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Tickle



Allison Cameron nearly ran into the Fed Ex man as he scurried out of House’s office,
and even though the hour was so late that nobody was around except the cleaning crew
who were already down the far end of the hall, she still danced as the deliveryman
shifted in a mirror of her actions.

Smiling an apology, she managed to move far enough to the left for Mr. Fed Ex to pass,
which he did, unsmiling. She wondered how many doorway dances he did in a day, and
if his mood was the result of that, or his last encounter with the doctor in the office he’d
just left. Her gaze turned to the selfsame figure as he slouched behind his desk, long
fingers tugging at the package before him.

“It’s after midnight--missed your pumpkin?” came the absent-minded mutter. The
remark wasn’t up to House standards for snark, and Cameron brushed it aside,
managing a small smirk in return.

“They make these great glass running shoes nowadays. So, what’s in the box?”

“My new inflatable Ingrid—wanna help blow her up?” House commented, looking up to
catch the pale flush on her cheeks.

“No thanks. Not into a threesome with two blowhards,” she countered sweetly, earning a double lift of eyebrows from him. House looked slightly stunned at her retort, and
amused against his will.

“They grow up so fast,” he sighed. “That was almost scathing . . . for you,” he amended.
“Like getting hit with a wet cotton ball.”

“Depends on what it was soaked in. I’ll ask again, what’s in the package?”

“Ah,” House brightened for a moment, managing to get the flaps of the box open. He
reached in, then glanced at Cameron thoughtfully, taking in the sight of her for a long considering moment.

She looked good in a plain button-down blouse and dark blue skirt, hair loose and
glossy instead of dutifully tied back as she normally wore it. House bet it was
unbelievably soft; God knew it was the best-smelling hair he’d ever had the joy to
breathe in, if only in odd encounters over patients or in crowded elevators. Height had
its advantages at times.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked nervously. He pulled himself out
of his reverie and let his mouth twitch.

“Aside from your standard bunny in the headlights expression, no, not that I can see.
And as for what’s in the package, I’ll set a little proposition before you Doctor Cameron.
If you’re willing to assist me as a test subject with a tiny experiment here, I think I have
the answer to Julia Dennenbrook’s odd little monitor fluctuations. Before you say yes,
though, choose wisely. I don’t want to get all my hopes up just to have you tell me
you’re not that kind of girl.”

He waited, letting his words circle in her head, content to watch Cameron weigh the
pros and cons of the situation.

Julia Dennenbrook’s case had been mildly amusing; if only for a possible write-up in
NJM; not many women had pica and bulimia at the same time. Once the major issues
were dealt with, the case was over as far as House was concerned, but there was one
small factor left. Nightly, Julia’s heart monitor would register a series of jumps lasting
less than a minute. None of the standard cardiology workups revealed any abnormalities
and the unfinished business nagged at him until House found himself staring at the
possible answer in the back of the latest copy of Cosmo.

Cameron was shifting her weight from foot to foot, looking both uneasy and intrigued.
House began humming the Jeopardy countdown theme, and she frowned at him then
finally sighed, crossing her arms under her chest. “All right, all right, I’ll be your guinea
pig.”

“Let’s start with you running on the wheel and gnawing some popsicle sticks while I find
my camera.” As he spoke he pulled the bubble wrap covered item from the package out
and set it on his desk. Cameron ignored his comment and moved closer, leaning over
the desk and studying the package curiously.

“What is it?”

“According to the ad, the most fun a woman can have with a pair of double A
batteries . . .” he replied, slightly distracted by the gap in her blouse as she leaned
forward. As he peeled the bubble wrap back, the rosy flush on Cameron’s face was a
joy to behold, making him stiffen yet again. Her eyes widened.

“That’s . . . a sex toy.”

House made a buzzer sound. “Incorrect. It’s a top of the line personal pleasure device designed to enhance a woman’s self-intimacy,” he read off the box in a dry drawl to
cover his own unease. The colors of the package were exceedingly lurid, and the photo
of the model on the top suggested she was in the throes of epilepsy rather than
orgasm. Forcing himself to look bored, he turned the box over, pretending to examine it. Cameron was still poised over the desk, as if frozen there. “Jeepers Cindy Lou, this will
win us the blue ribbon at the science fair this year for sure, doncha think?”

“You have to be joking, House.”

“Nope. I’m thinking that the anomaly we’re seeing on the monitor has to be evidence if a
little high tech personal hanky panky, although I’m not sure if it’s the result of
biofeedback or a direct contact with one of the leads. Ohh and they packed batteries
along with it too—how thoughtful.”

“I’m NOT . . . wearing that thing!” Cameron hissed, staring at the box as if it were a puff
adder about to strike. Her expression was so horrified that House grinned broadly.

“May I remind you which of us is the mad scientist and which is the guinea pig in this
whole tampering in God’s Domain business here?”

It didn’t derail her at all; Cameron repeated her protest more firmly. “I’m not wearing it.”

House’s mouth twitched, and he let out a slightly deflated sigh. Swiftly he unpacked the
little box, tipping it so that the contents spilled out onto his desk: the soft pink plastic
butterfly vibrator with thigh straps of pearly elastic tumbled onto the surface, followed
by a tiny remote. They lay on the blotter, looking demurely suggestive until House
picked up the remote and slid the panel in the back open for the batteries.

“Well not here of course, fun as that might be. We need to hook you up to an electrocardiograph monitor first, with all those sticky pads and leads. Then I have to
cackle manically, hoist the platform up to the roof and wait for a thunderstorm . . .”

“No!”

“Ah but you can and you will. You agreed, Doctor Cameron, even after I gave you a fair
chance to say no. It’s too late now, you’re committed.” He looked up at her then, his
blue eyes searing right through her protests, quelling them with the dry weariness of
his tone. She hesitated, floundering at his swift change of mood, his utterly serious,
almost accusing manner. For a long moment they locked gazes, and perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the outrageousness of the situation. Cameron never really knew,
but in that lovely moment of anticipation, she bit her lip.

“You really think Dennenbrook’s spikes are orgasmic? Did you try asking her if she’s
um . . . .”

“Beating about the bush? Come on, the woman hasn’t given us a straight answer for
anything in the entire two weeks she’s been here, and I for one have no intention of
taking her word at the moment. Nor do I intend on feeding her saltpeter or making her
sleep in restraints . . . at least, not at the hospital.”

“So just asking her isn’t going to cut it,” Cameron murmured, as much to buy time as
anything else. House gave a disdainful glance down his nose, his long fingers absently
toying with the remote.

“No, not when I’m already out twenty-seven dollars and thirty-four cents on a hunch.
Come on, I’ll find us a monitor and you can start thinking how cool your hair’s going to
look in that kinky bride of Frankenstein ‘do with those white streaks up each side—“

She trailed after him as he thumped along down the empty halls, the sound of his cane unmistakable. Cameron tried to distract herself desperately, but it was nearly
impossible to do, especially since she could see the pearly straps of the butterfly
dangling out of House’s blazer pocket, bouncing with his every lurching step.

What had she agreed to?

WHY had she agreed . . . well that was easier answered, no soul-searching required.
House pushed her buttons, plain and simple. And not just the ‘provoke an angry retort’
ones either oh no. He pushed the buttons that made her furious, that left her in doubt;
that kept her wanting to prove him wrong, or earn that oh-so-rare flash of pride.

And, yes, well--other buttons too. The ones deep inside, that tensed with pleasure
when she felt his breath on the crown of her head, or realized his glance was straying
over her body. Those tingly ones, that by the sound of it, she was about to have pushed
all over again in a few minutes, damn it. Slightly ahead of her, House swung down a
side hall and she followed, catching up as he unlocked a door with a PRIVATE sign on
it. He flicked on a light and she peeked in nervously.

“Sports Med, screening room. Not much use after seasonal signups for whatever the
MP3 crowd is doing after school or on Saturdays.” He muttered. Cameron stepped in.
House moved to pull the plastic cover off the Nihon Koden EC 2000, flicking the
switches absently. The machine lit up, making a soft series of diagnostic beeps, and
House gestured to a cabinet; Cameron frowned, but fished out a packet of leads and
busied herself with laying them out along with the pads. House had plugged in the
proper codes and was feeding the graph paper in, not looking at her.

“All right, let’s get a buzz on. Lose the underwear and climb up on the table. In the
interests of time I’m not going to make you get in a gown and moon me while you do it,
so count yourself lucky.”

For a long second Cameron froze, but instead of looking at his profile, she studied the
set of his shoulders. House’s were clenched and riding high, the line of them bunched
with tension; she realized he was nervous as hell under his bluster, and that little fact
warmed her a bit. Good to know his Highness wasn’t as confident as he sounded.

Cameron took a deep breath, gave herself a mental shove and lifted her chin.

“Fine—swap you then. Briefs for butterfly, is that about right?” she tried not to let her
voice quaver. House hid his reaction fairly well but she caught his sudden intake of
breath. She reached under her skirt at each hip and tugged on the edges of her panties, grateful that she’d already gotten out of her stockings a few hours ago.

“Works for me—“ he muttered, not looking at her. He reached in his pocket and fished
out the little vibrator, handing it to Cameron absently. She took it, and in exchange laid
her underwear across his palm.

THAT made him look; glancing down at the blue flowered pair, House blinked,
momentarily speechless. Cameron took further courage from that and managed a smile.

“I’ll need them back—they won’t fit you,” she warned, a quaver in her voice. House
raised his blue-eyed gaze to her, and she noted the feverish flush along his high
cheekbones, the glitter in his eyes.

“Crossdressing never entered my mind. Damn, they’re still warm,” he grumbled.
Cameron turned around and fumbled with the elastic leg straps of the butterfly, trying desperately to focus on the thing, turning it over and spreading it open. A quick step into
the open bands, right and left; she awkwardly tugged the device up, trying to keep her
skirt down as she did so, aware that House was probably staring at her backside the
entire time. Cameron fumbled, wriggling a little, adjusting the cool plastic against her
skin, horribly conscious of the heat rising off her face and neck. Major blush, but there
wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

She turned around, feeling the soft plastic between her legs, the tension of the bands
around her thighs. House was looking at her, wide-eyed and wary, caught between professionalism and perversion. Her underwear was nowhere in sight.

“Stop, don’t move.” He rumbled, staring at her. “I want to remember you just as you are
this moment.” House had meant it as a jest, but his words had a taut honesty to them,
and Cameron felt the rasp of them like a caress down her spine. She shivered, and
fought it.

“Can we just get on with this, please?”

“I thought women were all about the foreplay.”

“You’ll be learning about my forehand if you keep goggling at me like that.”

“Was that a threat?” Looking intrigued, House backed up a step to let Cameron move to
the padded exam table. “And for the record I don’t goggle. Ogle maybe, or letch, but
goggling is right out.”

As he spoke, he motioned with his head for her to lie back; Cameron did, primly, feeling vulnerable now. She’d smoothed her skirt down, but the simple knowledge of what she
was wearing under it—and what she wasn’t wearing under it--lingered, unspoken in the
air. House pushed the monitor closer; the wheels squeaked a bit.

“Okay. Six leads, standard procedure . . . “  he muttered, as much to himself as to her. Cameron reached out a slim hand and he dropped three of the pads into it; carefully
she peeled the paper off the adhesives and slid her fingers under her blouse, finding
the correct areas and pressing the electrodes into place: one along her ribs, two under
her left breast. When she was done, House leaned over and deftly undid the top two
buttons of her shirt then pressed another two pads on, one a few inches from the other
along her sternum. His touch was firm, and he seemed gratifyingly distracted. The last
pad rested in his hand, and Cameron rolled a little on the table towards him, tugging
her skirt to bare a section of hip. The pearly elastic peeked out against her creamy skin.
With exaggerated slowness, House hooked the strap up with his pinkie and planted the
last electrode on the carved curve of her hip. He let go of the strap and it snapped,
loudly. Cameron flinched not from pain but from the noise.

“And now, to get you wired for sound—“ he murmured, his tone husky.

Attaching the leads only took a few seconds, and Cameron heard the reassuring beeps
of her own heartbeat on the monitor as she lay back. The pulse was rapid of course, no denying that; House had the audacity to look amused as he studied the readout.

“Hmmm, you seem a little anxious, Doctor Cameron—are you under stress at the
moment?” he demanded playfully. Cameron scowled at him, wanting to blow a
raspberry, but felt this would only egg him on, and anyway the press of the butterfly
between her legs was too distracting at the moment. The plastic was warmer now, and
the soft nubbles along the spine of the device were nudging between her labia lips, sidetracking her.

“We could trade places, you know. I’m sure we could wrap this Monarch around your
frenulum and set the button to stun, see what happens.” She replied with a hint of
impatience. House paused, and shot her a look, intrigued and slightly wary.

“Dear God, the potential for orgasm is just bringing out the she-beast in you tonight,
isn’t it?”

“Look if you’re determined to follow through on your hunch about the Dennenbrook
woman’s proclivities, then let’s just get on with it—“ Cameron snapped, closing her eyes.
The monitor had dutifully recorded the spike in her pulse during her outburst and was
now dropping again, the beeps steadying out. House dropped himself on a rolling stool
and hooked his cane on the side of the EKG machine.

“Yes, all right, good point. So—is our little winged friend in position?”

“I . . . think so. Having never used one of these before it’s a little hard to know.”
Cameron confessed, running a hand down her skirt covered thigh. House frowned a
little.

“Well, from the design of the thing, it should be resting over the clitoral hood and along
the labia minora,” He pointed out, staring up at the ceiling. Cameron shifted her hips on
the padded table, blushing again.

“I think . . . I think one of the straps is twisted. It’s pressing into the back of my thigh.”
She blurted, squirming a little. Cameron tried to reach under her skirt without moving it.
House was faster though; he slid his big right hand up the side of her hip and his
fingers found the strap high on her hip under the skirt. Unfortunately, that forced the
material to bunch up around his wrist, and bared her long slender thighs at the same
time.

“Lift—“ he ordered. She obediently shifted her hip up and he smoothed the strap down, seemingly oblivious to her exposed legs. Once the pearly elastic was flat again, he
stroked her exposed thigh gently. The heart monitor let out a series of rapid beeps, and
a corner of House’s mouth quirked up. “Someone’s ticklish.”

“House—“ Cameron tried to growl, but it was breathless and squeaky. He leisurely slid
his hand away from her leg but didn’t bother tugging her skirt down again; instead, he
fished in his left pocket and pulled out the pink remote, turning it over in his hand.

“Okay, let’s see what settings this thing has—“ he eyed the little control, studying it
intently. Cameron tensed her fingers gripping the edges of the padded table.

“Wait!”

“What, I have to buy you dinner first?” he grumbled, but gently. Cameron held out one
hand imperiously.

“Give it to me.”

“I intend to.”

“I meant the remote,” she bit off each word quickly; House’s blue eyes widened.

“Sorry, but remotes are part of male imperative. We have a symbiotic relationship with
remotes. We need them for our garage doors and stereos and TVs. Hell, if we could get
away with them for taking out the garbage and changing lightbulbs—“ he rambled,
holding the little pink box just out of Cameron’s reach. The heart monitor blipped angrily
and he glanced at the readout. “Oooh someone’s getting annoyed.”

“House, you expect me to let YOU choose the setting on something as . . . personal as
this? Oh I don’t THINK so—“ Cameron huffed. She started to sit up, but House reached
over to plant one big hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently back down as he
tapped the pink box with the thumb of his other hand.

Two things happened instantaneously; a low little hum filled the exam room, and
Cameron tensed, her head arching back quickly. Her chest rose, and the hard points of
her nipples strained against her blouse. House tapped the remote again, and the hum
ended; Cameron drew in a shuddery breath.

“Wow.” He muttered, cocking his head as he studied her body. “It’s damned gratifying
to see an American-made personal appliance life up to its advertising promises. How do
you feel—all tingly?” his words were patter, meant to distract as he eyed her carefully,
noting the flush along her throat, the beautiful pucker of her mouth. Clearly the little jolt
had definitely hit the mark. Cameron turned her head to look at him, the stain of pink
again across her cheeks.

“I wasn’t READY.”

“No but it shut you up really fast,” he replied with a faint smile. “That was the middle
setting, sorry. I guess we should begin with the flutter setting here at the bottom. 
Ready?”

“House—“ Cameron didn’t get to finish as he flicked the remote again, and the soft
tingle began between her legs. This setting was much gentler, and Cameron felt her
hips rock upwards in quick response. She blinked. House had his gaze locked on the
monitor, watching the waves there.

“Respiration’s up, and I can barely hear the hum this time . . . you could get away with
this all day. I wonder if one of these would mellow Cuddy out . . . I could send her one
for her birthday from Anonymous . . .”

“She-she’d know,” Cameron tried to talk normally, but it was damned difficult. Warm
waves of pleasure were rolling through her muscles, making her thighs and stomach
tense. If she’d been alone she might have enjoyed it been able to focus on the pleasure,
but with House less than a foot away watching her, she doubted she’d be doing much
more than squirming a bit. Sex had never been easy for her.

“Okay, I can see you’re feeling the effects. Building up?” House asked, turning to look
at her intently. She pursed her mouth, not quite sure what to say, although the monitors recorded a little jump when their eyes met.

“It’s not that simple you know. These aren’t quite the same conditions, and despite
having the same genitalia, I’m not Julia Dennenbrook.”

“Thank God.” He murmured, his gaze suddenly narrowing. Cameron fought the urge to
cross her legs and muffle the butterfly. House let his glance drift from her eyes down
across her supine form, seemingly lost in thought, but Cameron noted that both his
pupils were wide, and he himself was breathing a little more rapidly. She took a breath
and stared up at the ceiling as the insidious fluttering between her legs began to create
a response.

“I can’t concentrate, not with you looming over me like Victor Frankenstein,” came her
weak protest. “It’s . . . unnatural.”

“I beg to differ. Orgasms aren’t unnatural; if they were the human race would have died
out long ago. They’re the payoff, the jackpot for all that messy thrusting and groaning.
And watching isn’t unnatural either—a great deal of an individual’s sexual gratification
comes from observation of their partner--” House grumbled back. Cameron pursed her
mouth angrily, interrupting him.

“—You’re NOT my partner! Because if you WERE, I’d . . .” she trailed off, definitely not
wanting to continue that line of thought, but House’s mouth twitched, and the heat
flared for a long moment in his clear blue eyes.

“—You’d?” he prompted, his voice unexpectedly hoarse, and low. Cameron felt pinned,
utterly trapped by her words and his anticipation. It didn’t help a damn bit that the slow
tickle of the vibrator was sending little ripples of pleasure through the muscles of her
stomach. House lowered his face until his breath stirred her bangs ever so gently.
“What, precisely would you do?”

Cameron gave in to the giddy fury welling within her. She reached up, cupping her
hands just under his ears, feeling the scratch of his warm beard under her palms as
she yanked his face down to hers and kissed him, hard. Startled, House resisted for the
barest fraction of a second, but when Cameron’s lips parted under his, slick and hot, he
smothered a groan against them. Caught between surprise and sensuality, he
hesitated, and the woman under him took full advantage of his pause. Cameron slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, daring them to open, inviting him to deepen the kiss;
House did with sheer male recklessness, his own tongue swiftly circling hers in a lovely
wet tease of hungry pressure. Hard spikes of lustful pleasure drove through Cameron’s stomach at the feel of his mouth, the power of his desire for her.

Behind House, the monitor was dutifully recording the rapid heart rate, the beeps
speeding up in an ego-gratifying scurry. Cameron broke off to breathe, not letting go of House’s face as her shoulders hitched a little against the padded table. “I’d kiss the hell
out of you,” she growled in a squeaky tone. House dropped his mouth on hers again for
a series of soft fast kisses, words leaking out inbetween them.

“That . . . would take . . . a LOT . . . . of  kissing. I’m . . . FULL . . . of Hell—“

“Got time—“ she panted back, and for a while they stopped talking altogether. The
kissing grew more intense, and her focus drifted from mouth to face as Cameron let her
tongue slide along the stubble of House’s beard, around his chiseled lips and along his
cheeks. His eyes glittered, and in them she saw genuine heat as his strong hands came
up to cup her shoulders.

Then her tongue flickered along his warm slightly salty ear, and Cameron felt House
shudder, hard. The sensual thrill of having him so aroused sent a sharp jolt of pleasure between her thighs, and before she could help herself, Cameron felt the rising bliss of impending orgasm flush through her body. She nipped his lobe, the low, lovely groan
of her climax escaping her throat as she clutched his shoulders.
“OhhhhhhhGodddddddd!” she wailed, head arching back. The relentless flutter of the butterfly drove her on, and the monitor’s beeps were a steady gallop of counternoise to
her gasps as she writhed.

She didn’t know how long it went on, but finally the tickle stopped, and she lolled a bit,
spent and lost in a dull haze of post orgasmic pleasure, slowly rising again to figure out
her surroundings. She felt . . . cool, all of a sudden as she realized her skirt was up
over her stomach and something was dangling between her knees. Gasping, Cameron
tried to sit up, heat flushing across her face.

“What the HELL--?” she squeaked, trying to focus House was still poised over her, his
face flushed, torn between professional and personal interest. His hand was on her
damp thigh.

“You were  . . . about to go into arrhymia.  Actually, both of us were—“ he muttered.
“One of us still might.”

“Oh God.”

“You said that already. Well, wailed it, in all honesty, sexy as hell—“ House told her
gruffly, trying NOT to look at the still buzzing butterfly bouncing against her knee. She
slapped at it, knocking the device and making it slide down her leg to land on the floor.
They both looked down.

Big mistake. Cameron took in the sight of the significant bulge of House’s fly with dazed amazement, and he desperately tried to turn, and camouflage it but she moved quickly.
One dainty hand reached out and cupped as much of it as she could; House groaned
and leaned into the warmth of her fingers.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Screw you—you started it, Doctor—“ came her soft reply. House bit his lip and looked
at the ceiling.

“Was that an offer or a curse?”

“Take your pants off.”

“Offer.”

“Order. Doctor’s orders in fact—“ Cameron snapped, undoing his belt and fly. Freed,
his rampant cock surged out at her, and she scooted to the edge of the padded table,
toying with it. House shuddered, not sure of what to do with his hands. Cameron turned
her flushed face up to smile at his dilemma.

“You want a monitor spike? I know JUST how to get one.” She murmured recklessly.

“Cameron—“ he growled, but in her hands the hot suede of his cock throbbed. Rising
out of his pants it looked thick and dangerous; Cameron slid her thighs around his and
pulled him closer, angling her hips up. In the florescent lighting the soft curls between
her legs glittered a little. House leaned forward, his eyes smoky now. She flexed her
knees, forcing him forward.

The first sweet deep plunge made House growl low in his throat and he braced his
hands on the table as he thrust deeper, making her rock back. Cameron reached up
and wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping a little at the sudden heat of him within
her. She let her head loll back, eyes half closing with the new pleasure.

“Do what the butterfly can’t, House. Deep—“ she begged in a whisper, and the sound
of it drove him hard. Rocking powerfully, he pumped himself into her, steadily but
strongly, and she felt when his body began to tighten.

“Allisonnnn---“ he warned, hands sliding under her ass, gripping it tightly. She clung to
him, feeling the hot deep eruptions voluptuously spraying, filling her, and a softer wave
of warm pleasure shivered along her body as she held him tightly. At that was the
moment Cameron made her big decision.

She was going to write Julia Dennenbrooke a VERY nice thank-you letter.

Absolutely.



End

 



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