Fandom: House MD
Pairings: House/Wilson (references to House/Cuddy, Wilson/Cuddy, Wilson/Sam, but it's really all about House/Wilson.)
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1600
Notes: Icon Prompt from
photoash. Welcome back beta_goddess, who provided a full metal beta ass-kicking. Spoilers for "Help Me."
Warning: Dark!Wilson
Summary: Wilson is late for dinner.
Wilson had the phone to his ear, half-listening to Sam’s plans for dinner, when he noticed Foreman lurking in the doorway. There was still a stack of paperwork to finish in the aftermath of the crane accident and Sam was planning on making his favorite, whatever that was supposed to be. He’d assured her that he would be home soon, but subtly tried to discourage her from going to any great lengths on his behalf. Cooking had never been her strong suit and Wilson was still trying to head off any unforced errors in their “new” relationship.
Once the phone was down, Foreman stepped into Wilson’s office, wearing his familiar look of exasperated disgruntlement.
“What is it, Foreman?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated. They’d all had a long day and besides he already knew “what,” or rather “who.” Only one thing ever brought the diagnostic drones to Wilson’s door.
“It’s House.”
“Of course it is. What now?”
“He lost the patient.”
“The crane operator? I thought he had a spinal cyst.”
Foreman let out a deep sigh and looked down at the floor before meeting Wilson’s eyes.
“There was a woman in the wreckage.”
Wilson nodded. Cuddy had mentioned it in a brief call to him. Apparently House had been halfway nice to the poor woman, who was trapped and faced with losing her leg. Wilson had taken this as a good sign — not that he really had time to do much else, given his own situation in the emergency room.
“And…?” he asked, knowing it must be bad for Foreman to venture into Wilson’s office at all. Their history was too full of animosity for them to ever be especially close, the occasional drunken bachelor party notwithstanding.
“House had to perform an amputation on her leg at the scene. It was the only way to save her life.” Wilson winced, his mind immediately leaping back to House’s infarction. “It worked. They thought she was ok. But in the ambulance…” Foreman stopped there, letting Wilson’s mind fill in the rest.
Wilson got it immediately, even as he hoped he was wrong.
“Fat embolism?”
Foreman nodded.
Wilson started to ask how House was, but there was no point. That’s why Foreman was here in the first place.
“He shouldn’t be alone. I saw him in the lobby. It was pretty bad. As bad as I’ve ever seen him.”
That was saying something.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wilson yelled, putting on his suit jacket, and walking toward the door.
Foreman looked suitably guilty, but typically defensive at the same time.
“I know I should have come sooner, but he said to leave him alone, so I tried to do that. And then I thought about it…about how he gets…you should go over there.”
Wilson walked past him without another word, too busy listening to the angry voice in his own head.
Why the hell didn’t I know? Why didn’t House tell me?
It hurt deep in his chest, cold and bitter.
House had to be in pain right now, both physical and mental, and House in pain was House ready to do something stupid. Wilson had to find House and stop him, no matter what kind of self-destruction House had chosen this time. He tried very hard not to imagine House following Kutner’s way out, but he knew it was possible. House’s pain was so deep and only Wilson had come close to understanding it. If House hadn’t chosen to call him, then things were very, very bad and House felt completely and utterly betrayed.
Tritter all over again. This time Wilson wouldn’t walk away. He’d save House and make sure House knew he was being saved.
He meant to pull into the space in front of House’s apartment that he still thought of as his, but there was another car there, one he recognized immediately as Cuddy’s.
Wilson tried to tell himself that she’d only gone in to make sure her star employee was still alive, but if that were the case, either she would have ascertained House’s safety and left or she’d have called an ambulance if one were necessary. No sirens could be heard and Wilson also suspected that Cuddy was fully capable of bodily slinging House over her shoulder and throwing him in her own car to take him to the hospital.
Wilson parked on the other side of the street. And waited. Five, ten, twenty minutes, with the pain in his chest expanding every second, because Wilson had never forgotten that when House was having a mental breakdown as a result of Vicodin use, he’d hallucinated making love to Cuddy. It was easy enough to ignore the sex fantasy as typical House, but his insistence that Cuddy had helped him through detox was unforgiveable. Saving House was Wilson’s job.
He should be in there, not her. After all, Cuddy had chosen Lucas, with plenty of support from her good friend Wilson, who’d gone out of his way to point out what a decent, caring guy Lucas was while never failing to remind House that Cuddy was a bitch who’d rejected him.
Something must have happened at the disaster site, some kind of bonding or rapproachment, and now it was too late. Cuddy was still in there and if she was in there and House was in there, then something was happening.
House’s fantasy was coming true while Wilson’s was coming apart.
He wanted to go in there and stop them. Tell them how bad they were for each other. Remind Cuddy that House would never forgive her for her part in the surgery on his leg, tell House about all the times Cuddy had treated him like shit. Promise House that he’d dump Sam. Tell Cuddy that House was only with her because Wilson had thrown him out.
He couldn’t do it.
All he could do was sit there and imagine the two of them together. Since he knew House’s body intimately, he knew exactly what it would take for House to get it up. He wondered if Cuddy had as much skill in that area as he did. How many hours had he spent with House’s cock in his mouth? Sometimes nothing would happen. Too much pain. Too many pills. Even after detox, it hadn’t been easy. But Wilson hadn’t minded. His patience had made House all the more grateful.
Wilson rubbed his jaw, remembering, longing, wishing, wondering why he was letting it all go. For what? For Sam? It was almost laughable, except the ache was spreading through his body, and the thought of Cuddy on her knees, doing Wilson’s job, was getting to him.
His jealousy wasn’t all about House. He’d like to fuck Cuddy himself. Had always wanted to, even when he was playing the “good” employee. The fumbling nice guy who’d failed the “daddy” test because he had no desire to be anyone’s sperm donor. If she couldn’t be faithful to that schmuck Lucas, what made her think she wouldn’t break House’s heart? Wilson could get her all right. Fuck her hard on the desk in her office, pushing one of her hooker-skirts far up her thighs and grabbing that ass that House was always going on about.
With House she’d have to get on top, go gentle, worry about the leg, the way Wilson had so many times, but with him…oh, they’d go at it loud enough for House’s whole staff to come running and see exactly who the better man was.
Wilson had half a mind to go into the apartment right now. House and Cuddy would be in the bedroom, too engrossed in their fucking to notice him standing there, jerking off to the sight of Cuddy’s tits bouncing up and down as she straddled House and the sound of House’s familiar moans, noises that he hated hearing House make for anyone but him.
He had his cock out, rubbing hard, seeing fleeting images of House and Cuddy in the bedroom, he and Cuddy on the desk, and even a momentary glimpse of him and House double-teaming Cuddy from both sides, all running through his mind. He panted hard, as if trying to push a weight off his chest, a groan starting deep inside his body and what if someone caught him masturbating in a car like some kind of pervert? Good! Let them watch; let them all fucking watch!
His head fell backwards against the seat as he felt the sticky splash against his hand and heard the strangled gasp when he started breathing again.
As Wilson’s vision realigned itself, he was forced to admit that none of this was a hallucination. Cuddy’s car was still parked in front of House’s apartment.
He turned the key in the ignition so he could lower the window and get some air. The summer night breeze was cool on his face and even reached his rapidly softening cock.
He zipped up and took a deep calming breath. At the very least, he could count on House to screw up any relationship he might try to have with Cuddy, and who would he have to come to with all the details but his best friend? Wilson had lost one night’s battle; that was all. He could leave House to his little fantasy for one night before finding a way to tug the leash that would return House’s affections to their proper place.
It was time to go home and have his favorite dinner, although he had no idea what that was.
After all, Sam was still waiting for him.