Whoever she was, Wilson was really into her. The sounds from his bedroom most notably did not include the rhythmic beat of the headboard against the wall, and –let's face it – he was way too vanilla to fuck her anywhere else.
She wasn't going down on him because she couldn't articulate like that with her mouth full. That must mean Wilson was going down on her. Which meant he was really into her.
House lay back against his pillows and closed his eyes. The woman's verbal responses weren't just clues for Wilson, but served as clues for House's imagination, too. That gasp surely meant Wilson's tongue circling her clit. That drawn out moan meant a finger or two or three thrust inside her, probably expertly twisted halfway inside. That rustle of the bedclothes would mean she was spreading her legs wider and that second rustle would be Wilson moving up the bed to maintain contact.
House imagined the woman clutching the thick locks of Wilson's hair, her painted nails winking between the strands. He imagined her head thrown back and brown – no, make that blonde – hair cascading over her shoulders in gentle ringlets. He could all too well imagine Wilson's pink tongue laving the skin of her inner thigh and he wasn't sure if it was imagination or not, but he could hear Wilson's breath getting heavier. He could imagine Wilson's neglected arousal dripping onto the bedspread, could practically see Wilson physically fighting himself to ignore his own need.
Just because Wilson was an idiot didn't mean House was, too. He untied the string of his pyjama pants and lifted the material from his own erection. The cool air buffeting him did nothing to quell his arousal. Neither did the sound of Wilson smacking his lips on the other side of the wall.
House took himself in hand and started stroking just as the first creaks of Wilson's bedsprings told him Wilson was crawling over…whoever she was.
Some men like to start slowly, tease themselves for a while and build up their arousal. Some guys won't commit to a pace until the final stages before orgasm. But House isn't some guys. By the time his hand circles his cock, his mind has been committed to the act for a long time. This time, a very feminine "Oh ye-sssss" was just seconds behind as Wilson slid inside her. And as Wilson's headboard tapped out a cadence on their shared wall, House didn't need to adjust his strokes to match the pace.
When she screamed her second orgasm, House's hand mimicked what her body was putting Wilson through. When Wilson muttered "Come on, baby," he didn't know he was saying it in House's ear, too. When House came over his stomach, Wilson was coming into the impersonal latex he had buried inside the flavour of the minute.
When she walked into the kitchen and saw House standing before the fridge naked, she confirmed that Wilson had no idea he was home last night.
