My first fic
Jan. 10th, 2007 10:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brokentoyTitle: Behind closed eyes
Author:brokentoy85
Rating: R (mature content)
Character pairing: House/Cameron [angsty]
Summary: She's dying. He's killing her.
Spoilers: none.
POV: second person, Cameron's POV.
Disclaimer: not mine. wish they were [at least house's ipod -.-]
Author's note: ok, this is my first fic, so, please be gentle. i'm italian, so my english is not that good. this is not been beta'd, so, forgive the mistakes. please, feed me :D
Author:
brokentoy85Rating: R (mature content)
Character pairing: House/Cameron [angsty]
Summary: She's dying. He's killing her.
Spoilers: none.
POV: second person, Cameron's POV.
Disclaimer: not mine. wish they were [at least house's ipod -.-]
Author's note: ok, this is my first fic, so, please be gentle. i'm italian, so my english is not that good. this is not been beta'd, so, forgive the mistakes. please, feed me :D
Later, when you'll be forcing yourself to go back to sleep, you'll try not to think about it. You'll try not to let yourself be crashed. You'll try not to rip your heart out your chest.
Because from the moment you opened your door to find him standing, not really waiting, with an almost completely empty bottle of scotch in his hands, you knew that this would never be good.
You let him in, and you're not surprised to meet his silence. He doesn't say a word, and, frankly, you don't expect him to. He just stares at you like he always does.
Later, you'll think that maybe, just maybe, you saw it coming. And this simple notion will stab the 'I didn't have a choice' that roamed inside your brain to a slow and painful death. 'Cause maybe, just maybe, you did have a choice.
When he kisses you is nothing like you planned it would be. But is exactly how you imagined it.
He kisses you and you think you're lost, and you force yourself not to enjoy the strong taste of liquor and cigars on his tongue.
You force yourself not lean into his body.
You force yourself not to admit that this is what you wanted, no matter how you got it.
You let yourself be pushed through your bedroom, and you're surprised to find the room even more silent than he is. Because he doesn't talk. And you don't, either.
You try to induce yourself to believe that he needs you. You know pretty well he doesn't.
He doesn't need. He takes.
Later, you won't even remember the exact moment you took his clothes off. Or the moment he rips yours apart, for that matter.
He's on top of you, and his demanding.
You think that the way he's devouring you is his own twisted way to tell you how bad he wants you.
But then again, no. It's just his way to do things. He's not gentle. He's never been.
He's rough and strong and cruel, and you feel your body cry, ache and being constantly hurt by his hands, his teeth, his nails. He scratches you, rips your flesh. You try not to listen to you heart breaking, even though you're pretty sure he does. And he's enjoying the sound.
You don't look at him. He's on top of you, ready to be inside of you, and you refuse to open your eyes.
You know he's looking at you, and maybe this way you can pretend that the look on his face is a loving one, even though you know that could never be. It's a look of curiousity. He's curious about you. He's trying to understand you.
He's trying to understand why you're letting him kill you.
And you don't want to give him any answer. Not yet. Not now. Because you know that curiousity only will bring him back to you again. And you try not to hope too much that he will, sometime.
You feel him smirk, rather than hear him.
You know that behind his drunk façade he's perfectly aware of everything.
He doesn't stop, nor does he give you the time to adjust yourself to him.
He begins to move, and you begin to slip away. You know that you're nearing the breaking point. You know he knows too.
He kisses you again, and it's a gentler touch. You don't trust it. You know it is his way to get you to open your eyes and let yourself be seen.
You refuse to give him that.
He groans. You moan. 'Cause despite your best intentions that's the most beautiful sound you ever heard.
You bite him. Dig your teeth into his neck. You mark his shoulders with your nails. You try to hurt him, but you know you can't.
He's still looking at you.
You're eyes are still closed.
You feel yourself begin to clench. And this time is for pure pleasure.
You hate yourself for enjoying this. For enjoying the way he's slowly stabbing you to death.
He talks.
-Open your eyes.
It's not a gentle request. He's not a gentle person.
You don't.
He growls. You know he's getting angry from the new rhytm he settles yourselves into. He's angry because you're not giving him what he wants. He's angry because you're denying him his answer.
-Open.
You still don't.
He starts to thrust and pound even harder. He's close to the point where it'll hurt you more than pleasure you.
You know you're beginning to die. You know that you're both reaching the end of it.
He kisses you.
And in between, he talks again.
It's not a command this time. It's a statement.
-Mine.
And that's your undoing.
You can't hold back.
You open your eyes.
And you find him smirking down at you.
He can see it all.
//Why do you let me do this to you//
He's got his answer.
And that's the moment you die.
He bends down. His mouth brushes your ear. You barely notice, 'cause you're falling from whatever place he took you to.
You're falling, and dying.
He whispers.
-That's my girl.
And follows.
***
Next thing you know, you' re alone, in the dark. Eyes shut. And you tell yourself that you knew it all along.
He won't be back.
He's got his answer now.
Because from the moment you opened your door to find him standing, not really waiting, with an almost completely empty bottle of scotch in his hands, you knew that this would never be good.
You let him in, and you're not surprised to meet his silence. He doesn't say a word, and, frankly, you don't expect him to. He just stares at you like he always does.
Later, you'll think that maybe, just maybe, you saw it coming. And this simple notion will stab the 'I didn't have a choice' that roamed inside your brain to a slow and painful death. 'Cause maybe, just maybe, you did have a choice.
When he kisses you is nothing like you planned it would be. But is exactly how you imagined it.
He kisses you and you think you're lost, and you force yourself not to enjoy the strong taste of liquor and cigars on his tongue.
You force yourself not lean into his body.
You force yourself not to admit that this is what you wanted, no matter how you got it.
You let yourself be pushed through your bedroom, and you're surprised to find the room even more silent than he is. Because he doesn't talk. And you don't, either.
You try to induce yourself to believe that he needs you. You know pretty well he doesn't.
He doesn't need. He takes.
Later, you won't even remember the exact moment you took his clothes off. Or the moment he rips yours apart, for that matter.
He's on top of you, and his demanding.
You think that the way he's devouring you is his own twisted way to tell you how bad he wants you.
But then again, no. It's just his way to do things. He's not gentle. He's never been.
He's rough and strong and cruel, and you feel your body cry, ache and being constantly hurt by his hands, his teeth, his nails. He scratches you, rips your flesh. You try not to listen to you heart breaking, even though you're pretty sure he does. And he's enjoying the sound.
You don't look at him. He's on top of you, ready to be inside of you, and you refuse to open your eyes.
You know he's looking at you, and maybe this way you can pretend that the look on his face is a loving one, even though you know that could never be. It's a look of curiousity. He's curious about you. He's trying to understand you.
He's trying to understand why you're letting him kill you.
And you don't want to give him any answer. Not yet. Not now. Because you know that curiousity only will bring him back to you again. And you try not to hope too much that he will, sometime.
You feel him smirk, rather than hear him.
You know that behind his drunk façade he's perfectly aware of everything.
He doesn't stop, nor does he give you the time to adjust yourself to him.
He begins to move, and you begin to slip away. You know that you're nearing the breaking point. You know he knows too.
He kisses you again, and it's a gentler touch. You don't trust it. You know it is his way to get you to open your eyes and let yourself be seen.
You refuse to give him that.
He groans. You moan. 'Cause despite your best intentions that's the most beautiful sound you ever heard.
You bite him. Dig your teeth into his neck. You mark his shoulders with your nails. You try to hurt him, but you know you can't.
He's still looking at you.
You're eyes are still closed.
You feel yourself begin to clench. And this time is for pure pleasure.
You hate yourself for enjoying this. For enjoying the way he's slowly stabbing you to death.
He talks.
-Open your eyes.
It's not a gentle request. He's not a gentle person.
You don't.
He growls. You know he's getting angry from the new rhytm he settles yourselves into. He's angry because you're not giving him what he wants. He's angry because you're denying him his answer.
-Open.
You still don't.
He starts to thrust and pound even harder. He's close to the point where it'll hurt you more than pleasure you.
You know you're beginning to die. You know that you're both reaching the end of it.
He kisses you.
And in between, he talks again.
It's not a command this time. It's a statement.
-Mine.
And that's your undoing.
You can't hold back.
You open your eyes.
And you find him smirking down at you.
He can see it all.
//Why do you let me do this to you//
He's got his answer.
And that's the moment you die.
He bends down. His mouth brushes your ear. You barely notice, 'cause you're falling from whatever place he took you to.
You're falling, and dying.
He whispers.
-That's my girl.
And follows.
***
Next thing you know, you' re alone, in the dark. Eyes shut. And you tell yourself that you knew it all along.
He won't be back.
He's got his answer now.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 02:22 pm (UTC)i'm really glad you liked it ^^
i tried to keep them in character as much as possible, so, you really make me happy saying i succeded ^^
tnx again ^^
no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 05:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 10:30 pm (UTC)Wow, pretty intense, but heartbreakingly sad and hopeless.
Beautiful nonetheless.
**goes to read some fluff to cure the heart**
no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 08:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 11:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-10 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-12 09:41 am (UTC)