Another sleepless night, although it wasn't the drugs or the pain in his leg keeping him up this time. It was his thoughts…damn that overactive imagination of his! He didn't know what was coming over him, but he just couldn't seem to stop thinking about her…her big, brown eyes, deep abysses that seemed to call to him…her chestnut girls bouncing around her face…the delicate, yet authoritative way she placed her hand on her curvy hip as she lectured him…the smoothness of her legs protruding from her tight skirt as she sat at her desk and read through a file…the perfection of her breasts that teased him from the deep cut of her blouse, the tight fabric accentuating every inch of her…
"Damn it!" he shouted, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to cease his thoughts as he slammed his hands down on his desk.
"Something the matter?" Foreman asked, peeking his head in from the adjoining office.
House's eyes snapped open in surprise. "Don't you have some babysitting to do?" he spat, referring to his new team of fellows.
"No case, they're in the clinic," Foreman replied, entering House's office.
House rolled his eyes. "That's not an invitation for you to come in and get cozy."
Foreman held up his hand. "Trust me, not really what I had in mind. Cuddy asked me to give you these," he said, dropping a pile of papers on his desk.
His ears perked at the mere mention of her name. He cursed again, to himself.
"What did the wicked witch send her little flying monkey to deliver?" House asked, briefly glancing at the papers.
"She said, and I quote, 'if you don't fill out these insurance forms and get them back to me before the end of the day, I'm sending your employees on vacation and leaving the clinic in your more than capable hands,'" Foreman said, grinning wickedly.
"Riveting," said House, standing and walking away from his desk and the stack of paperwork. "You can tell your mistress that I don't take demands very well, and lest she forget, without the infamous, world-renowned Dr. House, she wouldn't have a hospital to play boss lady of," he said through gritted teeth. "And you can quote me verbatim, too."
House stormed out of his office and headed down the hall. Without a knock, he barged into Wilson's office and dropped heavily into the leather chair, sighing.
"Something on your mind?" Wilson asked quietly, his eyes not moving from his notes.
"I'm hungry, feed me," said House, dropped his head back and closing his eyes.
"Didn't we just eat lunch an hour ago?" Wilson asked, his eyes still remaining focused on his writing.
"So, I'm hungry again. The human body is capable of digesting more than one meal a day."
Wilson finally raised his eyes and dropped his pen. "In case you haven't noticed, some of us actually work around here," he said, motioning towards his files.
"So I hear. Cuddy sent insurance forms to me via Foreman in the hopes that I might actually fill them out if they came from him. Do you think it's possible to lose blood flow to the head if your skirts are too tight? 'Cause I swear she's losing it."
House closed his eyes again, memories returning to the forefront of his mind, her ruby red lips turning upwards into a devilish grin, those lips wrapped around his cock…
He pounded a fist into his forehead.
Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Ok, normally I wouldn't even blink at your need to inflict pain upon yourself because, well, it's you…but seriously, what's going on with you?"
House opened his eyes and shook his head. "Just been having some nightmares…haven't been sleeping."
"Nightmares? About what?"
"Oh, the usual, monsters in my closet, in my bed…"
"Huh?" Wilson asked, confused.
"Nevermind. So I take it you're not going to feed me then?" House asked impatiently, standing.
Wilson stared at him a moment. He couldn't help but think House was acting more irrational than usual.
"I can't at the moment, but maybe we can grab a bite closer to dinner?"
"Fine, don't forget the scotch," House grumbled and limped his way out of Wilson's office.