Author's Note: Hello, everyone! It's been a long time since I've uploaded anything, I know. As everyone knows, I definitely don't own any of these characters. This is a one-shot drabble, and it's rated M for a reason. PLEASE do not read if you're offended by strong sexual situations. Or if you're underage. Thanks!
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She just had to fuck with his sling, didn't she? This thing that they had was supposed to be secret. Didn't she realize that? Didn't she know that she'd get into major trouble if anyone knew they were involved? Even more trouble than usual, now that Tritter was on his ass about his Vicodin habit.

But no. No. She just couldn't resist correcting the damned sling and coming close to blowing their cover. God, but he was going to kill her. Kill her for the possibility of screwing the entire thing up.

He went home that night and stewed about the whole thing. It really bothered him because … well … he didn't want to get into any more trouble, honestly. And he didn't want her getting into trouble. She was a bright, beautiful, young doctor. Hell, she shouldn't even be wasting her time with him.

With a grimace, he rolled his shoulder. That was it. He was going to her place and he was going to yell at her. He didn't care that it was almost three in the morning. He didn't care that they both had to be into work tomorrow. All he cared about was the fact that she'd done something amazingly stupid.

When he pounded on her door, he wasn't surprised that it took her a while to answer. And he wasn't surprised that she answered in her too-large pajama pants and too-big sweater. "Greg?" she asked groggily. "What're you doing here? It's three in the morning."

He stormed into her apartment, ignoring her confused look as she shut the door behind him. "You nearly blew it."

She looked thoroughly baffled, and rubbed her tired eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The sling," he snapped. "You fixed my sling at work and anyone could've picked up on the vibes between us."

"Vibes?" Cameron asked flatly. "Since when do you even believe in 'vibes,' Greg?"

"That's not the fucking point."

"I'm the nicest person at the hospital," she said with a yawn. "No one thought anything of it. They figured that I was helping because it's what I do. Stop being so paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid!" he yelled.

"Keep it down," Cameron scolded. "I do have neighbors."

"I don't care! You could've blown the entire thing!"

"House!" she exclaimed. She always called him 'House' when she was annoyed. "Stop it, okay? No one's going to know. No one knows as it is."

"Right. They're going to figure it out."

"Because I helped you with your sling or because of the 'I-wanna-fuck-you' look that you gave me? Because I'm pretty sure that it's the latter that's going to give the jig up."

"Nice. Use a dance reference to a cripple."

"You use sports metaphors to a decidedly non-sports-loving girl. It's fair turnabout."

He rolled his eyes and tapped his cane irritably on the floor. "Aren't you going to apologize?"

She laughed. "For what? Using a dance metaphor? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

"Chase is the priest. I'm the pissed off cripple. Apologize for almost blowing our cover."

"I didn't almost blow our cover!" she yelled at him, throwing her arms into the air in exasperation. "I helped you with your damned sling because you couldn't get it on yourself." She smirked evilly. "Which is ironic, since problems with getting things on or in seem to reiterate themselves constantly in this relationship."

He glared at her. "Excuse me?"

She tilted her head to the side and moved in front of him, hands playing along the lapels of his suit coat that he always wore over a tee-shirt. "Well, darling, you do seem to have problems guiding yourself into me. And you can never seem to initiate our sex yourself; I have to do all of the work. Just thought I'd bring that up."

"You snotty little shit!" he sputtered, stunned. "I initiate sex. And it's not my fault you're always in some odd-as-hell position," he growled, and glared at her. "We're arguing about the sling, Cameron, not your inadequacies in the sack."

"My inadequacies?!" she shrieked. "I beg your pardon!" It was her turn to sputter as his lips turned up in a cruel smirk.

"Apologize."

"No."

"Cameron…"

"Fuck you."

"After you apologize."

She glared at him and pushed him backwards. He had the couch to land on, so she didn't feel too badly when he gave her a shocked look and fell backwards. "Oh, sorry," she said innocently. "Forgot about that bum leg."

He growled and slipped his cane between her feet, tripping her so that she landed over his left leg. He gripped her hips against his thigh, and she was bent almost in half over him. Once she was there, he dropped his cane and smacked her ass. Hard. She squealed and struggled to no avail; he spanked her again. "Apologize," he insisted.

"No!" she exclaimed, writhing and trying to get out of his grasp and away from his hand. "I didn't do anything … OUCH! … wrong!"

"You almost let everyone know what was going on!" he replied angrily, his hand coming down again.

"I didn't!" She moaned at the next hit.

"You did!"

"Did not!" Oh, God… This should NOT be happening. She pressed her legs tightly together.

"You…" He noticed her movements and stopped, quirking an eyebrow. Was she…? He slipped his hands into the back of her over-sized pajama pants and let his finger dip to feel her. "You're wet," he muttered, studying her in amazement.

Her face was burning with embarrassment and she buried it in her hands. Not even House knew about that kink of hers.

"Do you … like being punished, Allison?" he asked with a small smirk, his finger dipping into her to tease for a moment before leaving.

"Sometimes," she gasped, wriggling against him.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked, giving her ass a light slap. "I would've been more than accommodating."

She squeaked at the slap. "It's embarrassing!" she exclaimed.

"If I don't know what you like, how can the sex be good?" he asked rationally, pinching her thighs and drawing low moans from her. By this point, he didn't care about the damned sling anymore; he cared about the sexy little sounds that his young lover was making as she was bent over his knee.

"It's not bad," she replied, hanging her head. "I just didn't want to tell you… A lot of people aren't into it, and-"

He cut her off by placing his hand over her mouth. "You tell me when you want something," he murmured to her, moving his other hand to tease at her entrance once more. "If you're a good girl, you know that I'll give it to you." Ha. He was initiating sex right now. Score; he was proving her wrong.

"I know, but…" She moaned when he pushed his fingers into her roughly.

"No buts about it," he replied, grinning when she moved her hips against his hand. He removed his fingers, hearing her soft sound of discontent. "Stand up," he told her. "Ditch the clothes, get my pants off, and get on top of me."

She gulped and nodded, standing on weak legs and removing her clothing quickly, moving to work at his jeans as soon as she could. He raised his hips to help her get the jeans off of him, along with his boxer-briefs, and she straddled him. He held onto her hips to stop her, pulling her face to his for a long, hot, debilitating kiss.

She moaned into his mouth, trying to move her hips closer to his. But he kept stopping her, kept pushing her hips away from his. Finally, he let her come close, guiding himself inside of her. They both moaned, staying still for a moment.

"I did all the work that time, Allison," he groaned.

She mewled in return and clawed at his still-covered shoulders. "I don't care," she growled between clenched teeth. "Fuck me, already."

"You got it, sugar."