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Nothing can be a real cool hand
by phineyj
I wonder if I've heard her right. Cameron actually gets off on the sight of me in a bow tie? Oh well; I've had stranger requests.
I go over and fetch it from the hanger, strip off my t-shirt, and sit down on the bed, draping the tie around my neck.
"Do I have to do it up, or does the James Bond look work for you?" I enquire, as she regards me thoughtfully from a distance.
She sashays over and steps out of those sinful jeans, giving me an eyeful of black lace panties as she does. She gets up on the bed, straddles me, and pulls me in for a kiss with the ends of the tie, and I guess that's my answer.
I undo her bra and can't suppress a moan when I finally get to see her tits in all their glory. I cup one in each hand and swirl my tongue around first one nipple, then the other. She's warm to the touch, and her hands are on my shoulders.
Soon, we are both lying on the bed and she's running her hand over my erection through my jeans, when she suddenly looks distracted, and says, "What's that?"
"What's what?" I ask, absently. I'm much more interested in the contents of her panties at the moment; I run an experimental finger under the waistband, dipping into the moisture between her legs.
"House! That rustling sound?"
I look to where she's pointing and remember that I put Steve McQueen's cage on the floor by the window earlier this evening. He doesn't like lots of noise and people and I didn't want him breathing smoke.
"It's only Steve," I inform her, "He probably wants to play you at poker."
She looks at me blankly. Women.
"The Cincinnati Kid? Oh, never mind."
I get up, grab the tux jacket off the hanger and lob it over the cage.
"Now his modesty is safe - happy?"
She nods, and she looks so wanton, lying on my bed, wearing nothing but her panties, her dark hair spilling out of her ponytail and over the pale skin of her shoulder, that I suddenly want nothing more than to mark her and make her mine.
I get back up on the bed and lie on my side, slipping a hand between her legs and pulling her over toward me. She squirms as my stubble burns the soft inside of her thighs and as I suck on her clit, she gasps and pushes closer to my mouth. I memorize the taste of her as I tongue her in slow circles; I dip a couple of fingers inside her and curve them upwards, searching until she moans and starts to work herself against my hand. One of her hands twines itself in my hair, and with the other, she teases her nipple. Sooner than I'm expecting, she cries out and starts to pulse around my fingers and tongue, tangling her hands in the sheets as she arches her back.
When she opens her eyes again, I lick my fingers clean, lean in and kiss her; her eyes widen at her own taste on my tongue.
"Now I know what all those lollipops are for," she comments, giving me a lascivious look.
"Practice makes perfect," I suggest, sliding back up the bed and rolling onto my back.
She gets the hint, undoes the zipper on my jeans and takes my cock out. I'm still achingly hard from the tongue hockey up against the closet, never mind the sight and sounds of her orgasm, but the feel of her small warm hand stroking my shaft while the other gently squeezes my balls, is something else. And when she takes me into her mouth - smirking to herself for some reason - I nearly come on the spot.
"I think you're ready for your close-up, Dr House," she says, releasing me and giving my jeans a tug. I lift my hips so she can pull them off me. She doesn't look at my scar, which is good, and when she slides herself carefully onto me, I'm not thinking much of anything at all, as I surrender to the hot slickness of her cunt.
I'm thinking desperately of baseball statistics, clinic schedules, all the dullest things I can bring to mind to try to keep a grip, but all I can think as I gaze up at her, her brow furrowed in concentration, is how I'm never going to be able to look at her the same way again. I thrust into her; she moans my name - my given name - and it sounds so strange coming from her and so right, that suddenly I've lost it and my climax sweeps over me and through me like a wave.
------
I sigh and reach for a Vicodin from the bottle on the nightstand. This all seems a little too good to be true.
"What's the matter?" she asks, softly, from where she is resting on my front. Her voice tickles my chest hairs.
"Nothing," I say, truthfully. That's what's bothering me. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Sometimes nothing can be a real cool hand," she says, smiling.
I think I'm in love. Smart, beautiful, absolutely filthy in the bedroom AND she can quote Cool Hand Luke?
"I owe you three hundred bucks," she comments.
"It's OK," I reply, "You don't have to give the money back - you won that unfair and square - but I do have one condition."
She glances up at me, suspiciously, and asks, "What?"
"You have dinner with me next weekend and you wear that red dress, with nothing underneath."
"I take it you liked it, then?" she says, smiling. As if she couldn't tell from my face when I turned round.
"Yup. In fact, I'm thinking of making it mandatory work wear," I confirm.
She starts to laugh, and says, "I don't mind, but do you think Chase'll look good in it?"
I make a disgusted sound. The shameless way he was eyeing her up tonight wasn't lost on me. He had better not ever do that again in my presence.
"OK then. You're on," she says, yawning, and buries her face in the pillow.
Later, I watch her as she sleeps and I consider all the problems there are going to be with this, assuming she doesn't think better of it in the morning. The age gap; that I'm her boss; the prurient interest the rest of the hospital are going to take in us; the fact my father will probably like her...the horror...I consider them, and I push them to one side.
Because I met my match, and I kind of like it.
THE END
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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 Fox Television, 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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