This is my first ever fanfic! Yay!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own House... although I keep asking every birthday...

Rating: M

Pairings: House/Cameron.

Spoilers: Umm not sure but I'll say Seasons 1 and 2 just to be sure.

Summary: She was dangerously addictive, and he had sworn he wouldn't succumb to this: to her.

Addiction

"Scotch. Dry," demanded Dr Gregory House, sliding onto one of the uncomfortable stools at the bar, which he had made a beeline towards the minute he had arrived. Tapping his cane against the leg of his seat, he surveyed as much of the room as he could from his location. Damn Cuddy, damn fundraising thing, and damn tuxedo. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the several hours of extra clinic duty Cuddy had threatened him with. No sooner had the bartender placed his drink in front of him, House snatched it up and took a large drink, allowing the liquid to swirl at the back of his throat painfully before swallowing. It was going to be a long night, but he could always lessen its tedium by getting smashed and pissing Cuddy off- although that might mean getting landed with the clinic duty anyway. Double damn.

Across the room Dr Allison Cameron was thinking along the same lines as House, except maybe for the clinic duty, Cuddy, and getting smashed part. She had come to hate these fundraiser evenings. Her expensive shoes were mutilating her feet as she made her way further in from the doorway. Spotting her colleagues Chase and Foreman at the bar, she strode over to them, her strapless midnight blue dress brushing against her knees as she went.

Meanwhile, further to the right of where Foreman and Chase were sat House. He had just sent the moron bartender off for his second scotch when he saw the third duckling making her way over to join the other two. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her, and for a full minute he was powerless to stop himself staring at her, transfixed. Her auburn tresses cascaded over her bare creamy white shoulders, the midnight blue of her dress contrasting perfectly with her sometimes blue-sometimes green eyes. House suddenly came to his senses and mentally shook himself. What the hell? God, he had to get out of here before he had any more thoughts about Cameron and her 'creamy shoulders' or her 'sometimes blue- sometimes green eyes'. Wincing as he downed the rest of his scotch, House slid off his seat and limped as discreetly as he could away from his employees, and spying Wilson sitting at the poker table, he made his way over there.

Cameron, oblivious to the reaction she had just inspired in a certain gruff, sarcastic doctor, joined Foreman and Chase, ordering herself a dry martini.

"Hey. Nice dress," said Foreman pleasantly.

Looking over to Chase, Cameron saw him staring openly and unabashedly up and down her form, mouth hanging ever so slightly open. Foreman elbowed him hard and Cameron blushed slightly, trying to hide her smirk.

"Hi Cameron," he managed, glaring at Foreman, who was having a hard time controlling his laughter.

Cameron's smirk soon left her face when Chase asked her to dance. Glancing briefly at Foreman, she accepted, allowing him to lead her to the dancing area. Cameron was slightly uneasy now, from the way he had been staring at her. She couldn't lie and say she was attracted to him; she only thought of him as a colleague and friend. The man that attracted her had piercing, sky blue eyes, thousands of sarcastic remarks up his sleeve, and a cane; and who was probably at home having escaped coming to this stupid benefit. Secretly, she imagined what it would be like to dance with him instead of Chase; but she knew better. He wasn't the dancing type.

"Why can't you just admit it: you like her," said Wilson, for what House counted as the third time that evening, which was a pretty amazing feat since House been at his table for around a quarter of an hour.

"Why can't you just mind your own business," he hissed back irritably.

"Fine," sighed Wilson, giving up. House had to be one of the most stubborn jackasses he had ever met.

House meanwhile, began tapping his cane on his shoe agitatedly, his eyes intensely following a certain pair of dancers. When the tapping became more of a subtle bashing, and Wilson was worried about the state of House's metatarsals, he cleared his throat loudly and eyed his friend. The tapping stopped. Standing up abruptly, House shot Wilson an annoyed look briefly before limping away. Heading towards the lift, he took the familiar path towards his office, intending on listening to some real music instead of the muzak crap they had going at the fundraiser, and maybe have a swig of his pricey vodka from the bottom desk drawer. Turning on his stereo and slumping on the lumpy couch, he began to think. He couldn't help it, music just did that: it allowed him to reflect on a case in a way that dead silence didn't allow for. Immediately, his thoughts went to Cameron. He cursed his traitorous mind for thinking of her, even when he swore he wouldn't. Cameron. Allison. He had never referred to her by her first name before. Even in his own mind. She had looked stunning tonight in that dress. That image was ruined with another one of her dancing with the wombat. Stupid Chase, getting his grubby paws all over her: putting his hands in inappropriate places. Then again, he reasoned, they had slept together before; of course they would be more intimate than if perhaps Foreman had danced with her. Suddenly he found himself wondering what it would be like if he danced with her, minus his bum leg, of course. That was the one of the reasons why he couldn't be with her. Why he constantly pushed her away. He was too old, too crippled, too bitter, too broken. House had once accused her of wanting to fix him, but he had only been fishing for reasons as to why she would be interested in him: he still couldn't come up with anything more plausible. No, she was much better off without him, and if he would do one selfless act in his whole miserable lifetime, then avoiding her until she found someone better would be it. Although he was sure Chase wasn't worthy of her either. The bastard had practically taken advantage of her when she was high, just to get laid. House was pulled from his thoughts when he heard shuffling in the adjacent conference room. Cameron's desk lamp was on and she was rummaging through a pile of paperwork on her desk. Watching her take out a manilla folder, rearrange the papers, then turn towards his office, he realised she was coming in there, no doubt to deliver the folder to his messy desk. She pushed open the joining door and sashayed into the room, the hem of her dress swishing provocatively against her knees. House didn't think he could resist her tonight.

Cameron was surprised to see him here, she hadn't realised he had come. He looked devastatingly sexy lounging there on the couch, hair tousled lightly, bow tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. She swallowed slightly and continued forwards, holding out the folder.

As he took it, she said, "You need to sign these, I just remembered before. I was just going to leave them on your desk, I didn't know you'd be here."

"I'd rather be up here than down there," House replied gruffly, his eyes surveying her carefully, "You seemed to be enjoying yourself though."

Cameron was surprised to hear a slight hint of jealously in his voice, but brushed it aside as her imagination.

"Not really. These things are always so superficial," she replied softly.

There was silence for a few moments and all that could be heard was House tapping the tip of his cane gently against the carpet.

Finally he spoke up, and fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice this time, he said, "You'd better run along or a certain wombat might be worried."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had failed to do so.

An odd look passed over Cameron's eyes when he said this, and she said, "What do you mean?"

Rising, he walked slowly over to her. When he was only a foot away, she started to back away.

"What I mean is," he said, as he continued towards her until she had her back against the glass wall, "that you need to be more careful, or Cuddy may find out about your little fling."

Her breathing was laboured as he came closer, but she looked up at him and said defiantly, "Again: what the hell do you mean?"

She gasped lightly as he abruptly leant in, his breath tickling her ear, and whispered, "It isn't exactly fair on dear Chase if you continue a relationship with him, when you're obviously attracted to someone else."

As quickly as he had come, he was gone, and when she opened her eyes, still breathing heavily, he had stepped back slightly. Cameron wasn't about to let him intimidate her like he usually did; no, tonight she decided, she would give him a taste of his own medicine. Mustering her courage she boldly stepped up to him so they were nearly touching.

Reaching up, her breath tickling his lips as his had done moments before, she said seductively, "You're right, it wouldn't be fair on him, would it? It's just lucky I'm not in a relationship with him, isn't it?"

House swallowed with difficulty, becoming aroused by her proximity. Before he knew what was happening, Cameron's unbelievably soft lips were on his, and his eyes slowly slid shut at the sensation of it. She kissed him tenderly but deepened the kiss as she felt him respond. She slid her tongue over his lips, and he opened his mouth to invite her in further. She was intoxicating and House couldn't get enough, but he knew that he had to stop. She was dangerously addictive, and he had sworn he wouldn't succumb to this: to her. Breaking the kiss, Cameron began tracing light nips and licks across his masculine, stubbled jaw and down his neck. She felt, rather than heard, his moan. When her fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt, he knew he had to pull away. He was right, she was addictive: much more so than his Vicodin, and House knew if she kept going, he would lose his remaining power to stop her. Eyes still closed, he took hold of her hands, effectively stopping her from further undoing his shirt. Cameron looked up at his face, and saw that his eyes were shut tightly, and when he did open them, she saw that they were clouded with desire. For what felt like hours, they stood there staring at each other, her fingers clasped firmly in his, in the middle of his office with strains of the Rolling Stones playing in the background. Finally, he pulled away, picked up his cane, which had fallen down onto the floor, and with a last intense look, he limped out of the office, the glass door closing behind him with a soft thump.

To Be Continued...

Author Note: Please review! I need to know whether or not to keep going, whether anyone is actually reading this or if it was a piece of crap. I'd also appreciate any constructive criticism that would help me improve my writing.