It’s the fall that kills you 2/2
Title: It’s the fall that kills you 2/2
Pairing: House/Cameron
Summary: He can rationalise, but the problem is that this is Cameron. And she’s… he doesn’t really know what she is. But it’s something no one else has ever been.
Rating: R
Author's Note: Part 1 is here
You give me everything, and everything's not enough.
-depeche mode
(him)
-
He remembers seeing a sign for a motel when they first turned off the freeway, and knows it will be easy to justify in the morning. They’ve been driving for hours. It’s late. They’re tired.
She hasn’t said anything since they started driving, but she must know what he’s doing. He didn’t turn back for the main road. The air between them is charged differently now, crackling with electricity and tension, and he’s not really sure what to make of her silence. He knows that she liked what they did back there. Even if she’s going to pretend to be puritanical about it later.
The universally tacky and brightly lit VACANCY sign appears up ahead, and he glances at Cameron in the dark. She looks back at him silently, in that measured, heavy way she has that makes him wonder if he really knows her as well as he thinks he does. He takes it as his answer, and turns.
She stays outside when he goes in to book a room, and he doesn’t think about the reason. When he returns, she’s leaning against the car like some life-sized calendar model, and she’s studying something on the ground with an inordinate amount of fascination. He doesn’t want this to be… another mark against their relationship, whatever that is. But he’s not exactly preoccupied with the ramifications right now either. The room key feels heavy in his hand and he pauses, gazing at her seriously. He shuffles his cane through his fingers.
He wonders what the hell he’s doing, except he can’t pretend he doesn’t know.
He’s pissed off. He’s really, really pissed off. He made a mistake five years ago, and it’s haunting him now. If he was capable of selfless guilt, he suspects this would be what Cuddy feels like everyday. But this is him, and he’s not, and he wants to do something to forget about it. Something so unbelievably stupid and unforgettable it will sit in his mind for months, instead of this case.
Cameron. Cameron is that something. As long as she’s still around, she will always be that something.
He steps off the small concrete landing, crunching gravel under his sneakers as he approaches her. It’s one of those motels where the owners don’t ask questions and don’t remember faces. It doesn’t exactly breed romanticism and maybe he wants it that way. Maybe it’s easier. Cameron is synonymous with those things, and they’re things he cannot feel.
His stare is drawn to hers, and she glances up, as if her awareness of him is instinctual. Her eyes are glinting an odd assortment of colours in the wavering lights, and he wonders if he’s really willing to do this to her. When he’s so unwilling to think of anyone but himself.
“So,” he says carefully. “Here we are.”
She has her thumbs thread idly through her belt loops, and gazes up at him carefully. “Yeah.”
He stands still, just staring down at her. Feeling the weight press down the air between them.
He knows she has these… feelings. Feelings he regularly brushes aside and dismisses because he recognises her penchant for damage and neediness, and knows he possesses both. Sometimes when he’s feeling particularly pensive, he thinks there might be something more to them, because it’s something he feels too. Something he doesn’t want to look into because it will cause too many complications, and his life is far too complicated already.
But sometimes, he finds it reassuring that he can still invoke those feelings in someone. Like there might be something left.
She surprises him by moving first, sliding her hands over his shoulders. She tilts herself upwards, pressing her mouth carefully against his.
It’s tentative at first, explorative, as her tongue slides slowly between his lips. He can feel his stubble chafing her perfect white skin, and he likes the sensation of difference. He lets her kiss him slowly, dictate their motions, because moments like these will be the only times he enjoys indulging her romanticism. Her fingers gather in the fabric of his blazer and he leans into her, bracing his hand on the car at her side. She’s more aggressive than he thought she would be - though he should have known better by now - and she pushes back into him, kissing and licking and tangling with his mouth.
When she draws back she’s still grasping the lapels of his shirt, and he’s still looming over her. He looks down, curling his fingers through hers. “Inside.”
The area around them is unusually quiet, and she stands beside him as he unlocks the door, warmth caressing his side.
He can rationalise, but the problem is that this is Cameron. And she’s… he doesn’t really know what she is. But it’s something no one else has ever been.
His frustrations at the case - at being wrong - are manifesting into this. He knows that. This want, this need, to possess something he understands. Something within his control.
He’s making this his to control.
Cameron spins around as he closes the door, and he crushes her immediately against his lips. She inhales sharply, and lifts her fingers to slide through his hair. His cane drops somewhere, and he starts peeling off layers of her clothing - her jacket, her blouse. His fingers skirt over the soft material, caressing her lean shoulders and arms. It occurs to him that she hasn’t once tried to talk about this, and again, it’s her silence that strikes him.
If there’s one thing he has enjoyed bringing out in Cameron, it’s her inability to submit to anything. Especially him.
His mouth grazes the side of her cheek as her blouse flutters to the floor. The room is cold - the heat probably hasn’t even been turned on yet - and he can feel the goosebumps rising on her bare arms. His voice rumbles against her skin. “I thought I wasn’t healthy.”
“You’re not,” she breathes. She’s unbuttoning his blazer with nimble fingers, and he admires her deftness.
“But that’s okay now?” he murmurs. He’s not sure why he wants to question this. He just likes her anger and indignation. It makes her eyes dance with fire and her body tighten fiercely.
She seems to sense what he’s doing though, and roughly tugs his shirt from his shoulders. “If anger’s a turn-on for you, you could have just asked.”
He smirks a little, kissing the underside of her jaw and unbuttoning her jeans. That’s his girl. She scoots back on the edge of the bed, and he tugs them off, leaving her clad in her skimpy black underwear. He shucks off his pants, glad the motion is so second nature to him it hides the twinge of pain in his thigh. He hates the thought of feeling inadequate, right now, in front of her.
She immediately pulls him over her, pressing her lips to his.
Her skin is warm and smooth against his, just like he thought it would be. She murmurs something incomprehensible as his fingers wander under her bra, and his mouth burns over her breasts.
It’s been long - a long time since he’s taken the time to do this. He likes to take his time and explore, and he knows Cameron will be the one to let him do it. She’s young, and beautiful, and he can selfishly indulge himself this once. Just this once. It’s not often someone like her willingly gives herself to him.
His fingers wander and trace intricate patterns over her creamy flesh, and they languidly lower her panties. She curves upwards, lifting her hips, sighing against him expectantly. She’s patient - for him. He feels it. For this moment he’s been building up in his mind since she decided to make it known he was more than her boss.
Her hands trail down to his boxers with a newly inspired confidence, and she stares up at him intently, before her hands are gently replaced with his. Then he’s sliding her thighs apart and his eyes are closed, and he’s inside her, and she’s writhing and sliding against him.
This is how he forgets.
Sex with hookers is mechanical and meaningless, and the euphoria never lasts long afterwards. Sex with Cameron… is messy and good and far far too passionate for something he has avoided this long.
He opens his eyes to look down at her, just for a moment, her head tilted back in pleasure, her smooth, soft lips open slightly in an breathless sigh. A feeling of unspoken, childish possession flares in his stomach, and it makes him groan slightly, before the rush of pleasure hits him completely.
He’s lost in it for a while, listening to her buck and cry beneath him, his thoughts soaring into nothingness. He slowly comes back down. His face is pressed against the pillow beside her head, and their slick, naked bodies are still pressed together. Silence filters through the room, a mute soundtrack for the dancing shadows and reddish light flickering on the walls.
They sleep. Their breathing is low and quiet, and nothing else is said.
-
When he stirs again, Cameron is sitting on the chair in the corner, with her chin propped absently against her thumb.
She’s half-dressed, blouse not buttoned all the way up, black panties and no jeans. Her knees are stretched up on the seat, smooth, creamy legs gleaming in the outside light. She’s usually such a stickler about her appearance, and he can’t help but notice how sexy and carefree she looks, all mussed and rumpled. The memory of her hair beneath his fingers and her skin to his skin makes heat gather expectantly on his flesh, and he ignores it for the moment.
He frowns, staying on his back. He’s still, and she’s hasn’t yet noticed he’s awake. His eyes trace her in the darkness, reading her like he always does. Never has he had the chance to observe her in this situation, and he savours the moment, drinking in every detail. She looks pensive and distant, and there’s something missing that he swears wasn’t missing before.
He shuffles upwards on the bed, letting the sheets shift and rustle over his waist. Cameron’s eyes drift over, fixing on him silently. She’s quiet for a long moment, just staring at him with that new, unidentifiable expression on her face.
She licks her lips. “Hi.”
The level of quiet awkwardness in her tone is new, and he feels it too. He stares at her carefully. “Hi,” he replies, at last. Gruffly.
She purses her lips, looking down at her knees. “We’re not going to get back to Princeton in time for work,” she says eventually.
He continues to evaluate her, unaccustomed to such a innocuous opening. He expects something else. Something far more intense or angry. “Probably not,” he responds evenly. “Guess we’ll have to come up with some kind of story.” He runs a hand absently over his scruffy cheeks. “’We were tired’ is a tried and true classic.”
She nods expressionlessly. “Sounds good.”
She averts her eyes again, and they sit for a while, not saying anything. He stifles a sigh, shifting off the side of the bed and sliding on his boxer shorts, rising to his feet. He wobbles a little unsteadily, but his leg quickly readjusts to the familiar pressure. He can’t take the silence. He never can.
“Pants?” he questions Cameron, scanning the room in the dim light.
He doesn’t mean to be callous, but sometimes it just happens. Most of the people who know him are used to it by now. Cameron always seems to be surprised.
She nods down at the floor below her, and he limps over, sitting on the edge of the bed so he can bend to reach them. When he straightens, she’s staring at him wordlessly, and he heaves a deep sigh.
“Look…”
Cameron rolls her eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to make a big deal of it.”
He stares at her silently, furrowing his brow after an extended moment. “Well. Maybe you are the perfect woman.”
She gives him a patented look, eyes dark and stormy. “Of course if you make comments like that, it’s going to be kind of hard.”
He keeps one finger on the edge of his pants, fingering the rough fabric vaguely as his eyes trail down in thought. They’re drawn subconsciously to the smooth, slender curve of her legs, and he slowly shakes his head. “You’re incapable of meaningless, random sex. Especially sex with me.”
Her jaw twitches silently, and she slowly lowers her feet to the floor. “Should I comment on your arrogance right now?”
He stares at her, aware of their proximity, the fact that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her bare skin. “You gonna tell me I’m wrong?”
She remains silent, and he nods concisely. He starts pulling on his jeans. “Didn’t think so.”
She folds her arms over her skewed blouse, hair falling messily over her shoulders. “Why are you saying this to me?” she asks, quietly. He looks at her as he zips his pants, staring at the indistinct pattern on the bedcovers. She doesn’t look wounded or fragile, she looks strangely calm. Like she could call this moment long before it actually happened.
“I don’t know,” he admits vaguely.
He stands again, and turns to look for his shirt.
“House.”
Her voice is low and soft, and he pauses midstep.
Her fingers slide down his arm, curving slowly around his wrist. He stills, unwittingly accustomed to her softness now, and she brushes against him as she circles him, until she is standing at his front. She stares up at him intently, the caress of her blouse causing heat to rise on his bare skin.
She leans up, breathing softly against his lips, lingering there momentarily. Then she kisses him. A soft, measured kiss, tongue sweeping out to briefly stroke his. He temporarily forgets what he’s doing, encountered with the uncomfortable realisation that she has some newly gained power over him. That the taste and feel of her has been enough to sway him.
He finds one hand curling in her hair, and the other curving under her blouse, and knows he has just allowed himself to enter very dangerous territory.
She pulls back first, lifting her eyes to his.
“Cameron…” he says, after a moment.
She nods slowly, in no way surprised by his reaction. “Right. We have to get back.”
He licks his lips, consciously aware of his hand on her hip, the smooth, warm skin under his fingertips. He slides his hand up, and cautiously avoids her eyes. “We still have some time.”
He can feel rather than see her lifting an eyebrow, and then her eyes flutter closed, and he’s unbuttoning the rest of her shirt.
“You really have no idea what you want, do you?”
He doesn’t answer, sliding her shirt off her shoulders. He feels the familiar tingle of anticipation at his fingertips, a sensation he associates far too closely with his pills, as he traces the curve of her collarbone.
She straddles him on the bed, and he shifts to adjust to the weight of her. Nursing her hips, pressing his mouth hotly to her neck. She moans softly against him, encouraging him by curving against him.
The sting of his mistake has mostly faded now, but it’s still present, still hovering just vaguely in the background. Taunting him. Touching her lessens the memory. Cameron is so implicitly Not A Good Idea that he can’t stop himself from kissing her again. Wanting her. Taking her.
They fall back on the bed, all searching mouths and scorching flesh, and it starts all over again.
He doesn’t admit that maybe he’s incapable of meaningless, random sex with her either.
Maybe this is something else.
-
end