035. Time
Control
Sometimes House felt like he was always keeping one eye on the nearest clock. Contrary to popular belief…or at least Cuddy's opinion…he knew precisely how much Vicodin he took during the day. He had his life under that much control. He never lost track of how long it had been since his last pill and he never forgot how many he'd taken. He liked his liver, wanted to keep it for as long as possible and knew that if he ever pushed it too far with the pills he'd face a very nasty couple of weeks detoxing before they'd even consider putting him on the transplant list. Besides which…yellow wasn't a good colour for him.
But for the first time since the infarction, his sense of time had gotten decidedly skewed.
He moaned and writhed as Wilson bit the inside of his thigh and tried to work out if it had been minutes or hours since this had begun. Perhaps it had even been days. All he knew was that somewhere between the start of their latest pointless argument at the hospital and when it ended with Wilson shoving him against the wall in the living room of his apartment and attempting to suck his brains out through his dick, time had gone and taken a very long, flying leap off a very short pier.
He moaned again, a sound that was ripped from deep within his chest, when Wilson's mouth slid down over his cock and decided that for once he didn't care that he seemed to have lost control.