Torch
It had been
a nice little fundraising party, but a just a bit boring, and after the
usual quick
chats with her colleagues, Allison Cameron felt slightly awkward standing there with them, canapé in one hand, champagne glass in the other. She heard something that echoed
under the conversations, and knowing it HAD to be House, she chose to follow the sound, leaving the soiree behind her.
Yeah the food was great and the casino theme catered to the loaded guests, but in truth,
all Cameron really wanted was to get off her feet and just relax somewhere. She noted
that although Wilson and Cuddy were mingling and having a good time, House was
nowhere to be seen. Then she heard the distant chords and knew that wherever the
piano was, she’d find her boss.
Her boss. God, her boss and heaven only knew what else. The man was driving her
crazy, and worse than that, he was driving himself crazy, Cameron knew. House had the
rare ability to attract and repel at the same time, and while his words were just as callous
as they’d always been, his expressions, proximity and his eyes told a different story.
Moving far down the hallway, she paused at the chapel, but the doors were closed and
no sound came from that room. Carefully Cameron listened once more, and this time
when the melody began again, she turned the corner and followed it towards the auxiliary
PT room. She slowed in front of the slightly ajar door and listened to the deliberately
playful dance of fingers on keys, and the even more amazing sound of House’s voice, low
and thoughtful.
He’s singing, she thought dizzily. And he’s good.
Cameron pushed the door open and saw him seated on a workout bench, the rolling
piano parked in front of him. He looked up at her, and the smallest touch of a smile
crossed his mouth.
“I always thought I was a very worldly guy, insensitive to childish thoughts of love . . . “
Came his amused and low pitched tenor voice.
“But lately I’ve been acting like a kid with apple pie, since you gave my stoic heart a
shot---“
His fingers moved in a bouncy little tune and he sang on:
“You’re a snootie little cutie, you’re pert little skirt,
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, you’re a flirt---
You’re a dapper little flapper, you’re just as cute as a trick,
You’re a kissie little missie, a vain little jane; you’re slick.
You’re a classy little lassie, a keen little queen
and although you’re sassy and you’re mean—
I am a fiend for romance with you, squirrelly little girly you’re fine—
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, snootie little cutie,
snootie little cutie mine.”
Torn between being annoyed and flattered, Cameron came over to the piano and leaned
on it, feeling the delicious tickle of the chords vibrating against her shoulder. She watched House, enjoying the sight of his long, talented fingers shifting over the keys, stroking
them with precision and tenderness. He seemed to be in a musical bridge now, carrying
the melody with his right hand and pressing the corresponding chords with his left, the
music effortless and sweet.
Cameron smiled, and House glanced up at her for a moment, then flashed a small smile
as he sang the last lines once more.
“You’re a classy little lassie, a keen little queen,
And you’ve the smoothest little chassis I’ve ever seen—
I am a fiend for romance with you, squirrelly little girly you’re fine—
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, snootie little cutie,
snootie little cutie mine.”
He let the music bounce along to its conclusion; Cameron nodded in satisfaction. “Where
did that come from?”
“Composed by a jazz musician named Bobby Troup, back in the Forties,” House replied
gently, shifting into another tune, stroking the keys with loving familiarity.
Cameron cocked her head. “And you just happened to play that at this moment?”
House looked up at her, his expression striving for a guileleness that wasn’t quite there.
“My God, are you implying there’s some method to my madness, Doctor Cameron?”
She glanced at the nearly empty scotch glass sitting on top of the piano and wondered if
it had been his second, or his third. Carefully, Cameron picked it up and set it on one of
the rowing machine seats, then gracefully braced her hands on the piano, and in one
smooth move, climbed up onto it.
House watched her, fascinated, a small smile on the corners of his mouth. “Nice
maneuver, Nimblelina.”
“Gymnastics,” Cameron replied, and added, “I’m good at mounting things.”
House’s fingers stumbled and a clinker note echoed from the piano, making her smile.
She shifted to one hip, glad that her maroon velvet dress had a nice slit up the side and
looked down at House, speaking again. “I know a song too—“
“Farmer in the Dell doesn’t count.”
She shot him an exasperated look, then feeling a flutter deep in her stomach, hummed a moment and began to sing; House caught the melody, cocking his head as he matched
her key with his chords.
Cameron kept her tone low, hoping like hell she could pull it off as she sang,
“Hey, Daddy, I want a diamond ring, bracelets, everything--
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me—“
Hey, Daddy, gee, don't I look swell in sables?
Clothes with Paris labels?
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me—“
She sang out in a soft contralto, her expression a sweet mix of self-consciousness and seduction. Cameron reached down and ran a hand under House’s stubbly chin, stroking
it teasingly, and let her fingers slide up the dimple along his cheek.
”Here's 'n'amazing revelation
With a bit of stimulation
I'd be a GREAT sensation
I'd be your . . . inspiration---
Daddy, I want a brand new car, champagne, caviar--
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me . . . .”
Cameron trailed off as House improvised a lovely little glissando, and added, “ . . Ooohhh
Daddy . . . “
The music died away gently, a lovely winding down that flowed like honey. House drew in
a shuddery breath.
“Damn it,” he growled, his attention focused on the keyboard. “Damn it—the most
frustrating thing about you is that you WILL not be neatly pigeon-holed, will you, Allison?
Just when I think I’ve found the right label; the appropriate niche to tuck your gorgeous
little ass into, you flash a different facet and I’m back to square one.”
She said nothing, feeling a moment of triumph in his slightly strangled tone as he
continued, his expression a twist of amazement and desire when he lifted his face up and
stared at her.
“The little fact that my song AND yours were both written by the same composer . . .
that’s no coincidence. Not by a damned sight.”
Lightly, she let one gold sandaled leg dangle down, and House caught it, his slightly rough
palm sliding up her shin, caressing the stocking that clung there. Cameron looked down,
as imperious as a queen, feeling both glamorous and vulnerable.
It seemed silly, to be sitting on a second-hand upright piano, singing something she
remembered her mother crooning over the dishes in the sink, but somehow it had
seemed to be the perfect song for this moment, and judging by the smolder in House’s
eyes she knew she was right. He slid his warm palm higher, shifting it to caress the inside
of her knee. Cameron arched an eyebrow. He cupped the heel of her foot and brought
the sandal up to his lips, gently nipping her toes.
Before she could think about it, she purred at him. “Ever made love on an upright?”
House cocked his head, and the half-lidded look he gave her sent warm rolls of arousal
down her stomach. “Oh you naughty, naughty minx . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d say my
attempt to seduce you is working.”
“Your attempt?” she retorted, her smile a sweet and dangerous thing. “Don’t think so. Go
lock the door and we’ll see who carries the melody here, House---“
“That’s it; play hard to get,” House muttered, but his hands were still caressing her foot,
and he stood with a swiftness that pleased her. Cameron noted that while he tried to
sneer, the outline of his prick against his tuxedo slacks was blatant.
She leaned back, gripping the edge of the piano top where she sat, and lifted her leg,
letting her toes graze the same place under his chin where she’d caressed him moments
before. House fought a little shiver.
“If I lock that door . . . “ he trailed off, looking serious, giving her time to change her mind,
or fold her bluff—however she wanted to call it. Cameron stared at him a moment longer,
then let her smile curl up with heat.
“ . . . Then we can get back to our . . . duet, in privacy,” she assured him. House gave
once slow nod, scooped up his cane and limped to the door carefully but deliberately.
Cameron had never realized how sexy the sound of a lock snicking shut could be.
When he returned, she licked her lower lip and reached down, bracing her hands on his
wide shoulders, feeling the warm muscle under the tuxedo jacket. House slid his hands
around her hips and lifted her down from the piano top, resting her ass against the keys
with a solid, harmonious ‘plunk’ of chords.
He hesitated, and Cameron thrilled in seeing him hold back, clearly enthralled but
vulnerable. She pulled him a little closer, and whispered, “Kiss me . . . “
The invitation was impossible to resist, and House bent his head, setting his lips against
hers in a warm press of mouths. Cameron relaxed into it, kissing back softly, blissfully
letting him take control of this first embrace.
The gentleness faded as his kiss grew more possessive, and Cameron delicately let her
tongue flick out to welcome his, playing with the tumble of passion flaring between them.
It was heady and delicious, this sweet open-mouthed tasting of each other, and House
had both passion and patience.
And hunger, she realized with a low, hot pang between her thighs. House wanted her,
badly—his entire focus was in his kiss, hot and urgent now, drinking her in. How long this beautiful enthrallment went on Cameron couldn’t tell; she was dizzy, hot and cold, feeling
waves of longing deep in her stomach.
She shifted after a while, and the keys under her plinked gently, but she ignored it, and let
her hands curl around his biceps and pulled House closer, letting him feel her own desire.
His little groan into her mouth made her smile—oh yes, he wanted her---
Carefully House broke the latest kiss and breathed heavily against her bangs, his voice
low; hoarse. “Say yes or no, but whatever you want, say it quick—“
“Yes.”
“Good answer—“ House sighed, pushing himself closer to her, opening her knees around
his hips. “—Perfect answer. Next question—can you live if I destroy your pantyhose?”
“What pantyhose?”
“Thank you Jesus—“ House groaned, his long fingers stroking her thigh highs lovingly.
He glanced down, and watched as Cameron reached for his fly, unzipping it and pulling
open the edges of his tuxedo slacks. The bulge of his rampant erection swelled
appreciably, and she caressed it through the thin boxers.
House gripped her slender wrist. “Ah-ah. Already primed, sweetheart—“
Cameron sighed, licking her lips. She understood that, oh yes. Carefully, she gripped the
fabric of her dress and tugged it up, revealing more and more of her trim thighs until
House grunted at the sight of her tiny red satin thong.
“Torture me a little more why don’t you?” came his rasping hiss, but she laughed softly,
and reaching down, hooked a nail along one edge of the red satin and tugged it over.
House made a whimper deep in his throat, his gaze riveted.
“I have a better idea . . . something much nicer than torture---“ Cameron murmured softly. “Come here---“
He pushed forward, and with both of them a little fumbling a few seconds later Cameron
gave a deep gasp; the piano keys rattled an excited chord under her as House gripped
one hand at her hip, and the other bracing on the high back of the upright.
“Yeeeeeahhhh----“ came his low and hungry groan. She arched up, her back against the
upright, her long thighs wrapping around House’s tuxedo jacket, savoring the lovely, lovely
hot thrust of him.
“Ooooohhhhng—“ she wheezed happily.
The lovely rush of heat and desire mingled with the sweet dissonant sound of the piano
notes ringing out in odd harmonies with every thrust. They lent a sweetness to the
moment in a way that left Cameron achingly happy. House wanting her, having her here
with the music he loved so much---
It was TOO much, and she looked up into his face, catching the blazing blue of his eyes. Cameron felt herself tighten and clench as she pulled his face to hers. “Ohhhyesss, right
like thissssss---” came her delighted cry as the beautiful, undeniable pleasure streamed
through her entire body.
Then House dropped his face, blindly kissing her as his hips rocked against hers more
urgently, a more forte note rattling the keys. His mouth pinned Cameron’s possessively
once more, and she felt the heat of his surges deep inside her.
They slumped on the keyboard, House needing her support for a few moments as he got
his breathing under control. Finally, he drew a breath and brushed his stubble against her
cheek, his voice low and meant only for her ears. “Duets like this . . . I think we need to
keep making beautiful music together---“
Cameron nodded, moving to kiss his nose. “I’m singing in your key, baby.”
End
chats with her colleagues, Allison Cameron felt slightly awkward standing there with them, canapé in one hand, champagne glass in the other. She heard something that echoed
under the conversations, and knowing it HAD to be House, she chose to follow the sound, leaving the soiree behind her.
Yeah the food was great and the casino theme catered to the loaded guests, but in truth,
all Cameron really wanted was to get off her feet and just relax somewhere. She noted
that although Wilson and Cuddy were mingling and having a good time, House was
nowhere to be seen. Then she heard the distant chords and knew that wherever the
piano was, she’d find her boss.
Her boss. God, her boss and heaven only knew what else. The man was driving her
crazy, and worse than that, he was driving himself crazy, Cameron knew. House had the
rare ability to attract and repel at the same time, and while his words were just as callous
as they’d always been, his expressions, proximity and his eyes told a different story.
Moving far down the hallway, she paused at the chapel, but the doors were closed and
no sound came from that room. Carefully Cameron listened once more, and this time
when the melody began again, she turned the corner and followed it towards the auxiliary
PT room. She slowed in front of the slightly ajar door and listened to the deliberately
playful dance of fingers on keys, and the even more amazing sound of House’s voice, low
and thoughtful.
He’s singing, she thought dizzily. And he’s good.
Cameron pushed the door open and saw him seated on a workout bench, the rolling
piano parked in front of him. He looked up at her, and the smallest touch of a smile
crossed his mouth.
“I always thought I was a very worldly guy, insensitive to childish thoughts of love . . . “
Came his amused and low pitched tenor voice.
“But lately I’ve been acting like a kid with apple pie, since you gave my stoic heart a
shot---“
His fingers moved in a bouncy little tune and he sang on:
“You’re a snootie little cutie, you’re pert little skirt,
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, you’re a flirt---
You’re a dapper little flapper, you’re just as cute as a trick,
You’re a kissie little missie, a vain little jane; you’re slick.
You’re a classy little lassie, a keen little queen
and although you’re sassy and you’re mean—
I am a fiend for romance with you, squirrelly little girly you’re fine—
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, snootie little cutie,
snootie little cutie mine.”
Torn between being annoyed and flattered, Cameron came over to the piano and leaned
on it, feeling the delicious tickle of the chords vibrating against her shoulder. She watched House, enjoying the sight of his long, talented fingers shifting over the keys, stroking
them with precision and tenderness. He seemed to be in a musical bridge now, carrying
the melody with his right hand and pressing the corresponding chords with his left, the
music effortless and sweet.
Cameron smiled, and House glanced up at her for a moment, then flashed a small smile
as he sang the last lines once more.
“You’re a classy little lassie, a keen little queen,
And you’ve the smoothest little chassis I’ve ever seen—
I am a fiend for romance with you, squirrelly little girly you’re fine—
You’re a knockout, you’re a beauty, snootie little cutie,
snootie little cutie mine.”
He let the music bounce along to its conclusion; Cameron nodded in satisfaction. “Where
did that come from?”
“Composed by a jazz musician named Bobby Troup, back in the Forties,” House replied
gently, shifting into another tune, stroking the keys with loving familiarity.
Cameron cocked her head. “And you just happened to play that at this moment?”
House looked up at her, his expression striving for a guileleness that wasn’t quite there.
“My God, are you implying there’s some method to my madness, Doctor Cameron?”
She glanced at the nearly empty scotch glass sitting on top of the piano and wondered if
it had been his second, or his third. Carefully, Cameron picked it up and set it on one of
the rowing machine seats, then gracefully braced her hands on the piano, and in one
smooth move, climbed up onto it.
House watched her, fascinated, a small smile on the corners of his mouth. “Nice
maneuver, Nimblelina.”
“Gymnastics,” Cameron replied, and added, “I’m good at mounting things.”
House’s fingers stumbled and a clinker note echoed from the piano, making her smile.
She shifted to one hip, glad that her maroon velvet dress had a nice slit up the side and
looked down at House, speaking again. “I know a song too—“
“Farmer in the Dell doesn’t count.”
She shot him an exasperated look, then feeling a flutter deep in her stomach, hummed a moment and began to sing; House caught the melody, cocking his head as he matched
her key with his chords.
Cameron kept her tone low, hoping like hell she could pull it off as she sang,
“Hey, Daddy, I want a diamond ring, bracelets, everything--
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me—“
Hey, Daddy, gee, don't I look swell in sables?
Clothes with Paris labels?
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me—“
She sang out in a soft contralto, her expression a sweet mix of self-consciousness and seduction. Cameron reached down and ran a hand under House’s stubbly chin, stroking
it teasingly, and let her fingers slide up the dimple along his cheek.
”Here's 'n'amazing revelation
With a bit of stimulation
I'd be a GREAT sensation
I'd be your . . . inspiration---
Daddy, I want a brand new car, champagne, caviar--
Daddy, you oughta get the best for me . . . .”
Cameron trailed off as House improvised a lovely little glissando, and added, “ . . Ooohhh
Daddy . . . “
The music died away gently, a lovely winding down that flowed like honey. House drew in
a shuddery breath.
“Damn it,” he growled, his attention focused on the keyboard. “Damn it—the most
frustrating thing about you is that you WILL not be neatly pigeon-holed, will you, Allison?
Just when I think I’ve found the right label; the appropriate niche to tuck your gorgeous
little ass into, you flash a different facet and I’m back to square one.”
She said nothing, feeling a moment of triumph in his slightly strangled tone as he
continued, his expression a twist of amazement and desire when he lifted his face up and
stared at her.
“The little fact that my song AND yours were both written by the same composer . . .
that’s no coincidence. Not by a damned sight.”
Lightly, she let one gold sandaled leg dangle down, and House caught it, his slightly rough
palm sliding up her shin, caressing the stocking that clung there. Cameron looked down,
as imperious as a queen, feeling both glamorous and vulnerable.
It seemed silly, to be sitting on a second-hand upright piano, singing something she
remembered her mother crooning over the dishes in the sink, but somehow it had
seemed to be the perfect song for this moment, and judging by the smolder in House’s
eyes she knew she was right. He slid his warm palm higher, shifting it to caress the inside
of her knee. Cameron arched an eyebrow. He cupped the heel of her foot and brought
the sandal up to his lips, gently nipping her toes.
Before she could think about it, she purred at him. “Ever made love on an upright?”
House cocked his head, and the half-lidded look he gave her sent warm rolls of arousal
down her stomach. “Oh you naughty, naughty minx . . . if I didn’t know better, I’d say my
attempt to seduce you is working.”
“Your attempt?” she retorted, her smile a sweet and dangerous thing. “Don’t think so. Go
lock the door and we’ll see who carries the melody here, House---“
“That’s it; play hard to get,” House muttered, but his hands were still caressing her foot,
and he stood with a swiftness that pleased her. Cameron noted that while he tried to
sneer, the outline of his prick against his tuxedo slacks was blatant.
She leaned back, gripping the edge of the piano top where she sat, and lifted her leg,
letting her toes graze the same place under his chin where she’d caressed him moments
before. House fought a little shiver.
“If I lock that door . . . “ he trailed off, looking serious, giving her time to change her mind,
or fold her bluff—however she wanted to call it. Cameron stared at him a moment longer,
then let her smile curl up with heat.
“ . . . Then we can get back to our . . . duet, in privacy,” she assured him. House gave
once slow nod, scooped up his cane and limped to the door carefully but deliberately.
Cameron had never realized how sexy the sound of a lock snicking shut could be.
When he returned, she licked her lower lip and reached down, bracing her hands on his
wide shoulders, feeling the warm muscle under the tuxedo jacket. House slid his hands
around her hips and lifted her down from the piano top, resting her ass against the keys
with a solid, harmonious ‘plunk’ of chords.
He hesitated, and Cameron thrilled in seeing him hold back, clearly enthralled but
vulnerable. She pulled him a little closer, and whispered, “Kiss me . . . “
The invitation was impossible to resist, and House bent his head, setting his lips against
hers in a warm press of mouths. Cameron relaxed into it, kissing back softly, blissfully
letting him take control of this first embrace.
The gentleness faded as his kiss grew more possessive, and Cameron delicately let her
tongue flick out to welcome his, playing with the tumble of passion flaring between them.
It was heady and delicious, this sweet open-mouthed tasting of each other, and House
had both passion and patience.
And hunger, she realized with a low, hot pang between her thighs. House wanted her,
badly—his entire focus was in his kiss, hot and urgent now, drinking her in. How long this beautiful enthrallment went on Cameron couldn’t tell; she was dizzy, hot and cold, feeling
waves of longing deep in her stomach.
She shifted after a while, and the keys under her plinked gently, but she ignored it, and let
her hands curl around his biceps and pulled House closer, letting him feel her own desire.
His little groan into her mouth made her smile—oh yes, he wanted her---
Carefully House broke the latest kiss and breathed heavily against her bangs, his voice
low; hoarse. “Say yes or no, but whatever you want, say it quick—“
“Yes.”
“Good answer—“ House sighed, pushing himself closer to her, opening her knees around
his hips. “—Perfect answer. Next question—can you live if I destroy your pantyhose?”
“What pantyhose?”
“Thank you Jesus—“ House groaned, his long fingers stroking her thigh highs lovingly.
He glanced down, and watched as Cameron reached for his fly, unzipping it and pulling
open the edges of his tuxedo slacks. The bulge of his rampant erection swelled
appreciably, and she caressed it through the thin boxers.
House gripped her slender wrist. “Ah-ah. Already primed, sweetheart—“
Cameron sighed, licking her lips. She understood that, oh yes. Carefully, she gripped the
fabric of her dress and tugged it up, revealing more and more of her trim thighs until
House grunted at the sight of her tiny red satin thong.
“Torture me a little more why don’t you?” came his rasping hiss, but she laughed softly,
and reaching down, hooked a nail along one edge of the red satin and tugged it over.
House made a whimper deep in his throat, his gaze riveted.
“I have a better idea . . . something much nicer than torture---“ Cameron murmured softly. “Come here---“
He pushed forward, and with both of them a little fumbling a few seconds later Cameron
gave a deep gasp; the piano keys rattled an excited chord under her as House gripped
one hand at her hip, and the other bracing on the high back of the upright.
“Yeeeeeahhhh----“ came his low and hungry groan. She arched up, her back against the
upright, her long thighs wrapping around House’s tuxedo jacket, savoring the lovely, lovely
hot thrust of him.
“Ooooohhhhng—“ she wheezed happily.
The lovely rush of heat and desire mingled with the sweet dissonant sound of the piano
notes ringing out in odd harmonies with every thrust. They lent a sweetness to the
moment in a way that left Cameron achingly happy. House wanting her, having her here
with the music he loved so much---
It was TOO much, and she looked up into his face, catching the blazing blue of his eyes. Cameron felt herself tighten and clench as she pulled his face to hers. “Ohhhyesss, right
like thissssss---” came her delighted cry as the beautiful, undeniable pleasure streamed
through her entire body.
Then House dropped his face, blindly kissing her as his hips rocked against hers more
urgently, a more forte note rattling the keys. His mouth pinned Cameron’s possessively
once more, and she felt the heat of his surges deep inside her.
They slumped on the keyboard, House needing her support for a few moments as he got
his breathing under control. Finally, he drew a breath and brushed his stubble against her
cheek, his voice low and meant only for her ears. “Duets like this . . . I think we need to
keep making beautiful music together---“
Cameron nodded, moving to kiss his nose. “I’m singing in your key, baby.”
End
