karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,
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"Pictures at an Exhibition" House/Wilson fluffsmut Rated R Wordcount 2560

Title-Pictures At An Exhibition
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Wislon
Wordcount-2560
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers-Slightly spoilery for "Airborne" and late Season 3. Some kinky stuff. (See the title.)
Notes: Written as my costume for the "Come As You're Not" Halloween party. Thanks so much to Beta Goddess Carol for reminding me that even a costume fic has to make sense and hopefully be in character. Tip of the fedora to hannahorlove for introducing me to the "docking" concept. Love to the usual suspects for putting up with the requisite amount of whinging and whining.
Summary: Fun in the cafeteria.
Why it's a costume: It's Fluff. It's H/W Fluff. It's H/W Fluff set in the third season. Need I say more?

Dedicated to and suggested by deelaundry.



“I talked to your friend Robin,” House announced, waving a folder as he sat down at the cafeteria table, helping himself to a few of Wilson’s fries in an offhanded manner that suggested habit rather than hunger.

It took Wilson a few seconds to eliminate the obvious candidates for “your friend Robin,” a phrase that House had delivered with his typical derision, knowing that Wilson had many acquaintances, but only one real friend. There was no one in his life as remotely fascinating as House, so why pretend otherwise?

The first Robin who came to mind was Robyn Thompson. The idea of House schmoozing with a pediatric cancer patient who didn’t have an interesting tumor in her brain was extremely unlikely. There was also Robin Porter, the new cardiologist from North Carolina. Maybe Robin’s accent and general Southern-ness were about to become fodder for the House humor mill, seeing as the Chase jokes were getting stale.

Wilson pushed his tray to the side and picked up the folder. It didn’t have a blue cardiology dot or a dot of any color for that matter. He opened the file and found a few sheets of paper with a faxed cover letter from Paradise Escorts.

Oh, that Robin.

Robin, the young lady he’d taken out to dinner two weeks earlier. The evening had ended with goodbyes and a chaste kiss on the cheek at Robin’s door. If he hadn’t mentioned it to House, it was because sometimes dinner is just dinner and he hadn’t thought about it since.

He’d already told House about the patient he’d been responsible for while House was having his own adventure flying too high with Cuddy in the sky, including the titillating details of Fran’s recent Guatemalan vacation as well as Robin’s presence on the scene when she took ill.

“You called Robin?”

“Yup.”

“Reverting to your old habits?” Wilson asked, trying to hide any incipient jealousy until he determined there was cause for it.

“Not that one,” House replied, pulling out a pill bottle to make the point. He took one before continuing. “I had her fax over the complete menu.”

“Why?”

“I was curious to know if the service was equal opportunity.”

“Wouldn’t want the sex industry to be violating Title Nine. Do we have to call the EEOC? Or OSHA for that matter?”

“Look for yourself.”

House seemed happy, maybe even hazy, and Wilson couldn’t resist finding out why.

A glance at the papers provided the answer. The price list did, in fact, read like a menu offering delicacies for all inclinations and genders. Best of all, each item had been assigned a song title to accompany the description, such as Around the World, Sixty Minute Man, Rescue Me, I Touch Myself and Love In an Elevator.

The entire list had to appeal to House’s taste for the kinky as well as his interest in music and sense of the ridiculous.

One title caught his eye.

“Dock of the Bay?” He wondered if that was an exhibitionist scenario with a specific locale and boat fetish thrown in.

“You’ve never heard of docking?” House asked, with the excitement of an adolescent about to share a really dirty secret.

“Why does it cost so much?”

“You are so vanilla,” House muttered, seemingly incredulous at Wilson’s naiveté.

Wilson shook his head, trying not to look as curious as he was. He didn’t have as much experience as anyone, especially House, thought he did. Plenty of partners, but hardly any activities odd enough to warrant a song title and that smirk on House’s face.

“It costs a lot because not all men are qualified. You, for instance. Not as the docker, anyway.”

“Why?”

“It requires a foreskin.”

“Oh.”

Wilson read the smaller print on the paper with growing interest. Maybe his fascination with uncircumcised men wasn’t as far in the past as he’d thought. It wasn’t so much the technical details of having someone place their foreskin over the head of his cock that sounded particularly erotic, but the intimacy of the act itself. The ability to look a lover in the eye and be that connected, literally joined at the dick. He felt his skin becoming warm, felt his breathing catch just a little and looked up to find an all-too-familiar grin on House’s face. He’d once again fallen prey to House’s favorite game: getting Wilson aroused in public.

“House,” he said, trying to control the rising pitch of his voice. There’d been movie theaters, sporting arenas and the park, even more secluded spots around the hospital, but never something as blatant as their usual table in a corner of the brightly lit cafeteria with its nightmarish acoustics and excellent probability that they’d be seen by someone who knew them

Cuddy’s only request upon discerning that they’d long ago stopped being “just friends” was discretion, as in not scaring off potential donors. Asking House to be discreet was tantamount to demanding a public display and apparently today was the day.

“OK. You win. Game over.”

Maybe a quick surrender would keep House from demanding further trophies. At least for the time being.

“You can’t leave now. You don’t even have a lab coat on and you really don’t want to walk by Dr. Cornpone in that condition.”

“I’ll be fine. Things haven’t gone that far.”

“Oh, but they will.”

House must have anticipated Wilson’s move to leave the table. He clamped his right hand on top of Wilson’s left, the fingers already starting to massage the tops of his knuckles, evoking a deep sigh as well as memories.

It had started with hands. Wilson’s hand reaching out across the couch, the only thing he could offer to let House know there was life after Stacy. For months, it was only House’s hands that touched Wilson, proving to himself there was life after an infarction.

He couldn’t resist House’s hands, one on top of each of his now, still kneading, stroking, or his voice, low and rough. “You like that, don’t you.”

If House was going to do that, Wilson had no defense whatsoever. There was nothing to do but close his eyes and let the process unfold and hope there weren’t too many witnesses. He’d already started losing himself in the sensations when an unexpected voice broke the mood.

“I’ve got the results of the…OH!”

Cameron must have been brought up short by the sight of Wilson’s expression as he gave himself over to House’s caresses, which hadn’t stopped with the interruption. Wilson managed to get his eyes open in time to see Cameron’s eyes and mouth both open wide as the truth finally registered. Three years of illusions down the drain. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Um…there’s nothing important here. I’ll go run some tests.”

She turned and fled the scene, ponytail flapping in the figurative breeze.

“Now where were we…?”

“Heading for my office?” Wilson suggested hopefully, knowing the situation was hopeless.

“Boring. I think we were checking your pulse. Hmmm. Elevated. Are you taking those uppers again?”

“Very funny.”

It wasn’t funny at all. Wilson pressed his legs together, acutely aware that he was already hard. He could feel sweat beading on his upper lip and his hands started to tremble as House continued his blatant fondling, stopping only to unbutton Wilson’s cuffs so he could stroke his forearms. Wilson could practically feel each hair on his arms stand up as a shiver went through his body. The soft moan that he tried to stifle sounded to his own ears like the soundtrack of a pornographic movie being broadcast in Dolby for the entertainment of PPTH’s lunchtime audience.

“Helllloooooooo Dr. Cameron.”

House was doing his Lloyd Lindsay Young imitation a little too loudly for her to actually be standing at the table again.

“She’s back?”

“With Chase. Watching avidly from across the room.”

“Who looks more jealous?” he asked, momentarily distracted from House only because he’d always wondered why the hell Chase and Cameron were together when they were both clearly obsessed with their boss, although maybe that was the answer right there.

“Her mouth is open, his eyes are narrowed. I’d say it’s a tie. Is there something I should know?”

“About Chase?”

“About you and Chase?”

“There is no me and Chase.” Did House really not know that everything revolved around him?

“Good. Let’s really give them something to gawk at.” Oh, he knew all right.

House picked up exactly where he’d left off: stroking Wilson’s arms up to the elbow, especially the soft skin on the underside, those elegant fingers playing against his pulse points, murmuring nearly inaudible words that seemed to work their way directly into his subconscious, each caress and syllable ratcheting up his arousal until he was aching, desperate for relief and only barely aware of the fact that they were in public until his brain registered a loud throat-clearing that announced Cuddy’s presence.

He forced his eyes open. As if the sight of Cuddy’s generic “OH MY GOD!” expression, wasn’t bad enough, somehow Foreman had joined the party as well, those pesky test results in hand and a look of annoyance gluing his eyebrows to the upper region of his forehead.

A glance in the other direction found Chase and Cameron a few feet away, still observing the proceedings so intently they didn’t seem to realize that their hands were tightly clasped together.

By some miracle, no one else appeared to realize what was going on, or maybe they did and were merely being polite enough not to pull out their cell-phones and record the event for posterity.

Some vestige of sanity told Wilson to run, but that would require an exertion of force that he was incapable of, now that his legs had grown as stiff as his dick. House had pushed off one of his Nikes and was easing a foot along the inside of Wilson’s leg, moving inexorably towards his thigh and points beyond.

“NO!” he managed to blurt out. This really was too much. Wilson understood, could even get aroused by, the idea of public sex when the public consisted of anonymous hordes. Actually having Chase, Cameron, Cuddy and Foreman as witnesses? “No!” he repeated again, strongly enough to make the point to House. He would stop this, if only by keeping his eyes open and refusing to give in to his own body. Wilson did possess self-control, current evidence to the contrary.

“Scram,” House growled in Cuddy’s direction.

Her nostrils were flared and face slightly flushed. Rage, embarrassment or vicarious arousal? He couldn’t be sure, although a glance at her low-cut sweater suggested the last one. Foreman’s reaction was even less scrutable. Cameron and Chase were suddenly nowhere to be found. Presumably they’d left together, possibly inspired to have a little lunchtime action of their own. Good for them.

“All I asked from you two was a little discretion and what do I get?”

“A pretty hot time by the looks of it,” House replied, staring directly at Cuddy’s breasts. “Either it’s cold in here, or you’re enjoying the show. But you’ll have to leave now.”

“You’re telling me to leave you alone so you can…”

“Uh huh. If it were me, I’d charge admission, but Wilson’s shy. Needs a little privacy.”

“I want both of you in my office in an hour.”

“Private performance’ll really cost you.”

“Shut up, House.”

“Voyeur!” he snapped at her retreating form, watching her backside intently as she went. Not that Wilson could blame him. As soon as she was gone, House turned his attention to Foreman.

“Did the labs show any good reason why our honor student can’t recite the alphabet anymore?” House asked, giving Foreman the opportunity to rattle off some no doubt meaningless numbers, and hopefully diverting him from what he’d just witnessed. “Re-do the CT scan. You must have missed something. And go find Chase and Cameron. You might want to look in the third floor supply closet.”

“Yeah. I’ll get on that right away.” Foreman’s voice held a full complement of sarcasm.

His exit left them alone at their table in the corner where House picked up exactly where he’d left off and Wilson could no longer protest.

Within seconds, House’s fingers were intertwined with his, holding him tightly, skin against skin. Wilson felt his breathing reduced to short gasps. Looking into House’s eyes, he found them slightly glazed, no longer mocking, pain forgotten. House was as excited as he was. In spite of the potential humiliation, the sight of House in that state made it all worthwhile. There was no turning back and what did he really have to lose anyway? Nothing was as important as the feeling of House’s skin, hot against his, and the word “Wilson” on House’s lips. Their eyes stayed locked until Wilson’s started watering and he had to close them tightly.

Hands squeezing, teeth clenched, barely able to breathe, wondering how long, dear lord, how long? So hard, so horny he couldn’t think of anything else and then unbelievably, obscenely, House’s foot between his legs pressing against him. Wilson’s hips thrust forwards, his body gyrating, forcing House to increase the pressure. He was humping House’s foot in the middle of the cafeteria and he didn’t care because there was the angle and this was the moment and it was happening……right…..now.

He bit down hard on his lower lip and dug his nails into the soft flesh of House’s hands, beyond caring if he left marks, and trembled through a climax that left him damp and drained, struggling for breath and composure.

“House.”

He tried to keep his voice muffled, instead of screaming.

“I’m here,” House replied, sexy, solid and still holding on to Wilson’s hands as he came back to the world. He told himself that the moisture at the corners of his eyes was perspiration. Wilson sighed with deep satisfaction, his gaze staying with House’s until he felt like they were breathing in sync, hearts beating together, wearing matching grins.

The moment couldn’t last.

“You’re a mess,” House stated matter-of-factly, letting his hands go with a lingering squeeze.

“Thanks for noticing.”

“I like you that way.”

“Believe it or not, I am actually expected to work around here.” House sighed at this information, slouching into his chair, clearly chagrinned that playtime was over. ”You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’ve got a patient."

“Filthy lies,” he groused.

Wilson did his best to adjust his jacket and make himself presentable enough to cross the cafeteria and get to a men’s room, where he’d need to take care of more than just his face and hair. As far as he could tell, no one was looking. Apparently people were too wrapped up in their own lives to care what two consenting doctors did at a cafeteria table.

As he stood, he realized that while House had enjoyed the afternoon’s fun, he hadn’t gotten the same satisfaction that Wilson had.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know….” He looked at House and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh that. Is that all you ever think about? You know there is more to life than physical gratification.”

“Yes, you’re a model of asceticism.”

“That’s true. Besides, you will take care of me later, right?”

House was smug, self-assured and irresistible.

“Don’t I always?”

Tags: fluff, house/wilson, housefic
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