This was hard. So unbelievably, exhaustingly, and depressingly hard. What Wilson wouldn't give to just move a little closer...touch his hand...run a few fingers through his tussled, graying hair...whisper that everything was going to turn out alright. If House would just give him some sort of clue to indicate that he wanted physical comfort, or anything really, he would do it in a heartbeat.
He glanced over, gripping his coffee mug, and noticed the way the soft morning sunlight shone onto House's lined face, throwing his true feelings into sharp relief. He was devastated, that much was obvious, but Wilson was hardly prepared for the horrible defeat in those blue eyes. He could hide all he wanted behind hookers and alcohol to avoid facing that emotion - he couldn't hide it from Wilson. But they stood so far apart, House, in his bathrobe, Wilson, fully clothed. This wasn't right. There was some sort of barrier between them that needed to be broken. Had it always been there? Wilson didn't think so. His grip tightened as he looked down into the light brown contents of his mug, not very much in the mood to force it down his throat.
Good, Lord. How do you still have teeth?
He couldn't even bring himself to smile as he remembered one of House's many comments on how he liked to drink his coffee. What had ever happened to those comments? House acted like it was a chore, being Wilson's friend nowadays. What had he done? He'd never felt closer to House than when the two of them had been living together, and then...well, he'd just had to go and ruin everything. Because he was a damn coward. Now something was different, and House was worse off than he had been in a long time. Wilson was worse off. They did so well together, supporting each other and living off of jokes and monster truck rallies, and then when they went their separate ways, physically, it was like disaster singled them out on purpose. Not that Sam's refusal to marry him was a disaster...but that was beside the point.
Wilson ignored the latest hooker when she brought House's ringing cell phone out onto the balcony.
With House speaking to his team, Wilson was free to ponder some more over the subject that had been haunting him for weeks, and especially so ever since his best friend had gotten dumped by the woman of his dreams. The real issue at hand was not their ailing friendship, but House's current situation. What he'd said moments ago, about Wilson being scared of him falling to pieces, was absolutely true. There had to be something he could do to prevent it...he had to discover that one tell that would let him know that House wanted Wilson's help. He'd already paid multiple visits to the hotel in the hope of catching him without a hooker, or without empty bottles of alcohol and Vicodin - in the hope that maybe House would just be sitting there, in a depressed stupor. Because Wilson could help him then. He knew how to provide comfort. Maybe not in the way that House was used to, but he knew how to do it. However, with all the distractions lurking about, it was near impossible. His friend was self-destructing, and Wilson was being forced to watch. That was why he'd gone to Cuddy; he had nearly broken down in his car on the way to her home for not being able to effectively penetrate the wall House had been putting up between them, and he understood that Cuddy would be able to get in if she wanted. The fact was painful, but it was the truth. He wasn't what House needed anymore - Cuddy was. Now that Cuddy was gone, House held interest for nothing and no one else. Wilson was hurt by that, but more so by the possiblity of House doing something stupid to purposefully hurt himself. But Cuddy had refused, and he could think of no other way to help him. How desperately he wished there was something he could do! This was so hard...there was no one else in the world who held the level of importance in Wilson's heart than House.
Perhaps House didn't see that. Perhaps he just didn't care. It wouldn't surprise him.
"Ahem."
Wilson blinked, glancing over at the bathrobe-clad man standing feet from him. He had hung up the phone, and was jerking his head toward the glass door, plainly telling him to leave. Why, Wilson didn't know. He probably wanted to have one more round with his blonde hooker before her time was up.
Sighing softly, Wilson turned to go.
"I'll be back later."
House didn't respond.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Wilson busied himself with paperwork throughout the remainder of the day, holed up in his office. Around midday, he heard one of the nurses telling another that House had finally come in to see his current patient. Wilson didn't expect to see for himself, and didn't particularly care at that point. He couldn't distract his brain from suspecting...that something wasn't right - well, he knew for a fact that something wasn't right - but he just couldn't shake the feeling that it was about to get worse. In which direction could one go after blowing all of one's money on hotel rooms and hookers, but down? House was going to snap underneath the pressure of avoiding his elephant of an issue - the question was when?
As soon as he was finished for the day, he decided to pay his friend another visit. If he had even the slightest ability to put a stop to this insanity before it really began, he was going to use it. He wasn't going to give up.
It was already dark out when he climbed into his car, and pulled out onto the highway. The night was clear, warm; the sky was filled with stars that were usually difficult to spot in the city due to the plethora of lights and neon signs. The night was beautiful. Why, then, did his intuition suddenly tell him that he was going to be too late? That House was not to be trusted on his own right then? Involuntarily, Wilson's jaw clenched as he stepped a bit harder on the gas pedal. He was probably just overreacting...
He reached the hotel; he went straight to the downstairs bar, where he described House's appearance to the bartender, who informed him that a man of that description had recently left a generous tip and left. He hadn't been able to say exactly where. Thanking him, Wilson turned away, disappointment causing his heart to beat irregularly.
A group of cheerfully loud college kids' laughter deafened him for a moment when he walked out into the outside portion of the bar. More than five of them held full sized bottles of alcohol in two hands, yelling across to each other, flirting shamelessly, having a great time. Wilson wondered if House had seen them...maybe observed that he was no longer young and carefree. Except House wasn't an idiot; he knew those things already. But perhaps the recent disaster with Cuddy had made him realize -
"Woah! Man, look! Look - that guy up there - !"
The slurred - and obviously excited - voice broke him from his thoughts, causing him to turn and glance at a young guy, who was pointing upward with a cigarette. Wilson followed his gaze curiously, his gut clenching before he knew the reason. It had to be -
It was. House was standing on the rails of his balcony, one hand stopping his body from tumbling down by pressing against the roof of the balcony above him. Wilson felt his eyes widen, and heard nothing else. Silence pressed in upon him from all sides. Surely this wasn't happening - House wouldn't -
"NO!"
All sound came rushing back to him when House jumped. His heart stopped beating completely, his palms ceased to sweat, and the screams and yells around him were going to make his head explode. His eyes followed House's progress as best as they could until, with a horrible smack, he hit the swimming pool. Breathing jagged, Wilson forced his way through the throng of students to make sure that he was going to surface - with his bad leg, there was no way to know - and in the meantime, he grew numb with relief that his friend hadn't fallen in the direction of the concrete surrounding the pool. Suddenly, people were rushing past him, laughing and yelling once more, and jumped right in as well, as if it were all one giant party. Splashes and kids repeating the cry of "Canonball!" sounded all around. He made it to the front of the situation in time to catch a glimpse of House's face, seemingly carefree, bobbing in between those of his new friends. Wilson didn't mind if he got wet - yet, strangely, not a single drop of water touched him. And, looking at House, laughing as if nothing was terribly, terribly wrong, Wilson lost his temper.
"What the hell are you doing?" he cried, glaring at him now. He wanted to add, "You idiot!", or, "Why don't you care that you almost gave me a heart attack?", but then his flare of intense anger retreated, to be replaced by the same defeat he knew House had been feeling. He was disappointed, and he was scared. This had to only be the beginning, the preview of what was to come.
Barely listening to whatever response House came up with - if he even had one - Wilson shook his head, and turned back. It wasn't important what House was saying in response...he just knew he needed to leave now, or he would break down completely with no way to hinder it. He thought about simply leaving the scene altogether - letting House alone to deal with himself - but his concience would never allow that; he'd promised himself that he wouldn't give up. He wasn't going to give up. Whether House knew it or not, he needed someone. Someone who cared. So, he sought out the nearest restroom. It was going to be a few minutes before he was going to be able to stand seeing his best friend's face; the thought of what could have happened made him sick.
He plopped down heavily onto a toilet seat after having closed and bolted the stall behind him, dropping his aching head into his hands. He took a few moments to breathe properly, and relieve the burning pressure in his chest. The sound silence of the clean, yellow bathroom pounded on his eardrums, yet he still heard people yelling and the splash House made as he hit the water. Behind his closed lids, he saw House falling from four stories high, his body freed from any sort of restraint. The fucking bastard. House had once confessed to him that if Wilson died, he would be alone. Did he not think that it worked both ways? Because he had to have seen him down there! And he jumped anyway. He must have known how it looked to everyone watching - he just didn't care. Wilson thought that House - finally - just didn't care anymore.
And with this thought, he shot up from the toilet as if it had erupted, and bolted from the bathroom.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The door to House's hotel room was slightly ajar when he reached it, breathing heavily. Not bothering to knock, or give any indication to his presence at all - simply because he didn't think House was back from his pool party yet - he went inside, leaving the door as it was before.
Once he stood in the middle of the room, facing the balcony, he stopped. Slowly, he began to turn in a circle, examining everything he possibly could. There were empty bottles littering the floor, a nearly-empty bottle of Vicodin on the bedside table, clothes and sheets strewn about, crumbs here and there - the place was a mess. But there was nothing there to alarm him, as he thought there would be. Even so, he knew that House was not finished. He was planning something else. What was it?
Wilson scoped out the bathroom, checked every cabinet, overturned every object that might have hidden some secret weapon House had managed to sneak inside, and finally, he approached the Vicodin bottle, for that was the only threat that he could detect. He wondered if House was going to come back, and down the remaining...nine pills. That was certainly enough to do serious damage. Wilson pocketed the bottle, intending to drown the contents in a toilet later. Knowing House, there was probably a lot more where those came from, but he had checked literally everywhere. Perhaps they were back at House's apartment.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he sat down on the edge of the full bed to wait. Through the open transparent doors of the balcony, laughter floated up to him, as an obvious result of more splashing. Wilson didn't dare go over to check. If he saw the pool from exactly House's point of view before he jumped, he wouldn't be able to control himself any longer. He did, however, listen hard for the deep tones of the older man's voice to determine whether or not he was still down there, but it was too far away; he couldn't tell.
Running his palm over the length of his face, Wilson laid back on the mattress, his feet still touching the carpeted floor. He heard footsteps. He shot upright again, his eyes flickering to the slightly open door.
Moments later, House entered, sopping wet, with a towel draped half-heartedly over his shoulders. Wilson guessed that a hotel employee had tossed it at him in desire of not getting in trouble for drenched hotel furniture. Or one of his drunk college friends.
Blue eyes swept Wilson's quickly as he kicked the door closed behind him. Now that Wilson saw him up close, he was able to easily pick out the pain in his expression, even underneath the seemingly carefree grin. And it wasn't just emotional pain, but physical, which meant that he was definitely planning to down plenty of medication. Pain was pain after all. Without a word, Wilson reached into his pocket, stood, and tipped two Vicodin into his hand, which he held out to House. Just as soon as he did this, he snatched them back.
"How many have you taken?"
"Took two a while ago."
Wilson squinted at him, trying to decide if he was lying. House met his gaze evenly, not grinning anymore. Curtly, he nodded, holding them out once more.
He wondered if House felt even the slightest sense of guilt for what he had just pulled. The answer was probably not. But he decided not to dwell on that. He cleared his throat, while House swallowed and didn't move. Water was steadily dripping onto the carpet, forming a small puddle around him.
"What are you gonna do now?" he asked quietly.
House's eyes scanned him thoughtfully - curiously - before jerking his head. "You saw - ?"
Wilson's temper flared up without warning. "Oh, don't pretend that you didn't see me down there! Don't you dare."
House quickly clamped his mouth shut. He looked down at the floor, somewhere around Wilson's left foot. There was a moment of tense silence. Wilson forced himself to calm down, focusing on his breathing, never taking his eyes from his friend's wet head. More silence. Apparently House wasn't going to say anything more.
"I thought you cared," Wilson continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Or at least cared enough to know that it is not okay to make it look like you're killing yourself while your best friend watches helplessly."
House stared determinedly at the ground.
Wilson took one very deep breath to compose the emotions that stampeded throughout his body. "But I can see that this...with Cuddy...has really devastated you. And while jumping off of a balcony was an incredibly stupid thing to do, I can...sympathize with why you did it."
House glanced up.
"I know that this isn't about me. I mean, that you no longer care about...really anything right now...I just sort of hoped that you wouldn't really want me to - " he stopped. Then, he shook his head. "No, I'm being - I just - I - "
"It's not selfish."
Wilson stopped again, looking at House, who ran a hand over his scruffy face. "God, Wilson," he said gruffly. "I wasn't going to kill myself."
"But you knew how it looked, and you saw me - " Wilson began before he could stop himself.
"I know! I know, but I wasn't thinking about you. You're right, I didn't care. I...wanted, when I noticed you standing there, a reaction. A true, unrestrained reaction," House confessed, pain flickering in his eyes like a candle flame.
Wilson stared. Then, it clicked. "You think I don't care?" he asked, his voice cracking. "You think - Why would you think - ?"
"No," House snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I know that you care! But in this situation, Wilson, I do not need your pity. I don't need you to offer me living space like I can't take care of myself, like I'm suicidal. I know that I need help. I don't want to die."
A burning heat stung Wilson behind the eyes, but he did not succumb to it. Instead, he watched House, thinking of the best way to respond. So he had been going about this the wrong way...that was why House wasn't opening up. Of course, it took a lot to make House open up, but he'd been getting better. Wilson had just figured that this thing with Cuddy had caused him a major setback. Before he found the right words, House spoke again.
"I need your friendship," he admitted hesitantly, avoiding his gaze once more, "not whatever your concience is telling you to do."
Guilt swooped down upon Wilson. Guilt such as he had never felt before. So he had had something to do with House risking his life...at least a little part of it. He cleared his throat, blinking multiple times to prevent the tears that met in his eyes from falling, and ducked his head, glancing to the side so that House wouldn't see. When he was fairly certain that all was dry, he cleared his throat again, and looked up.
"I'm sorry. I...never meant to pretend that I'm not every bit as screwed up as you."
Briefly, House smiled. "Great. Because you are."
Wilson smiled back, some of the tension leaving him. "Will you please - just - not do that again?"
House's smile widened as he yanked the towel from around his shoulders and scrubbed it through his disheveled hair. "Because without me, you're alone, right?"
Wilson rolled his eyes, hiding his relief, because he knew that House was as serious as a heart attack. "Of course."
House tossed the wet towel onto the bed - his leg buckled, and Wilson was under him in a quarter of a second, holding him up. A small whimper of pain escaped his friend's lips, but Wilson knew better than to comment. He helped him over to the bed, his right shoulder, arm, and side dampening considerably.
"The force with which your leg hit the water can not have been very helpful with the pain," he said in a low voice. House grunted, removing his arm from around Wilson, and lay back, soaking the mattress in a matter of seconds. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting at his bottom lip, no doubt in an effort to hold in a groan.
"It'll pass," Wilson said soothingly. "Do you want me to get your bathrobe that you've been wearing for the past - three days? You have to get out of those clothes."
House threw his head back against his pillow, clutching at his right thigh. "Y-you just want to g-get me naked."
"I think there are easier ways to get you naked."
House tossed his head to one side, pressing his face harshly into the pillow. "Hah..."
Wincing, Wilson stood and went to retrieve the white bathrobe that was draped over the little table by the television as if it were a tablecloth. Thankfully, it seemed to be clean and felt very warm, for it had been laying in the way of the sun's light that came through the door to the balcony all day. He brought it over to House.
"Be honest. Do you need me to help you?"
Still rubbing at his thigh, House managed to sit up. His breathing was becoming heavy. He took the robe from Wilson's hands, lay it across his lap, and shrugged out of his light blue shirt. Then he slipped his arms through the holes, tugging the material around his chest, shivering all the time.
Wilson could see that he was going to have trouble with the pants, so, without giving House room to argue, he began to unbutton them.
"Hey, hey - "
"Shut up."
Once they were unzipped as well, Wilson carefully slid them down over House's thighs (not without difficulty) and then off completely.
"Think you can deal with wet underpants?" he asked after a pause.
House chuckled breathlessly, still shivering. "You chicken." The statement was punctuated by another grunt of pain.
Raising an eyebrow pointedly, Wilson stood again, and glanced around for House's suitcase. Spotting it, he went over and rumaged around for nice, dry underpants. Once he returned, House eyed them distastefully.
"Commando will be fine."
Wilson scoffed, shaking his head. "I am not spending the night here knowing that you're naked underneath a bathrobe."
"You're not spending the night here," House said, looking a little surprised.
"Oh ho, yes, I am. You think I'm leaving your side after what just happened? Not that I'm implying you can't be trusted..." As he spoke, Wilson gently tugged down House's boxers.
House seemed to consider that question for a moment before answering, "Commando will be fine."
"House - " Wilson began, a corner of his mouth twitching, as he dropped the dripping boxers onto the ground beside him.
"Like you've never done it."
His mouth twitched again, but he did not respond to that order, except to simply say, "Fine."
Then, something strange happened. It happened in a split second, but Wilson was sure he wasn't imagining things...House...stiffened, and then groaned in pain. Once the pain passed, he was soft once more. Wilson hadn't even known that could happen. Sure, maybe pain sometimes stimulated arousal, but...surely not. What other explanation was there? Hurriedly, he pulled the rest of the bathrobe closed over House's bottom half, and pretended he hadn't seen anything.
"Need anything else?" he asked.
House looked at him oddly. "You noticed that."
"Noticed what?" he asked, too quickly.
Smirking, House shook his head. "Where are you sleeping?"
Wilson raised his eyes to the ceiling, not fooled for a second. "Do you have to intentionally make this as awkward as you possibly can?"
"You and I both know I can make it exceptionally more awkward," House warned, and Wilson knew he spoke the truth. It still didn't prepare him for what he did next - House shifted aside the flaps of his robe, just a bit, until his lower half was exposed again.
"It was only a little pain arousal," he explained calmly. "Happens everyday. See, when you feel nothing but pain all the time, it helps to try and focus on turning it into something else...I don't even do it conciously anymore."
"Oh - God - " Wilson pulled a face, turning away. "I understand that you're bored, and depressed, and - whatever - but this? This is not okay." He could practically feel House's grin aimed at the back of his neck, but he ignored it, fighting off one of his own. Suddenly, House yelped, and the bed jerked as another spasm of pain shot through what was left of his leg muscle. Wilson whirled around involuntarily.
There was no...arousal this time. He checked, because he had suspicions that House was joking around just to make him uncomfortable. Almost as soon as it had passed, another spasm overtook him, and the older man grabbed onto Wilson's arm, which was nearest him, reflexively. Wilson watched his face, wishing there was something he could do...he'd already given him two Vicodin. That one passed more quickly than the other, however, and House soon lay there, breathing jaggedly. He still clutched loosely at Wilson's arm, his eyes now closed. Concerned, Wilson leaned toward him. He took the hand that was holding onto him, and squeezed it without a thought.
"House?" he asked softly.
"Mm," House half-responded. "Leave me alone."
Wilson cocked his head in confusion. "Why?"
House remained silent, but Wilson could see the confliction in his expression, and realized what it was about. He sighed. "I've seen you in pain plenty of times. This is no different."
"Wilson," House insisted, squeezing his hand briefly back. "Go away."
Confused, but not really in the mood for any sort of confrontation, Wilson stood. He noticed that House had beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and so went to the bathroom, and came back with a warm, damp washcloth. Gently, he pressed it to House's cheek, working his way up and around. At first, his friend lifted his arm as if to stop an attack, but eventually gave in, sighing ever so slightly at the comfortable warmth. Wilson continued down to his neck, moving aside the material of the bathrobe to reach the length of his collarbone. This was the sort of comfort Wilson had been wishing desperately he could provide for days, and House was finally letting him. He'd finally done something right, and broken that wall. Or it could simply be the stunt he'd pulled, resulting in what was probably the worst leg pain he'd experienced in years, and he hadn't the strength to push Wilson away.
After a moment, he began to notice that House's breathing, which had been returning to normal, was becoming strained again, and that he had been slowly turning his head away from him. Wilson drew the cloth away, knowing that it would only irritate him when the pain really struck, but when he sat back, he discovered that it was not pain at all. House was, in fact, semi-erect and trying to hide it.
His breath quietly caught in his chest, and he could only stare. This was not a result of pain.
House lay perfectly still, but his eyes were wide open; they met Wilson's.
"Ignore it," he instructed. "Please. Ignore it."
Wilson's gaze automatically switched to his face. Nervously, he licked his lips. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked, half-jokingly. "Pay attention to it?"
At these words, House's jaw clenched, and a soft curse of frustration issued from him. It soon became apparent why - he went from being semi-erect to being very much erect. Wilson blinked, absolutely fascinated. And enthralled.
House lifted his gaze to the ceiling, staring at it in apparent misery. He obviously couldn't hide it, and there was no way for him to predict Wilson's reaction. For the first time since Wilson had known him, House was genuinely, utterly, and horribly embarrassed. His cheeks held a deep pink color and they seemed to be getting pinker the longer he seemed to hold his breath. He also seemed to be on the verge of tears. He had lost Cuddy, and now he feared he was going to lose Wilson. Little did he know that Wilson could never leave. No matter what. Little did he know that Wilson had only imagined moments like these could occur in his dreams.
While his friend drowned in terrible devastation, he hesitantly bent down, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his erection. House gave a violent start, staring down at him in shock. Wilson enjoyed those few times when he succeeded in doing that. The resulting expression was so...un-House. It was wide and made him appear very vulnerable, which was something that House needed to admit to being from time to time. Their eyes locking, Wilson kissed him again. House was concentrating on him now. Making sure that this was no joke. How could he even consider that a possibility? Wilson kissed him again, confirming that it was real. House swallowed.
Doing the same, Wilson licked the underside of his warming member, rather inexpertly, but that didn't seem to matter; House inhaled sharply through his nose, staring at Wilson as though he'd never seen anything so wonderful. Wilson stared down at his new experiment, contemplating his next move. This was more than he had ever dared hope for...he had to make this unbelievable. He lowered his mouth onto the tip, swirling his tongue around the head thoughtfully, before plunging downward. House groaned loudly. Luckily, his mouth was big enough to take him all in - not that he was absurdly large or anything - but it made his job easier. He brought his mouth back up, sucking along the way. House cursed softly again, and Wilson definitely felt a stirring in his pants. Feeling the excitement grow, he crawled fully onto the bed, positioning himself directly between House's legs. Carefully, he nudged them apart, making sure that he didn't hurt House's bad leg. Sliding his hands under the bathrobe, he gripped his thighs, his left thumb massaging the ruined flesh.
"Wilson," House breathed. "Am I hallucinating? I am, aren't I?"
"No," he breathed back, gently kissing his lower belly. "This is me. You actually jumped off a balcony an hour ago."
House's aroused member pressed into his throat as he spoke, achieving an unintentional, but very pleasurable effect. The tiny, whisper of a groan that House emitted caused Wilson to swallow him whole again. He wanted to drive House to the edge, to hear him groan again, and louder. But most of all, he wanted to distract House from his pain. All of it. Hopefully this brand of help would last. He swirled his tongue, wrapping it around every inch of House available, and sucked firmly, his head beginning to bob. House threw his head back, biting his lip, but that couldn't stop the whimper that burst forth. His hips moved just barely; Wilson slid his hands along the still-damp skin, and held them down. He slowed down to a tantalizing pace, tightening his lips around the throbbing organ, wondering if that would frustrate him as much as it always frustrated Wilson. As a matter of fact, it did, but that certainly did not seem to indicate that he was any less stimulated. Wilson wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to endure these noises...yet, he continued to go slow, intent on hearing House's voice as much as possible.
"Wilson - "
"Mm..." Wilson groaned around him, unable to help himself. House cried softly out at that, slipping his long fingers into Wilson's hair.
"Go faster - "
Wilson groaned around him again, and happily obliged. His head bobbed quickly for a few moments, and then he came off of him with a little pop. House groaned loudly in protest, clearly trying to move his hips. Wilson did not leave him unattended for long; he licked a path up the underside again, slick with saliva, then back down. Then, with House's member resting, throbbing, on his cheek, he pressed his tongue against his balls, poking and licking experimentally. House stopped writhing. Wilson glanced up, nervous suddenly, worried that he might have gone too far. What he saw nearly sent him over the edge; House was lying perfectly still, his features relaxed into total bliss. Wilson had never seen him so vulnerable. So peaceful. But when he stopped, House's breathing became very ragged, and his eyes shot open.
Pretending as if he had not meant to pause, Wilson lowered his head and continued. Now stroking House's member with one hand, he teased his balls with his tongue, earning a breathless moan. Wilson was hard as a rock. But that didn't matter. He wanted to focus completely on House. He couldn't believe he had him in the palm of his hand like this - literally. House would do anything he wanted right now...hopefully there would be time for that later. After getting his fill of massaging the soft balls with his mouth, Wilson returned to his original task. He sucked faster than ever, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin; House's groans grew louder and closer together as he neared his release. Wilson knew that holding his hips down was absolutely driving him crazy, so, at the last possible moment, he let go, and House immediately thrusted into his mouth like he'd been an animal locked in a cage; Wilson was prepared, and pulled back enough so that he didn't choke. He met House's thrusts, doing whatever he could to help him throw him overboard.
He didn't have to wait long - as Wilson failed to hold back another groan of sexual tension, House came. Wilson pulled back just in time to have thin, white ropes gush over his hand. He stroked slowly until House was finished, and was simply breathing heavily.
Overcome with emotion, Wilson crawled up House's body, which was lightly sheened with sweat, and pressed a messy kiss to his mouth.
"Mm - " House said, caught between catching his breath, and not being able to. He buried his hands in Wilson's brown hair. Wilson detached their lips, instead burying his face into House's neck, smelling the sweat, but mostly clorine. It covered up most of House's natural smell, which was a disappointment, but it wasn't as if he would never smell it again. He kissed House neck, moved down to his chest, moved back up, caught him in another messy kiss in which tongues were heavily involved, and did not once mangage to catch his breath either.
"We should get you a bathrobe," House told him deliriously, his hands eventually coming around to grip the sides of his face to hold it still. His blue eyes twinkled, and, for a moment, Wilson became entranced by them. He traced House's lips with his thumb, thrilled that he was able to touch him this way. He was so handsome...Inwardly, he cringed at the reaction he would receive if he ever revealed his opinion out loud. The thought made him laugh softly.
House smiled at him. "That's your cue to take all of your clothes off."
Wilson was hesitant, even though his body was clearly telling him to obey. After a pause, he asked, "Your leg?"
"Is fine now. It's not like you ever let me get it good and mangled anyway."
He grinned, kissing his best friend. "I promise to let you next time." And he kissed him again. And again. Then attacked his jawline and neck once more, not able to get enough. House's hands slipped between them to begin unbuttoning Wilson's shirt. Breaking them apart, Wilson sat back to do it himself. Swiftly he undid each button and let the shirt fall where it may, and promptly returned to the warmth of House's body, conciously allowing their chests to align and give off twice the heat. God, he wanted him more than he'd wanted someone in a long time.
House ran his hands down Wilson's back, and back up, over his neck, and slipped them into his hair, kissing him passionately. Wilson groaned into his mouth - it had been nearly two months since he'd been touched this way. And never had he been touched with so much care and clear need by someone he loved as much as he loved this man. Breaking the kiss, he rolled over to House's right side, onto his back, where he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pushing them down to his ankles, and then kicked them to the end of the bed. It was such a relief to free his aching member - apparently, it was a relief to House too, who sighed, and immediately reached over to grip it in one warm hand. Wilson gasped softly at the contact. After a couple of mind-numbingly wonderful strokes, he forced himself to stop House's hand, climbing over him again. House gripped his waist instead, initiating what Wilson already had in mind - they rutted against each other, slowly at first, and then with more speed and friction. Wilson moaned into his ear, his tongue occasionally darting out to mark the sensitive spot he'd discovered, his hands on either side of House's flushed face.
"How far do you want to go with this?" he breathed, placing kisses lower and lower.
"Can we go all the way, Jimmy?" House joked between gasps of pleasure. "Twenty years...twenty fucking years."
Wilson bit down on his collarbone - that thought had struck him multiple time that night...mostly when House had nearly murdered himself, but now it slammed into him with so much force it almost knocked him over.
"Yes," he agreed. "I love you."
"I love you too," House groaned. "Show me how much before I end up molesting you."
Wilson tsked, kissing him deeply. "Wouldn't that be romantic..." he murmured. He raised himself up on his knees, his heart thumping wildly into his ribcage. House loved him too...he could scarcely believe what he was about to do. As he reached over to the bedside table, he grabbed a hold of the silver handle, and pulled, but House chose that moment to begin stroking him, so the drawer went toppling to the ground with a clatter that neither of them really heard. Wilson's chin dropped as he supported himself on all fours as best he could, while House laughed underneath him.
"I told you to hurry. Sorry, what I should have said was hurry."
"You're an ass," Wilson groaned good-naturedly. "Gimme two seconds."
House stopped him before he had the chance to get up to retrieve the contents of the fallen drawer. "There's nothing in there. We'll have to do it the old fashioned way."
"Oh," Wilson said with a kiss, and wasted no more time. Spitting into his palm, he used it to make House a bit slicker, along with the drop of pre-cum that had formed impatiently at his tip. House's hips bucked upward at his touch. Wilson then made to spit into his hand again, but his friend stopped him, his blue eyes flooded with raw desire.
"I want to - " he began gruffly.
Without a word, Wilson raised himself to his knees once more to give House easy access. House wet two of his fingers, and his hand disappeared underneath him. He shuddered when he felt one of the fingers against the sensitive skin around his opening. Slowly, House pressed it into him, watching Wilson's face without blinking. Wilson wiggled a little - the sensation was unusual. Almost like he had to go to the bathroom. But as House pressed into him further, it became a very pleasant sensation. He suddenly had a fierce desire to feel it all the way inside him; that was when House slipped in the second finger. Wilson gasped, his hands splayed out under House's arms, trying not to rock backward. The fingers pushed, probing gently, and scissored back and forth.
"House - I'm - ah! Ready. I'm ready - "
"Really? That was fast," House told him, his voice heavy and barely coherent through the obvious desire. He withdrew his fingers, placing both hands now on Wilson's waist. Wilson scooted back a little, taking care not to jostle House's bad leg, and lifted his hips. His heart pounded; his stomach felt like it was tying itself into many grotesque knots, but these were nothing compared to how he felt when he first began to lower himself down onto his best friend's erect member. Both House and he emitted such pitiful noises that he automatically knew they were going to be used as blackmail from that moment on. Wilson didn't stop until he was sitting in House's lap, legs on either side of him, the incredible feeling consuming him until he barely had any idea of where they were anymore. Suddenly, there was movement, and his eyes flew open to see that House was attempting to sit up. Wilson moved with him to the best of his ability until House sat inclined, propped up against a few pillows. They both leaned forward, seeking the other's lips. House wound his strong arms around Wilson's torso, nipping at his bottom lip, and causing Wilson's own throbbing erection to become trapped in between them. He nearly passed out from the pleasure coming in from both sides - he wrapped his arms tightly around House's neck, kissing back furiously, nipping, biting, and licking in no particular ryhthm - not meaning to rock into him, but not being able to help it. House grunted, yanking him forward, and leaned back into his pillows, still very much propped up. Nipping at the skin of his neck, Wilson began to move, whimpering helplessly. He had never felt anything so incredible...House was incredible...everything was incredible.
"Wilson..."
Wilson cried out, throwing one hand behind him; it slapped the mattress between House's legs. He rocked against him, knowing that there was no way this had even the slightest possibility of being drawn out for longer than two or three minutes. House met his thrusts, his hands running over the insides of Wilson's thighs, stimulating him further. Then one of his hands took Wilson's leaking member, squeezing it and rolling it, then stroking and teasing, while the other slid up to his chest, teasing his left nipple.
"House - !" he barked, tossing his head back involuntarily as he was forced to arch his back. "Oh God - "
House leaned forward, now teasing his balls, and made a trail of hot kisses up his chest, over his throat, and finally onto his mouth. Wilson was too distracted to kiss back properly, so it was more like a meeting of tangled tongues.
And then it was all over. He came explosively as soon as he heard House's final cry of pleasure, and felt his load shoot up into him, filling him with a thick, hot fluid. They rode it out, the waves crashing repeatedly, until neither of them had the energy to remain upright. House collapsed onto his pillows, breathing as if he'd just been drowning; Wilson slid off of him and did the same, half draped over his left side. The smell of their sweat mingled. Wilson's cheek stuck wetly to House's chest, but he was far from caring.
They lay there, listening to each other, marveling at what had just taken place between them. After a while, Wilson recovered enough to realize that the area between his thighs was sticky with House's semen, and his own clung to the older man's lower stomach. That actually made him smile like a lovestruck teenager.
As if he had a radar for that sort of thing, House looked at him, smiled as well, and kissed his forehead. Wilson nestled very close to him, one arm thrown over his middle. House had to be just as burning hot as he was, but he knew that neither of them would dare to do anything about it. What they were doing now was just as important - perhaps even more important - than what they had just finished doing. House inhaled, letting it out slowly.
"Wow. This is like the one thing that would help me."
Wilson tapped his stomach twice in acknowledgement, hiding the smile he still wore in House's shoulder, telling him silently that it was the same for him.
"Please tell me I didn't accidentally hurt your leg any."
"Mm, no more pain after than before. And none in between."
"Ha. Good."
House pressed his lips to Wilson's damp forehead again, allowing them to linger this time.
"Wilson...I have no intention of screwing this up."
Wilson closed his eyes, comforted by all the heat and House's deep, rich, and familiar voice. "You can't. There's no way out."
"You know, I left the door open on purpose."
Wilson snorted softly. "I'm sure you did. You had no idea this was going to happen."
"No. But I was sure you wouldn't just leave me alone the way I asked you to. The plan was to get you to see that I needed you there as my friend. I never expected you to jump me. How often do you actually do the jumping?"
"Hey, you were the one who - "
"No, no, I tried to make you go away, remember?"
"Well, aren't you glad I didn't?"
"That's beside the point."
"You don't have a point. You're rambling," Wilson grinned. Then a fairly amusing thought struck him. "Your neighbors probably think you're disgusting. You really don't mind what your hookers look like."
House burst out laughing. "They left two days ago."
"The ones across the hall then."
"You think they heard - ?"
"You think they didn't?"
House laughed again, a deep, free laugh that Wilson hadn't been able to hear in months. "And you don't care. Cuddy would never have wild, unprotected sex with me in a hotel room surrounded by people."
"Or after you walked off the edge of a balcony after drinking and drugging yourself."
The older man chuckled, seemingly to himself. Wilson lay there, listening to his heartbeat, and felt deliriously happy. They still had a long way to go, but for now, everything was alright.
"Still not boring..." he muttered some amount of time later, as they fell asleep.