urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:bumbleboosh There will be a show tonight on trampoline Mr. Kite 2007-02-06T22:18:07Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:bumbleboosh:1723 2007-02-06T22:18:07Z 2007-02-06T22:18:07Z LJ needs to stop being a bastard. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:bumbleboosh:1038 2007-01-17T15:29:15Z 2007-01-17T15:32:38Z I wrote this as a prompt response in House's journal <a href="http://dr-greghouse-md.livejournal.com/12054.html">here</a>. I decided to post it here for others to read as a fic, seeing there's so little House/Stacy love out there. =D<br /><br /><br /><br />Title: Sway<br />Pairing: House/Stacy - pre-infarction<br />Rating: PG<br />Words: 1,700<br />Disclaimer: Not mine; just playing.<br />Teaser: <i>Weddings were sickening. Celebrating the beginning of the end of your life, and spending loads of money in the process? No thanks. House could think of more lucrative ways to sell his life away rather than impounding himself to the lifelong debt of marriage. An irony, really. Considering he’d almost asked Stacy one? two? three times? to marry him.</i><br /><br /><br /><a name="cutid1"></a>House was the kind of guy who hated weddings. A bit like every other guy, really.<br /><br />He hated the formality, the pretend courtesy, the way everyone was so damn <i>nice</i> to each other. Weddings were sickening. Celebrating the beginning of the end of your life, and spending loads of money in the process? No thanks. House could think of more lucrative ways to sell his life away rather than impounding himself to the lifelong debt of marriage.<br /><br />An irony, really. Considering he’d almost asked Stacy one? two? three times? to marry him. That time he and Stacy had gone up to Seattle for a week in the summer - House wasn’t a romantic guy. Except for the part where he was when he was in love. Not that he’d ever admit to that - he wouldn’t. But he’d taken her out to dinner, an <i>expensive</i> dinner complete with roses, champagne and playing footsies under the table. He’d even put up with wearing a suit for the night, though he’d offered his jacket to her when they started walking along the pier later that night and Stacy had said she was cold. He’d <i>almost</i> asked her to marry him that night because she just looked so beautiful and he wanted to wake up to her every morning for the rest of his life and all that sentimental, romantic crap. <br /><br />But instead of asking her that four-word question, he’d kissed her instead and murmured against her mouth that he wanted to go back to the hotel. So, they did.<br /><br />Or that time when he’d taken Stacy to a Monster Truck rally - she'd protested that there was nothing fun or amusing in watching trucks crushing cars, but House had insisted they go anyway. Nothing formal at all - just the both of them in jeans, old ratty shirts, carrying a big stick of candy floss around with them. They’d laughed and joked around until their faces hurt from smiling. Stacy had looked even more beautiful that night, because House liked her best when she was without make up; when she’d grabbed his baseball cap from his head and slapped it on hers with a beer-drunken smile on her face, House had almost blurted out then and there that he wanted to marry her.<br /><br />He didn’t, though. He bought her another stick of candy floss instead, because she wanted some, and when they got home that night they made love, drunkenly; House fell asleep on top of her not long after he came.<br /><br />But Stacy had a lot of friends and a lot of acquaintances, and tended to get a lot of wedding invitations as a result. Much to House’s chagrin - because he was made to go along to almost all of them, no matter where in the country these damn weddings were.<br /><br />Like this one that he was at now - the wedding of one of Stacy’s friends that House didn’t like very much. Or at all, really. She talked way too much, way too shallowly, and he hated her laugh. He’d complained the whole way as they drove down to Atlantic City for the wedding that this friend of Stacy’s had a laugh like a sick hyena. Stacy had told him to shut up but when she looked away he caught the way Stacy was trying not to laugh at what House had said. That had made him feel a little better about coming to the wedding - at least Stacy didn’t like this woman as much as she made out she did. That meant he could complain to Stacy and make fun of her friend on the way back, and Stacy would probably join in.<br /><br />Thankfully, the night was coming to a gradual close. The reception tables were all abandoned in favor of people dancing on the dance floor or mingling around the bar. House didn’t like mingling, so he’d resigned himself to wandering from buffet table to buffet table, corner to corner and to the bar and back, making as little conversation with people in the process as possible. Earlier in the night, somewhere between the bride’s annoying speech and the bride’s father blubbering like a moron into the microphone when it was his time to talk, House had loosened his bowtie so it was hanging limp around his collar and unbuttoned his top button. Despite Stacy elbowing him in the side to fix his bowtie up, he’d ignored her and the speeches and took to making sailing boats with the table napkins instead.<br /><br />He knew the time would eventually come where Stacy would drag him out onto the dance floor for at least one dance. House wanted to hate dancing, because it wasn’t something guys did, but he secretly liked it. Secretly. With Stacy, anyway. <br /><br />And of course, he’d been right - while he was hiding out at the bar, sipping another rum and Coke, Stacy located him. She latched onto his arm and pulled him away from the bar, much to House’s protests and relentless eye rolling, and she weaved them through the body of people until they were in the middle of the dance floor.<br /><br />“That’d be right,” House dryly said as Stacy draped her arms around his neck. “Bring us to the middle of the dance floor so there’s no easy escape route for me.”<br /><br />“Oh, but of course,” Stacy replied. “I need to make things just as hard for you as you make them for me.”<br /><br />House rolled his eyes again, though didn’t say anything else. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her close against him, and they swayed together silently until the song finished. The next song the band played was lively and fast, a jazz number, and House stood there scowling, while Stacy grinned at him, holding his hand as she moved in a lively beat with the music. He didn’t <i>want</i> to enjoy the dancing, damn it, but when she grabbed a hold of both of his hands House eventually found himself actually dancing along with her. And enjoying it.<br /><br />He watched the way she laughed and smiled when he spun her around, pulling her close against him, swinging her back out, kicking her high heels out of the way when she slipped them off so she was dancing in just panty hosed feet. And House pretended to hate every minute of it but the smile on his face kind of gave him away. It was another one of those moments, the fourth time perhaps, where House almost wanted to ask Stacy to marry him. She was all feminine curves in her dark blue dress, mascara running slightly from the sweat she’d built up from the dancing, hair slightly messy and her face flushed from the exertion. She looked so incredibly beautiful.<br /><br />When the band started playing another song, a slow number this time, House pulled Stacy in against him and slipped one arm around her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck again.<br /><br />“Mascara’s running,” he said, lifting his other hand to her face and wiping the black smudge away from underneath her eye with his thumb.<br /><br />“Oh, is it?” she asked, pulling one arm away to wipe her other eye and then inspecting her finger.<br /><br />“You look like a raccoon.”<br /><br />She looked back up to him. “Thanks, Greg,” Stacy intoned.<br /><br />“Just saying it as it is.” House smiled at mock-annoyed look she gave him. He wiped his thumb under her eye once more, before he trailed his thumb down her cheek, watching her face. She looked back up at him and House smiled faintly, affectionately as he ran his thumb across her lip. He felt her fingers threading into his hair at the back of his head, and after he cupped her cheek he dropped his hand down to her waist and pulled her even closer against him, moving slowly with her in time with the slow music. House pressed a kiss to her forehead before he lowered his head so that his forehead was against hers.<br /><br />Perhaps it was sickening, how deeply in love he was with her. In fact, it <i>was</i> sickening - he’d call it sickening if he was ever asked. He’d call romance a sham and a waste of time if he was ever asked, too - yet House could be the most charming, romantic man there was when he was in the mood. And for how turbulent his relationship with Stacy could be, moments like this made it worth it. Being in love was a strangely liberating, uplifting feeling; a high, or an aphrodisiac that he never wanted to come down from.<br /><br />“We going back to the hotel soon?” he murmured when he pulled back to look at Stacy’s face again.<br /><br />“Getting bored already?”<br /><br />“Something like that.”<br /><br />Stacy smiled, slipping her fingers from hair and sliding her hands down his back. “I love you.”<br /><br />House rolled his eyes, trying to hide a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t push it. Getting me to dance is enough for one night.”<br /><br />“God, you’re so sweet,” Stacy replied in a droll tone.<br /><br />“Yeah, I know. Being in love with a raccoon does that.”<br /><br />Stacy slapped his arm just before he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. He felt her lips smiling against his, and she muttered, “You’re an ass.”<br /><br />“I know,” he replied in a mutter against her mouth. “Great, isn’t it?”<br /><br />She made an exasperated sound, though chose to focus on kissing him in favor of saying anything in response. They stayed on the dance floor, dancing close together until the band started to pack up. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:bumbleboosh:679 2006-12-31T11:45:02Z 2006-12-31T11:46:05Z All journals need at least one entry. They look lonely without it.