Title: Not the Smartest Thing To Do.
Author: Faith V.
Summary: It’s been a long day and she’s tired of being such an extremely pretty doormat.
Rating: R
AN: This is my first venture into House MD angsty pseudo-smut. This story takes places after Wilson moves to his own place in S2 but before No Reason. Thanks a lot to ColorOfAngels for the beta-job, she's awesome:)

“Cameron, go home,” House tells her. He doesn’t have to add that the patient doesn’t want her near, that the sweet old lady they’re trying to save doesn’t think Cameron’s an ‘appropriate’ doctor.

“You’re very sweet doll, but why don’t we leave these nice young men take care of things, yes?”

For the first time in her life, Cameron felt like kicking the elderly.

For some strange reason she’s not mad at the lady upstairs, but mad at him. Almost like he should be able to prevent these sorts of things from happening.

Completely irrational and flat out impossible (he doesn’t respect her enough as a person to consider this might bother her) but there goes sane for you, she didn’t expect him to side with the patient. (As if that wasn’t strange enough.)

Two plus years in this job and the punches keep on coming.

It’s when she’s about to step into the parking lot that she realizes she’s forgotten her car keys (and her purse). She feels like crying.

She doesn’t want to go back to the office, work, him, the patient and being too beautiful and you’re so lovely, darling. She doesn’t want to go home either. She likes being alone and she loves having a place all to herself and no one to care for, but tonight she doesn’t like the thought of being alone with herself.

“Rough day?” Wilson asks, standing next to her.

“Rough year,” she answers, before she realizes so. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.” A pause. “I was going to have a drink, would you like to-”

“Yes.”

She wonders if it will hurt him, knowing that she went for drinks and maybe more with his best (only) friend. She hopes it does, if just a little.

She feels like being mean tonight.

Wilson is a nice guy and Cameron is a nice girl.

She lets him drive her to a nearby bar and she hasn’t forgot that her keys are on her purse at the office. She’s just decided there’s a point to this all.

“Did he do something?” he asks.

She gulps down the remnants of her third vodka tonic. “When doesn’t he?”

“Don’t give up on him yet. For his sake.”

“And what about mine?”

It’s been a long day and she’s tired of being such an extremely pretty doormat.

Wilson gets the bill and then gently guides her to his car. He thinks she’s drunk, but Cameron’s always been good about handling her liquor. Something else no one thinks her capable of.

He keeps calling her Allison and she can’t call him James.

“I-” she blushes, purposely, “I forgot my keys at the office.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay.”

She wants to fuck his conflicted brains out.

It doesn’t matter that she’s a nice girl and that he’s the best friend of the man who makes her want to cry.

It doesn’t matter that he’s looking at her with puppy dog eyes and ‘please don’t do this’ written all over his face.

Her hand brushes his thigh and he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. But they’re home (his) and there’s nowhere to drive to.

She kissed him and he didn’t kiss back, instead he softy pushed her away. After staring at her for a few seconds, he was the one to pull her to him.

It’s the wounded look on her face that does the trick, she knows. Men are suckers for that one.

Contrary to popular belief, Cameron is a gifted liar. She just doesn’t do it often.

It’s not a trait she’s happy to possess (it only highlights the general fucked-upness of her), but it’s useful. She can play the hurt little girl, if Wilson is so inclined. Just as long as he’s not too soft on her.

She’s pinned against his front door, he’s yet to open it. Maybe he’s still having doubts.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have...” she trails off, looking down. She bites her lip and places her hand on his chest. “I’m just so tired,” she adds.

That the last thing wasn’t a lie and the trembling in her voice wasn’t planned is extremely disturbing.

He’s a caretaker. Cameron will never get how House can be friends with this man when the exact same trait, in her, drives him nuts.

He wants to protect her from the world, make her feel like no one can get her. It’d be nice if she still had it in her to believe it. She doesn’t, and so it doesn’t feel safe, but fake.

It’s more than she’s had in a long time – it so depressingly is – so she’ll take it.

If she’d planned this, she would have picked Chase. There’s something disturbingly appealing about getting hurt because she wants to, instead of because she is her, and she wonders what his face would look like if she told him ‘home’ was her safe word of choice.

But she is where she is and she’d rather fuck Wilson than let her own angst fuck her over.

That moment, between not touching and touching? She hates it.

They’re inside now, and the kitchen counter is hard and cold against her back. She reaches for him and it’s all it takes for him to start touching her again. Good. She was getting impatient.

Turns out hard and cold aren’t much of a problem when she’s gripping the counter so tight it makes her fingers almost numb. But she’d rather do that than holding onto Wilson’s head as he leaves a trail of kisses from her knees to her inner thighs, stopping just before reaching the one spot she really wants him to get to.

She lets go of the kitchen counter and goes for the back of his head. Except she thinks better of it and ends up holding her hand against his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. He’s nice and she likes him and for a second there, she feels like this is very, very unfair to poor Wilson. But he leans into her hand and then resumes his earlier motions and it feels good and it’s been a long time since anything’s felt this good, so what if she’s being a little selfish here? She’s long overdue.

She’s kissing him now and she can taste herself in his mouth. He just made her come harder than she has in, well, who knows how long at this point.

They still haven’t made it past the kitchen, but that’s alright with her, and apparently with him too, as he’s taking his long sweet time to unbutton her shirt. She does the same for him, clumsily cause her fingers are still rather shaky, and then she starts touching him, drawing circles with her fingertips all over his chest. He’s much broader than she would have thought, underneath that shirt of his.

They kiss some more and he’s still too damn gentle so she bites his lower lip, hard enough so it hurts.

“I’m not going to break,” she purrs into his ear. “Really.”

---
He is good, very good and Cameron thinks that if she were one of those people who feel that sex is everything, she’d definitely understand why he keeps getting women to marry him even if he’s as emotionally unavailable as they come.

He’s fucking her against the hallway wall and hitting that spot, the one that makes her close her eyes and bite his shoulder, hard.

She’s so focused on moving with him, around him, that she doesn’t notice the front door opening until Wilson’s stopped all movements. She’s about to smack him in the arm to get him going again when she sees House.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, bitterly.

It’s awkward and uncomfortable for all of thirty seconds before she decides it doesn’t matter. She thought before that this may hurt House, and she realizes now that maybe it will after all, but it won’t be for free.

“You heard him,” Cameron tells Wilson, grinding her hips against his. “Don’t stop.”

She looks into Wilson’s eyes, with fire in her heart and tears that won’t fall. She wants him to know how much House is hurting her. He warned her about breaking House’s heart and she should have laughed.

You told me. You told me not to break his heart. These are the words she doesn’t say. Along with: Did you tell him that? Did you tell him not to break mine?

Wilson comes inside of her and she has the definite feeling that it would not feel this great if House wasn’t sitting on the couch, just a few feet away and gripping his cane like he wants to break it in two.

She stared at him the whole time, and it was a thrill seeing his eyes darken as Wilson made her come again.

As Wilson buttons up his pants, House stands up and walks towards her. She doesn’t know what to think, or what to do, she just stays there leaning against the wall for support, her arms hanging limply and her eyes half-closed.

He stands next to her, looking at her with what may be desire or may be disdain, and where the hell is Wilson now?

“Is it my turn now?” he asks, so low she can barely hear him. “Is it, Cameron?” his words are stronger, angrier now and she gets a shiver down her spine.

The roughness of his touch is the first thing she notices and that’s a surprising enough feat, as she’s not thinking clearly right now, definitely. If she was, she wouldn’t have nodded when House asked her and she definitely wouldn’t have allowed him to touch her like this, pressing his hands against her sides, nuzzling her neck and leaving small bite marks on her.

She is not this kind of girl. She’s not. She doesn’t have sex with a guy and then lets his best bud have a go. Really, she’s not, but his hands feel wonderful against her already flushed skin and the way he’s biting her nipples, just this side of too rough is making her go crazy.

Cameron bruises easily; she’ll show the marks of this night for a while.

Wilson walks in on them and she really should feel all kinds of embarrassed instead of more turned on than she was before.

House’s hands are strong where Wilson’s were gentle, he’s careless in his touches, almost as if he doesn’t give a shit about what he’s doing, but the tell tale pressure of his dick against her hipbone is sign enough that he’s into her as much as she’s into him. Right now, at least.

She’ll hate herself in the morning.

Figures it’d backfire on her, things never turn out the way she wants them to.

House drags her, not all that unkindly, towards the couch and he pulls her on his lap. She’s mindful of his leg (of course she is) and presses herself against him. She’s hazy, going from just-fucked to just-about-to-be-fucked, and any rational thought has flown out the window, but she still thinks it’s terribly unfair that she went home with Wilson because she wanted not to be her usual self and House barges in and takes that away from her.

She’s tired, after they’re done, exhausted. She’d like to curl up next to him and have him hold her, but he’s House and she’s scared and this is so not good and the story of her life says this will not end well, so instead she stands up, on shaky legs that can barely hold her and tries to walk away. She would have too, if not for House’s hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Don’t be stupid, Cameron.”

His hand never lets go as he draws her to him and suddenly she’s there, in his arms. “It’s okay,” he says.

Cameron doesn’t move, she’s trusting him here, trusting this is not yet another way of messing with her head. She has less reason to trust him than anyone else, but that’s exactly what she’s doing.

She is that stupid.

-

the end

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