house fic: Spheres of Influence 1/1
Title: Spheres of Influence
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1000
Spoilers:Nada
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He tells you that it's because he can't help himself.
A/N: For the fanfic100 prompt 089.Work. It's all about spreading the love. Thanks to nousia for betaing for me.
He tells you that it's because he can't help himself.
You're sitting on the examination table, waiting for him to finish reviewing the file that Cuddy has spent the better part of the day begging you to give to him. He won't fight you, she had said. The rest of us don't exist in that damn alternate world that the two of you seem to share.
So here you are.
And here he is.
"Cuddy couldn't come and give this to me herself?"
You shrug, glad that you picked today to wear a skirt and lightweight hosiery. There's a rumor going that the air conditioning is broken and you're hoping it's not true because you're starting to feel your stockings stick to your leg. At least, you're wearing a skirt.
You start to swing your legs. "Nope. Could we get this over with? You did give me the task of doing charts today," you murmur, wrinkling your nose as you notice a run in your stockings. "Out of the goodness of your heart."
The screech of the wheels of his stool startles you and you look up in concern. The file is tossed haphazardly to the side and his hands rest on your thighs to stop your legs from continuing to swing.
"Out of the goodness of my heart," he repeats. "I don't remember saying that."
It's a lie. And you both know it. He's trying to goad you into argument because he wants nothing more than to avoid Cuddy and whatever case is in the file.
You cock your head to the side, strands of hair falling into your eyes. A smile starts to curl at your lips. If he wants a fight, he's going to have to work for it.
"You did," you confirm. "I wanted to smack you.
"But you didn't."
His thumbs move in slow circles against your thighs. Your lips part with a sigh and you're starting to wonder if you've spent far too many hours at work today. Normal people would be out at seven. You just have the pleasure of working for a misogynist.
Your voice is low. Husky. "I didn't.”
"You're not playing fair." His hands slip under your skirt and you continue to pat yourself on the back at how good the purchase was. It was a sensible skirt, the saleswoman told you. Sexy. Simple. Practical. Practical is always too good of a concept to pass up.
“And you do?” You shrug, shifting innocently. The end of your skirt rides up on your legs. You're starting to wish that you had worn pants today. You wouldn't mind just a button and zipper.
"Rules of engagement, Dr. Cameron," he murmurs.
You snort. Sliding forward, you slip out of your lab coat and toss it to the side, covering the file. "You're not getting out of reading the file."
"I read it."
"Sure you did."
His fingers hook into the waist of your stockings, tugging them down from under your skirt. You watch as he carefully pulls off your shoes and throws them by your lab coat. The stockings soon follow. You sigh at the welcome freedom of the warm air.
"Goddamn it, Cameron," he growls. "You know-"
Your skirt seems to bunch up at your waist of its own accord. You watch him under half-lidded eyes. "You didn't read the file," you murmur again.
"You didn't wear any underwear."
You hide your grin well. "You still haven't read the file."
"I'm busy," he says. His lips press against the inside of your thigh and your fingers start to dig into the cushion. You can expect what happens next, you've played this game well enough before.
"She'll come after me."
His finger brushes against your clit, causing you to gasp and tremble. You always know what's coming. It's your reaction that remains unpredictable.
"And you'll handle it," he pauses and his finger slides into your cunt. You're wet. You've been wet and hot and waiting all day. But you're a patient woman. A firm believer in the punishment and reward system.
"-with your usual elegance and grace."
His finger begins to move.
You moan. Your eyes drift shut. "Patient history?"
"He's a cranky old man," he responds. You feel his gaze burning into you. You start to count in rhythm with the motions of his finger. One. Two. One. Two. ohgod. One. Two. One Two.
"With no history of cancer in his family. No heart conditions. Temporary cases of diabetes that seem to skip every other generation. He's never smoked. Never drank. Clean."
Your head falls back and you bite your lip to hide another moan. Your hips begin to rock and he tugs you forward some more, your legs dangling on either side of him.
"So you can tell Cuddy I read it," he says.
You can't respond. You don't attempt to tell him that he's a liar and that description was from a case several weeks ago. You don't have the energy to because all of the sudden his mouth is pressed against your clit. You swallow. You sigh. You whimper and wonder how soundproof these exam rooms really are because you're that close to screaming.
And then he pulls his finger out of your cunt.
You whimper. You can't breathe. Your eyes are wide. Your heart is erratic. You're torn between wanting to kill him and fucking him right there.
He smiles.
You growl.
"I like you better angry and frustrated." It's an intentionally awful explanation. You should fuck him and then kill him, you decide.
Instead, you slip calmly off the examining table and straighten yourself up. You reach for your lab coat, your underwear and stockings tumbling to the floor. They rest on the file.
You smirk and make no move to pick them up. You slip on your shoes and then turn, walking to where he still sat and brushing your lips against his forehead.
"Read the file."
He'll come and find you later anyway.
finished.
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1000
Spoilers:Nada
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He tells you that it's because he can't help himself.
A/N: For the fanfic100 prompt 089.Work. It's all about spreading the love. Thanks to nousia for betaing for me.
He tells you that it's because he can't help himself.
You're sitting on the examination table, waiting for him to finish reviewing the file that Cuddy has spent the better part of the day begging you to give to him. He won't fight you, she had said. The rest of us don't exist in that damn alternate world that the two of you seem to share.
So here you are.
And here he is.
"Cuddy couldn't come and give this to me herself?"
You shrug, glad that you picked today to wear a skirt and lightweight hosiery. There's a rumor going that the air conditioning is broken and you're hoping it's not true because you're starting to feel your stockings stick to your leg. At least, you're wearing a skirt.
You start to swing your legs. "Nope. Could we get this over with? You did give me the task of doing charts today," you murmur, wrinkling your nose as you notice a run in your stockings. "Out of the goodness of your heart."
The screech of the wheels of his stool startles you and you look up in concern. The file is tossed haphazardly to the side and his hands rest on your thighs to stop your legs from continuing to swing.
"Out of the goodness of my heart," he repeats. "I don't remember saying that."
It's a lie. And you both know it. He's trying to goad you into argument because he wants nothing more than to avoid Cuddy and whatever case is in the file.
You cock your head to the side, strands of hair falling into your eyes. A smile starts to curl at your lips. If he wants a fight, he's going to have to work for it.
"You did," you confirm. "I wanted to smack you.
"But you didn't."
His thumbs move in slow circles against your thighs. Your lips part with a sigh and you're starting to wonder if you've spent far too many hours at work today. Normal people would be out at seven. You just have the pleasure of working for a misogynist.
Your voice is low. Husky. "I didn't.”
"You're not playing fair." His hands slip under your skirt and you continue to pat yourself on the back at how good the purchase was. It was a sensible skirt, the saleswoman told you. Sexy. Simple. Practical. Practical is always too good of a concept to pass up.
“And you do?” You shrug, shifting innocently. The end of your skirt rides up on your legs. You're starting to wish that you had worn pants today. You wouldn't mind just a button and zipper.
"Rules of engagement, Dr. Cameron," he murmurs.
You snort. Sliding forward, you slip out of your lab coat and toss it to the side, covering the file. "You're not getting out of reading the file."
"I read it."
"Sure you did."
His fingers hook into the waist of your stockings, tugging them down from under your skirt. You watch as he carefully pulls off your shoes and throws them by your lab coat. The stockings soon follow. You sigh at the welcome freedom of the warm air.
"Goddamn it, Cameron," he growls. "You know-"
Your skirt seems to bunch up at your waist of its own accord. You watch him under half-lidded eyes. "You didn't read the file," you murmur again.
"You didn't wear any underwear."
You hide your grin well. "You still haven't read the file."
"I'm busy," he says. His lips press against the inside of your thigh and your fingers start to dig into the cushion. You can expect what happens next, you've played this game well enough before.
"She'll come after me."
His finger brushes against your clit, causing you to gasp and tremble. You always know what's coming. It's your reaction that remains unpredictable.
"And you'll handle it," he pauses and his finger slides into your cunt. You're wet. You've been wet and hot and waiting all day. But you're a patient woman. A firm believer in the punishment and reward system.
"-with your usual elegance and grace."
His finger begins to move.
You moan. Your eyes drift shut. "Patient history?"
"He's a cranky old man," he responds. You feel his gaze burning into you. You start to count in rhythm with the motions of his finger. One. Two. One. Two. ohgod. One. Two. One Two.
"With no history of cancer in his family. No heart conditions. Temporary cases of diabetes that seem to skip every other generation. He's never smoked. Never drank. Clean."
Your head falls back and you bite your lip to hide another moan. Your hips begin to rock and he tugs you forward some more, your legs dangling on either side of him.
"So you can tell Cuddy I read it," he says.
You can't respond. You don't attempt to tell him that he's a liar and that description was from a case several weeks ago. You don't have the energy to because all of the sudden his mouth is pressed against your clit. You swallow. You sigh. You whimper and wonder how soundproof these exam rooms really are because you're that close to screaming.
And then he pulls his finger out of your cunt.
You whimper. You can't breathe. Your eyes are wide. Your heart is erratic. You're torn between wanting to kill him and fucking him right there.
He smiles.
You growl.
"I like you better angry and frustrated." It's an intentionally awful explanation. You should fuck him and then kill him, you decide.
Instead, you slip calmly off the examining table and straighten yourself up. You reach for your lab coat, your underwear and stockings tumbling to the floor. They rest on the file.
You smirk and make no move to pick them up. You slip on your shoes and then turn, walking to where he still sat and brushing your lips against his forehead.
"Read the file."
He'll come and find you later anyway.
finished.