vicodincrutch | 095. Diagnosis

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095. Diagnosis

I wouldn't be who I am without looking a gift horse in the mouth. Either someone has paid all women some amount of money to appear attracted or mildly interested or there is a curse going on. Or an out break.

In the event of the first, C-cups and up only.

[ooc; you know you want to.]

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Do you want a percentage or a terror level color?

Well, I'm sure either will get the point across, though terror levels might be a bit more apt.

Mmmm?

The Department of Apartment Security has been set at Severe Red.

I might... go board up the windows now.

[Things are getting harder than they should be--no pun intended--because Angela's trying to juggle the treasure hunt in the desk with one hand and trying to reach for that twice-damned cell that won't stop ringing. You'd think people would actually use the voicemail feature.

And House isn't making it easy with his mouth on sensitive areas of her neck.]

My phone...

Women would go for the door, not the windows.

[You know, that's a good question. Just who is calling. She lets loose a breath of frustration, leaning further back glance at the screen on the phone that somehow made its way to the floor. Two seconds of realization is all she needs before she's reluctantly pulling herself off that good-smelling man.]

Shit. It's my boss.

[It's Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers by ZZ Top. Maybe that's another omen.]

What? You aren't allowed a thirty minute break?

For lunch.

[Not for following manly scents down the hall and onto a desk to be half naked, looking for condoms under Batman.

She isn't paying attention as she dresses herself quickly, except to remember to put her bra back on, but her hair and her skirt are still shifted into all sorts of directions. Her thong, though? That she leaves deliberately as a souvenir on the edge of his desk.]

I'll be back for those later.

Consider them stashed.

[Her mouth is still plenty kind and concerned, just not so verbally as usual. After a moment, though, she can't help herself; breaking off the kiss she leans in, putting most of her weight on his shoulder as she nuzzles into his neck taking a deep breath, a little moan dying muffled in his collar. God, what is that scent, even.]

[Slick satin in back and lace up front, as evidenced by her dipping collar, and that's all the information he gets to glean at the moment because the hands on her back are a bit of a wake-up call. Not of the we shouldn't be doing this variety, but of the we shouldn't be doing this here and now sort. And so she pulls back, blinking-- not making the slightest effort to remove his wandering hands-- with a rather embarrassed grin.]

Time and place.

Yeah, well, we can't very well barricade that until you're on the right side of it.

I happen to look very good in white. I'm not so great at the arts and crafts portion of the day.

After work. Meet you out front?

[She won't be there, sadly; not from lack of intent, or because she forgot, but because unfortunately for House he isn't the only cursed man in the area, and her attention span has flown out the window along with her inhibitions. For the moment, she certainly does mean it, leaning in again almost in spite of herself.]

Are they so harsh with you, Doctor House?

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095. Diagnosis

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