misanthrope_md | House & Phedre. NWS. (Don't tell Jimmy!)

I smiled a little. "I don't know why you think I would stop finding you attractive for it, when most of what draws me to you is nothing to do with what your leg looks like, clothed or otherwise. Unless you become stupid when your clothes come off, I assure you my opinion will not change. Unless of course," I added, my head tipped to the side, "you are hoping to change my opinion so you will not have to worry about me plying my charms on you."

I stood directly before him now, and raised a hand to his cheek briefly before reaching for a chair. "I promise you, whatever I am, I will not make an advance where I know it is unwelcome." I sat on the stool, my hands now at level with his leg when he sat on the bed, and reached into my pocket for the little tub of salve I carried there; I used it to keep my hands soft, but I thought the herbs in it might help his circulation.

"Now, I cannot do this with your clothes still on, no matter how fetching you may think they are," I said with a wry little smile.

"Just fair warning," House murmured. He didn't comment on what she said about making advances.

He quickly unfastened his belt and pushed his pants down, kicking them away when they pooled at his feet. He didn't meet her eyes as he sat down on the bed in his boxers and tshirt.

"How do you want me?" he asked, finally looking down at her.

Many ways, I thought wryly, spreading a dollop of the salve between my palms. But I was sensitive to how awkward he felt, and so motioned for him to sit further back on the bed. "Just a little further, and turn a bit, thus. Good."

My breath stuck in my chest as I looked at the scar on his leg; my first thought was that he had spoken lightly of the wound that must have caused it, for surely anyone from my world who received a blow that severe would have lost his leg, if not his life. My second was that whoever had used it as justification for scorning him deserved the flat of one of Joscelin's daggers to the cheek, with no stinting on the amount of force used.

"How did it happen?" I asked gently, my eyes going back up to his as I pulled the stool closer and laid my hands on his leg, feeling with my fingers for the points of pressure and pain.

House sucked in a breath at the first contact of her hands, cool against his skin.

He was quiet for a beat, and then said, "An infaction, a... clot, in my thigh. It was misdiagnosed, the doctors involved though I was faking the severity of the pain in order to get drugs." The memory still caused a wave of rage to pass over him. "Three days it took them to realize what it was, and by then the damage was done. They wanted to cut my leg off, and I wouldn't let them. The dead muscle that remained because of the time delay caused... an incredible amount of pain. More than most people can imagine." She probably could, he thought.

He hated getting to this part in the story, but he knew that she was clever enough to want the whole thing rather than just 'I had an infarction'. And it was easier to talk than to concentrate on her hands. "I might have died, or I might have made a full recovery. I didn't get a chance to test that theory, because I asked to be put into a drug-induced coma to sleep through the worst part of the pain. Then my... girlfriend, who was my medical proxy while I was unable to make decisions for myself, went against my wishes and authorized a surgery where they cut out a lot of the dead muscle." He waved down to his thigh, a sour expression on his face. "Which made me the man I am today. Just me, my chronic pain, and a limp."

I truly did not know what to say for a time, and so focused on smoothing and kneading the flesh beneath my hands. The scars felt cooler than the rest of him, and I could feel where the muscles had once tensed beneath the skin. "Is it normal for doctors in your world to do that, to... to disbelieve what a patient says? Well, I suppose I should be asking if it is common for patients to lie about their symptoms to get drugs," I amended, my eyes dropping to my hands and my hair slipping over my shoulder to curtain my face. I was struck keenly by the sadness he tried to keep out of his voice, by wondering what he had done in the past to deserve such a dose of my lord Kushiel's cruel justice. A lump curled in my throat, and I swallowed around it, taking an unsteady breath.

"Everybody lies," House muttered.

He looked down at her and sighed a little. He could tell how affected she was by his story, and he almost felt bad to burden her with it. She was obviously a very empathetic person. It was pain she was feeling, not pity.

He watched her underneath a curtain of dark hair and thought how Stacy used to try to give him massages, how he'd push her away, close himself off. He'd lost everything.

"I get by now," he said quietly, "with drugs. When they run out, there isn't much a massage can do, either. I'm hoping that won't happen. For a while, at least." He thought of the near empty bottle and cringed.

I nodded, still silent, my head still bowed as I watched my hands do their work, fingers and palms pressing and digging, as hard as I dared without risking paining him. It had been long since I had felt another's pain as my own, sharp and bright as one of Melisande's flechettes. I hadn't missed it.

I forced myself to speak finally. "I hope that as well. It grieves me to see you hurt." My eyes dragged back up to his, and I wondered not for the first time what he thought of me.

"Don't worry yourself too much," House murmured, "James does enough of that for all of us."

When he saw her looking at him like that, he chuckled awkwardly. "You know, this is probably the first time in... over a year, that a woman has touched me without being paid to do so."

And of course, he was referring to the masseuse James had hired that time. Not the hookers.

"I can't help it," I said with a rueful smile. "I think too much as it is, which too easily lends itself to worrying." My hands moved of their own volition, now, the rest of me attuned to his eyes and voice. I dimly realized I might be staring, but I didn't look away. "Is the irony in that I am usually paid to touch, or in that I am touching you in a fashion different than the kind people would expect of me with you in a locked room?" I asked, my lips curving up in a small smirk.

House smiled wryly. "Well, it's usually James or Chase giving me the massages, and they're no more innocent."

Her fingers suddenly worked out a spot of tight muscle and he gasped, then sighed, closing his eyes and looking blissful for a moment.

I froze for an instant as he gasped, thinking I'd hurt him, but then relaxed as he did, relieved and glad to see it was helping. I admit I found myself enjoying this, both for the pleasure of touching him and knowing it eased his pain, and for the sweet torment of restraint I must needs exercise.

"What did I do," I murmured, "to so quickly earn your trust? It seems quite an elite circle, those people who can claim they have it. You don't have to say, if you don't want," I added quickly after, flushing a little, embarrassed. How was it he had so quickly become able to fluster me? I had only found myself thus with Allison and Rabastan, and that was a dangerous count of people to number him among...

House opened his eyes again and looked down at her. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "At first I liked you because you reminded me of a woman I had a crush on as a teenager." His lips quirked into a smile. "But I'm good at reading people. And you lack the undercurrent of pretension and lies that most people have. You are what you are. I appreciate that, and it's refreshing."

I smiled back, pleased and a little flattered. "It is strange; on the one hand I am very good at pretending to be something I am not, but at the same time..." I paused while I thought of how to say this, moving my palm in circles along his thigh, my other hand resting just above his knee.

"It is a select part of myself I was accustomed to hiding; I was meant to be seen as merely a courtesan, with no more filling my head than the arts of the bedroom. And the reason for it was my own safety; mine and Alcuin's. But when I am free to own all the parts of myself, I cannot choose to do anything else. As you say; I am what I am. I cannot pretend it does not hurt, thinking there are those who would judge me for my calling, but... in the end it is those who choose to know me for everything I am that are worth the time spent." I smiled and added, "And those who willingly submit themselves to my rambling on and on..."

House looked up to the ceiling for a moment, feeling her hand on his knee and reminding himself that there should be nothing arousing about this situation.

"I suppose we're both judged by our appearances," House said with a wry smile. "Beauty and the beast. Though in my case, it's often the people who get to know me who dislike me more."

He winced as another stab of pain shot through him, and stretched his neck, feeling his body getting tense again.

"Relax," I said firmly, my hands going still and my eyes fixing on his. "This will not work if you tense yourself up again in five minutes." My voice softened and I added, "If it will do you better to lay back, that is fine as well."

House sighed and then nodded. "Maybe," he said, and slid back on the bed, lying on his back.

"The door's closed, right?" he said with a bit of a smirk. "If you're climbing up here with me, I'd hate for Chase or James to walk in, I'd never hear the end of it." He closed his eyes. "Though wouldn't mind if Stacy did."

I smiled a bit and stood, pushing the stool away and sitting on the edge of the bed. Tapping his knee, I motioned for him to stretch his leg out over mine, settling comfortably with his hip nudging my toes. "Stacy is an old lover of yours, then?" I asked, my eyes sparkling.

House settled himself as the observation of how smooth her skin was flitted across his mind.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh, "she's the girlfriend that made an appearance in the sob story I just told you. We didn't last long after that. She was an easy target for my anger."

He let his head fall back on the pillow. "She showed up her a couple of months ago, all pissed off at me for something I don't even remember doing - you know, the weird island timeline thing. And then immediately shacked up with the only other guy on the island with a limp."

"Oh," I said, a little surprised. "Well... that's... rather funny, actually. About the other man, I mean..." I shook my head, chuckling. "I'm sure you're right, then, that she'd hardly appreciate seeing you thus." I indicated the relaxed sprawl he'd adopted, my hands on his leg.

"She'd probably just go all ice queen on me," House said with a roll of his eyes. "There are a couple of guys who bullied me in high school I wouldn't mind seeing me with such a beautiful woman, though."

He let his eyes drop closed, and added softly, "God, your skin's soft."

My stomach gave a little lurch and I dropped my eyes, my lips curving up at one corner. "Thank you," I murmured softly. My hands lingered for a moment, splayed on either side of his leg just above the knee, my fingers brushing the smooth skin on the inside, my thumb resting in the dimple above his kneecap. His eyes opened halfway and I stirred, realizing I'd been caught out, and all but snatched my hands back to my hair, shaking out the knot it had loosened from and twisting it back up, taking a steady breath.

House's eyes opened and his lips curled into a lazy smile as he sat up.

"Oh, Phedre..." Before he could help himself, he reached out and cupped her face with one hand, running his thumb over the line of her jaw. "I'm only human, you know."

"I know," I muttered, dropping my hands and letting my hair fall free. "It is why I feel so guilty... but I am only human too, and I cannot help myself. I want you, and it is not my way to hide that, either." I could feel my pulse racing already, just from that small contact of his hand to my cheek. It seemed hardly without my willing it, I leaned into his touch, turning my head to press a kiss to his palm. If he pulled away then, I would let him go and save my conscience... but I did not want him to pull away.

She wanted him. Dear god why? It was even more insane than Chase wanting him. Maybe this was some twisted version of Heaven... or Hell.

The second he moved, he knew what a bad idea this was, but as soon as he took himself over that threshold and started to lean forward, it was as if his body was on autopilot. His hand went around to the back of her neck to pull her closer, and their lips met halfway.

My breath let go in a soft sigh as he kissed me, a measure of my own tension trickling out of me as I relaxed, my knuckles brushing his cheek and my other hand coming to rest at his elbow. His mouth was gentle and his hand on my neck was warm, and I yearned for more. Yet already I was afraid he would pull away, and so I did not move, merely returned the kiss I was given, sweet and artful and soft.

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