Disclaimer and all that good stuff in chapter 1.

This chapter lives up to the fic's M rating. If you can't handle the M, please avert your eyes. However, if someone is unable to avert his or her eyes and cannot handle the M, I guess drop me a review or a PM to that tune and I'll relocate this chapter. Please give me the chance to remove it before you go to the site mods. I won't fuss.

Chapter 10: Satisfaction

"Dr. Wilson!"

The Australian accent was unmistakable. Wilson stopped, cursing himself for wearing khakis, cursing Chase for detaining him, and cursing House for kissing him and getting him excited.

Dead puppies dead puppies dead puppies.

It wasn't working. He could still feel House's lips on his, the scratch of stubble.

"Yes?" he said when Chase caught up with him. He dearly wished he had a chart or a file to hold over his crotch.

"Have you seen Dr. House?" Chase asked. "We've got a case he might be interested in, but we can't find him."

"Uh, I think he's in the clinic," Wilson answered. "Good luck getting him to take a case on a Friday."

Chase's head snapped back. "The clinic?" he said. "He's not scheduled… What's he doing there?"

"Watching soaps?" Wilson offered lamely. "I don't know," he said.

Chase nodded with exaggeration, of course that's what he'd be doing. "Thanks," he said. "Listen, do you think he's been acting kind of odd since the, ah, date with Cameron?"

Wilson shook his head. "Not that I've seen," he answered.

"Huh," Chase said. "Foreman seemed think…" He waved a hand. "I guess it's nothing."

"You're probably right," Wilson said.

Chase nodded. "Well, if you see him, tell him we're looking for him."

"I will," Wilson said and then Chase was gone.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. Chase's eyes hadn't dipped below his neck and he'd managed to keep his voice from squeaking. Mission accomplished. Now to get back to his office before anyone else waylaid him.

House, too, was hurrying as best he could. The encounter with Cuddy had thrown his erection down to second gear but as he got in the elevator, the knowledge of where he was going started to speed things up again.

If he could only get past his office to Wilson's door without—damn, Cameron was coming down the hall. Double damn, she'd seen him before he could duck around a corner.

"Dr. House," she said.

"In a hurry here," House said, not stopping to let her talk to him.

"This won't take a minute," she said, matching his quick pace.

"In another minute I'll need clean underwear," House said. "Avoid the enchiladas at all cost." It helped that he wasn't walking normally.

Cameron wasn't repelled. "Four year old male, high fever, persistent—"

"Don't do peds," House said. Luckily, he was coming up on the men's room. He turned to her, hand on the door. "I'm gonna be a while, but you might want to hold your breath anyway." He made a face that indicated something horribly smelly.

Cameron gave him an unimpressed look, rolling her eyes, and started back to their office as House entered the bathroom.

Inside, House waited, hearing her footsteps recede along the hallway. So hard was he concentrating on Cameron's departure that he didn't hear Brown at the urinal.

"Hiding out, House?" Brown said.

House's head snapped up. Brown was smirking at him from over his shoulder. He looked down, shook, and fastened his pants. House merely rolled his eyes and hoped Brown wouldn't notice the tent he was pitching.

Great. Now he'd have to wait for Brown to leave too. Brown's office was close to Wilson's. Just great.

Brown looked up again as he washed his hands. "I can see if the coast is clear," he offered with another smirk.

House merely rolled his eyes and limped to one of the urinals. Might as well pretend to be doing what one was supposed to do in bathrooms.

Brown smirked again but left without saying anything else. House counted slowly to twenty, hoping no one else would come in.

In that time, he transferred a few items from his jacket pocket to his jeans pocket, feeling his pulse quicken. He needed this to happen now.

Barely able to walk straight but determined to reach his goal, he carefully exited the bathroom.

He entered Wilson's office with a sigh of relief. Wilson was leaning casually against his desk, eyes half-lidded and smoky.

Each crossed half way to meet the other and lips met, tongues tangling, hands rudely exploring. House shifted Wilson's hips so his left leg could nestle against Wilson's crotch. Wilson took the hint and pressed in closer, his own left leg challenging the hardening flesh it encountered.

After a torrent of sloppy kisses, they broke for air.

"What took you so long?" Wilson asked as he panted.

"Cameron," House said, also panting. "Something about work."

"Yeah," Wilson said, his hands pushing House's jacket off, "were you really in the clinic all morning?"

"It's all your fault," House said, helping Wilson get his hand out of the jacket sleeve and tossing it aside. "I needed something to get rid of my hard on."

"Cuddy's suspicious," Wilson said. "So are Chase and Foreman." He placed a hand on House's chest and looked up. It was plain that he didn't care.

House didn't care either and he said so. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and produced three condoms, last night's lube, and a small bottle of lotion.

"What does your afternoon look like?" he asked. He would have been coy if he'd had it in him, but he was too absolutely needy.

Wilson stopped gawking at the number of rubbers House had brought and turned his eyes back to House's to answer.

"One meeting," he said. "I try to keep Friday afternoons clear."

"Anything in here?" House asked.

Wilson shook his head.

"Then you won't mind if it smells like sex."

House took him roughly and kissed him hard again, hands ripping at the buttons on Wilson's shirt, trying to get to flesh as quickly as possible.

Wilson gently pushed him back. "Wait, wait," he said. House stopped reluctantly, breathing harshly. "Do you remember how loud you were last night?"

"I'll be quiet," House said. He tried to lean in again but Wilson stopped him.

"Seriously," he said. "I thought we didn't want to get caught."

"I'm capable of being quiet," House said, untucking Wilson's shirt and finishing the buttons. His hand was in the vicinity, so he reached down to cup Wilson's crotch and squeeze. "This isn't the first time I've had an office fuck."

Wilson was convinced, more by the hand on his erection than anything else, and gave in to his own lust as House pressed him close and every part of their bodies that could touch did. No more needed to be said.

Out of necessity, they let inches come between them. House's hands ran up Wilson's shirt, delighting in the bare flesh they found, and Wilson's fingers attacked House's shirt, delighted when they too found flesh. Violently, Wilson's teeth nipped House's lip and they both tasted blood. House moaned, forcing Wilson's teeth apart to lavish his tongue as he used all of his weight to push Wilson against the desk. The heavy contact was too much, clothes were too much, and they paused, parting, to throw shirts aside and quickly undid belts, snapping jeans off and unbuttoning khakis, zippers down with a degree of care for the flesh underneath, and then shoving pants and underwear over straining cock, shimmying the last clothing down to two pairs of socked and shoed ankles.

House pushed his naked flesh against Wilson's again and Wilson felt the desk leaving an imprint on the back of his thighs as he moaned into House's mouth. He pushed back at House and both groaned as the contact made their erections bend against each other.

This time House's teeth found blood in Wilson's lip. He sucked on it and then Wilson's lips were pressing so hard against him that his teeth, chin, and nose were beginning to hurt.

They stopped, panting and flushed, and without speaking Wilson moved aside and House inched forward with his pants around his ankles until he was ready to bend over Wilson's desk. He pushed aside framed photos, papers, fountain pens, and files just carefully enough that they wouldn't crash to the floor and draw attention while Wilson tore open a condom and unrolled it on his index finger, thumbed open the lube, and readied himself.

House gripped both ends of Wilson's desk for support and bent over as best he could, trying to spread his legs. Wilson steadied him with his right hand and found House's opening with the other. He didn't need to ask.

House bit his bleeding lip to stay quiet because it hurt and it felt so good. He was sore. The dump he'd taken this morning had been cautious and a little painful, and this was too, he could feel the care Wilson was taking, but it also felt so good and so right.

Wilson didn't dally. He removed his finger, slipped a second one in the condom, applied more lube, and gently thrust the two in. He could feel the sensation ripple through House's body as House's muscles tightened and he made a tiny sound. Wilson worked his fingers in and out, not giving in to the desire to stroke House's prostate, and felt him relax and then tense slightly: the tension of pleasure. House was ready.

Wilson discarded the first condom and reached for a second.

"Bareback, Jimmy," House said and Wilson's hand stopped and shook as a shudder passed through him.

"I won't last," he said.

"Neither will I," House answered.

Wilson's head went fuzzy and when it cleared, he reached for the lube and slicked himself up.

House took one of the condoms, opened it, and unfurled it over his fingers. He felt Wilson pause: Wilson wanted to know why.

"I can come all over your desk if you want," House said.

He felt Wilson resume lubing and smirked. Setting the condom aside, he squeezed a line of lotion on his penis and spread it around with two fingers, not trusting himself to use his whole hand. He added more until he was satisfied, then slipped the condom over the head of his penis and a little way down the shaft. He was ready. The lube appeared on the desk again: Wilson was ready too. He gripped the desk. One had was too slippery and he quickly wiped the excess lotion on his chest, then grabbed the desk again, doing his best to spread his legs more.

Wilson's hand gently but firmly took his hip and he felt Wilson's dick find its place. Wilson's other hand took his other hip and before he could protest or prepare or do anything, Wilson was pushing into him. He tensed and Wilson stopped. Forcing himself to relax, he signaled with his muscles that he was ready. Wilson pushed in further. He tensed again. It was uncomfortable at first, and no matter how much he wanted to skip it and go straight to hard fucking, his body needed time. He relaxed again, feeling his muscles expand to accommodate Wilson's penis, and Wilson pushed again. This time he felt Wilson's hips against his butt before he felt any more discomfort. Oh God yes, Wilson was in and finally this was happening. Blood surged to his cock and his fingers whitened against the sides of Wilson's desk. He was going to be fucked to death and he couldn't wait for it happen.

Just as he was processing that thought, Wilson started moving inside him, pulling out and shoving in with a shallow, quick rhythm. Prelude. House bit his lip again not to moan too loudly and felt Wilson's grip tighten on his hips. Without warning, Wilson pulled far out and shoved in hard, and a moan escaped House's throat before he could stop himself. He bit his lip harder but his head was so clouded, he couldn't think, he was losing himself in the rhythm because Wilson was fucking him and he needed Wilson to be fucking him and it was so very good.

With each new shove, Wilson's dick rammed against his prostate, that little gland of pleasure. At first it was too much: he was too dazed by the overwhelming sensation in his head, his blood, his cock, and he thought he would collapse, pass out, explode, scream, anything. Slowly he became accustomed to it and he still felt like he would burst out of his skin but it wasn't too much any longer.

It hadn't been this good last night. Last night had been too intense and his body had been too confused to process everything. He'd been so overwhelmed that he'd asked Wilson to fuck him harder because the harder Wilson fucked him, the more it hurt and he understood pain, he could control pain. Last night he'd held pleasure and pain in balance and he'd been able to stop himself from coming too soon as a result. But now it didn't hurt. Jimmy was fucking him hard but not fast and he was opening himself to all of the pleasure this time.

Soon he had come down from the first heady rush of sex enough to hear Wilson's course pants. The squish of intercourse, Wilson's skin slapping against his, his knuckles white on Wilson's desk, the deep, animate smell of Wilson in this office, the intense pleasure of Wilson's dick sliding in and out, the peaks of dick to prostate, the crescendoing hum in his blood: all over his body, all over the atmosphere, he felt the build of orgasm and he didn't try to stop it.

He felt, too, that Wilson was starting to lose it because his thrusts had become frantic and needy, and his fingers were digging in to House's hips so deeply they would bruise. But before House could feel any of Wilson's pleasure, Wilson's left hand was wrapping around his cock and pumping. House couldn't hear anything any more, not himself, not Wilson, and he bent his head, squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip even harder. He couldn't breathe any faster but he did, and the friction of Wilson's hand on his cock, even the friction of the condom as Wilson's thumb and forefinger stroked it in syncopation with his thrusts, and Wilson's dick so deep in his ass, none of them could go any faster or harder but oh God they were. They were.

The top of House's thigh where muscle was still intact started to burst with pain, his leg would fold under him any second now, but not before Wilson finished fucking him, not before he felt Wilson's cock jerk out semen, not before he felt his own orgasm crash over him. It was coming so good, so fast, so hard, it kept coming and coming, building higher and higher until he thought he couldn't take it, that he would have to come, but pain held it off just so and it built again and Wilson was fucking him so hard, so fast, but Wilson hadn't come either, and then suddenly Wilson switched to a new gear, an even higher gear, and House's orgasm swept over him before he realized it was happening, eyes squeezed shut, the huge, heavy load that had been accumulating all day and all night since Wilson had first jumped naked onto his kitchen counter leaving him in long, hard spurts, the hardest come he could remember, every tense moment, every thought, every word of his life pulsing out of him, he couldn't see, hear, feel, he was so deaf, blind, and dumb fucked.

The world stopped. Motion stopped. Breathing stopped.

Then he collapsed. It was over.

Dimly, he felt Wilson's orgasm rippling through him, all of his need pouring out, cock jerking inside House, and as far as he could feel anything, it felt wonderful. Wilson slumped onto him, panting, still buried deep.

House couldn't stand any longer. He felt himself slipping down the desk, the rubber sliding off his lotioned penis, and Wilson must have understood because he controlled the descent and House fell on him instead of the carpet, then rolled to the left, Wilson's dick still inside him as Wilson rolled also.

They lay still.

They breathed slowly.

Long moments passed.

Wilson turned on his back, his dick slipping out of House.

They couldn't speak.

They couldn't feel.

House's leg didn't hurt.

The carpet wasn't rough against their bare flesh.

Semen, lotion, and lubricant dried.

Sweat dried.

They were noiseless, unmoving.

They slept.