This ficlet was written in response to a smut drabble challenge on the House-Wilson LJ.
The hands that touched him were tender, and they stilled the trembling in his body with slow sweeps of those long fingers. They opened him up and played him like an instrument, like music, like something precious, and it was that more than anything that made him surrender. A narrow mouth swallowed his moan at the first plunge, and when warmth pooled at the base of his spine, he swung a leg over those hips and arched helplessly up.
This was the knowledge Wilson would carry with him: The first time he flew apart beneath a man, House was kind.