(no subject)
Title: No I In Denial (Or In Breasts)
Author: rolleson
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: House/Cameron
Spoilers: Up to House's Head
Warnings: Talk about breasts and sexual activities.
Summery: Bowling and denial.
Notes: This was hard to write, for some reason. 1365 words.
i. You Can Never Be Too Careful
ii. Treading Water
iii. Illogical Maybes
iv. Irrelevant Changes
v. The Symptomatology Of Things
vi. The Eye Of The Beholder
vii. The Inhibition Of Enzymes (and other things)
viii. Not Entirely Anything
ix. Due Care And Attention
It was surreal, Wilson thought, watching Cameron bowl a perfect strike, House was enjoying some sort of relationship with the young doctor and not brooding over it. Over her. He looked like he was taking anti-depressants again, because every so often he smiled. Not a huge full grin, but a small secret smile that Wilson could only assume meant he was enjoying some inner monologue. Not that his insults weren't coming as thick and fast as ever but the man was enjoying something more than tormenting both him and Cameron.
Possibly the way the young woman's jeans stretched over her ass and her low cut top.
Wilson had Amber, but he wasn't blind, and certainly not saint enough not to enjoy the young doctors outfit himself.
"Wilson!" House's voice cut through his thoughts, "stop staring at Cameron's ass and bowl." Wilson went bright red and Cameron laughed, a little blush of her own rising. "And step up your game, you're losing to a girl and a cripple."
"Step up your game?" Cameron said, "you need to stop watching MTV House."
"Not MTV, The Doggfather is on E," he said without missing a beat, "Snopp Dogg is a philosopher of our time."
"Doggfather?" Wilson asked.
"You two really need to start watching more TV," he said. Cameron rolled her eyes and Wilson was fascinated by the change between the two of them. Things were the same but the tension was different, the setting. He felt like a chaperone on a date, but without the date part. He smiled to himself and went to bowl, feeling a jab at the back of his knee mid-swing, causing him to throw the ball straight into the gutter.
"House!" he whirled around to find Cameron holding the man's cane, a surprised look on her face.
"He threw it to me," she said.
"Traitor," he mumbled.
"I'm loosing anyway, jab Cameron next time."
"He's just cranky cause Amber's out with the girls tonight," House said, "and I don't mean her friends, if you do know what I mean," he added, nudging Cameron in the side. She smiled, blushing again.
"She's out because this is my night with you House," Wilson said, hands on hips, "and stop talking about my girlfriend's breasts. Talk about Cameron's breasts for a change."
"For a change?" Cameron said, raising an eyebrow, "you don't talk about my breasts, I'm almost insulted."
"I talk about them all the time," House said, "he's just trying not to embarrass you by getting into a debate over who's breasts are better." Wilson and Cameron turned ever redder, but she smiled, trying not to laugh. "Yours are better," he whispered loudly. She did laugh then, hiding it behind her hand.
"Thank you. I think."
"I mean, if I could get a better look, it would certainly help."
"No," she told him flatly.
"Amber's are better then," he told Wilson.
"When have you see Amber's breasts?" House didn't answer and got up to take his turn. "House?"
"It's House, Wilson, he's hasn't seen Amber's breasts," Cameron said, watching him bowl his turn. When House didn't answer, taking his cane from her, then his beer from the table she couldn't help but ask, "have you?" House grinned, a sly twist of his lips again.
"Do you care if I have?" he asked.
"No, why would I?" She tried to sound innocent but it came out high and squeaky.
"Very nonchalant," House said, "if I say I had seen Amber's breasts would you show me yours then?" he asked.
"House." He looked over at Wilson.
"Sorry," he said, "would you show me and Wilson your breasts?" he amended.
"House!" Wilson protested, "I don't want to see your breasts Cameron, no, wait, not that I wouldn't want to see them," he rambled, "I'm sure they're lovely, it's just I'm with Amber and..."
"Wilson, stop, it's painful to listen to you," House said, "and if Cameron laughs anymore she's going to need surgery." The young woman was bent over on her seat, laughing hard at them both. "So, can I see your breasts?" he asked Cameron.
"N...o," she laughed out, hand over her mouth.
"House, I really don't think we should be talking about Cameron's breasts to much, or anyone's breasts," Wilson said, looking around at the bowlers in the neighbouring alleys.
"What, because those teenagers in lane four aren't talking about breasts. I bet they're talking about Cameron's breasts, that top is screaming 'talk about my breasts'."
"Okay, enough, is enough," Cameron huffed between laughter, "it's your turn cripple." Wilson smirked at that and so did House.
"Okay, looser has to flash."
"No!" Wilson and Cameron said together, both smiling.
*****
Cameron beat them both, and Wilson paid for the beers that he didn't touch. Just so he could take her home on his bike.
She looked disheveled from the bike ride, sweet and sexy and after spending the last hour or so talking about breasts (hers, Amber's, Cuddy's, anybodys), all he could think about was the lace edges of the bra she'd worn when she'd stitched him up. That's all he could think about when he put his lips together, when his mouth was closed, when he felt the sutures. Which was a lot of the time. All he thought about most of the time was the lace edges of her bra, and in turn her breasts. Which was no different from normal, he thought about her breasts a lot of the time, always had, but something had changed.
He walked up to the door of her apartment building and it was exactly like two nights before, Cameron looking ruffled, sexy and thoroughly fuck-able. And sober. Three beers didn't put a dent in her, or him, and they were sober, if a little warm.
At the door she pulled her keys out from the hip pocket of her impossibly tight jeans and smiled at him.
"Want to come in for coffee?"
"Wouldn't that make this a date?" he asked, half hoping the answer would be yes, half hating that the answer would be yes.
"No, it would make it coffee with a friend, after a night bowling, with friends."
"Nope, I'm pretty sure that if you drop a woman off and she invites you in for coffee, it's a date."
"Only if there's sex," she said, watching carefully for his reaction.
"We both know coffee is the metaphor a sex."
"Not in this case," she said, not blushing, not angry, just...smiling. He loved it. "I just know you like my coffee."
"That's true," he said, leaning on his cane, pretending to think about it, "but I'm not coming in."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to have coffee, and I am using that as a metaphor for sex."
"Then we can do that too." He smiled, a little grin that stretched his sutures a little too much, the sting of pain couldn't remove it though.
"I'm not coming in," he said.
"Oh." She was disappointed, and that made him happy. "Why not?" Her hands went to her hips, trying not to let him know she felt hurt.
"Because three days ago, Chase was in that bed," he said, with all the honesty he could muster, "I want it burnt before I go anywhere near it."
"Okay," her smile was gone, and he didn't like that as much, but he wasn't going in, and this wasn't a date.
"My place, tomorrow," he said, "half seven."
"A date."
"Friends, sharing a pizza," he told her, watching her smile return slowly. He could be her friend and share a pizza and think about her breasts. There would probably be more masturbation, but he could do it. It wasn't easy (the masturbation), with the constant distraction of the pain (and no one to distract him from the pain by another body).
"Seven thirty," she said, she stood on tip toes and kissed him chastely on the cheek. He nearly broke then, the light brush of her lips over his cheek, a hair of breath on his skin, he nearly pushed her up against the door and kissed her senseless.
"Bring pizza," he said, walking back to his bike, breathing hard.
Author: rolleson
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: House/Cameron
Spoilers: Up to House's Head
Warnings: Talk about breasts and sexual activities.
Summery: Bowling and denial.
Notes: This was hard to write, for some reason. 1365 words.
i. You Can Never Be Too Careful
ii. Treading Water
iii. Illogical Maybes
iv. Irrelevant Changes
v. The Symptomatology Of Things
vi. The Eye Of The Beholder
vii. The Inhibition Of Enzymes (and other things)
viii. Not Entirely Anything
ix. Due Care And Attention
It was surreal, Wilson thought, watching Cameron bowl a perfect strike, House was enjoying some sort of relationship with the young doctor and not brooding over it. Over her. He looked like he was taking anti-depressants again, because every so often he smiled. Not a huge full grin, but a small secret smile that Wilson could only assume meant he was enjoying some inner monologue. Not that his insults weren't coming as thick and fast as ever but the man was enjoying something more than tormenting both him and Cameron.
Possibly the way the young woman's jeans stretched over her ass and her low cut top.
Wilson had Amber, but he wasn't blind, and certainly not saint enough not to enjoy the young doctors outfit himself.
"Wilson!" House's voice cut through his thoughts, "stop staring at Cameron's ass and bowl." Wilson went bright red and Cameron laughed, a little blush of her own rising. "And step up your game, you're losing to a girl and a cripple."
"Step up your game?" Cameron said, "you need to stop watching MTV House."
"Not MTV, The Doggfather is on E," he said without missing a beat, "Snopp Dogg is a philosopher of our time."
"Doggfather?" Wilson asked.
"You two really need to start watching more TV," he said. Cameron rolled her eyes and Wilson was fascinated by the change between the two of them. Things were the same but the tension was different, the setting. He felt like a chaperone on a date, but without the date part. He smiled to himself and went to bowl, feeling a jab at the back of his knee mid-swing, causing him to throw the ball straight into the gutter.
"House!" he whirled around to find Cameron holding the man's cane, a surprised look on her face.
"He threw it to me," she said.
"Traitor," he mumbled.
"I'm loosing anyway, jab Cameron next time."
"He's just cranky cause Amber's out with the girls tonight," House said, "and I don't mean her friends, if you do know what I mean," he added, nudging Cameron in the side. She smiled, blushing again.
"She's out because this is my night with you House," Wilson said, hands on hips, "and stop talking about my girlfriend's breasts. Talk about Cameron's breasts for a change."
"For a change?" Cameron said, raising an eyebrow, "you don't talk about my breasts, I'm almost insulted."
"I talk about them all the time," House said, "he's just trying not to embarrass you by getting into a debate over who's breasts are better." Wilson and Cameron turned ever redder, but she smiled, trying not to laugh. "Yours are better," he whispered loudly. She did laugh then, hiding it behind her hand.
"Thank you. I think."
"I mean, if I could get a better look, it would certainly help."
"No," she told him flatly.
"Amber's are better then," he told Wilson.
"When have you see Amber's breasts?" House didn't answer and got up to take his turn. "House?"
"It's House, Wilson, he's hasn't seen Amber's breasts," Cameron said, watching him bowl his turn. When House didn't answer, taking his cane from her, then his beer from the table she couldn't help but ask, "have you?" House grinned, a sly twist of his lips again.
"Do you care if I have?" he asked.
"No, why would I?" She tried to sound innocent but it came out high and squeaky.
"Very nonchalant," House said, "if I say I had seen Amber's breasts would you show me yours then?" he asked.
"House." He looked over at Wilson.
"Sorry," he said, "would you show me and Wilson your breasts?" he amended.
"House!" Wilson protested, "I don't want to see your breasts Cameron, no, wait, not that I wouldn't want to see them," he rambled, "I'm sure they're lovely, it's just I'm with Amber and..."
"Wilson, stop, it's painful to listen to you," House said, "and if Cameron laughs anymore she's going to need surgery." The young woman was bent over on her seat, laughing hard at them both. "So, can I see your breasts?" he asked Cameron.
"N...o," she laughed out, hand over her mouth.
"House, I really don't think we should be talking about Cameron's breasts to much, or anyone's breasts," Wilson said, looking around at the bowlers in the neighbouring alleys.
"What, because those teenagers in lane four aren't talking about breasts. I bet they're talking about Cameron's breasts, that top is screaming 'talk about my breasts'."
"Okay, enough, is enough," Cameron huffed between laughter, "it's your turn cripple." Wilson smirked at that and so did House.
"Okay, looser has to flash."
"No!" Wilson and Cameron said together, both smiling.
*****
Cameron beat them both, and Wilson paid for the beers that he didn't touch. Just so he could take her home on his bike.
She looked disheveled from the bike ride, sweet and sexy and after spending the last hour or so talking about breasts (hers, Amber's, Cuddy's, anybodys), all he could think about was the lace edges of the bra she'd worn when she'd stitched him up. That's all he could think about when he put his lips together, when his mouth was closed, when he felt the sutures. Which was a lot of the time. All he thought about most of the time was the lace edges of her bra, and in turn her breasts. Which was no different from normal, he thought about her breasts a lot of the time, always had, but something had changed.
He walked up to the door of her apartment building and it was exactly like two nights before, Cameron looking ruffled, sexy and thoroughly fuck-able. And sober. Three beers didn't put a dent in her, or him, and they were sober, if a little warm.
At the door she pulled her keys out from the hip pocket of her impossibly tight jeans and smiled at him.
"Want to come in for coffee?"
"Wouldn't that make this a date?" he asked, half hoping the answer would be yes, half hating that the answer would be yes.
"No, it would make it coffee with a friend, after a night bowling, with friends."
"Nope, I'm pretty sure that if you drop a woman off and she invites you in for coffee, it's a date."
"Only if there's sex," she said, watching carefully for his reaction.
"We both know coffee is the metaphor a sex."
"Not in this case," she said, not blushing, not angry, just...smiling. He loved it. "I just know you like my coffee."
"That's true," he said, leaning on his cane, pretending to think about it, "but I'm not coming in."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to have coffee, and I am using that as a metaphor for sex."
"Then we can do that too." He smiled, a little grin that stretched his sutures a little too much, the sting of pain couldn't remove it though.
"I'm not coming in," he said.
"Oh." She was disappointed, and that made him happy. "Why not?" Her hands went to her hips, trying not to let him know she felt hurt.
"Because three days ago, Chase was in that bed," he said, with all the honesty he could muster, "I want it burnt before I go anywhere near it."
"Okay," her smile was gone, and he didn't like that as much, but he wasn't going in, and this wasn't a date.
"My place, tomorrow," he said, "half seven."
"A date."
"Friends, sharing a pizza," he told her, watching her smile return slowly. He could be her friend and share a pizza and think about her breasts. There would probably be more masturbation, but he could do it. It wasn't easy (the masturbation), with the constant distraction of the pain (and no one to distract him from the pain by another body).
"Seven thirty," she said, she stood on tip toes and kissed him chastely on the cheek. He nearly broke then, the light brush of her lips over his cheek, a hair of breath on his skin, he nearly pushed her up against the door and kissed her senseless.
"Bring pizza," he said, walking back to his bike, breathing hard.