A/N: This is an old fic, the very first one I wrote, way back in 2009 for the Porn Battle. The prompt word was brunette, the pairing House/Cameron, but I'm only just getting around to posting it here. Enjoy! The usual disclaimers apply: they are not mine, I do not profit. I merely have fun.
She had dyed her hair brown again. He noticed instantly. Screw the idea that gentlemen prefer blondes – this one sure as hell didn't, not that he was a gentleman though.
That hair. That hair that provoked a thousand and one fantasies. He itched to touch it, to feel its silky coolness slip through his fingers. Imagined it cascading down her back in stark contrast to her milky-white skin. Fantasized about wrapping it around his hand and pulling firmly as he thrust into her from behind. Wanted to see it spread out across his pillowcase, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her breathing erratic. He remembered the night of the party, chocolate brown hair against the crimson red of her dress, lips slightly parted. He would have taken her right then on the conference table. Hard, fast, unrelenting.
They were alone. Everyone else had left hours ago. House remained lost in his reverie, wondering just how many ways Cameron could bend, the only sign of his inward thoughts the outward bulge of his jeans. His name on her lips brought him back to find her next to him, eyeing him, but not before flitting her eyes over his telltale arousal.
Their eyes made contact and he expertly read her dilated pupils, her rapid breathing, the throb of her pulse against her neck. She wanted him. The knowledge made House simultaneously smug and reckless. Smug because he could turn her on without so much as touching because those blue-green eyes, those soft brown waves, the intoxicating smell of her lightly fruity shampoo hooked him, made him cave to his baser appetites, made him reach out and grab a handful of that luscious chocolate hair and pull her down until their lips crashed together.
There was nothing sweet or even tender about the kiss. Tongues battled hard, teeth nipping at lips, the perfect balance of pain and pleasure. His hands slid down to her ass, cupping it, urging her further downwards, his ego (and his leg) refusing to make things easier. She broke the kiss, straddling him, grinding herself against him to drive herself higher, neither of them speaking, the xonly sounds their lips melding together once more, the rustle of fabric as her shirt came undone.
His fingers slid down her slacks, pressing in sharply against her, making her cry out with pleasure as his fingers found her engorged clit. She bit down on his neck, he ran his fingers through her hair, wrapping the brown locks around his hands. She stood up once more, he undid her slacks with an expert flick. She stepped out of them, turned her back towards him and shrugged off her shirt, then her bra, and finally, her delicate white lace panties. She stood before him, her hair loose down her back and he hardened more than he thought humanly possible. Fuck. She was beautiful. No fantasy could ever compare to this reality.
House reached out and pulled her back towards him, pushing her down on the desk, spreading her legs. Lowering his chair with two pushes, he wheeled himself between her thighs, greatly enjoying the contrast presented by her neat mass of brown curls and her even whiter skin, resisting the urge to mar its perfection with a bite. His tongue flicked at her clit, causing her to arch backwards and moan deeply. A finger, then two, slid deep into her, making her see stars. He needed his own pleasure, but preferred to torment himself just a while longer. He brought her to the brink three, four times, then finally stood, undressed rapidly, and pulled her back down to his lap, guiding himself into her. Over and over he thrust into her, reveling in her hot wetness, watching her face as she clung to the arms of the chair. When she came, eyes closed, head thrown back as she cried out his name, he drank in the sight of her. Perfection.
When they had both come down from their lust-induced haze, she disentangled herself from him and dressed silently. She walked to the door, turning to look at him one last time. Soft, brown waves framing her face. Pink cheeks, delicately flushed. Blue-green eyes still overwhelmed by inky pupils. House burned the image of her into his mind. He remained seated, once again lost in thought, the casual toss of his ball from one hand to the other his only movement. Yes, brunette was definitely better.