A/N: Does this count as smut? Ah well, I say it is. Be proud; tis my first smut(ish) story. Somethings you should know: House and Cameron are probably OOC. I apologize, but I couldn't make it work any other way. Also, I've played with the layout of House's, er, house. Oh, and this whole story, though I guess I didn't explain it great in the text, is built upon the assumption that House and Cameron are sort of awkward friends. Please keep this is mind. Oh, and review. Please::kisses::
After knocking on the door for the fifth time, I began shuffling through my purse for some lip-gloss, unaffected by the long wait I was enduring outside the door of his home. He never had been too fond of surprise visits, and often pretended to be listening to music or taking a shower whenever someone unexpectedly romped on his door. If people were disrespectful enough to bang on his door without notice, then he had the right to disrespect them by disregarding the idea of their very existence, was what he always told me. Today was obviously no exception.
After applying a large amount of lip-gloss I was more than fed up. We all have our own idea of bothersome things. He had a low tolerance for disrespect, and I had zero tolerance for waiting, or the idea of being patient, even for him. There were many pluses to being so close to him, one of which was the pleasure of knowing his home just as well as I knew him. Knowing that the front door was no match for my master card.
After breaking and entering without even a second's hesitation my eyes flowed over the living room. The musky scent of cologne that tickled my nose told me that Wilson had been here. He may have been there at the moment, which I highly doubted since I could see into the kitchen, and the dishes were piled high. Wilson always went out of his way to clean up after House the second he spotted a mess. After calling his name, I finalized that Wilson wasn't there.
"I stopped by earlier, but you were asleep and I didn't want to wake your crippled ass up. I wanted to talk to you about Cameron. Later, I guess. And for the last time, clean up your crap!"
The note Wilson left on the piano amused and baffled me. What did the two of them have to say about me that I didn't know about? I had certainly been a good girl, no alcohol, car wrecks, or one-night stands. At least not for the past month, anyway. With a shrug, I looked around the kitchen, the lights were off in there, as well as the living room. There was only one other place he could be and that was his bedroom. I wasn't Wilson, and I had no problem waking his ass up no matter how peaceful he looked. Well, unless he had that little dribble of drool on his chin that sometimes escaped when he was sleeping. Maybe then I'd leave him alone. I'm not an absolute animal, contrary to popular belief.
I made my way through the bathroom speedily. House had this odd architecture where walking through his bathroom was the only way you could get to his bedroom, which, for the life of me, I still couldn't understand. Sometimes that bathroom was foul. Incredibly foul. I rounded the last corner of the small bathroom and stopped at the opening of his bedroom upon hearing the television sounding. House never slept with the television on so I assumed he was wide-awake, the little fucker had ignored me at the door! I immediately turned the corner in the master bedroom to give him one hell of a verbal beating. I almost got to that point, almost, had my breath not been snatched from my lungs at such a rapid pace. Never in my life had I been left speechless, or breathless, but there I was, speechless... Breathless. How can you expect me to stay calm when I am greeted by such an image? Allison Cameron is only one woman, she ain't made of steel, baby. And, believe you me, the astonishing sight before me would melt steel, with ease.
My eyes never left the bed or his face as I stared at House's features. The features I'd come to know and love so much were contorted into an expression that I never thought I'd witness. An expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His head was slightly tilted back on the pillows that had been strategically stacked. His plush lips gaped open just enough to allow him tiny slips of breath every now and then and that expression. My knees went to jello and I almost collapsed had my eyes not traveled away from his face. Down his body. Movement in the lower regions of hid body snatched my attention like a hex. With his right hand, that I knew was large from the way it had swallowed my shoulders many times before, House slowly, shamelessly caressed the top of his sweatpants in a firm, circular motion. The mountainous peak quickly made itself known in my line of vision and my mouth dried when House's hips rotated in the opposite direction of his coaxing hand. He hissed silently, moving his hips and hand at a faster pace when the gratification heightened.
That's when I knew I'd stopped breathing, I was afraid that if I took a breath, he would stop, stop the amazing performance he didn't even know he was giving me. And, I had to say, out of all the performing he done, this one took me cake. More than anything, I didn't know how to react. Do I run from the room and pretend I never saw any of this? Do I let him know that I'm there, pretending that I didn't notice his blissful revere? Or do I run to the bed as fast as I can and grab that monster in a feverous grip and pump it with all I have? It surprised me just how much I actually wanted that. Help House climb to the peak that he was heading for, ever so slowly, on his own.
Soon, the cotton penetration proved to be inferior to the idea of skin to skin contact, and he had those sweats down his thighs so quickly for a guy with a bum leg it almost shocked me. It was very seldom that anything House did these days would shock me, but here I was, helplessly intoxicated by the sight before me and more turned on than I'd ever been in my life. This time, when his hand wrapped around his meat, his strokes were fast and feverous, like going from a nice Lionel Richie song to a hard, romping Busta Rymes number. His hips contracted, every once in a while, unable to withstand the bittersweet pleasure at certain points. That's when it happened, a moan, a grunt, a purr that was so undeniably House that I had to breathe, to blink back the tears that stung my eyes. Never in my life had I heard anything so beautiful, so majestic.
It didn't take me long to figure out his pattern, he had a pattern for everything he did, even whacking off. I would have been amused at that thought hadn't I been so hot and faint. Two quick strokes, one slow, and a firm swipe against the oozing head, which seemed to give him the most pleasure. The swiping of the head quickly became my favorite action; it never ceased in stealing a groan from deep within this man. This gorgeous man who I'd never really looked at until now. He seemed to be almost... Torturing himself, teasing and prodding, slowing his climb to ecstasy.
A rather loud noise from the television snatched my attention away from him, after I'd been staring for good only knows how long. It surprised me that he was totally oblivious to me standing there, but nothing shocked me more than what I saw on the television. I don't think anything ever will, from this day forth. I blinked rapidly and reached up to take off the sunglasses that weren't there. I was convinced that something was wrong with my vision as my gaze went from House to the television. I repeated this process many times before touching a hand to my heart. It was the first time since I'd entering his bedroom uninvited that there were small slits in his eyes, big enough to display the reflection that the television had to offer him. There he was, touching himself so feverous, so provocatively as his intense eyes watched the television where my face was gracing the screen. It was me and House a few years ago, talking to the camera, being stupid or something, I wasn't sure. I could barely think past a few short sentences here and there. House. Touching himself. Watching television as he touches himself. Me on television. That was all I could think as I continued to remind myself to breathe.
If I was forced to have a verbal conversation with anyone right at that moment, all I'd manage was a mumble, this I knew for sure. I watched the shaking home video on the television screen, mentally blocking out House's rapidly growing moans of pleasure, and tried to remember where and when-- oh! It was Chase's birthday party, how old he was turning I didn't remember. Didn't care. I did remember House being dragged along by Cuddy, and pouting in the corner. I did remember the little game Chase insisted we play that night. Truth or Dare, as juvenile as it sounded, and after a little coaxing, everyone agreed to play. I think, deep down, we all really wanted to. My eyes swept from House to the screen like I was watching a tennis match and suddenly remembered the things that happened the night we played that game. Everyone but Foreman had been pretty ballsy and chose dare, including me and House. This was before my boss had given up on trying to break my spirit and finally allowed me to become a sort of pseudo-friend. We'd been dared to kiss, both times. Giving a time limit, both times.
"Kiss House for one minute."
"You and Cameron, two minutes, and I want some tongue."
House and I took it in stride. We had chosen dare. It would have been shameful to back down by then. We both saw it coming from a mile away, anyway, since all of my friends and his had a pathetic determination to get the two of us together. Our first kiss lasted one minute, and we did it with ease, it was sweet, innocent. Wilson, being Wilson, made sure that our second kiss wasn't quite as childish. He demanded that House "French" kiss me, and I remember seeing him wink at his best friend. It was good kiss, really nice. So nice that I couldn't believe I'd forgotten it all these years. Obviously, House hadn't forgotten, and neither had his little friend.
My eyes went back to the screen and there we were, House and I, kissing with an appetite that even the densest person couldn't miss. His tongue hesitantly darted out to lick my top lip; I could tell he was nervous, even though he looked so experienced, so willing. What started out as an innocent dare looked to me like two lovers battling each other to be the dominant one. House would touch the back of my neck while claiming my bottom lip, hungry to be the one in control. But I would counter his domineer by licking at him before biting his bottom lip, using it to pull his body in my direction and deepen the kiss. I never remembered the kiss being this way, and believe you me, I WOULD remember a kiss that looked as good as this one looked. The person handling the camera, whom I assumed was Foreman, zoomed into House and I, until only our lips were visible. Oh, there was one serious battle going on. Never had I seen so much biting and licking or heard so much groaning, purring and smacking in my life. I MUST have been drunk that night because lord knows I'd have been falling all over myself to get with House after a kiss like that. Damn.
The savory sound that I wet mouths made together resonated through the room, along with a few hoots and hollers from the background. The sound of Wilson's voice screaming, "Alright, two minutes are up" came from the background. But House didn't stop, even went out of his way to hold the back of my head in place when I went to pull away. It was one last kiss he stole before finally pulling away, a thin slip of saliva following him. He and I stared at one another with shining eyes, as if we were looking at one another for the first time. The tip of his nose nuzzled mine as he closed his eyes and breathed deep, then, like that, the camera zoomed out and we both took our collective places on the floor.
When I looked back at House, whom I'd forgotten about in my little walk down memory lane, his pants were completely off and crumpled on the end of the bed somewhere. His back was arched, while he pumped at himself in an inhumane pace. I was not at all surprised when the product of his release soared a short distance into the air before landing sloppily on his stomach. With the remote I hadn't even realized was in his hand, he pressed rewind, replaying the last tiny kiss that we shared after our two minutes were up. He continued this for a while, breathing deeply, running his forefinger slowly over his rapidly shrinking package. His eyes never left the screen as me massaged himself into a quiet relaxation. Now I understood what Wilson meant in his note on the piano, "I wanted to talk about Cameron". I had a pretty good hunch, now, that House saw me in a very different light than I saw him. Or did I? I'd also thought that after the nth rejection House sent my way, I'd given up. I thought I didn't love him anymore. I thought.
That's when I realized that I shouldn't be there. It was absolutely disrespectful for me to have watched him like this, and I've already explained how House can get when he is disrespected. Of course, I only realize I shouldn't be there after I've gotten an eyeful of a person's most personal act. I wondered how I would react if I knew House had leaned on his cane and watched me while I was in such a position. I imagine that I wouldn't react well; in fact, I'd probably go out of my way to avoid him for the rest of my life. I had to get out of there, and now. House was still on the bed, and didn't seem to be moving. Hopefully he was on the verge of a very deep sleep. I slowly backed into the bathroom, making sure to avoid anything that could make noise. When I had both feet planted firmly on the bathroom floor I took a deep breath and turned on my heels. And, I'll be damned if I don't scream at the top of my lungs when I run smack into Miranda Lopez, the fucking cleaner.
"Hi Allison!" Miranda beamed. A look of worry soon crossed her face when she got a good look at me, "Oh, honey, baby, sweetie pie, you look sick," she mumbled as she felt my forehead.
I was sick, sick at the idea of House knowing that I was in his house, that I'd been standing there, watching him the entire time. Before I could think up a logical plan in my wavy brain, Miranda was dragging me behind her into House's room. It had been all of ten seconds since I'd stepped out of the room and House was barely out of the bed when Miranda and I came charging in. His eyes were like fire in mine and that's when I knew he knew. He knew I'd seen it all. Miranda covered her mouth and giggled softly as House tripped all over himself to step into his sweat pants and hide his naked glory.
"Fuck!" House screamed, turning a burning shade of red. I must have been just as red as him, if not redder. He got one leg into the pants and stepped down to get his bad leg in the other. What I assumed to be one of his prostitute's sharp-heeled stiletto shoes met his foot as he tried to set it on the floor. His face turned crimson and a stumbled back onto the bed in fury. When he fell he took a look at the television and tape that had been running the entire time. A short hesitation followed before he jumped to his feet and, wincing, pushed it roughly against the wall. "God dammit!"
"House..." Miranda begged, coming up speechless. Now that was something I never thought I'd see. She didn't understand, she was worried for her customer, the man she'd known for at least two years now and was confused about why this sudden outburst was happening. Apparently she'd never seen House get angry. But I wasn't confused; I knew exactly why he was in such distress.
House turned to the both of us and his eyes set fire to mine, "How long have you?... When did you?..."
Miranda obviously though the question was geared toward her, and stepped in, only making the situation worse than it already was. "I just came in about a minute ago, and I saw Allison leaving your room and I said hello. That's all."
House had obviously stopped listening to her after her first sentence was now failing to supply his body with it's needed oxygen. He began limping across the floor without the help of his cane, and that's when I knew he was furious.. "You saw... Everything?" he asked, pointing at me, what looked like tears touching his eyes. Oh shit, House does not cry.
I nodded, lowering my head to look at the carpet.
"Fuck." This time the profanity came out as more of a wheeze as he fell back on the bed, again, his bare back facing both Miranda and me.
"What happened?" Miranda asked, confused.
"Well, you know that little thing called privacy that's always been very important to be, but that I never seem to get? It's seems that the last person on earth that I ever thought would invade that privacy invaded it in the worst way."
Miranda looked slowly from me to House before shaking her head, "I'm still confused and I have zero tolerance for vagueness."
"Oh for the love of God. No wonder you're a cleaning lady! I was masturbating, jacking off, beating my stuff and thinking about her. I was getting of on a home video of her face and she just stood there and fucking watched."
I clenched my teeth as silence resonated through the room.
"Oh..." Miranda squeaked. I'm sure she was regretting that she'd even asked. I could tell she wanted to scold House for talking to her the way he did, but decided against it, giving his mood at the moment. He'd just rip her apart. It wasn't like she was his mother, anyway.
"I hope that wasn't too vague for you," he spat, standing and turning to face both of us. He was still entirely naked but didn't seem to care so much, anymore.
I watched as he snatched up his sweats and slipped them on with some difficulty. Miranda crossed her arms over her chest and nodded, "I'm gonna go... To the kitchen... Yah, that's it..." And before either of us could protest she was out of the room with the door closed behind her.
The two of us stood in silence for a while, watching each other closely, but not saying a word. I could tell he was hurt, hurt and confused and uncertain of how to give it to me. I could almost hear the mental battle going on in his head and he debated whether to throw me out or talk it out.
"Let's talk about this," I say before he could open his mouth and tell me to leave.
"Tell me what there is to talk about? You invaded my privacy. You turn me on. I get hot in unhealthy ways just looking at that video and I jack of with my door unlocked, a habit that I will surely change from here on out. I think that pretty much sums it up."
"No, that doesn't sum it up, House. I want to talk about this."
I watched as he held his hand up to silence me while he limped to his closet, he disappeared for a moment and then came out with a bag full of things. My mouth dropped as he explained each item to me before throwing them on the bed. He held up a bottle, "Your favorite wine." He threw it on the bed before digging into the bag, again. This time, a book appeared, "A cookbook Wilson lent me, so I could practice perfecting fettuccini, your favorite food." He threw the book on the bed next to the wine and dug deeper in the bag as tears touched my eyes. He pulled out a blank VHS tape and held it up, "A copy of the tape I'm sure you just saw. It was going to be one of my tactics to convince you just how fucking in love I was. 'Maybe if she sees the kiss, she'll understand how I feel and I wont have make an ass of myself by saying it in words'." He said this with anger, yet they still made my heart flutter and my eyes water.
Next thing out of the bag were two envelopes, one white, and one manila. He held up the white one first, "A little something I wrote for you, just in case I got cold feet." That hit the bed next and he held up the manila envelope, "A receipt from Roses are Red, try not to be surprised if there are rose petals leading to a decorated kitchen table when you get home."
I covered my mouth with my hands and jammed my eyes shut, "Oh no."
"Oh yes," House insisted, a bitter smile crossing his face, "I was planning on telling you, Cameron. Hell, I was looking forward to it. I was so sure that you were it. Fuck, I was damn certain." He reached into the bag, again, and pulled out a purple velvet box, which took the air right from my lungs. "Just a ring, a promise ring, engagement ring, whatever you want to call it. Whatever you would have wanted it to be."
A tear finally touched my cheek and I realized just how big of a mistake I'd made, "Oh, Greg." I never call him Greg.
"Now... I don't know what to think of you. HOW could you stand there and pervade me like that? How could you cease to acknowledge how I would feel had I caught you? Which I did. In fact. How did you get in here in the first place?"
"You were just so beautiful," I whispered, pulling my hand from my mouth and taking a step toward him. My eyes narrowed from him to the bed, "First, I came in just to surprise you and there you were, doing something so incredibly personal. House, I saw you lying there, going through something that I never should have seen, it intrigued me. It was another part of you that I never realized I'd been missing. The passion, the sexuality. God..." I didn't realize how lust filled my voice was as I tried to explain to him just what I was feeling, "God, you were beautiful." I took another step, bringing me closer to his rigid body, and clenched my fists, "And I thought to myself, how have I not seen this? Your power, you manhood. How?..." I was asking myself these questions more than him. My eyes stayed on his and I could see him relaxing. "And I am truly sorry for invading your privacy House, I truly am. I'm not sorry, though, for being curious. I'm not sorry that you pleasure yourself with your bedroom door unlocked. I'm not sorry that I didn't look away, because I couldn't, not even if I wanted to." I reached up to wipe my fallen tears and frowned, "And I sorry that you've felt this strongly toward me... Yet you're so willing to throw it all away."
"I just can't look at you the same."
I wasn't going to walk out of that room with him angry with me. I wasn't going to walk out of there with the idea that he and I might never talk again. It was just a risk that I wasn't willing to take, at all. "What can I do, House? Please."
He said nothing, yet, through this entire conversation he watched me, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't.
My breathing picked up rapidly and I reached out to touch his chest, "I'll apologize until I'm blue in the face. I'll teach you how to cook that fettuccini. I'll go home and pick up every rose petal off of my floor so I can come back here and throw them on you while singing Tom Jones songs." I saw the small hint of a smile on his face, which was enough fuel for my fire. I allowed my fingers to slice through the soft hairs on his chest, taking advantage of the attraction I now knew he had, "I can call every date that I have this week and tell them that I'm taken. That I'm in love with the most incredible being in my life."
The first hint of emotion finally made itself known by the flicker in House's eyes and I felt his hands hesitantly touch and massage my sides. His eyes fluttered shut as I touched his jaw, examining his features.
"I'll go home right now and take that VHS with me. I'll pop it in the VCR." His eyes watched mine with curiosity and I continued, "I'm sure that it'll make me so hot, as hot as it made you... and I'll touch myself." A small gasp left his lips as the words floated to his ears. "And House..." I put my hands on either side of his face, causing him to open his eyes, "I will accidentally forget to lock my bedroom door."
I played the video for what had to be the fifth time that night. It never got old. It was half past eleven and I'd given up on House. All the candles had been blown out. The satin sheet folded back up and put away and the wine back in its holder. If he needed time then time was what I would give him. But I never gave up on a conquest, and no was no exception. Just as I settled into my bed to attempt rest I heard the sound of my front door being picked. We REALLY needed to get some spares keys made for one another, and quick.
I quickly ridded of every item of clothing I had on before fast forwarding to the kiss and began fondling my breasts. I heard his heavy footsteps in my bedroom but pretended not to. I knew he'd like it that way. I also knew he had that ring, and I was ready for it, whenever he was.