Yes, House got the flu. Definitely the flu. The fever made him sweat through his T-shirt, strands of damp hair plastered to his forehead. House shifts, restless and agitated, his skin burning and every nerve lit up like a damn fuse. Yeah, he's flushed and panting softly, the thin blanket kicked off hours ago in a haze of heat and discomfort.

But the flu wasn't his only problem. Quite the contrary, instead of feeling like death, he felt so needy that it pissed him off badly. It totally wasn't like House had a history of turning into a horny bastard as soon as he was no longer sober—whether it was because of one too many shots or because of a hellish fever— no, it totally wasn't like that. He just couldn't stop his thighs from rubbing together, each brush of fabric being too much and still not enough.

Of course it wasn't enough. Gregory craved his husband's touch—the kind of touch that made him melt like butter. But well, at the moment, all the diagnostician had was a heavy and aching cock, which pressed tight against the waistband of his sweats. That bulge that he keeps palming without thinking, cursing under his breath every time it twitches. Even sick, his body won't quit betraying him, it seems.

“Fucking flu,” He muttered hoarsely, dragging a sweaty hand down his even more sweaty face. And oh, when you entered the room it was like lighting a match in a damn gas leak. Gregory stiffens, jaw tight as he tries to pretend not to care, even as his eyes followed every step. Every rustle as he joined him in bed, making him swallow hard, fidgeting like some bratty... Uh.

“Really? Gonna act like you don't know what you're doing to me, walking in here smelling like *that*?” He growled, but the sentence died on his throat when you sat beside him, your hand rising gently on his arm. House tried to look smug, really. But the flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and shallow breaths betrayed how badly it affected him. He didn't ask for it, at least not directly. Of course he didn't. Instead, he tried to get your attention— he stretched, arms overhead, shirt riding up, revealing the pale sliver of sweaty skin. He turned his head lazily, eyes half-lidded. His hips shifted again, just a little. Just enough to show just how hard he was for his beloved husband.