House drabble: a city of collapsing sandcastles
Title: a city of collapsing sandcastles
Fandom: House, M.D
Characters/Pairings: Cameron, Cuddy/Cameron
Word Count: 694
Rating: R
Spoilers: Merry Little Christmas. ♥
Summary: It’s that she doesn’t want to go home alone tonight and so coffee is the first tangible word that stops Cameron from going out the double doors.
Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from. Seriously.
she's a beauty queen
my sweet bean bag in the street
take it
down out to the laundry scene
don't know why she's in my head
can't figure what it is
but I lie again
tori amos, beauty queen
*
Downtown, between the Starbucks and the bookstore, there’s a baby store. She stops, maybe once, and winces when there’s a couple.
Oh, honey look! is her cue to leave.
*
Start at the begin. From before.
She’s not interested in commitment, the kind that shake of fairytales and dip into magazines. There’s something about the prospect of a child, of being there and having that kind of personalized responsibility.
There’s a romantic notion in her head. (Yes, mom. I’m sure.)
But her doubts are much harder. Maybe that’s it.
*
Christmas smells too much like Christmas.
She’s flying home later in the week, hoping that House won’t fall into a pit of stupidity while she’s gone and take the hospital with him.
(It’s almost pathological, her father, the psychologist says to her. You nurture the hospital like a child.)
She’s not looking forward to going home, dad, and the tenth non-date her mother believes she should have. So she hesitates in packing her things and spots Dr. Cameron walking through the lobby.
I promise, she says tiredly into the phone. (Mothers. Daughters. It’s a recognizable language.)
She really doesn’t like the younger woman, but something in her kind of rises and she understands that exhaustion that she sees.
It’s that she doesn’t want to go home alone tonight and so coffee is the first tangible word that stops Cameron from going out the double doors.
*
“You’re doing really well, considering,” she says awkwardly after a venti café macchiato echoes across the small coffee shop.
Cameron shrugs, her hair dusting across her eyes. Her fingers curl and she finds herself step forward- only to brush against the younger woman and grabbing one of those holiday coffee mugs (Dad.)
“You get used to it.”
*
Maybe it went to dinner. Maybe they laughed like old friends-
But in the end, it doesn’t matter. (Starting points are poetically destined to fail and fade- Dad likes to drink too, but these are things that aren’t in files, body language, or all of the above.)
All she knows is that her fingers are tangled in Allison Cameron’s hair, her mouth against hers as they fight for dominance. There’s a moan. And hiss. Cameron’s tongue is in her mouth, wet, and her hand is sliding between the younger woman’s legs.
It’s just a kiss. (It won’t happen again should’ve left her mouth.)
*
The next morning, she’s not alone and she’s tangled in the sheets with another body.
Roads closed. Snow accumulation- Christmas comes early, she thinks. She’ll call her parents later. And thanks, whoever, for the chance to avoid another baby and your job conversation.
She, however, turns and refuses to fall to awkwardness, studying Cameron beside her. Legs, pale skin, and strange calmness to her makes her uneasy (somewhat) in an impractical sense.
“Do we have to have the awkward morning after conversation?”
Cuddy chuckles, shifting forward and brushing her hand against the curve of her hip. Her fingers dance across her stomach.
“No,” she says, her voice is too husky. In the I enjoyed this too much way.
Lashes brush against her cheeks and Cameron stares back up at her. Maybe it’s just one of those things.
*
It doesn’t go like this: brushing admissions and ohgodohgod confessions.
There’s instinct.
I want you brushing against Cameron, Allison’s breasts as they have sex for the third time that morning (snow storm!). Her tongue slides against her nipple lazily and there’s this soft gasp as she arches.
She doesn’t slide her hands between her legs, her fingers brushing against her thighs, against her curls, and in the wetness of her arousal. It’s too soft, too easy, and not what she needs.
She does, however, have a moment on the phone with her mother and gasping because Allison is between her legs, her tongue in her cunt.
And, god, it’s kind of kinky.
*
Monday morning, after holidays, she expects Cameron (Allison) with the rest of them.
But there are no secret glances, smiles, or aches. (I can’t need this, slips from her lips pathetically. It was fun.)
And it bothers her. Like her list of everything else.
∅
Fandom: House, M.D
Characters/Pairings: Cameron, Cuddy/Cameron
Word Count: 694
Rating: R
Spoilers: Merry Little Christmas. ♥
Summary: It’s that she doesn’t want to go home alone tonight and so coffee is the first tangible word that stops Cameron from going out the double doors.
Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from. Seriously.
she's a beauty queen
my sweet bean bag in the street
take it
down out to the laundry scene
don't know why she's in my head
can't figure what it is
but I lie again
tori amos, beauty queen
*
Downtown, between the Starbucks and the bookstore, there’s a baby store. She stops, maybe once, and winces when there’s a couple.
Oh, honey look! is her cue to leave.
*
Start at the begin. From before.
She’s not interested in commitment, the kind that shake of fairytales and dip into magazines. There’s something about the prospect of a child, of being there and having that kind of personalized responsibility.
There’s a romantic notion in her head. (Yes, mom. I’m sure.)
But her doubts are much harder. Maybe that’s it.
*
Christmas smells too much like Christmas.
She’s flying home later in the week, hoping that House won’t fall into a pit of stupidity while she’s gone and take the hospital with him.
(It’s almost pathological, her father, the psychologist says to her. You nurture the hospital like a child.)
She’s not looking forward to going home, dad, and the tenth non-date her mother believes she should have. So she hesitates in packing her things and spots Dr. Cameron walking through the lobby.
I promise, she says tiredly into the phone. (Mothers. Daughters. It’s a recognizable language.)
She really doesn’t like the younger woman, but something in her kind of rises and she understands that exhaustion that she sees.
It’s that she doesn’t want to go home alone tonight and so coffee is the first tangible word that stops Cameron from going out the double doors.
*
“You’re doing really well, considering,” she says awkwardly after a venti café macchiato echoes across the small coffee shop.
Cameron shrugs, her hair dusting across her eyes. Her fingers curl and she finds herself step forward- only to brush against the younger woman and grabbing one of those holiday coffee mugs (Dad.)
“You get used to it.”
*
Maybe it went to dinner. Maybe they laughed like old friends-
But in the end, it doesn’t matter. (Starting points are poetically destined to fail and fade- Dad likes to drink too, but these are things that aren’t in files, body language, or all of the above.)
All she knows is that her fingers are tangled in Allison Cameron’s hair, her mouth against hers as they fight for dominance. There’s a moan. And hiss. Cameron’s tongue is in her mouth, wet, and her hand is sliding between the younger woman’s legs.
It’s just a kiss. (It won’t happen again should’ve left her mouth.)
*
The next morning, she’s not alone and she’s tangled in the sheets with another body.
Roads closed. Snow accumulation- Christmas comes early, she thinks. She’ll call her parents later. And thanks, whoever, for the chance to avoid another baby and your job conversation.
She, however, turns and refuses to fall to awkwardness, studying Cameron beside her. Legs, pale skin, and strange calmness to her makes her uneasy (somewhat) in an impractical sense.
“Do we have to have the awkward morning after conversation?”
Cuddy chuckles, shifting forward and brushing her hand against the curve of her hip. Her fingers dance across her stomach.
“No,” she says, her voice is too husky. In the I enjoyed this too much way.
Lashes brush against her cheeks and Cameron stares back up at her. Maybe it’s just one of those things.
*
It doesn’t go like this: brushing admissions and ohgodohgod confessions.
There’s instinct.
I want you brushing against Cameron, Allison’s breasts as they have sex for the third time that morning (snow storm!). Her tongue slides against her nipple lazily and there’s this soft gasp as she arches.
She doesn’t slide her hands between her legs, her fingers brushing against her thighs, against her curls, and in the wetness of her arousal. It’s too soft, too easy, and not what she needs.
She does, however, have a moment on the phone with her mother and gasping because Allison is between her legs, her tongue in her cunt.
And, god, it’s kind of kinky.
*
Monday morning, after holidays, she expects Cameron (Allison) with the rest of them.
But there are no secret glances, smiles, or aches. (I can’t need this, slips from her lips pathetically. It was fun.)
And it bothers her. Like her list of everything else.
∅