Pairing: ChasexCameron
Series: Early Morning at Home
Warnings for: Adult themes and a naughy word.
Disclaimer... which I did not forget to put on the first chapter in any way: I don't own House MD, or Chase, or Cameron. I do, however, own this story and also the poetry featured in it.
A/N: Thank you for your lovely, lovely reviews. You really made my day. Leave some more? Oh, and this seems to be a lot of short paragraphs :S Mostly because there's a lot of speech. Well, it didn't look like that in my notebook. -le shrug-
If any of you guys have a Livejournal (which you should) please add me. I'm the xarlster, with an underscore between the and xarlster which my computer won't let me do cos it's stoopid.
"I thought you were asleep," she says, guiltily.
"You're in your nightie, eating dark chocolate and drinking wine, sprawled across my sofa like some kind of fucking Greek goddess," you reason, fairly. "How could I possibly be asleep?"
"I'm sorry," she says, closing the small leather-bound book. It looks like a bible in her fair hands. She leans over to return it to its hiding place, and you daringly let yourself enjoy the view, half wondering, no, half hoping if she is doing that on purpose. Keeping it in her hand, she says softly, "I didn't realise it was private."
"It was inside a pillowcase which was stuffed into a box and tucked under my sofa, behind the drapes," you snap. "Hardly a bloody advertisement."
Is it the soft light or is that hurt in her eyes? You immediately feel guilty, because nobody could stay angry with her for more than forty-five seconds. You know three sides of her, so far- the kind doctor side, the one she displays to the world, the wild angry side that emerges now and again, and this side you've discovered in the half-light- this quiet sensual side, lust veiled thinly with silent beauty. And all of them are as goddamn sexy as each other
"I'm sorry," she offers again, sitting up.
"Don't be," you say, and you mean it. You slide out of bed, pulling on a thin dressing gown and tying it loosely. You walk over to behind the sofa, and she leans her head back to greet you. You place a hand on each side of her face and gently draw your lips to her forehead. Her skin tone almost makes yours look dark, you think, letting a hand slide to her neck and nipping her earlobe gently with your lips, making her issue - perhaps involuntarily - some kind of ragged moan.
Straightening up, letting your hand slide through her hair, you wonder if there's any part of her you don't want to kiss.
"While you're in the kitchen," she says sweetly, holding your gaze, "could you get me a glass of water?"
"I'm not at the kitchen," you laugh.
"No," she says, wickedly, "but you will be once you offer to put back the chocolate."
You pout slightly (because you know she thinks it'd cute) and grab the chocolate, throwing an easy "Read it. Any page," over your shoulder, impulsively. She flips open the book to the centre, and you have time to think. You studied iambic form and sonnets and limericks at school, but they meant nothing to you. But her- she fills you with something else. You lean on the counter, and watch her, the water forgotten.
Loosely, you believe that God created everything. Well, He fucking outdid himself here.
After sleeping on her hair, it goes wild and curly, and cascades over her pearly shoulders. Her slim figure continues through her creamy breasts- you swallow hard, oh god - and her smooth stomach, dipping into her navel and out towards her hips and the curve of her legs. her figure is soft, molten, even, and seems to dance even when she is still.
You guess she has read the small For C printed across the top of the page. "Out loud," you demand. You love her voice, the sweet mixture of honey and gold and dark chocolate. "Go on," you say, smiling encouragingly.
"There's something about falling,
and the moment you let go,
and you're tipping in the balance,
in your ethereal show... Something clicks and then you're flying,
and it's neither false nor true and I revel in the dreaming,
now that I'm..." she pauses, "...falling for you..."
You hold your breath. The only thing you can think, stupidly, is that she pronounced ethereal the way you wrote it- slightly warped, to fit the syllable pattern. You wait for her to say something.
"Chase, thats... I can't..."
"Then don't," you say simply, wedging yourself into the gap between her and the sofa, and taking her in your arms. She relaxes after a moment, taking in your warmth. "Come back to bed," you smile, extracting yourself from the tangle of limbs.
"I should go," she says automatically, but you catch her gently.
"I'm sure a bit of rest won't make you fall in love with me" you laugh, with a forced lightness. In your head, the comment was bitter. Or ran more along the lines of hoping that a bit of rest would make her fall in love with you. "'Course, we don't have to rest," you add, and she sighs, shaking her head in a mock-exasperated way.
Five minutes later, you are wonderfully comfortable, with her head in the crook of your neck and one of your arms draped lazily around her. Neither of you move to kiss each other. She doesn't want to, and there's no way you'll spoil it.
"Write me something," she pleads, turning her head up towards you.
"Okay," you say easily. "Well, just off the top of my head... Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art---"
She hits you on the arm and you pause for thought.
"This is for Cameron," you say softly.
"Good start."
"I... I never knew you were so broken,
missed the sad look in your eyes,
because for every peal of laughter,
there's another of the cries.
I didn't pay enough attention,
never looked behind the mask,
Never wondered what had happened,
or just too afraid to ask."
You play with her hair idly. If you asked, she'd probably say something about Joe. You wonder if that's the truth, though. It's not like you haven't snatched a look at her when she's brooding over a cup of coffee. You wonder who she wants to be lying next to right now, deep down. Joe's or your's? Or House's? She shifts slightly and you turn your thoughts back to poetry.
"But there's moonlight in the darkness,
yes there's white in the black.
And you've got to keep on going,
'cos there's no turning back.
It's too much for you, you're drowning,
but the water holds the air,
and when you think no-one's beside you..."
She's asleep. You let an arm slip down to her waist and push slightly. She rolls over towards, and half on top of you. It's an old trick, but you love it, you think, pulling her close. She hates to snuggle, usually, like you were a few minutes ago. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe she's mellowed. Maybe she cares. You drop a kiss onto her unresisting lips. After all, she'll never know.
".. I'll always be there."
A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Made you ecstatic? Made you suicidal? Tell me!