Title: T.G.I.F.
Pairing: House/Cameron. Duh.
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Kids'. This takes you up to the last scene and then veers oddly sideways.
XX
They neck. On the couch. Like teenagers. He has no idea for how long.
It's a lot like drowning, or at least like staying afloat. He has to tell himself to keep breathing, to keep his head clear, but the wave keeps reaching in to engulf him; smacking him off his feet into the surf every time he half-opens his eyes and sees her mouth, her eyelashes, the expression on her face. He wants to do more than just touch her now. He wants to do more than just slide his hand above the waistband of her jeans, splay fingers wide over her ribcage. But her tongue is soft and warm in his mouth and he's having trouble shifting the focus.
"We need..." She breathes into his mouth, frowning. "House...we need to..."
"...uh...?"
He's been reduced to monosyllables. Glassy-eyed and ridiculously warm now, his hands are roaming the peach-soft skin of her back, tracing long silver patterns on her spine that are making her shiver. His brain is stuck in a low, humming, oily neutral; idling over, her name repeating endlessly, looping. Cameron. This is Cameron. He's kissing Cameron. He's touching Cameron. And Cameron. Cameron is touching him.
"Oh. God."
Another two syllables. He's making progress.
Her hands, still shaking, are moving on him now. Tiny, urgent tugs on the hem of his shirt and he has to take a second, pull back and help her, just because she isn't moving fast enough, and he needs to feel her hands on him. She's slides forward against him on the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her and he realises, only a second before she does it, exactly where she's going with this. Breaking contact with his mouth, Cameron sits up, breathing hard. She looks down at his leg.
"Are you going to be ok?"
"With...which part...exactly?
She rolls her eyes, a smile tugging her lips.
"I meant your leg."
Her knee slides over his lap and she settles onto him like a snowfall. Her groin pressed in tight against his own is unbelievably hot and, while he's still digesting that little fact, she throws petrol on all his fantasies and grinds slowly and deliberately against him. The groan that escapes his throat surprises even him.
She smiles into his lips, "Comfortable?"
"Uh."
This is getting ridiculous. He swallows, tilts back his head a little so he can look at her. Her face is glowing, glorious taffy-thick hair falling forward into her eyes and, unable to help himself he lifts a hand up and slides his fingers through it. Cups her jaw. A stillness settles over them both and, in the midst of it, he realises there's something he needs to ask her.
"Are you sure...?"
He doesn't get to finish. Sliding backwards off his lap, Cameron stands between his knees for a moment before reaching down and pulling her blouse up over her head. Underneath, the bra she's wearing is sheer and her almost painfully erect nipples are clearly visible through the fabric. House takes a shallow, ragged breath.
"Because if you're not, we could just..."
She reaches behind her back and unhooks. Lets it slide to the ground. Her breasts are cream and rose, perfect, and the soft, rounded curves are pulling at his fingertips, dragging them up from his sides.
"...uh..."
She moves forward again, settles into him. Her skin is buzzing, and he has to take another breath - inhale her - as his hands trail up over her hips. Her ribs. Her upper arms. Her eyes on him are unnaturally dark. Catching his wrists, she slides her fingers up, through his.
"Shut up, House."
She bring his hands to her breasts, covers them, and the oh-so-deliberate simple wantoness of the action, sends a rush of blood to his groin that very nearly kills him. She's too good. She's just too good to be true. And what's more he remembers telling her that in a very very different set of circumstances.
The initial rush over, he's starting to come back together now. Starting to enjoy himself. A beautiful, warm, half-naked girl in his lap and silken bare skin shivering under his hands. If anyone had told him this morning that this would be how his day was going to end, he would have laughed. Bitterly. And hot on the heels of that thought, comes another.
Oh God, Wilson. Wilson is going to be so. damned. jealous.
"Hey."
Sitting back in his lap, Cameron is suddenly eyeing him curiously. When he doesn't answer straight away, she frowns. Leans back further. Brings her arms in slightly, to cover herself. They breathe. They both breathe. Looking at each other.
"What are you thinking?"
It's such a typical Cameron question. The only thing untypical about it is the fact that he can see her nipples. He exhales slowly before answering.
"Mostly? Yay."
Her eyes widen dangerously, "'Yay'?"
Maybe the wrong thing to say. When he reaches for her again, she withdraws from his touch. He sighs.
"You know this may come as something of a shock to you, but I don't actually get naked girls sitting in my lap that often," he smirks, "At least not ones I don't have to tip heavily afterwards."
A ghost of a smile and she uncurls a little, rests her hands on his thighs.
"I have some five dollar bills in my purse. I mean...if it makes you feel more comfortable."
He scoffs, slides a hand up her back, draws her back in. She resists a little, but it's gone a second later when he kisses her. Deeper. Sweeter. Her mouth tastes like strawberries.
"Twenties," he mumbles against her lips. "Oh, you'd get twenties."
They go on like this for another half-hour. At least he thinks it's a half-hour. It's dark outside, but then it was when he arrived. At some point, she unbuttons his shirt and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Her nipples skating over his chest as she leans forward make him bite down hard on his lower lip. When he bends her backwards and grazes his teeth along the aureole as repayment, he thinks she's going scream.
"Shall we..."
She's all breathy, her cheeks pink and he thinks she's maybe the sexiest fucking thing he's ever seen. He bites her throat, soft-toothed.
"Shall we what?"
"Move. This. To the bedroom."
"'Move' meaning walk?"
His unshaven chin rasping against her collarbone elicits a delightful little gasp and he grins secretly. Does it again.
"I could carry you."
He pulls back and stares into her face. Narrows his eyes, "You think I couldn't carry you?"
"I just meant..."
Scowls, "I carried a pig once. Half a mile."
"You what?"
Laughter explodes out of her, turning to yelps of alarm as one of his arms sweeps up and under her knees, pulling her off her feet. Standing upright with all his weight on his left leg, House holds her easily. She can't weigh more than a hundred pounds, but her arms wind tight around his neck like she's afraid he'll drop her. He smirks down into her face.
"Oh please. You weigh a lot less than a pig."
"Thank you!"
He looks into her eyes, "A lot prettier too."
She wrinkles her nose at him, but the joke was over the second he called her pretty. "Thanks," she says softly. "Again."
He carries her to the bedroom. It hurts like hell, but it's worth every gruelling step. When they get there she leans backwards over his shoulder to flip on the light. It's not what he was expecting. Exactly. The decor, like the living room, is almost masculine. Restrained. Tasteful. There are a couple of stuffed animals, but even they look fashionably battered; a Steiff teddy-bear and a handmade rag-doll. Toting her like a roll of carpet, House throws Cameron unceremoniously onto the bed and then drops down to sit beside her. He looks around. Her night-stand has almost nothing on it. Her alarm clock, her watch. Water glass.
"No pictures."
It's not a question. But she knows what he's asking. She nods. Once.
"No."
He shivers, "No heating either."
"No."
Her twists back round to look at her. Hands back behind her head, she looks supremely comfortable, smug even. The bare tits only add to it.
"We could always get under the covers."
She raises an eyebrow suggestively, and he has to swallow the laugh that threatens to burst out of him. Doctor Allison Cameron and lechery are strange bedfellows. As are they.
He slides backwards, feigning nonchalance, and she moves aside a little, making room for him. They lie side by side, elbows propped and look at each other. He can't help touching her breasts though and the casual, almost unconscious way he caresses her, makes her breath catch in her throat.
"So what now?"
"My plan? I'm thinking...fifteen minutes of foreplay. Full penetration and then a nap," he frowns, "Or maybe pizza."
She laughs, soft low sound and he says the words even before he thinks them.
"You are incredibly sexy."
Her face is naked again, nothing but wonder and need, and he feels his stomach drop away. Stupid.
"So are you."
She leans forward, and brushes her lips over his. Beside his mouth. Along his jaw. It feels more like a benediction than a kiss. Their hands move in synchonization now. Hers unbuttoning the fly of his jeans, his unzipping. Her fingers sneak inside, fingernails scratching through hair, against his skin, just as his flattened palm slides under the waistband of her cotton panties. That they both find what they're looking for at the exact same moment, bodes pretty well. She swallows hard, shifts against the heel of his hand. Her palm is wrapped, warm and unbearably soft, around the shaft of his cock. For three long seconds, it's a Mexican stand-off.
And then he moves his hand.
He could watch her like this all day. And all night. Her face coated with bliss, lips trembling. As he watches Allison Cameron slowly lose control, House realises that he will never again be able to look at her the same way. Never again be able to hand her a case file, stare across a room at her, rip into her just because he feels like it, without seeing her this way. The pulse point in her throat is calling him and, watching it with strange fascination, House remembers something Wilson once told him in a moment of amusing candour. That, next to saving human lives, making women come is one of the most satisfying and rewarding things a man can chose to do with his life.
She's distracted, but even so the hand gripping his cock is still having an effect and, grinding against it, he closes his eyes when she dips down to cup his balls. When he opens his eyes again, she's smiling.
"I just realised. You're not my boss any more."
He grunts as she squeezes him, brings her thumb up in a smooth, firm stroke.
"We never did get to that part."
"You mean the part when you ask me what I want?"
She pulls him towards her, shimmying down her jeans. When she's done, she pulls down his as well. Throwing his Nikes at the doorframe. She doesn't look at his leg and neither does him. Slides in against him, hip to hip.
"You mean the part where I offer you your own parking space. More money." His hand slides over her ass, hooks in underneath and pushes her legs apart a little. "Car allowance."
"Fridays."
She has his cock in her hand. Slides it down and between her thighs and grips him. She's so wet it's everything he can do to stay in control.
"...Fridays?"
He pushes inside her and the look on her face almost makes him come right there and then.
"This. Every Friday."
Her eyes are alight. Her bottom lip trembling as she breathes out. In. Out. She lifts her hips and he gasps into her mouth.
"You'll come back to...work...if I..."
"If we..."
"If we fuck..."
"Every Friday. Yes. Those are my terms."
Her leg slides over his, hooking behind his ass, pulling him in deeper and House moans. A low desperate sound like a drowning man. Cameron. Allison Cameron. He's fucking Allison Cameron.
"O...Kay."
He looks down and knows immediately that it was a mistake. Because knowing that he's fucking Allison Cameron and actually seeing it? Are two very different things.
"It's a deal?"
"...deal."
She grins, deep, ragged breaths. "See you tomorrow morning then?"
"Yeah...don't be...late."
And his climax hits with the force of a freight train.