The Story of Chris
Chapter 10 - Jealousy, Envy, and Possessiveness
It was a Monday; Chris was never in Princeton on a Monday. But a lecture he wanted to go to had been switched at short notice, he called Wilson on the day and arranged to go on to Princeton that evening. They decided to get dinner out, and ended up going to catch a late night movie, which they didn't often do.
They made their way back to Wilson's afterwards, but as they walked in the door, laughing about something in the film, Wilson suddenly stopped and Chris bumped into him. Then Chris saw why. House was there, sitting on Wilson's couch, TV remote in hand.
House looked up, and glowered at Chris. He didn't say anything, but Chris could read the message in his eyes loud and clear; what the fuck are you doing here? This isn't one of your nights!
Chris wasn't about to back out and go home, as he'd come all the way to Princeton and it was now past midnight—but House was comfortably ensconced on the couch. It was a genuinely awkward situation. As Chris wondered how best to play this, Wilson sat down next to House and said, "House, what's up?"
Chris belatedly noticed what Wilson had picked up on immediately; House was upset for some reason, and had been before they'd walked in the door. It wasn't obvious—House was always so grouchy anyway, in Chris's experience—but Chris could see now House was sitting more hunched than usual and his expression had a bleakness about it that wasn't usually there.
"Just lost a patient," House said, barely audibly.
Chris sat down on the couch on the other side of Wilson.
Wilson was silent for a moment, then asked, "Did you find out what was wrong with him?"
"Only after the autopsy," House muttered.
A double blow, then, Chris realized. Wilson asked House a few more questions about the patient, and Chris tuned out, as the medical talk really didn't mean anything to him. Chris mused that Wilson wouldn't be turfing House out after an event like that. House might decide to leave himself, but if he didn't, Chris would have to decide whether to stay or go. Chris had just concluded that he would take whatever signal Wilson gave him, when suddenly he was startled from his thoughts.
Wilson had just put a hand on House's shoulder. Before either Chris or House could react, Wilson leaned forward and kissed House gently on the lips. Very slowly, very deliberately.
So that was his signal; Chris was wounded. The long drive back home loomed in front of him. Perhaps he'd try and find a hotel room for the night instead. He felt indignant at Wilson; so blatant, it was unnecessary to do that right in front of him. Just a look would have done it; Chris, I'm going to be with House tonight; it had happened before, Wilson could convey such a message with an apologetic twitch of his eyebrows alone—
But then Wilson, still embracing House, put out a hand behind him and rested it on Chris's lap, and suddenly Chris realized this was a completely different kind of signal—a whole new ball game in fact. He sat there for a few seconds, amazed, feeling his erection already forming under Wilson's hand. He saw House's body twitch, and knew that House had seen what Wilson was doing. Then Wilson pulled slightly back from House, and smoothly switched positions, turning to kiss Chris and put his hand on House's crotch instead.
It wasn't like Chris hadn't been in similar situations before. With Wilson, even. But not with Wilson and House, apart from that time ten years ago, and everything, everything,was different now. He had no idea what House was making of this. In fact Chris had no idea what to do at all. Fortunately Wilson did.
Wilson pulled away from both the other men, and as they stared at him, he shrugged off his jacket and bent down to untie his shoes. He kicked off his shoes, and socks, then stood up, undoing his shirt cuffs as he did so. He then loosened his tie, tugged it off, and dropped it on the couch. By the time he started to undo his shirt buttons, Chris was already rock hard. Wilson took off his shirt, and Chris watched his back and shoulder blades arch and glint in the dim light of the room. Wilson then walked off towards the bedroom, undoing his belt buckle as he walked; House was a pace behind him.
Chris hesitated for all of two seconds, then got up to follow.
Pretend it's not House, was Chris's overriding thought as he walked into the bedroom and found Wilson just removing his boxer shorts, and House sitting on the bed starting to take off his own clothes. It's just some other guy, someone from the club, or one of Linus's pals, he doesn't mean anything to Wilson except Wilson thinks he's hot--Chris, undressing as rapidly as he could, saw that House was looking anywhere in the room except at him, and was sure a similar thought process was going on inside House's head.
All three of them were naked now, and Chris watched as Wilson knelt on the floor and started to blow House. House's eyes closed and his hands went to Wilson's head, his fingers twitching in Wilson's hair, mussing it up. God. Chris remembered vividly one of the first things he had ever said to House, ten years before, when they'd met in the bar: Have you ever watched him suck another man's cock?... You'd find it the biggest turn-on. Still such a turn-on; but not as House, it's not House, it's just a dick, Edward just sucking someone else's dick—
Wilson, not Edward. Jesus Christ, he must be going mad. Chris took his own cock in his hand, rolling and jerking, watching Wilson's mouth moving over House's cock, nibbling the tip, running his tongue down the length. Chris moved across and sat on the bed a couple of feet from House; House was not going to have all the action here. House resolutely refused to meet his eye. Fine, he didn't want to acknowledge House, either. Wilson gave House's cock one final lick and then moved smoothly across to Chris. Chris gasped and shut his eyes as Wilson took him in, further than Chris knew he was himself capable of doing, how the fuck did Edward—Wilson—manage to do that, he had no idea.
Wilson pulled back just when Chris was starting to feel himself close to coming; Chris groaned, and waited to see what Wilson had in mind next. Observers might have thought Wilson was the passive one in their relationship; but Chris knew (and House must know too) that James Wilson knew his mind and was always the one in control, whatever position he happened to be in.
Wilson gestured to House to turn over; House made a small grumbling sound, but did so. Chris averted his eyes from House's bad leg; all the better not to think of him as House. Just some guy Wilson was about to fuck, there was lube now, Wilson rolling on a condom, and fingering first House and then himself (and there was a sight Chris could watch all day). Chris's own turn would come.. Afterwards, presumably...
But then Wilson handed him a condom too, and said one breathless word; "Sandwich?"
"Jesus fucking Christ almighty," Chris heard House exclaim, and silently echoed. Chris nodded to Wilson, knowing his tongue was hanging out; didn't think he could get any harder without spontaneously combusting. He and House and Wilson had done this when they'd met ten years before, but House had topped that time, and now it was going to be Chris.
Wilson reached around to kiss House on the lips (Chris blotted this image out) then lined himself up, putting his hands on House's hips, and gently eased himself inside. House growled and scrabbled with his hands on the bed sheets. Wilson started to thrust, and House moved with him. Chris watched for a few seconds, Wilson and House, seamless now, with the familiarity that came from years of fucking each other, House groaning, "Wilson, fucking hell," Wilson murmuring gently, "House..."
Then Chris moved forward, rubbing his own cock, and grasped Wilson by the hips. He took a second to appreciate Wilson's firm ass moving jerkily below, then entered Wilson. Wilson took him easily; Chris thrust such a long way inside that he almost orgasmed immediately. He recovered himself just in time—mustn't finish that quickly, damnit!—and thrust again, filling Wilson, feeling Wilson's body shaking underneath him, and House's body juddering violently beyond that. Aware that Wilson was leaning sideways, away from House's bad leg, Chris tried not to rest too much of his weight on the men underneath him, tried to support himself on his feet, but he felt giddy, all his blood seemed to have gone to his groin; it was too much, it was all far too much and the sex was only part of that. A couple more thrusts and he came with a stifled shout. As if triggering off some sort of chain reaction, he felt Wilson climax, with House only a second or two behind.
Chris practically fell off Wilson afterwards and Wilson moved more slowly away from House. House instantly crawled onto the bed, stretched out and lay flat, panting hard. Wilson struggled up beside him.
Chris could not bring himself to join House and Wilson on the bed. He lay on the floor for a little while, then got up and struggled back into the living room, where he crashed on the couch for a bit and recovered.
All House said to Chris afterwards, in a moment while Wilson was out in the bathroom, was, "We are never doing this again."
END OF CHAPTER