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Wilson really shouldn’t be surprised as he is when he finds himself running tests for other people’s patients alongside House; a task he hates.
House had decided to pull another prank, mostly on Wilson, but it ended up running deeper than that. Apparently, Cuddy hadn’t liked it when House left dirty notes all around the hospital for Wilson to find and blush at, waiting in the shadows to see his reaction. Cuddy, the smart woman she is, had caught sight of House and his notes right at the crime scene. Specifically, in her office, where House had known Wilson was going to be for a meeting later that day. Unfortunately, Cuddy had gotten to her office first.
So really, Wilson shouldn’t be surprised. It was Cuddy’s own office; of course she’d find the notes first. She’s always in her office having meetings and doing paperwork. He’s really just surprised she had gotten so mad over it. Jealousy, was Wilson’s first thought. But really, who would be jealous of House or anything about him when he gets his partners into situations like this, running tests Wilson isn’t really sure how to do/hasn’t done since med school; nearly ten years ago. After hours, too!
Wilson doesn’t say a single word to House as he pulls on latex gloves, biting his bottom lip. He’s angry; he just wants to go home. It’s been a long day, too, considering he hadn’t even had lunch, too busy 1. In meetings and 2. scrambling around to look for those stupid little sticky-notes House had left everywhere, making sure nobody else saw them. Mission failed.
House, being the needy, insufferable man-shaped toddler he is, doesn’t take the hint, striding (or really, limping) over to Wilson after an unusually long amount of silence, clapping him on the shoulders. Wilson jumps, briefly tensing before turning around to face House. “Stop it. We’re around a bunch of dangerous chemicals. I’m not dealing with you right now,” he says, crossing his arms, brows furrowed.
House scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Why are you in such a bad mood? It’s one late-night shift. You’ll get over it,” he says, smiling. Wilson frowns. Why is House taking this so lightly? Knowing House, he’d likely be moping around if forced to do this.
Why isn’t he?
“Why aren’t you complaining about this like I am? Have you taken a liking to chemistry? I won’t complain as long as it gets you away from me for more than five minutes,” Wilson grumbles, turning back to the various bottles and test tubes to try and figure out what to start on for the night. No use sitting around doing nothing.
In the containers are mostly what looks to be blood and urine, but theres one lone vile- or, really, bottle, that’s unlabeled; open. Wilson raises an eyebrow, stepping forwards. “What’s that?” Wilson asks, leaning down. “Wait, don’t—” House says, but by the time he’s spoken, Wilson’s already sniffed it. “Fruity,” he comments thoughtfully with a shrug, and then feels an almost immediate rush of heat.
Wilson clutches the table as his legs almost buckle on him, rattling the glass containers on it. His gut is filled with warmth, need, his head swimming. He feels a wetness in his boxers— he’s dripping.
“House,” Wilson manages out, lightheaded and slightly disoriented as he turns to face him, bracing himself on the table. House is grinning; it’s only a slightly guilty smile, and Wilson wants to punch it off of him. “What the fuck was in that bottle?” he hisses.
House steps closer, but Wilson doesn’t move away. “Why, what’s wrong?” At this point, Wilson’s only kept up by the table he’s weakly still grabbing onto from behind, grip slipping. House stabalizes him by the hair, shoving him to his knees with an oof. Wilson looks up at House with his cheeks flushed pink, face soft and pathetic. House smirks at the sight and runs his hand through Wilson’s hair, taunting him, continuing. “Go on, tell me.”
Wilson grits his teeth. Of course House would do this, absolutely humiliate Wilson after a day of humiliation. “You know what I’m feeling. You put that bottle there. You did this to me on purpose,” Wilson accuses, intending to sound biting, but he just sounds weak. Pathetic; which is exactly how he looks. To be fair, he can hardly focus on anything House is saying, considering his cunt is the main thing on his mind. It’s a consistent, wet ache, that makes him shuffle his hips against his ankles. It’s utterly humiliating, being in his forties and grinding against his own ankle like a sixteen year-old, single virgin.
House, of course, noticies this, and his smirk widens. “Might need to tell me if you want any help with that little problem of yours, Jimmy,” he remarks, foot tapping patiently as he leans against his cane. He’s waiting for Wilson to submit, and knowing House, Wilson knows he won’t do anything until he gives him permission. Tells him what he’s feeling.
“It…” Wilson swallows, cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as he tries to find a word that doesn’t sound as lewd as “ache”. “hurts,” he chooses, glaring up at House.
House kicks the foot that was previously tapping against the floor into the crevice between Wilson’s thighs, making him gasp. His hips twitch ever so slightly. “Elaborate.”
Wilson grinds his teeth together, trying not to snap at House. Despite everything, he wants this. He wants this so bad, because House is sexier than he thought he’d be when standing above him like this. Even if his head is spinning and he can hardly see straight. “I’m… wet,” he admits through grit teeth.
House chuckles. “Are you now?” he asks, feigning shock as he cocks his head. Before Wilson can finally yell at him, House is unzipping his fly, and Wilson is transfixed by the motion, licking his lips.
He hasn’t sucked cock in a while; likely, again, since med school, when he had been messing around with his sexuality. Still, he’s eager for it, immediately wrapping his lips around the head of House’s thick cock once it’s pressed against his lips. House groans, and Wilson wraps his hand around the base and swipes his tongue over the leaky tip. By the way House’s grip tightens in his hair, tugging to encourage him deeper, he thinks he’s doing alright.
The taste of House’s cock is a mixture of salt and sweat, likely from the effort of running around all day to place tauntingly dirty sticky-notes everywhere Wilson went. It’s not a particularly bad taste, just… different from the pussy he usually eats.
So when House tugs on his hair again, more insistent this time, Wilson obeys, sucking deeper until he’s gagging and met his fist. Still, he’s not at the base, but he isn’t convinced he can take anymore.
House thinks otherwise.
“Why did you stop? Keep going,” House demands, cocking his head, brows furrowing. Wilson’s hips twitch at the authoritative tone. He shouldn’t be this turned-on, considering all he has to get off his a shoe. But regardless, he’s soaked, so he obeys.
Swallowing his fear, Wilson slowly, carefully swallows down more of House’s cock, trying not to hurl his lunch up as he does so, until he reaches the base. Slowly, he looks back up at House, his sad, brown, puppy-dog eyes tearing up at the corners. House just smiles. “You’re doing so good now,” he mumbles, resuming his gentle strokes of Wilson’s hair. Wilson would smile, too, if his mouth wasn’t restricted of its movement by cock. So, instead, he closes his eyes again, putting all of his focus into sucking House’s cock and not doing terrible at it. Thankfully, House seems to like it because his hips start bucking (despite his leg!) slowly into Wilson’s mouth. “Yeah… that’s it, Jimmy. Just like that.”
The praise makes Wilson whimper around House’s cock, which throbs at the vibrations. At this point, Wilson feels like he’s going to soak through his boxers if he doesn’t get friction soon, and does the most pathetic thing he thinks he’s ever done.
He grinds on House’s shoe.
The friction… could be better, to say the least, but at least it’s something, since House can’t touch him in this position. Responsively, House slowly moves his foot with the rhythm of Wilson’s grinding, and it makes the friction so much better that he whines around House’s cock. House inhales sharply, grip tightening once again on Wilson’s hair. But he doesn’t pull.
“I’m close, Wilson,” he says, voice hoarse. When they lock eyes, Wilson’s pathetic and teary, House’s are the exact same. Wilson hums in agreement, probably something like “Me too”. House holds back his orgasm, purely for the purpose of laughing hoarsely at Wilson. “A-Already? Grinding on my foot for a minute got you close?” he taunts, but there’s not a hint of malice behind his words. Wilson whines, and House grits his teeth. “Come on. Keep sucking. Almost there, baby, yes, fuck, Wilson!” House cries as Wilson’s tongue swipes over his tip again, sending him lurching over the edge. At the feel of House’s seed filling his already steaming hot gut, Wilson comes as well with a moan around the cock still planted deep in his throat, cunt spasming around nothing.
When they’re finished completely, House’s dick slides out of Wilson’s abused mouth and he tucks it back into his pants with a sigh. Wilson, on the other hand, slides back against the leg of the table, head thunking back against it. It doesn’t hurt as much as the pounding in his head, which the aftershocks of his orgasm thankfully dulls a little.
House notices this, and after a moment of silent contemplation, he asks, “You alright?” gruffly. Wilson looks up at him, glaring, but it’s weak and holds no real anger. “You set that up. The bottle, me sniffling it, the notes, the getting stuck here for the night. You planned all of this,” Wilson alleges with a frown. House chuckles, shrugging, but keeping his eyes on Wilson. “Guilty as charged Poppers worked their magic.”
Similarly, the air is charged as well, with feelings neither of them want to dwell on. Wilson’s obvious praise kink, the fact he’s not nearly as mad as he should be, the fact House wanted to, and had sex with his best friend, of all people, when they’re both straight… there’s a lot to talk about.
Neither of them say anything as House slides down next to Wilson with a grunt of pain, sparks shooting up his leg as he unintentionally lands on it. Slowly, testing the waters, he leans on Wilson’s shoulders.
When Wilson’s eyes flutter shut in response, head resting atop House’s, he wraps an arm around Wilson’s shoulder, pulling him closer.
“Want to come over to my place tonight? Have some beer, pizza… you’re paying,” he offers, trying to sound snarky. It comes out far more genuine than intended.
“Okay,” Wilson replies softly, gazing into House’s magnificent, striking blue eyes with lidded brown ones of his own.
“You’re driving. I don’t think my leg can put up with more exertion tonight,” House jokes, looking up into Wilson’s eyes with a grin.
Wilson smiles back.
“Okay.”