Spoilers: Very vague for season 2.
Author's Notes: Written for the hc_smut_a_thon The challenge was to write an angsty H/Cam smut story based on these lyrics: Mad Season by Matchbox 20
WARNING TO SLASHERS: My challenge to myself was to write House/Cameron smut without any "stealth slash" content. In other words "pure" het. If you cannot stomach H/Cam unless it's "really" about H/W or some other slash pairing, this is NOT the story for you.
WARNING TO HOUSE/CAMERON fans: If you crave happy, fluffy House/Cameron, you won't like it either.
Thanks to the lovely kj_draft who helped me zip up my kinky boots and strut my nasty stuff. I think it came out pretty damn hot.
Summary: Desperation, madness, stupidity. (And oh yeah, smut!)
On average, drug addicts are stupid.
Wilson had moved out and House had every intention of making up for lost time. He called Elegant Escorts to re-activate his account. If Stacy’s return and inevitable departure had proven anything, it was that transactions were easier than relationships.
Paula was available. House hesitated. She’d met all the criteria (petite, brunette, quiet) and done her job admirably, but return engagements tended to be a bad idea. The girls started talking, trying to build up rapport or at least repeat business. He didn’t want to be anybody’s “regular”. House wanted a service provided, not a pseudo-friend.
“You got anyone new?”
Buttons were pushed, files checked, pagers called. Vanessa could be there in forty-five minutes. Would that be acceptable?
House had time to eat a peanut-butter sandwich. He brushed his teeth because he was a gentleman, even if she wouldn’t kiss him on the mouth. Then he drank whiskey while waiting for the knock on the door. She was prompt, petite and brunette.
He was instantly tempted to slam the door, get on the phone and chew out the dispatcher and anyone else who was in on this. On the other hand, she’d gone to a lot of trouble to set it up and the prospects for amusement were endless.
“Is this your subtle way of telling me you need a raise?”
“You don’t want my friendship, you won’t accept my love. All I can give you is this. On your terms.”
Cameron unbelted her coat to show that she’d worn low-riding jeans. As he’d suspected, they were hot on her, reminding him of the various fantasies that had made it harder to keep up his façade of not “liking” her for over two years; dreams of taking down her hair and feeling it against his fingers or bruising her skin with his rough face.
That’s why he’d made sure their date was a nightmare she’d never quite wake up from. Her youth made him feel every minute of his forty-six years. She was beautiful and he was ugly.
“Not to mention what you had to pay the service to let you pull this little stunt. Did you get the number off my Amex bill?”
“You make enough calls, you get the right answers. It’ll be worth it. For both of us.”
She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Thank god she’d never done that during a differential. He would have dropped the damn pens.
He was crazy to be considering it, but he’d be even crazier not to draw some boundaries immediately.
“The first rule is: you don’t talk. I doubt you can do that.”
Instead of proving his point by protesting, she nodded and gave him a deliberately closed-mouth smile. The way she cocked her head was a little too adorable if she had any intention of making him forget that she was barely thirty. Or that he was her boss and this was completely inappropriate. Yeah, House. You’re such a paragon in that department.
He had to give her credit for coming up with a new twist on their game of attraction and denial.
Slam the door. Tell her if she ever sexually harasses you again, she’s fired.
The words formed, but his mouth opened in the same goofy look he must have had for a few seconds on the night he finally diagnosed Esther, the night of the dress and the hair and the shoulders. That had been a joke, except it wasn’t. This time it wasn’t a joke, but it should be.
Why was she standing there like she knew all the answers?
He took another sip of the now-watery scotch he’d forgotten he was holding and watched Cameron pantomime looking at a watch. The girl was willing to risk her job to get into his pants. Hell, she was paying for him. What could be more flattering?
“OK,” he said, not realizing he’d made a decision until he words himself. She moved forward, obviously intending to kiss him. He put a hand out to stop her, letting the tips of his fingers touch her chin, but no more, not even her lips.
“Second rule: no mouth kissing. I’ll tell you where to touch me and when."
He stared into her pale, blue eyes, hoping for an indication that she couldn’t cope with his demands. Instead he got the horrifying feeling that she’d actually figured him out, including the lost, hopeless feelings he devoted large doses of drugs and sarcasm to hiding.
Knowing it was an act of madness, he stood aside to let Cameron into the apartment.
“And no skipping,” he admonished, even though it was probably too late.
House sat on his bed, leaning his chin on top of his cane. His leg had launched a protest against the prolonged door-standing. He grimaced, wondering how bad it would get and how quickly, if he held off on taking the next pill. Would anything make Cameron happier than seeing him cry?
Don’t even think it, asshole.
Even though he lived on his own, House was never alone. The pain kept him company, keeping up its own running commentary on his life. Women were just visitors, be it Stacy or Paula or “Vanessa”.
“Take your clothes off,” he said firmly, distracting her from the pill he was washing down with the very last of his drink, now more water than liquor. It bought him time for the Vicodin to work.
Relief crept through his nervous system as garments fell off her body. He liked the way her fingers fumbled over the buttons just enough to draw things out without being ostentatiously sexy.
After the blouse dropped to the floor, Cameron did a graceful turn, giving House a glimpse at the definition in her back and shoulders, before letting him appreciate the front view again. Why did she hide herself behind those high-collared lace blouses and vests? Now that he had seen the swell of her breasts, pink nipples against fair skin…he couldn’t decide if he wanted her on display for all the world to see or secluded in a cloister wearing a habit that would only be removed in his presence. And she hadn’t even started on the jeans yet.
He shifted his legs, noticing that he could so without a protest from the peanut gallery. Better yet, he was responding. Amazing thing, the human body. Especially the one he was looking at. Long legs, flat stomach and when she turned around again, he had to let out the breath he been holding too long. He ran a hand over his crotch, enjoying the minor discomfort of his pants being too tight.
She was down to panties. They were pretty and pink and tiny, but not a thong. Just as well. He was so over hookers in thongs.
“Those can go right now.”
He would have liked to keep her guessing, but it was hard to wipe that particular dirty grin off his face at the contrast between dark and light, as well as her subtle, but definite curves.
The jeans were becoming unbearable. Normally this was the time to take them off and let his date do her thing. Blow jobs were easiest on the legs; his anyway. All he had to do was snap his fingers and point.
As boring as a simple diagnosis. Hardly worth the effort. He might as well jerk off. Hey, there’s an idea.
He motioned for her to get on the bed and pulled himself back to make room. Since he hadn’t been more specific, she lay one side propped up on her elbow.
“On your back.” With her hands behind her head, her expression was still self-confident, maybe a little smug.
“I want to see what you do when you’re at home, in bed, thinking of me.”
Yes. That was it. Her eyes narrowed and lips pressed together nervously. Even a free spirit like Stacy balked at showing him that part of herself. He could hardly imagine prim little Cameron spreading her legs and giving him a full view, except that’s exactly what she was doing.
Her left hand paused in the cleft between her breasts before moving to the left side.
“Open your eyes.”
Damn you. Damn you to hell… they said, but she did it.
He got his jeans off and reached inside the flap without taking his eyes away from her body. Hand, prick. Prick, hand. You guys remember each other. Settle down and watch the show.
The performance was getting rave reviews. He squeezed himself hard and swelled back into his own hand. He couldn’t keep a groan from escaping. Maybe she hadn’t noticed, already swept up in her own building pleasure. Her legs were bent at the knee and the hand that wasn’t busy with her nipple had made the pilgrimage down her body. He changed his angle to get a better look and caught the faintest whiff as well. He watched the hypnotic repetition of her index and middle fingers pressing hard against the flesh.
Cameron’s skin flushed, starting at the chest. Why didn’t women realize how beautiful they were like this? Men were just grunting animals, but women...Cameron, tits hardened, biting her lower lip. Cameron was his girl. He could do or say anything; share his nastiest fantasies. House knew he was risking pushing too hard, but that was what he did best.
“You know what I think about? I’m going to fuck you, the way you’ve always wanted, but first I want to see you with the others. I’m going to make sure you’re like this. All hot and wet and ready. First Chase. I want to see what you looked like while he was screwing you. I want to know if he made you scream or you made him scream. And after he’s come inside you, I’ll have Foreman come in. Foreman gets your ass.”
He studied her face as she absorbed the words and their implications. She bit down hard on her lower lip.
He gasped and squeezed again, trying to slow himself down. Fluid was already emerging.
She had both hands on her pussy. Their eyes met again. Either she was begging him to stop or to go on. From the speed of her hands and the way her pelvis was rising off the bed, he guessed the latter.
“But you really want to suck some cock, don’t you? You came here to be a whore and I’m depriving you of your chance to play 'blow the cripple'." He nearly choked on the self-hatred in his own voice, but her response couldn’t be faked. She was getting off on his sick fantasy as much as he was.
“Wilson. You’re gonna suck Wilson’s cock until your jaws ache and he shoots it all over your face. Then you’re gonna lick him clean. You’ll like that, won’t you….uh uh. No talking.” He’d kept himself to his own part of the bed, the better to observe her reactions to every one of his filthy words, but now he couldn’t resist getting closer, whispering in her ear, making her tremble to images of her own debauchery.
Her tongue came out, licking at her own lips frantically. He couldn’t keep on depriving her or himself. Two fingers touched her lips and slipped between them into her mouth.
“Come on. Let’s see how you suck. Because I’ve got lines of men ready for you. I want you completely used. Exhausted."
She moaned against his fingers, tongue working them over like the cocksucking whore he wanted her to be.
“I want you so numb you can’t even feel your body any more."
Cameron’s mouth engulfed his two fingers, soaking them, sucking hard and deep. Her body arched upward. She’d moved two fingers inside and pressed her legs together blocking his sightline. It didn’t matter. The view was all in his head now.
“But you can’t come. All those men, fucking every part of your body. Your pussy, your ass, your mouth. Men lined up to fuck you. But you can’t come. Not until I fuck you!”
He pulled the fingers out of her mouth, intending to finish himself off as quickly as possible, but the sight of her body trembling with frustration at the sound of his voice drove him to finish the fantasy off for both of them. He stripped off his boxers and climbed on top of her, pushing her hand away. The condom was a mile away in his jeans and she felt so good. Slick and hot and tight. Squeezing him as she wrapped her legs around his body, not worrying about the leg. He kissed her without noticing until he found his tongue in her mouth, deep and thrusting, matching the pace of his cock. If she’d decided to break the rule and start talking, he’d never know and at that point, he didn’t much care.
All he cared about was his dick and the fact that it felt so damn good and he was the one screaming and moaning and cursing and finally saying her name before he collapsed on top of her wondering if he’d gone completely mad. He vaguely remembered (or had he imagined?) her screaming his name bad girl loud enough to make him think she’d been happy with the experience.
Nothing hurt. At least for awhile. He should have told her to leave, but that would require talking and he didn’t have the energy. Besides, she felt so comfortable snuggled against his back, even if it was a complete violation of the rules.
In the contest between sleep and bladder, bladder always wins. And it was time for a pill or three.
She was buttoning her blouse when he got back.
“You don’t have to do this again.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“I appreciate the whole thing. Very creative. But you could come over again without going to that much…” Why was she making this so hard? “You could stay here tonight.” It was as close as he could come to apologizing for two years of keeping her at bay.
Cameron laughed with all the bitterness she’d learned from him.
“And give you a chance to get bored with me? I don’t think so.”
She made no attempt to kiss or touch him on the way out. All he got was a wave and “See you tomorrow.” He reached for his pills feeling nothing but stupid for letting this happen.
He’d get over it.