Disclaimer: Still don't own House. If I did, I'd be doing this instead of typing it. Also, I have $300 in my bank account right now. Hence, no profits.

A/N: No clue where this one came from. Blame Freud.

f5

Gregory House's problem had always been that he thought too much. In his line of work, of course, this particular flaw had made him brilliant and revered, had made him one of the best, if not the best, diagnosticians in the world. He'd sit for hours, sometimes lying on the floor of his office staring at nothing, sometimes spinning his cane, sometimes tossing his ball. His mind was never, ever quiet, and even when he wasn't consciously aware of his thought processes, they were still going on. Wilson would always rib him about his "eureka" moments, where he'd get that familiar look in his eyes and run from Wilson's office, off to save the day for some patient who'd have died without him. House's mind obviously didn't work right, but it was miswired in such a way that made it the envy of boring, average, normal people.

House had never really believed much in Karma, Fate, or any other type of supernatural force that kept the universe in balance because to him, the universe was very much out of balance most of the time. Outside observers, however, saw the trade-off that was House quiet clearly. He was both blessed and cursed at the same time. His intellect was unfathomable. His emotional intelligence was nearly non-existent. He'd relied so heavily for so long on the cerebral that all other processes of his mind, including appropriate emotional responses, had all but atrophied like what muscle remained in his damaged leg. It was like he wore on the outside of his body the loss that had occurred on the inside.

Allison Cameron's problem had always been that she felt too much. She'd run out of fingers and toes before she could count all the times she'd made the "right" decision on a flood of emotion rather than rationality or evidence, and would also run out of fingers and toes if she tried to count all the times that decision had not actually been right. While others were frustrated, mystified, angered, or even horrified when they stared into House's eyes and saw analytical nothingness as others cried, screamed, ranted and raved, Cameron was only jealous. Her emotions never shut off just as House's mind never did. If she ever had stopped to think about it, which of course she didn't, that was the main reason she was involved with House in the first place. Even from the first time they were together, if you can count a zipless fuck in a parking garage as "being together", he'd forced her out of her heart and into her body.

From that point on, they'd assumed their usual roles. Even when he was fucking her – and as much as Cameron hated that word she couldn't describe what they did as anything else – House was thinking. He was thinking about what she needed and how to give it to her, how to push just far enough and then a little further, how to convey respect and appreciation without giving up the dominant position that was such an integral part of his personality and their dynamic, he thought about how and where to touch her and what to say to garner the desired reaction. He couldn't even fuck without thinking about it.

Two weeks after Kutner's death she stumbled upon House as close to expressing any kind of emotion as she'd ever seen him. He'd started wearing the watch Kutner had given him, which he passed off as a thought experiment to see how long it would take before someone noticed and asked if he was okay, but more than that, he wanted to know why and it was more than a puzzle, more than him thinking he'd lost his mojo, more than needing an answer. He'd blamed Kutner's parents, Cuddy and Foreman and Thirteen and anyone else within earshot, hypothesized that it had been a murder, questioned until there were none left to be asked, when the answer was simply that Kutner didn't want to live anymore. Nothing more, nothing less. Although House didn't recognize it in himself, Cameron could see quite obviously at least two stages of grief and no matter what House would have to say about it, grief was an emotion.

And so she waited for the right moment, for a night when it was too late for even House to be at the hospital and, if he had still been there, he'd have long been asleep on his couch, drunk, rather than how she found him, sitting in his chair, staring at absolutely nothing.

Cameron pushed the door open and considered a million different actions. Her heart told her to hold him, no matter how much he struggled and insulted, until she saw just one tear roll down his cheek, but that approach had never gotten her anywhere, at least where House was concerned. He felt things, on some level he felt even more than "normal" people, he just didn't feel them in the same ways. The only thing House could do in the face of emotion was retreat into the deepest reaches of his own brain.

She walked up to him, nudged his legs off the ottoman they were propped up on and sat on it, taking his wrists in her hands. "It's easy, Greg. He was lonely and sad. He didn't want to live anymore. So he isn't."

"It's not that simple. He wouldn't kill himself. I was there. I saw…"

"You saw where he killed himself."

"He didn't. He saved for months for that gun and…people that have guns in their homes…more often than not they get murdered with them."

She tightened her grip on his wrists. "Murdered for what, Greg? For Star Wars figurines?" Cameron stood and leaned forward, never releasing her grip on House, pressing his wrists instead against the arms of the chair. Her lips were a whisper away from his. "Stop thinking." She could sense he was still fighting this, fighting the need to rationalize, fighting her. She bent her knees slightly to look in his eyes, since he was purposely avoiding hers. "Greg. Stop thinking. Feel. I'll think for both of us tonight."

Through her fingers, Cameron could feel every muscle in House's body tense and primed. She knew she was on dangerous ground; this was the same man who'd punched Chase when he'd been emotional and in pain and Chase had tried to touch him, the same man who had no idea how to act when someone hugged him. Cameron trusted him explicitly and knew he'd never raise a hand to her in anger, but that didn't mean his reaction would be predicable if she pushed his limits too far. If he pushed her too far, she'd tell him to stop. That was what normal people did, but this was House. And she knew she was dancing on the very edge of his tolerance for being forced to let any kind of emotion past his reason.

"Just for tonight", she assured him. If House was willing to break for just one night, or if she could make him willing, he'd want the reassurance that he could deny it and bury it once the catharsis was over and go back to being alpha, dominant male. So she gave it to him. And meant it. After all, she'd never want him any other way.

Wrapping her fingers around the arms of the chair, imprisoning his wrists in the process, Cameron leaned forward just enough so her lips brushed House's. She wanted this to be his idea, to make the choice himself as to which way to go. Time held fast where it was for an agonizing moment, and then she smiled in self satisfaction and anticipation as she felt him lean toward her.

Of all the times she'd kissed him, she'd never felt him, tasted him, experienced him so acutely before. Her fingers in his hair sensed its thick, slightly course texture as she pulled him closer to her, and she tasted his breath on the moan he tried to conceal when she stroked and scratched the back of his neck with her nails. His lips were rough and soft at the same time, and then it was her turn to moan at the sensuous, slippery feel of his tongue against hers. She kissed him with purpose, trying to tell him with her passion and her desire for him everything he wouldn't suffer to hear and in return, allowing him to release his pain, confusion and guilt into her in a way that wouldn't require him to be open and vulnerable in a way he wasn't capable of being. She relished the scratch of his beard against her cheek and chin, the heat of their bodies at every tiny point of contact, every nuance and component that made his scent and his feel uniquely his. She kissed him until it wasn't enough anymore, until she could pull him no closer and take him no deeper into her as they presently were, and as though he'd read her mind, he started to twist his wrists under hands. He was stronger than her by orders of magnitude, but all her weight was against him and all the leverage belonged to her.

Cameron was starting to see what it was about this kind of control that got him off so much and she was relishing the slow, hot, demanding way he was kissing her too much to make a move simply because he wanted her to. Her body seemed to want to absorb him. She shifted her weight and knelt down on the chair, both his legs between hers, and felt him try to pull his hands back and struggle for enough air to speak.

"Cam…please. Lemme touch you. I need to feel you." His voice was already breathy and sultry and betrayed his need to feel and get out of his brain if even just for just a few minutes, to be distracted. As Cameron was thinking about how letting go of his hands would free hers for more constructive pursuits his lips found that soft, vulnerable spot below her ear that he knew damn well made her weak and decided if she wasn't going to give him what he wanted, maybe he could get it through the indirect route: offering her what she wanted instead. "You crave my hands on you…I know you do. This must be torture…please? Pretty please? I wanna put my hands all over you…everywhere" He punctuated his offer with a gentle and mischievous nip at her earlobe and was smirking as he said it, she could feel it, but she could also feel that he was trying to cover up the fact that he was this close to giving over and letting himself be pleasured and taken, if just once.

Convinced and too excited to refuse, Cameron accepted House's offer and shifted her weight to her knees, steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders and let go of his wrists. His hands went to her hips immediately, guiding her down against his in such a way so as to let her tease and pleasure them both, while sparing his leg at the same time. Once he had her where they both wanted her to be, he kept his word, slipping his hands under her shirt and touching her anywhere her fully-dressed condition would allow his hands to reach, not intending either to hurt or pleasure, just wanting her silky skin under his hands, to feel her warm and vital and here, now, with him, and for her to feel the contact of him somewhere on her body. She rubbed against him and squirmed in his lap, making both of their pulses and temperatures simultaneously spike, until she realized this was all going much too fast. She'd set out to make him feel, force everything else out of his mind, tease him desperate and delirious, and as good as this felt, there wasn't going to be any desperation at this rate. Not to mention, she felt like she was in the wrong skin, having become so accustomed to House being in control, being both reckless and completely conscious of each and every second and motion that passed between them, that she had no real idea what to do or how to do it, but she knew at the same time that when or if she got it right, she'd know it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

As difficult as it was to take a deep breath and think about what she was doing, she forced herself to do it, knowing the payoff would be worth it. Quickly but methodically unbuttoning House's shirt, she let her nails graze his skin as her hands crept down his chest, flattening her hands and stroking, rubbing, determined to touch just about every inch of his body before the night was over. His chest felt fantastic under her hands. Aside from the obvious, his chest and arms were her favorite parts of his body. He was built just the way she liked, not too hairy, too thin or too muscular, both firm and soft in all the right places. She took her time exploring those curves she loved so much, running her hands over his solid pecs and skating her nails down his sternum and then up and back out over his upper arms, pressing her fingers into to well-defined divet between his biceps and triceps, leaning forward to kiss and nibble on his neck in the meantime.

House, for his part, was both savoring this gentle and thorough treatment and more than a little put off himself. He'd always considered himself a top and always been the dominant partner when he had a woman into that sort of thing (and Cameron was by far the absolute best bottom he'd had yet, one who not only wanted to please him but genuinely wanted to submit), and he didn't feel like he was in the right skin either, doing nothing but sitting there while Cameron did as she pleased with him. Which, of course, wasn't to say that he didn't like it. He did. Oh yes, dear lord yes, he did. He wasn't at all used to being touched like this, and his body processed every sensation as novel and ramped it up about twofold as a result. Cameron had barely even touched him and he was already so hard it hurt, had been hurting ever since she'd started writhing in his lap like a school girl in the back seat of the car on prom night. And she was going much too slowly.

What he really wanted to do was throw her onto the floor and fuck her insensible, but men with only one functional leg can't really go throwing people on the floor too easily, so he was stuck. He tried at least to get a little more contact between them and a little less friction, more than a little afraid he was going to shoot off in his pants as though he were in high school too if she kept up moving against him like this, so he shoved her jacket off her shoulders, throwing it to the side of the chair and then went for the buttons of her blouse, which joined her jacket, and then her bra wasn't far behind. He'd always been a chest man himself, and her breasts were, in his book, absolutely perfect. He tilted his head to suck on one her beautiful, sensitive nipples, already almost able to hear her moan and cradle his head in her hand – she loved to have her nipples sucked and through repetition and familiarity he'd figured out just how she liked him to do it – and just before his tongue would have turned her into a quivering mess in his lap she put all her weight on his shoulders and shoved him back against the chair.

He growled in frustration and tried to push against her but she wasn't having it and for whatever reason, he had no idea. She cleared things up by working his dress shirt down his arms, giving him the hint that she wanted to be on a level playing field of undress, so he leaned forward and helped her slip his shirt off. Pulling her close again he picked up where he'd left off, dying to tongue and nibble on her sensitive tits until she'd be practically tearing his pants off and riding him like hobby horse, or lying down on the floor and begging him to fuck her raw – god, he could almost feel it already - but instead of getting a mouthful of sweet scented and soft-as-silk flesh he got another shove back, this one more forceful and with more conviction.

Before he could question or protest or even think, his vision whited out, then greyed out, then turned black as his eyes fluttered closed as she gave him a first hand demonstration of what she liked so much, first running her nails over his flatter, smaller nipples and then taking first one, and then the other into her mouth, circling her tongue around and over it until he heard someone moan, and it must have been him because he knew it wasn't her (was it?) and his already aching cock throbbed in his pants. If House would have been able to think, he would have wondered if men were supposed to like this and why no woman had ever thought to try it before, but he couldn't, and so he just let his head fall back against the chair, mainly because he couldn't hold it up himself, and let Cameron pleasure him until his breathing became only deep, random gasps as Cameron's tongue covered every inch of his neck and chest, first biting along the tops of his shoulders, sending chills down his spine, then gently kissing and stroking his chest, every so often delivering a bite or a scratch or a soft, wet tongue to his nipples, now that she'd figured out at least one way to drive him out of his mind.

He hadn't even realized how far gone in sensation he'd been until he felt the contact between them broken as Cameron stood up and removed the rest of her clothes and then started on his. His brain registered no coherent though, he wanted only tight and hot and wet and release, and he eagerly lifted his hips to help her out to that end. And then her hand was wrapped around him, thankfully wrapped around him tight and by some miracle of woman's intuition or medical school or but she knew just how to stroke him, just the way he liked it, the way he did it himself only better because it wasn't his hand but hers.

"Ah", he breathed as she found the right rhythm. "Ah god that's good." House didn't know if he was just that worked up or if she was that good at jerking him off or both but it felt too good to think about for too long.

She kept stroking him and even got that delicious little twist at the top of every stroke exactly right, she knew his body so well, he couldn't believe how fucking good her hand felt and pride be damned, he started to thrust his hips up into the moist friction of her fist, groaning every time her hand slid around the sensitive head of his cock and her thumb pressed on the exact right spot below it on the way back down. She was way too good at this for him to take much more and for as badly as he wanted to come, he most certainly did not want to do it in her hand if he could help it.

He tugged on her free arm, and when that didn't work he linked his fingers with hers and tried to pull her towards him. "Come on up here and ride me." Cameron loved the sound of deep, sexy growl of his voice when he was this turned on, and it took every shred of will she had not to oblige, but she was far from done with him. She slowed down her rhythm a little bit but kept up the pressure and every other delicious, torturous thing her hand was doing to him because she wanted to hear him beg some more, she wanted to hear him feel something. She twisted her hand around him again and then he begged in earnest, no smirk and no pride.

"Come on…please. Don't you want me inside you? You can have it just the way you like, nice and slow and deep, all the way in and then some, just how you want it, please baby, just fuck me, please."

She was dying to have him inside her, aching for it, but she reminded herself she would soon, they'd both get what they wanted, but after she'd forced all rational thought out of his mind, all thought at all, but for now, right now, she was going to have to push him past what he thought his limit was to get him there. That was the only way to deal with House, whether one had their hand wrapped around 9 hard inches of him or not.

Without missing a stroke she raised herself up on her knees and brushed her lips against his. He strained forward to kiss her but she pulled back and looked him dead in the eyes. "You are So. Fucking. Sexy when you beg." She punctuated each pause with a nice, tight squeeze that made him thrust harder into her hand. She settled herself back as she had been on the floor in front of him and picked up where she'd left off, stroking his thigh with her left hand, feeling how hot and sticky his skin had become and knowing it was taking all the control in his body not to go over the edge; control he felt himself rapidly losing.

"Stop" House gasped out. "Stop or I'll come."

Cameron ghosted her nails over his thigh and squeezed him tighter. "I'm not gonna stop." She heard him groan, knowing he wasn't going to last two more strokes. She felt him tense, felt his breathing stop, and then she wrapped her hand around him and squeezed the one spot that would stop the inevitable. "And you're not gonna come."

She waited until House started breathing again, wishing she'd have had something handy to record the strangled sound of pleasure and need he made because it was the hottest thing she'd ever heard, before she climbed back into the chair, straddling his lap. She kissed him lightly and whispered against his lips "Is this what you want?" His hands circled her hips, pulling her towards him, but she stopped just short of what she wanted and he needed so much. It was her turn to make him talk. "Say it, Greg." She traced the shell of his ear with her tongue as he turned his head and answered her, hoping that maybe if he whispered it in her ear in a breath of passion, he could convince himself she didn't really make him say it.

"Yeah, it's what I want." He thrust his hips instinctively up toward her, close enough to feel her heat and wetness against him. She pushed back, taking him inside her just enough to make them both need more. He groaned and closed his eyes, his hands insistent on her hips as he encouraged her. "That's it…sit on me. Take me deep." He thrust up again and then he was all the way inside her, consumed.

She rode him slowly but steadily, keeping him right on the edge as she got herself there as well, which didn't take much after he leaned back so that every stroke rubbed her right where she needed it. She watched him intently, trying to memorize what he looked like when he wasn't thinking, knowing she'd never see it again, trying to burn the way his lips parted and his body moved as he let himself be pleasured. She could have stared for hours, burning every moment into her mind's eye, but she knew she was close to torturing him, and herself in the process, so she sped up her hips a little and then a little more until with a soundless scream he emptied himself inside of her and with a quick rock of her hips to just the right spot she brought herself to a small but satisfying climax right on the heels of his.

He could explain the way he'd let her hold him afterward rationally, of course. It was all oxytocin and neurotransmitters and hormones. Obviously. It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted any sort of human connection or affection or comfort in the face of all that had happened. He was simply post-coital. Gregory House, after all, was above the need to reaffirm his own life or seek any sort of escape at all. That just wouldn't be rational. Nope. It was all just biochemicals. He fell asleep on Cameron's shoulder with her arm around him, gently stroking his hair, out of nothing but textbook physiology.