Author: lucretiafly/fleurione
Pairing: House/Wilson
Genre: Angst++
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 571
WARNINGS: Possibly somewhat dubious sexual consent. Not really, but figured it should be warned for anyway.
Beta: The fabulous jezziejay who tamed my unwieldy sentences. Her enthusiasm for this has been overwhelming :)
Disclaimer: Only the words belong to me, and even then I think 'House' and 'Wilson' belong to David Shore :(
Summary: Give and take works both ways, and Wilson is claiming his due.
Every story starts somewhere, and this one starts one simple evening on a couch. Of course, it's not really that simple, and you have to consider power plays and police detectives and road trips, ex-wives and dead girlfriends. Consider Wilson's give and House's take; the ties that have wound their way around this screwed-up friendship.
And more importantly, House's give and Wilson's take – a shorter thread perhaps, but stronger, and maybe the one that runs through the core, knotting in just the right places to prevent the whole mess from unravelling in front of them.
And maybe what happens next stems from the frailty of this tangle right now, and House's reluctance to push it to breaking point. Or maybe it's that he only so recently lost his friend, and Wilson may still be lost and hurting. Or maybe it's simply that House has never really been able to refuse Wilson anything. For any or all of these reasons, when Wilson's hand comes creeping over House's thigh to rub firmly between his legs, House lets it happen.
Okay, not entirely accurate: he protests at first with a loud "what the fuck?" but then Wilson finally makes eye contact and it's not really a question when he says, "House. Let me, please."
"You owe me" hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, and that's when House shuts his eyes and shuts his mouth, and gives in to the only person he has ever given in to.
He doesn't make a sound as Wilson loosens House's zip, slides to his knees and brings House to full hardness with a few well-placed strokes. And as Wilson's lips slip over the head and his tongue starts working, House focuses on the here and the now and the heat rising in his groin, rather than the who and the why and the threads on the brink of snapping.
Maybe it's because the body can't help but react to pleasurable stimuli, that House is able to shut down his mind, shut out the reality of what's happening. He loses himself in a touch he's been too long without, and it's not long before he's coming silently into Wilson's swallows.
He doesn't protest when Wilson straddles his lap and raises himself up on his knees, merely wets his lips and opens his mouth in preparation for Wilson. He sucks hard with hollowed cheeks, moving his head in counterpoint to Wilson's thrusts, and swallowing down Wilson's come whilst trying to decipher the blank desperation in his eyes.
It could have been a one-off thing, a moment of need never spoken of again, but it isn't. Not when Wilson comes down to rest his head on House's shoulder, to press a fiercely possessive kiss to a sweaty collarbone and utter the first words in what seems like forever; "House... thank you." And it's the rawness in his voice that leaves House unable to do anything but grasp that trembling body and hold it tight against him, as if Wilson could slip away again at any moment.
And so it happens again, and again; a look from Wilson that leaves House no choice but to let it happen. And House can't stand what Wilson's doing to them so focuses on the physical; a whisper of "just touch me" translates as "don't talk about it," because if this is what Wilson needs in order to stay, then what other option is there?