Fandom: House MD
Pairing: Wilson/Chase (with a heavy dose of H/W subtext)
Rating: NC17-Smutty smut smut.
Warning: Third season spoilers and a biggie for Resignation.
ETA-Possible consent issues. (Not something that occurred to me back in 2007, but times and trigger warnings have changed. Read at your own risk.
Summary/Prompt-(Because the summary itself would contain spoilers for Resignation) Written for kohlrimmedeye who made THIS REQUEST .
It's got a lot of H/W subtext, even though it's technically a Wilson/Chase fic. (Really, it's smut and nothing but.)
Thanks and apologies to anyone who ever wrote Housefic with men's room sex. I hope I didn't steal too much.
I beta-slutted this one a bit because I wanted it (ahem) quick and dirty. Thanks to Beta Goddess Carol, michelleann68 and drunken_hedghog who all answered the call.
House didn’t care.
Wilson could feel it in his elevated heart rate, see the truth in the dilated eyes that looked back at him in the bathroom mirror.
He’d been played but good, with an apology that Wilson had desperately needed to believe so that his own feelings wouldn’t seem quite so pathetic. The illusion had shattered into as many crumbs as the cracker he broke into a bowl of soup in the cafeteria before he realized he couldn’t eat and not just because his hands were shaking.
There was nothing to throw up, but he couldn’t think of another reaction to the fact that House had drugged him as an experiment and then let him go, with only a Vicodin to alleviate the symptoms. House could probably ingest a PDR’s worth of narcotics and still show up the next morning doing baton twirls with his cane. Wilson, on the other hand, tended to get tipsy on a few beers, shit-faced on two shots of Bourbon, and had a proven, very specific reaction to amphetamines.
Christ! House knew about this, or should have known. One of those late-night conversations must have touched on the fact that any drug speedier than a double latte acted like a bucket of Viagra. Maybe House thought he went around like that all the time anyway. Ha! During the last few months with Julie, it had been a banner day if he could get it up at all. Lately the Paxil had been keeping the monster at bay, along with all the longings he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to, especially now that he knew how little regard House had for his well-being, much less his feelings.
He paced the bathroom, hyperventilating, unable to decide what to do, where to go, garnering a few odd looks from strangers who must be wondering why the psych patients were allowed to roam around by themselves. Wilson knew he had to get out before someone he actually knew showed up, and noticed that his pants were looking…odd.
“Dr. Wilson? Are you all right?”
Of all the men’s rooms in all the hospitals…
It was hard enough loving House without adding sexual desire to the mix. He had other outlets for those feelings, some more appropriate than others.
Had he wanted Chase ever since he showed up nearly four years ago looking for his new boss, or only since he’d walked into the bathroom?. It didn’t matter. He wanted him now. Wanted him badly. Wanted him to do bad things. It was the drugs talking, but they were very persuasive and Chase was moving close enough for Wilson to smell a hint of aftershave, which made him giggle. Chase didn’t look like he needed to shave.
“He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about me or us or anybody. I’m not sure he cares about the patients or the puzzles. He’s just going to keep on like this until he drags us all down.”
“You knew that months ago.”
“He put speed in my coffee!”
Wilson expected more sympathy and less of a smirk.
“It’s not funny,” he pouted.
“No, but it is very House.”
He couldn’t argue with that, even if he had words for a coherent debate.
He had no idea what he wanted to say. What he wanted to do, certainly, or at least what the monster raging between his legs, in his brain, and in his very bloodstream wanted, but how to convey it…
Maybe he didn’t have to say anything. This was Chase, after all, and the famous Meth Sex incident was already a part of PPTH lore. If hospital scuttlebutt could be believed, Chase and Cameron were no longer an item, but Wilson frankly didn’t care if they were or not. He had enough residual anger at Cameron to relish the idea of fucking her boyfriend.
Just forming the mental image of Chase bent over his desk made him that much more desperate. His whole body was starting to tremble. He could feel sweat beading his forehead.
“You should lie down.”
“I can’t stand still.”
“You can barely stand up,” Chase pointed out, a little too sensibly for Wilson’s taste. “Why don’t we go down to the clinic and have you checked out?”
“Don’t patronize me, you son of a bitch!” Wilson shook his head. He hadn’t meant to say that at all. He saw Chase start to bristle, nostrils flaring, and then relax again. “Maybe I should go home.”
“You’re not driving anywhere. You’ll kill yourself.”
Wilson found his overwhelming horniness exacerbated by a wave of affection. Chase actually gave a damn about his safety. Somebody cared about him.
He must have looked like he was going to fall forward because Chase put out a steadying arm and then he was close. Too close. Close enough to feel the heat. And then he was even closer, looking down and seeing the physical evidence. He could walk away leaving Wilson literally high and dry, but Chase wasn’t walking or running. He was nodding as though pieces of a puzzle were coming together in his head. Wilson held his breath, waiting for Chase to make the decision. When he saw a smile that was both boyish and tantalizingly lewd, especially the way Chase’s teeth momentarily grasped his upper lip, the rush of air was too much and he lost his footing.
Now there were two strong arms around him. He let himself lean against Chase, relax into the warmth as much as he could relax with his whole body jangling, skin prickling and his cock straining against his boxers, the need for pleasure becoming acutely painful. He didn’t think he could make it to his office, or even to one of Chase’s favorite janitor’s closets.
He started pulling Chase toward a stall, shutting down the very loud voices in his head that were telling him this was a bad idea, including a voice that sounded disturbingly like House. There was also a real voice, once with an Australian accent, saying something he couldn’t exactly make out, but it definitely wasn’t “No.”“I told House to fire you,” he announced and then clamped his mouth down on Chase’s as he fumbled for the door latch. Whatever Chase had to say to either his admission or the kiss would have to wait. He didn’t want to hear anything but moans or possibly some screaming. The likelihood that anyone who came by for a leak might get to hear them too was no longer of any concern of his.
His concern was pure lust. Need. Desperation. He let himself feast on Chase’s mouth, taking in moisture where he had none, hardly noticing that skillful hands were already undoing his belt and unzipping his pants until he felt the touch and thought he might explode right there. So long since other hands had wrapped around him, since anyone had cared enough to touch him, and if it was going to be a bit rough, that was okay too.
By the time he broke the kiss, his legs were shaking, toes curling in his shoes, pants bunched around his ankles.
“I know you did,” Chase whispered, before maneuvering Wilson around so that the door could support his weight.
“Then why are you…”
That question would have to remain one of life’s mysteries, because Chase was on his knees. Desks and fucking and a million other fantasies he’d harbored fell by the wayside as the absolute mind-blowing reality of Chase’s mouth on his cock took over.
The voices had been right. Badbadbadbadbad idea. They were going to get caught. He was going to get fired. Cuddy would walk in on them in the act. (It had to be the drugs talking. Why would Cuddy be in the men’s room…unless those other rumors were true.) House would find out. House would know. House had to have known something like this would happen. SHUT UP!
That was it. Stop thinking. Just let it happen. The mouth, oh god, the mouth. So hot and wet and never, never stopping as it moved up and down, lapping, sucking. He looked down, keeping his eyes open as long as he could to memorize the sight of Chase with his pretty mouth full of Wilson’s cock before he closed his eyes again and slumped against the door. If Chase was getting tired, he wasn’t letting it show, or maybe he was and Wilson didn’t care. Fuck it. Fuck them all. So good. It felt so good, but this was what speed did to him. Chase could suck until his jaw was numb and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Get up,” he growled hoarsely.
Chase nodded, clearly perplexed by his inability to get Wilson off. The stall was getting too close. Sweat was pouring off Wilson, soaking his shirt, making him stink. He felt dirty and crazy and there wasn’t going to be enough room or maybe even lubrication but it didn’t matter. This had to happen, here and now.
“Are you sure?” Chase was asking, as he undid his own belt and quickly exposed himself. Who would have ever thought that Chase was packing heat like that behind all those ugly pants? Wilson reached down, touching a prick that was as hard as his own, hot against his fingers.
“I’m supposed to be running tests on Addie,” Chase pointed out seriously at the same time that he was turning around and bracing himself against the door, as though Wilson gave a damn about anything as mundane as one of House’s patients when he was about to risk everything over a piece of ass, but what a beautiful ass it was. He ran his hand over it, wishing there were time for so much more. All the fantasies he’d ever had about Chase, including the spanking, the fisting, the threesome with House… Okay, maybe not that one.
He positioned himself against Chase’s ass and pushed tentatively, wondering if this was even feasible, especially with no lube and no protection. He hadn’t counted on Chase panting fiercely, spreading his legs and reaching his hands backwards to grasp Wilson’s hips and pull him in deeper.
Wilson bit hard into Chase’s shoulder to muffle the gasp, or maybe just because he wanted to leave a mark on Chase’s pale skin. He pushed in slowly, letting himself be sheathed in heat and the responding lust and pleasure he felt pouring off Chase’s body. When he was completely in, chest to back, sweat mingling, he felt Chase actually squeeze him from inside and had to bite again because this time he would have screamed.
It was almost enough, he thought, and almost worth it to get this. But he needed more friction. He pulled out just enough to give himself some leverage and pounded back in, banging Chase against the door this time with a little bump upwards and Chase letting him know that was the key to his heart, or at least his prostate. Sweat everywhere, bites on Chase’s back and Chase’s nails digging into his hips, leaving their own marks. Pounding and bumping and Wilson’s legs, his whole body, shaking uncontrollably, until there it was, finally, finally…coming inside Chase, wrapping his arms around Chase’s slippery body as the drugs and the frustration and the lust all gave way at the same time until he was finally able to slip out of Chase and sit down on the toilet seat, face wet in his hands, body trembling with relief as well as release.
When he looked up, Chase was jerking off with a motion that managed to appear both casual and frantic, unconsciously biting down on his lower lip, reminding Wilson of how good those lips had felt around him, making him wonder if he’d feel them again.
He was too drained to give any assistance beyond offering a wad of toilet paper and Chase seemed to have matters well in hand, coming just a few minutes later with a sound between a gasp and whimper.
It was a toss-up as to which of them looked worse. He would have bet on Chase with those mangled lips and the angry red bite marks on his torso. He followed Chase’s lead in trying to put himself back together, starting with his boxers and pants.
He’d never done this in the hospital before, no matter what House thought. Wilson had always had too much respect for himself and the job to do something like that. Leave it to House to destroy both of those with a single dose.
Even high he was starting to feel guilty.
It was Chase who made the first sortie, verifying that the coast was clear before leaving the stall with only the hint of a limp to indicate he’d just been fucked within an inch of his life by a drug-crazed lunatic.
Wilson followed and the mirror did not have good things to report. His eyes were still dilated, skin flushed, and there was hair plastered against his forehead with the sweat that was only now starting to evaporate in the cooler air of the rest room.
Chase insisted on making sure he got to his office to lie down on the couch, before scurrying back to deal with whatever shit he was going to get from Foreman and Cameron for slacking off. Wilson wanted to pull Chase down on the couch, for more sex or just to have something to hang onto while he was coming off the drugs, but he had to be content with a gentle kiss against his forehead, as though he were a sick child.
“Did you have to go?” he muttered as he closed his eyes and kicked off his shoes.
“Why were you in the bathroom? You didn’t actually use it. I doubt you generally cruise the hospital rest-rooms when there are at least three decent bars in a one- mile radius.”
The drugs must be wearing off. He was starting to think like House.
“Did House call you? Were you looking for me?”
Chase’s look of distress before he left was all the answer Wilson needed. Obviously he was putting that puzzle together too and didn’t like the answer. It’s one thing to act on a long-standing urge in the guise of charity, and quite another to be set up to do so without your knowledge.
Wilson, on the other hand, didn’t mind. House had found a way to get him something he’d wanted for a long time.
Maybe House really did care.