Fic: Hopeless Causes (House, Femslash, Cuddy/Cameron)
TITLE: Hopeless Causes
AUTHOR:![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
jaybee65
FANDOM: House, M.D.
PAIRING: Cuddy/Cameron
RATING: A hard R, maybe verging on NC-17
SUMMARY: They don't actually have a lot in common, aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people they don't much like when they're bored.
A/N: Written for Prompt #161 of the cuddy_fest on LJ: "They don't even really like each other, so why are they doing this again?"
Cameron makes too much noise when they have sex.
She writhes and pants and tosses her hair; she cries out so loudly and overdramatically that at times Cuddy's tempted to smother her with the pillow. She must have read that she was supposed to do that in a magazine, or maybe she saw it in some soft-porn late-night cable movie, or perhaps her frat-boy college boyfriends told her it was hot when she was nineteen. Regardless of where she picked it up from, it's distracting.
She's trying too hard, the way she does with everything. It's almost -- almost -- enough to ruin the mood. Except that she smells like apple-scented bodywash, and the curving skin of her buttocks is soft and warm and oh-so-yielding underneath Cuddy's fingers. Cuddy's pulse surges. She closes her eyes, breathes in the scent like an intoxicant, and then bites down hard enough to give Cameron a reason to make some noise.
***
Cuddy doesn't know how to have any fun.
Even when she climaxes, she never really seems to let go. It's frustrating, because Cameron knows she's good at this. Damned good, and yet the effort's wasted on this woman. Cuddy wants things done her way -- no improvisation, no playfulness, no mischief. That takes away the whole point of being together, as far as Cameron's concerned. Why fuck your coworker unless there's a little rulebreaking involved?
Still, Cuddy's hair tangles in dark waves that fall to her shoulder, and she arches her neck so invitingly that Cameron can't help but want to run her tongue along the pulsing vein. When she reaches the jawline, she begins to whisper obscenities, just because it's wrong. Cuddy makes shushing noises, and Cameron ignores her. After all, Cuddy may not know how to have fun, but that won't stop Cameron from trying.
***
Asleep, Cuddy looks older. And emptier, devoid of the authority that animates her at the hospital. Asleep, she looks like a lonely woman who doesn't have a thing in common with Cameron aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people she doesn't much like when she's bored.
Cameron eases out of bed and crouches barefoot on the carpet, gathering her clothes into a rolled-up bundle. She carries them into the bathroom where she closes the door, switches on the light, and stares at herself in the mirror. She scrubs off the smeared remnants of her makeup from the night before and pats her face dry with a floral-print towel. Her face flushes red from the hot water; she thinks it makes her look young. Fresh. Alive, with things to do and places to go and new people to meet and absolutely no reason to stay here.
Satisfied, she gets dressed. She's got nothing in common with Cuddy at all. Well, aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people she doesn't much like when bored. And that's not exactly much to build on, is it?
***
The scent of coffee brewing wakes Cuddy up. She lies still for a few minutes, listening to the noise of clattering dishes. How just like Cameron to take it upon herself to rummage through the kitchen without asking. Why couldn't she simply have left, like a decent one-night-stand would know how to do, instead of hanging around for awkward breakfast chit-chat? That way, they could have pretended that it didn't really happen, that it was one of those indiscretions that would never be mentioned again, and they could go back to their normal mode of interaction.
It had been that way the first time. And the second. And even the third.
Maybe four times is one too many. She'll get up and head to the kitchen, where she'll tell Cameron -- kindly, because she's not a bitch, after all -- that they have to stop seeing each other. No, not "seeing each other", because that makes it sound like more than what it is. Was. What it was. She has to use past tense now. In any event, they have to stop doing whatever the hell it is that they've been doing. It's unprofessional; it's foolish; and most of all, it's not even very enjoyable.
She rolls out of bed and grabs her robe.
***
They eat Cameron's French toast without saying much to each other. Cuddy has the oddest expression; she keeps clearing her throat as if she's going to make a dire announcement, and Cameron begins to wonder if maybe she's about to be fired. Then nothing happens, and they both go back to dipping forkfuls of French toast in the pools of maple syrup on their plates in horrible, strained silence.
Afterwards, Cameron helps Cuddy load the plates into the dishwasher, and Cameron is relieved that she's finally done her duty as a polite overnight guest. Now she can leave -- no, flee -- back to the hospital where they can return to mostly ignoring each other until House provokes the next crisis. Which, knowing House, will probably be later that same day.
She won't come here again, she vows. She doesn't really know why she did in the first place.
But when the door closes behind her, she already knows she'll be back. Because it's wrong, because it doesn't work -- and because there's nothing she likes more than hopeless causes.
AUTHOR:
jaybee65FANDOM: House, M.D.
PAIRING: Cuddy/Cameron
RATING: A hard R, maybe verging on NC-17
SUMMARY: They don't actually have a lot in common, aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people they don't much like when they're bored.
A/N: Written for Prompt #161 of the cuddy_fest on LJ: "They don't even really like each other, so why are they doing this again?"
Cameron makes too much noise when they have sex.
She writhes and pants and tosses her hair; she cries out so loudly and overdramatically that at times Cuddy's tempted to smother her with the pillow. She must have read that she was supposed to do that in a magazine, or maybe she saw it in some soft-porn late-night cable movie, or perhaps her frat-boy college boyfriends told her it was hot when she was nineteen. Regardless of where she picked it up from, it's distracting.
She's trying too hard, the way she does with everything. It's almost -- almost -- enough to ruin the mood. Except that she smells like apple-scented bodywash, and the curving skin of her buttocks is soft and warm and oh-so-yielding underneath Cuddy's fingers. Cuddy's pulse surges. She closes her eyes, breathes in the scent like an intoxicant, and then bites down hard enough to give Cameron a reason to make some noise.
***
Cuddy doesn't know how to have any fun.
Even when she climaxes, she never really seems to let go. It's frustrating, because Cameron knows she's good at this. Damned good, and yet the effort's wasted on this woman. Cuddy wants things done her way -- no improvisation, no playfulness, no mischief. That takes away the whole point of being together, as far as Cameron's concerned. Why fuck your coworker unless there's a little rulebreaking involved?
Still, Cuddy's hair tangles in dark waves that fall to her shoulder, and she arches her neck so invitingly that Cameron can't help but want to run her tongue along the pulsing vein. When she reaches the jawline, she begins to whisper obscenities, just because it's wrong. Cuddy makes shushing noises, and Cameron ignores her. After all, Cuddy may not know how to have fun, but that won't stop Cameron from trying.
***
Asleep, Cuddy looks older. And emptier, devoid of the authority that animates her at the hospital. Asleep, she looks like a lonely woman who doesn't have a thing in common with Cameron aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people she doesn't much like when she's bored.
Cameron eases out of bed and crouches barefoot on the carpet, gathering her clothes into a rolled-up bundle. She carries them into the bathroom where she closes the door, switches on the light, and stares at herself in the mirror. She scrubs off the smeared remnants of her makeup from the night before and pats her face dry with a floral-print towel. Her face flushes red from the hot water; she thinks it makes her look young. Fresh. Alive, with things to do and places to go and new people to meet and absolutely no reason to stay here.
Satisfied, she gets dressed. She's got nothing in common with Cuddy at all. Well, aside from an accident of gender, a choice of profession, and apparently a bad habit of seducing people she doesn't much like when bored. And that's not exactly much to build on, is it?
***
The scent of coffee brewing wakes Cuddy up. She lies still for a few minutes, listening to the noise of clattering dishes. How just like Cameron to take it upon herself to rummage through the kitchen without asking. Why couldn't she simply have left, like a decent one-night-stand would know how to do, instead of hanging around for awkward breakfast chit-chat? That way, they could have pretended that it didn't really happen, that it was one of those indiscretions that would never be mentioned again, and they could go back to their normal mode of interaction.
It had been that way the first time. And the second. And even the third.
Maybe four times is one too many. She'll get up and head to the kitchen, where she'll tell Cameron -- kindly, because she's not a bitch, after all -- that they have to stop seeing each other. No, not "seeing each other", because that makes it sound like more than what it is. Was. What it was. She has to use past tense now. In any event, they have to stop doing whatever the hell it is that they've been doing. It's unprofessional; it's foolish; and most of all, it's not even very enjoyable.
She rolls out of bed and grabs her robe.
***
They eat Cameron's French toast without saying much to each other. Cuddy has the oddest expression; she keeps clearing her throat as if she's going to make a dire announcement, and Cameron begins to wonder if maybe she's about to be fired. Then nothing happens, and they both go back to dipping forkfuls of French toast in the pools of maple syrup on their plates in horrible, strained silence.
Afterwards, Cameron helps Cuddy load the plates into the dishwasher, and Cameron is relieved that she's finally done her duty as a polite overnight guest. Now she can leave -- no, flee -- back to the hospital where they can return to mostly ignoring each other until House provokes the next crisis. Which, knowing House, will probably be later that same day.
She won't come here again, she vows. She doesn't really know why she did in the first place.
But when the door closes behind her, she already knows she'll be back. Because it's wrong, because it doesn't work -- and because there's nothing she likes more than hopeless causes.
Cuddy wanting to smother Cameron, and Cameron making breakfast were both funny. Also liked them continually misunderstanding each other. And the rest of them time it was just very nicely sad. (Do you feel all informed about my fic-reading experience, now? ;) )