mmom day #18 / House MD / "Dream"
Title: Dream
Author: Djinn
Fandom: House MD
Characters: Cameron, House
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no profit being made
Summary: This is as close as you're every going to see to me writing House/Cam.
Word count: ~340
Author Notes: Yeah, I tried Cameron yesterday, but wasn't all that impressed with what I turned out. Here's a second go.
There's this dream that she has.
It starts in the Diagnostic conference room, but for some reason, the glass walls are never a factor. It is a dream, after all, and if in this dream the hospital if empty or the conference room windows are miraculously opaque, that is no more implausible than anything else--like the fact that, in this dream, she is usually wearing nothing more than a nightgown or some sort of skimpy, lacy negligee that she would never purchase in the waking world. The room is dark, and the curtains are drawn around the windows in House's office, so she sits herself down at the desk reaches for the file she stores consult requests in, but when she opens it a cascade of brightly-colored foil condom packages tumble out.
That is usually about the time that she becomes peripherally aware that she is dreaming, since House is immediately beside her, snatching up one of the packets while he propels her from the chair with a hand on her shoulder. (Allison sometimes wonders what it says about her that even her dream-self practices safe sex.) House stalks towards her with no cane and no limp (which is a peculiarity she chooses not to examine) and he crowds her up against the conference table until she slides up onto it, her thighs open around his hips, his long-fingered hands grasping her around the waist. He presses up against her from her chest to her cunt, and tastes like nothing when he kisses her, long slow strikes of his tongue tickling the top of her palette. She grinds against his sharp hipbone, fingernails digging into the nubbly, well-worn fabric of his t-shirt.
That is the dream.
The reality is that she wakes up with flushed cheeks and soaking wet panties. She has no choice but to press a hand between her legs, bite her lips and rub at her clit, imagining what his hands would feel like on her, so she can come and get back to sleep.
Author: Djinn
Fandom: House MD
Characters: Cameron, House
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, no profit being made
Summary: This is as close as you're every going to see to me writing House/Cam.
Word count: ~340
Author Notes: Yeah, I tried Cameron yesterday, but wasn't all that impressed with what I turned out. Here's a second go.
There's this dream that she has.
It starts in the Diagnostic conference room, but for some reason, the glass walls are never a factor. It is a dream, after all, and if in this dream the hospital if empty or the conference room windows are miraculously opaque, that is no more implausible than anything else--like the fact that, in this dream, she is usually wearing nothing more than a nightgown or some sort of skimpy, lacy negligee that she would never purchase in the waking world. The room is dark, and the curtains are drawn around the windows in House's office, so she sits herself down at the desk reaches for the file she stores consult requests in, but when she opens it a cascade of brightly-colored foil condom packages tumble out.
That is usually about the time that she becomes peripherally aware that she is dreaming, since House is immediately beside her, snatching up one of the packets while he propels her from the chair with a hand on her shoulder. (Allison sometimes wonders what it says about her that even her dream-self practices safe sex.) House stalks towards her with no cane and no limp (which is a peculiarity she chooses not to examine) and he crowds her up against the conference table until she slides up onto it, her thighs open around his hips, his long-fingered hands grasping her around the waist. He presses up against her from her chest to her cunt, and tastes like nothing when he kisses her, long slow strikes of his tongue tickling the top of her palette. She grinds against his sharp hipbone, fingernails digging into the nubbly, well-worn fabric of his t-shirt.
That is the dream.
The reality is that she wakes up with flushed cheeks and soaking wet panties. She has no choice but to press a hand between her legs, bite her lips and rub at her clit, imagining what his hands would feel like on her, so she can come and get back to sleep.