Fic: Little Bruises
Title: Little Bruises
Author: vitawash24
Pairing: Chase/Cameron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Post-ep for 3.09, Finding Judas. Answer to Prompt #204: Chase/Cameron -- he gets nasty drunk and it leads to non-consensual sex. Or just very rough. Either one.
A/N: Another late entry! I fear this is not nearly rough enough for the prompter's liking, but I hope it will serve its purpose anyway. This was adapted from an RP with enigma731, who also served as my fabulous beta.
A brisk winter wind stings Cameron's cheeks as she hurries down the street, running a quick errand before heading home. Whatever was happening before, her accounts are unfrozen and life is going on outside the hospital. She does a double take when she passes a half-empty bar and spots Chase through the picture window. He had mysteriously disappeared earlier that day, after running out of the room on House's heels. Cameron isn't clear on what transpired in the hallway, but House stopped the surgery, Cuddy explained to the family the strange, lonely life their daughter will have to lead from now on, and Chase apparently bolted in the aftermath.
She walks into the bar, noticing the way the scent of cigarette smoke has settled into the wood and leather in the place. Smoking has been illegal in bars for months, but its history remains, lingering at a molecular level. She shifts onto the stool next to Chase, who looks sideways at her, but doesn't say anything.
"Where'd you disappear to?" Cameron asks, and when Chase gives her a "duh" look she realizes the obviousness of the question. "Okay, why did you disappear? You don't exactly look like you're celebrating."
"Complicated," Chase replies, and takes a sip of the beer in his hand, then from the glass of what looks like some kind of scotch. He shifts on his stool, and turns his head towards her. She notices the bruise on his jaw, and her eyes narrow.
"You did rat out House." Cameron whispers her accusation, as if anyone else in this place would care. Chase gives her a withering look and downs the contents of the smaller glass.
"I didn't tell Tritter a damned thing," he snaps, sloshing the beer over the edges of his pint glass as he picks it up again. "You all think you're such brilliant manipulators but Tritter's played every single one of you." He falls silent and looks into his drink, shoulders heavy as if he's given up on trying to make anyone believe him. That alone makes Cameron suspect he's telling the truth - if he was guilty, he'd be vehemently protesting his innocence.
"Do you have any real reason to be here?" Chase asks after a moment, slurring a little. "Some joke about my parentage you haven't made? There must be a few your-mother's-a-drunk jokes you can dredge up if you really work at it." Cameron's cheeks flush hotly, because she's not entirely sure if she knows that about Chase, and he's getting loud to boot.
"Right. I'm such a bitch. I should just leave, then?" she says icily. Tritter's earlier words about not changing for the better float through her mind, and she tries to stomp them down.
"Is there a problem?" she hears the bartender say, and she looks at Chase, who shakes his head, still watching her.
"No. We'll be going now," Chase replies flatly, and Cameron nods at him. He leaves some bills on the bar, slides off the stool and she feels his hand against her back as they walk out.
"My car is over there - " Cameron begins, but Chase starts walking in the other direction.
"Apartment's that way," he tilts his head to the left and his body lists in the same direction. "I can walk." Cameron frowns, because while she doesn't want to care, she's not sure how far it actually is, and how much trouble he can get in on the way when he's already agitated and angry.
"You shouldn't go alone," Cameron says quickly, and catches up with him.
"I'm not a girl," he says scornfully.
"No, but apparently you are the child of an alcoholic." Chase's eyes widen and Cameron knows she's already won. "That's not a joke," she adds, her voice softer, and Chase nods in vague assent. They walk in silence until they arrive at a townhouse doorstep, where Chase drops his keys twice before she takes them from him and opens the door.
The building is older than hers, and Chase's living room has crown molding, carpeting that could make her feet sing for joy and warm, goldenrod-colored walls, if her childhood box of 64 crayons was to be trusted. The lord of the manor stumbles in behind her and flops gracelessly onto the couch, not even bothering to take off his coat. Cameron slips her own from her shoulders and peers around until she finds a small kitchen, and then opens and closes the cabinets until she finds glasses.
"Here," she says, holding some water out to Chase, who slips out of his jacket and his winter coat in one gesture before taking it. She sits down next to him, crossing her legs and trying to act as if this is all perfectly normal. "Why did House hit you?"
Chase shrugs. "Standing between him and his fix, I guess. Or just...his escape from the hospital. Things weren't looking so good. House doesn't like to fail." He goes quiet for a moment and worries his lip a little with his teeth, cradling the glass in cupped hands instead of holding it properly. "I notice you're not stupid enough to be trying to hold his hand through it."
"Shut up," Cameron says, rolling her eyes. She watches as Chase finally drinks some of the water. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Don't know yet. Don't know if I want to do anything." Chase leans back against the couch. "Solved the case, right? And that should be satisfaction enough," he adds, with a touch of sarcasm Cameron has to admit is well-earned at the moment.
"It's just...House isn't himself right now. You of all people know that." Chase glares ferociously at her, like she's personally betrayed him. This piques her interest in an odd way - she's pissed Chase off before, but his default reaction is to turn away and stop looking at her entirely, like he can just shun her out of his existence.
"If all you're worried about is House, why don't you head over to his place? I'm sure a decent blow job would really help him through the withdrawal."
Cameron sees nothing but red before she flies to her feet and slaps him, the sting registering in her hand almost before she realizes what she's done. She expects him to look shocked or angry, not to buckle in pain. Then she remembers the bruise he already has and the sick feeling of miscalculation from the morning returns. The calculated full-body sneer gives way to stunned, hollow silence, and Cameron braces herself against whatever might come next, the eternally unknown variable of how Chase will react to anything.
Except he doesn't, not the way she expects. He is eerily calm as he stands, the looseness of the alcohol giving him more grace than he usually possesses. She waits for anger to flare in his eyes, or even fear, as illogical as it might be when he could easily send her sprawling to the floor. But there's nothing save the emptiness, the void in Chase's expression making her skin crawl even more than if he took a swing at her. He suddenly takes hold of her arm and she flinches, even though it doesn't hurt.
Chase steps closer, nudging her backwards until she's pressed against the wall beside the door, the very spot she once had him pinned in her own apartment. Her first thought when he is this close, is that he smells wrong to her, like the scent of alcohol has overwhelmed soap and aftershave and the general sweat of the day. But maybe it's an artifact of never needing to fear him before - in a way she's always counted on having nothing to fear from him, not professionally or personally, because Chase has always shut up and slunk away at the slightest provocation. Now she is aware of his height and strength compared to hers, and that he's bristling with anger and disappointment so sharp she thinks she can feel them flowing through his fingers.
"You should leave," Chase says, still not relaxing the grip on her arm. Cameron can barely hear him over her pounding heart, as if her body agrees with him and wants to run as far away as she can.
"Maybe," Cameron says softly, feeling a swell of disdain for the fear in her whispered voice. She swallows against it, forcing herself to challenge him, because maybe he'll back down and maybe he won't, but he's reacting and somehow, perhaps because she has changed in House's shadow, that makes things interesting. "What's going to happen if I don't?"
Chase's lips curl slightly in a smile, and Cameron thinks that maybe she should have had a drink or three, too.
Chase leans in and kisses her, his tongue rough as it pushes past her lips. She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat before she snakes her fingers into his hair, grabbing at it like she's going to tear it out in clumps.
"Going to slap me again?" he asks, the alcohol lending him an air of recklessness that for whatever reason, feels very appealing at the moment.
"I should. God knows you probably deserve it for something," Cameron says, reaching up and pulling the elastic from her ponytail before shaking her hair loose. "Impure thoughts, most likely," she murmurs, grazing a finger over his lips before she kisses him again. Nothing about this was a good idea, but haven't they earned an indulgence, a catharsis for a hellish week?
Chase presses her hard against the wall, pinning her arms above her head with one hand, and she's struck by the fact that he's stronger than she expects or remembers. She hooks a foot behind his ankle as the sting of his teeth against her neck reawakens her skin and pulls at the threads of faint memories. No music, no drugs this time, but she is already breathless and trembling.
Chase releases her hands and kisses her again, palming her breasts through her clothes and unbuttoning her trousers. Before he can get any further Cameron grabs the ends of his shirt and yanks them apart, just to hear the buttons give up and snap. He pulls what's left over his head and Cameron grabs at his shoulders, digging her nails into the skin. The sound Chase makes is inhuman, and Cameron thinks it's a little sick how much he likes that...and maybe it's a little sick how much she likes hearing it. He's panting in her ear as he makes quick work of her vest and trousers and she kicks them off to the side.
Chase pulls away slightly, tussling with her button-down shirt until he can lean over and suck her nipple into his mouth through the lace on her bra. She gasps, trying to drag him closer, but he pushes her back again. She can feel his hand slide over her panties, stroking her through the fabric, as the growing ache between her thighs seems to twist in on itself. She lunges forward and sinks her teeth into his shoulder without warning, laughing wickedly when he cries out in response.
Abruptly, Chase pulls away and waves at what's left of her clothes. "Take those off."
She can't tell if it's arrogance or laziness, but Cameron does what he asks, looking him in the eye as she lets the rest of her clothes fall to the floor. Chase's old, pretty apartment building is also drafty; a new wave of goosebumps rises as the air hits her skin and she feels the cool plaster wall against her back.
"Come on," she whispers urgently, and Chase shucks his pants and boxers away, slightly ruining the illusion of passion by forgetting to take off his shoes first. When he's standing in front of her again, Cameron wraps her hand around his cock immediately, stroking a few times, flush with the boldness that for better or worse she's always felt around him. His skin is like velvet beneath her fingertips, and she smiles triumphantly when his eyelids flutter at her less-than-gentle caress.
She remembers Chase is still drunk when he looks down at her through his eyelashes and orders, "Use your mouth."
"Seeing as how you did solve a case today," Cameron replies with a cagey smile, sinking to the floor. "Hope your knees are feeling strong." She takes him as deep as she can, keeping her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, aware it's probably too fast and not caring. He moans, clutching at the back of her head as she strokes the flat of her tongue along his shaft and Cameron laughs smugly, because he's just so easy. Chase thrusts against her mouth a little and she fiercely smacks the side of his thigh, then pulls back to circle the head of his cock with her tongue, still stroking with her hand. Some small part of her wants to break him down like this, keep him at her mercy - Tritter's wrong if he thinks House is the only person who can get her to do things she's not proud of - but she wants more than that from him right now.
"Stop," she hears him say huskily, as if he can read her mind. She looks up and he nods toward the heap of his trousers on the floor beside them. Cameron pulls out his wallet, digging out the condom stowed away inside. She tears it open and rolls it over his erection herself, her hands shaking only slightly now. Chase impatiently hauls her up by her arm and kisses her again. She snags his lip between her teeth this time; she wants to leave marks, her own bruises to match the one House left.
Chase wraps her hair around his hand and Cameron lets out a little shriek as he uses it to hold her fast against the wall again. He reaches up to pinch her nipple lightly, and Cameron gasps, because it hurts, but the pain swirls with pleasure that leaves her shaking. When Chase pinches a little harder, she groans aloud, clutching at his hips, trying to get him to move on. He grins wolfishly, running his tongue along the curve of her ear as he nudges her thighs apart with his knee. Frustrated, Cameron tries, clumsily, to grind against his leg, but somehow that only increases the need flooding her senses.
"Something you want?" he asks, before dipping his head to her throat again and sucking deliciously on the curve of her neck and shoulder.
"No," Cameron says stubbornly, pressing her nails in little arcs over his hipbones.
"Really?" Chase moves his hand across her body to toy with her other breast, and she groans, because she's more than ready, her skin burning everywhere he touches her. "I'm just not sure you really want sex, then."
"I hate you," Cameron replies, then has to smile slightly when she can hear the lust and venom commingling in her voice.
Chase presses his erection against her stomach, still teasing her. "Good," he says, slipping two fingers over her clit. Cameron shudders, fisting her hands into his hair and lunging at the bruise on his face, crashing against the purplish skin with lips and teeth.
"Oh, fuck," Chase growls before grabbing her leg and lifting it over his hip. He sinks deeply inside her with a single thrust, and Cameron cries out against the burn of her muscles around him. She presses her head back against the wall, tipping her chin up and raking her nails over his back. Chase practically lifts her off the floor, but she can't find the balance to wrap both legs around him. She feels dizzy, like she can't get enough air, and the wall grates against her back, making her skin prickle, but everything, blood, soul and mind is flowing to the place where their bodies meet. Cameron leans forward, holding onto his shoulders to keep herself upright, making frantic little noises with each thrust.
"Come on, Cameron," Chase urges desperately, and she digs her nails into his shoulders again, like making him bleed will somehow bring satisfaction. Chase's mouth finds the already bruised spot at the curve of her neck and shoulder and he digs in, sucking at her skin and nipping lightly. She gasps, feeling her limbs grow less steady, a tremor starting from deep within her.
"Use your teeth," She pleads breathlessly. Chase complies, biting harder, and somehow that extra pressure with the tinge of pain at its borders tips her over the edge, pleasure finally breaking through, hard enough to make her gasp Chase's name and cling more tightly to him as he holds her against the wall. She closes her eyes as his movements turn jerky and ragged, until he finally comes with an undignified grunt against her ear.
Cameron whimpers softly as he slips out; the muscles of her legs feel strained and weak. Chase isn't particularly in better shape, and he sinks onto the floor pulling her down with him. They sprawl onto Chase's expensive carpet, breathing hard, and she feels absurdly small when he gathers her into his arms, the first instance of calm in the entire day. The peace feels like a trap, a trick to make her forget that tomorrow will be just another mess, but she allows herself the moment anyway. Chase's fingers brush the back of her neck and she curls into him instinctively, hiding from the cooling air in the room. A friction burn on her shoulder stings as she shifts, bringing with it a sharp jolt of anger that he is trying to make nice now, like this means something. She wants to protest, but when she looks at him he's already asleep, and snoring slightly.
She cleans up and gets dressed again in her rumpled clothes, wincing as the fabric of her shirt brushes against her back. Leaving Chase passed out on the rug is tempting, but she kneels beside him, surveying the bruises scattered over his flesh that don't quite match the one on his jaw, along with the scratches and half-moons from her fingernails.
Chase opens his eyes and looks up at her, faintly confused. "Go to bed," Cameron says sternly, and he sits up, nodding.
"Yeah," Chase says, hunching his body over slightly, apparently now uncomfortable with the fact that he's naked.
She gets to her feet, relatively certain that Chase can manage on his own. She opens her mouth to speak again, but he holds up his hand.
"I know. This never happened," Chase says. That isn't quite what she intended to say, but he's clearly waiting for her to leave, and maybe that's for the best.
"Exactly," Cameron says coolly, and walks out, closing the door behind her. She stands on his porch while she wraps her coat tightly around her, the icy wind tingling on her cheeks and stirring a fresh shiver within her. She walks back to her car as a December flurry starts to fall.
Author: vitawash24
Pairing: Chase/Cameron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Post-ep for 3.09, Finding Judas. Answer to Prompt #204: Chase/Cameron -- he gets nasty drunk and it leads to non-consensual sex. Or just very rough. Either one.
A/N: Another late entry! I fear this is not nearly rough enough for the prompter's liking, but I hope it will serve its purpose anyway. This was adapted from an RP with enigma731, who also served as my fabulous beta.
A brisk winter wind stings Cameron's cheeks as she hurries down the street, running a quick errand before heading home. Whatever was happening before, her accounts are unfrozen and life is going on outside the hospital. She does a double take when she passes a half-empty bar and spots Chase through the picture window. He had mysteriously disappeared earlier that day, after running out of the room on House's heels. Cameron isn't clear on what transpired in the hallway, but House stopped the surgery, Cuddy explained to the family the strange, lonely life their daughter will have to lead from now on, and Chase apparently bolted in the aftermath.
She walks into the bar, noticing the way the scent of cigarette smoke has settled into the wood and leather in the place. Smoking has been illegal in bars for months, but its history remains, lingering at a molecular level. She shifts onto the stool next to Chase, who looks sideways at her, but doesn't say anything.
"Where'd you disappear to?" Cameron asks, and when Chase gives her a "duh" look she realizes the obviousness of the question. "Okay, why did you disappear? You don't exactly look like you're celebrating."
"Complicated," Chase replies, and takes a sip of the beer in his hand, then from the glass of what looks like some kind of scotch. He shifts on his stool, and turns his head towards her. She notices the bruise on his jaw, and her eyes narrow.
"You did rat out House." Cameron whispers her accusation, as if anyone else in this place would care. Chase gives her a withering look and downs the contents of the smaller glass.
"I didn't tell Tritter a damned thing," he snaps, sloshing the beer over the edges of his pint glass as he picks it up again. "You all think you're such brilliant manipulators but Tritter's played every single one of you." He falls silent and looks into his drink, shoulders heavy as if he's given up on trying to make anyone believe him. That alone makes Cameron suspect he's telling the truth - if he was guilty, he'd be vehemently protesting his innocence.
"Do you have any real reason to be here?" Chase asks after a moment, slurring a little. "Some joke about my parentage you haven't made? There must be a few your-mother's-a-drunk jokes you can dredge up if you really work at it." Cameron's cheeks flush hotly, because she's not entirely sure if she knows that about Chase, and he's getting loud to boot.
"Right. I'm such a bitch. I should just leave, then?" she says icily. Tritter's earlier words about not changing for the better float through her mind, and she tries to stomp them down.
"Is there a problem?" she hears the bartender say, and she looks at Chase, who shakes his head, still watching her.
"No. We'll be going now," Chase replies flatly, and Cameron nods at him. He leaves some bills on the bar, slides off the stool and she feels his hand against her back as they walk out.
"My car is over there - " Cameron begins, but Chase starts walking in the other direction.
"Apartment's that way," he tilts his head to the left and his body lists in the same direction. "I can walk." Cameron frowns, because while she doesn't want to care, she's not sure how far it actually is, and how much trouble he can get in on the way when he's already agitated and angry.
"You shouldn't go alone," Cameron says quickly, and catches up with him.
"I'm not a girl," he says scornfully.
"No, but apparently you are the child of an alcoholic." Chase's eyes widen and Cameron knows she's already won. "That's not a joke," she adds, her voice softer, and Chase nods in vague assent. They walk in silence until they arrive at a townhouse doorstep, where Chase drops his keys twice before she takes them from him and opens the door.
The building is older than hers, and Chase's living room has crown molding, carpeting that could make her feet sing for joy and warm, goldenrod-colored walls, if her childhood box of 64 crayons was to be trusted. The lord of the manor stumbles in behind her and flops gracelessly onto the couch, not even bothering to take off his coat. Cameron slips her own from her shoulders and peers around until she finds a small kitchen, and then opens and closes the cabinets until she finds glasses.
"Here," she says, holding some water out to Chase, who slips out of his jacket and his winter coat in one gesture before taking it. She sits down next to him, crossing her legs and trying to act as if this is all perfectly normal. "Why did House hit you?"
Chase shrugs. "Standing between him and his fix, I guess. Or just...his escape from the hospital. Things weren't looking so good. House doesn't like to fail." He goes quiet for a moment and worries his lip a little with his teeth, cradling the glass in cupped hands instead of holding it properly. "I notice you're not stupid enough to be trying to hold his hand through it."
"Shut up," Cameron says, rolling her eyes. She watches as Chase finally drinks some of the water. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Don't know yet. Don't know if I want to do anything." Chase leans back against the couch. "Solved the case, right? And that should be satisfaction enough," he adds, with a touch of sarcasm Cameron has to admit is well-earned at the moment.
"It's just...House isn't himself right now. You of all people know that." Chase glares ferociously at her, like she's personally betrayed him. This piques her interest in an odd way - she's pissed Chase off before, but his default reaction is to turn away and stop looking at her entirely, like he can just shun her out of his existence.
"If all you're worried about is House, why don't you head over to his place? I'm sure a decent blow job would really help him through the withdrawal."
Cameron sees nothing but red before she flies to her feet and slaps him, the sting registering in her hand almost before she realizes what she's done. She expects him to look shocked or angry, not to buckle in pain. Then she remembers the bruise he already has and the sick feeling of miscalculation from the morning returns. The calculated full-body sneer gives way to stunned, hollow silence, and Cameron braces herself against whatever might come next, the eternally unknown variable of how Chase will react to anything.
Except he doesn't, not the way she expects. He is eerily calm as he stands, the looseness of the alcohol giving him more grace than he usually possesses. She waits for anger to flare in his eyes, or even fear, as illogical as it might be when he could easily send her sprawling to the floor. But there's nothing save the emptiness, the void in Chase's expression making her skin crawl even more than if he took a swing at her. He suddenly takes hold of her arm and she flinches, even though it doesn't hurt.
Chase steps closer, nudging her backwards until she's pressed against the wall beside the door, the very spot she once had him pinned in her own apartment. Her first thought when he is this close, is that he smells wrong to her, like the scent of alcohol has overwhelmed soap and aftershave and the general sweat of the day. But maybe it's an artifact of never needing to fear him before - in a way she's always counted on having nothing to fear from him, not professionally or personally, because Chase has always shut up and slunk away at the slightest provocation. Now she is aware of his height and strength compared to hers, and that he's bristling with anger and disappointment so sharp she thinks she can feel them flowing through his fingers.
"You should leave," Chase says, still not relaxing the grip on her arm. Cameron can barely hear him over her pounding heart, as if her body agrees with him and wants to run as far away as she can.
"Maybe," Cameron says softly, feeling a swell of disdain for the fear in her whispered voice. She swallows against it, forcing herself to challenge him, because maybe he'll back down and maybe he won't, but he's reacting and somehow, perhaps because she has changed in House's shadow, that makes things interesting. "What's going to happen if I don't?"
Chase's lips curl slightly in a smile, and Cameron thinks that maybe she should have had a drink or three, too.
Chase leans in and kisses her, his tongue rough as it pushes past her lips. She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat before she snakes her fingers into his hair, grabbing at it like she's going to tear it out in clumps.
"Going to slap me again?" he asks, the alcohol lending him an air of recklessness that for whatever reason, feels very appealing at the moment.
"I should. God knows you probably deserve it for something," Cameron says, reaching up and pulling the elastic from her ponytail before shaking her hair loose. "Impure thoughts, most likely," she murmurs, grazing a finger over his lips before she kisses him again. Nothing about this was a good idea, but haven't they earned an indulgence, a catharsis for a hellish week?
Chase presses her hard against the wall, pinning her arms above her head with one hand, and she's struck by the fact that he's stronger than she expects or remembers. She hooks a foot behind his ankle as the sting of his teeth against her neck reawakens her skin and pulls at the threads of faint memories. No music, no drugs this time, but she is already breathless and trembling.
Chase releases her hands and kisses her again, palming her breasts through her clothes and unbuttoning her trousers. Before he can get any further Cameron grabs the ends of his shirt and yanks them apart, just to hear the buttons give up and snap. He pulls what's left over his head and Cameron grabs at his shoulders, digging her nails into the skin. The sound Chase makes is inhuman, and Cameron thinks it's a little sick how much he likes that...and maybe it's a little sick how much she likes hearing it. He's panting in her ear as he makes quick work of her vest and trousers and she kicks them off to the side.
Chase pulls away slightly, tussling with her button-down shirt until he can lean over and suck her nipple into his mouth through the lace on her bra. She gasps, trying to drag him closer, but he pushes her back again. She can feel his hand slide over her panties, stroking her through the fabric, as the growing ache between her thighs seems to twist in on itself. She lunges forward and sinks her teeth into his shoulder without warning, laughing wickedly when he cries out in response.
Abruptly, Chase pulls away and waves at what's left of her clothes. "Take those off."
She can't tell if it's arrogance or laziness, but Cameron does what he asks, looking him in the eye as she lets the rest of her clothes fall to the floor. Chase's old, pretty apartment building is also drafty; a new wave of goosebumps rises as the air hits her skin and she feels the cool plaster wall against her back.
"Come on," she whispers urgently, and Chase shucks his pants and boxers away, slightly ruining the illusion of passion by forgetting to take off his shoes first. When he's standing in front of her again, Cameron wraps her hand around his cock immediately, stroking a few times, flush with the boldness that for better or worse she's always felt around him. His skin is like velvet beneath her fingertips, and she smiles triumphantly when his eyelids flutter at her less-than-gentle caress.
She remembers Chase is still drunk when he looks down at her through his eyelashes and orders, "Use your mouth."
"Seeing as how you did solve a case today," Cameron replies with a cagey smile, sinking to the floor. "Hope your knees are feeling strong." She takes him as deep as she can, keeping her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, aware it's probably too fast and not caring. He moans, clutching at the back of her head as she strokes the flat of her tongue along his shaft and Cameron laughs smugly, because he's just so easy. Chase thrusts against her mouth a little and she fiercely smacks the side of his thigh, then pulls back to circle the head of his cock with her tongue, still stroking with her hand. Some small part of her wants to break him down like this, keep him at her mercy - Tritter's wrong if he thinks House is the only person who can get her to do things she's not proud of - but she wants more than that from him right now.
"Stop," she hears him say huskily, as if he can read her mind. She looks up and he nods toward the heap of his trousers on the floor beside them. Cameron pulls out his wallet, digging out the condom stowed away inside. She tears it open and rolls it over his erection herself, her hands shaking only slightly now. Chase impatiently hauls her up by her arm and kisses her again. She snags his lip between her teeth this time; she wants to leave marks, her own bruises to match the one House left.
Chase wraps her hair around his hand and Cameron lets out a little shriek as he uses it to hold her fast against the wall again. He reaches up to pinch her nipple lightly, and Cameron gasps, because it hurts, but the pain swirls with pleasure that leaves her shaking. When Chase pinches a little harder, she groans aloud, clutching at his hips, trying to get him to move on. He grins wolfishly, running his tongue along the curve of her ear as he nudges her thighs apart with his knee. Frustrated, Cameron tries, clumsily, to grind against his leg, but somehow that only increases the need flooding her senses.
"Something you want?" he asks, before dipping his head to her throat again and sucking deliciously on the curve of her neck and shoulder.
"No," Cameron says stubbornly, pressing her nails in little arcs over his hipbones.
"Really?" Chase moves his hand across her body to toy with her other breast, and she groans, because she's more than ready, her skin burning everywhere he touches her. "I'm just not sure you really want sex, then."
"I hate you," Cameron replies, then has to smile slightly when she can hear the lust and venom commingling in her voice.
Chase presses his erection against her stomach, still teasing her. "Good," he says, slipping two fingers over her clit. Cameron shudders, fisting her hands into his hair and lunging at the bruise on his face, crashing against the purplish skin with lips and teeth.
"Oh, fuck," Chase growls before grabbing her leg and lifting it over his hip. He sinks deeply inside her with a single thrust, and Cameron cries out against the burn of her muscles around him. She presses her head back against the wall, tipping her chin up and raking her nails over his back. Chase practically lifts her off the floor, but she can't find the balance to wrap both legs around him. She feels dizzy, like she can't get enough air, and the wall grates against her back, making her skin prickle, but everything, blood, soul and mind is flowing to the place where their bodies meet. Cameron leans forward, holding onto his shoulders to keep herself upright, making frantic little noises with each thrust.
"Come on, Cameron," Chase urges desperately, and she digs her nails into his shoulders again, like making him bleed will somehow bring satisfaction. Chase's mouth finds the already bruised spot at the curve of her neck and shoulder and he digs in, sucking at her skin and nipping lightly. She gasps, feeling her limbs grow less steady, a tremor starting from deep within her.
"Use your teeth," She pleads breathlessly. Chase complies, biting harder, and somehow that extra pressure with the tinge of pain at its borders tips her over the edge, pleasure finally breaking through, hard enough to make her gasp Chase's name and cling more tightly to him as he holds her against the wall. She closes her eyes as his movements turn jerky and ragged, until he finally comes with an undignified grunt against her ear.
Cameron whimpers softly as he slips out; the muscles of her legs feel strained and weak. Chase isn't particularly in better shape, and he sinks onto the floor pulling her down with him. They sprawl onto Chase's expensive carpet, breathing hard, and she feels absurdly small when he gathers her into his arms, the first instance of calm in the entire day. The peace feels like a trap, a trick to make her forget that tomorrow will be just another mess, but she allows herself the moment anyway. Chase's fingers brush the back of her neck and she curls into him instinctively, hiding from the cooling air in the room. A friction burn on her shoulder stings as she shifts, bringing with it a sharp jolt of anger that he is trying to make nice now, like this means something. She wants to protest, but when she looks at him he's already asleep, and snoring slightly.
She cleans up and gets dressed again in her rumpled clothes, wincing as the fabric of her shirt brushes against her back. Leaving Chase passed out on the rug is tempting, but she kneels beside him, surveying the bruises scattered over his flesh that don't quite match the one on his jaw, along with the scratches and half-moons from her fingernails.
Chase opens his eyes and looks up at her, faintly confused. "Go to bed," Cameron says sternly, and he sits up, nodding.
"Yeah," Chase says, hunching his body over slightly, apparently now uncomfortable with the fact that he's naked.
She gets to her feet, relatively certain that Chase can manage on his own. She opens her mouth to speak again, but he holds up his hand.
"I know. This never happened," Chase says. That isn't quite what she intended to say, but he's clearly waiting for her to leave, and maybe that's for the best.
"Exactly," Cameron says coolly, and walks out, closing the door behind her. She stands on his porch while she wraps her coat tightly around her, the icy wind tingling on her cheeks and stirring a fresh shiver within her. She walks back to her car as a December flurry starts to fall.