Doctor's Hands
They coursed over his arching body, coaxing the sounds from his parted lips. They touched him, teased him to the very brink of his sanity, giving him more than he could take yet just not enough. With every inch of skin they fell upon, Wilson was left just that little bit more needy for what hidden satisfactions they could prise from his desperate mind.
"James."
As House sat astride the Oncologist, fingertips tracing unseen patterns onto the man's taut abdomen, the ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he saw Wilson's form buck at his own name. Beneath his skin, Greg could feel the muscles tighten in the wake of his touches, and shifted his weight to expose the fastens on his slacks. With a painful slowness he pulled them away.
"Please."
To House's ears the word was caught between both want and need, and he tilted his head while sliding the black slacks from Wilson's hips. No response was given, rather just a soundless kiss to James' ajar lips. Releasing their grip on the other's garments, they slid up his semi-clothed body to take a firm hold on Wilson's wrists, pinning them into the sheets.
Beneath the surprisingly soft, tender hands of Dr. Gregory House, Wilson was left feeling enkindled, each pore set alight by his lover's tormenting touch.