Title: The Perils of Coming Home Early
Author: Sy Dedalus
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: M for explicit sexual content
Warnings: AU
Spoilers: none
Summary: What if, after discovering they rather like physical intimacy with each other, House and Wilson choose to live that way? Some PWP.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: So…I've thought about continuing this fic since I first wrote it. What I'd like to do is explore the reality of two men whose friendship turns into a sexual relationship – maybe more. I'll try to get as close as I can get to that reality, since I'm female and heterosexual. There will be lots and lots of sex in this fic, though I'm not the best at writing explicit sex scenes. I expect some angst to show up and some humor too. It's not PWP per se, but it's not got a plot except that of exploring this relationship. This fic began after the episode "Love Hurts" and I may take it up through the rest of the season 1 episodes—maybe further. Seems like establishing a new relationship just before House's dear old ex turns up might be fun to play around with. I don't know how genre-specific this will be or if I'll even finish it, though I'd like to take it to some natural conclusion (but I've not got the best track record for finishing long fics ;) ).
CONTENT WARNING: This fic is rated M for a reason. This chapter contains explicit sexual content and explicit language. I expect most future chapters to contain the same thing. If you are underage or bothered by explicit sexual content, please don't read this fic.
Another note: there's a reference in here about unprotected anal sex. I absolutely do not advocate unprotected sex of any kind and I doubt these fictional characters would either. But keep in mind that this is fiction and that even if it tries to mimic reality, reality is always much more dangerous. Be safe!
Chapter 2: Dream and Memory
House shoved into him, harder than Wilson had ever imagined anyone could fuck anyone else, nailing his prostate, and the funny electrical charge that was an orgasm exploded whole-body on him, making him feel like every bone and muscle he had was going to burst out of his skin. It was so unimaginably good to feel this way, and he would've sprayed semen everywhere before House could push in again, a primitive, guttural howl leaping out of his throat, if he hadn't been dreaming. Because in every dream he'd ever had where he was being fucked by another man, he never came.
He came sometimes in dreams where he was fucking women or even fucking a man, but never when he was being fucked, no matter who it was fucking him. Those dreams almost always produced the most needy morning erection and if he was in bed with a wife or girlfriend and she was willing, those dreams created some of the most intense and satisfying ten minute fucks of his life.
But in this dream where he was being fucked hard by House, his whole body became a receptacle of pleasure and all he could do was ride it out. Sometimes the dream lasted long enough for House to fuck him thoroughly, whispering dirty nothings into his ear until his own primeval orgasmic yell was ripped from his throat, then collapse against him, panting, sweating, his weight so right, so perfect, catch his breath and make a crack, "Jimmy-cum-lately?" But in this dream all he was able to do was exist in the warm cosmic bath, utterly fulfilled.
And sometimes he would become aware that he wasn't erect anymore and that streaks of cold semen that was undoubtedly his had spread out on a bed or a floor or a desk or whatever surface House had been fucking him against, but he never remembered coming. On those nights, he would wake up to that reality and his cheeks would automatically redden whether she was awake or not: married men shouldn't have wet dreams.
But tonight, in this dream, he was still standing—writhing, crawling, feeling like death was upon him, death that felt so good—in the between-time that straddled the first hard touch of his prostate and the second. The set up had been one of the three or four scenarios that were House-specific: this time it had been the clinic set up.
For reasons that made sense only in dreams, he found himself in an exam room, pants around his ankles, with a demanding erection he was trying his best to conceal against the table, waiting for House to enter and conclude the yearly physical with a prostate exam. He was always embarrassed, not wanting House to know he was so turned on before the other man's fingers were anywhere near his anal cavity, and always afraid that he would come before the exam had even begun from the sheer eroticism of it. In this dream scenario, he always had the control of a fourteen year old: ready to come at the mere thought of physical contact. And when House did enter the room, it was to tell him he was a naughty boy and before he could turn around to stammer an apology, House would pin him against the table. There was no moment of recognition. None was needed in the fantasy of this dream. But the reality of having another man's penis in his ass always drug out: first House used one finger, then another, going slowly but with determination, and once the little rips of pain had passed, the moment arrived, that first hard shove against his prostate.
And now the second shove came. The cold, hard surfaces of the clinic room became soft and firm: House never fucked him against metal. In this species of dream, House was never missing thigh muscle either. Both of his legs were strong and except for the little rip of anal flesh at the beginning, no pain existed except the exquisite pain of being fucked. In other dreams, when Wilson was doing the fucking, reality did exist and he had to accommodate the disability. In still other dreams when he was fucking, House was whole. And in others, dreams that were closer to nightmares, he would fuck House even if he knew he was hurting the other man. Those were angry dreams and the more pain House acknowledged, the harder he would fuck. Thankfully, that dream was rare.
And this one now, this was one of his favorites.
The dream sped up, they had worked out a rhythm, and all he could do was moan and enjoy it until it was over.
House smiled faintly, his head propped up on his left elbow, a pillow between his knees enabling the position, watching the frantic back-and-forth of Wilson's eyeballs under his lids and the little twitches his lips made as he dreamed in the moonlight. House's gaze drifted down Wilson's naked upper body it met sheets and a comforter, then paused on the slight bulge. Whatever he was dreaming about, he was very happy. Probably Debbie from accounting. But House wasn't jealous.
He had been slightly disoriented when he'd first woken up to find his best friend sleeping next to him. Then the night before came back to him and he felt such a mix of emotions that he didn't know where to begin, though a few quick and easy strokes over his morning erection seemed like a great idea. He opted for his wake-up Vicodin dose instead.
Then he'd lain quietly on his back recalling the feel of Wilson's lips on his own lips, a hand reaching up to feel the bite marks Wilson had left on his right shoulder, and the feel of Wilson's lips on his erect penis and the wonderful if slightly inept blow job he'd received. Then he recalled watching Wilson bring himself off, the way his face looked at his came. And then it was only the pain from his leg that kept him from giving in to the need of his erection. The pull in his abdomen and penis and testicles and the demand that he reach down and touch was almost too much. Hands behind his head to keep himself from straying, he'd had to fight not to buck his hips against the sheet as the dose kicked in and began to quiet the pain. Any resistance would have felt so good.
He'd been ready to reach over and wake Wilson up to demand he do something about this intolerable erection when he noticed Wilson's face twitching and heard a soft moan come from him. House had envied the dream for a long moment. Then he'd decided to turn on his side and watch. He'd had to move his own pillow between his knees—Wilson was sleeping on his extra pillow—and that had been just painful enough to distract him from his insistent third leg.
But now that he'd been watching for a few minutes, the pain had died down again, and morning need had taken over. He couldn't stand to wait any longer.
He reached over and put his hand on Wilson's chest, very lightly. His flesh was so warm and alive. House could feel his ribcage expand as he breathed in. The moment was ridiculously beautiful. He'd done this with Stacy, too, early in their relationship when he woke up first. He'd watch her sleep, then put a cautious hand on midsection to make sure she was real. Sometimes she would wake up and purr and they'd have great sex. Sometimes she'd roll over and go back to sleep. But every time he had her permission to watch her and touch her and kiss her and fuck her. Right now he wasn't sure if Wilson would let him do any of that. Last night could have been a fluke, after all. Wilson might have been much drunker than he'd admitted to being. House might have dreamed the whole thing, though how Wilson had gotten into his bed if he'd dreamed it, he didn't know.
And he didn't know now whether this was a good idea or not. But his flesh said yes, this is the best idea you've ever had. So he reached over, stretching his upper body, and kissed the indention between two of Wilson's ribs.
That felt good. But he wanted more.
He opened his mouth to gently lick and suck the skin.
Wilson still slept.
So he scooted his legs over until they were almost touching Wilson's left leg and he hadn't meant to, but God, his erection was digging against Wilson's hip now. It was maddening. Holding himself up precariously with his left elbow, he gently tongued Wilson's left nipple, tasting and smelling the other man's scent mingled with the soap from last night's shower and just a little tang of salty sweat. He closed his lips around the hard bead of flesh and sucked.
Wilson moaned suddenly and House jerked away. He hadn't meant—
He held still for a moment, waiting for Wilson to wake up and demand an explanation.
Nothing.
Carefully inching back until his body wasn't touching Wilson's any longer, he whispered,
"Hey! Wilson!"
Wilson's lips curved upward into a smile but he was still asleep. House groaned to himself. If Wilson didn't wake up soon, he'd be forced to give his right hand some action. This was torture of the worst order.
"Wilson," he said, this time just below normal volume. "Hey. Wake up." He nudged Wilson in the ribs, just a little.
Wilson started, snorting in a breath. "Julie?" he asked. "What's going on?"
House waited, grinning, for Wilson to realize that the smell, the bed, and the person next to him were all wrong.
Then, there it was.
"House?" Wilson whispered. "Is that you?"
"The one and only," House answered.
"What's going— ohhhh."
"Yeah," House said, "ohhhh."
"Did we really…?"
"Yep."
"Turn on the light," Wilson said, "I want to see you."
"I like it this way," House said. He reached forward, putting a hand on Wilson's chest. Wilson hitched in a sudden breath: he hadn't expected that. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the faint moonlight yet.
House scooted forward again until his erection was touching Wilson's hip. His hand ran down the right side of Wilson's body to his other hip, chastely flowing over the silk boxers Wilson had borrowed instead of dipping into the warm flesh they protected.
"Do we need to talk about this or can I get rid of my morning visitor before he kills me?" House asked.
Wilson was silent for a moment.
"I was dreaming about you," he said. "You were fucking me so hard I could hardly stand it."
House couldn't help himself: he moaned. "Is that a yes?"
Wilson flipped on his side in one quick motion. "Yeah, it is," he said, and reached out with his left hand until he felt flesh and stubble, then used it to guide his mouth to House's, missing and kissing first his cheek, then centering himself and lips met lips.
"Mmm," House said against his mouth, "you need to brush your teeth."
"So do you," Wilson returned, tongue reaching in to find House's, then pulling back a little to suck on his lower lip. "And you really need to shave."
"Shut up," House said into his mouth.
He lingered for a while, kissing and nipping and sucking, despite Wilson's foul morning breath, then he moved down to nibble and suck on Wilson's neck. He felt Wilson's left hand on him, reaching down his back to squeeze his ass, and he did the same, pulling Wilson to him, shoving his dick against Wilson's abdomen as he felt Wilson's dick shove against his balls. He moaned and pushed again, it felt so good.
"Don't leave a hickey," Wilson said into his hair.
House didn't have enough blood in his head to argue. He moved over to Wilson's shoulder instead.
House did everything he could do with his mouth to Wilson's shoulder, moaning when he felt Wilson squeeze his butt cheek and push against him, the heat of flesh on flesh almost too good.
"I really, really want to fuck you," House said after a while into the skin of Wilson's shoulder, thrusting against his abdomen with each word. He felt Wilson's throat vibrate as he moaned.
"I want to fuck you too," Wilson said, eyes closed, mouth open as House ate his shoulder up. How wonderful this felt.
Slowly, a thought came into his head.
"Wait, House, stop, stop," he said, but he didn't make any move to stop him.
"Why?" House murmured into his shoulder, not even thinking about stopping.
"Just stop a second," Wilson said breathlessly. "Turn on the light."
"Can't reach it on my side," House said into Wilson's shoulder.
Wilson moaned when House reached through his legs to brush his testicles.
"Is there a lamp on this side of the bed?" he asked when he could speak again.
"No."
God, House was about to do that again.
"House, stop!" Wilson demanded, pulling away from him.
House did, very annoyed at the forced separation. He let his head drop against the mattress in frustration, then reached out again to explore Wilson's back.
"I'm gonna reach over you and turn it on, okay?" Wilson said.
"Why do you want the light on?" House asked plaintively, running his hand around the small of Wilson's back and then down again to squeeze his ass.
"Because I want to see your face when I ask you this question," Wilson said.
That made House stop. More anticipation? He couldn't do this when morning wood was concerned.
He groaned as Wilson leaned over him.
"I can't take much more of this," he said.
Wilson found the switch and squinted into the light. House was on his side with no pillow for his head: he looked ridiculous, head tilted sideways.
Wilson sat back on his haunches as House propped his head up with an arm again.
House's eyebrows went up in a leer. "That's my boy," he said to Wilson's penis, which was sticking out of the open fly of House's black silk boxers. "Take those off now," he instructed.
Wilson did, quickly, and tossed them to the floor.
"That's much better," House said and admired the view for a moment. Then he looked up. "Why did we have to stop?" he asked.
"Because I need to know: have you ever slept with another man?" Wilson asked seriously.
"Jealous already?" House responded.
"No," Wilson said. "I don't care about your sexual history. But I need to know. Have you ever slept with another man?"
"Have you?" House asked.
"No," Wilson said. "I kissed a guy in college and dry humped another guy once, but that was it. You?"
"Yeah," House said, rubbing his eyes in the light. "Once. We were both drunk and he was asking guys to fuck him because he wanted to know what it felt like. I said I would."
"Did you use a condom?"
"Of course," House said. "I wasn't that drunk."
"Did he fuck you back?"
"No," House said.
"So you've never been fucked by a guy?" Wilson asked.
"No," House said.
"Me neither."
Wilson watched him for a moment before another question came to mind.
"Did Stacy ever…?"
House rolled his eyes, having finally figured out what Wilson was driving at.
"Are you asking if I'm an anal sex virgin?" House said.
"Yes," Wilson answered.
"I am," House responded. "You?"
"Yeah," Wilson said. "My first wife liked to finger me but that was it."
"Well…" House began, eyes raking Wilson up and down, "…where are those condoms you had last night?"
His eyes met Wilson's.
"I'm willing," he said. "I already walk unevenly. No one would notice."
"They're in my pants," Wilson said. "Wherever my pants are. But when I fuck you, I want to feel it."
House watched him speak those words. They went straight to his groin.
"Okay," he said in a slightly strangled voice, "we'll get tested today. If we're both clean…" he searched Wilson's eyes and his voice nearly broke, "tonight."
"Agreed," Wilson said. "But only if we're monogamous."
House tsked. "All the other boys will be so disappointed," he said.
He reached toward Wilson. "Now come here. I'll show you one thing I have done with a guy before. But turn the light off first. I'll have plenty of time to ogle you in the daylight."
Wilson grinned sloppily and complied. "Where do you want me?" he asked, voice coming through the darkness.
This was nice, House thought. He couldn't see: his hands and fingers and mouth would have to do this seeing for him.
"Lie down next to me on your right side," he instructed.
Wilson obeyed, spooning up to him. "Let me know if I move the wrong way," he said.
House answered by pulling Wilson to him, his penis nestling comfortably against Wilson's ass and balls.
"Stay still," he said.
He began by kissing the back of Wilson's neck, then moving out to kiss his shoulder, his right hand wandering freely over Wilson's chest. His hand ran down Wilson's stomach over the slight paunch there, then teased around his pubic hair. He felt Wilson pushing against him, providing enough movement and resistance to make him gasp as he wrapped his fingers around Wilson's erect penis and ran slowly upward.
"Tell me what you like," House said.
House took the grunt mingled in with the little shuddering gasps Wilson was making as an acknowledgement. He fooled around briefly, dipping down to rub Wilson's balls and back up to tease him again, then began stroking him with a long, not too slow, not too quick rhythm. Wilson's shuddering began to intensify and House quickened his pace accordingly, unable to stop himself from grinding against Wilson's butt and thighs.
Wilson was gone, House could tell, and his strokes became frantic, wrist-aching, timed to match Wilson's sexual gasps and pants, and then he felt Wilson stiffen and stop breathing just before he moaned loudly and his penis began to jerk in House's hand. House stroked him hard, once, twice, three times as semen flowed out, then he felt the post-coital collapse, all of Wilson's weight helplessly deposited against him and the mattress.
His harsh breaths slowing in the night air, the heat of his body on House's, the lightning pace Wilson had asked for: House soaked all of it up. He hadn't felt this way in a long time.
With great effort, Wilson rolled onto his stomach to avoid hurting House and turned his head toward the other man, though his eyes were closed for the first blissful seconds of afterglow.
"Oh my God," he groaned, panting slowly, "I want to do that every morning for the rest of my life."
House smiled broadly, genuinely, at Wilson's lax face reflected just barely in the moonlight, the way he spoke into the mattress, and the light sweat that had just begun to break on his forehead that House felt more than saw, and as the atmosphere hummed around him, he grasped himself firmly in the hand that had just gotten Wilson off so well and began jerking as fast as he could.
Now he made the noises he'd just heard Wilson make, panting and moaning because it was so good, his eyes closed. After waiting so long, his hand felt electric as he finally gratified himself, the smell of Wilson's sweat and semen filling his nostrils, it was so good, he couldn't stop now, his wrist hurt, his penis ached with the need to come and he rubbed somehow faster, hand and dick flying together, and he felt it coming and there, he yelped unconsciously as orgasm ripped through him, his seed propelled out in wonderful spurts, gasping till the end and then it was over and it was his turn to collapse bonelessly. He felt no pain as he slumped forward, panting, reveling in the feeling of absolute bliss.
"Wow," he heard Wilson say. "That was amazing."
He didn't have to open his eyes to know the younger man was studying him. Hell, he'd just come all over the man in all probability.
"Now I know…why you couldn't wait…last night," House panted. He groaned heavily with satisfaction. "OhmyGodthatwasgood."
"Mmm," Wilson said, reaching blindly for House's chest, "it was." He draped a hand across the ridge of House's side. "Gonna have to do that again when I can see you, though. Don't know about you but cum shots really do it for me."
"Giving or receiving?" House asked languidly.
"Felt good to receive one just now," Wilson said. "Wish I could've seen it."
"Patience," House replied.
They lay quietly together for a length of time neither could have determined.
After a while, Wilson groaned into the mattress. "Don't wanna get up. Don't wanna go to work."
House smiled: Wilson sounded like a petulant toddler. "It's not even four yet," he said. "You've got at least an hour."
"Good," Wilson said to the mattress.
Time passed and Wilson was almost asleep again when his hand slipped off of House's side and he felt House turning onto his back. Oh. Right.
He reached down to retrieve the pillow that had been supporting House's leg and got a fistful of cold semen.
"Eww," he said. "Think you got spooge on the pillow."
House grunted and Wilson felt him moving his leg. He ignored the wet spot and pulled the pillow free, putting it on House's chest.
"Wonder how gay guys avoid the mess," Wilson said reflectively.
"Shut up," House mumbled, reaching toward him, "and come here."
Wilson got the message and slid over on his stomach, draping his arm across House's chest.
House laid his hand on top of Wilson's and closed his eyes, totally relaxed. Pain from moving his leg around dulled and the heavy, close feeling of Wilson next to him increased the relaxation until, amazingly, he fell asleep again, the sound of Wilson's deep sleep-breathing the last thing to fade.