Cameron in that red dress, House in his tux - how could the night NOT catch fire?
Rated: Mature, for language and sex (funny, how those two things often go together ... )
Takes place after "All In"
The benefit was officially over. The bar was closed, the musicians had packed up and gone, and the catering staff were busy carrying away tables, chairs, and the other props they'd provided for the fundraising gala. Almost all of the guests had left, but a few stragglers were still slowly making their way to the elevators. Most were finishing a last drink, or were reluctant to abandon a conversation and/or a potential romance, but there was one who was simply too happy, too buoyed up, to want the party to end: Dr. Alison Cameron was having a wonderful night.
She'd been enjoying herself well enough when House had summoned her, along with Chase and Foreman, to work on an urgent case. Cameron hadn't minded, because she liked her work. And then House had taken one look at her new red dress (which left attractively bare her collarbone and her slim white shoulders), the soft honeyed-sable curls falling gently over exposed creamy skin, and her curved lips, slightly parted and covered with a light gloss - and stopped dead in the middle of a sentence. He'd let out a long, low, appreciative whistle and fixed his eyes on her for what seemed an eternity, before finally shaking his head as if to clear it, blinking rapidly, and then plunging back into the details of the case as if nothing had happened. But there'd been no mistaking House's genuine admiration, nor the hot flare that lit his eyes when he'd seen her, and the incident had beautifully enhanced the sparkle already shining in Cameron's clear eyes.
The medical emergency - its dramatic nature and its successful conclusion - that called House and his team away from the party had gotten the ducklings' adrenaline pumping, and Cameron was still wired up. She, Chase, and Foreman had managed to share a number of celebratory drinks before the bar closed, but when it became impossible to ignore the late hour any longer, Cameron had told the guys to go on ahead to the garage (they'd all come in Foreman's car) while she made a quick trip to the ladies' room. Now she hurried, high heels clicking on the marble floors, toward the elevators.
And, there, close to the elevator bay, seated at one of the few remaining tables, were Drs. House and Wilson. They were playing cards. Wilson was laughing in his usual genial fashion, his brown eyes animated. House was smoking an enormous cigar, and chuckling in a way that touched Cameron's heart. It was so seldom that she saw him this relaxed, this easy with himself, this ... well, this happy. The two of them reminded her of small boys, up to no good. Smiling, she approached the table and said warmly, "Nice save tonight, House."
House looked up. "Why, Dr. Cameron," he exclaimed, as his eyes lingered appreciatively on her face, then pointedly dropped to her bare shoulders and her cleavage. He waved his cigar expansively. "Such kind words could only be improved upon if accompanied by a lap dance." He raised his eyebrows suggestively at her, and pushed his chair back from the table. "Hop on!" He loved to provoke her.
But Cameron, to House's surprise, didn't sigh resignedly, or roll her eyes, or look annoyed. Not even a hint of a clench. Instead, she gazed at him directly, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth; the events of the night, along with the drinks, had given her confidence. House had just enough time to register the spark of mischief in her eyes before Cameron blithely climbed onto his lap. She settled herself lightly, sitting sideways, twining her arms around his neck, and plucking the cigar from his fingers. She was secretly amused at House's stunned expression, and at the sudden nervous way he tensed against the press of her body.
("Big talker, House, aren't you"), she thought with affection, and had to smother a giggle.
Cameron nestled closer and sensuously caressed House's jaw line, her fingers brushing lightly over the stubble that House had declined to shave off, despite the tuxedo he was wearing. Cameron liked the combination of scruff and suavity. She deliberately ground her ass against House's groin, under the guise of getting comfortable, and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. Moving her face close to his, Cameron licked at House's ear. Then, pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth, she purred throatily,
"Nice save tonight, House."
She performed an extra little grind for good measure, hopped agilely off House's lap, and walked off without looking back.
All was silent at the card table, until House at last remembered to exhale. He cocked his head. He looked at Wilson, who looked back at him, his mouth fallen open. House blinked.
"Wow," he finally said. He figured that pretty well summed it up.
"Go after her," Wilson blurted out, with typical enthusiasm. "Please tell me you're not going to let her walk away after that! Go after her!"
"Ah, I'm not fit to be going anywhere at the moment," House replied wryly, and smirked as he pulled the table closer, so that the cloth covered his lap.
A little over an hour later, Gregory House found himself - to his trepidation, irritation, and anticipation - outside Cameron's apartment door. From the minute she'd sat on his lap and stuck her little pink tongue in his ear, House had known that this was where he'd end up. She'd pressed up against him and kissed him, and the world hadn't ended. She'd touched him and whispered to him, and he felt no sudden urge to hug puppies or to be pleasant. Her breath had fanned his neck, and his head hadn't exploded (though something else almost had, he thought dryly). In fact, as he'd climbed into his car, he couldn't remember exactly why he'd resisted this for so long.
Now, however, as he stalled outside her door like some gawky kid, all the reasons against what he was about to do resurfaced. This was a really bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Unless, of course, it was a really, really good one. Funny, how those two things could be so hard to tell apart. And, God, he had only just begun to get over his shock, only just started to respond to the unbelievable electric sexiness of having Alison Cameron in his lap, with her ass against his crotch and her mouth so close to his, and she was gone. Which clearly wasn't fair. So he deserved to be here. She'd smelled like vanilla and baby powder; her silky hair had brushed his cheek. He'd liked the way she'd said his name, and she hadn't clenched at all. House's stomach muscles tightened. He wanted to do this, he wanted to see her ... and so he would. He rapped on the door with his cane, and waited.
Cameron opened the door. She was still wearing the red dress.
"Hi," said House.
"Uh ,,, hi," replied Cameron, smiling uncertainly, and then more warmly. "Come on in." House was just about to do so, when he froze. Fuck. Chase had appeared in the living room behind Cameron, carrying a beer and looking right at home, with that ridiculous hair flopping into his eyes, his tie undone, and his jacket nowhere to be seen. House stared at him, his face an expressionless mask; his only response to Chase's somewhat startled greeting was to look first at the floor, then up at the ceiling. Then House gave an unpleasant, bitter little laugh, and said flatly, "Right. Sorry. Stupid idea. See you at work." Before Cameron could react, he turned and started to limp back to the elevator. ("Jesus, could I have looked any more like a pathetic idiot"), he railed to himself.
"House! House!" Gritting his teeth, House turned to see Cameron, who, having closed the apartment door behind her, was hurrying down the hall after him. She had that familiar worried little furrow between her eyebrows, and that familiar anxious look in her eyes. House groaned inwardly; he really couldn't stomach her fussing or concern right now. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"
"Where do you think I'm going," House snapped. He shook Cameron's arm from his sleeve, and continued on his way to the elevator. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of hot wombat love."
"No, no," Cameron protested frantically, grabbing hastily at his sleeve again. "It's not like that!"
House stopped walking and looked coldly at the lovely, earnest face turned up to his. Did she expect him to believe that? The powerful high that had energized him since his victory over the disease which had beaten him when Esther died, and that had intensified when Cameron sat on his lap and caressed him, had vanished. All of a sudden, he felt overwhelmingly tired.
"It's not like that," Cameron insisted. "Foreman's here, too. We were just going to have a little post-party drink, and then they were going to head home. Please come back, House."
House looked at the ground and exhaled heavily through clenched teeth. This had been a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. He was on the verge of saying so, when the apartment door opened, and out came Chase and Foreman. Foreman had his "I'm above all this crap" face on, but Chase was ostentatiously rubbing his eyes and yawning dramatically. "Hadn't realized it was so late," the Australian remarked apologetically. "Better get going."
House rolled his eyes as the kid actually faked an "I'm falling asleep" type stretch. "You'd better keep your day job," he told Chase. "You'll never make it on stage." Chase just grinned boldly at his boss and continued on his way, with Foreman, impassive, following him.
"Wait, guys," said Cameron half-heartedly, striving to sound convincing. "You don't have to go ..." Her voice faltered as House glared exasperatedly at her.
"Yes, they DO," he corrected her, in a loud whisper.
"I was trying to be polite."
"Oh, for ... What the hell is it with you and 'polite?'" House scowled impatiently down at her. "If 'polite' is so important to you, how come you're rudely keeping me standing here in the hall?"
Cameron looked pertly up at her boss. "It's a sad day when I have to take lessons in good manners from YOU," she said sweetly. "Please, won't you come in?" House snorted, which wasn't good manners at all, as Cameron pointed out, but she let him follow her into her apartment anyway.
End Part 1
All In But Not Yet Over, part 2
House tapped his cane anxiously on Cameron's floor, waiting for her to come out of the kitchen with his promised Scotch. Jesus. Bad ideas just didn't get any better, did they? Apparently, some intermediate step between entering Cameron's apartment and her jumping eagerly into his lap and confiding just how wildly he turned her on, was required. The trouble was, House, while envisioning the rest of the evening's course of events, hadn't considered just what that intermediate step might be. He'd just stupidly imagined an immediate resumption of the whole "tongue-in-ear, ass-grinding-against-crotch" thing, and now, he was at a loss. Fuck. He concentrated on studying the prints hanging on the wall, examining them as if they held the key to the secret of life.
But he needn't have worried. Cameron, still riding high on the night's wave, was determined to bring this thing (whatever it was) between her and House to resolution. She was nervous - her hand shook as she filled House's glass - and she figured she'd just about curl up and die of embarrassment if he rejected her, but tonight she had gotten him at an advantage; she decided it was now or never. And Cameron was going to do her very best it make sure it was NOW. So, taking a deep breath and squaring her slim shoulders, she walked quietly into the living room.
House swung around awkwardly to face her as she entered, and if there had been any trace of doubt left in Cameron's mind, it vanished immediately when she saw the look on his face. His desire for her was writ plain there. Only the furious working of his jaw muscle, the convulsive swallow, and the incessant tapping of his cane revealed House's underlying tension.
'Hi," he said, for the second time that night. (Great line, you idiot), he snapped to himself.
Cameron turned the light's dimmer switch down low. "Hi, " she replied softly, and handed House his Scotch. She could feel the heat where her fingers touched his hand and lingered. His blue eyes met and trapped her own. "House ..." she breathed.
House took a halting step nearer to her. Cameron's eyes were blue-gray swimming-pools, fringed by coal black lashes. She was so close to him, and he wanted so badly to bridge the distance that remained. He wanted to slide his hand over her smooth shoulder, and tangle his fingers in her soft hair while he caressed the back of her neck. He wanted to kiss her lips and suck on her tongue and whisper her name. He wanted his mouth on her breast and his cock inside her, while she pulled him in deeper and closer and bit his shoulder. Most of all, he wanted not to want any of this; he fought against it, but he was fast losing the battle. His jaw muscle worked frantically, but he just could not bring himself to take that next step.
As it turned out, House didn't have to. Cameron did it for him. She turned so that her back was to him, and, gracefully lifting her hair with one hand, said in a low voice, "I'd like to change out of this dress. Would you please unzip me?"
The lovely line of her long neck was before him, and the gentle curve of her cheek, as she bowed her head. A few tendrils of hair still cascaded down Cameron's back; House lifted his hand as if to stroke them, but then dropped it back to his side. He knew very well just what that one touch would do, and he was not yet ready to concede the fight.
House closed his eyes. He realized he'd been holding his breath, and exhaled slowly through his teeth. Then Cameron moved back a step, until she was practically flush against him. House could smell that same vanilla and baby powder scent that had haunted him since earlier that night. He felt his stomach muscles clench with need. His hand rose, seemingly of its own accord, and pushed her curls out of the way of the zipper, his fingers lightly brushing against her back at the same time. Cameron gave a gasping little moan at House's touch, and the battle that had been raging inside him for so long ended in that instant. Dr. Gregory House went down to defeat, like the walls of Jericho before Joshua, like the clans at Culloden, like Custer at the Little Big Horn.
Cameron felt House's lips on her hair as he rested his head against hers momentarily. Then he began to slowly pull the red dress' zipper downward, watching in fascination as inch after inch of milky white skin was exposed to his hot gaze. His breathing was uneven, and his fingers shook a little. When the zipper was low enough, House gently slid his calloused hands under the dress' bodice, feeling Cameron quiver and her chest heave. He splayed one hand wide over her flat stomach, and cupped one soft breast with the other. He could feel her nipple stiffening against his palm. House felt a wild impatience overwhelm him. Fiercely, he pulled Cameron back tightly against him, kissing her neck and letting out a husky groan as he pushed his fast-hardening cock against her ass.
And then suddenly she was out of his arms, and moving to the middle of the room. The unexpected loss of her body heat took a minute to register, and while House was still trying to clear his brain, Cameron turned to face him. She licked her lips nervously. Then, in one movement, she stepped out of her dress, leaving her clad only in sheer thigh-high stockings, her high-heeled pumps, a lacy pair of black panties, and her dangling earrings. House stared at her. She was breathtaking.
"Will you stay here with me tonight," she asked, her serious eyes fixed upon his face.
House blinked, swallowed hard. It took him three tries, but he finally managed to choke out,
"I think I can handle that."
End Part 2
All In, But Not Yet Over, part 3
What did House remember, later on?
The pull of Cameron's eyes as she asked him to stay. The combination of bravado and hopefulness in her face. The wisp of soft hair that curtained her right nipple, until he brushed it away because he had to see everything, everything, everything. The long, long walk to her bedroom, and how he'd inwardly cursed his limp, and his Goddamn cane, for making that long, long walk into something significant enough to remember, when it should have been nothing. And then how Cameron had turned it into nothing, because it was only a part of him, a part of the man she wanted. The arch of her feet in those fuck-me pumps. The desperate, almost painful, twist of his stomach muscles. The thrill of knowing she must be feeling that same twist, because when she sat on the edge of the bed, she'd caught her lower lip in her teeth, pressed her thighs together tightly and rocked while he undressed.
House had roughly told her to get rid of the panties, but before she'd done so, she'd let him see that they were drenched with wanting him. His breathing had sounded like sandpaper on wood. And, then ... her hip bones, jutting out and framing the place where her legs met - House had tormented himself, over and over, imagining just that very sight - but his imagination hadn't even come close to the sheer eroticism of the reality. Cameron had started to roll down her thigh-high stockings, but House had stopped her hand with his. "Leave them on - the shoes, too," he'd rasped; she'd smiled, and then writhed as he ran his hands up and down her silk-covered leg.
He'd been so hard that it hurt. And her urgency matched his own; she'd whimpered, and tried to soothe herself with her own fingers while she waited for House to sit on the edge of the bed and position himself.
"Fuck ... oh, fuck, oh, Cameron, Cameron ..." House was vaguely aware that he was incoherently gasping out all sorts of sex words, all sorts of exhortations, but he couldn't help himself. And as she straddled him and he pushed up into her, he heard her panting and sobbing his name, and he gave up any attempt to draw this out, but slammed into her like a train. Oh, God, the sounds she'd made! Next time (that there would be a next time seemed as certain to him as the rising of the sun every morning) - next time, he would take his leisure, let every moment, every sensation, register. Next time, he would kiss her breasts and stroke her back and lick her inner thighs. Next time, he wouldn't swallow her whole.
But, this time - this time, they'd fed on each other like animals. And afterwards, Cameron had given him a Vicodin in anticipation of the pain he knew was forthcoming, and whispered to him how happy he'd made her, and had completely understood that his self-conscious mutterings were meant to tell her exactly the same thing. The last things of which he'd been aware before falling asleep were her hand on his hip, and that he seemed to be ... well, almost smiling.