Hello, everyone! It's been a while since I've written a House fic, and of course when I get another idea, it's all depressing and crap. Oh, well. That's what you get when you listen to Alanis Morrisette's song, Isn't It Ironic? over and over again. This first chapter is a very shippy, very SMUTTY chapter, so it's rated M. Yum. LOL. And of course, it's Hameron. This will have a second chapter, and then... well, who knows? LOL. Enjoy, and please review!
This chapter is rated M. Reader beware.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
MDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMD
Isn't life ironic?
One day, you're five years old and terrified of your first day of kindergarten. Life is all about naps, Santa Clause, and your world revolves around your daddy.
Then you blink, and you're graduating college. You move away from your family and the only life you've ever known, only to start all over with a new home, a new job, and a new life. Suddenly it's the first day all over again, and you can barely move because you're paralyzed by fear.
Allison Cameron sighed as she flipped through her photo album and sipped at her glass of red wine. In the pictures that she looked at, she had been so young, so happy. But in some pictures, a haunting sadness lurked in the depths of those blue green eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek at the memory of her husband.
She had known what she was getting into, agreeing to marry a dying man. At least, she had thought she knew. Maybe it was the overconfidence and naivety that came with youth. Maybe it was because, back then, she really believed that love could conquer all, including time and death.
She was wrong.
Up until the day that he had been admitted into the hospital for the last time, she had been able to believe that at any time, he would make a full recovery. Some breakthrough would be made, and he would be okay. They would have the life they were meant to, not the one that everyone else knew was coming for her.
And she still had clung to hope.
A sudden knock on her front door startled her out of her somber reverie, and she growled softly. Who the hell was knocking on her door after eleven o'clock at night? She set the wineglass and photo album down, then went to the door, pissed off as she flung the door open.
"What the-"
Gregory House stood in front of her, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked her up and down, from her loose pajama bottoms to her tight little spaghetti strapped shirt, his eyes filled with appreciation and something else that Cameron was too drunk to identify.
"What do you want, House?" she demanded, leaning on the door.
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the apartment and wrapped his free arm around her waist. Then he roughly pulled her against him, roughly claiming her mouth with his.
Taken by complete surprise, she tensed for a moment. Then she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him tightly against herself. What had gotten into him? she wondered, but she didn't question it. She was finally getting what she wanted for years, and she wasn't going to overanalyze it. So she deepened the kiss and slid her hands under his shirt, exploring his warm skin.
He groaned into her mouth and ground his hips against hers, his arousal straining against the confining material of his jeans. Fuck, he wanted her. He gently pushed her backward, toward the hall he knew led to her bedroom.
She let him guide her back toward her bedroom without breaking the kiss, confident in her steps.
When they finally reached the bedroom, she pulled him down onto the bed and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. Suddenly she was stone cold sober, and all she wanted to do was make him hers. Her legs wound around his waist and pulled him closer to her.
Reaching down, House quickly pulled her shirt off, then made quick work of her pajama bottoms. He was ecstatic to find that she was wearing no underwear, and without a second thought, he shoved his pants down and buried himself inside of her with a deep groan.
She cried out, the sound a mixture of pain and intense pleasure. She had wanted this for years, and finally it was happening. Her arms slid around his neck, and she raised her head and nipped at his lower lip. "Fuck me," she groaned, dragging her nails over his shoulders.
He grinned wickedly at her. "Yes, ma'am," he growled teasingly, thrusting again. He had spent most of the day contemplating even coming here, and he had almost stayed at home. But now, watching her writhe beneath him and hearing her beg for more… He groaned and moved faster, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. The pain in his groin was much more intense, and until his body got the release it demanded, he wouldn't feel anything else.
When he slowed down, she groaned and pushed at his shoulder until he was on his back and she was straddling him. She grinned at the surprise on his face, and she balanced herself by holding onto his broad shoulders. Then she moved her hips, moaning his name as he placed his hands on her hips and urged her to move faster on him.
"Oh, God, Greg…"
He thrusted his hips upward, groaning quietly as he freed his hands and teased her hardened nipples.
Her head fell backward as he fondled her breasts, and she tightened her muscles around him. "Harder," she whispered.
He grinned wildly and happily accommodated her, then suddenly rolled her onto her back and thrust deeply into her. She was so tight and hot… He suddenly exploded, yelling her name as he spilled into her. "Allison!" He groaned and shuddered, collapsing on top of her.
Her chest heaved as she rode the waves of her own orgasm and held him tightly to her. She was sore and her voice was hoarse, but she was undeniably content and sated. One hand came to rest on his back, while the other moved slowly through his damp hair.
When he came to, he rolled onto his side and gathered her into his arms. It was very rare that he allowed a lover to remain close to him after sex, but in her case, he could make an exception. He nuzzled her neck and sighed, not saying a word. They were both too comfortable, and he was afraid to break the silence by saying something stupid.
She held him close and gently touched his hair, not moving until his breathing had become deep and even. Only then did she slowly ease out of his arms and out of the bed.
Making her way to the window, she rested her head on the glass and looked outside at the softly falling snow. Her hand drifted to her stomach, and she looked over her shoulder at the man sleeping in her bed. She suddenly had everything she ever wanted, but she was terrified. She was afraid that at any second, she would wake up and find herself just as alone as she had been for years.
Time slipped by indeterminably, until a sleepy voice called out to her.
"Come back to bed," House muttered without opening his eyes, and she smiled softly.
Maybe this was real, after all.
TBC...
A/N: In the next chapter, it is very likely that there will be a MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, so be warned. Unless the muse decides to go another way... Thanks for reading, and please review!