Dominus

Dominus, lat. Trans. Master is one of the honorifics some people use to describe the dominant partner or "owner" in a D/s-relationship.
Usage of "Master" in most D/s environs does not imply any specific expertise, abilities or formal training. To successfully maintain a D/s- relationship takes abilities and skills beyond or apart from normal relationship skills. It is a dominant's responsibility to care for and see to the physical, emotional and psychological well fare of his submissive.

Dominant,he has a dominant personality assertive, authoritative, forceful, domineering, commanding, controlling. Antonym submissive.

House knew by every ache in his body that Wilson was having trouble with Julie again. House was lying on his side, curled in a loose fetal position, with Wilson lying behind him, chest against his back and with one heavy arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and the other servicing as a pillow in disguise, but House knew that in this position, he was stuck until Wilson decided to let him go. It wasn't just the strategic placement of his arms, but his entire body. His lower leg was mirroring his perfectly, while the upper was resting between them, lying on top of his lower leg.

The position was good on his leg though, because having Wilson's domineering presence as well as his physical strength, or at the moment, dead weight, hold him down, cocoon him and render him immobile, kept him from accidentally rolling over on his bad leg.

They had slept like this ever since they met. It hadn't mattered that they had been in parties while in Med. School, or in dorms while in College; they always wound up sleeping like they did now; Wilson wrapped possessively around House, holding onto him. An image might come to mind of Wilson holding House like a child might a teddy bear, but that was not the case. No, House looked small in the younger man's arms. He looked delicate, curled into Wilson's chest, subconsciously seeking his warmth.

Subconsciously seeking his warmth and his safety. House felt small in his arms. He felt vulnerable in his arms, but he also never felt safer than when in his arms.

Sometimes they would sleep dressed, to tired to take off the clothes for the day, but mostly they would sleep naked. When he was alone, which was surprisingly less that most would think, and significantly more than he would like, House slept in night-clothes, because he became cold easily. Wilson, on the other hand, was like an oven. He'd go to bed a few minutes before House to warm up the bed, and created a cocoon of hot air under the blankets. If he didn't, he would wiggle uncomfortably until he warmed up, rubbing against Wilson in ways that always got the brunettes blood rushing. The question was often; where did it rush?

Sometimes he would snap at him and tell him to lay still, which House of course did. Then he would start shivering. Wilson could never be sure if it was because the slighter man was just cold, tense or frightened by his outburst.

Another, and the more frequent, option would also be that after a House's bum had done a certain amount of wiggling against Wilson's hardening crotch, he would be flipped over, devoured and possessed. That was what had happened last night, and now Wilson was still buried deep inside him, keeping him soft and open.

And sore. Very, very sore. He lay awake, but not moving. Not even bothering to try, knowing Wilson's hold would only tighten if he tried to get away. Actually...House wiggled a bit, clenching around the half hard shaft inside him. Wilson made a rumbling sound and pulled the older man tighter against him. House smiled in contentment at being closed in the secure grip, and drifted off to sleep again.

"Oh no you don't," Wilson rumbled, his voice husky and raw from sleep. He arched his hips, making House gasp, and then moan at the deeper penetration. Wilson leaned over House to snatch the bottle of lube and pulled out, rolling House partially over on his stomach while he coated himself with the slick lotion before sinking back into the lovely heat he had come to call his own some twenty plus years ago.

Wilson knew for a fact that he was the only one to see or feel Greg House like this. He felt...honoured, that House had stayed faithful to him - in that sense at least. There had been the stint with Stacy...Wilson had respected House's wish to stay faithful to his girlfriend. Wilson agreed, seeing as he had just married his second. Each of his marriages failed due to him spending too much time with House. Because of his obsession with House. Wilson knew damned well why he kept coming back to House.

They were good together. House was hotter and tighter than any of his wives. He was more responsive, his whimpers rawer, his mewls sweeter and Wilson could never get enough of that tiny shiver he would get when he went as deep as he could go. He loved to see how his knuckles would go white as they clutched the sheets.

His relationship with House was more real than anything else in his life. So why was it then that he kept seeking other company? Kept getting married? Each time he had told House he was getting married, he'd ignored the completely crushed look he'd get for the split second it took for him to get control over himself. Each time he thought he'd be happy. Each time the euphoria wore off right in the middle of the honeymoon.

He'd loose interest. He remembered just after his second marriage, he'd faked an emergency and cut the honeymoon short. He'd gone straight to House's. They'd fought and argued and had very angry sex. Later that evening he'd gotten real emergency and had to leave. He'd always found it strange that House hadn't bothered to bitch or take a jibe at him, but rather ignored him. A week later he'd met Stacey. The rest was history.

House laid in bed while Wilson showered. He was sore and tired, but in a good way. Despite his extensive routine Wilson was very quick and was soon on his way out the door. House got up to say good-bye before he got ready for his day. As he leaned against the door he expected a kiss as his lover headed out the door.

"Bye-" Wilson said and strode out the door.

House felt his heart shatter as the door closed. It was one of those days, he thought. Following those days came that girl, followed by another wedding.

Shaking, he felt a tear slip down his cheek. Angrily he wiped it away.

He shouldn't blame Wilson for wanting normal. House, was after all, nothing but an ex-con, ex-addict trouble maker.

Wilson deserved better.

As he slipped to the floor, his good leg unable to hold him up as he cried, he briefly wondered if Foreman would be more receptive to a sick-day than Cuddy was...

A/N; I'm sure you get the title of the story :P So what do you think?