The Spotted Kitten
House follows Cameron to some place interesting.
For Anamin who gave me the prompt of House/Cameron & Kittens.
"The Spotted Kitten?"
Cameron swung around to see House limping up a few paces behind her. The noise level had prevented her from hearing his bike pull up. She hadn't wanted anyone to follow her, so she had headed out directly after wrapping up their latest case.
"Is it a place for women wanting to explore the "other side" of their sexuality?" The face House made indicated that was nothing more than exactly what he wanted it to be.
"No House. Go home and leave me alone."
"An underground kitten fighting ring? I may have a twenty still," House said reaching for his wallet.
She was trying her hardest to contain her blush, but knew she was failing spectacularly.
"No House, it's not that either. Why did you follow me?"
"If it's making you blush, it must be something very naughty at The Spotted Kitten," House said as he hobbled up the few steps, and opened the door for her.
Cameron wondered what ever happened to spontaneous bolts of lightening striking people down.
The Spotted Kitten was hidden in an industrial complex. The blue door gave away nothing of what was on the inside. And if you had never heard of it, you wouldn't have any idea of the contents.
However, if you were a woman, or presumably a man as well, and in need of certain products of a discreet nature. The Spotted Kitten was a place for high quality products, no nonsense answers, and discreet transactions.
House was blinking and staring around. Kid in a candy shop would have been an apt description, or man in a sex toy shop was another. Before one sarcastic thing could cross his lips though, the clerk waved to her.
"Ah, Miss Ali," the woman said in her thick Russian accent, "your package is over here. Is this who it is for? Has he been a very naughty boy?" Commented the woman who was at least old enough to be her mother while giving House an indulgent smile.
"I've been a very bad boy," House said walking up to the counter and winking at the clerk while casting a weary eye at the purple leather riding crop sitting on the counter.