31A/N: Don't own it. If i did, House and Cameron would have gotten together a LONG time ago.
Hey guys - this is my first fic on House. I'm a huge Hameron shipper, and got this idea after last weeks episode. I also started writing it after last weeks episode - and I'm not kidding - i had to stop practically after every paragraph I wrote. So if it doesn't flow at some points, I'm really sorry. I just don't have the energy to go back and change/ edit. It honestly took me six days to write 2000 words. This is what happens when you keep fanfic a secret from your family. Anyways - rant over - go ahead and enjoy some H/C fun.
He was having fun. Whittling down newbies: making them do his dirty work; a brand new bunch of minds to pick apart; hearts and dreams to shatter. They were his puppets and he was having the time of his life pulling their strings.
And, he hated it. Every time he looked at one of them, it would remind him of his old ducklings. Wilson was definitely not helping. Instead of sugaring him and saying what he wanted to hear, his supposed best friend had decided to be so damn correct. He had actually got House thinking that he was hallucinating. He had accepted the idea so easily because it was the only thing that explained the relieved flashes of pain when he had his 'visions.'
He missed them; he had known, sensed that he was growing attached. There were signs early on that those three were different. So instead of embracing the feeling he pushed it away – and he was paying.
Seeing the blond wombat, the man who he hated for reasons that would stay unmentioned in his head, had made him – dare he say it – happy. Hearing the Aussie accent again had made him feel warm during the operation, warmth he was a stranger to. He'd lingered too long on the fact that Chase was in his mind, and before his knew it, the blond sight was gone. He had always hated change.
If he took them back, he fantasized; he'd have some lobby art again. Lobby art he and his office had sorely missed. Lobby art that had become more attractive. It would make his fantasies much more vivid and believable now that she looked like one of his hookers. He did prefer her brown hair – it was more Cameron – but he wasn't complaining.
Meeting her at the ER hadn't taken too much thought. It had been three weeks and he wanted – needed – to see her again. Not only was she easy on the eyes, she knew him. She new why he did things, how his mind worked, what his next words were, and she wasn't afraid of him. He was proud of how she had grown a back bone and could stand her own ground now.
11 o'clock now, 40 minutes since he'd spoken to her, and he decided to head home. Pulling his legs gingerly off his desk, he grabbed his cane that rested against the glass. Turning around he put his weight on the cane as he bent to pick up his guitar case. Slinging the case up on his shoulder and regaining balance, he slowly made his way to the door, his thoughts not inside the four walls. Before realizing what was going on, he felt a pair of small hands on his chest, sending that pleasurable warmth coursing through his veins. The very vision he had been thinking about mere seconds before was standing before him, stopping him from crashing into her.
"Dreaming, House?" Cameron smiled at him, her eyes savoring the man before her. Though older than her, Cameron could not deny the obvious fact that he left a trail of sexiness everywhere he went, which she found extremely attractive.
"Going home?" she questioned, her eyes lingering on his guitar case, hearing the music he created with those splendid fingers in her head. Music that made her weak in the knees because it was him playing the melodic notes.
His eyes meanwhile, were locked on her hands that were still warming his chest. They were right above his heart: it made it even easier for him to believe that it beat for hear. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, her eyes flew to her hands and she hurriedly pulled them off his chest, bringing them to rest at her side.
Grinning at the blush creeping into her creamy skin, he answered her question, "Me? No. I'm planning to follow – what's her name – Greta home. Did you see the amazing work she got done? Man, they totally rival Cuddy's! Maybe you should get some." He stepped back, glad to have a reason to stare at her chest.
Looking down at her breasts, a modest size, Cameron frowned, "I don't know. I like it how it is. A bigger size would make me awkward, self conscious. I'd look like a hooker."
"Exactly! Complete the package." He watched her playfully roll her eyes as the figure that he'd memorized in the past three years walked past him and sank into his chair with a sigh.
"Feels so good to be back, behind a desk, in your chair," she shot him a playful smile. "That's the worst part about ER: we don't get our own office."
Turning to face her, he gently put the guitar case down, having a feeling that this was going to take time. Cameron had her arms splayed across the arm rests, and her head was tilted back, eyes closed, and allowing House full access of her long silky neck. He ran his tongue across his lips as she crossed her legs, and her beige skirt slid up a few inches up.
Shaking the thoughts out of his head, House looked at Cameron with a relatively clean mind, "So, why did you come back?"
Almost as if she was expecting the question, Cameron calmly stared into his eyes, "What do you mean?"
"You were applying for better jobs – the one with Wice. What happened? You know you're qualified for something more than ER. You didn't work with me for three years just to go back to the basics. So – why, what happened?"
He watched her body tense up slowly, like it was divided into parts. Her head straightened up, so that it rested on a tight neck over square shoulders. Her arms clenched the chair and her legs uncrossed. Whatever the reason was, it made her uncomfortable.
"Why do you want to know? It doesn't matter what I say – you'll just twist it into something that pleases you. If I tell you the truth and you don't like it, you'll just say that everybody lies."
"Well they do." He moved to stand beside his desk, partially leaning against it, never taking his piercing gaze off her. "But you won't – at least not now. Maybe you'll try to avoid it, but for how long? So… why did you come back?"
Forcing her body to appear relaxed, she couldn't control the opposite feelings inside. She hated him at the moment: he knew exactly why she had come back and was just toying with her; taunting her. She had come in here today thinking that maybe the two of them could have a normal conversation; that now, since they were no longer working with each other, they could be … friends. Or whatever the relationship House had with Cuddy and Wilson was called. She had been wrong though; fooled by the pretense that the past could be left behind – that something good would result. Just a few minutes together and it was clear that the tension between them would never be resolved. She felt a bubble of anger gurgle into her chest. He couldn't have left it alone, could he?
"What do you want me to say? What will make you happy House?" Her voice got continually higher, and she flew out of the chair, making her way towards him: movement had a great way of letting feelings out. "You couldn't have left it, could you? You want the truth? You want to be proven right again? Fine! I came back because of you, okay? I kept telling myself that it would be good to be away for you, to become my own person, to do my own thing. But I couldn't. I couldn't work knowing that I wouldn't be seeing you. It didn't feel right. There – you happy now?"
She stopped mere inches away from him, and she fought to calm herself. He always did this to her: make her heart race; her heat rise; her emotions change; and above all, increase the need to be closer to him. She clenched her fists and held them at her side, too scared to touch him, knowing that at their physical contact things would get too sexually charged.
He knew the affect he had on her; knew the only reason she wasn't looking into his eyes, touching him, was that once she did, they would get lost. Watching her fight for self control, and realizing that they were standing in the exact spot that they had shared their first kiss, save the fact that their roles were reversed, his lips slightly curved into a smile. Last time she had initiated the kiss; this time, he was standing in her spot; therefore, he should rightfully get the honours.
"Yeah, I am," he murmured and inched closer so that their feet met.
Her eyes flew up to meet his, the startled expression on her face sending shots of pleasure down his spine. It also created an extremely enticing look: her green orbs wide, her cheeks flushed to a tinge of pink, her mouth rounded; soft, inviting. His hands found their way to her waist, snaking around her body, and yet unwilling to bring her closer. Both were oblivious to the sound of his cane falling to the floor; too focused on the fact that neither was drawing away.
He seemed to be waiting for her to make a move, because he didn't go further. Not having to think, Cameron's hands took their position at his chest, and at an antagonizing pace made their way in opposite directions; one coming to a rest at base of his neck, the other on his waist.
He sucked in a breath, feeling her hands roaming across his body. His turn now, he buried a palm in her luxurious hair – now blonde – and let the left fall onto her hip. Watching her carefully, he felt her breath get uneven against his neck as he left the hip to move beneath her silk blouse. Their skin on skin contact caused Cameron's eyes to flutter to a close and bring her hands back to his chest, clutching his shirt in her tight fist. She moaned his name, relishing in his nails scraping her skin. Bringing his other hand to join the first, his talented fingers traced indescribable patterns on her skin; finally halting when she could take it no more.
She could feel the heat radiating off her, especially from the back which felt like fire. His hands seemed to burn an imprint into the skin at her mid back and at the base of her neck; as he brought her body flush against his. Trying to regain her breathing, she opened her eyes to find him staring back at her: the look itself churned the insides of her stomach. Smoothing the fabric that she had crushed between her hands, she found herself reaching up to touch his stubble; a spark of victory as he closed his eyes.
Her hands against his face had the same reaction they did last time, and he breathed hard, bringing his face closer to hers. Only their senses guided them, their sixth taking over for their lack of sight.
The heat and tension seemed to glow off the pair, as their lips parted ever so slightly; the breath of the other doing what tongues usually did: moistening the lips; preparing them for the inevitable.
Having already done it before, they skipped over the casualties, pressing hard against each other: everywhere their bodies met, but more so at the lips. The kiss was slow and long, tongues and lips taking their time to memorize, to check, to correct their fantasies. House could feel a low growl build up at the back of his throat, and when he let it out, it entwined with Cameron's moan, throwing them deeper into their activities.
It was only after they stopped to catch their breath, that their minds got some oxygen. As realization crept in accompanied by the life giving gas, it dawned onto Cameron exactly what she was doing. So caught up in just being with House; that she had forgotten her other commitments. Untangling herself from him, she took a step back, creating a distance between them.
Sending a wary look at her actions, House felt his heart sink, the cold rush in at the expression on her face: guilt. He took no notice of her remorse, her tears as she softly whispered, "I'm with Chase now." He didn't bother to turn to watch her walk away. His heart hardened.
And he remembered: this was why he hated change; why he hated the blonde Australian.
Soooo? A review would be GREAT!
Oh- and Happy Thanksgiving to those in Canada. I'd be really thankful if i got a review. Well... reviews.