fic: declare this an emergency, a sense of urgency (1/1)
title: declare this an emergency, a sense of urgency
rating: NC-17 for smut and language
pairing: House/Cameron
words: 2,061
notes: For Kathryn ♥. Because she wanted a happy ending. ;)
declare this an emergency
come on and spread a sense of urgency
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world
muse {apocalypse please}
He stroked the ivory piano keys, losing himself completely in the rich melody that erupted from the instrument at his touch.
Patrons, doctors and benefactors alike mingled around him in a blur, the steady, monotonous drone of their voices barely reaching his ears as he played a piece that he had composed many years ago.
He’d just death-stared a particularly brave man who had decided to request a piece for him to play and since then, hadn’t been bothered by anyone.
Seventies night. What the hell was Cuddy thinking? He lifted his gaze to stare around the room at the morons wearing awkward platform shoes and nauseating knitwear.
He was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and jeans. The band had released their album Dark Side of the Moon in 1973 and that was all the party spirit Cuddy was getting out of him.
The only thing that got him here in the first place was the prospect of seeing women in hotpants again, and that was all that was keeping him here. Having the Bee Gees thrummed into his ears for hours on end was certainly not something he could handle for much longer.
At one point, Wilson had pointed out a male doctor from Pediatrics who had dared to turn up in a floral muumuu, but that was shaping up to be the highest point of his evening so far.
Until he saw Allison Cameron approach Wilson’s table in the miniest mini-skirt he had ever seen. Fuck.
It was light pink and flared slightly at the hem, and displayed her shapely legs to perfection. His gaze remained transfixed on her legs as he fudged a couple of notes of impromptu in G flat major.
Wilson jumped up in his absurd John Travolta-type disco suit, asking her to dance before she could say or do anything. House really couldn’t be all too angry with him, watching as he twirled Cameron around, causing her little flared skirt to float up deliciously for a few seconds at a time.
He watched as Wilson continued to dance with Cameron right through More Than A Woman and Saturday Night Fever before How Deep is Your Love started and he couldn’t bear to see them dance this slow one. He downed his whiskey in one go, and limped away from the piano heavily.
It had been quite a while since he’d wished he could still dance. He was usually more concerned with just walking pain-free, let alone boogieing to the rhythm of the brothers Gibb.
He made it out of the lobby before Cuddy had spotted his departure, and made his way out into the cold biting air of the night, swinging his leather jacket back on. His right thigh reacted particularly badly to the knife-like jabs of the icy winds, and he leaned against the hospital wall and massaged it roughly through the jeans. He opened his eyes, ran a hand over his face and limped off to his bike parked less than ten yards away.
When he finally made it onto his bike, he sped off without a backwards glance. He didn’t see a tearful Cameron make her way back inside to the party, her hair wind ruffled and her fingertips shaking ever so slightly.
Cameron didn’t feel quite as energised as she had before while she’d danced with Wilson. She now felt drained and weak, the emotions of seeing House the way she just had curling in the pit of her stomach, squeezing at her heart.
The music started up again loudly, and she was shaken to her senses. She made a firm decision in that second and fetched her overcoat and handbag, before stepping out into the night air once again.
She began the trek to her car, her mind whirring as she took each step, her platforms clattering against the pavement. Once in her car, she tried not to think anymore. She was going on a whim, a gut instinct, and she wasn’t going to let her overactive mind talk her out of it.
At his door, she paused. Going with her gut was a good feeling, but she wished that on the drive there she’d at least though over what she was going to do supposing he did invite her in.
She knocked, and her heart immediately started thrumming erratically against her ribcage. God, here she was dressed in a mini skirt and platform shoes, at nearly one in the morning, knocking on her boss’ door. But she had come this far, knocked on his door already, so she wasn’t about to turn around and go on home now.
The door swung open at this point, catching her mid-thought and subsequently off guard. He stood there in a t-shirt and cotton bottoms, like he was on his way to bed. He raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to speak.
She finally found her voice, “So, can I come in?”
He shrugged and retreated into the living room, leaving her to close the door behind her. She walked into the room to find him downing a whiskey. The television blared some asinine program and a few empty cartons of food were piled precariously in a tower atop his cluttered coffee table.
“Whiskey?”
His gruff question broke through her musings and she nodded absently. What was she doing?
They sat in silence, sipping the whiskey, both immersed in their own thoughts.
She was on her third glass when she said her next words, and later she would blame it all on that fact (she never could handle her alcohol well).
“I saw you. Watching us dance, I mean.”
She saw him blink and his hand faltered momentarily in its motion of swirling the whiskey around the glass.
Her lips curled slightly. For once, she had the upper hand. (If only for a moment.)
He didn’t reply for a few minutes and she silently gloated at her small victory, but then his eyes locked with hers and how could she have doubted he’d have a comeback?
He plucked her half empty glass from her fingers and whispers dangerously, “I think you’ve had a bit too much of this. And by the way, every straight man in the room was watching you dance. That skirt is really something.”
He finished with a wink and a lecherous glance over her legs. She knew he was mocking her, but she shivered all the same.
He stood up and walked over to the piano to pour himself a fourth.
A glance at the timepiece on his mantel told her that she’d been there for an hour already. Two in morning. (As a child, her mother had told her stories of the witching hour.)
She smoothed down her skirt and flicked her gaze in his direction. She had no idea what she’d wanted to achieve by this visit, but witnessing his pain earlier had thrust her into a deep feeling of compassion that she couldn’t shake.
She should go. She knew what she wanted to do and for once she was almost (almost) afraid that he wanted the same thing.
Standing up slowly, she walked in the direction of the door, almost hoping he’d let her go without saying anything.
She heard him behind her and stopped just near the door, turning to face him. Their heights were more even, with her platforms and his bare feet, but he was still taller. He watched her and she had no idea how long they stood there, all the while her mind saying what are you doing, Allison?
Before she knew what was happening, she had slipped her arms around his shoulders and crushed her mouth against his. It was rushed, fumbled and frantic, not exactly how she’s imagined (fantasised) it, but god, she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Their tongues clashed and his hands grasped at her hips. They stumbled backwards and she was slammed against the door, his body completely pressed against hers.
Their kisses were fierce, fiery and rough, his stubble scraping her chin and cheeks. His mouth moved down her neck, across her collarbone, mapping a path along her shoulders and then back to her neck.
He slid his palms around her hips and behind to her back, slipping them under her tank top and his rough fingers were heaven against her skin.
She moved one hand up to bury in his hair, the other one slipping under his t-shirt and up his chest. He grunted as she ran her nails down his chest and pressed closer to her.
Her tank top was soon lying some yards away, and his mouth blazed a trail along her chest, finally reaching her breasts. He sucked and bit and even scraped his chin over her nipple, a raw cry of delight ripping through her at this.
When his left hand slipped under her miniskirt, and his fingers skimmed the edge of her panties, she almost screamed purely from the anticipation of having him touch her there.
He looked up at her, and held her gaze as he slid down her panties. She closed her eyes and was just short of panting as she waited for him to touch her.
Instead he pressed his body flush against her so she could feel his hard-on through the material of his cotton bottoms. She drew a breath and opened her eyes, to find him watching her.
Her eyes fluttered half-closed when he moved back a little and she felt his fingers skim her upper thigh. Her lips parted when he ran a finger along her, but still didn’t enter her.
Then without warning, he began rubbing her clit roughly with his thumb and this time she did scream, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes closed.
He pulled his hand back and then leant down to leave an open mouthed kiss on her neck. She couldn’t breathe, her fingers were shaking and brushing pointlessly at the door behind her, trying to clasp onto something.
And then, just a suddenly as he’d touched her clit before, he slipped two fingers into her, curling and flexing them inside her. She moaned and opened her eyes halfway to look at him.
He gave her a smirk and continued to move his fingers in the same flexing and curling motion, before adding a third.
She decided she couldn’t take much more and she could feel his erection against her, so she reached out and tugged on his waistband. He pulled his fingers from her and she watched as he licked them one by one, his eyes never leaving hers. Her knees began to feel weak at this, so she pushed him gently backwards to indicate that she wanted to go to the couch.
He pulled her with him, and they collapsed on the leather in a tangle of limbs. She sat up and straddled him, mindful of his leg and pulled off his t-shirt once he’d lifted his arms.
She pulled down his pants and in one quick movement, sank onto his engorged cock, rocking her hips and establishing their rhythm. His eyes were squeezed shut and he breathed fuck, when she rolled her hips in a new direction.
Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and upper chest; his as well. He thrust his hips up to meet her and she tilted her head back as she came very close to her release.
They yelled, almost in unison, as their climaxes washed over them, his only seconds after hers. She collapsed onto him and he slung his arms around her hips.
He murmured something that sounded like Cameron to her ears, but she remained where she was, her eyes still closed.
He pinched her hip lightly and she sat up and moved so he could sit too. Both of them were breathing heavily and a slight flush still decorated their cheeks.
They stayed silent for a few moments, before she became aware that it was almost three a.m.
She looked at him, and after a few moments of nothing, she made to stand, but he clasped onto her wrist and held her down, erasing any thought of leaving from her mind with one stare. He stood, and still holding her wrist, pulled her along with him to his bedroom.
Later, he told her he’d changed his mind about seventies night.
fin.
rating: NC-17 for smut and language
pairing: House/Cameron
words: 2,061
notes: For Kathryn ♥. Because she wanted a happy ending. ;)
declare this an emergency
come on and spread a sense of urgency
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world
muse {apocalypse please}
He stroked the ivory piano keys, losing himself completely in the rich melody that erupted from the instrument at his touch.
Patrons, doctors and benefactors alike mingled around him in a blur, the steady, monotonous drone of their voices barely reaching his ears as he played a piece that he had composed many years ago.
He’d just death-stared a particularly brave man who had decided to request a piece for him to play and since then, hadn’t been bothered by anyone.
Seventies night. What the hell was Cuddy thinking? He lifted his gaze to stare around the room at the morons wearing awkward platform shoes and nauseating knitwear.
He was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and jeans. The band had released their album Dark Side of the Moon in 1973 and that was all the party spirit Cuddy was getting out of him.
The only thing that got him here in the first place was the prospect of seeing women in hotpants again, and that was all that was keeping him here. Having the Bee Gees thrummed into his ears for hours on end was certainly not something he could handle for much longer.
At one point, Wilson had pointed out a male doctor from Pediatrics who had dared to turn up in a floral muumuu, but that was shaping up to be the highest point of his evening so far.
Until he saw Allison Cameron approach Wilson’s table in the miniest mini-skirt he had ever seen. Fuck.
It was light pink and flared slightly at the hem, and displayed her shapely legs to perfection. His gaze remained transfixed on her legs as he fudged a couple of notes of impromptu in G flat major.
Wilson jumped up in his absurd John Travolta-type disco suit, asking her to dance before she could say or do anything. House really couldn’t be all too angry with him, watching as he twirled Cameron around, causing her little flared skirt to float up deliciously for a few seconds at a time.
He watched as Wilson continued to dance with Cameron right through More Than A Woman and Saturday Night Fever before How Deep is Your Love started and he couldn’t bear to see them dance this slow one. He downed his whiskey in one go, and limped away from the piano heavily.
It had been quite a while since he’d wished he could still dance. He was usually more concerned with just walking pain-free, let alone boogieing to the rhythm of the brothers Gibb.
He made it out of the lobby before Cuddy had spotted his departure, and made his way out into the cold biting air of the night, swinging his leather jacket back on. His right thigh reacted particularly badly to the knife-like jabs of the icy winds, and he leaned against the hospital wall and massaged it roughly through the jeans. He opened his eyes, ran a hand over his face and limped off to his bike parked less than ten yards away.
When he finally made it onto his bike, he sped off without a backwards glance. He didn’t see a tearful Cameron make her way back inside to the party, her hair wind ruffled and her fingertips shaking ever so slightly.
Cameron didn’t feel quite as energised as she had before while she’d danced with Wilson. She now felt drained and weak, the emotions of seeing House the way she just had curling in the pit of her stomach, squeezing at her heart.
The music started up again loudly, and she was shaken to her senses. She made a firm decision in that second and fetched her overcoat and handbag, before stepping out into the night air once again.
She began the trek to her car, her mind whirring as she took each step, her platforms clattering against the pavement. Once in her car, she tried not to think anymore. She was going on a whim, a gut instinct, and she wasn’t going to let her overactive mind talk her out of it.
At his door, she paused. Going with her gut was a good feeling, but she wished that on the drive there she’d at least though over what she was going to do supposing he did invite her in.
She knocked, and her heart immediately started thrumming erratically against her ribcage. God, here she was dressed in a mini skirt and platform shoes, at nearly one in the morning, knocking on her boss’ door. But she had come this far, knocked on his door already, so she wasn’t about to turn around and go on home now.
The door swung open at this point, catching her mid-thought and subsequently off guard. He stood there in a t-shirt and cotton bottoms, like he was on his way to bed. He raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to speak.
She finally found her voice, “So, can I come in?”
He shrugged and retreated into the living room, leaving her to close the door behind her. She walked into the room to find him downing a whiskey. The television blared some asinine program and a few empty cartons of food were piled precariously in a tower atop his cluttered coffee table.
“Whiskey?”
His gruff question broke through her musings and she nodded absently. What was she doing?
They sat in silence, sipping the whiskey, both immersed in their own thoughts.
She was on her third glass when she said her next words, and later she would blame it all on that fact (she never could handle her alcohol well).
“I saw you. Watching us dance, I mean.”
She saw him blink and his hand faltered momentarily in its motion of swirling the whiskey around the glass.
Her lips curled slightly. For once, she had the upper hand. (If only for a moment.)
He didn’t reply for a few minutes and she silently gloated at her small victory, but then his eyes locked with hers and how could she have doubted he’d have a comeback?
He plucked her half empty glass from her fingers and whispers dangerously, “I think you’ve had a bit too much of this. And by the way, every straight man in the room was watching you dance. That skirt is really something.”
He finished with a wink and a lecherous glance over her legs. She knew he was mocking her, but she shivered all the same.
He stood up and walked over to the piano to pour himself a fourth.
A glance at the timepiece on his mantel told her that she’d been there for an hour already. Two in morning. (As a child, her mother had told her stories of the witching hour.)
She smoothed down her skirt and flicked her gaze in his direction. She had no idea what she’d wanted to achieve by this visit, but witnessing his pain earlier had thrust her into a deep feeling of compassion that she couldn’t shake.
She should go. She knew what she wanted to do and for once she was almost (almost) afraid that he wanted the same thing.
Standing up slowly, she walked in the direction of the door, almost hoping he’d let her go without saying anything.
She heard him behind her and stopped just near the door, turning to face him. Their heights were more even, with her platforms and his bare feet, but he was still taller. He watched her and she had no idea how long they stood there, all the while her mind saying what are you doing, Allison?
Before she knew what was happening, she had slipped her arms around his shoulders and crushed her mouth against his. It was rushed, fumbled and frantic, not exactly how she’s imagined (fantasised) it, but god, she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Their tongues clashed and his hands grasped at her hips. They stumbled backwards and she was slammed against the door, his body completely pressed against hers.
Their kisses were fierce, fiery and rough, his stubble scraping her chin and cheeks. His mouth moved down her neck, across her collarbone, mapping a path along her shoulders and then back to her neck.
He slid his palms around her hips and behind to her back, slipping them under her tank top and his rough fingers were heaven against her skin.
She moved one hand up to bury in his hair, the other one slipping under his t-shirt and up his chest. He grunted as she ran her nails down his chest and pressed closer to her.
Her tank top was soon lying some yards away, and his mouth blazed a trail along her chest, finally reaching her breasts. He sucked and bit and even scraped his chin over her nipple, a raw cry of delight ripping through her at this.
When his left hand slipped under her miniskirt, and his fingers skimmed the edge of her panties, she almost screamed purely from the anticipation of having him touch her there.
He looked up at her, and held her gaze as he slid down her panties. She closed her eyes and was just short of panting as she waited for him to touch her.
Instead he pressed his body flush against her so she could feel his hard-on through the material of his cotton bottoms. She drew a breath and opened her eyes, to find him watching her.
Her eyes fluttered half-closed when he moved back a little and she felt his fingers skim her upper thigh. Her lips parted when he ran a finger along her, but still didn’t enter her.
Then without warning, he began rubbing her clit roughly with his thumb and this time she did scream, throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes closed.
He pulled his hand back and then leant down to leave an open mouthed kiss on her neck. She couldn’t breathe, her fingers were shaking and brushing pointlessly at the door behind her, trying to clasp onto something.
And then, just a suddenly as he’d touched her clit before, he slipped two fingers into her, curling and flexing them inside her. She moaned and opened her eyes halfway to look at him.
He gave her a smirk and continued to move his fingers in the same flexing and curling motion, before adding a third.
She decided she couldn’t take much more and she could feel his erection against her, so she reached out and tugged on his waistband. He pulled his fingers from her and she watched as he licked them one by one, his eyes never leaving hers. Her knees began to feel weak at this, so she pushed him gently backwards to indicate that she wanted to go to the couch.
He pulled her with him, and they collapsed on the leather in a tangle of limbs. She sat up and straddled him, mindful of his leg and pulled off his t-shirt once he’d lifted his arms.
She pulled down his pants and in one quick movement, sank onto his engorged cock, rocking her hips and establishing their rhythm. His eyes were squeezed shut and he breathed fuck, when she rolled her hips in a new direction.
Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and upper chest; his as well. He thrust his hips up to meet her and she tilted her head back as she came very close to her release.
They yelled, almost in unison, as their climaxes washed over them, his only seconds after hers. She collapsed onto him and he slung his arms around her hips.
He murmured something that sounded like Cameron to her ears, but she remained where she was, her eyes still closed.
He pinched her hip lightly and she sat up and moved so he could sit too. Both of them were breathing heavily and a slight flush still decorated their cheeks.
They stayed silent for a few moments, before she became aware that it was almost three a.m.
She looked at him, and after a few moments of nothing, she made to stand, but he clasped onto her wrist and held her down, erasing any thought of leaving from her mind with one stare. He stood, and still holding her wrist, pulled her along with him to his bedroom.
Later, he told her he’d changed his mind about seventies night.
fin.