Black bow-ties and fine fishing    The House Fan Fiction Archive    
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  Black bow-ties and fine fishing 
 by snark_bait	

 I glance across at my bedside clock - 330 in the afternoon - disgraceful.

I haven't slept in this late for some time, I'm glad it's the weekend.

Charlie is curled into one big ginger ball at the end of my bed, cheeky
thing. I don't normally let him in my room; I must have left the door open
when I came to bed.

He looks so comfortable; I don't have the heart to move him off.

I turn my pillow over so I can feel its cool belly on my face, and then
for some unknown reason , wonder if House still has that rat? 

He's hinted at it, I mean, he's given it a name, so I suppose that means
he's bonded with it to some extent. 

Out of all of the animals he could choose for a pet, he chose a rat. Why
does that not surprise me?

I close my eyes, I'm actually considering another hour of sleep, then,
last night comes back to me and I remember I have unfinished business.

Hmm...House in a tux.

I'd bet my savings that the neighbour saw my thong hanging so discreetly
on the lamp shade, how embarrassing.

I'm blushing again at the thought of it, he probably thinks I'm some sort
if depraved party animal now.

I wish, (no I don't)

The image of House is still there though. I suppose I should do something
about it then, before it fades.

I move my foot slightly and flick the covers up to encourage Charlie off
my bed.

His back becomes a perfect arc as he turns from a ball of fluff into a
cat, like some soft of cuddly transformer. He then gives me a dirty ,
green eyed stare. Then he leaves my bedroom, after landing with a gentle
thud on the floor.

His tail is high and sways from side to side as he strolls out.

So, where was I?

I lick my finger, and close my eyes. Then I slip my hand under the covers,
and slide my finger straight inside, I'm already horny. I normally am in
the morning, these days.

I really need to start getting some, it's been too long, and I don't count
the last time. 

Concentrate on House, not... (Chase)

Is he still in his Tux or not? No, it's crumpled messily on my bedroom
floor, and the bow-tie, I ripped that off with my teeth. 

(I wonder if that's actually possible)

I imagine my finger is...House's tongue, and he's going down on me slowly.

Poking it in and out softly. 

He's holding my hips, so he can get a good grip as he probes deeper and
deeper.

I imagine his stubble is scraping my thighs.

Oh god, the thought of that... 

He increases his pressure and speed as the muscles inside tighten.

No actually, he's wearing nothing but the bow-tie; he lets his finger take
over - to give his tongue a rest - and looks up at me, grinning like he's
just solved a case all by himself.

Then he brings himself up to me, his lips are glistening and he kisses me,
his hand is getting faster and faster as he slides another finger in, and
I can taste myself on his tongue, as I invite him eagerly into my mouth.

I'm nearly there, he starts to rub the palm of his hand against my
entrance to give my clit more pressure, and I'm...

Getting closer.

The kiss breaks off and he watches me for a moment, I can't look at him,
because I'm so close, I close my eyes...

His free hand cups my left breast and he leans in to tease my nipple with
his tongue, and I'm....

Static electrical sparks appear behind my eyes as I orgasm, and it's a
good one. He keeps going until my body falls limp.

I breathe out a loud, satisfied sigh before getting that extra hour of
sleep. 

~ ~ ~

At first I think my mind is playing tricks on me, because House and Wilson
doing something as ridiculously domestic as shopping, is quite frankly,
absurd.

Especially with House pushing the cart.

I only popped into my local store to get a few groceries.

I almost do a double take, but not quite. I take another good look - and I
can see - it is House and Wilson?

And now I've just leapt behind a magazine rack to hide from them, and I
have no idea why?

Maybe it's because it feels like I'm spying on them or something, oh god
what if House sees me and thinks I'm stalking him.

That's ridiculous, why would he think that?

(Because he thinks you're sad, annoying and pathetic, and stalkers
probably tick all of those boxes.)

I've been coming to this store for over a year, and not once have I seen
him in here.

I have a moment to gather myself, and I realise, I'm being silly and
childish. I shall go over, say hi, then get what I came for, and go.

Get what I came for - I wonder if I can pick up one House in a tux to go?

Get over the tux Cameron, it was just a tux, mouth on legs was in the tux
remember? He's still a misanthropic jerk. 

Get over it.

Shall I go over? He'll only insult me. I don't get paid to listen to his
shit at the weekends.

I look down at myself, I'm wearing baggy green cargo pants coupled with
some pale pink timberland boots and a tight pink T-shirt. Fantastic, I
look fifteen. 

All I need now are some pigtails and some freckles, and he's NEVER going
to even consider...

I reach down and pick up a random magazine so I can pretend to read it as
I casually stroll by, say `hi boys' and stroll away.

`Hi boys' (like a stereotypical gay sailor?) Okay maybe not.

`Hey, fancy seeing you here' (well that's just...no.)

Okay, because I can't seem to find any words an adult, female doctor might
use when she casually bumps into her boss and his best friend at the
store, I'm going to just walk by and ignore them.

Why is this a problem? It's not a problem.

The local paper catches my eye as I pull away with my magazine. 

There is a tragic story on the front about a ten year old boy who drowned
whilst he tried to save his dog. The dog had slipped into the water, when
the boy was out walking him by a river.

My face has tightened into a sad frown. 

Damn, why did I read that? I can't get the story out of my head now.

That poor boy, I'm not going to be able to get that out of my mind all
week. And where were his parents? Why do people let children do stuff like
that, stupid irresponsible... 

"Cameron?" a familiar voice says, bringing me back into the store again, I
look up.

"Dr Wilson, hi...what are you doing here?" 

What do you think he's doing here, learning to fly? So stupid. I'm waiting
for House to say something to that effect as I glance over at him.

He is leaning on the cart, a lollipop in his mouth, (I bet he hasn't paid
for it either) his cane is in the cart and he is flicking through a copy
of `Rolling Stone' magazine.

He looks up at me, and his eyebrows lower ever so slightly, then he gives
me the briefest of nods and continues to completely ignore me.

"We're just stocking up on supplies," Wilson says with a nod in the
direction of his cart.

In there, I can see two large packs of beer, various packets of potato
chips and other assorted snack foods and various bottles of liquor. 

"Looks like you've got all the nutritional food groups you need there,
beer and chips," I say, as I raise my eyebrows.

For this, I'm rewarded with a very dirty look from House as he switches
his lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. 

Wilson does that embarrassed 'Oh, you've misunderstood' look, it's cute.

God, I need to start getting some, before I just waywardly maul another
one of my colleagues.

Perfect, now I'm thinking about the whole...thing with the (drugs) and
(Chase) again.

"So do you live around here?" Wilson asks.

Why, why? I was just about to go; now we're going to have to have
semi-awkward chit-chat. And House is listening so, we can't slam him,
because that's normally the brunt of what Wilson and I talk about.

Something along the lines of:

`House did what? Popped one too many pills again I suppose.'

`I know, should I tell Cuddy? I think they're gonna sue.'

`Ahh no, she'll find out soon enough, you should give him time to
formulate an excuse, he's going to need one.'

I'm dragged from my inner musings when I notice House is staring at the
magazine I'm holding, with a curious expression on his face.

I look down.

I wonder if they can tell I'm having one of those -Oh fuck - moments.

For I have chosen, as my nonchalant, casually walk past, reading material:

`Fine fishing magazine' 

A man presenting a sea bass (I think) and squinting at the sun, is staring
happily at us from the front cover.

House is smirking at me now, how do I explain that...how? He's gonna ask
-any second - wait for it.

He does that head tilt thing, and blows some air into his cheeks, then
says:

"I never pegged you as a fisher...can you fish for husbands now? Just cast
out and go for the weakest pull so you know you've got a sick one?"

You ass hole, even your best friend (only friend) is shooting you a harsh
stare, because that was low.

"It's for my cousin...he's coming over later, he asked me to pick this up
for him," I sputter, shaking it lightly. 

I'm nodding.

Wilson is nodding.

House rolls his eyes, shakes his head and carries on reading his magazine.

"We're having a poker night, that's why we have all the junk food," Wilson
explains to me enthusiastically.

I nod some more, this is horrendous, I need to go. 

"Oh, anyone I know going?" Like I care. Why are we still talking, I need
to leave.

House looks up, Wilson's eyes slide to the side to meet the look.

The corners of Wilson's mouth turn down as he shakes his head very slowly
from side to side.

And I'm wondering what the look was all about.

"No one you know really, I don't think. Well except Foreman, you know him,
but the rest, I don't think you know. Frank from paediatrics, and Jim
what's his name from research - Chase - erm no one you really, well have a
nice day anyway," Wilson says, smiling politely. 

Chase and Foreman, okay - why does that sting? 

(You don't even like poker)

I don't want to play poker, I'm not jealous, let it ride over you. Nod,
smile -House doesn't even like Chase, yet Chase gets an invite- nod and
smile.

"I suppose you have plans tonight," Wilson pushes on politely.

All the men I work with can kiss my ass.

"Yes actually, with my Cousin," my fake non-existent, fisherman cousin. 

I am officially full of crap. But I'm learning from the best so, it's all
good. Before I even realise I'm doing it, I'm shooting House a mildly evil
look.

Tone it down; tone...done. Okay now it's probably a wounded puppy look.

Crap.

"Okay, well have a good evening," I say, oh that came out so snappy. 

House noticed too, he has that look in his eyes, like he knows everything
that's going on in my head.

The bastard. 

"If you get chance after, why don't you come along, I feel bad we didn't
..." Wilson stutters out.

House rams the cart into Wilson. 

"I don't know if you've noticed, but those things just under her chin,
they're breasts. People with breasts - some call them woman - don't like
poker. Now we should probably let her continue shopping for panty liners
before she gets all embarrassed to be seen out with a third time divorcee
and a cripple," House says nastily.

"I'm not divorced yet," Wilson replies in an uncomfortable voice.

And I cannot believe, I did, what I did, to myself, thinking of you, you
ass. 

You frickin ass.

"Well if you change your mind, you're welcome," Wilson says.

I smile politely and I'm gone, around the corner, towards the other end of
the building, where I'm going to loiter until they've left.

And I'm thinking.

Maybe I should go, seeing as House so obviously does not want me there.

Just to piss him off.  
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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.