Fandom: House MD
Pairings/Characters: House/Cameron/Chase, House/Wilson (UST)
Notes: A very long time ago, I wrote THIS drabble. A few people, including strawberrytatoo, suggested I expand it into a full-blown threesome fic. I'd originally intended it for Come As You're Not, but couldn't get it done in time.
Here it is in all its angsty glory. Takes place during Season 4. NO SEASON SIX SPOILERS!!! Thanks to beta_goddess for awesome and speedy beta.
Summary: A case of PDA and its repercussions.
“Oh, god! Will you two break it up? Go get a hotel or something.”
They weren’t doing anything, really. Just sitting together in the lounge, watching Oprah, his hand around her shoulder, two heads of blonde hair melding into one.
“Piss off, House,” Chase called out, without even looking around.
“Unless you want to join us,” Cameron added in her smuggest voice.
He left faster than he should be able to and tried to forget what he saw and heard, except he couldn’t. Not that it mattered. He certainly wasn't interested and there’s no way she was serious.
Or was she?
By the time he got to Wilson’s office, House was out of breath and his leg was screaming bloody blue murder. He went in without knocking and immediately blurted out the news.
“Cameron and Chase just invited me to a threesome.”
There was no patient in the office to scandalize, just Wilson, whose expression transitioned from concern to disapproval in the time it took House to deposit himself on the couch.
“You can’t do it.”
At first House was inclined to tell Wilson that a limp didn’t mean he couldn’t perform sexually until he realized that Wilson was attempting to forbid him from accepting the invitation, which was interesting as well as aggravating. What part of “joke” did Wilson not get? The idea was ludicrous. He’d only come to share it with Wilson for laughs.
“Why not?” he demanded. From something he’d had absolutely no interest in a few minutes earlier, Cameron and Chase had become at the very least intriguing.
Unless Wilson was kidding, of course. Wilson’s deadpan had been known to fool House on occasion, at least for a few minutes. Maybe he was about to launch into one of his snarkier tributes to Cameron’s lack of sex appeal or the fact that Chase was a man, or at least an approximation thereof. Then they’d both laugh and House would remember why they were friends in spite of Wilson’s intermittent bouts of matrimony.
Wilson was on his feet, practically looming over House with a grim expression on his face.
“This is Cameron we’re talking about. She’s barely recovered from her obsession with you. It’s nothing short of a miracle that those two have managed to form something resembling a healthy relationship, and they couldn’t do it until they were both out from under your shadow. Now you want to waltz in there with your toxic self and screw it all up?”
Nope. Definitely not kidding. Leave it to Wilson to mess up a perfectly good joke.
House got up with a loud effort, determined to track down Cameron and Chase and take them up on their offer, and to make sure that Wilson knew exactly whose fault the damage would be.
“I didn’t… but now I do.”
It was only when he arrived at Cameron’s apartment two nights later and Chase opened the door in jeans and a t-shirt that the reality hit him: Cameron and Chase really meant Cameron and Chase.
For all his flailing, Wilson had never actually brought up that point.
Perhaps House’s acceptance of all lifestyles as equal-opportunity objects of abuse had given Wilson the impression that House had experience along those lines. He didn’t. What he knew of threesomes involved female medical students and too much alcohol. Those memories went back far enough that he’d still had a certain boyish charm and a healthy head of hair. In other words, a long time ago.
Now he was facing Chase, undeniably male despite any jokes House and Wilson might ever have shared on the subject. House looked down and found the sight of Chase’s bare feet as provocative as full nudity.
House remembered the hug that Chase had given (and taken) when he’d been conned into thinking House was going to die. House hadn’t minded that, aside from the slight awkwardness. And whatever House might have said about Chase’s mouth for the purposes of pissing off an employee wasn’t as funny now that he actually had to look at the same mouth and realize he might soon be kissing it. It was a very pretty mouth, he had to admit, but whether he actually wanted to kiss it remained to be seen.
There was still time to leave, he thought. Tell them he was testing to see how much they were still in thrall to their former boss despite protestations of independence. But then Wilson would win, so he walked into the apartment and banged his cane on the floor, demanding a serving wench and ale.
“Will this do?” asked Cameron, bringing a glass of white wine.
He’d half expected her to don the red dress that had gotten such a strong, if fleeting, reaction the night he finally solved Ester’s case. That might have been overkill, even for Cameron. Her black cocktail number was doing a good enough job of getting his attention by showing her arms and shoulders. House had always been a sucker for a woman with good skeletal structure. He had very fond memories of Stacy’s scapula. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Cameron’s collarbone before remembering he’d always had carte blanche to kiss anything of Cameron’s he wanted to.
So why had he waited this long? And why was he taking her wine and sipping at it as though this were some stupid faculty soiree that Cuddy had dragged him to instead of a potential orgy? He instinctively went for a Vicodin and caught Cameron and Chase exchanging a look.
“Don’t worry, kids. Daddy’s just taking his medicine. He’ll still be able to play Candy Land with you, although the lollipop’s gonna be bigger than usual, if you know what I mean.”
“Are you sure about this, House?”
Cameron was doing her best “Worried Wilson” imitation, although she looked better as a blonde than Wilson ever would.
“Put up or shut up,” he growled, giving them one last chance to let them all off the hook.
He had enough Vicodin in his system to take the edge off his pain, but not enough to shut up the Wilson in his own brain trying to talk him out of it.
Said Wilson was finally put to rest, at least temporarily, by the sight of Chase pulling Cameron into his arms and kissing her as though there were no one else there, even though it was clearly being done for House’s benefit. House couldn’t help comparing it to the last time he’d seen them do something like this, when he walked in on them in a supply closet. No awkwardness or fumbling here. In fact, House couldn’t help noticing how well they fit together, and to the extent that he believed in such a thing and would ever phrase it in a way that evoked a Disney movie, he could feel the love between them, as well as the genuine passion.
Like any disease, it fascinated him. How long had it been since he’d felt anything like that? Stacy, of course.
He couldn’t think of Stacy and do this. He wasn’t sure he could do it, period. For all the heat being generated a few feet away from him, he hadn’t quite caught the spark yet.
“If I just wanted to watch, I could always download.”
They broke the kiss and turned to stare at him with a sexual frankness that caused him to look down into his now-empty glass.
Chase took the glass from his hand and led the way to what House assumed was the bedroom, with a side trip to the kitchen to deposit the glass on a counter. House considered asking for a time-out so he could inspect Cameron’s refrigerator. Then he’d know if she kept actual food in the house and whether there was Vegemite or other evidence of Australian colonization.
Time-outs were not forthcoming, but the unsettling feeling of Chase’s hand on his arm was.
“How long have you two been planning this?” House demanded before walking into the bedroom, a quick glance producing nothing of interest to distract him from the matter at hand.
“A long time,” Chase admitted, with a smile that House couldn’t quite decode. “We’ve talked about it, but just figured we’d never get the chance.”
House could just imagine what kind of “talk” and under what circumstances it had occurred. Strangely enough, the visual of Cameron and Chase in the act, discussing their mutual desire for House didn’t produce the effect it should have. They were just too damned sincere to be very arousing. Maybe he should have brought some Viagra as party favors, although it didn’t look like Chase needed any.
He’d expected something along the lines of candles and soft music and perhaps a sexy strip tease. Maybe Cameron’s subscription to Cosmopolitan had expired and she didn’t plan on adhering to the typical list of “Ways To Drive Your Love Mad With Desire.”
Chase seemed equally uninterested in formalities or romantic clichés. He’d already taken off his jeans along with a pair of white Jockey shorts, and House had to admit what Chase had underneath was certainly impressive.
It felt somewhat odd to be so close to a naked man in a non-clinical setting, especially one who appeared so nonchalant about his own nudity. Yeah, well, if I had one of those, I’d be nonchalant too.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, he reminded himself. Just that it hadn’t been quite so cooperative lately. He tried not to feel bitter and ended up with a combination plate of envy and remorse. Oh to be young and handsome with a hard dick and a beautiful woman who couldn’t keep her hands off it.
He might not be young or handsome, but something had happened while he was looking at Chase. Definite wood there and Cameron’s hands were on him, reaching around from the back to caress him through his jeans and underwear.
House wished he could turn off the analytic part of his brain. Wilson wouldn’t be standing here wondering how long he been harboring latent impulses and whether it was the sight of a cock in general or this one in particular. Wilson would turn around and kiss Cameron, as fiercely as possible, taking advantage of what was being so freely offered.
Not being Wilson meant he wasn’t currently cheating on anybody. On the negative side, he needed to ask a few questions, increasingly difficult with Cameron’s hands working their way under the last barrier.
He bit his lower lip to suppress a groan, and imagined a victorious glint in Cameron’s eyes. She’d earned it, even if it was a fine line between tenacity and obsession.
“So, what’s on the menu?”
“What do you want?” said Chase, taking a step into House’s personal space, his erect cock impossible to overlook, placing one hand on House’s shoulder and a tentative kiss on his lips.
House had intended to make it clear that Chase should keep that thing away from any of House’s orifices, but instead he found himself reaching down to touch it.
Just a dick, right? He’d spent enough enough time with his own in hand, so why did this one give him such a thrill, with the feel of silky skin over hardness? His leg was starting to shake, or maybe that was his whole body.
“This is going to be easier if I sit down,” he admitted.
Easier for them too, of course. Once he was seated on the bed, Cameron was able to remove his sneakers, socks and the remaining garments. That left her on the floor with House’s hard-on virtually in front of her face. He felt her fingers stroking him, as if afraid he might stop her, and applying more pressure when he didn’t.
House was vaguely aware that his scar was now visible, but if anyone knew the extent of his damage, it was probably these two. He had to trust them at least that much for this to work.
Trust. Yeah, look where that gets you.
For the time being, it had gotten him a beautiful person at his feet and another one in back, removing his shirt, placing soft kisses on his back and neck. Long fingers traced the patterns of his shoulder blades and lats.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Cameron said softly, before turning her attention to his neck.
Assuming her crush had started on the first day of work, he knew exactly how long. What he didn’t know was how she could be whispering in his ear when he’d last seen her on the floor and he could still feel her hands on his dick.
He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have, and when he opened them, he found a different blond kneeling in front of him.
So this was it. The first line crossed, with the feeling of Chase’s mouth moving over his cock, slow and sensuous. Once again, he had to ponder the question. A mouth was a mouth. A blowjob was a blowjob. It shouldn’t matter who was in which position, but it did.
The fact that it was Chase’s tongue licking his cock and caressing his balls, while Cameron kept kissing and nibbling at his back and neck, made a difference – such a difference that things went far too quickly. He was used to professionals and their patience in the face of his disability, which tended to provide a satisfactory, if predictable, experience.
This was most certainly not predictable.
Chase clearly had some experience in the matter, but his technique was far from the color-by-numbers approach of your average hooker. This was true enthusiasm. House mind briefly revisited the seminary jokes of yore, before giving up on sarcasm and finally giving in to pleasure.
The warmth surrounding his cock, the creative flicks of Chase’s tongue, and the clever application of a sweaty finger. Cameron’s body warm behind him, her breasts pressed against his back, and her mouth still working on his neck.
It was all so good; too good to last.
House felt his toes curling, the throb in his balls, his teeth clenching in an attempt to fend off the inevitable, but it was useless.
He gasped as the first spasms of orgasm hit him, the pleasure so intense as if to remind him how much worse the pain would be when it returned.
“Damn,” he grunted into the darkness.
His eyes had tightly closed again. He was aware of the mouth and the hands and the fact that Cameron and Chase had given him a gift, but he assumed that his impression of Quick Draw McGraw had brought the evening to an early conclusion.
At least he could say he’d done it. Kind of. Time to clean up and go home. See who Conan had on and take a few minutes to curse Cuddy and Stacy for leaving him in this condition.
He’d been planning to reach for his pants as soon as he felt able to send the message to his arms and legs, and say his good-byes when he could make his mouth form words before they could be said to him.
It took a while to get either his limbs or his faculties under control and when he did, he noticed that he wasn’t being given the bum’s rush. Cameron had started stroking his hair in a manner that she probably intended to be soothing. More to the point, Chase had risen to his feet, still showing that impressive erection. His smile was sweet, but the eyes showed less than honorable intentions.
“We’re not done with you yet,” he said, the smile changing to match the eyes.
“Mr. Softee says otherwise,” House replied matter-of-factly, with a downward glance to make the point. It had been years since he was capable of a two-fer in one night.
“Lie down and give us a chance,” Cameron urged, using the same skills of manipulation she must have honed working for him.
“All right,” he said, pushing himself back on the bed, which caused his leg to twinge slightly.
The pills were far away in his jacket pocket. That would be a problem soon, but for now, Chase was helping Cameron out of her dress. He turned her body so that House had a clear view as Chase caressed her breasts from behind her. House watched as Cameron’s face reflected the pleasure and her breasts rose and fell more quickly. Breasts? Had he ever noticed that she actually had them, and if not, why not? The analytical brain was trying to sneak back into the picture. At least it was paying attention to something besides his internal doubts. They really were very nice breasts. From his vantage point, they looked firm and soft and pale, with what appeared to be very sensitive nipples. Yeah, he wanted a piece of that.
Between Chase’s cock and Cameron’s breasts, House could feel the first flicker of reviving interest. Maybe the night wasn’t over just yet.
As he slowly made his way up the steps to his apartment, facing protests from both legs, House gave a fleeting thought to his rapidly diminishing group of wannabes. He hoped they brought in their own reading material the following morning. They’d be lucky if he showed up anytime before noon. He’d be lucky if he could move at all.
Right now, all he wanted was to get into bed, down some pills and find out if this exhaustion could be converted into a few hours of sleep before he woke up to the physical consequences of what he’d done.
It had been…well, he could certainly check “threesome” off the list. Screwed, blued and tattooed, as the old man would say, he thought, opening the door and squinting at the light he didn’t remember leaving on.
He’d really have to get that key back one of these days.
“You did it? You actually did it? After everything I….”
“They’re fine. Trust me, I didn’t poison their revoltingly cute little romance if that’s what you’re worried about. I left them snuggling in bed. Without me.”
House could hear the trace of bitterness in his own voice. He hadn’t thought that part would bother him. He was far past the idea of a relationship with one person, much less two. He’d gotten what he came for, more than he’d actually expected, and left. There was nothing else to do or say, but it would have been nice if they’d asked him to stay, if only so he could turn them down.
Wilson’s voice was in full disappointment mode, tinged with fear and anger.
“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m still a virgin.” Only in the most technical sense and he’d definitely have to change his Kinsey status. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, or better yet, never?”
“You wanted a man so badly you went to Chase?”
“What have you got against Chase all of a sudden?” House shot back without thinking, words coming out before he could properly absorb the combination of Wilson’s words and the resentment in his voice, and when he did it brought him up short and hit him in the gut. “Oh shit! Really?”
Some diagnostician he was. He’d been looking at the symptoms for years and never saw this coming.
But what was it really? An offer or a rebuke?
House had a sudden sense of loss, that he’d missed the clues and the patient had died. Normally he’d go for the paddles, come up with some crazy treatment, throw a Hail Mary pass, but in this case maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
Wilson was standing there, arms crossed, his eyes full of pain and longing. House knew Wilson. It would be easy enough to let Wilson into his bed for one night, but virtually impossible to eject him in the morning.
Was he willing to let that happen? And if he was, why had he just shot several wads on a committed couple who could lavish attention on him and then let him go?
‘Once is a philosopher, twice is a scientist, three times is a pervert,” he said, mangling a half-remembered French expression that seemed relevant. “I’m not a pervert. Sorry.”
He closed his eyes and waited for a response, leaning on the cane. He reached into his pocket for a few loose pills. Two went down roughly and he willed them toward the pain in his leg, apologizing for the awkward position he’d assumed while fucking Cameron, among other things.
He honestly didn’t know what was going to happen next, except that it had to happen soon, because he needed to collapse.
He was both disappointed and relieved to hear the symphony of Wilson’s protracted sigh, announcing that he was accepting the rejection rather than pressing the point.
“Good night, House,” Wilson said, polite to the end, although the door slammed a little firmly, and House suspected there’d be some kind of emotional breakdown either on the doorstep or in the car. Not something he could prevent or deal with right now.
House propelled himself toward the comfort of his bedroom, with more velocity than he’d imagined himself capable of. He was still exhausted and sore, but Wilson had forced his brain to start thinking again and now it couldn’t stop.
He had to tell someone about it. There was nothing to do but call Cuddy.
“What? HOUSE!!! Do you know what time it is? Oh my god, what’s the matter?”
“I think Wilson just propositioned me.”
He gave her time to absorb the information and give him some advice. Something that would help him preserve the friendship and not drive Wilson toward the arms of the next available floozy who might help him re-assert his masculinity. Leave it to Cuddy to say the one thing that might actually make things worse.
“You can’t do it.”