The Best Little Secrets Are Kept. 6
The best little secrets are kept
Chapter six
House
The week is dragging along and it’s only Tuesday. Friday feels unreachable at the moment. I’m reclined in a chair with my feet resting on my desk. Every now and again I toss my giant tennis ball in the air, putting backspin on it as it travels out of my hands, before catching it again.
We have a patient: sixty-seven year old male with severe stomach pain. History reveals he’s got a two bottle a day vodka habit.
The alcohol suggests acute pancreatitis and further tests have revealed a slight out pouching on the gut wall. Weirdly he doesn’t seem to have alcohol related liver disease yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. It will be a simple case, but I take it anyway. Not for me but my team; nothing else has come in and a simple case solved quickly will get them get back on track without pushing them too far. They need something quick and simple after last week’s case.
The whiteboard holds a colorful mnemonic; Chase must have been running it, and I’ve pretty much left them to get on with everything themselves.
I can see the word - PANCREAS - in big girly writing, underneath it reads.
Pa O2
Age
Neutrophils
Calcium
Renal function
Enzymes
Albumin
Sugar; blood glucose
Under those words are the symptoms; central abdominal pain, vomiting, tachycardia.
They’re being very cautious. Foreman consulted Wilson and asked him to check for colorectal cancer, which is the chief suspect in diverticular disease, which it’s probably not. I’m glad Foreman thought of it without my input, because the pouching could suggest that. Better to check than to leave it.
Wilson was in a few hours ago asking me if I really want him to do the test when, in his opinion, it’s more likely something related to the patient’s alcohol intake. I had to remind him that my team is made up of real doctors not pretend ones, and if they ask for a test - and if it’s not too much trouble - could he do his damn job.
I didn’t like his not-so-subtle suggestion that I’ve hired a team of idiots who would consult an oncologist on a whim. If I'd thought they had done, I would have agreed with him.
Chase and Foreman are doing a laparoscopy and Cameron is researching every symptom of stomach pain known to man.
They’re being over cautious, it probably is related to the extreme ethanol intake, but I’m not getting involved. Three doctors on this case is more than enough.
I flip his file shut; he’s done it to himself. I tap out a Vicodin and dry swallow it.
Don’t we all.
This thought reminds me of something, a collection of ideals my professor taught at med school, right after we learned the Hippocratic Oath, probably because pledging a vow to a bunch of Greek gods and promising not to cut those laboring under the stone seemed nonsensical when it came to working in a modern hospital.
Don’t blame the sick for being sick.
That was number one; I always remember that gleaming pearl of wisdom. I look at the closed patient file and wonder, who do you blame when an alcoholic keeps downing vodka, day in day out? He was warned four years ago that if he carried on drinking he’d pickle various organs needed for the essential processes of life.
Do you blame the distillery? Liquor store owner? No, you blame the alcoholic because he’s an idiot. But God forbid you say that to him; you’d hurt his feelings. If someone had hurt this guy’s feelings four years ago he might not be here now.
Well he isn’t the color of Homer Simpson yet, that’s the only thing that bodes well for him so far. Maybe it is just a gallstone.
I notice Cameron get out of her seat in the other room; she moves to the bookcase on the far wall and pulls down a book that’s large enough I’m concerned it may topple her over.
She glances in at me and I look down at the closed file; she’s clearly still all sorts of pissed off and I don’t want her burning a hole through me with her laser beams.
I spent yesterday morning hiding in the clinic, then in the afternoon I hung out in the oncology break room. I’m glad Wilson gave me a key, even if I don’t understand why they get a foosball table and Tivo, and our break room is outside a shared locker room, has two sofas and no TV.
Actually, it makes me wonder what Wilson had to do to get those little perks for his staff. I must try and needle that out of him at some point.
I’m feeling braver today. I’m not going to be chased out of my own office, even if Cameron is staking out the conference room and has been all morning; even if I’m feeling on edge because every time she gets up to pour herself a coffee or pull a book from the shelf I worry she might be heading in here to get round two under way.
It’s a shame because I do like conflict, just not when I’ve had sex I shouldn’t have had and it’s threatening to blow up in my face, in front of my staff and a varying collection of people who know me by reputation and mostly don’t like me very much.
Then, I prefer hiding and ignorance.
Cameron drops the book on the table and begins flicking through it.
She can’t just leave it; she’s bound to be in here again. Sex is never just sex when women are concerned. Every word is clipped; every stare she gives me as we speak is weighted with a hint of something else underneath it.
It’s awkward, and I knew this would happen if we did what we did, it was the reason that dating, having sex, even having a drink was always going to be a bad idea. At least after the bad date we managed to keep everything out of work the next day.
What we did on Friday has bled into every interaction she’s had with me so far this week.
Then again, I probably shouldn’t have stood her up. Yeah, that one backfired. You live and learn, hell hath no fury, yadda yadda yadda.
I lean my head back, swivel around in my chair and stare out of the window, submitting to the one truth this whole thing has made me sure of.
I don’t want her quitting on me again because of this.
Not because of one stupid mistake; okay no, two stupid mistakes. Okay two truths - I don’t want her quitting, and the sex was really fucking good and I want to do it again, but I can’t because she hates me and it would only make things worse.
Sucks to be me; well I’m not running off to get her back if she does quit on me again, she’s being childish and I’m not going to stand for it.
I really need a coffee, but Cameron’s guarding the coffee pot, I look up, she’s sitting at the conference table, looking through the book while periodically tapping something into her laptop, I notice the animal crackers are right by her too. Goddamn, she’s done that on purpose so I have to go over to her to get them. She doesn’t even like them, and I’ve never seen her eat them before.
Women. They’re all completely insane.
Maybe I should call Wilson, tell him to bring me some coffee on his way up. He said he’d call in when he got the test results of our patient back. No, that’ll look weird. I suppose I could go to the end of the hall and get some from the machine, even though it smells a little like cat pee and tastes like crap.
I think about my options and decide I’m just going to go and get some from the other room, she’s not going to win this, it's silly. This is my office; in fact I could send her to the clinic, which would buy me two free hours.
Okay, that’s pushing it, that will definitely get her back up, that’d be like poking the bear with the sore head. I’d get mine bitten off.
I wonder how funny it would be to page her, and request she bring me some…no, I’d probably end up wearing it if I did that.
This sucks, she and Chase didn’t have a problem with each other after they slept together, and from what I can piece together, she really wasn’t in her right mind when she slept with him.
She’s the consummate professional when we’re in a room with other people, but the minute we’re alone, her attitude and the room seem to freeze.
“Hey,” Wilson says from the doorway,
He makes me jump because I didn’t notice him standing there. I look over at him and notice he’s holding a take out salad and a coffee, damn you Wilson. I look at the food and then at his coffee.
“Did your wives find that selfish quality in you attractive? Where’s my take out?”
“I bought you lunch four times last week,” he counters in an indignant tone.
I nod at the conference room. “Make yourself useful and go get me a coffee,” I say, and then I open the file in front of me so I don’t have to look at his horrible tie. It’s got some sort of nauseous black and white pattern on it.
“No, get it yourself,” he bitches. “And your patient doesn’t have cancer.”
“I know,” I reply.
He shakes his head and gets his sulky downtrodden look. “Then why did you get me to do the test?”
“Because if the drunken idiot pulls through this, a battery of uncomfortable tests just might stop him from drinking himself into liver failure next time around,” I offer.
“Right, and here I was thinking you were encouraging me to respect your team’s diagnosis,” he says sarcastically.
“You’re already up, go get me some coffee,” I whine, and then I rub an obvious hand over my leg. “I’m not feeling so good,” I moan, and then stick out my bottom lip.
He shakes his head and breathes out loudly.
“What are you up to?” he says suspiciously, selfishly ignoring my plea for caffeine. I look around quickly then look at him.
“What makes you think I’m up to something?”
“You’re quiet, either something’s wrong or you’re up to something, so which is it?” he enquires.
“Neither,” I deny. “Working on a case,” I offer with a shrug and divert my look again.
“You haven’t got a case. They’ve got a case, you’re keeping out of it because it’s boring,” he dismisses me quickly. “So you’re quiet, defensive, and now you’re lying. ” Then there’s a pause before he finishes. “Intriguing.”
“I’m quiet, therefore I’m plotting something. If I had feelings I’d be offended,” I say, pretending I’m not really all that interested. I want him to get bored and leave.
He clears his throat and comes in properly, sitting down in front of me.
“You’ve been acting weird since last week; you were so pissy; time of the month?”
I lean back and let out a loud yawn. “Keep talking, I always yawn when I’m interested.”
He doesn’t give it up, he ponders obviously, jutting his chin upwards and glancing into the corner of the room.
“This week you’ve been quiet; last week you were pissy. You hid most of yesterday. It wasn’t from Cuddy because I saw her at least three times and she didn’t balk and hiss at any mention of your name.”
He smirks at me. “So what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
“You’re lying,” he replies.
“How do you know that?”
“Because your lips are moving; it’s normally a good indication.”
“Will you quit bugging me, I have work to do,” I dismiss him.
Wilson actually snorts and then looks away from me, thinking.
“You know, now I think about it, you’re not the only one in a pissy mood.”
Wilson looks in at Cameron obviously and then back at me; I hate him so much right now. He’s just found a thread…he’s about to pull it.
“Have you and Cameron had a fight?”
“No,” I say defensively.
He swipes the patient file I’m pretending to read away from me, so I’ve got nothing to look at.
“What’s going on between you two?” he asks, pointing the document at me and then toward the office.
“Nothing,” I deny loudly. Loudly enough to make Cameron glance in. Shut up Wilson, for god’s sake.
He nods and then looks at Cameron, who quickly returns to her research.
“Okay, if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll go ask her myself,” he says, just about to get up.
“We got into an argument about a patient, she wanted me to take a case, it got heated, and she’s pissed. Just leave her to cool down,”
He furrows his brow. “You are so full of crap, what’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on, she’s mad at me, she gets mad at me for no reason all the time, because she’s a woman and that’s what they do,” I say quickly. I really don’t want him going and talking to her about this.
Wilson glances at his watch and makes a face. “I’ve got to go, but I will be back,” he says dangerously.
“Yippee, do hurry,” I say.
“Think of a better lie while I’m gone, you’re off your game House,” he says as he leaves, dropping the patient file and the test results on my desk before he goes.
~
Cameron
I wonder where Chase and Foreman have got to. They should have been back an hour ago with the results of the laparoscopy.
Wilson arrives, manages to get House pissed off about something and then leaves again. I hate it when he does that. House doesn’t come in so I assume the cancer theory is out. I don’t think any of us really thought it would be cancer.
I start looking through my emails while I wait for the boys to return.
Dr Jonathon Grant, Head of Diagnostics at Princeton General wants House’s help; he must have a really tough case.
I’ve never heard House speak about him, but I’ve always sensed they know each other, because whenever his name is mentioned House looks like he wants to punch something and pops a Vicodin.
He’s emailed a case history to me, with a request for House to look it over. I’ll read through it then give it to House.
He’s such a wimp; he won’t come and get coffee just because I’m sitting here. I know he wants one. I’m not as pissed as I was yesterday but I want him to think I’m still annoyed at him, because I want him to think about what’s going on.
We need to sort this out, one way or another. I take my glasses off and decide to go and see if where Foreman and Chase have got to.
`
House
Finally, Cameron leaves the office and I get the chance to go get a coffee.
I make it in the big mug that normally resides at the very back of the cupboard so I don’t have to come back in for at least an hour; it’s got a garish picture of Bugs Bunny on it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I swipe the animal crackers on the way back over. I bump the desk as I lean over, and it knocks the screen saver off Cameron’s laptop screen.
Her inbox is open on the screen; I notice a familiar name at the top of her list before I pull away. There are two emails from Jonathon Grant, why is that shitface emailing Cameron?
A quick click on her outbox poses another question, why the hell is she responding back to him.
I hate him, it’s a healthy mutual hatred though, because he hates me too, has done for a long time. He has my old job over at Princeton General, the one I got fired from after the infarction. I’m just about to open one of the emails up when I notice Cameron heading back from wherever she’s been, I jolt away from her laptop, and coffee tips all down my left leg
“Fuck,” I hiss as she enters the room, I look over at her.
I shake the box of animal crackers quickly. “Mine, leave,” I say agitatedly. She gives me a strange look.
“Fine,” she replies. “Why are you reading my emails?” she enquires calmly.
“I wasn’t; I was getting these,” I say defensively, holding the box up again.
“Sure you were,” she says doubtfully, and then she sits back down and I step away from her things.
I feel stupid, I hate getting caught out.
“I’ll forward you all my mail if you like, it will save you having to hack into the hospital mainframe,” she says and then smiles sweetly at me.
“I wasn’t looking at your mail,” I say again, but I’ve suddenly lost the ability to lie. I hate getting blindsided.
‘He says, over-defensively,’” she comments under her breath, but loudly enough for me to hear.
I head back into my office quickly and dump the box of crackers on my table.
There is only one reason I can think that she’s corresponding with Dr Grant, the slimy bastard.
She’s applied for another job.
~
Wednesday
Cameron
Our patient has kept me pretty busy, I’m glad because House is behaving like a five year old and the patient gives me something objective to focus on. I have no idea what he thought he was going to find snooping through my mail yesterday, Although it was funny watching him trying to deny it.
It’s late, just gone nine o’clock; I’m surprised he’s still in his office considering he’s pretty much left me, Chase and Foreman to work on the case ourselves.
I’m sick of this awkwardness between us. I wish we could just forget what happened, but there’s no way to approach the subject now.
I think I’ll check on the patient and then head home. I start to pack my things away, when I remember something, damn, I totally forgot to mention Grant’s referral, I’d better do it before I leave. I don’t want Grant to think House is being crappy with him. That would be my fault, and I don’t want to give him any reasons to bitch at me.
I knock on his door but he doesn’t seem to hear, some old Motown record spills through into the conference room as I open his door.
“House,” I say over the music, he swings in his chair to face me, and he scans my appearance then nods.
“Why are you still here?” he asks.
“Patient, late shift,” I say, then I look at the email I’m about to hand him, but before I can get any words out he says.
“You really need to stop letting people walk all over you,” in a nasty tone.
I’m not in the mood for an argument with him, but I find myself questioning him anyway. “What do you mean?” I reply calmly.
“Doing what Foreman says in my absence, all three of you are running the case, yet it took him two minutes to put himself in charge, you and Chase need to grow spines.”
I nod and place a hand on my hip. ‘Okay, well I’ll work on that right after grow yourself some tolerance and humility,” I counter tiredly. “And I’m here because I offered; I had something else I needed to do.”
“Yeah, I know all about it,” he says bitterly.
He knows all about the article I’m going to write? That’s unlikely, because I have barely started the research.
“What are you talking about?” I say seriously.
“You’re pathetic, you know that,” he replies, staring me straight in the eye. He looks really pissed off, more pissed off than I’ve seen him in a long time.
“Yeah, you tell me at least once a week, I know.” I reply, what the hell is wrong with him tonight? I need to get out of here; he’s obviously just looking for a fight. I wish all this crap was over.
“I just need to hand you this, concerning Dr Grant at Princeton General,” I say stepping closer.
House snorts then shakes his head. “Grant is such an ass, out of everyone you could have picked you pick him; trying to piss me off?”
I furrow my brow. I honestly have no idea what the hell he’s talking about now.
“Are you high?” I ask.
“So when are you leaving?” he says strongly, ignoring my question. His counter comes out of nowhere and leaves me speechless for a few moments. I know he’s been uncomfortable about what happened but…he can’t really be expecting me to leave over what happened.
He can’t be serious?
“Screw you, House,” I say eventually, and turn to leave.
“Bet you wish you hadn’t,” he replies, spitefully.
I turn and face him again. “Jesus, I only came in to give you a damn email, and you can’t be civil for one minute, and what? You’re expecting me to leave because you can’t handle what happened? You’re an ass,” I say angrily.
“I’m not expecting anything; you’re choosing to, that has nothing to do with me,” House says looking as confused as I’m starting to feel.
What is he talking about? I look to the side, I’m really baffled now, it’s been a long day, I’m tired and House is talking absolute crap.
Then he drops his gaze and leans forward so he can turn the volume on his I-pod down.
“I don’t want you to leave because of one stupid mistake,” he blurts out suddenly just as I'm going to leave, I stop at the door; then I turn around again.
“What? I’m not leaving,” I say.
“Then why are you emailing Grant at Princeton General?” He replies.
“I didn’t email him, he emailed me. He wanted to know if you would look a case over for him,” I say stepping forward and placing the email on his desk.
“I meant to show it to you yesterday but I forgot.”
~
House
Oh crap. Cameron leaves my office quickly while I’m looking at the email from Grant; this is his fault, the stupid asshole. By the time I’ve read it she’s left the conference room.
Okay, not my finest moment. This is so stupid. I reach for my Vicodin; I need to put this right…somehow.
I get up grab my jacket and head for the parking lot as quickly as possible.
I know Cameron has a pair of stupid high heels on today so hopefully I can make it down before she leaves, I noticed because of the annoying sound they make as she clip clops down the corridor.
(Not because I catalogue the way she looks and decide whether I like it or not and take note of what she’s wearing whenever she arrives in the morning.)
They must be more of a hindrance than a limp though, because I’m leaning on her car when she arrives at it, she tenses up as she approaches me.
“House, I don’t want to argue about this any more, I’m tired,” she says wearily.
My arms are folded across my chest, the parking lot is pretty empty; the squeal of tires echoes somewhere above on the second floor.
It’s chilly, and I’m tired too, of all of this.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“No we needed to talk Saturday; you chose to be eight years old. The time for talking is over,” she says and moves around me to unlock the door.
I grab hold of her hand and yank her keys away quickly.
“Can you just listen to me, for a minute?”
“Why should I? You’ve acted like a jerk,” she counters.
“I always act like a jerk; it never bothered you before,” I say.
“This is different, I’m tired…I just want to go home and rest, can we talk about this in the morning?”
I nod and give her the keys back, what choice do I have? She takes them from me. I have a quick glance around the parking lot and decide this is already a horrible mess, and what I’m about to do can’t really have too much of an effect after what we’ve done. I lean forward quickly and back her up against the car hers is next to.
“Actually, I want to talk about this now,” I say quietly, looking down at her.
“And I don’t,” she replies, as our bodies connect. I hear a gentle bump as I press her into the car behind me, placing the lower half of my body against hers and pinning her in place.
“You can’t just have everything you want, all your own way, all the time,” she says, trying to sound aggressive, but her voice quivers, and she’s shivering a little beneath me. Like a tall blade of grass in a storm, and I know how to make her fall.
I lean down and press my lips softly to hers; we’ve gone past various points of no return. In the grand scheme of things this really isn’t a big deal.
I don’t want her to leave; that’s the worse thing that could happen in this situation, not people finding out what happened. It all seems so trivial in the wake of thinking she might be upset enough to go and work for Jonathon.
Her body is tense but her lips part anyway and I slip my tongue into her mouth; we’re getting good at this, my hands fall down to her hips and her hands are soon on my cheeks. It’s weird how familiar this is all of a sudden.
Her nose feels cold as mine brushes against it, I pull my tongue back and hers follows into my mouth. I part my lips a little to accommodate her as she massages her tongue against mine slowly. Her flavor is coffee and I hope mine isn’t too bitter after the Vicodin I’ve just taken.
I close my eyes; I know someone might see us because the walls have eyes and ears in this place. But I suddenly don’t give a crap. One of her hands moves to my chest and she tries to push me away, I lean into her a little bit more and bite softly on her lip as the kiss comes to an end, then she pulls away from me.
I hold her stare as she tries to read mine. She breathes in deeply, and then wipes her lips.
“I can’t keep doing this if you won’t talk to me about what we’re actually doing,” she says, shaking her head.
“I don’t know what we’re doing,” I say honestly, with a very slight shrug.
She nods and looks away for a second, and then she leans forward and kisses me quickly on the mouth before maneuvering around me.
“Then I’m going home,” she says hastily, shaking her head.
I step to the side and stare at the floor, she unlocks her door and I wonder why I just did that, what I thought it would achieve? This isn’t the movies, this is my crappy life. I turn and I’m about to head out of the parking lot, when I hear her say something.
“So, are you coming with me then, or not?” she asks impatiently.
I look back at her; she pulls a strand of hair out of her face and gives me a weary look. I think about her question, stare at the door that leads to the hospital before staring back at her again.
Screw it.
I smile slightly and limp back toward her car. “Yes I am,” I say nodding, just as the passenger side lock clicks up.
~
Cameron
The drive to my apartment is a painfully quiet one; I’m not sure what to say so I don’t say anything. I just keep focused on the road so House can’t mock my driving. Something I’m sure he would do if we weren’t both more preoccupied with ripping each other’s clothes off the minute we get through my apartment door.
I really want to talk to him about this but I know all we’re going to do when we get to my place is have sex, and avoid everything we really need to discuss.
This is somehow different though at least, there is a different kind of tension in the air now, more like an urgency, we’re clearly, absolutely, both reading from the same page this time. As predicted, we’re barely through the door of my apartment before House is pulling the buttons of my shirt open and pushing me against the wall assaulting my neck as he does with hot angry kisses.
My head is spinning; I can’t keep up with his change of mood and pace; one minute he’s angry and spiteful, the next thing I know my blouse and bra are on the floor and I can feel his warm breath on my breast just before he takes it into his mouth.
His lips are warm and moist and he swirls his tongue eagerly around one nipple then the other, my hands are dancing through his hair as he works my nipples over with the tip of his tongue until they’re as hard as the dick trapped in his jeans.
I feel like we really shouldn’t do this again until he meets me half way and has an adult conversation about what we’re actually doing.
I push him away from my breasts gently. He leans over me searching my expression to find out what’s wrong, his gaze burning deep into mine until I look away from him.
“We can’t keep doing this if you won’t talk to me, House,” I say; it really sounds like I mean it too.
He thinks about my words before tilting his head to the side and observing my naked breasts; he then ducks his head and gently kisses each one.
“Okay…talk,” he mumbles against the sensitive skin, shooting a quick look up at me before massaging my nipples with his tongue.
He’s very good at that, it’s hard to keep focused on practical thoughts while he’s doing that to me.
I grab hold of his face and pull him away from my breasts again.
“We can’t have a conversation while you’re doing that,” I say seriously. His mouth quirks to the side, puzzled then he leans in to whisper in my ear
“Why not?” he asks, then kisses the tender patch of skin behind my ear softy.
I close my eyes and swallow hard, just as one of his hands finds its way between my thighs, I turn my head against the wall and he takes the chance to blaze a trail of hot kisses along my neck as he rubs the palm of his hand roughly between my legs.
Just when I’m starting to feel a familiar tingle he stops and pulls away from me.
“Still want to talk about we’re doing? Or shall we just go ahead and do it?” he says, raising his eyebrows.
I think about it for one second, and then grab him by his shirt lapels so I can drag him toward the bedroom.
I close the bedroom door by pushing him against it hard, he drops his cane and it clatters loudly to the floor, a few seconds after I raise my game by placing my hand on his groin, I meet a familiar hardness straining against his jeans.
He groans when I paw his dick softly through the rough material.
“We’re so much better at this, don’t you think? Not too good at the talking,” he comments.
I remove my hand and fix him with a serious stare. “At some point, we do need to have a conversation about all this, all right?”
He grabs my hand and places it back on the lump in his jeans.
“Absolutely,” he leans forward and places his lips against mine.
I pull the buttons on his shirt open and smooth my hands over his chest as we kiss, running them over the hair there for a moment, and then I slide them up to his shoulder blades and pull his shirt off him.
Neither of us seems to care about being naked in front of the other any more but the lights stay off anyway. The tiredness I felt just half an hour ago has been subdued by the excitement that’s building in the pit of my stomach.
House sits down on my bed so he can take off his jeans while I lose the rest of my clothes, never taking his eyes from me as he wriggles out of them then his boxer shorts; when I’ve removed all of my clothing he leans forward takes hold of my hands and pulls me down on top of him.
I look down at his leg as I land on him with a bump, he tries to repress a wince but I see it anyway.
“Crap, I’m sorry,” I say.
“Fuck it,” he dismisses quickly.
I shuffle away from his thigh, the hair between my legs brushes against his navel as I straddle him. He slides his hands up and down my thighs slowly, rubbing circles into my skin with his thumbs.
I watch him watching me; he searches my expression with the same intensity he’s got on his face when he’s looking for something that doesn’t fit on the whiteboard. I find myself breaking eye contact before him because it’s too hard to keep hold of that stare.
I drag my fingernails down either side of him; I do it lightly but with enough pressure to cause him to squirm under me.
He scans my naked body, stroking a hand across my hips, then up onto my stomach before he places a hand on my face, he wipes his thumb across my lip; the look of pure lust in his eyes right now makes me feel beautiful.
I lean down and push my tongue inside his mouth and we exchange a rough kiss. His hand still cups my cheek and every movement of his jaw causes his stubble to graze my face in a different place; the sensation hits me in the sweet spot between my legs.
I pull away from him and drag my body down his until I’m eye level with his groin. I nuzzle his balls with my lips and tongue before taking one into my mouth and sucking it.
His hands arrive on my head and he plays with my hair, I take hold of the base of his dick, he’s very hard already so I start to jerk him off, sliding my tongue up then down the length of him before taking the head into my mouth.
I find the sounds he makes when I suck the tip lightly then harder then soft again, exhilarating.
I hear ‘God damn’ whisper out of him, his dick twitches and smacks against the roof of my mouth. I slip down a bit further on the bed so I can take him in fully, keeping hold of him so I can slide him in and out of my mouth with relative ease.
I hear a slight groan of pleasure and his pelvis jerks upwards, so he can thrust into my mouth. We do this for a minute, House fucking my mouth as I tickle and scratch his balls with my nails, trying to draw out new sounds I’ve never heard before, but eventually he stops bucking into my mouth and gently guides me away from him.
“Cameron, stop,” he says in a strained voice.
I slide him out of my mouth so I can look up and see what’s wrong.
“Don’t look so worried,” he dismisses me breathlessly. “Have you got any condoms?” he asks, I nod.
“Get one then,” he orders me, urgently. I climb off him and reach into the second drawer of my bedside cabinet.
He shuffles over into the middle of the bed and I lie down next to him. He takes the condom from my hand, opens it and rolls it carefully onto himself.
Then he eases himself up and positions himself carefully on top of me, I part my legs and take hold of him as he places his hands either side of my head, I slide the tip of his cock inside me then he pushes himself half way in with one forward thrust against me.
I study his face, he closes his eyes as he travels slowly inside, when I feel the hair of his balls brush against my thighs he opens them again and then leans down to kiss me, it’s quick and awkward, and his breath is hot against my cheek when we part again.
He then starts to push all the way in; I can feel him inch by inch as he buries himself carefully within me.
His fists become clenched on the pillows either side of my head and he pulls himself up, his eyes are squeezed shut and he bites his lip as he slides slowly out of me again.
There is a noticeable pressure difference on my left, because he’s not as strong on his right. I didn’t notice it when we had sex on his sofa, probably because I was more in control of the movement. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just different.
But then, everything’s different when we do this. I like the small details that will remind me of him later, when testosterone isn’t guiding his actions and he’s wrestling with regret.
I let him set the pace, let him take as long as he wants to get into a comfortable rhythm before I start to rock my hips against him, eventually he starts to pump in and out smoothly and I barely notice the lack of pressure on my left and just concentrate on how good it feels.
Despite everything, the arguments, the awkwardness, we’re doing this again and I hope it’s because he wants this as much as I do, I don’t know how much trouble we’re bringing on ourselves by easing the tension we’ve been feeling this way. But it’s impossible to resist.
He leans forward against me, I can hear his heavy panting in my ear and the coarse hair on his face grazes my cheek, I’m suddenly convinced the friction of his stubble against my smooth skin will leave a mark as he thumps in and out of me more quickly.
I wrap my hands around his neck as our bodies touch again; sweat is the only thing between our skin as his stomach meets mine.
He moves against me slow and steady and I find his gentle ministrations such a contradiction to his personality, easing his stomach up every now and again so he can aim small strokes against my clit before going in all the way again, always finding my eyes with his to check I’m all right.
Unfortunately he’ll be done before me if he doesn’t stop worrying about hurting me.
I move my hands down and grab onto his butt, digging my nails into it briefly then pushing him against me harder, his eyes open and he looks down at me.
“You’re not going to hurt me,” I pant. “Just screw me House.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he gasps, shooting me a quick look before he straightens his arms and increases the motion in his hips.
I part my legs a little wider, his head drops and hangs low, a look of intense concentration appears as he bucks faster now I’ve encouraged him to.
His gentle thrusts become powerful thumps and I feel him pound deeper and deeper until his balls are regularly slapping against my thighs, and it’s almost painful, but I need the extra pressure or he’ll be getting off and I won’t.
My shoulders sink further into the pillows as he comes forward and places more weight onto me.
I start thinking about how silent this all is, apart from the choked gasps and the incoherent language uttered at climax.
We don’t need to snipe at each other, because there is nothing to make up for here, this …particular part, the good part, has never been awkward, what arrives after and comes before may be, but this isn’t.
We’re physically compatible, he must know it too or he wouldn’t be here right now. It’s the reason we’ve spent a week and a half arguing but we’re back here again anyway.
House was right; this is too good not to do again, and again.
I notice his jaw clench and arms quiver beside my head, he closes his eyes tightly and a choked moan grumbles from his throat.
He pulls half way out and stops, his breathing quickens and his body shivers as he climaxes. I carry on rocking my hips against him because I’m not quite there myself but he comes before I do and falls by the side of me before I’m there, sliding himself out of me as his face buries into the pillow.
I give him a second to catch his breath, then take hold of his hand and place it between my legs, his breathing is heaving in and out of him but he slides two fingers inside me and I’m glad he hasn’t abandoned his mission to get me off.
He quickly finds the rhythm we had going a few seconds ago; at least he’s willing to finish what he started.
My hips jut off the bed against his hand. House moves his head down to my breasts and licks and sucks my nipples before choosing one to take into his mouth. He bites down on it very softly; the sight of his dirty smile as it takes shape around my breast when he looks up at me, does enough to fluster my clitoris into the beginnings of my own orgasm.
I feel myself clench inside, gripping tight around his fingers, as he drives them in. He lays his head on my stomach and stares at me intently, observing me with a mixture of desire and curiosity. Then he smirks as he watches me come, thumbing my clit to help me along.
Then the smirk disappears and he closes his eyes.
I moan lightly a few times and close mine too, a mixture of happy thoughts and feelings scatter through my mind.
The knotty ball of excitement in my stomach warms and flows downward, then my inner muscles become fitful and start to spasm around his long probing fingers.
I utter a few incoherent things, half mumbled whispers that try and sum up how wonderful the sensation in my groin feels right now, some half groaned “fuck…oh fuck keep going,” I think; I’m not sure, because my mind is clouding.
And he does keep going, thumbing and stroking my clit until I’m entirely spent.
~
House
I fall asleep in Cameron’s bed after we’re done, because I’m absolutely worn out.
Our bodies are tangled together and sweaty. The last thing I think about before our post coital nap is how much I like the sensation of her naked body covering my own. I like the heat between us, and her breasts squashed against my chest, the slight hair between her legs resting against my good thigh.
Sleep comes quickly in the dark of her bedroom, it’s deep and blank and I don’t dream.
I rouse sometime after midnight, blinking at the red glow of her alarm clock. The first thing I notice is that my thigh is in agony. I thought it would be; I grit my teeth and keep my eyes squeezed shut until I feel like I can go look for my Vicodin.
I suppose I took a few liberties before, overdid it a bit.
I don’t want to feel bad about sleeping with Cameron again, but I know I will. I’m starting to hate myself a little for it, because why should anyone feel bad about something that feels so good?
I don’t want her to see the regret in my eyes or how much pain I’m going to be in tomorrow morning, so I’d better go.
Most mornings are bad, but tomorrow will be worse for sure, it’d probably be better if I didn’t go back to sleep.
I start to get dressed, slowly. I’m working on the buttons of my shirt when I hear the bed creak; I turn to find her propped up on one arm looking over at me.
“I should go,” I say quietly, grimacing into the dark because I feel like I’ve been caught trying to sneak out.
“You said we could we talk before. I need to know what’s going on,” Cameron says, her voice is husky. Through the haze of my tiredness I find the sound of it faintly sexy,
I stand silently for a few seconds, she’s so beautiful, and I suddenly can’t work out what she’s getting out of this. I don’t like feeling this way, but I can’t help myself.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I say eventually.
“Well that’s a start,” Cameron replies. “We need to have a proper conversation about this, don’t you think?”
She’s right, I suppose we do, but not now, I need to sleep on everything, in my own bed.
“How about tomorrow after work?” I suggest, while looking for my cane. I pat my chest and feel relieved when I hear my Vicodin rattle in my shirt pocket. I take the bottle out and pop two. My thigh is one big burning ache right now.
“I’m not meeting you, you’ll have to come and pick me up,” she says defensively, probably because I stood her up on Saturday.
I don’t blame her for making that demand.
“Okay, I’ll pick you up and we’ll go get something to eat,” I reply distractedly, only half aware of what I’m agreeing to while I look for my cane.
“And you’re paying, because you stood me up on Saturday,” she orders.
I hear all of that, I turn and look at her, it’s dark, but I can just make out a faint smile on her face.
“And I’m paying,” I agree reluctantly, I bet I can get her to split it though, if I try.
She stares at me for a few seconds; I look around again then finally spy my cane by the door, I carefully retrieve it from the floor.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say and I feel like a prize shit for trying to steal out of here.
I pause by the door, holding on to the handle. There is one thing I should do I suppose; my head falls to the side and I bite my lip, then I turn and go back over to her bed. I lean down and place a quick kiss on her cheek, then I pull away quickly before I can read her expression.
It’s nowhere near as awkward as I imagined it would be, kissing her goodbye; actually it was kind of nice.
“See you tomorrow,” she says to my retreating back.
“Uh huh,” I hum and then I’m gone. Through the door, out of her apartment and into the elevator. I can’t look myself in the eye when I find myself alone facing my reflection in the thick metal door panel.
I call a cab and lean against the entrance to her apartment while I wait for it to arrive.
It’s chilly outside, I massage my leg but the pain doesn’t budge. I try and concentrate on something else, the case is boring, open and shut, that won’t help. I take a deep breath and get a lungful of Cameron’s perfume because it’s lingering all over me, asking me what the hell I think I’m playing at.
I don’t know, I really don’t, but I’ll try and think about what I’m going to say to her tomorrow, because it’s a good enough distraction for now.
~
Thursday
Cameron
House is an hour late for work. I watch him arrive, noticing he won’t look at me. He shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it up. I give him a quick smile before I turn back to my laptop. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt I doubt would recognize an iron if it saw one and some dark blue jeans.
When he passes by the conference table I get a whiff of his cologne; the same smell was all over my sheets when I woke up this morning and my stomach does a funny little dip when I notice.
He mumbles good morning, I notice he looks as tired as I feel. I didn’t sleep very well after he left; there was too much on my mind keeping me awake.
He makes himself a coffee in that stupid Bugs Bunny mug that’s been hiding at the back of the cupboard since I started here. The sight of it makes me smile.
“What are you grinning at?” he questions, when he glances over but it’s light hearted enough. I’m quite relieved to hear that softer tone return to his conversation.
The dark atmosphere between us has dissipated. I feel like we could spend more than ten minutes in the same room without hissing and spitting like a pair of alley cats.
“Cute mug,” I reply, just before taking a sip of my coffee.
He takes a look at the mug, ponders my words then waits until I’ve started to swallow before saying
“Define cute: personally I don’t think it’s as cute as your naked ass resting on my bare torso,” he says thoughtfully before shrugging.
He finishes his last word just as Foreman enters the office and I choke on my coffee, and some of it trickles out of my mouth.
House’s eyebrows fuse together and he casually glances back over me. “Are you all right Dr Cameron?” he says, all mock concern. I cough a few times, until coffee actually comes out of my nose. I wipe my face quickly; how embarrassing.
You bastard, House, I really can’t keep up with him, I thought he was going to hide out all day, not shoot filth like that at me at half nine in the morning.
“Fine, thank you, I guess I got swallow and breathe mixed up,” I say, voice scratchy and tight.
Foreman raises an eyebrow and places the patient file down on the table next to me. “No surprises, it’s peritonitis; Chase suspects it’s bad enough that he’ll need surgery.”
“Need a surgeon? I’d pick that old booze hound Hammond, might give him something to think about,” House suggests.
“Chase already called someone, Jenkins?” Foreman says unsurely.
House nods then shrugs. “He’ll do.”
Foreman nods his agreement then looks at me, “Chase has some samples he needs you to look at in the lab before we open up the patient.”
“No problem, I’ll be right down,” I say, trying to recover from my momentary fluster.
Foreman shoots me a quick smile. “Okay, thanks,”
House takes a sip of his coffee, observing Foreman quietly as he does. We both wait until he’s cleared the room before looking at each other again.
House has a self satisfied grin on his face.
“I’ll pick you up at eight tonight, is that all right with you?” he says, darting a look at the whiteboard before I answer.
“Fine,” I say. “What shall I wear?”
He looks at me quickly, “It’s not like a date,” he points out worriedly.
I roll my eyes at him. “I didn’t say it was; I just need to know if I should dress smart or casual.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, casual.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine,” he returns, then he pushes away from the sink and limps for his office.
“Would it be possible to keep comments about my naked ass out of the differential in the future?” I ask, looking him straight in the eyes as he passes me.
He pauses beside me, meets my gaze but looks away quickly, and then he sticks his bottom lip out in thought. “Sure, unless it becomes part of the differential,” he offers.
He actually looks a little embarrassed now. Good, I’m glad. He heads on toward his office, so I throw a remark behind me before he disappears.
“And for the record, you have a rather cute naked ass yourself,” I say, closing my eyes at the embarrassing nature of discussing such things at work.
Unfortunately I say it just as Wilson pushes through the door into the office. He gives me a strange look, then I imagine he looks at House. I don’t know because I keep my focus on my laptop screen.
Oops.
I push my chair back and stand up.
“Good morning, Dr Wilson,” I say, smiling politely. I glance quickly at House and if looks could kill he would have knocked me dead with the glare I’m getting from him right now.
Well, it serves him right.
Wilson’s mouth has dropped open; he jiggles his head slightly before he closes it again.
“Good morning…Dr Cameron,” he eventually gets out, moving awkwardly aside so I can squeeze past him and leave the office.
I march toward the elevator. I glance in at House as I go; his shoulders have hunched slightly as he continues to glare at me.
“Did she just say what I think she said?” I hear Wilson ask before the door closes. This is getting risky but I can’t help but smile at the thought of House trying to dig himself out of that one.