"Last Christmas" House/Cameron Smut Hard R 800 Words
Includes 4th season spoilers. Sorry UK!
Title: Last Christmas
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: Hard R
Wordcount: 800
Notes: Written for hc_smut_a_thon Challenge #11. The challenge was to write House/Cameron Christmas smut. Maximum 800 words.
Thanks to jadesfire2808 for speedy and helpful beta.
Summary: One year later..
So much of it is a blur, even before he got hold of the Oxy. A dwarf who wasn’t a dwarf and “friends” who thought they were helping by making him suffer. Then, the relief, followed by the floor, and Wilson’s glower. He can’t even remember whether he was more excited about solving the case or scamming the pharmacist. The only thing that stands out in his memories of that miserable day is her.
He’d been sweating, sick, cutting himself and treating Cameron like worse crap than usual because that’s how the world was treating him, and still she’d come in, rolled up her sleeves and bandaged his arms without yelling at him or judging him like a certain self-righteous prick he could mention.
His feverish mind had fixated on the hint of submission as she knelt on the floor and the efficient movements of her hands as she cut the tape and placed the gauze on his fresh wounds. If things had been different, that would have been the time to stop lying about how much he wanted her.
But he couldn’t. Not then; not ever.
Now it’s another Christmas and she’s with Chase, because he’d been too fucked up to grab her and pull her down on top of him, let her do everything she’d ever dreamed of.
In his imagination, that’s exactly what happened. He’s already started the tape running in his mind, when he hears the knock on the door. Leave it to Wilson to wreck a good penguin march, he thinks before realizing that it’s not Wilson’s knock. In which case it probably isn’t anybody he wants to see. He ignores it in favor of his fantasy which picks up on cue with him on his back and her hands soft and smooth running down his torso and…
“House.”
He opens his eyes and can only hope that Amber has dosed him with acid as a final “fuck-you” for not choosing her. Otherwise, Alison Cameron is standing in his living room, wearing a long coat, watching him start to jerk-off while thinking about her.
“Don’t you people knock?”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“That’s usually an invitation to leave.”
She isn’t leaving. She’s taking her coat off. His hand is still lying on top of his crotch and the erection that had formed at the first thought of her isn’t leaving either.
The coat is on the floor and what she’s wearing underneath is black and tight. If he hadn’t already been thinking of what her breasts would feel like pressed again his chest, he certainly is now. He needs to stop this. She’s changed. She’s a blonde. She’s with Chase damn it.
He’s….the same. He still wants her and he doesn’t know what to do about it.
“I reject the invitation.”
“Cameron…” he tries to sound threatening, but it comes out as a question. What can he do to her now? Except… ”This isn’t going to work.”
The days when he could make her cry by being a bastard are far in the past.
It’s a year ago and she’s in front of the couch again and this time there are no cuts and she’s reaching forward, feeling what she knew all along and was willing to wait to find out.
“This seems to be working just fine.”
The next thing he hears is her throaty moan of appreciation as she takes him into her mouth followed by his own gasp at the sensations. Her hands are cool against his balls, but her mouth is so hot, so wet and the sounds she’s making are like music. He wonders if she’s over-playing it for his ego, but it’s working so he doesn’t care.
If this is a hallucination, he’s going to owe Amber a hell of a present.
His hands are clenched, eyes tightly closed and he might just have forgotten how to breathe, which is highly over-rated anyway. Where the hell did she learn to do that?
He lets it go on as long as he can and maybe longer until there’s one long, shuddering moan as he comes. His hands grab her hair, pushing, pulling, twisting and trying desperately not to think that Chase is one lucky son of a rheumatologist.
Still gasping, eyes barely open, he reaches out to stroke her cheek, and only gets a glimmer of skin under his thumb before she pulls back and stands up. He forces himself to focus, although he already knows what’s going to happen.
Cameron is putting her coat on, getting ready to walk away on her own terms. He nods and raises the pill bottle in a toast before downing two tablets.
“Merry Christmas, House,” he hears her say softly, as she leaves him again.
This one is worth remembering.
Title: Last Christmas
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: Hard R
Wordcount: 800
Notes: Written for hc_smut_a_thon Challenge #11. The challenge was to write House/Cameron Christmas smut. Maximum 800 words.
Thanks to jadesfire2808 for speedy and helpful beta.
Summary: One year later..
So much of it is a blur, even before he got hold of the Oxy. A dwarf who wasn’t a dwarf and “friends” who thought they were helping by making him suffer. Then, the relief, followed by the floor, and Wilson’s glower. He can’t even remember whether he was more excited about solving the case or scamming the pharmacist. The only thing that stands out in his memories of that miserable day is her.
He’d been sweating, sick, cutting himself and treating Cameron like worse crap than usual because that’s how the world was treating him, and still she’d come in, rolled up her sleeves and bandaged his arms without yelling at him or judging him like a certain self-righteous prick he could mention.
His feverish mind had fixated on the hint of submission as she knelt on the floor and the efficient movements of her hands as she cut the tape and placed the gauze on his fresh wounds. If things had been different, that would have been the time to stop lying about how much he wanted her.
But he couldn’t. Not then; not ever.
Now it’s another Christmas and she’s with Chase, because he’d been too fucked up to grab her and pull her down on top of him, let her do everything she’d ever dreamed of.
In his imagination, that’s exactly what happened. He’s already started the tape running in his mind, when he hears the knock on the door. Leave it to Wilson to wreck a good penguin march, he thinks before realizing that it’s not Wilson’s knock. In which case it probably isn’t anybody he wants to see. He ignores it in favor of his fantasy which picks up on cue with him on his back and her hands soft and smooth running down his torso and…
“House.”
He opens his eyes and can only hope that Amber has dosed him with acid as a final “fuck-you” for not choosing her. Otherwise, Alison Cameron is standing in his living room, wearing a long coat, watching him start to jerk-off while thinking about her.
“Don’t you people knock?”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“That’s usually an invitation to leave.”
She isn’t leaving. She’s taking her coat off. His hand is still lying on top of his crotch and the erection that had formed at the first thought of her isn’t leaving either.
The coat is on the floor and what she’s wearing underneath is black and tight. If he hadn’t already been thinking of what her breasts would feel like pressed again his chest, he certainly is now. He needs to stop this. She’s changed. She’s a blonde. She’s with Chase damn it.
He’s….the same. He still wants her and he doesn’t know what to do about it.
“I reject the invitation.”
“Cameron…” he tries to sound threatening, but it comes out as a question. What can he do to her now? Except… ”This isn’t going to work.”
The days when he could make her cry by being a bastard are far in the past.
It’s a year ago and she’s in front of the couch again and this time there are no cuts and she’s reaching forward, feeling what she knew all along and was willing to wait to find out.
“This seems to be working just fine.”
The next thing he hears is her throaty moan of appreciation as she takes him into her mouth followed by his own gasp at the sensations. Her hands are cool against his balls, but her mouth is so hot, so wet and the sounds she’s making are like music. He wonders if she’s over-playing it for his ego, but it’s working so he doesn’t care.
If this is a hallucination, he’s going to owe Amber a hell of a present.
His hands are clenched, eyes tightly closed and he might just have forgotten how to breathe, which is highly over-rated anyway. Where the hell did she learn to do that?
He lets it go on as long as he can and maybe longer until there’s one long, shuddering moan as he comes. His hands grab her hair, pushing, pulling, twisting and trying desperately not to think that Chase is one lucky son of a rheumatologist.
Still gasping, eyes barely open, he reaches out to stroke her cheek, and only gets a glimmer of skin under his thumb before she pulls back and stands up. He forces himself to focus, although he already knows what’s going to happen.
Cameron is putting her coat on, getting ready to walk away on her own terms. He nods and raises the pill bottle in a toast before downing two tablets.
“Merry Christmas, House,” he hears her say softly, as she leaves him again.
This one is worth remembering.