Something to celebrate The House Fan Fiction Archive Home Quicksearch Search Engine Random Story Upload Story   Something to celebrate by phineyj House shows up at your door later that night with a bottle of Krug and two glasses. When you got back from work, every corner of your apartment suddenly looked like it could use a dust and polish and you embarked on a marathon cleaning orgy. As a result, you are attractively clad in some of your oldest clothes and are pretty sure you have a cobweb stuck in your hair, and the Sugababes are singing Round Round, very loudly, on the stereo. "I'm not supposed to drink on these meds," you say, grabbing the remote control to turn the music down. You stopped taking the antivirals weeks ago but you're still dealing with the fallout. "Neither am I," he says with a wolfish grin, "I won't tell if you won't." You stand aside so he can come in. While you've been spring cleaning you've been wondering what on earth possessed you to kiss him like that, and what would have happened if you hadn't panicked and rushed off. You've been remembering the feeling of his lips on yours. Did he really have an erection, or did you imagine it? You take the glasses from him and he uncorks the bottle - for a second you think about ducking - but he holds his hand over the end, and transfers the fizzy liquid into the glasses without spilling a drop. You hand one to him and catch his eye. "Here's to surviving," he says, at length, and touches his glass to yours. ------ When she walked in your office tonight it was the first time you'd looked at her properly in weeks. Sure, you see her nearly every day, but you don't really look; you haven't been able to, not since she got the infected blood on her. Your father's words are still echoing in your mind, "You don't know how lucky you are." It's been a long, long time since you've felt lucky, but you do now, as you look at Cameron in her old green college t-shirt and faded jeans. You watch as she drinks her glass of champagne down determinedly as though it's medicine. "You kissed me," you say, taking the empty glass from her and putting it down on the coffee table, "Why?" She's suddenly fascinated by her bare feet, but then her head snaps up and she replies, "I guess you're not a prince, then, after all." You snort champagne through your nose, and she looks at you with a tolerant expression on her face. "I don't really know," she continues; her voice is serious, "I guess I was just feeling happy. I'm sorry-" "I'm not," you tell her, closing the distance between you. ------ It's not entirely unexpected when he kisses you, but it still surprises you, because nothing's ever this easy with him. He tastes of champagne, and coffee, and something slightly bitter - Vicodin, probably, and he's got his left arm around you, pulling you to him, and whether he had an erection or not earlier, he's most definitely got one now. He draws back slightly and looks at you; those blue eyes scan you like they can see all your secrets; everything you're most ashamed of- ------ "Cameron? You have cobwebs in your hair," you inform her, reaching down to brush them off. She laughs, looks embarrassed, and pulls the elastic band off her ponytail, running her fingers through her hair. "I was cleaning," she says, as though you wouldn't have been able to work that out from the trail of evidence. You like her hair down. You remember she had it loose like this the day you hired her. You reach out and twine your fingers in it, bringing her back to you; she kisses you first this time, and as she puts her arms around your neck and casually rubs herself against you, you can't suppress a moan. You slowly, wetly, kiss her neck; she doesn't wear perfume, but you can smell the apple scent of her shampoo. Now it's her turn to moan, and you slip your hands under the hem of her t-shirt and slide them up over her warm stomach so you can thumb her nipples through the silky fabric of her bra. ------ This time when you break away, you're both breathing heavily and you suddenly panic, because he's looking unsure, and you don't want to give him time to think of any one of the million reasons why this probably isn't a good idea. You're so turned on you can't think straight and stopping now is just not an option. So you take his hand, and give him a gentle tug in the direction of your bedroom. ------ The last time she did this was with Chase, you think, as you skim your eyes over bed, nightstand, chest of drawers - anywhere but at her - and it's a sobering thought. It's not that you're afraid she's making comparisons, more that you're remembering when she walked into the room wearing those damn pink scrubs; you can still see her heartbreaking expression; you know you were sarcastic and dismissive; you couldn't risk her crying. A second unwelcome thought joins the first; the last time you did this was with Stacy, and look how well that turned out. "House?" She's got a worried expression on her face now. The light from the anglepoise lamp by her bed is glinting off her dark hair, and she suddenly looks absurdly young to you, standing there anxiously in her jeans and t shirt. "Just working out the logistics," you tell her. You sit down carefully on the bed, propping your cane against the nightstand and reach down to remove your shoes. She sits down beside you. ------ You decide that if he's going to ignore the elephant - wombat - in the room, then so will you. If you'd thought there was the slightest chance he would have come, you would have called him instead of Chase that night, but you'd already had about as much disappointment as you could take. You reach across him and get some condoms out of your nightstand drawer, dropping them on the top by your alarm clock. "You know I'm not completely in the clear yet, don't you?" you remind him, wishing you didn't have to, "I have to have a final test at six months." You're not sure why you tell him this, because you're certain he's read your file. He looks at you, and smiles, "Let's live dangerously," he says, moving so he's leaning against the headboard. You straddle his lap, cross your arms and remove your t-shirt and then your bra. "Nice," he comments, and you move a little closer so he can reach up and cup your breasts. He's in no rush to move on, which is fine by you because you think you could come just from the sensation of his warm tongue flicking across your nipples. ------ Cameron's tits are not a disappointment, which is surprising considering the amount of time you've spent thinking about them lately. But that's not the only part of her you've been pondering, so at length you slap her lightly on the rump and say, "Jeans...off, now." This gives you the chance to strip your own clothes off, without too much scrutiny of your leg, although you know she's going to see it at some point. Attack is the best form of defense. You lie down on your back, and say, "There's a view I haven't seen yet." ------ You've never done this before with anyone; not exactly like this. Why, you can't think, because the feeling of kneeling over his head, being held open by his calloused hands while he sucks on your clit, is one that you know's going to revisit you in flashback at the most inconvenient moments. You are feeling so shaky it's all you can do to stay upright. You know you're being loud and you feel briefly guilty about your neighbors.. You come so hard you have to wait a second or two for the blood to clear from your head, and when you can focus again, you can see a rather smug looking House, wiping his mouth and looking at you as though he's solved a very challenging mystery indeed. "And now for the main course," he says, throwing you the condoms. You catch them and that's when you look down at his leg for the first time, and immediately wish you hadn't; not because what you see surprises you - with the amount of reading up you did after you met him, you may be one of the best-informed on the subject of debridements on the East Coast - but because the smile has suddenly disappeared from his face. ------ Oh crap, and you were doing so well. She's got that look; it's not quite pity but it's sure as hell in that general area. This is why you don't have sex; well, not unless you've really let your better judgment go for a walk. And that sure has happened a few times lately. You're thinking, uneasily about backing out; backing off, and you start to say, "Cameron, I think-" but she interrupts you. "There's only one part of you that interests me right now," she says, decisively, shimmying back down your body and taking your cock into her mouth. She knows what she's doing, and as she swirls her impossibly hot tongue around, and her long, soft hair tickles your inner thighs, you think that maybe your better judgment can just go fuck itself. ------ You risk a glance upward; he's got his eyes closed in pleasure, and from the sounds he's making, he's not about to bolt. You give his balls a gentle squeeze, and he moans. He's very hard now, so you sit up, take a condom from the packet and roll it on. "I hope you can drive a stick shift," he says. "Don't worry," you say, "I won't crash the gears," and you slide yourself onto his cock, carefully, because there's a lot of him - more than of Chase - you won't be mentioning that any time soon; his ego would explode. You start to move, enjoying the feeling of being filled; he places a hand on each of your hips, and while you'd think you'd be feeling dominant in this position, as usual, you know he's the one who's really in charge. You think it's not going to take you long; you're still so sensitive from before, but you surprise yourself as your body starts to contract around him within half a minute. You throw your head back and touch your nipples for maximum sensation. ------ You just have time to think, Ha, bet Chase didn't make her come twice, when the sight of her riding you, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat and face flushed crimson pushes you over the edge. As you come, you shout out her given name, and that feels more intimate than anything else you've done. ------ He's never called you Allison before, and when he recovers from his climax, he looks surprised and just a little discomfited to have done so. You just know he's not going to be a cuddler, so when you've rolled off him, and he's disposed of the condom, you watch him for clues as to what to do next. But he obviously hasn't read the manual, and he draws you to him, just for a few seconds, and rumbles against your chest, "So how was the test drive? Still considering a purchase?" ------ "Ah, endorphins...nature's Vicodin," you comment, conveniently ignoring the fact you just popped two of the chemical variety as well, just to be sure. You are drifting off to sleep. This seems most unlikely to have happened and is therefore probably another dream. All you need now is for your dad to wander in wearing some incongruous outfit and you'll be sure of it. You fully expect to wake up tomorrow and find you spent the night in your office chair drooling on the New England Journal of Medicine. ------ You remember that you didn't mark the day off the calendar today, so you go and do it. Crossing through the number is a small satisfaction, but you don't want to be counting off increments of time in red pen for the rest of your life. You drink another glass of the champagne, just because it's there - it's a bit flat now - and pour the rest away down the sink. House is asleep when you get back to your room. You look down at him, noticing how the lines on his face smooth out while he sleeps, and you think how much easier he is when he's not talking. You lie down carefully beside him, switch the light off and tell yourself, if this lasts another three months, that'll be something to celebrate, all right. FIN   Please post a comment on this story. 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 Fox Television, 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.