You get a twofer!!! SVU and House fic.
Category: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Title: Decisions, Decisions
Genre: Angst/None
Rating: Teen
Summary: There was a devious glint in her eye…it just rarely took the opportunity to make an appearance. HouseCam, mention of CameronWilson.
Thanks: To drakien69 for her betaing skills.
There was a devious glint in her eye…it just rarely took the opportunity to make an appearance. That tiny fleck of luminescent-reflecting moisture always shied away from the public, lingered towards the edge of her vision. On certain occasions, it would skirt to the forefront.
He had a tendency to call it out and more often than not, he called her on it.
"Are you flirting with me, Doctor Cameron?" And in her haste to hide that little twinkle of soul, she would huff and stalk off like a petulant child being sent to her room. But how else should she react? There was no other maneuver that she could think of that would throw him off the scent quite as quickly.
Cameron needed him to believe she was fed up with him, over him, done, dead, forgotten. She wanted him to believe that she had forgotten about him.
But just as the flicker of lust remained in her eyes and heart, he remained firmly seated on his throne of unassailability in her mind.
A cocky son of a bitch, a downright asshole most of the time... and she couldn't get enough. Perhaps it was because no other man had been so straightforward with her. Perhaps it was because being happy all the time got really old, really fast. Perhaps it was a simple matter of attraction...
Or maybe it was all those things combined into one.
In the beginning, he'd spurn her, burn her and she would return home to a Lifetime movie and a welcoming treadmill.
Running until she was tired she would flop down on the couch, stare at the ceiling and remind herself that she didn't have to cry every time something didn't go as she wanted it to.
As of late her diversion techniques had matured considerably. After a particularly rough day around her bitch of a boss she would retire to a loud lonely bar with one of her colleagues. More often than not her drinking companion came in the form of James Wilson-a formidable partner to be sure-and they would reside at the bar until the tender threatened them with an imminent cut off.
They shared cab rides and she would always be dropped off first. Some warped sense of chivalry, that was what she thought made him do it, made him always bark her address at the cabbie before she could get a word in. The first time he'd done so she had been surprised. A moment later she'd nearly passed out from shock when he'd rested a hand on her thigh and asked her in no uncertain terms to please not throw up on him.
That was how she continued on.
A spark of something would pass between her and House, beginning with her eyes, and she'd conclude her day watching a morose Wilson speed away in a beat-up Jersey cab.
Allison Cameron had come to believe that her life had just really never been more fucked up.
The treadmill hadn't been run in months, her slightly rounded figure a testament to that fact. 'That's what three beers a night, every day for three weeks will do to you,' her bitter demons chided as she tossed her too-expensive purse onto the couch and made her way to the bathroom.
A second man had invaded her mind in the past few weeks and though he wasn't unwelcome, Cameron wasn't sure if she felt comfortable having him bouncing around between her ears while she was singing in the shower. Accustomed to thinking of Greg-House-him, she found it rather odd that Jim had found his way into her thoughts while she was shampooing her hair.
Co-dependant, a casualty of just about every kind of affection, he'd become a hit and run, seeking companionship wherever the prospect gleamed. She, needing a rock so very badly, needing House to finally just accept more than two words that came out of her mouth... needing. They were both very needy.
The weaker part of her being wished for just one more cab ride, another tipsy foray inside of a worn, old, Lincoln with someone behind the wheel. She could see herself, as she rubbed conditioner over her tresses, spreading her thighs just a little bit, the slight movement urging Jim's hands up and under the coarse fabric of a generic wool skirt.
And then what? And then what Allison? And. Then. What?
She'd never really gotten past that point, never. Jim could slide his hand up and under and on and then... nothing.
Greg-he was always Greg in her head because that meant he was someone else entirely-was rough and thorough and left not a piece of her untouched. He took her completely and entirely, left her sore and yet begging.
Vaguely, through the dizzy downpour of her shower she heard the phone beep and wondered for a moment if she should get out and answer it. There was no point; she had no desire to speak for the rest of the evening. The only call she would answer would be that of her bed and perhaps a book.
After rinsing the cleanser from her hair and wrapping her lean body in a towel that was more akin to a giant parka, she padded out into the quiet warmth of her living room, noting the blinking light on her answering machine. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the voice she would hear would be one of the two men.
Either would be plausible... she just couldn't decide which she wanted to hear.
A dull ticking sounded at the back of her brain, the clock in the kitchen, and she watched the little red light blink in time, taunting her with mechanical persistence.
Her feet made slick little water marks on the floor and her head dripped clean little splotches on the hardwood as she sauntered to the machine and allowed her finger to hover over the 'Play' button. Equidistant from the larger grey button was the 'Erase' button, her pinky poised, ready to descend.
Two equally appealing options.
Lip caught between her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, she thought for a moment about how melodramatic she was being.
Without thinking, she slammed her finger down on the 'Play' button and cursed.
"Where are you? You're not supposed to..." A sigh, some shuffling and then, "I'm stopping by."
High school word problems bubbled into her head. If he lived roughly twenty miles away and was traveling at forty miles an hour, he would arrive at her place in nearly-
Three sharp raps at her door pulled her roughly from her stalling techniques and, in a haze, forgetting that she was clad only in thick terrycloth, made her way to the door. Fingers trembled as she reached for the dull brass, twisted and pulled.
"I called yo-" but he paused in his admonishing and stood back to take in her appearance. "Is this, a... bad time because..." Because what? 'I can leave?' 'I'm sorry?' "Because I don't really care." House pushed the door fully open with the rounded handle of his cane and barged into her apartment, not bothering to pause before he turned on her and pressed her into the door.
Upon feeling his body pressing against hers she closed her eyes and thanked whomever was listening to her thoughts for sending him to her doorstep. "Nice towel," he said gruffly. "Expensive terrycloth. Your sheets high in thread count?"
Her eyes shimmered and the glint slithered out to wink at him as she nodded.
He looked from her to the door and then craned his neck around towards a darkened hallway. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered and made his way towards the back rooms.
Cameron smiled and rubbed her hands over her eyes, following him as her eyes took on a much more devious glow.
She’d make him pay in the morning…
In the morning when the other man would be on her answering machine, asking her if she’d like to have drinks again.
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia
Title: A Matter of Fate
Category: Angst/Romance
Rating: Teen
Summary: Olivia chooses and inopportune moment to return... SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7.
Thanks: To drakien69 for her beta... and awesomeness. :)
'So this is what shit hitting the fan sounds like.'
It sounded like nothing; it sounded like silence. Silence and a handful of cars speeding wetly down the side street.
Five months…that was how long it had been since he had seen her, since she had set foot on his street. Five months and her hair was longer, her eyes were duller and her soul that much thinner.
There had been no word of where she had gone or if she would return, and when he'd dared to ask Cragen he'd given Elliot a tight-lipped, "Forget it," and had sent him on his way. There was only one thing that response attempted to mask…an undercover assignment. And while he was pissed at his boss for even offering her up for such an assignment, he was simply enraged with her for leaving.
Sulking at his desk hadn't done much. Solving three cold cases hadn't lifted his mood. But when Dani had breezed into the precinct with a tray of lattes and a sarcastic smile, he forgot about Olivia, just a little bit.
Perhaps not as brazen as his ex, she was strong and devious and almost too flippant for him to stomach. Almost. Tall, leggy, beautiful; she was a motherfucking kick in the pants. Turning heads without noticing, she'd lick her lips, bend over to retrieve a file without so much as a backward glance.
Maybe she didn't notice, but it was more likely that she didn't care. Dani didn't care much about what anybody thought, including her new partner.
She drank just as hard and heavy as his ex-partner had and they would often go beer for beer with the boys, just to see the looks on the others' faces as she slammed down a thick, heavy mug and ordered a seventh without a slur. A whirlwind, that's what she was, a surprise to anyone who deigned to look upon her.
A breath of fresh air, a change, something mutable. She was too many similes and metaphors for him to name and that put him at ease. She was too complex to even dare to attempt to rationalize.
Every bit of Olivia had been rational but in fine, fine, minute pieces like a puzzle. She required an intricate attention to detail that a man of little patience such as himself did not generally possess. She was his exquisite challenge, an often infuriating one.
And wanting to kiss her, wanting to actually attempt to allow himself to feel something like love for her was much harder than the quick lust and easy seduction that was Dani.
That was how he found himself towing her up the steps to his hollow house, his lips on hers, her hands on his ass. A slow stumble that Olivia had witnessed from her vantage point, opening her car door across the street.
Across the street, he wished she would look at him with horror, with anger, but she just stood there, more shocked than sad. And for the fourth time that year, Elliot felt his heart beat and crack. Arms fell slack around the woman who was standing between them and she pulled back, turned her eyes to the woman across the way. "What is it, El?" she asked, just loud enough to carry.
The worst look, the one that passed over Olivia then, was a slack smile and two raised brows, a 'Well, apparently I was entirely wrong' sort of communication. Lowering herself back into the seat of her car, she pulled her legs in before softly shutting the door.
Still, he stared, watching as her hands tightened on the wheel. Even from his perch on the steps, he could just make out her screwing up her face, the red flush that overtook her. Crying in that sweet way that begged him silently to wrap her up in his arms, she shoved the keys in the ignition and pushed the car into drive, tearing delicately off into the night.
If he'd been sitting, his head would have fallen into his hands. Dani moved forward, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and spoke a slow goodnight and took off as well.
On a stoop in Queens, Elliot Stabler held his fractured heart in his hands and wondered if he'd ever find the right way to put it back together.
There was a night of restless sleep, the clouds pulling themselves over an already-smog obstructed moon. A tease on his mind, a relentless mockery of exactly how he was feeling. A slow headache pulled itself between his eyes as night slipped into morning and he began hating himself that much harder.
Lazy, jelly legs carried him to a shower that he didn't really want, but then, he didn't want another woman on him when he showed up at her apartment, so he scrubbed long and hard until his skin turned red and he was sure he would bleed. Penance, punishment and all of those other overused Catholic phrases infiltrated the haze he'd hung about himself.
He needed to pay. He wanted to hurt, he wanted her to make him hurt.
His worn jeans felt too loose on him and his button down didn't fit correctly over hunched shoulders. He felt as though he didn't fit correctly behind the wheel of his car; he was too small.
The ride there was too quick and he was too nervous to get out of his car once he got there.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes ticked by before his conscience got the better of him and he forced himself to her outer door.
His finger, poised over the button, shook and he wondered how long it would take his conscience to spur him to press down. He didn't have to wait long, as one of her neighbors exited the apartment and held the door for him.
It was like fate, an invitation inside and he had to take it because... well... it was fate.
Had to have been.
Three floors up, he dragged his feet as he made his way to her door, slowing his shuffle to a near-crawl when he was within a yard. Too loud and she would hear him and come to check the hallway. The soles of his shoes crackled when they came into contact with the dirt on the floor, his eyes squeezing shut. God, if only to delay the inevitable a bit longer...
But his knuckles made contact with her door; his breath reigned in and coiled tight in his lungs. The door opened quickly and she regarded him with a cool sort of displacement, as though it didn't matter much if he existed or not.
Then, then, she made him exist, grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward and on a sob brought her lips to his, kissed the life out of him and she allowed him to press her hard into the wall. Olivia was begging him in short, clipped words, managing sobs between kisses, tearing at his back, urging him closer.
And he was pressing against her, wanting her to steal all the air from his lungs and breathe for him. "Sorry," he managed as his lips fell to her neck and began nipping.
She, still crying, uttered a "Me too," and leaned her head back against the wall, watched the stars as they circled above her line of vision.
The real words they wanted to speak didn't come because they were too busy using their lips for other, more important things.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Title: Decisions, Decisions
Genre: Angst/None
Rating: Teen
Summary: There was a devious glint in her eye…it just rarely took the opportunity to make an appearance. HouseCam, mention of CameronWilson.
Thanks: To drakien69 for her betaing skills.
There was a devious glint in her eye…it just rarely took the opportunity to make an appearance. That tiny fleck of luminescent-reflecting moisture always shied away from the public, lingered towards the edge of her vision. On certain occasions, it would skirt to the forefront.
He had a tendency to call it out and more often than not, he called her on it.
"Are you flirting with me, Doctor Cameron?" And in her haste to hide that little twinkle of soul, she would huff and stalk off like a petulant child being sent to her room. But how else should she react? There was no other maneuver that she could think of that would throw him off the scent quite as quickly.
Cameron needed him to believe she was fed up with him, over him, done, dead, forgotten. She wanted him to believe that she had forgotten about him.
But just as the flicker of lust remained in her eyes and heart, he remained firmly seated on his throne of unassailability in her mind.
A cocky son of a bitch, a downright asshole most of the time... and she couldn't get enough. Perhaps it was because no other man had been so straightforward with her. Perhaps it was because being happy all the time got really old, really fast. Perhaps it was a simple matter of attraction...
Or maybe it was all those things combined into one.
In the beginning, he'd spurn her, burn her and she would return home to a Lifetime movie and a welcoming treadmill.
Running until she was tired she would flop down on the couch, stare at the ceiling and remind herself that she didn't have to cry every time something didn't go as she wanted it to.
As of late her diversion techniques had matured considerably. After a particularly rough day around her bitch of a boss she would retire to a loud lonely bar with one of her colleagues. More often than not her drinking companion came in the form of James Wilson-a formidable partner to be sure-and they would reside at the bar until the tender threatened them with an imminent cut off.
They shared cab rides and she would always be dropped off first. Some warped sense of chivalry, that was what she thought made him do it, made him always bark her address at the cabbie before she could get a word in. The first time he'd done so she had been surprised. A moment later she'd nearly passed out from shock when he'd rested a hand on her thigh and asked her in no uncertain terms to please not throw up on him.
That was how she continued on.
A spark of something would pass between her and House, beginning with her eyes, and she'd conclude her day watching a morose Wilson speed away in a beat-up Jersey cab.
Allison Cameron had come to believe that her life had just really never been more fucked up.
The treadmill hadn't been run in months, her slightly rounded figure a testament to that fact. 'That's what three beers a night, every day for three weeks will do to you,' her bitter demons chided as she tossed her too-expensive purse onto the couch and made her way to the bathroom.
A second man had invaded her mind in the past few weeks and though he wasn't unwelcome, Cameron wasn't sure if she felt comfortable having him bouncing around between her ears while she was singing in the shower. Accustomed to thinking of Greg-House-him, she found it rather odd that Jim had found his way into her thoughts while she was shampooing her hair.
Co-dependant, a casualty of just about every kind of affection, he'd become a hit and run, seeking companionship wherever the prospect gleamed. She, needing a rock so very badly, needing House to finally just accept more than two words that came out of her mouth... needing. They were both very needy.
The weaker part of her being wished for just one more cab ride, another tipsy foray inside of a worn, old, Lincoln with someone behind the wheel. She could see herself, as she rubbed conditioner over her tresses, spreading her thighs just a little bit, the slight movement urging Jim's hands up and under the coarse fabric of a generic wool skirt.
And then what? And then what Allison? And. Then. What?
She'd never really gotten past that point, never. Jim could slide his hand up and under and on and then... nothing.
Greg-he was always Greg in her head because that meant he was someone else entirely-was rough and thorough and left not a piece of her untouched. He took her completely and entirely, left her sore and yet begging.
Vaguely, through the dizzy downpour of her shower she heard the phone beep and wondered for a moment if she should get out and answer it. There was no point; she had no desire to speak for the rest of the evening. The only call she would answer would be that of her bed and perhaps a book.
After rinsing the cleanser from her hair and wrapping her lean body in a towel that was more akin to a giant parka, she padded out into the quiet warmth of her living room, noting the blinking light on her answering machine. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the voice she would hear would be one of the two men.
Either would be plausible... she just couldn't decide which she wanted to hear.
A dull ticking sounded at the back of her brain, the clock in the kitchen, and she watched the little red light blink in time, taunting her with mechanical persistence.
Her feet made slick little water marks on the floor and her head dripped clean little splotches on the hardwood as she sauntered to the machine and allowed her finger to hover over the 'Play' button. Equidistant from the larger grey button was the 'Erase' button, her pinky poised, ready to descend.
Two equally appealing options.
Lip caught between her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, she thought for a moment about how melodramatic she was being.
Without thinking, she slammed her finger down on the 'Play' button and cursed.
"Where are you? You're not supposed to..." A sigh, some shuffling and then, "I'm stopping by."
High school word problems bubbled into her head. If he lived roughly twenty miles away and was traveling at forty miles an hour, he would arrive at her place in nearly-
Three sharp raps at her door pulled her roughly from her stalling techniques and, in a haze, forgetting that she was clad only in thick terrycloth, made her way to the door. Fingers trembled as she reached for the dull brass, twisted and pulled.
"I called yo-" but he paused in his admonishing and stood back to take in her appearance. "Is this, a... bad time because..." Because what? 'I can leave?' 'I'm sorry?' "Because I don't really care." House pushed the door fully open with the rounded handle of his cane and barged into her apartment, not bothering to pause before he turned on her and pressed her into the door.
Upon feeling his body pressing against hers she closed her eyes and thanked whomever was listening to her thoughts for sending him to her doorstep. "Nice towel," he said gruffly. "Expensive terrycloth. Your sheets high in thread count?"
Her eyes shimmered and the glint slithered out to wink at him as she nodded.
He looked from her to the door and then craned his neck around towards a darkened hallway. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered and made his way towards the back rooms.
Cameron smiled and rubbed her hands over her eyes, following him as her eyes took on a much more devious glow.
She’d make him pay in the morning…
In the morning when the other man would be on her answering machine, asking her if she’d like to have drinks again.
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia
Title: A Matter of Fate
Category: Angst/Romance
Rating: Teen
Summary: Olivia chooses and inopportune moment to return... SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7.
Thanks: To drakien69 for her beta... and awesomeness. :)
'So this is what shit hitting the fan sounds like.'
It sounded like nothing; it sounded like silence. Silence and a handful of cars speeding wetly down the side street.
Five months…that was how long it had been since he had seen her, since she had set foot on his street. Five months and her hair was longer, her eyes were duller and her soul that much thinner.
There had been no word of where she had gone or if she would return, and when he'd dared to ask Cragen he'd given Elliot a tight-lipped, "Forget it," and had sent him on his way. There was only one thing that response attempted to mask…an undercover assignment. And while he was pissed at his boss for even offering her up for such an assignment, he was simply enraged with her for leaving.
Sulking at his desk hadn't done much. Solving three cold cases hadn't lifted his mood. But when Dani had breezed into the precinct with a tray of lattes and a sarcastic smile, he forgot about Olivia, just a little bit.
Perhaps not as brazen as his ex, she was strong and devious and almost too flippant for him to stomach. Almost. Tall, leggy, beautiful; she was a motherfucking kick in the pants. Turning heads without noticing, she'd lick her lips, bend over to retrieve a file without so much as a backward glance.
Maybe she didn't notice, but it was more likely that she didn't care. Dani didn't care much about what anybody thought, including her new partner.
She drank just as hard and heavy as his ex-partner had and they would often go beer for beer with the boys, just to see the looks on the others' faces as she slammed down a thick, heavy mug and ordered a seventh without a slur. A whirlwind, that's what she was, a surprise to anyone who deigned to look upon her.
A breath of fresh air, a change, something mutable. She was too many similes and metaphors for him to name and that put him at ease. She was too complex to even dare to attempt to rationalize.
Every bit of Olivia had been rational but in fine, fine, minute pieces like a puzzle. She required an intricate attention to detail that a man of little patience such as himself did not generally possess. She was his exquisite challenge, an often infuriating one.
And wanting to kiss her, wanting to actually attempt to allow himself to feel something like love for her was much harder than the quick lust and easy seduction that was Dani.
That was how he found himself towing her up the steps to his hollow house, his lips on hers, her hands on his ass. A slow stumble that Olivia had witnessed from her vantage point, opening her car door across the street.
Across the street, he wished she would look at him with horror, with anger, but she just stood there, more shocked than sad. And for the fourth time that year, Elliot felt his heart beat and crack. Arms fell slack around the woman who was standing between them and she pulled back, turned her eyes to the woman across the way. "What is it, El?" she asked, just loud enough to carry.
The worst look, the one that passed over Olivia then, was a slack smile and two raised brows, a 'Well, apparently I was entirely wrong' sort of communication. Lowering herself back into the seat of her car, she pulled her legs in before softly shutting the door.
Still, he stared, watching as her hands tightened on the wheel. Even from his perch on the steps, he could just make out her screwing up her face, the red flush that overtook her. Crying in that sweet way that begged him silently to wrap her up in his arms, she shoved the keys in the ignition and pushed the car into drive, tearing delicately off into the night.
If he'd been sitting, his head would have fallen into his hands. Dani moved forward, wrapped an arm around his shoulder and spoke a slow goodnight and took off as well.
On a stoop in Queens, Elliot Stabler held his fractured heart in his hands and wondered if he'd ever find the right way to put it back together.
There was a night of restless sleep, the clouds pulling themselves over an already-smog obstructed moon. A tease on his mind, a relentless mockery of exactly how he was feeling. A slow headache pulled itself between his eyes as night slipped into morning and he began hating himself that much harder.
Lazy, jelly legs carried him to a shower that he didn't really want, but then, he didn't want another woman on him when he showed up at her apartment, so he scrubbed long and hard until his skin turned red and he was sure he would bleed. Penance, punishment and all of those other overused Catholic phrases infiltrated the haze he'd hung about himself.
He needed to pay. He wanted to hurt, he wanted her to make him hurt.
His worn jeans felt too loose on him and his button down didn't fit correctly over hunched shoulders. He felt as though he didn't fit correctly behind the wheel of his car; he was too small.
The ride there was too quick and he was too nervous to get out of his car once he got there.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes ticked by before his conscience got the better of him and he forced himself to her outer door.
His finger, poised over the button, shook and he wondered how long it would take his conscience to spur him to press down. He didn't have to wait long, as one of her neighbors exited the apartment and held the door for him.
It was like fate, an invitation inside and he had to take it because... well... it was fate.
Had to have been.
Three floors up, he dragged his feet as he made his way to her door, slowing his shuffle to a near-crawl when he was within a yard. Too loud and she would hear him and come to check the hallway. The soles of his shoes crackled when they came into contact with the dirt on the floor, his eyes squeezing shut. God, if only to delay the inevitable a bit longer...
But his knuckles made contact with her door; his breath reigned in and coiled tight in his lungs. The door opened quickly and she regarded him with a cool sort of displacement, as though it didn't matter much if he existed or not.
Then, then, she made him exist, grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward and on a sob brought her lips to his, kissed the life out of him and she allowed him to press her hard into the wall. Olivia was begging him in short, clipped words, managing sobs between kisses, tearing at his back, urging him closer.
And he was pressing against her, wanting her to steal all the air from his lungs and breathe for him. "Sorry," he managed as his lips fell to her neck and began nipping.
She, still crying, uttered a "Me too," and leaned her head back against the wall, watched the stars as they circled above her line of vision.
The real words they wanted to speak didn't come because they were too busy using their lips for other, more important things.