"The heart asks pleasure first, and then, excuse from pain." - Emily Dickinson.

It was a wonderful thing, pleasure, an escape from the pain. And as House's lips moved over hers, it was certainly that, the envelope falling from his fingers, forgotten as he wrapped an arm around her to pull her close.

"You spend your whole life looking for answers. Because you think the next answer will change something, maybe make you a little less miserable. And you know that when you run out of questions, you don't just run out of answers, you run out of hope. You glad you know that?" Thirteen had said, face hard, still, trying not to let him see too much, even though her words were telling him so much.

Then he had reached out to her as she'd turned away, pulling her towards him and now she was kissing him. A hard desperate kiss that left no room to mistake the desire he had for her right then. And she kissed back trying to convey the same. She was pretty sure there was nothing else to it beyond D's. Desire, desperation. Doubt. Hers and his. Over the test results, over this job, over the kiss itself. Over what would follow, either sex over the desk or walking away in frustration.

Neither were a good idea.

Sex over the desk with her potential boss, while her Huntington's test results were on the floor, the blinds open, the door unlocked. She could lose her job immediately, find out if she would die soon, lose her chance at the job, lose her sanity in House.

Walking out, aroused and frustrated, she knew she'd fuck the next thing she saw. Nurse, patient, guy on the street. And that could end just as badly. Spectacularly bad, she'd learned her lesson.

Loosing her sanity to House would at least be new. And she loved new experiences, trying new things.

So she pushed House's blazer from his shoulders and it fell to the floor on top of the envelope, and he pushed her back against the desk, hips flush against hers, and she thrust back a little, grinning at the little moan that escaped from House. She'd made House moan, made him lose a little bit of control. Not that he was in control the rest of the time, but it gave her a little thrill to know that she had done this. To the man who had been driving her crazy for the past few weeks, that had been playing games with her, that had just tried to control her own life, she, she had made him moan.

She circled her hips against his and there was an exhale of air, he was trying to hold back again. Thirteen couldn't blame him, though she wanted to know if his reasons were just because of their location, or because of her. Or because of what this was.

Desire, desperation, doubt.

His rough hands slid under her top, and she arched into his touch, his warmth surrounding her small waist, shielding her from the hard edge of his desk.

"We should stop," he hissed, when her own soft fingers danced up his spine, under his shirt, "go somewhere else."

"We should just stop," she told him.

"Nah," he kissed her again, tongue over her lips, and she wanted to stop, and wanted to taste him again, Vicodin and anger and pain. She tasted the same she supposed, almost, pain and anger and coffee, just as bitter, not quite as harsh.

House didn't seem to mind.

"This will go badly."

"What happened to hope?" he asked, nipping at her neck. She heard the huff of laughter as he smirked against her skin.

"Badly is hoping, this will probably go absolutely, unbelievably, amazingly wrong, but I can hope for just badly," she said quietly, arching her neck to let him continue, despite the words coming out of her mouth. He looked up at her, that half grin on his face that she seemed to be attracted to. She was attracted to him, she wasn't kissing him just because, because he had pushed her, had tried to push her into something she didn't want. It wasn't just the anger and pain and desperation.

"I must be doing something wrong if that many long words are coming out of your mouth," he muttered, attacking her neck again with tongue and teeth. She smiled, couldn't help it. She was screwed.

"Nothing wrong, just not enough," she told him, trying to hide her own amusement, and the fading sanity.

"Thought you wanted to stop."

"I just thought we should stop, and we should, but I don't want to!" The last word was a gasp as his hand had made it's way under her top to pinch a nipple through her her bra. They were going to attract attention soon, as much as she wanted House to fuck her over his desk, she had to stop this. She pulled away, forcing his hand out from under the soft top as she moved to the side.

"It looks like stopping to me," House said, taking a step towards her.

"We're going to get caught."

"Balcony," he said. He grabbed his blazer from the floor with his cane, throwing it up into the air and catching it. She smiled, then the envelope on the floor caught her eye.

Damn.

"No," she said. She was still angry, she bent down to pick her test results up, standing up straight with the envelope in her hand. House was staring at her, blazer and cane in hand, slight bulge in pants, eyes dark. He'd never looked more fuckable than just then, and with that ass, he always looked pretty fuckable. She sighed. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin.

"This won't affect any judgement I have on hiring you. Unless you're terrible."

"I'm not terrible."

"Then let's go onto the balcony," he said, gesturing away from her, his jacket flying out almost hitting her. She sighed.

"I'm still angry." House shrugged, he kissed her and she sighed into his mouth. "Fuck." Never let it be said she wasn't horribly attracted to men at times. Horribly inappropriate men.

She just wanted to live though.

He grabbed her arm, his blazer and cane still his hands, his keys and the wood digging into her. He dragged her through the door onto the balcony, kissing her hard once they were in the darkness, dropping his things to the floor, the envelope fluttering after. He wrapped his arms around to pull her close, leading her to the wall so he could push her back against the cold stone, thrusting his hips into hers. She moaned into his mouth. Bad idea, but at least no one could see them. She kinda hoped they would hear her though, that House would make her scream.

He was stripping her, roughly pulling her top up, taking the navy top with it, baring pale skin to the cold night air. She moved as quickly, pulling at his shirt, tearing at the buttons, and their hands battled against each other, his winning as he battled to remove her bra before bending down to take a nipple into his mouth. She groaned, still trying to get his shirt off, he gave a frustrated growl as he was forced from her breast. He yanked his shirt and t-shirt up over his head and threw it to the side.

"Better?" he asked with a frown, bending to lick a circle around her nipple.

"Much," she said, with a grin, running her hands over his broad shoulders. His skin was tight, smooth, and a little tanned, that sort of permanent tan that didn't seem real on him. She gasped when he bit down, tugging at her breast, and she smiled again, happy for the moment in the pleasure. His hands were at her waistline, struggling with her button for a mere moment before shoving his hand down her pants, the lack of finesse forgotten, his fingers making up for it as they slid beneath her underwear and over her clit.

"Oh," she sighed, arching her hips into his touch. He kissed her again, keeping his fingers moving slowly, lightly over her clit, teasing her. She moved with him, circling her hips, trying to get more friction, or pressure or something. "House," she growled, annoyed, biting his bottom lip. He smirked, and she tugged, biting harder. The smirk grew a little, and he slipped a finger into her body, she moaned, rising up onto her tip toes for a moment, before, falling flat on her feet forcing his finger in a little deeper.

She went for his belt, pulling it open with a little trouble as he moved his fingers in and out and over her centre. She could concentrate, she just didn't want to, she just wanted to give in to the pleasure that was spreading through her body. Once she had his jeans open she pulled his erection out of his boxers, grasping a little harder than she had intended when he pressed down on her clit. He still moaned, thrusting into her hand and she started moving her hard, gathering the pre-cum in her palm and swirling it around his shaft, giving him a hand job as he fingered her.

When he pulled his hand free, she growled again, he annoyed her so much, even when they were fucking.

He moved away from her, leaving her leaning back against the cold wall, semi naked and completely exposed, physically at least. She still hadn't given him anything personally. Except for that envelope. Which made itself known as he grabbed his jacket, fumbling in his pockets. She closed her eyes to it, and jumped when she felt House pulling down her trousers, and she kicked her shoes, letting him strip her. Hands on her hips, she felt the condom wrapper digging into her waist, and he her turned around, pushing her to bend over his balcony wall, so she could see the smattering of people below and this was much, much better then being bent over his desk.

He leaned over her, his hands smoothing over her ass, and up over her hip, thrusting against her, the barrier of his undone jeans making them both groan with frustration. She listened to the fumbling behind him, eyes on the people below, hoping no one looked up, folding her arms and resting them on the wall.

"I'm still angry," she said.

"I would be too."

"You did it anyway, had me tested anyway?" she said, thrusting her ass out at him, impatient.

"Yeah, you drugged me anyway, and I was angry about that."

"I knew you wouldn't fire me."

"I knew you wouldn't quit," he said, and she felt his cock rubbing against her, teasing, "won't quit," he amended, thrusting into her body.

They both stilled, save the shivers that ran through her body and into his, as she adjusted to him, his size, the depth, just to everything. To his weight resting on her, his skin on her, so much skin, to contrast of the smooth skin and rough chest hair. To just everything. What had she been saying. He was breathing hard into her neck, crowding her, heating her up more than she could've imagined possible.

Then he started to move.

He moved his hands to her hips, gripping them tight as he moved with a slow pace, slow deep thrusts into her body, that had her gasping. She rested her head on her forearms, biting her lip as he grunted behind her. She wanted more, but the breath was gone from her lungs. It had been too long since she'd slept with a guy, she could feel everything. The way he rested his weight on his good leg, the way it angled his cock so he hit that spot inside her that made her want to scream.

If she screamed, everyone would look up.

He was moving faster, and it was much better, harder. He had more strength than she realised, was glad of it, and looked back at him. Eyes connecting for a moment, before a hand slid up her back to lie flat over her skin and push her down. No mistaking who was in charge, and she was starting to wonder which of them was angry. She had been sure she was, but right now, right now it was all she could do to just process her breathing and to try not to scream. She shifted, pushing back against him, gripping the edge of the balcony.

God she forgot how she could do this forever, just the in and out, and 'ah' of it was intoxicating. The cold air and the people downstairs and 'oh god'. Things were getting a little frantic, and her mind was struggling to keep up with everything. Her anger, her pleasure. The hand on her hip gripped harder, digging into her flesh, and it was good, really good, but she couldn't tell him that, she didn't want to give him any ammunition about being into BDSM later down the line.

He was right, she wasn't going to quit. He wasn't going to fire her.

"Oh Fuck!" she cried out, pushing back against him, trying to hide at the sound of her voice, still peaking over the edge of the wall just to see if anyone had looked up. Maybe she should shout louder, maybe she should stop this all together.

"Good?" he asked, a harsh grunt, straining out from his diaphragm, she felt it shudder through his chest.

"Yeah," she gasped.

"Good." She laughed at that, a strangled sound that made him huff out some laughter. He pulled her closer to him, and moved harder and then she realised that she wasn't, wasn't angry, just broken. She cried out his name, and regretted it, but wasn't sure if he heard her, as her body and brain shook with her orgasm.

"House," she moaned again.

"Yeah, yeah?" he said, still thrusting, still gripping hard and oh god, if she didn't get the job she was coming back for more of this anyway. He paused suddenly, missing a thrust, then another. "Remy," he moaned, her name a low rumble through his chest and she laughed, chuckled at her name on his lips, her mind drifting back to the envelope on the floor, wondering if her name was on it, or Thirteen, her body slamming into the edge of the balcony wall as House came. She peered down over the edge, no one was looking up and she felt relief.

He fell over her, and she shifted under him, urging him off, her body still shaking, and still wanting a little more. A little something else. He pulled his cock from her body and she sighed, standing up straight, turning, and watching him dispose of the condom into the bush, then pull his jeans up. She dressed too, quickly, wondering why she didn't feel awkward, picking up his cane for him when he went to grab it. She felt sticky and sore and screwed, her brain was still shaking and she had no idea her mind could feel so, shuddery and she was pretty sure that wasn't even a word.

The envelope was still on the cold stone.

She left it there, ignored its existence because she didn't want to know, walking back into the office, straightening out her clothes. House followed, blazer over his arm, envelope in hand. Couldn't he just leave it alone?

He dropped it into the bin by his desk and she wanted to smile. She didn't, but the feeling was there, behind the shudder of sex and something else.

"Next time I test you for a genetic disease you might not have," he said, collapsing into his chair, "can I get a blow job?" She did smile then, before walking away feeling completely confused about how she felt but knowing he wouldn't be pushing her about the Huntington's for a little while.