Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Wilson (references to Wilson/Julie and a bit of House/Stacey)
The Holiday exchange request was House/Wilson with House in control and maybe some kink.
Warnings. BDSM/Verbal Abuse. I am not messing around here. If you can't handle the rough stuff this is not the fic for you.
Notes-Written for acidic_flower from the prompt: The Holiday exchange request was House/Wilson with House in control and maybe some kink.
Thanks to immensely awesome beta_goddess for reading and generally putting up with obsessive emailing from me over the last two weeks. Thanks to Acidic for letting me play and igniting my muse. P.S. If you don't like it, I'm sure we can get it exchanged for a nice pair of isotoner gloves.
Summary: House teaches Wilson a lesson, and ends up learning something he should have known.
“Do you do this to Julie?” House asked in a conversational tone.
James Wilson found himself unable to form a coherent thought, much less a witty retort. He was still in the oh-my-god-that-was-great, body-tingling, blood-not-yet-back-to-the-brain part of post-orgasm. It always took him a while to return to reality, no matter who he was with, which made those brief encounters in the supply closet that much more dangerous. He always sent the other participant out first to give himself more recovery time. I confess, he announced to an invisible jury, I like to come. You think I’m a sex addict, but I’m really just an orgasm junkie and if yours were as good as mine, you might be one too.
He opened his eyes and found those blue laser beams observing him as though he were a particularly fascinating x-ray. House always recovered faster. He could be limping down the hall before Wilson even had the condom off.
“If by this, you mean…this,” Wilson made a gesture that encompassed the bed, their naked bodies, and all the evidence that he had recently been fucking his best friend’s brains out, “and you really want to know, the answer is I have done exactly this to Julie, but not lately.”
“Thanks for the visual, but I was actually wondering whether you’ve got me on your mind while you’re with her, because I know that the lovely Julie has been in the room with us this evening, whether she knows it or not. Maybe I should give her a call.” He made a lazy gesture in the direction of the phone. “If she’s going to be in a threesome, she might as well get the benefits.”
“No, House! No. I mean it,” Wilson shouted, more panic-stricken than he had any right to be, before catching the ‘don’t worry, I’m just fucking with you’ smile on House’s face.
House continued in his most offhand voice. Wilson knew that was the dangerous one. “Not that I really mind. And she shouldn’t either. Not if she’s getting as much fun out of you as I am.”
“You can be a real bastard sometimes.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“I have to go.”
“You always do.”
“You always are.”
Wilson dressed quickly, slowed only by House’s continuing monologue.
“What is it with you, Wilson? You and Julie. You and me. You and any pretty thing in a pair of scrubs. But you keep going home to Julie. What does she have that I don’t have?”
Wilson gave him his own version of the “Duh” face, but House shook it off.
“Flesh is flesh. Friction is friction. You know that better than anyone. What is it?”
Wilson shook his head. He could talk about Julie all night, but it wasn’t anything that House would want to hear.
“I really have to go.”
House looked at him fondly. “Gary Cooper in High Noon off to face the bad guys. Don’t worry. I’m not mad. Daddy’s not going to spank you.”
Wilson found himself frozen for one more second than it should have taken him to leave. He hoped that House hadn’t noticed.
House noticed everything. It was his gift and a curse. He noticed a certain amount of “Julie” in the air even when Wilson was moaning “House”. He knew it wasn’t only guilt or duty that kept Wilson running home like a faithful puppy, even though he couldn’t be faithful to anyone. He most certainly noticed Wilson’s split second of paralysis when he heard House say “spank”. He played with the puzzle in his head like a psychosexual Rubik’s cube until he fell asleep with a twisted smile and very strange dreams.
The next day brought House’s clinic encounter with Harvey Park and the eventual exposure of the patient’s unorthodox sexuality. House took note of Chase’s previous contact with the dominatrix and tucked that fact away for future perusal and Chase torture as necessary. He also took special interest in Wilson’s interest in the case and especially in Annette. Over lunch, Wilson was so inquisitive that House had half a mind to refer him to Chase for more details. Then he noticed a gleam in Wilson’s eye and a certain flush to his cheeks. The last colored cube clicked into place. Julie, Julie, Julie, he thought. Two could certainly play at that game and anything had to be more fun than the date that Cameron had inveigled him into.
Wilson knew he was having a bad day when he thought that Cameron looked happier than he did. He caught a flicker of concern on her face as they rode in the elevator together. He waved off the question before she could ask, but couldn’t avoid one of her sympathetic smiles before she proceeded on her next House-ordained errand. He watched her trim form striding purposefully down the hall. House had refused to elaborate on the outcome of their date beyond “Nothing for you to worry about,” which told Wilson that the event hadn’t been a success for either participant. He should have offered Cameron sympathy, not the other way round.
Just one of those days, he thought as he entered his office. Too much bad news to give out. Too much bureaucratic bullshit to deal with. Not enough time with House. Where the hell had House been lately? He’d blown off Monday Night Football claiming fatigue, which after the last few months certainly made sense, but now it was Wednesday and House hadn’t even tried to lure him into playing hooky for GH, or hide-and-go-snark or anything else.
Wilson sighed and sat down at his desk. Paperwork loomed menacingly. He put it off for a second and turned on his computer. The CNN home page told him that the world was still going to hell in a bucket, but not in any ways that required emotion beyond sorrow and disgust. He checked his email. Cuddy wanted to meet and go over budgets, his sister had sent an adorable picture of his niece dressed up as Queen Esther at a Purim Festival, and email@example.com had sent the following message: MY PLACE TONIGHT. 8PM. BRING BEER. At least the presumptuous bastard was concise.
And I’m just a sucker for a concise, presumptuous bastard. Wilson smiled to himself, hoisting the bag with the Buds so he could use his key. “Honey, I’m home,” he called in his best 50’s sitcom dad voice. He was expecting a relaxing evening of beers, leers and a little extracurricular activity until he got far enough inside to sense that something very different was on the agenda.
Curtains closed. Room darkened except for the light on the piano. House at the piano, which was not unusual. House playing a recurring theme, which it took Wilson’s somewhat tin ear a few repetitions to recognize as the bass line from “Let’s Spend The Night Together”.
“Subtle,” Wilson commented as he went to put the beer in the fridge.
“Bring me a beer.”
There was definitely something to the tone. What was that? James thought. A rebuke? An order?
He used the bottle opener on the refrigerator door and brought the beer back to the living room. He looked at House, now facing him on the piano bench and suddenly he needed much more oxygen than he was currently getting.
Wilson found House sexually attractive at almost any time, even when he was showing his most unappealing side to the world, but now he had to cope with House wearing black jeans that appeared to be tighter than anything he’d worn in years, a form-fitting black t-shirt devoid of tears or band logos, a pair of absolutely sinister-looking black boots, and a leather strap snapped on his right wrist. His legs were spread just enough to be deliberate and suggestive.
Now he had a good idea of what was going on and he was pretty sure why. Harvey Park and the intriguing Annette. Everyone in the know had been somewhat titillated by the dominatrix, and House wasn’t immune to that kind of speculation. Long ago House and Wilson had done the ‘have you ever, would you ever’ conversation about various sexual quirks without completely ruling it out. Maybe this was what Greg needed in response to the stresses of the Vogler regime and its aftermath.
Whoah, Nellie, came a protest from Wilson’s rational side. He didn’t have much personal experience, but he instinctively knew there were both physical and emotional dangers inherent in B&D games. He wondered how much B vs D, House had in mind. He trusted House not to hurt him too much, physically anyway. On the other hand this was same guy who ignored boundaries with impunity.</i> How much pain can I stand,</i> Wilson wondered? Oh yeah, pain. Like what Greg had gone through during the”no Vicodin for a week” bet.” He remembered taping up the hand with a heart full of remorse.
OK, House, if you need to dish out some pain, I certainly owe you. And besides, said the little devil that lurked considerably lower than his shoulder, this could be really hot.
The rational Wilson made one more plea for sanity. </i>I can stop this right now. I can walk away.</i> A single sarcastic comment. Even a look to break the mood would do it.
Instead he took the necessary step forward to hand House the open beer and immediately stepped back to watch him take a slow, suggestive pull off the long-necked bottle.
Wilson stood still, his hands at his sides, palms forward, signaling surrender.
“You’ll do what I want?”
“When I tell you?”
“Take your clothes off. Start with the jacket. And make it slow. We’ve got all night.”
Wilson started unbuttoning his jacket. His hands were already shaky and there was no escape from the eyes. House, he thought before he shut off his superego and gave himself over to the experience. </i>I hope you know what you’re doing.</i>
House considered the situation in his bedroom. Dr. James Wilson, standing buck naked, hands tied together behind his back with Wilson’s own blue tie.
Where do we go from here?
Now that he had Wilson under his complete control, what was he going to do about it? He drank in the sight of Wilson’s well-proportioned body and his ever so vulnerable, very pale ass. House had the cane in hand. He had Wilson’s belt on the bed. He could give a very thorough spanking with his own two hands. Decisions, decisions. Wilson was desperate for some kind of punishment if his rigid cock was any indication.
House looked for signs of earlier discipline and found none. Either Julie had been lazy in her dom duties or she’d found a way not to leave marks.
He walked up to Wilson and leaned on his cane with one hand while he caressed smooth skin with the other. Wilson gasped and House could feel him tensing up against what he expected was coming.
I can’t do it, he thought, amused and confused by his own reticence. His hand continued its movement, now starting to probe the heat between the cheeks. I know too much about pain to inflict it if I don’t have to. He realized that three young doctors and numerous clinic patients would testify otherwise. That’s just verbal abuse. His fingers went in deeper, eliciting a deep groan before House pulled them out abruptly leaving Wilson to squirm. Might as well play to my strength.
House brought his mouth close to Wilson’s right ear. On another night he would have nipped playfully and maybe even licked it. Not tonight.
“You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”
“And you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”
“What bad things have you done?”
House wasn’t sure this might provoke from Wilson. Maybe guilt over the gay side of his bisexuality? Maybe he felt he needed to be hurt for his lies to House over the years and months such as secret contact with Stacey. House still suspected complicity with Cuddy about that detox thing. Would he admit to some canoodling with one of House’s staff who were supposed to be off-limits. Whatever it was, he’d better get on with it.
“I’m a whore.”
House covered his surprise by banging the cane on the floor. He’d occasionally thought of Wilson as a “man slut” in a haha-funny-but-not-really way, but this particular word carried a world of self-loathing. It came out slowly, but matter-of-factly, in the same tone of voice they might use to discuss a particularly hopeless diagnosis. A glance told him that Wilson had grown even more erect.
“What kind of whore?”
“I lie to Julie to be with you. I cheat on you by fucking Julie. I’ll flirt with anything that moves because I like it and sometimes I screw them because I like that even better.”
House struggled to control his own breathing. He’d dressed commando for the occasion and the tight denim was getting far too constricting.
Is this what really goes on inside you Wilson? Maybe it was time to call the game on account of seriousness.
But that wouldn’t be fare to Wilson. Obviously this was doing something for him. If he carried that much guilt and needed a little cleansing punishment, who was he to deny his best friend, especially since their relationship was adding to the guilt load.
“Do you know what happens to bad boys?” he whispered roughly. “They get fucked up the ass.” He drew out the words for maximum effect. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Please. I’ll do anything.”
Now that’s a result.
He turned Wilson around roughly and saw hair matted to the forehead with sweat, eyes reddened, but somehow still too innocent.
“On your knees.”
House knew it would be awkward because of the hands still tied behind Wilson’s back and he derived a truly sick pleasure from watching Wilson assume the position. House planted himself so that Wilson’s face was level with his crotch.
“Whore,” he spat out, not sure how much was role-playing anymore. “But you’re my fucking whore, aren’t you?”
“You’ll do whatever I say.”
“I’m your fucking whore and I’ll do whatever you want.”
House reached down to undo the top snap and pull the zipper down. His prick was extremely happy to be free at last and expressed its appreciation by standing at attention. Powerful stuff. More arousing than he’d actually expected.
“Suck it,” he demanded and Wilson obeyed with alacrity and skill.
House concentrated on balance and keeping the weight on the cane and the good leg as Wilson’s mouth enveloped him with an urgency reminiscent of a first time, or a last time.
“Cocksucker. You fucking slut. You bastard. Keep sucking. Don’t stop. Make it nice and wet because I am going to fuck you like the fucking whore you are.”
Wilson’s possible contributions to the conversation were muffled by House’s cock, which Wilson had taken far deeper than House could imagine doing in return. That realization alone ratcheted up the heat a few more degrees.
Wilson’s eyes and a mouthful of cock looked up at him pleadingly.
House pulled himself away from the exquisite sensation.
Easier said than done. Wilson had been on his knees awhile. His wrists must be totally numb by now. Again House experienced the grim pleasure of watching his normally lithe friend being temporarily graceless, even… crippled.
He celebrated with the little white pill that was nestled in his left pocket next to a Trojan.
“Turn around. I’m going to untie your hands, but only so you can put them on the bed. I want your legs apart and your ass in the air. And don’t even think of touching yourself. That’s all mine. Got it?”
Julie had him trained all right. Well, the mighty Julie was certainly about to be topped tonight. For some reason the Julie thought brought up a deep well of emotion. “How could you do that?” he exploded, reaching out to hit Wilson’s ass with the flat of his hand. Wilson let out an “aaaaaaahhhhhhh” sound that released the rest of the torrent.
“That’s for Julie (spank), that’s for me (smack) and this is for all of us (hard smack). This,” he pulled the Trojan out and did toothy battle with the wrapper, ”this is for being a fucking, goddamned whore.” He quickly sheathed himself and drove into Wilson’s ass with a heat and rage and passion and love and fury and hatred that surpassed anything House could remember, including the streams of vituperation he had leveled at Stacy after he woke from the coma. With only spit and sweat to ease the way, Greg fucked Wilson into oblivion and went there with him.
He reached out blindly and starting yanking Wilson’s cock in time to his own thrusting.
“Goddamned, motherfucking cocksucker.” He cursed himself hoarse until he couldn’t form words or groans.
All he could feel was himself coming into Wilson’s ass, as if every pain and pleasure center in his body were hooked up to that one point. Wilson was coming in his hand, and maybe, just maybe, Wilson wasn’t the only one crying.
This time, Wilson came back to reality first. He did a quick internal assessment. Physical: His ass was sore. Arms and legs, too. He wondered if his favorite Vicodin addict had anything as benign as Motrin around. Emotional: He sighed heavily. He thought it might be something like his chemo patients experienced. You go through the pain to kill something worse. He hoped House had gotten what he needed.
Wilson opened his eyes. At least they’d both ended up on top of the bed. He took brief notice of the fact that he was naked and getting cold. House was lying on his back, still wearing his ensemble with the black jeans down to his knees. Those boots couldn’t be doing the covers any good.
House’s eyes were closed. He could be sleeping, comatose or just thinking. Hopefully not about a repeat performance. Wilson had gotten off, like gangbusters, he admitted to himself, but he didn’t really consider this a safe place for either of them and the whole point of Wilson and House’s friendship was safety.
“House? House, are you ok?”
“House,” he said a bit more loudly. “I’m getting cold and you should really get those boots off the bed.”
“It’s my bed,” came the welcome grumble. “If you’re cold, get under the blanket.”
“You should get out of that stuff.”
“Giving me orders? What kind of slave are you?”
”Game’s over, House.” Wilson said seriously.
“Yeah. I guess so.” Wilson had to stifle his sigh of relief. “How’d I play?”
”Compared to who?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anyone else you might let tie you up and say bad things to you. Cuddy, Chase…Julie?”
“Julie? Julie! My wife, Julie?”
“No, my cleaning woman Julie. I just had a theory that in your case, those ties that bind weren’t completely metaphorical.”
“You thought that Julie and I…that Julie was a….dom?”
He noticed House sitting up to remove the boots and pants. He pretended to ignore the grunts that the action required or the rattle of the pill bottle that followed. He risked a quick look for the cane and passed it to House, covering for his concern by continuing to deride House’s notion. “Yeah, right. Julie. My Julie with the whips and the chains and the handcuffs. I can see it now.”
“All right. I get the picture. I was wrong. Alert the media. Tell them I’ll be holding a press conference in the bathroom,” House remarked as he made his way out of the room.
By the time he returned, Wilson had snuggled under a blanket. House came back with a small bottle of Tylenol as well as Wilson’s clothes. He tossed everything on the bed.
“Don’t we look comfy? You should put some clothes on.”
“Are you throwing me out?”
“I don’t need you scaring off the pizza boy when you open the door. I took the liberty of ordering. Was it anchovies or jalapenos you can’t stand? Don’t worry. I got both.”
“You know, I forgot to tell you. I’m the dominant at my house. Julie’s back there trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I should get home before she starts bruising.”
“The door’s that way.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I can sit down to drive. Oh,what the hell. Julie likes that kind of thing. “
“You’ll stay tonight?”
“So I win?”
“Yeah, House. You win.”
Wilson smiled through his soreness and the knowledge that he had to get out of bed soon and have his own press conference in the bathroom.
There was no need to tell House that it wasn’t guilt or whips that kept him with Julie and that control is always an illusion.