Author's Note: More smut? Oh my word.
His bed always felt like home. A true home. Somewhere where she was safe, wanted and loved, even if his love did frequently leave her crying. But even when left curled in a nest of duvets, tears liberally soaking her pillow, it was a safe place. Eventually he'd come back and stroke a calloused but unbearably tender hand down her spine and she'd roll against him, shuddering in his arms for a few moments at the remembrance of what she had lost. The feeling would burn away into little more than an ashen memory and then she was kissing him and then, oh god, fingers!
His fingers expressed everything about him worth knowing. Hard when they should be, forcefully and cruel, or kind, graceful and whimsical. Passing him coffee in the morning, that brief contact of skin on skin, was more intimate a sensation than she'd shared with most of her past boyfriends. The best part was that he understood, he understood! Whenever she felt drained, emotionally barren and unable to care about anyone or anything for fear of spiralling into depression, he'd pass her a file, a syringe, he even dropped half a chocolate bar on the floor once. His eyes were all over her as she stooped and it felt good, good in the way that left her desperate to touch herself, but even his eyes weren't as electrifying as fingers retrieving the candy bar, sliding across her palm and smearing the oily chocolate residue into her skin.
Of course, he promptly ate the remnants of the candy bar that had been sitting forlorn on the office-clean carpet and laughed at her show of disgust. Asshole.
The world dawned a dark black velvet, smudges of light at the periphery of her vision giving no clues as to time, date, even place. Touch alone was good enough. She was home. But something was different. His tongue slides across her and she arches, unable to see but more than capable of hearing, of feeling. Tense muscles coil in her thighs and between them as the tongue swipes across her hot skin. Stubble kisses her thighs, teasing every nerve, easing her libido into motion. With infinite control and careful touches he pushes, feeling her body purr and buck as he exerts his will. She reaches up, fingers rubbing across the eye-mask that had been left forgotten in her underwear draw for years, before his hands wrestle her wrists to the mattress, scolding and nipping his disapproval on pale skin. There is no response when she moves to rest her thighs, draping them over his shoulders, feet flat on his back as she hugs him the only way he'll let her.
"Oh House." I love you.
He doesn't need to use his fingers this time, blonde locks cascading about in a tumbling charybdian maelstrom of silk as she gasps and whines, desperate to lose control, to be taken, to give more of herself and receive more in return.
Silence accents her climax with desperation, twitching like an addict under his tongue as nails feebly try to dig into him. Eventually it's too much, her body over-sensitized, her pleas falling on deaf ears until she comes on his face once more, panting and wracked with tremors. Cuddling against him, though the oxytocin flooding her mind insists it would feel perfect, is simply not an option. But when his arms encircle her, slipping the eye mask off, the biological imperative is too great not to bond herself to him.
She can feel the hardness pressing in against her thigh, teasing him for a moment before welcoming him into her wetness. He doesn't last long, and that's just fine, his sweaty masculine form shooting hard and fast into her makes her feel like a teenager again. Purring, arms wrapped around him, her legs pulled up against his side the way she knows he likes, a picture perfect scene of a dysfunctional drug addict fucking an adulterer with a submissive streak a mile wide.
"You're heavy." His grunt is non-committal, but he rolls aside.
Letting her eyes roam, it's a nice view. Muscles and hair and sweat in just the right amounts to embed her teeth in her bottom lip, until she unfurls from his side, dismantling doting, adorable Cameron and reassembling atop him as hell-cat Cameron, draining handsome doctors of their sexual energy one cum-shot at a time.
He groans up at her, "What do you want now?" A shit-eating, Cheshire smile is his only response, seating her light body down into his lap and grinding.
"Guess." He hardens noticeably, and her eyes flare, running nails down his chest and schlepping along his length until a tilt of her hips pulls him in again, her eyes extinguished behind trembling lids, nails arching into his flesh ever-so-slightly as she settles. Each tweak, grind and bounce feels better than the last, and she enjoys her illusion of control, flexing forwards athletically, pushing her breasts out for him to inspect, before sitting back down, shaking a happy groan free from him.
Fingers walk up and down her sides, encouraging movement, pushing and pulling until she is rolling him within her. Then they ascend to pay tribute to her compact breasts. Holding them feels good, right, perfectly fitting his palms with weight enough to enforce her slim femininity. As if he could forget, a carefully timed pinch eliciting a squeak and shudder.
"Again." Only too happy to comply, his fingers and thumbs conspire, her head tossing as he crushes the sensitive dots.
She bounces hungrily now, needy. Only too happy to comply, he fucks right back up her sex, pinching occasionally to drive her further endanger her mind and body in his corrupting embrace. He watches their joining, marvelling at this woman letting him do these things to her, such pleasurable things that really have no business being nearly as fun as they are. Such thoughts wash away in a fresh release, pinching hard and dropping his hands to pin her hips down, fountaining into her depths. It feels almost painfully good, too good to last, and she's not going to join him without encouragement.
"Cameron!" I love you.
It works, she arches lithe as a cat, mewling and clawing his chest as control slips from her fingers. His hips ram up at her, smacking obscenely against her, until she collapses atop him, gasping for a respite from pleasure and exertion.
Hazy eyes gaze adoringly at him once more, sliding sideways to grasp his vicodin and placing the little pill bottle on his chest. She makes a little show of extracting two, feeding them to him before putting them aside before he can get one into her. Sometimes being high on life really is enough.
They fall asleep, his legs wrapped around hers, her head pillowed on his warm arm.