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Projection
by bironic
James drives home after dark, eats and showers on autopilot, changes into his t-shirt and boxers and goes to bed. It's been a tough day and he feels like indulging in a long, slow jerk-off session tonight. He switches off the light and settles on his back on top of the covers with his hands loose at his sides. Takes a few slow breaths. Good. Now to choose a fantasy.
His thoughts turn immediately to Ali. House and Cuddy told him about the thong and the clinic strip show and the motorcycle incident, and then this afternoon he'd been doing paperwork in the reception area when Cuddy marched the sulking girl into her office, so he's got a pretty good visual to go with the stories. He'll fill in the rest with the blonde from American Beauty.
He considers scenarios. Finding her half-naked in an exam room, waiting and wanting? Catching her in House's office or by House's bike in the parking garage and letting her blow him in return for his promise not to turn her over to Cuddy? He shifts, already feeling the stirrings of arousal. The sex kitten thing is tempting, but there's also--his imagination flies ahead--oh, yes--she could come back to the hospital when she'd finished her course of amphotericin, her inhibitions back but her crush still raging, and offer herself to House. House would, of course, turn her down; despite House's cheerful pretensions to the contrary, James knows better than anyone that House would never sleep with someone so young and trusting. House would be unusually gentle with her, but she'd still be upset. Hurt. Uncertain. Fragile.
Yeah. He shifts again and closes his eyes.
* * *
He finds her hugging her knees on a couple of chairs in the clinic waiting room, her face buried in her arms, crying. She's wearing a halter top (golden hair spilling over her bare shoulders and arms), short denim skirt (a sizeable patch of skin exposed on her lower back, the skirt riding up almost almost high enough in front for him to see her panties) and argyle knee socks on those long, long legs. No--no knee socks; nothing but smooth, tanned skin from her thighs to her heels, bare and pink in strappy sandals.
At his soft interruption she looks up at him with tearstained cheeks, her face a picture of heartbreak. He introduces himself as a friend of House's.
He takes her up to his office, gets her comfortable on the couch and hands her the tissue box while she sobs about how House doesn't want her even though she took all her pills and waited until her birthday and overcame her restored shyness. He sits next to her and rubs her shoulder, skin warm and firm and smooth, and lets his fingers slip under the string of her shirt.
(In bed, he rests his hand on his crotch, letting the weight and warmth soak through the cotton.)
He explains a bit about House's... unique personality and the man's difficulty appreciating what's in front of him, moving his hand up to stroke her hair. She starts to calm under his touch and comforting words. When she sniffs and says that maybe it's just her, he protests, reassures, tells her she's a very desirable young woman. Wide eyes brimming with tears, she looks up at him, seeking reassurance. He reaches out and brushes his thumbs across her wet cheeks. And then, when she closes her eyes and leans into his hands, he bends down and kisses her.
(He presses his fingers to his lips. It's nowhere near the same, but it's the best he can manage.)
Soft, small mouth, sticky with lip gloss, inexperienced and sincere. Her hands go to his shoulders. She sucks on his upper lip, then opens for him when he tilts her face up and slides his tongue over her teeth.
He lets her break the kiss when he feels her starting to resist, but she isn't pulling back in hesitation, she's sucking in a breath and her hand goes to his crotch--
(No. Too soon and too forward. He wants to draw this out.)
She sucks in a breath and holds his gaze for a moment, then leans in again to kiss his cheek, his mouth. Pleased, he lets her take the lead for a while before he breaks the kiss to maneuver her so she's sitting between his legs with her back to his chest. He tugs her skirt up over her hips--she shifts to help--so the denim folds at her waist, baring pink lace panties. He slides his hand forward and down and rubs her through the cloth.
(He starts stroking his dick with his thumb in time with his imagined hand.)
With his free hand, he reaches under her shirt. No bra. Her breasts are firm, a solid handful each, just as House described in smug detail, the nipples puckering as he palms them one after the other.
(He rolls and flicks his own nipples with his right hand.)
He slips the hand between her legs under her panties, spreads her and really starts playing with her. She digs her hands into his thighs, and he can feel the tremors in her hips and ass as she fights the desire to move with his teasing fingers.
When he's made her slick enough, he works his middle finger up into her and she gasps, tensing and pressing back against him. He murmurs reassurances into her hair and goes slow, opening her gently, working in a second finger, until she whimpers and pushes forward onto his fingers and palm.
She's sliding down his lap; he abandons her breasts in favor of circling his arm around her waist and lifting her upright so she's sitting again with her mostly bare ass pressed firmly against his aching groin. Her hips are still moving in erratic, half-restrained jerks, sending him happily shuddering each time the seam of her skirt rubs across his dick. He grinds the palm of his hand against her clit, and the breathy little noises she's been making almost continuously in his ear stutter as she comes, slippery around his fingers.
(Mm. Yeah. He rubs his dick harder through his shorts.)
While she's recovering, he rolls his hips into her and tells her he wants to make love to her. Her breathing hitches and she wriggles out of his embrace to face him before she whispers that she's not--that she hasn't-- But he soothes her, urges her to trust him, promises to make her feel what House won't share with her. She hesitates, studying him, glancing out the door at House's office, and then, biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip, she nods.
He lays her out naked beneath him on the couch and kneels over her. She's gorgeous--toned and silky-smooth, flushed with anticipation, curls trimmed (hm, not a natural blonde), perfect down to the little mole beside her pierced navel--and she wants him, just like she wants House.
He leans forward, taking her hand and guiding it to his straining dick. She doesn't know quite what to do with him, so he keeps his hand on hers, showing her how he likes to be stroked.
(He pushes his boxers down and grips himself bare, breathing heavily.)
When he's ready, he lets go and moves his hand between her legs. She moans and arches into him, then brings her arms around his back when he nudges her knees apart with one of his own. She stops there; he needs to kiss her again, stroke the nape of her neck, to get her to spread wide enough for him to settle in.
He shows her how to lift her hips and wrap those long, slim legs around him, her ankles crossing over his ass. Once she's in position, he presses inside her with short, firm strokes, pushing through the slight resistance of her virginity--her eyes widen, and with a sound that's half gasp, half whimper, she tries to curl into herself, but his hands and hips hold her down, so all she can do is tighten her thighs around his waist--until he's all the way in.
(A tighter grip and a cool squirt of the hotel's cheap lotion are all he has on hand to simulate the sensation of sliding into a woman.)
He begins to fuck her slow and hard, whispering nonsense until her tension melts away and she's moaning his name.
Then he makes her tell him what she wants to do to House.
(Yeah. Oh, yeah. He begins pumping his hips to meet his fist.)
She says she wants to reach up and stroke the stubble on his jaw until he closes his eyes and turns his face ever so slightly into her touch. She wants to stand on tip-toe and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, and she wants him to give in to her, to moan with desire and slip an arm around her lower back to pull her against him. She wants his hand in her hair and his tongue in her mouth and his leg between hers, so she can rub against him while they make out.
She wants to run her own fingers through his hair and down his back, wants to tug at his lapels until he lets her drag his shirt off, still kissing, wants to pull his t-shirt over his head and touch his chest, see if he has hair there and if it's as distinguished as the rest of him.
(James knows House has got just a little around his nipples and that it's not so gray yet and that House is ticklish on his sides just below his ribs.)
She wants to lick his nipples, kiss her way down the line of hair to his jeans and toy with the button in her mouth. She wants to unthread his belt slowly, slowly, ease open the zipper and slide his pants and underwear down far enough to take him in her mouth. She wants to blow him slow and steady, feel the weight and heat of him on her tongue, so intense that she can barely keep her eyes open, that it's all he can do to stare down at her and hold her head while she sucks, his mouth slack with desire. She wants to pump what she can't fit in her mouth with one hand while the other keeps a firm grip on his ass. Then she wants to go all the way down on him, swallow him to the root, merciless, even though she's never tried that before. She wants him to lose control and spurt in her mouth with a wrenching groan.
(James groans to match, the ache almost too much.)
She wants him to fuck her over his desk--no, on the floor, forget the leg, she wants him to push her face-first into the carpet with every thrust, heavy on top of her, wants him to want her, wants him to need her, wants him to spread her legs wide with his own and make her take it, make her love it, even though she's never--even though she isn't supposed to--supposed to want--
She wants--
She wants--
(Jerking fast and hard now, going for it--)
She devolves into gasps and moans beneath him, lifting her hips to meet his. Movement catches his eye--he looks up and sees--
House, standing stock-still out on the balcony, watching him.
(God, yeah--)
He groans and nails Ali harder and faster than ever into the couch, his eyes locked on House's, and Ali's gasping, her eyes screwed shut, face bright red with exertion, and he doesn't know what he himself looks like, but House isn't able to look away. You can say it, James manages to tell her, his name, you can say his name, and she tilts her head back and wails it like it's painful and she tightens around him and cries it out again and outside House's hand clenches on his cane as if he heard and James groans and bucks and shoots into her, sweet sharp release, forcing his eyes to stay open so he can watch House's lips part as James shudders through his orgasm.
(Warm droplets on his hand and stomach and he relaxes into the sheets where he'd arched up, letting out long, ragged breaths.)
Afterwards, she lies sweaty and satisfied under him, breathing both their names. House holds his gaze as James leans down to kiss her.
* * *
James lies panting, his hand still moving loosely. Definitely a keeper. After a few moments, he turns his head and rubs his face in his pillow to dry the sweat. He slows his hand, caressing, then lets it slide palm-up onto the sheet. He's sticky, but he can't bring himself to care. It's all he can do to tug up the blanket in anticipation of the chill of the air conditioner.
He's still thinking of silky skin and House's eyes when he falls asleep.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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