misanthrope_md

As if it wasn't bad enough that his leg hurt like a bitch, he was out of drugs, and pretty much hated his life, House also hadn't had sex since before he'd detoxed. Sure, he'd moved back in with Cameron, and sure, they were sharing a bed, but there had been no bed-appropriate activities (besides sleeping) - not even during the three days of temporary insanity in which she'd rebuffed his attempts to coax her into deep, meaningful love-making.

True, aside from those three days, House hadn't made so much as a move. But she was the one who'd kicked him out, and he was pretty sure that a big part of her was still pissed off at him. And frankly, he thought that if he came onto her she might kick him out. Which would be a very bad thing considering he had no idea what he'd do if he ended up homeless right now. He couldn't go back to Phedre's, she'd done enough. And... oh, yup, that pretty much exhausted his friend base.

... plus he wouldn't give Jack the satisfaction of getting his dog back if House ended up on the streets, so to speak.

So here he was, still in pain, extremely horny, and as he lay in bed with Cameron next to him reading a book, he was pretty sure he could see the outline of her nipples through her shirt.

House wanted to prescribe the increase in the pain in his leg to a lot of things - the increased distance from Cameron's hut to the Compound, the missing endorphins that he'd been used to getting from regular sex, hell, even just any of the random physiological reasons. He didn't want to admit that it could be even partially psychosomatic... because in the end did it even matter? Whatever the cause, it still fucking hurt. Wasn't as if he could do an MRI, or even self-medicate. Honestly? The first thing he'd do if he decided it was psychological would be to hunt down some drugs. Because there's nothing like treating fake pain with fake pleasure.

In any case, right now he had no answers and no drugs and he'd just woken from another fucking dream about Jack. He couldn't even remember what the dream was about, he just woke up with his heart pounding, equal parts infuriated and aroused, with the image of Jack's face prominent in his mind.

That combined with the blinding pain in his leg was enough to make him sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and breathing heavily. He looked over his shoulder at Cameron. She was curled up on the other side of the bed, so close to the edge. It was still surreal to be sharing a bed with her, even if they hardly touched.

He turned back, dropping his head. Trying to think happy thoughts. Anything but pain or sex or Jack.

House still couldn't believe that he'd agreed to move in with Cameron. It was probably just temporary, but... still. This couldn't possibly be a good idea. But it wasn't as if he had many options.

Apparently Jack had heard through the grapevine about the move, because Cameron informed him that his bed and bag of shit had just magically appeared in her hut that morning. House had to hand it to Jack - that was taking nonconfrontational to a whole new level. But honestly, it was fine with him. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to Jack yet anyway. Everything was just too... raw.

So House gathered up the rest of his stuff - which mostly meant the clothes on his back and a couple of books - and schlepped it all to Cameron's hut. He'd also managed to score a set of fresh sheets out of the clothes box. Even though he'd had to threaten it a few times.

He stopped at the door of her hut, hesitating.

Then finally he yelled, "HONEY, I'M HOME."

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for Cameron

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for Cameron

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October 2012

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