Uhm. This has taken a completely different turn… was not planning it, I SWEAR. Gone the poetic phrases. Will return in chapter to follow! But er, I had loads of fun writing it. And after. LOL! Please review ;)

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Time has stopped, or so it seems to him. Her eyes are bottomless lakes of soothing love, surrender and something he cannot define. Does she see him, he wonders, as he is standing there like that, lost in the wordlessness of his condition. He feels totally small and insignificant, and everything he has ever been certain of, has been washed away by her mere presence. She makes him feel unsure of himself, yet, strangely enough, he enjoys that. He drinks in her unflickering gaze, her expressionless beauty, and then he realizes that she doesn't see him: she's asleep. She softly falls back on to the pillow and closes her eyes. His breathing starts returning again, as he stands there like an idiot and resents her power to make him cling to her like that. He knows he could never do it while she was awake. Never. Sighing, he looks out the window, but the moon is gone. Steps reverberate in the hallway, and his hand freezes on his cane for a moment, but then, again, silence. Around him, inside him. Peace, abandonment, softness. He takes a last look at her resting body and turns to leave the room. His hand on the knob, turning it, his one leg ont he threshold, and then

don't go

He freezes. Did he imagine it? Slowly turning, he notices her half turned body, her closed eyes, her mouth open. The tingling in his leg is slowly becoming something else, and it slowly starts moving into different parts of him. His hand craves after her shape, his moth after her lips, his loins after her warmth. Without knowing what he is doing, he turns the key and locks the door from inside, then slowly limps to the bed. Just what is he doing there is not something he wants to deal with. His desire has taken over his reason, and all fear of being denied is thankfully relinquished when his gaze falls upon her curvy breasts, and the slight deepening slowly forming on her skirt, as she unconsciously opens her legs a little bit. He still cannot think clearly, he should probably ask himself why, and what, and consider the possible consequences, but seeing her in a state of total surrender makes him weak and irresponsible.

Carefully sitting down on the side of the bed, he notices the slight trembling that runs across her body as his weight presses down onto the matrace. His cane long forgotten, he has both hands free, longing to feel her warmth. So he reaches out, tentatively, and brushes some hair out of her beautiful face. Her cheek feels so incredibly soft under his rough skin, he lingers there for a moment, before he slides lower, to her shoulder. He cannot believe she doesn't wake up at his callous touch, but incredible as it may seem, she is lost in sleep. His hand travels lower, reaching her breasts, god they are so perfect, so small, so soft and perfect, he can't stop carressing them, and in the silence of the room, with the only sound being the grazing of his skin against soft clothing, he hears a quiet moan escape her lips, and he freezes. Her nipple is hard, and he knows he will lose control soon. He refuses to think of going, letting her slip through his fingers. He wants to feel her some more, he can't get enough of her flawlessness. His throat is completely dry as he tries to swallow. He slides his hand to her flat belly, gently pushing aside her blouse to reach her amazing skin. Warmth lifts up from her naked abdomen and chest, as he slowly unbuttons her blouse and pushes it to the left and the right, staring at her lace bra. Then, her face. Still asleep. He has to pull himself together not to throw himself at her at full capacity. He doesn't care if she's asleep or awake any more, he just wants her, he's almost ready to face her questioning face if she should wake up. His hand pulls her bra down and he is on the verge of losing it. He edges closer to her and brings his face to her breasts, breathing onto them softly. What the hell, he thinks, and with one sudden movement of his hands, he tears her bra apart. She still doesn't wake up. She is at his mercy, and the sudden sense of power and control makes him shiver with delight. He could technically rape her if he wanted, and she probably wouldn't say a word to anyone.

House

His thoughts trail off as he bends closer to her, feeling for her lips with his own, finding them, kissing them slowly, lustfully. Her mouth is ready for him, and with muffled moans she kisses him back, her tongue hungrily playing with his lips. He has long ago stopped thinking, he is one large pile of flesh and bone, all of it craving to be near her, inside her, on her, loving her and devouring her. He feels his lust wanting to explode, he is beyond caring for her condition, he wants her so bad he can hear a loud moan soar into the silence, his, but he cannot worry about it, not now, not when she is wiggling under his weight, her unconscious arms lifting to embrace his huge body, him pushing her arms down, enjoying the sight of her parted lips, of the closed and fluttering eyelids, of her perfect little breasts, nipples hard at the air temperature, but most probably at her lust awakening in her dream. He feels an irrespressible need to chuckle at the situation. Will she remember this? Or is she conscious, only making fun of him? Or, enjoying it? His fingers find the zipper on her skirt and pull it down. He sees the complications that might arise from trying to get her out of it, so instead, he pushes the skirt up to her abdomen, leaving her underwear visible. The lean thighs, her amazing skin against the perfect white panties make him shiver and move inside his jeans. With an already familiar movement he tears at the lacy clothing, twice, on both sides, and simply removes it. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he wants to laugh at himself, despising his actions, being fully aware that he would not dare touch her like that if she were conscious. All in all, he feels exuberant.

-Cameron, are you awake? –he asks, or rather, whispers into her ear, with his last speck of decency.

She only sighs, and at his utmost surpise starts rubbing herself, slowly, expertly, with tender movements. He watches her in awe; he has never seen a woman do that. It is the most arousing spectacle he has ever laid eyes on, her slender fingers gently pressing and rubbing the already glistening hair between her legs, her hips moving in unison, her face softly contorted. Her moans start to get louder and less controlled, her eyes move wildly behind her closed lids, her hands are frantically trying to do more, but her body arches into the pillow and as one long, low moan fills the room, he stares at her face, wondering why he had been granted that beautiful sight.

-House… -she moans, and again –House…. Don't go yet…

He swallows, hardly sane any more. He touches the inside of her thighs, wet and warm. He uses both of his hands to slowly massage the thighs, up and down, just feeling the warmth of her skin, letting her hands fiddle with his fingers, smelling her scent, that of her fulfilled desire. He feels weak at the thought of her dreaming of him, making love to her, and seeing it all happen in front of his eyes. He desperately wants to be part of her dream, he would give anything to get inside her head and read her repressed desire, because now he can only get hints of what she sees. He wonders if her dream is over yet, as she seems peaceful enough under his strong rubs, quietly sighing now and then, like a freshly fed suckling. He almost hates himself at what he does next, his finger probing gently into her warmth, relishing the open wetness. She hardly moves, and he takes it slowly, gently, knowing that her body needs time to recover. He slides his finger in and out, contempt at his own actions being an insignificant part of what he feels. He feels exhilarated, light-hearted, terribly lustful, needy and grateful. He wants to give her what he can, even if it isn't much, he knows.

-God this feels good… -she whispers raucously and he instantly feels the throbbing blood in his head, his loins, his whole body. For some odd reason, he takes off his shirt first; he needs to feel her with his own skin. He loves her too much to merely take possession of her in a stealthy way. He has no patience to take his pants off completely, so he just slides out of them halfway, and carefully lets his weight press on her fragile frame. Propping himself on his elbows, he searches her face for any sign of consciousness first, then, he just stares at her, revelling her beauty. He doesn't even have to push her legs apart, they do it on their own accord, and he is already inside her, shaking with desire. Trying not to crush her he moves, slowly, hesitantly, feeling his tension rise, smelling her warm breath, hearing her quiet moans of renewed desire. He knows he can't keep it up too much longer, but he would give anything to experience her orgasm at the same time as his own. His mouth finds hers, his tongue slides in and his hands let go of hers, carressing her smooth hair instead. Her moans get louder, and fearing that someone will walk by and hear them, he kisses her more, wanting to swallow her whole, devouring her tiny face, keeping her inside him forever. She tenses up against him, her hips pressing to his with a sudden fierceness that finds him off guard. With his last energy he thrusts himself all the way inside her, and he explodes in her warmth. He falls onto her, breathing heavily, trembling with feelings he cannot express. She gasps under his weight, so he slightly shifts to let her breathe. He is so weak he has no idea how he scrambles to his feet and pulls his pants back on. Shaking fingers buttonning up his shirt, he looks at her, spent, exhausted in her sleep, and wonders how it is possible that she did not wake up. He has no idea of the pills she had taken, and suspects her of pretending.

-Cameron.

She doesn't even flinch. He leans closer and pinches her arm. Sighing, he almost wishes she had been awake, to experience the wonderful abandonment of body and spirit that he went through, and to really show him what she felt, to see her pupils dilate, feel her muscles tense and loosen up after her delight was consummated. He feels completely exhausted, and suddenly lonely. He can't reach out to her; she is lost in deep sleep, and he is heartless, but not as heartless as to brutally snatch her back to reality. She would be ashamed and furious, rightfully so. He eyes her turning to her side, facing him, totally unconscious, now in dreamless sleep. He carresses her shoulder, and covers her with the thin blanket that he takes out from under her feet. He feels guilt rising in his throat at leaving her like that, and fleeing, keeping it all a secret, making her wonder how she got into that state, giving her unnecessary alarm. When the only thing he would have needed to do was gently wake her up and ask. He knows she loves him, still, strangely, but undoubtedly loves him. She would not have said no. He knows all this with a certainty that almost gives him a headache. Taking one last look at her, he unlocks the door and goes out.