“You really think I’m that goddamn heartless?” House’s voice was a bark, hoarse with fury.

“You don’t care about anyone!” you yelled back, chest heaving, fists clenched at your sides. “You push everyone away—me included—and then act shocked when no one stays!”

He stepped closer. “Maybe I push people because they’re not worth pulling close.”

The words hit like a slap.

So you gave him one.

Your palm connected with his face, loud and fast. His head jerked slightly. His cheek flushed red. You expected him to yell. To lash out. Then you saw it — the flicker in his eyes. His chest rising fast. That quiet, dangerous inhale like a man being dragged under by lust.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice shredded. “Do that again…” You didn’t move.

House did.

He grabbed you by the face, dragged your lips to his, and devoured you.

It wasn’t tender. It was teeth, heat, his body flush against yours, and his voice, ragged, breaking between kisses—

“You have no idea what you do to me—fuck, I—god, your mouth—slap me again—hate me—just don’t stop—”

You whimpered into his mouth. He kissed you harder, like it hurt, like it healed, like it was the only thing keeping him alive.