House fic: sometimes things just explode
Title: sometimes things just explode
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters/Pairings: House, House/Cameron
Word Count: 1000
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: Que Será Será. ♥
Summary: Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this.
Author's Notes: For _vicodin. ♥ Because her prompt was a gun. *is amused*
you'll know quite soon what my mistake was.
Tori Amos, liquid diamonds
*
Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this.
*
It sort of starts when she’s still picking glass from her arm, tucked away in the women’s bathroom on the ground floor.
She hears the door open and then a squeak, rolling her eyes when his lanky frame comes to view in the mirror. He smirks and then turns, locking the door. It’s the we need to talk expression that he’s trying to wear that makes her curious. And almost amused.
“What’s wrong with you?”
If it were before, a long time ago, she might’ve shivered at the curl of curiosity that she’s pushed in him. Now, it’s not like that. She doesn’t know about placement anymore. But he still gets amusement from her-
Her lips curl out of strange habits, briefly, and then she looks up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Nothing,” she murmurs.
He stays with her until she finishes. And maybe, she doesn’t mind.
*
It’s nothing, she’s learned to tell herself. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.
It kind of works out.
*
It’s curious, though, how it’s become a series of confrontation between the two of them. There’s no control, but it’s not the objective of it all.
She isn’t quite sure if there’s anything.
But when he watches her, and she knows he’s watching her, it becomes a whole different set of perspectives. What if becomes a well, why on her best days.
He tries to figure out what’s wrong with her the entire day (nothing) and she doesn’t let him.
(Because she can.)
It’s about advantages and how to use them. She’s starting to learn.
*
When it’s all said and done, she goes to him.
Not because she’s going to explain, but because there’s something there. And she doesn’t trust the moment to indulge in whatever this all is.
It’s complicated.
And she means it, brushing against his curiosity just to see if it’s genuine. Because she’s got to be careful with these things.
She doesn’t mean to laugh, mean to smile, but it all just sort of happens. Like everything else between them. And she takes her leave with this twisting in her mind and marking her thoughts.
Her clue, however, comes in the form of the end, when she turns and walks away.
She can feel his stare burning into her skin.
*
There’s an answer to all of this.
*
She used to think that this was like building sandcastles, struggling to find her place here and wondering when it would all just crumble.
She walks back into the office (later) and gathers her things quietly. She’s the only one left, she and Foreman had long given up on making bets to where Chase had gone for the rest of the day.
“You make it complicated.”
She stills and turns, her hair brushing into her eyes as she meets House’s dark gaze. She leans against the edge. There’s no sense in being evasive, because it’s what he expects, so she shrugs.
“You’d like to think I make it complicated,” she returns tiredly. “Because then it would explain everything.”
He says nothing, stepping forward and letting the door shut. The lights are dim and the shades are drawn because no one ever comes this way, this late. A swirl of nervousness tugs at her stomach because he’s watching her and she-
Her fingers curl against the desk when his hands rest between her hands on the surface, stacks of charts and thrifty pencil holders their wall (for the sake of figurative language).
He’s pushing closer. “I like challenges.”
“Right,” she says softly. She almost smiles.
*
He walks her to the elevator, stops, and then gets into the elevator with her, his fingers grazing her wrist.
They say nothing to each other. It’s going to happen.
*
She’s barely made it to her car (parked two spots down from his) when he presses her against the red Honda, his fingers curled in the lapels of her jacket. Her lips part, but he’s not about to waste time (she guesses) and leans forward to kiss her.
It’s nothing of what she’s expected, if she’s expected anything at all. His mouth is a feverish contradiction, cool and then hot, wet, and pushing her to respond back. She nearly dies when his tongue slides into her mouth and manages (with a growl) to start pushing back.
She kisses him harder, when things begin to spin and spin and spin, her hands tucking themselves into his sides. Her palms rest flat against his hips and she hears a clatter (his cane) as he starts to tug her closer.
He’s not close enough.
*
Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this. And then again when she arches against him, moaning and spilling onto his sheets.
Bang, she whispers back.
She thinks about nakedness, complete and fulfilling, and decides she likes learning these sensations as his cock slides inside of her. And ohgodfuck he’s got to start pushing deeper because she’s starting to clench to keep him like this.
He hisses (his leg), but the focus is curling in other directions, spilling into avenues that she never knew possible. She’s hardly romantic, but this is consuming her, tugging a carnal need to have more.
She wants more. And it’s a scary thing wanting more, knowing that somewhere (here) and the addiction’s going to start.
His forehead drops against hers and her arms wind around his neck as her leg begins to slide against the back of his, making a path to his waist.
“Move,” she moans, hisses, and pleas. (She’s going to need him.)
It might occur to her, later, that it’s going to be more than what it’s always been. Because this can’t be ignored.
It can’t.
*
There’s coffee on her desk, the next morning, with no note and a start.
*e*
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters/Pairings: House, House/Cameron
Word Count: 1000
Rating: Hard R
Spoilers: Que Será Será. ♥
Summary: Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this.
Author's Notes: For _vicodin. ♥ Because her prompt was a gun. *is amused*
you'll know quite soon what my mistake was.
Tori Amos, liquid diamonds
*
Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this.
*
It sort of starts when she’s still picking glass from her arm, tucked away in the women’s bathroom on the ground floor.
She hears the door open and then a squeak, rolling her eyes when his lanky frame comes to view in the mirror. He smirks and then turns, locking the door. It’s the we need to talk expression that he’s trying to wear that makes her curious. And almost amused.
“What’s wrong with you?”
If it were before, a long time ago, she might’ve shivered at the curl of curiosity that she’s pushed in him. Now, it’s not like that. She doesn’t know about placement anymore. But he still gets amusement from her-
Her lips curl out of strange habits, briefly, and then she looks up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Nothing,” she murmurs.
He stays with her until she finishes. And maybe, she doesn’t mind.
*
It’s nothing, she’s learned to tell herself. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.
It kind of works out.
*
It’s curious, though, how it’s become a series of confrontation between the two of them. There’s no control, but it’s not the objective of it all.
She isn’t quite sure if there’s anything.
But when he watches her, and she knows he’s watching her, it becomes a whole different set of perspectives. What if becomes a well, why on her best days.
He tries to figure out what’s wrong with her the entire day (nothing) and she doesn’t let him.
(Because she can.)
It’s about advantages and how to use them. She’s starting to learn.
*
When it’s all said and done, she goes to him.
Not because she’s going to explain, but because there’s something there. And she doesn’t trust the moment to indulge in whatever this all is.
It’s complicated.
And she means it, brushing against his curiosity just to see if it’s genuine. Because she’s got to be careful with these things.
She doesn’t mean to laugh, mean to smile, but it all just sort of happens. Like everything else between them. And she takes her leave with this twisting in her mind and marking her thoughts.
Her clue, however, comes in the form of the end, when she turns and walks away.
She can feel his stare burning into her skin.
*
There’s an answer to all of this.
*
She used to think that this was like building sandcastles, struggling to find her place here and wondering when it would all just crumble.
She walks back into the office (later) and gathers her things quietly. She’s the only one left, she and Foreman had long given up on making bets to where Chase had gone for the rest of the day.
“You make it complicated.”
She stills and turns, her hair brushing into her eyes as she meets House’s dark gaze. She leans against the edge. There’s no sense in being evasive, because it’s what he expects, so she shrugs.
“You’d like to think I make it complicated,” she returns tiredly. “Because then it would explain everything.”
He says nothing, stepping forward and letting the door shut. The lights are dim and the shades are drawn because no one ever comes this way, this late. A swirl of nervousness tugs at her stomach because he’s watching her and she-
Her fingers curl against the desk when his hands rest between her hands on the surface, stacks of charts and thrifty pencil holders their wall (for the sake of figurative language).
He’s pushing closer. “I like challenges.”
“Right,” she says softly. She almost smiles.
*
He walks her to the elevator, stops, and then gets into the elevator with her, his fingers grazing her wrist.
They say nothing to each other. It’s going to happen.
*
She’s barely made it to her car (parked two spots down from his) when he presses her against the red Honda, his fingers curled in the lapels of her jacket. Her lips part, but he’s not about to waste time (she guesses) and leans forward to kiss her.
It’s nothing of what she’s expected, if she’s expected anything at all. His mouth is a feverish contradiction, cool and then hot, wet, and pushing her to respond back. She nearly dies when his tongue slides into her mouth and manages (with a growl) to start pushing back.
She kisses him harder, when things begin to spin and spin and spin, her hands tucking themselves into his sides. Her palms rest flat against his hips and she hears a clatter (his cane) as he starts to tug her closer.
He’s not close enough.
*
Bangbang, he whispers against her throat. Because it is kind of funny, how it’s come to this. And then again when she arches against him, moaning and spilling onto his sheets.
Bang, she whispers back.
She thinks about nakedness, complete and fulfilling, and decides she likes learning these sensations as his cock slides inside of her. And ohgodfuck he’s got to start pushing deeper because she’s starting to clench to keep him like this.
He hisses (his leg), but the focus is curling in other directions, spilling into avenues that she never knew possible. She’s hardly romantic, but this is consuming her, tugging a carnal need to have more.
She wants more. And it’s a scary thing wanting more, knowing that somewhere (here) and the addiction’s going to start.
His forehead drops against hers and her arms wind around his neck as her leg begins to slide against the back of his, making a path to his waist.
“Move,” she moans, hisses, and pleas. (She’s going to need him.)
It might occur to her, later, that it’s going to be more than what it’s always been. Because this can’t be ignored.
It can’t.
*
There’s coffee on her desk, the next morning, with no note and a start.
*e*