HOUSE: Flamenco on a Breeze (Chase/Cameron)
andrealyn organized the santahouse_md challenge for 2006. I was assigned moondustwolf, who requested Chase/Cameron, with angst, fluff, and some smut.
Title: Flamenco on a Breeze
Author: voleuse
Fandom: House
Pairing: Chase/Cameron
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: And yet, when no one's listening, we beg each other for a word.
Notes: Set during late S2
One morning, the heater malfunctions in their wing, and Cameron almost chokes on the warmth. They don't have a case, so House is out of the office, and Foreman's doing a pediatric consult. Chase is reading the newspaper, and she has House's mail to go through. She ties her hair back and sheds her lab coat, and sets to work.
The e-mail is first--she deletes the spam, then the hospital notices and conference invitations he'll ignore anyway. She flags a few messages from Human Resources and Legal, and replies to a long missive from a grateful patient. (She keeps it short but courteous.) After that, she does the same thing with House's mail, sorting through consultation requests. She puts aside a couple of interesting cases, and forwards the rest to interested parties. It takes most of the morning, because she uses a cascading system to identify what House might deem "interesting."
At 11:43, she looks up, and Chase is staring at her. Well, not her so much as her shoulder, or maybe her neck.
She could be charitable and pretend he's staring into space, but she's given up being nice for the sake of it. "What?" she snaps.
He frowns. "What's with you?"
"What do you think?" She dumps the junk mail into the trash and stands, stretches. "I've been working all morning, and you've been sitting on your ass reading the New York Times."
"And three different medical journals, yeah." He tosses the newspaper on the table. "Let's get some lunch."
She glares at him. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Seriously."
The mailroom guy walks in, picks up the outgoing mail and drops a new stack onto the desk.
Cameron sighs. "Lunch it is."
*
Chase offers to drive, and she can't think of a reasonable objection. She folds her arms as they pass by all the usual restaurants. "Where are we going?" she asks him.
He shrugs. "I found a new place. Thought we could try it." He pulls into the parking lot of a small café. The lettering on the window is all curlicues, but there's a terrier hopping around a fenced enclosure in the yard up front.
Cameron slides out of the car and stares. "We're having lunch in a French farce?"
"It's Moroccan, actually," he replies. "But that was a decent guess."
"Don't patronize me," she says.
He waits until she looks at him, then sweeps into elaborate bow. "Never, mademoiselle."
"Your accent is horrible," she observes.
"I studied German at university," he responds.
Against her better judgment, Cameron laughs.
*
It turns out Chase has never eaten Moroccan food before, and he mispronounces the name of every dish. The waitress laughs at him, and so does Cameron. He looks almost sheepish, and she puts a hand on his.
"It's cute," she tells him.
He grins. "Is it?"
She raises her eyebrows and withdraws her hand. "It would be cuter if you were ten years younger."
"Everything's cuter when you're ten years younger," he responds. The waitress sets a basket in front of them. "What's that?"
Cameron smirks. "You're just playing dumb now, right?"
"Who says I have to play at it?"
She mock-gasps, clutching at her throat. "House was right!"
Chase grimaces. "When isn't he?" He takes a sip of water, and Cameron concedes the point.
"Do you want to order a bottle of wine?" she asks.
Chase frowns. "For lunch?"
"No cases, remember?" she reminds him. "And it's not for you, anyway."
"What?"
Cameron gestures to the waitress. "Congratulations, Chase. You get to be my designated driver." She winks at him, and he groans.
*
By the time they're turning away desserts, everything feels blissful and soft to Cameron. She leans back in her seat and sighs.
"You're wasted," Chase notes.
"No." She shakes her head, blinks slowly. "Not quite."
"You can't go back to work like that."
"I'm not," she says. "Foreman's covering my clinic hours today."
"Really?" Chase separates a few bills from his wallet, tosses them on the table. "Since when?"
"Since I took his shift last Friday," she explains. "He had a date or something."
Chase offers her his elbow, and she drags herself out of the chair.
"Great place," she says as they walk into the parking lot. "Good idea."
"Thanks," he replies. He disarms his car alarm and opens Cameron's door for her.
Then she freezes. "Wait a second. You thought I was going back to work, and you let me drink that much?"
A guilty expression washes over his face.
"Chase!"
"Sorry," he says. "I guess I'm not good at saying no to you."
It sounds like a line, but he still looks abashed. Instead of slugging him in the stomach, Cameron sways forward.
"I like that about you," she murmurs, and then she presses her lips to his.
*
Chase doesn't look at her as they drive out of the parking lot, but he doesn't brush off the hand she rests on his knee, either. "I can drive you back to your place," he offers.
"It's fine," she says. "I left my purse in my locker."
He darts a glance at her. "You shouldn't drive in your condition."
"I'm not drunk," she protests. "And I won't. I was going to spend my afternoon in the hospital library, anyway."
They stop at a red light, and he looks at her again, for a long beat. "Really?"
"I have an article to revise," she says. "I swear."
The light turns green, and Chase drives on to the hospital.
*
Instead of taking a parking space closest to the entrance, Chase drives to a more deserted tier of the parking garage. It's a shadowed corner, and quiet. He shuts off the engine, and sits with his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
Her hand is still on his knee, and she leans closer. "Your shift?"
"It doesn't start for another hour and a half," he admits. "Cameron--"
She interrupts whatever he was going to say with another kiss, sloppy as she unbuckles with her seatbelt, and his. She twists, reaches over and fumbles with the fastenings of his slacks. He's hard already, getting harder, and he groans when she finally slips a hand inside his boxers.
Cameron bumps her head as she slides over the center console, and she just barely manages not to jam the horn with her hip. He lifts his hips, lets her shove his slacks and boxers down, pushes her skirt up. She yanks the crotch of her panties out of the way, and he's gasping something about a condom in his wallet.
There's a long, awkward moment. She fastens her mouth to his throat, and he hisses through his teeth. Then it's done and he's clutching her waist, and she arches as he plunges slow, slow, finally inside her.
*
When Cameron finally enters the library, after a hasty shower in the locker room, she looks at her watch and smirks.
Chase is actually early for his shift at the clinic.
She ties back her hair, and gets to work.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Taylor Graham's Jacaranda. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Originally archived here.
Title: Flamenco on a Breeze
Author: voleuse
Fandom: House
Pairing: Chase/Cameron
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: And yet, when no one's listening, we beg each other for a word.
Notes: Set during late S2
One morning, the heater malfunctions in their wing, and Cameron almost chokes on the warmth. They don't have a case, so House is out of the office, and Foreman's doing a pediatric consult. Chase is reading the newspaper, and she has House's mail to go through. She ties her hair back and sheds her lab coat, and sets to work.
The e-mail is first--she deletes the spam, then the hospital notices and conference invitations he'll ignore anyway. She flags a few messages from Human Resources and Legal, and replies to a long missive from a grateful patient. (She keeps it short but courteous.) After that, she does the same thing with House's mail, sorting through consultation requests. She puts aside a couple of interesting cases, and forwards the rest to interested parties. It takes most of the morning, because she uses a cascading system to identify what House might deem "interesting."
At 11:43, she looks up, and Chase is staring at her. Well, not her so much as her shoulder, or maybe her neck.
She could be charitable and pretend he's staring into space, but she's given up being nice for the sake of it. "What?" she snaps.
He frowns. "What's with you?"
"What do you think?" She dumps the junk mail into the trash and stands, stretches. "I've been working all morning, and you've been sitting on your ass reading the New York Times."
"And three different medical journals, yeah." He tosses the newspaper on the table. "Let's get some lunch."
She glares at him. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Seriously."
The mailroom guy walks in, picks up the outgoing mail and drops a new stack onto the desk.
Cameron sighs. "Lunch it is."
*
Chase offers to drive, and she can't think of a reasonable objection. She folds her arms as they pass by all the usual restaurants. "Where are we going?" she asks him.
He shrugs. "I found a new place. Thought we could try it." He pulls into the parking lot of a small café. The lettering on the window is all curlicues, but there's a terrier hopping around a fenced enclosure in the yard up front.
Cameron slides out of the car and stares. "We're having lunch in a French farce?"
"It's Moroccan, actually," he replies. "But that was a decent guess."
"Don't patronize me," she says.
He waits until she looks at him, then sweeps into elaborate bow. "Never, mademoiselle."
"Your accent is horrible," she observes.
"I studied German at university," he responds.
Against her better judgment, Cameron laughs.
*
It turns out Chase has never eaten Moroccan food before, and he mispronounces the name of every dish. The waitress laughs at him, and so does Cameron. He looks almost sheepish, and she puts a hand on his.
"It's cute," she tells him.
He grins. "Is it?"
She raises her eyebrows and withdraws her hand. "It would be cuter if you were ten years younger."
"Everything's cuter when you're ten years younger," he responds. The waitress sets a basket in front of them. "What's that?"
Cameron smirks. "You're just playing dumb now, right?"
"Who says I have to play at it?"
She mock-gasps, clutching at her throat. "House was right!"
Chase grimaces. "When isn't he?" He takes a sip of water, and Cameron concedes the point.
"Do you want to order a bottle of wine?" she asks.
Chase frowns. "For lunch?"
"No cases, remember?" she reminds him. "And it's not for you, anyway."
"What?"
Cameron gestures to the waitress. "Congratulations, Chase. You get to be my designated driver." She winks at him, and he groans.
*
By the time they're turning away desserts, everything feels blissful and soft to Cameron. She leans back in her seat and sighs.
"You're wasted," Chase notes.
"No." She shakes her head, blinks slowly. "Not quite."
"You can't go back to work like that."
"I'm not," she says. "Foreman's covering my clinic hours today."
"Really?" Chase separates a few bills from his wallet, tosses them on the table. "Since when?"
"Since I took his shift last Friday," she explains. "He had a date or something."
Chase offers her his elbow, and she drags herself out of the chair.
"Great place," she says as they walk into the parking lot. "Good idea."
"Thanks," he replies. He disarms his car alarm and opens Cameron's door for her.
Then she freezes. "Wait a second. You thought I was going back to work, and you let me drink that much?"
A guilty expression washes over his face.
"Chase!"
"Sorry," he says. "I guess I'm not good at saying no to you."
It sounds like a line, but he still looks abashed. Instead of slugging him in the stomach, Cameron sways forward.
"I like that about you," she murmurs, and then she presses her lips to his.
*
Chase doesn't look at her as they drive out of the parking lot, but he doesn't brush off the hand she rests on his knee, either. "I can drive you back to your place," he offers.
"It's fine," she says. "I left my purse in my locker."
He darts a glance at her. "You shouldn't drive in your condition."
"I'm not drunk," she protests. "And I won't. I was going to spend my afternoon in the hospital library, anyway."
They stop at a red light, and he looks at her again, for a long beat. "Really?"
"I have an article to revise," she says. "I swear."
The light turns green, and Chase drives on to the hospital.
*
Instead of taking a parking space closest to the entrance, Chase drives to a more deserted tier of the parking garage. It's a shadowed corner, and quiet. He shuts off the engine, and sits with his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
Her hand is still on his knee, and she leans closer. "Your shift?"
"It doesn't start for another hour and a half," he admits. "Cameron--"
She interrupts whatever he was going to say with another kiss, sloppy as she unbuckles with her seatbelt, and his. She twists, reaches over and fumbles with the fastenings of his slacks. He's hard already, getting harder, and he groans when she finally slips a hand inside his boxers.
Cameron bumps her head as she slides over the center console, and she just barely manages not to jam the horn with her hip. He lifts his hips, lets her shove his slacks and boxers down, pushes her skirt up. She yanks the crotch of her panties out of the way, and he's gasping something about a condom in his wallet.
There's a long, awkward moment. She fastens her mouth to his throat, and he hisses through his teeth. Then it's done and he's clutching her waist, and she arches as he plunges slow, slow, finally inside her.
*
When Cameron finally enters the library, after a hasty shower in the locker room, she looks at her watch and smirks.
Chase is actually early for his shift at the clinic.
She ties back her hair, and gets to work.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Taylor Graham's Jacaranda. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Originally archived here.