How does it feel when you're inside me?

The very first thing the following morning, before anyone could try to force on him a new patient, and before Wilson could begin his typical morning oncologist routine, House bounded in through the balcony entrance and into his friend's office. Wilson, who was still transferring papers from his briefcase onto his desk, crossed his arms and set his feet apart, as though that were enough to ward off whatever ammunition this crazy cripple had packed away in, say, his cane. "Let's give this a try," House cheerfully suggested, giving him a wink as he loped to the main door. He turned the lock with a satisfying click.

From the way that neither Wilson's defensive stance nor his wary expression changed, it would seem that he had expected this outcome. "Oh, definitely," he drawled, "of course."

"Even lazy jellyfish fish do it, let's do it," House sang as he mimicked a top hat off his head, twirling his cane, which he then let fall. It went down with an equally satisfying rattle as it hit the floor. Wilson looked at that, then looked back at House, one eyebrow raised.

"What are you up to?" But his arms had uncrossed.

"Look, there are only so many ways a man can say it before he gets tired and gives up."

Now both of Wilson's eyebrows went up, straight straight up, reaching up for his hairline. It made his eyes kind of bulge. "You're s-serious," he stammered, his face tilting up as House came nearer. "This is sudden."

"Yes, because you weren't all over me last night."

"I was not--"

"Were you thinking of doing anything in particular?" House spread his arms wide open. "I'm here."

Wilson thoughtfully raked his upper teeth over his lower lip, and though House wouldn't ever admit it even to himself, he felt his bravado flicker. "You're serious," Wilson said again, this time more to himself, angling it so as to see all the possibilities. He took a step back, to have the perspective to look over House. His eyes traveled down, then up, then down again; House suddenly had an idea what those mannequins in store windows felt like.

"Wouldn't say serious per se, I don't do serio—"

"Sit down," Wilson interrupted him.

"If you're going to be bossy --"

Wilson's were hands were on his neck and right shoulder, and before House could get used to that- he'd never held him that way before- he was being kissed, hard and insistent and with tongue, which was yet another new feeling to get used to, that is, having Wilson's breath in his mouth, and while he was still reeling, Wilson bit him. Like, bit the tip of his tongue. While it didn't hurt, House hadn't realized he'd signed up for teeth, or, come to think of it, getting aroused over it. He began to suspect that he'd jumped into this gay sex thing a little too willy-nilly.

"Sit down."

This time House did, falling backwards into Wilson's leather chair.

Wilson got on his knees, and House was thankful for a moment because he couldn't kiss him from there, and maybe he'd have a moment to catch his breath. And as Wilson worked at his belt, he thought at least this much he could handle, because with blow jobs, it didn't matter the sex of the blower, the mechanics were the same. So long as he didn't look down, he wouldn't see his best friend's face there, and he could put off panicking for another, more convenient time.

Maybe because Wilson was disturbingly good at this, House found his hands grasping the sides of Wilson's head, his fingers slipping through the long brown hair. He came quickly, his eyes closed, and without a sound.

"Well?" Wilson asked, a little expectantly, a little smugly. House was aware that, normally, at this juncture one should offer to return the favor. Attempt to reciprocate, make it nice and mutual. That would make sense to be the next step.

But all House could think of was how his semen, after being expulsed through his urethra, had gone through Wilson's mouth, his epiglottis, and was now making its way down his esophagus. Before long the semen would pass through the cardiac sphincter, where Wilson's stomach would quickly break it down with acids and enzymes. From there, the remains would travel through the intestines, and Wilson would absorb what little fructose, minerals, and vitamins there were to be had. Before of the end of the day, he'd have relieved himself of what remained.

As these thoughts ran through his head, Wilson, still on his knees, was becoming progressively horrified. "I sucked, didn't I."

It was testament to just how disoriented House was that he didn't take up the cheap shot. "No, it was—thank you." Wait, oh god, Wilson wasn't going to try to kiss him, was he? But he'd just-- he would be the type who thought that orally returning bodily fluids to its creator was sexy. As if the teeth hadn't been enough. "I should—there's probably some patient dying for me to get their hands on them—" He could use the front door. But he wanted to go through the back route, sneaking away like nothing had happened. Zipping his pants and buttoning the top, House reached for his cane and stumbled out to the porch.