House fic: Nursery Rhymes
For: cathiexx
Title: Nursery Rhymes
Character(s)/Paring(s): OT3: house/cameron/wilson, wilson/cameron, house/cameron, and minor h/w
Rating: R
Word Count: 522
Prompt: House/Cameron/Wilson - all fall down
Summary: the question is never how it started.
Author's Notes: *laughs* I just find it amusing that this worked out the way it did. Made me dizzy for a little while, always happens when I experiment with style. Alas, my dear cathiexx, I hope you enjoy this.
“His love is the twenty-story leap, the rope at the throat, the knife at the heart. He forgets not his own.” Sylvia Plath, “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams”
the question is never how it started, it’s how they fell but how it occurred is something that none of them bother to answer. some things are just as is. where he begins and he ends, she’s always in between. she burns them both and this, this is the truth that they will always know.
james, james likes to watch and learn, a strange habit of his. because james holds a high regard for things like human interactions and understanding, it’s how he’s too good at empathizing with dying patients and disregarding the proxy of his environment. oh, james understands how stupid he is, how stupid he is sometimes- even when he watches the both of them, bleeding and moving for them and then, him.
allison moves in graceful curves and with soft, colored pants of air- they’re both undoubtedly fascinated by the painting of her movements, the enigma that she continues to make. secrets should unravel, ribbon by ribbon, and allison continues to allude them even with a smile. james asks are you a dancer and allison only smiles because even her smiles holds secrets.
but greg, greg never asks. greg sticks to the weight of expectations, but even here, here this way, expectations and assumptions never matter anyway. sometimes he watches allison and james move, the way allison wraps her legs around his waist and he has to, has to wrap his hand around his cock because james likes to whisper in her ear. greg likes to listen to wicked, wicked promises that fall from his lips.
james can never pinpoint the moment it started, the histories and webs are not even accurate enough. he knows that he was watching allison and greg was watching him watch allison because watching allison is what he does, thus the transposing of secrets. but greg used to press a kiss against his thigh and brush his fingers against the length of his cock and tell him what he’d like to do to her. it was their game that allison now likes to watch.
they move for her, this much allison knows. she knows because they ask her to watch and what she’s thinking and sometimes she keeps quiet, but for the most part she tells them and they always pull her between them. allison loves when greg is between her legs and she can feel his tongue sliding against her clit and she’s oh so wet for him, him. allison loves to listen to james, james whisper in her ear because she loves that he watches them.
greg prefers the sensation of her skin against his, the way that she touches him and burns him- it’s just never enough for greg. he wonders how he’s made it this far without wanting to touch her like this or before, time doesn’t matter anymore. he likes it when she’s between them, twisting and moaning and begging and screaming their names. he loves to watch her come alive under him because then she just burns them both. and greg and james both know that they’d fall to the clutch of romanticism for her.
just like this.
finished.
Title: Nursery Rhymes
Character(s)/Paring(s): OT3: house/cameron/wilson, wilson/cameron, house/cameron, and minor h/w
Rating: R
Word Count: 522
Prompt: House/Cameron/Wilson - all fall down
Summary: the question is never how it started.
Author's Notes: *laughs* I just find it amusing that this worked out the way it did. Made me dizzy for a little while, always happens when I experiment with style. Alas, my dear cathiexx, I hope you enjoy this.
“His love is the twenty-story leap, the rope at the throat, the knife at the heart. He forgets not his own.” Sylvia Plath, “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams”
the question is never how it started, it’s how they fell but how it occurred is something that none of them bother to answer. some things are just as is. where he begins and he ends, she’s always in between. she burns them both and this, this is the truth that they will always know.
james, james likes to watch and learn, a strange habit of his. because james holds a high regard for things like human interactions and understanding, it’s how he’s too good at empathizing with dying patients and disregarding the proxy of his environment. oh, james understands how stupid he is, how stupid he is sometimes- even when he watches the both of them, bleeding and moving for them and then, him.
allison moves in graceful curves and with soft, colored pants of air- they’re both undoubtedly fascinated by the painting of her movements, the enigma that she continues to make. secrets should unravel, ribbon by ribbon, and allison continues to allude them even with a smile. james asks are you a dancer and allison only smiles because even her smiles holds secrets.
but greg, greg never asks. greg sticks to the weight of expectations, but even here, here this way, expectations and assumptions never matter anyway. sometimes he watches allison and james move, the way allison wraps her legs around his waist and he has to, has to wrap his hand around his cock because james likes to whisper in her ear. greg likes to listen to wicked, wicked promises that fall from his lips.
james can never pinpoint the moment it started, the histories and webs are not even accurate enough. he knows that he was watching allison and greg was watching him watch allison because watching allison is what he does, thus the transposing of secrets. but greg used to press a kiss against his thigh and brush his fingers against the length of his cock and tell him what he’d like to do to her. it was their game that allison now likes to watch.
they move for her, this much allison knows. she knows because they ask her to watch and what she’s thinking and sometimes she keeps quiet, but for the most part she tells them and they always pull her between them. allison loves when greg is between her legs and she can feel his tongue sliding against her clit and she’s oh so wet for him, him. allison loves to listen to james, james whisper in her ear because she loves that he watches them.
greg prefers the sensation of her skin against his, the way that she touches him and burns him- it’s just never enough for greg. he wonders how he’s made it this far without wanting to touch her like this or before, time doesn’t matter anymore. he likes it when she’s between them, twisting and moaning and begging and screaming their names. he loves to watch her come alive under him because then she just burns them both. and greg and james both know that they’d fall to the clutch of romanticism for her.
just like this.
finished.