misanthrope_md | for Pamela

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pamela

for Pamela

It was a short walk to House's hut (previously Cameron's hut) as he certainly hadn't been about to park his bike somewhere far away. He'd been right, he wasn't having trouble walking - in fact, being high made it a bit easier since his leg wasn't throbbing like usual. He and Pamela kept up their usual banter on the way, but mostly it was him making blind jokes and innuendos - she didn't seem to mind.

When they got there, he said, "Home sweet home. Here's the tour: bed is five paces straight in front of you."

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"Cute. Love how you're straight to the point," she replies, letting go of his arm and simply standing, trying to get a sense of the room around her. It's not so much the furniture as it is windows and doors, where the sound of neighbors comes from, and the way his voice plays in the air.

"So...home sweet home. Nice. You have company often?"

"Not since Cameron left," said House. "This was her place. I moved in after Jack kicked me out. Well, there's Fucker. You like dogs?" He wasn't here, actually - House had seen him hanging out outside. But he imagined the place had a dog smell.

"They're okay. Liked them better when I could see them coming. Here, none of them have collars that jingle. I wonder when I'm gonna trip on one," she shrugs.

"But I do like men, so I guess liking dogs is a requirement," Pamela adds, grinning wickedly.

"Don't worry, he's pretty tolerable as far as dogs go," House said.

His lips twisted into a smile even though she couldn't see it. "However, I'm not sure I can say the same about me."

It was probably just because he was stoned, but he was suddenly feeling perfectly fine with being forward. He sank onto the bed and put his hands on her waist, pulling her down onto his lap.

She can't say she's really surprised...and she isn't at all hesitant. Draping an arm over his shoulder, Pamela's grin becomes more of a smirk and she tilts her head.

"Yeah...I dunno how tolerable you are," she agrees, teasing. "And I get a feeling you failed obedience school."

"Something like that," House said, and slid his hands onto her ass. She had a great ass. "So is this where you feel my face or something? Because if you tell me I'm older than you thought I'm going to kick you out."

It's a pushy thing and she rarely asks, but since he all but offered, Pamela lifts her hands and cups his jaw. He needs to shave...that's the first thing she notices. Weak chin, thin lips, good cheekbones, strong brow. He fingers and thumbs creep along, feeling every inch as she forms an image of what he must look like in her mind.

Her touch grows lighter, lingering at his lips. Nice voice and soft lips...definitely a plus. Every brush of her fingers against skin and stubble gives her a little charge and she keeps going, moving down his throat with one hand, all the way to his collar.

"How old are you?" she asks as her fingers move beneath his eye. He can't be much older than Bobby, she thinks, and that's a fine age to be.

The whole thing was strangely erotic, though whether that had anything to do with how stoned he was, House had no idea.

Figuring there wasn't any point in lying, he said, "I just turned fifty. So. You like what you see, so to speak?"

"S'not bad," she replies, nodding a little...the movement translating to her whole body so she writhes just a little. She's loose, but not all that high. It's kinda nice.

"Looks don't matter, though. Never really did." If he knew some of the guys she'd gone with, he'd probably feel like a supermodel.

"What does matter?" he asked, and his voice came out a little lower than he'd intended. The way she's moving is extremely appealing, and he drops his head to ghost his lips across her ear.

"It depends," she says, her voice softer, a little gravelly. "Talent, mostly. Passion. Creativity. Not being a dick..."

"I can get out my guitar, if you want," House said, sliding his hands up, underneath her shirt to rest on the bare skin of her lower back.

If there was ever a magic word that got her pants to disappear, that was it. Her breath catches slightly and she chases his touch with her spine.

"Later. I'll totally hold you to that offer."

"You know what's going to really piss you off?" he added, pushing back her hair so that he could press his lips to her neck. "Where we were sitting earlier - my bike was, oh, fifty feet away. But I figured if I offered to show it to you you'd get distracted and we wouldn't be doing this."

"You can show me that later, too," she assures him. The banter and distractions are all well and good, but she didn't come here to get wound up then go play show and tell. Pamela reaches down and pulls her shirt off, letting it fall to the floor.

House suddenly feels like maybe his karma is taking a turn in the right direction. His hands slide up, over her bra, thumbs tracing the curve of her cleavage.

"Nice rack," he says cheerfully, and then kisses her. There's nothing tentative about it - it might be a first kiss but they're already past that.

She'd like to tell him that he'd better think she has a nice rack. She'd like to tell him to hold on for dear life. That it's a damned good thing he's not shy. That she's really fucking missed this kind of thing.

She'd like to tell him, but Pamela's busy getting absolutely lost in the kiss. The way it feels and the taste and scent...let's just say 'dry spell' wasn't a strong enough turn of phrase. She's kissed so few men since she lost her eyes that it's still a little shock to the system.

It's a good kiss, no doubt, House thinks, and she gets extra points for enthusiasm. He slides his hands around to her back so that he's holding her tight against him, and then winds one hand up into her hair. He's already half hard, which he hopes makes her rethink any further erectile dysfunction jokes.

Pamela gasps, a little shocked at how much more she feels. Her skin is alive everywhere he touches and she can't wait to get her jeans off. Holding his face so she can keep her bearings, she tilts her head and kisses him deeply, small mewling moans escpaing...until her glasses his hit nose and she pulls away.

"Shit," she mutters, reaching for them. "Do you mind if I lose them? Don't want to kill the mood, but they're kind of..."

"Nah, I've always found it annoying when a woman wants me to look deep into her eyes during sex anyway," House says before kissing her neck. Her eyes aren't a pretty sight, it's true, but he's not bothered; the only scars he has a hang-up about are his own.

"Such a fuckin' romantic," Pamela replies dryly, not put off by it at all. She simply takes them off and holds them out. "Put them somewhere handy, honey. Can't afford to have them get broken."

House takes them and then leans over to set them carefully on his nightstand.

He turns back and looks at her and says, "This is really the first time since you lost your sight?" He slides his hands up her bare arms. "I guess I have to make it good."

"Yeah," she nods. "You better. Might put me off men altogether if you suck."

Somehow, she really doubts he'll suck. Guys his age had the experience...if they've paid attention at all throughout their lives.

"Well, I am a doctor," House pointed out, as if that meant anything. "I've got warm hands." And he unhooked her bra with barely a twist of his fingers.

Warm hands, cold heart...She's not sure why that pops into her head but is grateful it leaves just as quickly. She lets go of him long enough to shrug out of the strap and let her bra fall, too. She has a pair of doves tattooed on her chest, one on each breast.

Licking her lips, she trails her fingers over his skin lightly, noting the muscle and bone. He's definitely not bad, but she can't help but miss the fact that she can't see him.

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