Fandom: House MD
Pairings: House/Wilson, House/Foreman
Notes: Birthday fic written for daasgrrl following a comment discussion about how I'd written almost every "plausible" pairing, but hadn't attempted House/Foreman. Hope you like it sweetie.
Warnings: Spoilers for 2nd season up to Forever More or less PWP. And oh yeah, it kind of schmoops out at the end. Pods may have been spotted near the desk of doom while I was writing it.
Beta Goddess Carol to the rescue, although I did a tiny bit of fiddling afterwards,so any typos or suckage are my fault.
Summary: A bedtime story from Dr. House. Post-ep for Forever.
The L Word wasn’t working.
Wilson seemed to have missed the point entirely, insisting on keeping the sound on and getting way too involved in the plotline. House’s plans for the evening hadn’t included explaining the relationships on the show to a newbie.
“Look, if you want to know who’s done who, download The Chart. All you need to know is Shane sleeps with practically everybody and it’s really hot when she does it. Now shut up and watch.”
With that, he grabbed the remote and emphatically turned the sound off so that he could appreciate an especially erotic poolside seduction unimpeded by actual dialogue. But even with Wilson next to him on the couch, and the girls going at it on the screen, the night still wasn’t going according to plan.
This was supposed to be the way he got Wilson back. Back in the apartment. Back in his bed. He was ready to forgive Wilson’s idiotic affair with the cancer patient, but apparently Dr. Fuck ’em and Fix ’em wasn’t ready to be forgiven, or worse, still didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.
House looked at Wilson. He wasn’t showing any reaction to the scene at all. Christ, maybe he really was gay. What kind of straight man doesn’t get off on girl-on-girl action? There was a reason why there was at least one of those scenes in every porn movie ever made, although House was finding himself strangely unmoved as well. Maybe he should have held off on opening Wilson’s bottle of wine, especially after a long day with a case that even House had found draining.
He hated to admit this particular side effect of the pills, so obviously it wasn’t the pills. It was fatigue and pain and his annoying patients and even more annoying boss. He was still tempted to tell Wilson what the “date” with Cuddy had really been about, but he didn’t trust Wilson not to go running to the nearest fertility clinic with a cup in one hand and a copy of Inches in the other. He didn’t trust Wilson, period. He wanted him, but he didn’t trust him. Maybe that was the problem. He didn’t know if Wilson still wanted him. They’d said some pretty brutal stuff to each other, but that was nothing new, and Wilson was here, wasn’t he? Sitting on the couch, drinking wine, shirt-sleeves rolled up, staring at the screen intently.
He turned the set off.
“What? I was watching that.”
“And now you’re not.”
Wilson indulged himself in a symphonic sigh of exasperation.
“You want me to leave?”
House closed his eyes, trying to fight back the contradictory impulses that were running through his head. One was to say, “Sure. Go home,” and the other was to ask Wilson never to leave. Nope. Couldn’t do it. There had to be a way to save face and still get some action before the night was over.
He postponed the decision with another glass of wine, and pretended he didn’t notice Wilson pretending not to notice how much damage he’d already done to the Cabernet. Oh no you don’t, he thought in Wilson’s general direction. He wasn’t going to curtail any of his vices in order to avoid a ride on the guilt trip express. In fact, he decided to keep going.
“You brought it over. What do you expect me to do, talk about the bouquet and then spit it out? Keep up or get out.”
Perfect. He’d guaranteed that Wilson would absolutely NOT leave, while avoiding any indication that he wanted him to stay. He really was a genius.
Now if he could just find some way to get Wilson to focus on his dick rather than his addiction, he’d be getting somewhere.
He tried to think what turned Wilson on, besides sob stories. House wasn’t willing to play the pathetic cripple card when there was another kind of story that might get the job done. Instead, he feigned a grin of mild inebriation.
“How many what?”
“Which ones have you done?”
Wilson’s expression did a sharp U-turn from confusion to annoyance tinged with disgust.
“You need to get a life, you know that? Whatever you think I’m doing, I’m not, and whatever you think I’ve done is none of your business.”
House ignored this little snit of defiance and continued his interrogation.
“I’m not counting the nurses. Those are just a perk of the job. I mean how many of my people have you screwed? Cameron? Chase?”
“Chase and Cameron?” he leered, catching Wilson looking a little too flustered to make his denials completely plausible.
That was believable, and therefore perfect.
“I have,” he announced, downing the last of the wine in his glass and putting it down on the coffee table.
“Foreman? Eric Foreman?”
“What’s the problem? You’re prejudiced? Want to turn me in for miscegenation?”
“No, just for…bullshit.”
“You think I’m lying?” House summoned up his most innocent expression in the face of Wilson’s skepticism.
“Pretty much, although I can’t imagine why.”
“I can’t believe you don’t believe me.”
“I’m not Cameron.”
“More’s the pity.”
House instantly regretted that quip in the face of a particularly wounded look from Wilson.
“Fine. You expect me to buy this story? Tell me all about it.” The sound of a trap being sprung. “When did it happen?”
“You do remember Foreman’s brief stint as Lord High Executioner of the department?”
Wilson responded with a mock shudder and an exaggerated eye-roll before his House detector kicked back in.
“That would be the same period of time when you were desperately trying to get Stacy back?”
“And you were looking for some spot on Julie’s butt you hadn’t kissed yet in an effort to save your marriage. A man has needs, you know?”
“But Foreman? He’s….straight. Isn’t he?”
House decided to avoid the obvious response to that.
“It’s amazing what a man will do when he’s trying to consolidate a take-over, isn’t it?”
“And you weren’t going to tell me.” Extra points for catching Wilson out on that one.
“Like I thought he’d succeed. So, what, you made a move and he did it thinking he could run the department?”
“Are you nuts? That would be sexual harassment. But as a wise woman once said, you can’t sexually harass your boss. I suspect he thought he could buy himself a little more leeway for his rise to power.”
“He came on to you?”
“You’d be surprised what goes on in the men’s room.”
That was good for a full body cringe.
“I caught him looking.”
Wilson’s eyebrows were knit together in a tapestry of skepticism, but House knew just how often Wilson hadn’t been able to resist a glance where proper urinal etiquette said no glances were permitted.
“I couldn’t believe it. I mean Foreman? Chase, maybe, but Foreman? But then I looked back and he just smiled. I told him that going on a date hadn’t even gotten Cameron a better parking space.”
Wilson seemed to be far more taken with this tale than with Bette and Tina’s baby issues.
“He said Cameron was an idiot.”
“No argument there.”
“Exactly,” House continued,“He said he felt bad about the whole 'running the department' thing and wanted to make it up to me.”
“You bought that?”
“I let him think I did. Next thing I know, we’re in a stall, I’ve got my fly open and he’s proving that he can do something with that mouth besides giving me shit. He must have had some practice. Maybe during his stint in the pen…”
House closed his eyes, letting out a throaty groan. He laid his hand on his crotch and felt something stirring at the image of Foreman’s lips around his cock, dark skin contrasting with light, soft brown eyes lustful, but also angry.
In the silence, he could hear Wilson’s breath hitch slightly. Just enough for him to know what was happening.
“I kept it going as long as I could, just to see how much he could take, if he’d start bitching that his jaw was getting tired. He just went with it, and got his fingers on the job too, if you know what I mean. As if he knew just how much stimulation it would take…”
He heard the sound of Wilson’s zipper, languorous music to his ears. His own erection was getting impatient. He rubbed himself through his jeans. This was getting good, both in his mind and here on the couch. He knew Wilson could see the whole thing as clearly as he could and needed more details.
“I grabbed the back of his head. He had the fingers going inside of me. It was…I mean. Jesus…Foreman sucking my cock.“
He looked over at Wilson. Cock out, thumb on the head. Not fully erect, but progress was being made. Wilson was a grower.
“Either he was going to choke on my dick or I was going to fall down, and then he squeezed my butt and I came right in his mouth.”
“In his mouth?” Wilson’s voice came out in a strangled whisper.
Wilson was stroking himself and House couldn’t take his eyes off it, much less keep his own hands away. Their eyes met and any pretense of inebriation was long gone as he felt Wilson’s dick against his hand for the first time in months. Silky skin, heat and hardness. And the sounds of Wilson were better than any jazz. Desperate little sighs and moans, and a few vulgarities that would have shocked his patients and maybe even his girlfriends. House liked to think that Wilson only made those noises with him.
“Oh god….feels so good…fuck…goddamned….House… did you fuck him?”
House was slightly annoyed, but he wasn’t going to stop when Wilson was so close. Telling him about Foreman had been a means to this particular end, and he’d say whatever it took to get there.
“Yeah, I fucked him. I had that nice hot black ass in my bed and I fucked him hard and fast, the way I’m going to fuck you, and he liked it almost as much as you will.”
That did it. Wilson’s whole body tensed up and he let out another string of hoarse obscenities while come practically spattered into House’s hand.
It was almost as good as getting off himself. He loved the utter peace on Wilson’s face, and could have looked at it indefinitely, except his own erection was making demands and if he was going to keep his promise to Wilson, now was the time.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Couch sex was rough on the leg, but the sight of Wilson on his knees, pants pulled down, gripping the back of the sofa, was enough to drive away the twinges long enough to get what he’d been waiting for. Wilson could barely walk to the bedroom, much less drive home, by the time House was done with him.
Definitely a successful evening, even if the girls had let him down, House thought, as he dozed off with an arm over Wilson’s body.
“House,” came a soft voice that wasn’t as sleepy as he would have preferred.
“What.” House wasn’t in the mood for post-coital chit-chat.
“You think Foreman would be willing to…you know, with both of us?”
Fuck. He hadn’t put up with Wilson’s various girlfriends and wives to start sharing him with another man in bed. He was surprised at the fast flicker of jealousy that went through him.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
Now House needed another pill and a good way to convince Wilson that Foreman had no interest in a three-way without giving away his own duplicity.
After all, he’d never touched Foreman.