Disclaimer: Not mine.

Beta: Katej

This chapter is for: Heather Coffey and Christina, who both deserve to have a chapter dedicated to them.


Part I - Him

Was it just last night that House sat hunched in his office, his leg in agony, his only companion a stabbing pain and the Led Zeppelin from his iPod?

Squeeze my lemon baby until the juice runs down my leg.

Something like that.

House had wanted rock that was hard enough to pummel his brain into mush, and since he was nothing if not contrary, music that made him feel alive. It hadn't worked on either count, and he might have taken an axe to his own leg if she hadn't shown up.

He wants her.

And now that he's had her. He wants her again. And again.

In and out. In and out.

House breathes. Prone on the bed, he just breathes; his head numb, his heart rate like Steve McQueen's, his eyes squeezed shut from – oh, fuck, what an eruption – her name on his lips like a bit of bread from a priest at communion.

This is my body which is given for you …

Her body.

Freely given.

Ask and you shall receive. Seek and you shall find.

She is great, and oh, is she good.

Under her small palms his chest rises and falls. Rises and falls.

It's as if he got drunk, blacked out, and upon regaining cognition, found himself in this preposterous position, a place he never really believed he could be: pinned beneath the sinuous body of Allison Cameron.

She straddles him, his cock still inside her. Even after a monstrous orgasm, his erection seems reluctant to soften.

It is Cameron, isn't it? Because even when he's had hookers, it's Cameron he fucks.

In his dreams he fucks her, too.

Sometimes it's hot summer afternoon love, languorous love, Louisiana love, blackstrap molasses love, plantation love and, afterwards, Mint Juleps on the big old porch, side by side, swaying on the swing in the shade of a Catalpa tree, she in a white sundress, he in a …

The scenarios he has conjured up are endless and they range from pornographic to tender …

She sucks his hard, big prick into her mouth, flicking her tongue underneath his head, twirling around it, sucking up and down faster and faster, deeper and tighter and – oh yeah, he's tied to a tree, and she's bound his mouth with a cloth.

In his sleep, he's pretty sure he groans a lot.

Everybody had a wet dream.

And then there were poppies. Soft-focus lens fields of them. A blue blanket anchored by a picnic basket against the sea of red flowers. Cameron pulls him down and he lays his head on her midriff. Okay, so she's wearing a corset and bustier beneath a Portrait of A Lady dress that trails the ground. But the only skin he's allowed to see is her naked wrist once he has unfastened the single mother of pearl button.

Fuck me, House thinks. Wilson can never know his fantasy life.

Opening his eyes, House appraised the reality of the situation.

How the hell did I end up with her on top of me? House squinted at Cameron's face above him skeptically, surveying the open page of her lovely features. Another hallucination? Could be. What was the shelf life on Ketamine? House wouldn't mind extending a few of the hallucinations he'd experienced after he'd been shot. Cameron at his bedside, the soft glow of caring on her face – or maybe it was love. She'd looked like the Holy Virgin, and there was nothing like that look to make him want to slam into her. To sully her sweetly.

Or maybe it was love.

Wasn't anything possible to a man like him, a man who took acid to kill the pain of a self-inflicted migraine, a man who had faked cancer, a man who saw dead people?

Or did he?

House wasn't clear on that part.

He had said it before and he'd say it again: He was complicated.

Then again, this sylph hovering above him like an apparition was Cameron without a doubt.

She's the real thing.

"Cameron?"

There was no harm in making sure that she was flesh and blood. House wrapped his arms around her back, felt vertebrae, slid hands up and down her naked, silky skin, and gripped her closer.

"A minute ago you were shouting my name," she reminded him, smiling down into his face.

Part II - Her

Dark, damp tendrils clung to her flushed face and her hands rested on House's naked chest as she gazed down at him. Gray-flecked brown hair stuck up in places against the backdrop of the pillow and those eyes (of the bluest eye variety) stared back into hers. House wore a rare vulnerable look, post-sex, Cameron mused.

Like, how could anything this good be meant for me?

For so long, she had imagined him inside her, had visualized what would lead up to the moment:

Clothes rustling, the heat of their bodies, eyes intent, hands determined, mouths greedy, buttons undone, his shirt pushed off of his shoulders and slipping down his bare torso, his chest and belly exposed, the visible bulge in the front of his pants, the snap of his jeans open, her fingers poised at the zipper.

Now, after the love they had made, she hesitated to climb off him, reluctant to separate their bodies.

But physically detaching from House was the only way to be with him all over again.

Already, she imagines a next time, and it seems so real in her overactive mind, that Cameron feels his hands on her shoulders, pushing her up against a tree, her head falling back as he looms over her, his erect cock jutting against her abdomen. House pins her hands behind her back, parts her legs with his knee, and yanks her yoga pants down around her ankles. The rough bark of the tree bites into her buttocks as House slides off her purple thong, his knuckles grazing her naked hip. Under her t-shirt, she feels the warmth of his hands brush her stomach as he pulls the material over her head. And then he kneels between her legs, mouth pressed against her clit.

A flick of the tongue.

A lazy, sucking kind of kiss.

I want you all over again.

Not for the first time, Cameron wanted to go sci-fi, to freeze time. If only her life came equipped with a remote control and she could hit pause or, even better, rewind to the moment when House had first entered her and slowly pushed his length between her legs, a sweet invasion. Far from feeling alien, his body felt as if it belonged to her. She had closed herself around him, savoring the scene, shaking off a sense of disbelief and the urge to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

This was House.

He was poised at her entrance, nudging it with his erection, asking permission with his eyes before he parted her. But once she'd nodded her ascent, yes, now, House moved inside her with an assurance that shook her, it was so sexy. He filled her. How many times had she imagined House inside her or considered what it would be like to touch him? Cameron gave up on the math. If she did a Jell-O shot each time she contemplated what it would be like to be with House, she'd be a drunk by now. Cameron amused herself with the thought.

Part III - Them

"You don't look … unhappy." His eyes scanned hers, resting on her upturned mouth with a suspicious look. He was aware of her palms spread on his chest, her thighs against his hips, and his cock still inside her.

Wherever their bodies touched, House was aware of it.

"Last time I checked, happiness wasn't a crime, House."

He reached up and touched the tips of her breasts. His thumb grazed her nipple. "When was the last time you checked? Because handcuffs can be fun and if anyone deserves to be frisked, it's you. Tritter sent me a pair after the trial. To remind me to walk the line."

"I … assume it didn't work." House walking the line? Not even June Carter Cash herself could have tamed him, Cameron thought with a smile. If she didn't climb off him soon, he'd accuse her of crushing him.

"You tell me," House ran his tongue over his lower lip. "Depends on the line and how fine it is, and what's on either side of it."

With a sigh, she rolled off House and onto her side, propping her head in one hand and smiling at him reassuringly while watching the rise and fall of his chest, admiring the musculature of his pecs and his nipples still wet from her mouth.

"Guess I better keep an oxygen mask by the bed from now on." House worked to calm his breathing. His erection had flagged, but the way she was looking at him could easily stir him again.

"It couldn't hurt to keep a defibrillator on hand either," Cameron added. Since my heart stops whenever you look at me, she thought to herself.

From now on. So this really was the beginning.

His hand slowly stroked the curve between her hips and her rib cage.

Like a refugee allowed to keep only one valuable, Cameron held onto House's hand, turning it over and admiring the palm, linking her small thin fingers in his long elegant ones, drawing it up to cup her face.

To lie next to him and not have a part of her touching him would be sacrilege.

"How often have you thought of us … like this?" Cameron asked.

House was silent as his eyes found hers in the dim bedroom. A candle flickered in his peripheral vision.

Post-sex intimacy.

With hookers, he'd allowed no talking, and he'd never kissed one on the mouth. Although he didn't know it, he viewed hooker sex the same way Cameron viewed her trysts with Chase. A distraction that left him sick of himself. Nauseated. Defeated. Lonely. Last time he'd had pillow talk was with Stacy. He was out of practice.

"If I took a Vicodin every time I thought of nailing you, I'd be dead from an overdose. Next question," he spoke abruptly. House felt Cameron's slender foot find his in the dark, caressing it with her smooth sole. He rubbed hers with his, responding to her overture.

"You want to date me?" Cameron harkened back to the monosyllabic question House had asked her during their foreplay. What did "date" mean anyway, where House was concerned, she wondered.

"You could move in, but that really killed the sex for me and Wilson. Put a damper on all those sexually charged little moments between us. That's why I kicked him out."

House was a little bit startled by the spasms of laughter that erupted out of Cameron. His hand moved to her rump, so round and firm, skin perfect.

Sexually charged …

Getting shot was no picnic, but House wouldn't have missed the hallucinations he'd had of Cameron walking beside him in the hospital hallway, worrying that he'd pull out his stitches. He had challenged her to stop him – to physically stop him, and when she'd hesitated, he had theorized out loud for her benefit: "You can't, because that would involve touching me and then things would get so sexually charged…"

Cameron's voice interrupted his reverie.

"So … you do want to date me," Cameron remarked, once she'd regained control of herself. If House kept his hands on her ass for the rest of her life, she'd die happy.

"And you. You want to … fuck me. That was you, right? You said that?" House gently tugged on a strand of her hair.

"Said it and did it." Cameron allowed a small sexy smile to ever so slowly emerge. She shifted her attention from his hands to his arms, tracing the slope of his biceps, touching the inside of his wrist. "You already knew I wanted a date. To date you. You already knew I liked you."

"You thought I might have missed the cues," he deduced.

Had he known how much she'd wanted him? House knew there'd always been something between them. He just never dared to hope it would be so strong.

"It seemed possible. Unlikely for a world renowned diagnostician," Cameron teased, "but possible."

"Okay … I'll fuck you if you'll date me. Deal?" House regarded her, sitting up a little in the bed. It smelled like their sex. Heady.

"It's a win-win. Kiss me?"

Or get dressed, so I can undress you again, Cameron thought.

"Done." House rolled her over and pinned her to the bed beneath him, kissing along her jaw and brushing his mouth against hers.

"What did it feel like … for you?" Cameron asked, when she was able to talk.

House shifted onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, his face resting in his palm. "Should have guessed you'd be inquisitive. You excel at curiosity and caring."

"How did it feel?" Cameron persisted.

"My orgasm? Being inside you? The Weitz brothers were onto something with that scene in 'American Pie,'" he said after a moment of contemplation.

There was no way he could ever translate loving Cameron, physically loving her, into words. The intimacy stunned him silent. All he could say was that with her, fucking felt like kissing. And kissing felt like fucking.

Could he say that out loud without gagging? House wasn't sure.

"I was too busy studying to see it," she admitted of the movie, still loving the feel of House's feet against hers.

"Some consider it a classic."

"Sure. Probably the same people who watch the World Wrestling Federation and Tivo 'General Hospital,'" she said with a laugh. "I'm more of a 'Fried Green Tomatoes' girl."

As if addressing an audience off to the side of a stage, House rolled his eyes. "That is so Lifetime. Lesbians, southerners, Mary-Louise Parker, and Kathy Bates equal crap. We're so not having sex again."

Regarding him from lowered lashes, Cameron walked her fingers down his chest, belly, and lower still until they reached his spent penis. There she rubbed her thumb thoughtfully over its tip. "Want to bet?" she asked as she felt him begin to harden and stir.

For once, he didn't.

"Okay. So we're having sex again, someday." Reluctantly, House grasped her hand, holding his over hers to still her movements. "Imagine sticking your finger in a hot slice of apple pie. Entering you is like that. But that's a tired metaphor, even if you're not familiar with it."

House reached out to push a strand of hair out of her face and trailed a thumb over her cheek continuing down the soft skin of her neck and fingering the seductive hollow of her throat.

"Stacy and I used to scuba," he said with a sidelong glance at Cameron to gauge her reaction to the use of his ex-girlfriend's name. Her face remained open, inquisitive, unperturbed. "Well, I dove and Stacy hung out in the boat with the Dominican instructor. She never could breath underwater. Rising to the surface after a dive is a tricky business, even when you know what you're doing, and I was … good … at it."

"How good were you? If you and, say, God competed, who would win?" Cameron smirked as she said it, riffing off House's longtime competition with the Creator of the Universe and making a joke at her own, atheist's expense.

"You know my feelings about who's the best. Up to you to decide for yourself. But don't interrupt my metaphor," he told her.

"With you," he paused. "Inside you, it's deep. Warm. Wet. With you, orgasm is like surfacing. There's the anticipation, the build up as you move upward surrounded by tons of water pressure, and you're waiting, waiting for that moment where you'll break the surface and you can relax, float, breath properly again."

When Cameron just looks at him, House shrugs. "You'll never be satisfied. It's one of those questions that keep us separate. You feel what you feel. And I," once more House hesitated. "I feel. I feel what I feel."

Just then the lights blinked and came on. The music of Paganini wafted into the bedroom from the stereo. Rain still drove into the windows, slammed against the roof, but the electrical storm was over.

House sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. From a bedpost, he retrieved the white negligee, his birthday gift to Cameron, and the ploy to get him laid.

To get him loved.

"Put it on." It was an imperative, like, do a tox screen.

Cameron hopped off the bed and took the lacy garment from his hands. She stood in front of him and raised her arms above her head so he could admire her firm, high breasts and taut belly.

"Help me," she demanded in return, like, do it yourself.

House grabbed the hem and pulled the intimate apparel over her head, his hands running all the way down over her naked arms in the process.

She stepped back and took a turn around the room, just walking. No theatrics. Cameron didn't need to perform to turn House on.

Beneath the thin fabric, House saw her the dark tangle at her apex, her hard nipples poking against the cloth. If he stood, he thought he'd grow dizzy.

"I have something for you, too," Cameron spoke, moving over to him and standing between his legs. His hands went for her long neck, cupped her jaw, and he pulled her closer for a kiss.

She took his hand. "Come with me."

As he reached for his boxer briefs, she swatted them away. "Unnecessary."

His arm snaked around her shoulders and he leaned on her as she led him out into the living room. Finding her tote, she reached inside, pulling out a small square package.

"House. I want to dance. With you." She handed him the gift, and he looked at her as if to confirm it really was for him.

Slowly, House unwrapped it and the paper fell away, revealing a forty-five of the one song he had told her he would dance to. Buddy Guy. "Feels Like Rain."

"You said it was the only song you'd dance to, when we were walking to Tiffany's yesterday," Cameron reminded him, although he didn't require the memory prompt.

The start of a smile brought the laugh creases to the sides of his mouth. "You're going to hold me to it. Do you tape our conversations like a vixen Nixon?"

"I'm going to hold you to it. And you're going to hold me. Trust me, House. You'll like … it."

"Okay …" House carefully placed the record on his turntable and adjusted the needle. The slow bluesy music? John Hiatt's lyrics sung in Buddy's dark deep bass? It hit him where it always did.

Between the legs.

Down here the river meets the sea
And in the sticky heat
I feel you open up to me
Love comes out of nowhere baby,
Just like a hurricane
And it feels like rain

Cameron takes him by the hand, leads him into the middle of the room and places his hands, his arms, around her tiny waist. Her own slender arms circle House's neck.

Her breasts pressed to his naked chest.

Nudity in her eyes.

I want you all over again.

His prick comes to life, nudging up against the gossamer of the negligee. As House pulls her closer, he pushes his hardness right up against her might-as-well-be-naked body.

All the while, Buddy Guy tells it like it is – or the way it always should be.

Just lie here in my arms and let it wash away the pain…
And it feels like rain.

It feels like rain.


Beta: The lovely Katej, who is also responsible for my brand new LJ design. Come and see it.

A/N: Patient readers, thanks to all of you for being the best readers I could possibly imagine having. Sorry for the long wait between updates. I've been working on a new story, a babyfic that is additionally a post-ep to "Informed Consent" from S3. It's called "Where You'll Find Me." I hope you check it out and that you like it. As always, thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated. Blueheronz