Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Wilson (mentions of others)
Notes/Warnings: Inspired by a certain post at house_wilson. If you hate cheating, this
ain't the story for you. Spoiler for Season 4, specifically "Don't Ever Change."
It's been awhile since I posted H/W smut/angst. Did you miss me, kids?
Thanks to beta_goddess for quick turnaround, but I did a bit of tinkering, so any typos or stupidity are all mine.
Crossposted from here to eternity. Bring on the Valentines and Vitriol.
Summary: It's always better when Wilson cheats.
“If I’d have known the sex would be this good, I would have fixed you up with a blonde ball-buster months ago.”
“That’s the drugs, House. Destroying your short-term memory.”
Wilson was right, House thought, feeling yet another tremor of pleasure course through his body as Wilson did that thing with his tongue somewhere in the vicinity of House’s left (always the left) thigh, just below the pelvic bone. It was always better when Wilson was stealing time away from a spouse or girlfriend to be with him.
Guilty, cheating Wilson was the sexiest bastard alive, showing up at House’s door to look up at him through coyly lowered eyes , with a sly smile that promised things no woman had ever provided, promises that were always delivered on.
Why, he wondered idly, one hand grabbing at the blanket while his hips tried to raise off the bed -- only to be held firmly down, because Wilson was going to draw this out, make him suffer for whatever typical House witticism had cut too close to the bone today -- why did he always try to break up Wilson’s relationships when it was the relationships themselves that brought out this level of intensity?
Wilson knew him the way no woman (or man for that matter) ever had. Knew exactly how much he could take and when, seemed to be in telepathic communication with the leg itself. After a good day, House might find himself face down on the bed, Wilson thrusting into him hard and fast, giving him a mixture of pain and pleasure that temporarily overrode the pain he lived with every day, fucking him like a normal guy, albeit a normal guy who had sex with his married best friend. But Wilson also seemed to know when it was all House could do to lie on his back and let Wilson lazily use his “silver tongue” to elicit little grunts and groans of pleasure before giving him an orgasm that would leave him drained and actually at peace, if only for a few minutes.
It was hard to think at the moment, because Wilson had one hand cradling his balls and another sliding against his ass, just to tease because today had been a bad day, a really bad day, but he was House, so he was always thinking and right now he thought that Wilson was a better cheater than he’d ever been. House hadn’t been a hundred percent faithful to Stacy, but he’d never been any good with anyone else when they were together. He’d loved the idea of fidelity, even when he couldn’t live up to it and found himself floundering rather than raising sex to the art that was being performed on him right now.
It had been easier to pay his hookers than deal with women who’d have a right to expect fidelity. He’d fended off Cameron when weaker men (cough cough, Chase) would have given in. He couldn’t stand the thought of cheating on her and doing it badly.
Focus. Focus on Wilson’s mouth, good and hot and wet and all the cliché's that filled bad pornography because they were all true and Wilson, who’d told Amber he had to meet Julie for a meeting with their respective lawyers, was with him now, sucking his cock like he had hours to do just that and Amber was nothing more than a fantasy they’d constructed together to spice things up. How the hell did he do that? Not the sucking, the focus, the being here now and doing this with him, and making it so good, while knowing she was waiting somewhere and he’d be going back to her. Why was it so good for House when he knew that as well?
Delilah, Bonnie, Julie, a few stray girlfriends… the constant battle for Wilson’s time and body. They hovered at the fringes of his consciousness, third parties in the bed, giving Wilson that edge of guilt and House a sense of victory. Wilson’s mouth on his cock -- moving faster, sucking, licking, bringing him so close and then stopping for air and starting again, and again, until House found himself whimpering, begging and finally screaming as Wilson clamped his lips around the head while House came in his mouth -- meant he won and winning was even better than sex. Having them both together was indescribably perfect.
House was so caught up in his personal “mission accomplished” party that he didn’t notice Wilson releasing his cock and moving up to lie next to him on the bed. He opened his eyes to find Wilson finishing himself off, teeth clenched, sweating, wearing his own smug expression. Yeah, they were both bastards.
He rolled over into his most comfortable sleeping position, putting off the reach for his pills. The leg would start demanding soon enough, but hopefully he’d get Wilson to give them to him, another petty victory, but one he got a particularly vicious thrill out of.
His eyes were closing and he thought he might just drift into a post-sex doze until he heard an all-too familiar sound. Wilson was getting out of bed and picking his clothes up.
How many times over how many years had they played this part of the scene? House won, but then he lost. Lying, cheating, guilty Wilson always went back, so he could start the cycle over again. But maybe things were different this time. Amber was a smart cookie; she had to know what was going on.
“You think she really believes you’re having another alimony meeting? It’s been nearly two years.”
“She’s met Julie. She’ll believe anything.”
“Oh come on. This is Cut Throat Bitch. You don’t think she knows? Why don’t you just tell her?”
“I wouldn’t do that to her.”
But you’ll do this to me.
He didn’t bother saying it out loud. He already knew the answer. Wilson would do this to him, every time.
He’d forgotten how much it hurt.