he could shut off the light in his head and relax like everybody else. This was supposed to be a distraction, after all! His distraction from work, Wilson, Cuddy...Stacy.
The fact that he knew he'd either live through sending her away or he'd self-destruct and probably kill himself in the process was annoyingly brought up by Wilson in almost every conversation they'd had recently – it was sensitivity at its narrowest. Even when he wasn't here, Wilson managed to wind House up with his snippets of moral wisdom; he was supposed to be enjoying himself with Paula, not thinking about Wilson's lectures, Cuddy's worried chats, his teams dislike for his experimenting, Stacy's...Stacy. Fucking Stacy!
He vented his frustration through a series of aggressive kisses aimed at Paula's neck; he had the peculiar animalistic instinct to mark her skin, show that he had claimed her – even if it was just for one night...and he was paying. She seemed to welcome the belligerency with good nature; even going as far as to tilt her neck back invitingly and moan seductively as he nipped her skin.
The throbbing in his head was soon becoming secondary to another pressing matter as Paula teased him mercilessly by pressing her left thigh up, firmly, in between his legs. She carefully bit into his chest; even through his t shirt, the pain that emanated from the firm muscles in the area was enough to clear his mind of any thoughts that were plaguing him at that time. He leaned his head back against the door and gasped at the intensity of her bites.
With his mind blank, the next thing House knew, he was being dragged away from the door by his belt; apparently Paula was keen to find out what colour the ceiling in his bedroom was painted. He lurched after her as she made an educated guess as to the whereabouts of his bedroom; probably a skill that would only be put to better use if she'd joined the fire brigade, House thought indolently, as he watched her pull off her clothes, temptingly, from the doorway.
He waited patiently as she made a show of pulling each layer of clothing off and placing it in a neat pile by the bed; it wasn't as sensual as the first time he'd watched a lady of the night perform this particular little dance. It hadn't taken him long to observe and pick up the little tips and tricks that the ladies had learnt to survive by whilst on the game; 'always check the money, give yourself an escape route from any situation and never kiss on the mouth' seemed to be ranked highly in the 'hooker's guide to the galaxy'...
He noted the way that Paula's eyes lingered a millisecond too long over the small wad of money he had set out on his dresser – her tip; she was obviously out for the more solid rewards coming from her night of work. She hadn't quite gotten the 'judging how much is there' glance down yet, instead favouring the all out 'count every last note' stare. She'd learn, in time – they all learn.
He briefly considered tipping her half of what he'd laid out, just to teach her an important lesson in hooker etiquette; he'd already paid up with the agency, so whatever he generously tipped was going straight into Paula's pocket.
House shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, his sexually charged adrenaline was fading fast. The temporary euphoria from making out by the front door was giving way to another blinding migraine; he could feel it building up behind his red-rimmed, fatigued eyes. That, accompanied by the searing pain that was beginning to spark off in his right thigh, meant that he was quickly becoming agitated – and considerably turned off!
Paula must have sensed the change in atmosphere as she desperately tried to bundle her attention back to her client. She didn't adhere to his awkward leaning position by the door, so she pulled him smoothly over to the bed; House was happy to take her lead as the pain behind his eyes blinded him with white light. After today, he'd be happy if he never heard the word 'migraine' again...
He ungracefully fell to the bed, grunting slightly with the sudden jolts that shot through his leg; Paula straddled him as she worked on undoing his belt. House put his hands on her hips, feeling the insane need that he should be doing something – anything – to contribute to this show. Stroking his thumbs lightly against her bare thighs, he mentally reminded himself that he wasn't likely to get a discount just because he 'got into the mood' and did his bit, so he let his hands fall, lazily to the bed.
He tilted his head back as he lay there; closing his eyes and breathing through his nose in an attempt at shutting out the infuriating pain in his skull. He was brought out of his meditation when Paula grasped his wrists, dominantly, and pulled him into a sitting position; she slipped his t shirt over his head, dragging her fingernails seductively over his bare flesh as she did it, adding to the shudder this brought upon his sensually charged body.
He frowned slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him at the change of position, his BP taking a nosedive; although, he couldn't be sure just how much of that could be attributed to the large bulge in his pants…! He blew out a shaky breath as he tried to stop his head from swimming.
Recovering, he glanced up to find Paula frowning worriedly at him; he grabbed her hand, which was resting on his shoulder in an attempt at keeping him stable. Pulling her slowly towards him, she once again found herself mounted over his hips – although, he still hadn't gotten around to getting his pants off…a fact that she was extremely aware of as she let him trail kisses down her neck and breasts.
Trying not to seem too pushy, or eager, she let her hand wander down the front of his pants; the belt loosening, from her earlier assault, helping considerably with her access. She slid her legs off of his body and planted them firmly on the floor; he felt the change in position and cracked an eye open.
"Lights" he grunted commandingly. She glanced over to the door and headed over to switch off the offending item, finding only when she got there, that this wasn't the switch for the lamp that was also on. Sighing quietly, he placed his hand on the dresser; why did he leave the lamp on in the first place? It was an act of pure stupidity on his part. He knew he'd want the lights off; if not to hide the scar on his leg, then to stop the pesky headache that seemed reluctant to leave his head.
As he braced himself using the dresser, he pulled his weary body up, gasping as the pain in his head magnified beyond belief; it was during this intense period, he felt all energy leave him completely. 'Orthostatic hypotension' popped into his head, although not soon enough to stop him from blacking out and apparently landing on the cold, hard, laminated floor in a heap.
"Oh shit" he heard Paula say; although, she didn't sound particularly worried; she actually sounded annoyed. She must have had a few men pass out on her before, House mused as he struggled to breathe. He coughed desperately, knowing full well that he didn't have any problems in the respiratory department. It was his heart that was really concerning him. His heart that was beating so slowly, he thought it might stop at any second. It was definitely his heart that was stopping him from even attempting to get up off his bedroom floor.
He gingerly moved his arm up and clamped his hand over his face in an attempt at shutting out the soft light from the nearby lamp, which felt like it was burning through his retinas; 'what the fuck have you done to yourself?' he thought desperately as he moaned agonisingly, and writhed with pain…