(no subject)
Author: athousandsmiles
Title: Pearl's House 8/10
Rating: Now rated M to be safe
Genre: angst, romance, au, supernatural
Summary: Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.
A/N: Written for the weekly challenge at hughvillefics for the prompt New Year's Eve. Unbeta'd
previous chapter
Once inside the hotel room, House pushed the door shut with his cane, grabbed her bag from her shoulder and tossed it with his onto the nearest chair. His hair was matted to his head from the rain, and little drops were rolling off the end of his nose. Cameron thought he still looked amazing, his blue eyes bright in the dimly lit room like spot lights that sought her out. Her own hair was dripping down her back and leaving wet splotches on her shoulders. She reached up to pull it up into a knot, when House moved forward and began unbuttoning her coat, sliding it off her shoulders, and starting on her blouse while she stood before him shivering and blinking.
"What are you doing?" she asked, between the clacking of her chattering teeth.
"Need to get you out of these wet clothes," he answered, with an implied "duh" in his voice. "Should get out of mine too, come to think of it."
One touch of his hands on her bare shoulders as he slid her blouse off and she was kindling set aflame by his touch. He leaned down and kissed her and she forgot all about her questions and let her senses take over, fumbling to help him remove his coat and his shirt as his fingers slid through her wet hair to angle her head just right. His kisses were urgent and tender at the same time, fueling the fire he'd started within her and warming her chilled skin. She kicked off her shoes as he pushed her pants down over the curve of her ass. Stepping out of them, she almost stumbled as he pulled her tight against him, nearly swallowing her in his embrace. Like they had a will of their own, her hands moved over his biceps, up his shoulders and down over his shoulder blades, relishing in the feel of his muscles moving beneath her fingertips; he was a living, breathing work of art, breathtakingly beautiful and sensual all at once.
Easing her toward the bed, he hooked his cane to the headboard and sat, pulling her with him so that she was straddling his lap. He slid his hands up her back and unclasped her bra, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. Her fingers worked the button and zipper of his jeans, frantic to join their bodies completely. And all the while, he continued kissing her and touching her, a connoisseur of her body, savoring and devouring.
His hands were meant to touch her, she thought, as they molded themselves to her curves. Under her palms, his damp skin sent little electrical charges through her and it felt as if her blood was vibrating through her veins. She could never be close enough to him, though she tried, melding herself to his body as he slid her panties down her legs and urged her to accept him. He had her on the edge from the first kiss, and when she lowered herself onto him, she could barely contain the pleasure that flowed through her like a current.
He held her as if she were precious to him and made her feel safe and cherished as she rocked her body against his. Every touch was an extension of the protective way he watched over her at Pearl's house; he spoke with his hands and his kisses in ways he seemed incapable of with words, telling her things she'd always longed to hear. But she couldn't be sure if he was conscious of it, if it would last or if he'd push her away once again when it was all over, and that made her cling to him all the more. Her feelings for him nearly spilled out of her through the tears in her eyes and the way she murmured his name and clutched him as she came. It was all she could do to keep from whispering words of love that would surely drive a wedge between them as he followed her to the peak of ecstasy and over.
While she caught her breath, he held her against him; her head rested in the crook of his neck, her fingers finding the rapid pulse of his jugular. All along her back, his large warm hands moved in soothing motions as his breathing began to slow. Outside, the sky was black as midnight, lightning flashing through the crack in the curtains with seizure-inducing frequency and thunder shaking the skies, and she breathed a sigh of relief that they were there in the hotel room instead of caught in the storm.
Pressing a kiss to her head, he nudged her off of him and she slid over and yanked the covers down so that she could crawl beneath them. Separated from the warmth of his body, the chill of the room raised goosebumps on her skin and she looked ruefully at the pile of wet clothes on the floor. House flipped on the lamp, grabbed his cane, extended it toward the chair and hooked it on the strap of his backpack, dragging the bag over to the bed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a clean, dry button down and passed it to her, and she smiled her gratitude and pulled it on, inhaling the scent of him that lingered in the fabric.
He set the bag aside for a moment and slid his jeans off, dropping them to the floor, and pulled his boxer briefs back up before sliding beneath the covers beside her. In that moment she realized that he'd taken care of her first, again, and it touched her as much as his lovemaking and brought her such joy that she was nearly overcome with it and had to blink back tears. If it were possible, she'd freeze time and stay with him here in this place where his walls were down and he showed her the tenderness and affection she'd always suspected he was capable of.
"Okay?" he asked, and all she could do was swallow the lump in her throat and nod.
Almost reverently, he pulled Pearl's journal from his backpack, setting it on his leg and discarding his bag. The book was bound in scuffed brown leather, several inches thick with sepia toned pages and a strip of faded blue ribbon slipped between the pages. The musty smell of a bygone era emanated from it, clinging to the dust motes that floated away from the ancient paper within.
House looked at her with eyebrows raised and asked, "You ready for this?"
She nodded again and scooted closer to him so that they could read it together. He opened the front cover and they read the name, Struana McCready 1843, written in a graceful script. House turned to the next page and the story began.
continue
Title: Pearl's House 8/10
Rating: Now rated M to be safe
Genre: angst, romance, au, supernatural
Summary: Cameron tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and made quick work of searching the place for anything unusual. Problem was, everything there was unusual.
A/N: Written for the weekly challenge at hughvillefics for the prompt New Year's Eve. Unbeta'd
previous chapter
Once inside the hotel room, House pushed the door shut with his cane, grabbed her bag from her shoulder and tossed it with his onto the nearest chair. His hair was matted to his head from the rain, and little drops were rolling off the end of his nose. Cameron thought he still looked amazing, his blue eyes bright in the dimly lit room like spot lights that sought her out. Her own hair was dripping down her back and leaving wet splotches on her shoulders. She reached up to pull it up into a knot, when House moved forward and began unbuttoning her coat, sliding it off her shoulders, and starting on her blouse while she stood before him shivering and blinking.
"What are you doing?" she asked, between the clacking of her chattering teeth.
"Need to get you out of these wet clothes," he answered, with an implied "duh" in his voice. "Should get out of mine too, come to think of it."
One touch of his hands on her bare shoulders as he slid her blouse off and she was kindling set aflame by his touch. He leaned down and kissed her and she forgot all about her questions and let her senses take over, fumbling to help him remove his coat and his shirt as his fingers slid through her wet hair to angle her head just right. His kisses were urgent and tender at the same time, fueling the fire he'd started within her and warming her chilled skin. She kicked off her shoes as he pushed her pants down over the curve of her ass. Stepping out of them, she almost stumbled as he pulled her tight against him, nearly swallowing her in his embrace. Like they had a will of their own, her hands moved over his biceps, up his shoulders and down over his shoulder blades, relishing in the feel of his muscles moving beneath her fingertips; he was a living, breathing work of art, breathtakingly beautiful and sensual all at once.
Easing her toward the bed, he hooked his cane to the headboard and sat, pulling her with him so that she was straddling his lap. He slid his hands up her back and unclasped her bra, pulling it down her arms and tossing it away. Her fingers worked the button and zipper of his jeans, frantic to join their bodies completely. And all the while, he continued kissing her and touching her, a connoisseur of her body, savoring and devouring.
His hands were meant to touch her, she thought, as they molded themselves to her curves. Under her palms, his damp skin sent little electrical charges through her and it felt as if her blood was vibrating through her veins. She could never be close enough to him, though she tried, melding herself to his body as he slid her panties down her legs and urged her to accept him. He had her on the edge from the first kiss, and when she lowered herself onto him, she could barely contain the pleasure that flowed through her like a current.
He held her as if she were precious to him and made her feel safe and cherished as she rocked her body against his. Every touch was an extension of the protective way he watched over her at Pearl's house; he spoke with his hands and his kisses in ways he seemed incapable of with words, telling her things she'd always longed to hear. But she couldn't be sure if he was conscious of it, if it would last or if he'd push her away once again when it was all over, and that made her cling to him all the more. Her feelings for him nearly spilled out of her through the tears in her eyes and the way she murmured his name and clutched him as she came. It was all she could do to keep from whispering words of love that would surely drive a wedge between them as he followed her to the peak of ecstasy and over.
While she caught her breath, he held her against him; her head rested in the crook of his neck, her fingers finding the rapid pulse of his jugular. All along her back, his large warm hands moved in soothing motions as his breathing began to slow. Outside, the sky was black as midnight, lightning flashing through the crack in the curtains with seizure-inducing frequency and thunder shaking the skies, and she breathed a sigh of relief that they were there in the hotel room instead of caught in the storm.
Pressing a kiss to her head, he nudged her off of him and she slid over and yanked the covers down so that she could crawl beneath them. Separated from the warmth of his body, the chill of the room raised goosebumps on her skin and she looked ruefully at the pile of wet clothes on the floor. House flipped on the lamp, grabbed his cane, extended it toward the chair and hooked it on the strap of his backpack, dragging the bag over to the bed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a clean, dry button down and passed it to her, and she smiled her gratitude and pulled it on, inhaling the scent of him that lingered in the fabric.
He set the bag aside for a moment and slid his jeans off, dropping them to the floor, and pulled his boxer briefs back up before sliding beneath the covers beside her. In that moment she realized that he'd taken care of her first, again, and it touched her as much as his lovemaking and brought her such joy that she was nearly overcome with it and had to blink back tears. If it were possible, she'd freeze time and stay with him here in this place where his walls were down and he showed her the tenderness and affection she'd always suspected he was capable of.
"Okay?" he asked, and all she could do was swallow the lump in her throat and nod.
Almost reverently, he pulled Pearl's journal from his backpack, setting it on his leg and discarding his bag. The book was bound in scuffed brown leather, several inches thick with sepia toned pages and a strip of faded blue ribbon slipped between the pages. The musty smell of a bygone era emanated from it, clinging to the dust motes that floated away from the ancient paper within.
House looked at her with eyebrows raised and asked, "You ready for this?"
She nodded again and scooted closer to him so that they could read it together. He opened the front cover and they read the name, Struana McCready 1843, written in a graceful script. House turned to the next page and the story began.
continue