In Heat

Something had to be wrong with House.

Every time Wilson sat down to read or watch TV in the evening House would join him as usual. But what was new was the sitting practically on top of him, staring at him, purring loudly and the sweet and tiny, closed-mouthed, intermittent meows directed at him. And the following him around wherever he goes – not even the bathroom was a private place any more. House would squeeze in after him, winding around his legs when Wilson was standing in front of the mirror, flossing or, and that was slightly more disturbing, when he was sitting on the toilet seat with his pants down. House always had had boundary issues but this was a new level.

When Wilson went to bed at night House had always followed him, naturally. But several nights in a row now, House had not been there to curl against him, to groom and purr and to warm his feet.

In the mornings he would sit at the table in the kitchen again, looking rumpled, bleary-eyed and generally sleep-deprived. There were scratches and marks on his neck, and one morning Wilson even detected a small tear on his ear, crusted over with blood. He tried to talk to House and to clean the wound. But House snapped at him to mind his own business, and accused him of giving him a headache with the rustling of the newspaper and the constant clearing of his throat. He seemed tense, irritated and twitchy, jumping and hissing softly whenever Wilson passed too close behind him or accidently brushed his arm.

In the evenings House would again be the exact opposite of his grumpy morning self. He begged for Wilson's attention and affections, nuzzling and cuddling, looking at him with longing eyes, jumping on him, kneading and pressing against him on the couch. Then, when Wilson came back from brushing his teeth he was already gone, disappeared into the night.

One night Wilson woke with a start, his pulse racing. Loud yowling and whining echoed through the apartment, nothing like he'd ever heard before. He threw away the covers and jumped up to find the source of the noise. It sounded unearthly, but clearly someone was in distress. He followed the noise to House's room and his heart stopped at the thought that House could be hurt. It sounded like too different voices, like a physical fight. Horrible scenes played out in his mind when he gripped the door handle and pushed open the door.

There was House, naked, the sheets pushed to the ground, writhing and rubbing against the mattress, clawing at one pillow, pressed between his legs. He was alone. His eyes were closed, face slack, lips parted, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin, gleaming in the dim light from one open window. He was panting and moaning in time with the desperate little digs of his hips, the fast and shallow thrusting making the pillow rustle. He was on his back, legs spread and folded, but in the next second he rolled onto his knees, spreading them against the mattress, arching his back and throwing back his head, keening loudly and needy, the pillow pressed into his groin, his tail raised and bent to one side in a tense and awkward angle, trembling. He seemed to be pressing his behind into the mattress, his whole body rocking slightly, his hands kneading the pillow rhythmically. The delicate, furred ears are laid almost flat to the sides, eyes still closed, brow furrowed in bliss. And he yowled again. This time Wilson couldn't help it, he gasped audibly, because House was facing him, the sound hitting him full on.

House's eyes snapped open and he stared at him, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths, his hands and hips still.

They both stared at each other, waiting.

Then House's eyes blinked once and he lowered his eyelids. It gave his eyes a gentle expression. Wilson noticed his wide, black pupils, swallowing the light blue irises.

House slowly lowered the pillow he's been clutching and bared himself fully. He gently put down both hands on the mattress and leaned on them. He arched his back, his tail standing up straight, the tip curled slightly and then he carefully and sleekly slid down until his side touched the bed. He looked up at Wilson with mild eyes, a thin smile on his lips, displaying himself, showing off his smooth, finely muscled body, stretching it, lolling around, dragging himself over the bed until he was in front of Wilson, pulling his legs under him and sitting on his haunches, hands supporting him. He looked up at Wilson evenly. Then he started to turn around, slowly, setting one hand in front of the other, slowly and gracefully. He never looked away, ending up peering over his shoulder at Wilson, his back arching, his tail raised.

Wilson held his breath, staring in fascination into House's eyes. House carefully lowered himself onto his elbows and spread his knees further apart until his behind was in line with Wilson's groin. His tail whipped once, then curved up and bent over to one side to expose him to Wilson. He offered himself, waited, completely vulnerable, for Wilson to make a decision.

Wilson's breathing was ragged and uneven, and no matter how he tried to control it he was unable to push down the animal feeling inside.

House must have been in mating mood for the last couple of days, and he even had been out to follow his instincts. Wilson hoped he never settled on a mate. How had he not been able to understand that House had been courting him all this time, how could he have been so blind and ignorant and assumed it was just House having weird mood swings, a new tic or was just messing with him?

Wilson took a hesitant step forward and slowly bent over House's back, their gazes locked. He lowered his mouth to House's and when their lips touched, House slowly pressed himself against Wilson's groin. Wilson groaned as his arousal slipped into place underneath his thin pajama pants and his hips bucked once involuntarily, he had to hold on to House's sides to steady himself. House moaned lowly, and he arched his back again, rubbing against Wilson, his muscles flexing as he slowly ground his hips, writhing in slow motion. He showed Wilson exactly what he wanted, and there was no doubt what it was.

Wilson yanked down his pajama pants.

He pressed himself against House again, skin on skin now, hot and damp with perspiration, House pressing back, his head turned to the side, mouth closed, breathing fast, eyes firmly closed, ears almost flat in a gesture of submission, again, waiting for Wilson's next move.

Wilson canted his hips and slid into House, hearing him cry out harshly. He held on, panting, incredible, slick heat engulfing him. Within moments his hips bucked in quick and deft thrusts, he was clutching House around the waist to hold him still, this primal urge driving him on, to give it to his willing mate, to satisfy him, like he wanted. He could hear House's moans mingle with his own, their voices a crescendo. It must have been only seconds and he felt himself melting and coming, coming inside House, filling him, sweet and hot and perfect. He bit House's smooth neck softly, hearing him cry out again.

In the next moment Wilson found himself on his behind, on the floor, staring dumbly at House. House had lashed out and had shoved him back. Now he was sitting on all fours on the bed, ears laid back, growling lowly. He licked his arm with two quick, jerky moves, irritated and panicky, then blinked angrily at Wilson. To Wilson's amazement he slid down onto the bed in the next moment and rolled on his back, writhing, rubbing his cheek into the spot where they just had sex, then he rolled onto all fours again, suddenly alert, and started to lick one shoulder. Then he sat back on the bed, spreading his legs and bending down to lick the inside of his thigh, then he snatched the edge of the bedspread and started to clean away the evidence of their coupling. He seemed if not freaked out then at least genuinely confused by what just happened to him.

Wilson watched all of the bizarre, obsessive and endearingly futile 'grooming', endured the angry glares and warning snarls every time he moved and tried to sit on the bed as well.

He didn't know what to do. Obviously something had gone completely wrong, and he didn't exactly know what it was. House had seemed to want him, and god, had he made that clear. But now he was pissed. Granted, it had been a little too fast, and maybe House hadn't enjoyed it as much as Wilson had. But he would be willing to make that up if House gave him the chance.

Wilson thought about giving him some space. But when he'd slowly picked up his pajamas and moved in the direction of the door, House stopped dead in the middle of licking a shoulder and spoke for the first time since Wilson had come into the room.

"Where do you think you're going, Casanova?"

"I… I just thought you needed some time… I, is everything alright, I mean…"

House glared at him, then rolled his eyes, whipping his tail in annoyance.

"You know nothing about cats!"

"Sorry. I'm still learning, I guess. So, may I sit on the bed, or is that still too close?"

House stared at him for a few long moments and then his whiskers twitched, he slid down onto the mattress and rolled onto his back, eyes gentle again. Wilson carefully approached the bed and held out a hand for House to sniff. House let him touch his chest and belly, then took his hand in both of his and nuzzled it, licking deftly. The soft purring calmed Wilson further and he relaxed, lying down beside House.

"Are you o.k.? – I mean, did I…, you know, hurt you? I'm not sure I wasn't hurting you."

"You weren't." House nuzzled Wilson's cheek.

"O.k. Good." He wasn't convinced but let it be for the moment. He let House lick his neck and ear. "Do you think…Ah, are we going to do this again, or is this the end of your mating season?"

House stopped, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips and shook his head, his soft ears making a flapping noise.

"Cats have more than one mating season, and mate multiple times in one night." The glint in House's eyes made Wilson shiver pleasantly. "You want another go?"

Wilson stared at him, listening to his loud purring. "Sure. But only if you don't snarl at me afterwards or push me away. And don't say that's what cats do!"

"Let me be the tomcat – and I won't."