Fandom: House MD
Pairing: Wilson/Cameron-implied non-con, H/W implied.
Rating: PG13 or Maybe R just for disturbing thoughts.
Notes/Warnings: Quickie fic inspired by This post from
I intended to write another post MLC-Wilson/Cam hate!sex fic, but things took a nastier turn than expected. I completely understand that many people hate the pairing and/or can't deal with non-con (although there's nothing graphic here) so I'm not expecting much on the comment front.
Summary-Post MLC Wilson on the prowl. Prompt: I don't wanna hear about what you want (or who you want.)
Unbeta-ed so feel free to typo-pick.
Why was it so easy to hurt women when he didn’t want to and nearly impossible to break this one, when he wanted nothing else?
Wilson had just left House’s apartment, making sure that House was still alive, but not picking him up and dragging him into the bathroom to try and sober him up under the shower, not calling an ambulance to take him to the hospital and have his stomach pumped of the purloined drugs, and NOT even bothering to hide the evidence in case someone else showed up, possibly the police. Not this time.
He told himself he didn’t care anymore. House had made his choices and could live or die with them and he would do the same.
So why was he standing at Cameron’s door looking into her eyes, such a pretty blue, but rimmed with an ugly red. Crying over the man she would never have, who might be dying right now. She was still convincing herself that she was the one who cared, who understood him, who might have him if she could just martyr herself long and loudly enough.
He tried not to think about the prescription he hadn’t written or the truth he hadn’t told, because he’d been right, as right as she thought she was about why he’d made the deal when she hadn’t a clue about him or House or what they’d been through together.
I couldn’t live with myself…You have to tell him…You pretending your motives are pure is why I have a problem.
It was almost as if she didn’t know that he was the nice one, and if she didn’t know, then there was no reason to keep on pretending he was. The first step into her apartment, past her protests, gave the only hint of relief from his own worries he’d felt in weeks.
“Dr. Wilson you really need to go now.”
“You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve.”
He was using his sympathetic voice, but his hand had clamped onto her delicate wrist and he felt the hint of a fearful tremor. He didn’t bother feeling guilty about what he was doing or what he intended to do. He needed this; he deserved it. Maybe even wanted it, although he wouldn’t go as far as admitting that to himself, unless he could get her to admit it first, which seemed unlikely as she was struggling against his kiss, trying to close her mouth against his tongue and only making him more excited than he’d been for months, since the last time he and House…
She wanted House. Well, this was as close as she’d ever get. Maybe he should tell her that. It might make a difference. He imagined her asking for what he did he to House. Maybe he’d give it to her, even if she didn’t. She might end up liking it and coming back for more and then he could refuse.
At least she’d finally have a good reason to hate him.