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Four Ways House's Cane Clatters, And One Way It Doesn't
by cryptictac
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It always starts with the cane clattering to the floor.
It never thumps, nor topples, nor thuds, nor bangs. No, it's always, always a clatter, even if the floor is carpeted. Funny, that, House would think to himself if he wasn't so utterly and desperately caught up in a passionate kiss. Which is what he's doing now -- he's kissing Cameron, kissing her like she's the air that he breathes.
His fingers are in her long, luscious locks and her lithe hands are running over his broad back. Why are they kissing? Does it really matter? She's beautiful and damaged, and he's handsome and damaged, and it's for those very reasons alone that they are destined to come together in this perfect embrace.
House loves her; he's always loved her, deep down. He's just been too terrified of emotion to let himself love and be loved. But when she came to his front door, determined and scared and so impossibly beautiful House took one look at her and realised that he was a fool to let this incredible woman go.
Let her go from what, he's not sure. But love has no rhyme or reason for Gregory House when it comes to Alison Cameron. She may be almost half his age and nave, sometimes painfully passive-aggressive and so caring it makes cavities form in people's teeth, but she's the only one for him. He realises that now. He doesn't know why he realises it, but he just does.
The diagnostician pulls back from the deep kiss and looks into Cameron's azure orbs. Her hands are still pressed against his back and his erection is throbbing in his jeans. "I want you," House says in a deep, husky voice.
"Oh, House," Cameron whispers against is stubbled chin.
He can barely keep his mouth of hers, too eager to lay her down on his bed and make slow, passionate love to her all night long. The dark-haired beauty breaks the kiss long enough to stoop down and retrieve his cane and then they are moving towards House's bedroom, all lips and hands and tongue like they can't live if they even pull apart from each other for a second.
The reach the bedroom, and House's cane lands with yet another clatter to the carpeted floor. The diagnostician pulls Cameron in for another deep kiss and he feels her hands travelling over his body, tugging his shirt from his jeans as he starts to unbutton her blouse. They don't talk while they're doing this because the author is finding this painful enough to write as it is, let alone write dialogue they are too caught up in a kiss that's leaving them utterly breathless. But when his shirt is tossed to the floor, he feels her tiny, slender hands smoothing over his impossibly muscular chest, while his hands cup her perfect breasts.
He leans down to draw one of her nipples into his mouth and sucks on it until it's completely hard and the woman moans deeply in the back of her throat. She abandons his chest to start tugging his jeans undone and, oh god, he just wants to be inside her. Condoms and protection be damned. He moans around her nipple when she slips her dainty hand into his boxers and grasps his cock.
"Ohh, House," Cameron breathes. "You're so big."
And he is: he's thick and long, so hard it's painful. The diagnostician can't wait either; he starts to push her down onto the bed, tugging her pants off as he does so. She looks so beautiful sprawled out like that, all thick wavy hair, flushed skin and lust-filled eyes. Cameron helps him pull off her panties and when he throws them to the floor, he places his hands on her thighs and spreads them open.
There before him lies the most beautiful valley of womanhood he's ever seen. All trimmed, dark curls, slickness and full swollen lips. He hungers to taste her and after he climbs onto the bed House lowers himself between her legs and spreads her folds open.
"Ohh, House," Cameron breathes again, her hands raking through his hair in encouragement.
He slides his tongue out and licks up her moist lips, and she tastes absolutely succulent. Like a divine feast; unlike any woman he's ever tasted before. He licks and sucks at her clit, loving her flavour and when he pushes his tongue inside her, Cameron arches her back and cries out. He wants her to come in his mouth, so he licks and sucks and nibbles until she's flooding onto his tongue, crying his name out again and again even though orgasm kind of makes speech almost impossible.
When he pulls away, Cameron slumps back, all flushed and sated and she grips him by the shoulders. "Come here," she murmurs huskily, and the diagnostician feels his cock twitch. "I want you inside me."
House slides up her body, warm skin against warm skin, and drives deep into her. Thick and throbbing, and oh god she's so tight and warm.
"You're so big!" Cameron gasps.
He smirks and starts to thrust into her faster, harder, until she's coming again and he feels her clenching around his cock. He comes, groaning, "Al-iiiii," into her ear.
House slumps, exhausted, and Cameron starts pressing kisses along his jaw. "Greg," she murmurs throatily.
"Alison," he murmurs back to her, threading his long, slender fingers through her hair. He keeps kissing her, down to her throat and the way she's moaning makes him hard again, almost instantly. The beautiful woman obviously feels it because the next thing House knows Cameron's rolling him over onto his back and straddling him.
God, he's hard, he's so hard even though he's just come, and he watches mesmerised as Cameron takes his rock-hard length in her hand and guides it inside her. Her hands press onto his chest and she instantly starts to rock her hips hard, head thrown back and mouth open as House meets her thrust for thrust.
"Ohh god, Alison," House groans as he cups her breasts in his hands and feels his second orgasm approaching. She's the first to come, arching her back and crying out his name and House immediately follows, shooting his seed deep into her.
Cameron slumps again, over him, and they lie like that; breathless and bathed in sweat for a moment before they resume kissing. Deep, passionately, House running his hands over her back while she runs her hands over his face and through his hair.
Of course, because she's so incredibly beautiful House feels himself hardening again and when he rolls Cameron onto her back again he drives into her, hard and fast, and they make love again.
They keep making love. Over and over. Until House is finally so exhausted that he can do no more than cuddle up next to his angel and he whispers, "I love you," -- for no particular reason other than the fact that she's beautiful and damaged and he's handsome and damaged, and they're meant to be together because of these reasons -- into Cameron's ear before they both fall asleep.
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It starts with the cane clattering to the floor. Again.
Chase is such an eager kisser. He's an eager everything, really -- an eager bottom, an eager submissive, an eager painslut, an eager... you get the picture -- and House loves just how eager Chase is. With all his pretty hair and his full, red lips.
They're kissing in Chase's bedroom -- it's never House's bedroom because why dirty his sheets when they can dirty Chase's, seeing he's so eager to fuck? The reason they're there doesn't matter; it never normally does matter. But here they are, kissing, Chase groaning into House's mouth and House gripping the intensivist's hair like the absolute Dominant he apparently is. He can feel Chase's cock, hard and throbbing against him.
House is the first to break the kiss, yanking Chase's head back by the hair. "I want to fuck you."
Chase starts up at House with his wide, blue orbs and licks his red, sultry lips. "Yes," Chase whispers.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Robbie?"
"Yes," whispers the wombat.
"Yes, what?" House sneers, yanking Chase's head back harder.
"Yes, please," Chase begs. Like the eager begging wombat boy he is. "Yes, please fuck me. Please. Please."
That's all it takes: House lets Chase's hair go and roughly shoves him back against the bed, demanding, "Strip."
Chase instantly does as he's told, scrabbling at his fly, panting hard and fast. Considering how much of an arrogant, manipulative bastard Chase can be at work, it's a little weird to see how much of a sluttish doormat he becomes in bed. House would probably think this was weird if he wasn't so busy leering at Chase like a predator. Watching him push his trousers and boxers down over his hips and off his legs. Even Chase's pubes are blond. He's pretty like that, see.
"On your back," House orders once Chase is completely naked, and Chase obliges. House tugs his clothes off slowly, taking his time while Chase lies there, whimpering and touching himself. "Leave your pretty cock alone," House barks, and Chase does as he's told again.
House climbs onto the bed and the first thing he does is grab Chase's wrists and pins them back against the bed. He then leans down and kisses Chase hard, the intensivist moaning helplessly into his mouth like a wanton slut. And when House pulls away he says (rather redundantly) in a gravely voice, "I'm going to fuck you"
Chase just nods, too full of lust to be able to speak. House doesn't ask him to answer because he's too hard to be able to for some reason, and he grips Chase by the hip and flips him over.
Chase is a painslut -- he doesn't need preparation, even if fucking someone up the ass without any preparation hurts like absolute buggery lol pun ftw. The diagnostician reaches for the tube of lube that's conveniently standing on the bedside table and slather his cock up before swabbing Chase's pucker with the lube.
"Please," Chase begs. "Please, please."
"Shut up!" House orders. He positions himself against the blond's entrance (again, sans condom) and with one swift motion, he pushes deep into Chase. The Australian lets out a lust-filled choke, gripping the pillow tightly as House starts to fuck him hard and mercilessly, slamming in to the hilt and striking his prostate, and Chase starts to cry out in pleasure as he meets House's thrusts by pushing back against him. The blond is so tight and hot, and House finds himself biting down hard onto Chase's shoulder as he starts to come deep inside the Australian's chocolate tunnel.
Chase starts coming, too, bucking against the bed and crying out with each wave of his orgasm until they both slump on the bed, sweaty and breathless. One of two things happen here -- House either takes his leave immediately because he doesn't like emotion and cuddling and all that crap, or he slips out of Chase and rolls to the blonde's side, and whispers, "I love you, Robbie," into his ear.
If that happens, Chase whispers back, "I love you, too, Greggie."
And then they fuck again.
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It, as usual, starts with the cane clattering to the floor.
Wilson's hands are gripping House's face, and they're kissing desperately and deeply. They'd just eaten the routine Chinese meal on House's sofa while watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie, so even though their mouths taste like fried rice and chow mien and beer, they pay no attention to that.
Why are they kissing? Again, it doesn't really matter. Because it's hot, that's why. But House finds himself thinking, How long have I felt this way towards Jimmy? as he feels Wilson's hands moving down to his shirt.
"Wait," House gasps as he pushes the oncologist back from him. "We shouldn't do this."
"I know," Wilson whispers, fisting House's shirt in his hands.
"Then why are we doing this?"
"I don't know," Wilson replies.
Fair enough. House doesn't know, either. But as the diagnostician looks into the younger man's chocolate brown eyes he finds himself unable to stop moving back in to kiss Wilson again. He doesn't know why he feels that way, but -- again -- reason doesn't matter in these situations. After all, they're best friends who've known each other for a long time, and they've only got each other. So, it makes sense that they kiss, right?
It therefore makes sense that they move down House's hallway to the bedroom, where they start to strip each other's clothes off. They lie on the bed, naked, and kiss some more, touching each other's bodies like they're lovers and when Wilson starts to run his hand up House's scar, House gasps quietly and stares up at Wilson through the darkness of the room.
"We shouldn't be doing this," House murmurs again.
"I know," Wilson replies, almost apologetically.
"Jimmy..."
"Shhh, Greg," the younger man whispers, and he leans back down to kiss House again.
Soon, they're a tangle of limbs with mouths against mouths, and when Wilson rolls over onto his stomach House doesn't seem to think twice about it when he presses his finger in against his best friend's entrance.
"Ohh," Wilson breathes into his pillow as House pushes his finger in as deep as he can. He's never had sex with a man before -- neither has Wilson, as far as House knows -- but this just seems right. House doesn't know why it seems right, but there's no rhyme and reason to this.
He adds another finger, and then another, scissoring them in and out until Wilson is stretched and prepared and it's after House applies lube to his cock that he enters Wilson slowly. (Without a condom, of course.)
The oncologist grips the pillow and moans quietly, in no apparently pain even though he's never done this before, and House thrusts in and out deeply but slowly, almost lovingly, until Wilson quietly says, "Faster."
Gripping the younger man's hips, House moves quicker and quicker, until they're both gasping and thrusting against each other. When Wilson comes he calls out, "Greg!" and House calls out ,"Jimmy!" as he, too, climaxes. They then slump, exhausted and covered in sweat, and House reaches for Wilson to pull him into an embrace.
"Are you okay?" he whispers against Wilson's temple. He feels Wilson nod, followed by the warm slide of Wilson's arm over his stomach. House can't help thinking that they shouldn't have done what they just did, but it's too late now.
But as Wilson starts to fall asleep and House spoons up behind him he thinks to himself that maybe everything will be okay. They'll be okay because even though there was no reason to what they both just did, they don't need a reason. As the older man runs his skilful pianist fingers over Wilson's stomach and kisses the back of his neck House finds himself feeling content for the first time in years.
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It all starts with House's cane clattering to the floor, yet again. Clatter, it goes. CLATTER.
The cause of the clattering cane this time is Cuddy. Pregnant, beautiful and impossibly horny Cuddy: she's kissing House in the middle of her office because, despite the fact that she's a highly professional woman she has no qualms about having in-office relations with Dr. Gregory House.
Cuddy pulls back from the deep, maddening kiss and licks her lips as she runs her fingers up and down House's chest. "You got a minute?" she asks in that husky voice of hers.
Ohhh yeah. Cuddles. With the husky voice and the pregnant belly -- pregnant with House's baby, of course -- and the gorgeous mane of wild, curly hair. "Why, Dr. Cuddy," House replies with a devilish smirk. "You naughty woman."
Cuddy's hands are already gripping the waistband of his trousers, tugging impatiently. "Don't make me wait. I'm a busy woman," she snaps, though she's smirking, too.
"More like hormones," House growls back at her as he leans down to kiss her hungrily on the lips. He likes to pretend he doesn't care about the baby, but he really does because everyone knows House is a big softie at heart because it's his and he seems to have no problem with the fact that he's knocked Cuddy up. At least he gets great sex out of her -- that seems to compensate for the fact that she's carrying his parasite.
"Whatever," she snarks back at him against his mouth, her fingers now threading his belt undone.
It doesn't really matter why they're doing this because badly written porn doesn't require reason but House starts urging Cuddy back towards the desk and when her backside pushes up against it, House reaches around her and swipes everything off her desk.
He then effortlessly hoists her up onto the desk and she spreads her legs, and pushes the back of her heel against his legs to pull him in towards her. "Why, Dr. Cuddy," House remarks, sliding his hand up under her skirt, "you're feisty today."
"Shut up and fuck me," she retorts, undoing his fly.
"I love it when you talk dirty to me," the diagnostician smirks.
Cuddy licks her lips as she guides his cock from out of his pants and he groans deeply at the back of his throat as she runs her slender fingers over his throbbing shaft. "The longer you talk, the less time you'll have to screw me," she drawls.
House hooks his fingers into her panties and yanks them down, tugging them right off before he discards them to the floor. Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulls her in towards him as she angles his cock (without a condom -- hey, she's pregnant. No need for precaution, right?) towards her entrance, and in one hard trust he enters her fast and deep.
"Ohh, yes!" Cuddy cries out, throwing her head back.
House braces his hands on either side of her, on the desk, and starts thrusting hard and fast into her, pressing his face into the side of her neck. It doesn't matter that his leg is killing him or that she's screaming out loud enough to alarm security, screwing Cuddy on her desk is the most cliche hottest, most exciting part of the day. In fact, it was probably on her desk that House impregnated her. Who knows.
"Harder, you bastard," Cuddy growls, and the diagnostician does as he's told -- he slams into her as hard as he can until he feels her clenching around his cock, screaming out her orgasm. He climaxes with her, grunting into her neck and spilling his pearly seed deep inside her tunnel of love until they're left sated, sweaty and satisfied.
"Mm," Cuddy murmurs throatily as she presses a kiss to House's sweaty temple, "that was gooood."
"Would you expect any less?" he replies, drawing out of her and kissing her throat.
Cuddy just chuckles as House limps back and he feels a sudden twinge of pain in his thigh which makes him quickly double over and clutch it. He's too busy massaging the pain out of his thigh to notice the sudden look of guilt on Cuddy's face, and when he feels the pain subsiding he quickly tucks himself back into his pants.
"You okay?" Cuddy asks casually as she slips her panties back on.
"Yeah," he grunts. He ignores the guilty look still on Cuddy's face and she she stoops down to retrieve his cane he takes it without a word and heads for the door.
"House," Cuddy says.
He stops and glances over his shoulder at her.
"Do your clinic hours."
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It all starts with the cane clattering to the floor--
You know what? Fuck the clattering cane.
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end. thank god.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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