FIC: About Her
TITLE: About Her
AUTHOR: shutterbug_12
PAIRING: House/Amber
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: As he slides her panties off her legs, House momentarily wonders if Wilson will buy Amber's lie.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. Make love, not lawsuits.
NOTES: Written for cryptictac's House/Cuddy/Wilson/Amber Drabble-A-Thon. Concrit and general feedback is love.
As he slides her panties off her legs, House momentarily wonders if Wilson will buy Amber's lie. He hears her voice smoothly relay a cliché--called in late, complications with a patient--and spreads her legs.
Amber delivers a wide smirk as she snaps her phone shut, tosses it aside. "Bought it. Hook, line, and sinker," she says, curving one hand around the back of his neck, the other around his dick, and pulls him over her, into her.
As he pushes deeply, pelvis meeting pelvis, he wonders why he ever doubted her. A few moments later, heavy breaths, loud groans, strained grunts drown the thought and sensation takes over him. Her hands clutch at him everywhere--his back, his ass, his arms, his head--and his body bows against her, driving him further into her. Her nails scratch his skin, dig in beneath his shoulder blades and force a sharp gasp-groan out of his throat. Her lips cover his, and she swallows the sound, leading it with her tongue from his mouth to hers.
He comes that way, with Amber's tongue in his mouth, her hands on his back, pulling him closer to her. As his body shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he presses his face into her hair and whispers her name.
For weeks, Wilson thought that House's interference was about him, but he missed the mark. It was always about her.
AUTHOR: shutterbug_12
PAIRING: House/Amber
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: As he slides her panties off her legs, House momentarily wonders if Wilson will buy Amber's lie.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. Make love, not lawsuits.
NOTES: Written for cryptictac's House/Cuddy/Wilson/Amber Drabble-A-Thon. Concrit and general feedback is love.
As he slides her panties off her legs, House momentarily wonders if Wilson will buy Amber's lie. He hears her voice smoothly relay a cliché--called in late, complications with a patient--and spreads her legs.
Amber delivers a wide smirk as she snaps her phone shut, tosses it aside. "Bought it. Hook, line, and sinker," she says, curving one hand around the back of his neck, the other around his dick, and pulls him over her, into her.
As he pushes deeply, pelvis meeting pelvis, he wonders why he ever doubted her. A few moments later, heavy breaths, loud groans, strained grunts drown the thought and sensation takes over him. Her hands clutch at him everywhere--his back, his ass, his arms, his head--and his body bows against her, driving him further into her. Her nails scratch his skin, dig in beneath his shoulder blades and force a sharp gasp-groan out of his throat. Her lips cover his, and she swallows the sound, leading it with her tongue from his mouth to hers.
He comes that way, with Amber's tongue in his mouth, her hands on his back, pulling him closer to her. As his body shudders with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he presses his face into her hair and whispers her name.
For weeks, Wilson thought that House's interference was about him, but he missed the mark. It was always about her.