This was written for the hcsmutathon at Live Journal. All notes for this story, can be found on my LJ (see profile for link). Many thanks to my two betas for all their help. If you are a fan of "Tragic," please excuse my long hiatus. This has been first foray into writing in months. I will pick it up again -- hopefully sooner then later.

Letting the Colors Lead You

You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby

I know you can, I've seen you do it

And it brings up the wind

And it rises around you in pillars of color

S.Nicks

You see purple. Not red fury, green of envy, but flashes of white lights piercing your gut like bolts of lightening, emptying your frame out and filling it with blackness. You see purple everywhere you go. The purple makes you feel strange, jittery, and higher then normal, senses more aware; you are left aching, wanting and desiring more of what the purple gives you. Doing nothing is no longer an option. You didn't expect it to be like this. You thought you wouldn't care; you thought your visions and dreams would be different. You are learning how wrong you can be about things you don't know about.

xoxoxo

Certain things have become imprinted on your body and on your brain. The smell of her skin as her mouth closed in on yours; she was sweet, clean and fresh. Too clean for you, you thought. The taste of her mouth, a flavor that you cannot put words to, but if given a name would only belong to one Allison Cameron; her taste lingered for too little time in your mouth. At first you thought you would be grateful that it was swept away quickly by other flavors, but then you felt that your mouth was missing something utterly important. The memory of her hot tongue, so tempting, so divine -- the shock of her mouth on yours, encouraged you to dive in first, your tongue twisting with hers. As she approached you, time slowed, her eyes glued to yours, her hands softly tracing your face feeling every curve, angle, wrinkle, reading you. Her fingers twined into your hair, wrapped around your neck and scaled your arms. These are moments that have been burnt into you, making the cells of your skin feel like they are standing up on their edges and bowing down to her in worship, if that were possible.

Your brain has been playing tricks on you, scrolling that scene out in your head over and over again, sending shocks to all your nerves, putting you into a constant dream state, a broken record that refuses to be fixed, that continues to haunt you. The memories leave you breathless and yearning and confused. All you can do is touch your mouth with your hand, fingers applying pressure where absent lips would hopefully crush yours. Your body is hot and aching, and you reach out to nothing. And even though you are encouraged to make small steps, you realize they are too small.

The dynamics of your conference room have shifted. You sense it in the air. You smell sex better then a hound dog can sniff out hidden drugs. The unanimous "NO!" to your "Did you two shower together?" thrown in with your perfected-Housian snark was able to mask your disappointment enough, and throw the balance of the room off kilter in their denials. You try not to recall this memory or your knowledge of it occurring prior to her kissing you. In some ways, you wish she never had. You didn't need added memories, or the knowledge. You never forget anything.

Because now, you know. You see their casual looks and glances; wonder if their lunches out are really "lunches in". You find them in the janitor's closet, Chase without his shirt, Cameron with her purplish-sweater tugged in all directions, the skin of her torso gleaming at you. You are smug enough to pretend you don't care. But the question is, how well can you lie to yourself?

You see purple. Purple in her eyes, in her clothes, all various shades. Making her glow and appear regal and beautiful. You watch her quietly from the office, she seems still as the world moves around her. All the light in the room is drawn to her; all that is beautiful is her. You try to understand what she has done, try to reconcile her actions, but you can't. She told you once that not everything is simple, and you have to believe that is the case here. You don't understand her actions with Chase, because it seems too simple for her… he seems too simple for her, and that in itself seems unlike her.

You can't help but watch her and her quiet unassuming ways. Her beauty consumes everything in the room, and suffocates you. You don't know how much longer you can live like this.

xoxoxo

Cuddy is forcing you to go, you've been resisting. She's insisting that you need to get out, that it would be good for you. You think otherwise. You know that your couch, TIVO, leftover Chinese, new bottle of Maker's Mark and a few Vicodin are really how you prefer to spend your evening.

A new lounge has opened up in Princeton. They're trying to cater to a certain clientele and are having an open house. They have sent invitations to every doctor, lawyer and businessperson in the area. A pharmaceutical company is in fact a sponsor of the event. The thought of this actually makes you laugh. You had no intention of going, except Wilson interceded and RSVP'd for you. You still have no intention of going, until you see Cuddy standing in your office smiling, wearing a slinky black lace cocktail dress and clutching hangers bearing clothes that look remarkably like they came from your closet. You eye her up cautiously while planning your attack; she quietly approaches your desk holding up the wardrobe as if it is armor that will protect her from your words. She should know better then that now.

She looks so optimistic and genuine with her smile, you let her off easy. "Wow, those look a lot like clothes I own."

"I took the liberty…" she begins.

"You shouldn't have…" you respond, leaning back in your chair.

"I thought you would want to wear something nice tonight, you know, to bring out the color in your eyes for all the ladies." She smiles evilly at you.

"Uh-mmm," you respond. "Cuddy, I told you, I'm not going."

"House," her shoulders drop, "Look, I went through all the trouble of breaking into Wilson's office to steal your spare key, to break into your house to rifle through your messy closet to bring you some nice things to wear tonight."

"You broke into my home?"

"Let's call it even."

You shrug. You eye up the black blazer, dark slacks and purple shirt. When did you get a purple shirt? "Where's the shirt from?"

"I couldn't find an unwrinkled one," Cuddy holds it out to you, glancing down at it, "What do you think? Purple? I thought it might be a neat kind of night-clubby shirt?" (She's doing Wilson's jazz hands, while still grasping the hangers; you think they've been spending too much time together.)

Unconsciously, you know you're making faces. "I'm not really a night-club kind of guy. You know, the whole dancing thing," you shrug, handling your cane, "Plus loud music. Oh, and people! Then there is talking to people…." You shrug.

You see Cuddy starting to get exasperated with you. A dark purple flutter catches your eye. Cameron. There are words coming from Cuddy's mouth, but you have no idea what she's saying, all you can focus on is Cameron in her dress. Purplish-black silk gathered at her tiny waist, deep v-neck halter, the hem of the dress ruffled up the front, slit high, all gathered in the middle. Long expanses of skin showing you more of her then you've ever seen.

You focus your eyes temporarily back on Cuddy. "Do I have to wear shoes?"

She smiles and hands you the hangers.

xoxoxo

You were a bastard today. You knew the event was going on. You knew everyone was going. You had a case that was winding up, the patient was stable, mystery solved. But, you had to be a bastard. You had to lie. You wouldn't give anyone time to go home and get ready for the party. You told them the day before not to expect any "leave early" perks, even though you're usually the king of "when-the-hell-can-I-get-out-of-here?"

Yesterday, Chase looked at you with disbelief as you fed your three underlings a line about how you weren't feeling secure about the patient's diagnosis and stability, that you thought she might not be cured and that tomorrow night might be a problem. Foreman leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh and Cameron started to argue with you.

"But our tests confirm our diagnosis?" she began to stutter to you.

"Tests can lie."

"House," she responded seriously, "Since when do you ever feel insecure about a diagnosis?"

"Since right now." You turned for your office dismissing her. "You guys want to go the party tomorrow, fine. But you'll have to get ready here; there will be no going home. And one of you be prepared to draw a straw on staying here if our little-Miss-homemaker becomes unstable."

Of course, someone went crying to Wilson, who tried to pry you for answers, reason with you regarding your madness and find out the real motives for your actions. He hit a few buttons, and he knew it, but you had placed a steel mask on and allowed no emotions to pass through. He knew it, and knew he was getting nowhere with you. He left quietly. You both have an unspoken friendship in many ways; he knows you've been bothered and intrigued again by Cameron's actions and behaviors. He hasn't prodded you much about her either, knowing that you are mulling many things over in your mind, including your forthcoming actions. For once, he is silent, and you are grateful.

The patient hasn't relapsed today. You almost wish she had. You wanted to force Cameron to stay. But after her dark purple satin whirl through the conference room, now you wish Chase wasn't going. You watch Cameron through the blinds; unfamiliar curls falling softly on her shoulders. She sits at her desk, the lamplight aglow on her, and quickly applies makeup. A shadow falls on her, and your stomach turns as you watch Chase lean down and place a kiss on her collarbone. You could swear that she stiffened when he touched her. You quickly pull the blinds closed and start to change. Cuddy and Wilson are waiting for you.

xoxoxo

The lounge has a lame name that you soon forget. Everything is white and black and bathed in lights of purple and blue. They're trying for a celebrity hot spot, where all the pretty people are, but this is Princeton, and these are real working people, who work real hours, who eat real food, and don't look necessarily as hot in ridiculously expensive suits, dresses and high heels. Regardless, you do note there are attractive women, supposedly all singles and professionals, but this is certainly not your scene. The music isn't as loud as you thought it would be, and you're pleased to find there is food.

You find a table with Wilson and Cuddy, and give your drink order to the ludicrously young waitress. You're happy to find out they serve top-shelf liquor. You see some familiar faces and wonder if the club sent someone to the hospital to handpick out whom they were inviting; you and Wilson whisper about this over a drink, while Cuddy's at the ladies' room. The two of you agree there aren't too many unfuckables. Then you laugh to yourself and wonder if Cuddy is working on narrowing down her gene pool category.

Your three fellows are floating around. Foreman is at the bar, when you see Chase and Cameron on the dance floor bathed in purple light. Her skin milky and violet, hair in dark coiled curls, all legs and deep cleavage. You've never thought of Cameron as "bodacious," but the cut of her dress is sexy and revealing, you want to hold her shoulder against the wall and run your tongue along the skin of that deep-V.

You know there is music, you know Wilson and Cuddy are talking, but you hear nothing, just the beating of your own heart, the blood rushing around your body – to your brain and to your groin. All you see is Cameron; the world is frozen on her right now, purple light highlighting her. People are dancing around her, but she seems to stand still, consuming all their energy until the crowd appears to be moving slower and slower. You watch the slight sheen of sweat across her brow and neck, the ecstasy and smile across her mouth, intensity in her eyes.

She glances up and catches your stare. She doesn't break it. She doesn't look at her dancing partner, but keeps watching you, glowing embers in her irises. She burns you. You are locked into each other. Her body keeps moving to the beat, her eyes never leave you.

Suddenly, you see Chase grabbing her by the arm and dragging her away -- your intensity broken. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, but your lungs burn. You realize all your air has been taken away. Cameron.

You quickly excuse yourself to your confused companions and follow the path of the fire you need. You find them around the corner, an area with settees and lounges, more private and intimate. Cameron has her back to the wall; Chase is leaning up against her whispering in her ear, his hand at her waist, his mouth moving down her neck and up to her mouth. She is still; her arms at her side, unmoving, unaffected by his gestures – so you tell yourself, as your eyes are flooded with colors – red of rage, green of envy, and purple. The purple of her dress, the dress only you should touch, that only you should feel under your fingertips and against your forearm. Your organs have rearranged themselves in your body, you want to vomit, you can't stand to watch him hover over her, memories of her hands on your face, in your hair, around your neck and collar, down your arms deluge your brain. You want to scream at Chase, Chase whom you do not hate, "Don't touch her!" But for once your tongue holds back. And then Cameron's eyes move and catch yours and she is your beacon.

You clear your throat. "Cameron." You speak up. And loudly. You hold out your hand.

Chase is surprised to see you. You've interrupted him, exactly what you wanted to do. "House?" He sighs. He puts his head down, a mixture of shame, embarrassment and something you can't put a word to.

You are still holding out your hand. You lower your head a bit, you swallow hard, your Adam's apple bulging, and you meet Cameron's eyes again.

She steps away from Chase and toward you, her eyes never unlocking from yours. She glances quickly at your hand and puts her tiny one in yours; it seems to fit just right. You turn to leave, Cameron following close behind.

"You've got to be kidding me," you hear Chase say. "Cameron! Cameron! This is what you wanted!"

You feel her stop beside you, her hand gripping your fingers tightly. She turns and looks at him, "I'm sorry Chase. Not anymore."

xoxoxo

You only make it as far as the alley around the corner. You put your black blazer around her shoulders before you push her against the brick of the building and crush your mouth against hers.

"Tell me, Cameron," you mutter against her throat, "is this a game to you?"

"Not at all." She's panting; her hands intertwined in your hair.

"Then why Chase?" you say almost impatiently, your fingers tracing the skin along the inside of her thighs. "Was it to goad me?"

"No," she moans hotly in your ear, nipping your earlobe and licking it lasciviously with her tongue.

"Then what?" You take her hands and hold them against the wall; she looks at your breathlessly. You want her, you want her badly, but you are wondering at what cost.

"I've wanted you," she begins, her eyes locking into yours, something chemical occurring between you, "for a long time… but, you, you never have. You've never wanted me back." Her look is vulnerable and honest, and you look away.

"Chase was for fun, and that's it." She breathes, wiggles away from your loosened grip, and lifts your face with her hands. "But the way you looked at me tonight, changed everything."

You know she's right. It was written all over your face and in your eyes. And you couldn't hide it anymore. But you're scared, and worried, and vulnerable… and you're not sure if you can share that. She pulls you out of your mind back into time – the cool air, the brick wall, and the alley – more vulnerability.

"We should get out of here," you whisper to her, but mostly to her neck as you lean into her, drawn to her body and warmth like a ship to its guiding light.

"Should we?" she raises an eyebrow, pulling you to her mouth by your collar.

"Yes, yes, we should," as you attempt to straighten up from your engorging erection, and your desire-weakened state.

xoxoxo

The door barely slams behind you, and your blazer, which Cuddy had so thoughtfully chosen for you, is quickly discarded off Cameron's bare shoulders to your dusty wood floors. Your brain is having a hard time deciding on whether to put your mouth on Cameron's lips or her hot flesh; you go between both. You are alive. You find yourself moving in ways you haven't wanted to move in too long, not even with Stacy. Your fingers are nimble, feeling their way along her tiny shoulders, down her arms, along her back to her small waist, cupping her ass through silk in your hands; she is moaning hotly into your mouth.

Cameron's scent is warm and arousing, you just want to lay her across the table and feast yourself. You find your mind is thinking of her in possessive ways as you quickly discover new tastes and touches of her, moments and thoughts flashing by so quickly, you wanting to bury yourself in her hair, in between her breasts, her arms, her thighs.

Cameron is fast as well, her hands pulling at your purple shirt, yanking it out of your waistband. Her hand running flat along the front of your slacks, finding your cock and grasping it gently, applying the right kind of pressure and making you stop for a second to breathe and moan. Cameron laughs, and leans in to lick and nuzzle your neck, her free hand unbuttoning your shirt. You can't move, you yearn for your bed.

"Bedroom?" you gasp out.

"No," she shakes her head mischievously.

She leads you to your piano bench, seats you and kneels in front of you. You pull her toward you, kissing her fiercely, cupping her breast. She takes your hand and places it inside her dress, your fingers toying with her hard nipple, your lips dying to suckle it. Her hands massage your cock through your pants, as you lean forward to place your tongue along the flesh of the deep-V of her dress… the place you so desired before to be. She lifts her arms and unclasps the back of her dress, it pools at her waist, her breasts free to you. You take them, one at a time, at first gently, in your mouth, licking and teasing each nipple, and then with the hunger you've been craving. Cameron closes her eyes and sighs, her arms around your shoulders caressing your neck.

She pulls away and stands high in her heels. Her hands reach under her dress and pull down black lacy undergarments, tangled at her ankles she steps out of them. All you can see is the glistening wetness in the panties. You pull her toward you, your hands climbing up her bare legs; she's looking down at you, her eyes serious and lusty. Your fingers slide between her wet, hot folds; she closes her eyes, bites her lip in a moan. Your free hand lifts purple silk, pushing it away from her dark curls, and your mouth leans in to taste her. Gingerly, your tongue swipes at her pink, glistening nub, your fingers slide into her, and she gasps, gripping your body tightly. Her body involuntarily thrusts forward and she grasps at your shoulders and head; you're holding her smooth ass and thighs, reveling in her taste and smell, purple in your eyes, everything about Cameron overtaking you.

It's not enough. You want more. Over and over and over again. It's a drug, she's a drug. Another drug. You're too quickly finding she's an addiction. She gave you a taste, and it wouldn't leave you, you couldn't get rid of it – of her. And now you know you won't be able to.

You pull away, quickly unfastening your pants, Cameron trying to help you. She's murmuring in your ear that she wants you, and you couldn't agree more with her sentiments. As quickly as you have your pants around your ankles, Cameron has somehow surfaced with her handbag and produced a condom. Her deft hands are applying it and you try not to think it was not originally intended for you. She looks at you, placing your hand on her bare breast and says, "Stop thinking."

You almost manage a smile.

She lifts her dress and straddles your lap, lowering herself slowly on your cock; you guide her hips. You can't think of a way you don't want her right now, sideways, backwards, behind, across the piano; but right now, you're grateful to be watching her, to see her face glisten, her eyes on you, then closing as you two find a rhythm and she starts losing herself. You enjoy watching her face twist and contort in ecstasy and pleasure, her mouth moaning and sighing. You are holding on so tight, every moment a treasure. She feels amazing, her tight wet pussy sliding up and down your cock; you press your face against her bare chest, licking and nipping at breasts laced with salt and sweetness.

She lowers her mouth to trail kisses from your collarbone to ear that makes you shiver. "This isn't a game," she whispers.

You pull back and look at her, pumping up harder into her, making her eyes close and her mouth gasp. "I know."

fin

xoxoxo