Wilson stood somewhat sheepishly on House's front porch, hesitating slightly before pressing down on the doorbell. This is ridiculous; he scolded himself; I've been here hundreds of times, hell I've even lived here a few times before. Why am I nervous? So with a slightly shaking hand, he extended his index finger and pressed in the doorbell. "Use your damn key!" came the gruff yell from inside, and Wilson juggled the takeaway bag and six pack in one hand to fish out his keys from his pocket. House greeted him from the other side of the door, "if you were just standing there; you couldn't have just opened the door to let me in?" Wilson huffed, striding inside and placing the food and beers on the table as House closed the door behind him. "I could have, but that would have ruined the fun in watching you momentarily struggle to balance everything with the added stress of worrying about not covering my front porch in rice or beer," House retorted with a wolfish grin.
Shrugging off his coat and ripping off his scarf with a bit more force than was necessary; he tried to hide his smile of affection as he muttered "ass,"
"And that's why you love me," House responded; leaning his head back on the edge of the couch where he'd plopped himself. If only you knew Wilson's mind spoke before he could stop it.
"Mind serving up?" House queried; "you see, my leg hurts,"
"When doesn't it?" Wilson muttered, walking into the kitchen and pulling out some plates and cutlery, serving up the dinner.
"Hey, that's enough out of you, servant boy," while surfing the channels to find his monster truck show, and taking the plate and bottle offered to him by Wilson.
Wilson suppressed his grin, instead muting it down to a small, half sided smile as he took his spot next to House on the middle cushion of House's old brown leather couch; thinking for a moment how House desperately needed to update his couch, as it had lost all the spring support in it so they both sunk deeply in the cushions this isn't good for his leg. I know that House is a creature of habit and getting him to change anything in his apartment or life; especially something as major as his couch, is going to be like pulling teeth. But it must be done.
House was balancing his plate on the arm of the couch, leant back, and shovelling the Chinese food into his mouth with his fork; letting crumbs and pieces of food drop down his front and roll down between the arm of the couch and the cushion.
"Weren't you just complaining to me the other day that you had an issue with ants?" Wilson enquired, frowning at House's position.
"What?" House sounded slightly irritated by what to him must've sounded like a nonsensical question.
"Look at what you're doing House! You are spilling rice and crumbs of chicken everywhere!" Wilson answered, reigning in his frustration, "sit up, and lean forward and be careful or you'll knock your plate over and create a huge mess!"
House glared at him, "my house, my comfort, my rules. You're welcome to take your OCD tendencies elsewhere; Mary Poppins,"
Wilson sighed, flopped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose; "just meet me halfway here House, this is your home; not a stable,"
House's glare sharpened, "I told you to drop it, Wilson. This is MY home, MY couch, MY food, and MY TV, and I will do what I want. If you don't like it; you can see yourself out,"
Wilson opened his mouth to retort; but was interrupted when House deliberately knocked over his beer onto Wilson's trousers; "whoops. Comes with having a meal with a cripple who lives in a stable for a living, I guess,"
"House" Wilson warned, but House's eyes were glued back to the screen. Wilson leapt up and stripped off his trousers before sitting down in a huff; "I was going to wear those tomorrow too, I can't now,"
"Sure, you can, I wear the same clothes until they're visibly dirty, or until someone; usually you or Cuddy, tell me to change,"
"I've noticed. But House, I can't go to work tomorrow smelling of stale beer,"
"Again, sure you can, I do," House now frowned, focusing more on the tv and less on Wilson, clearly indicating for him to do the same.
"I know. But for some reason I have a better reputation at the hospital than you do; and I don't show up to work high or smelling of stale beer,"
"No, you just start bar fights, break an antique $10 000 mirror, and wind up in jail in Louisiana and have me bail you out," House continued with more frustration in his tone, "now are we watching the rally, or not?"
Wilson sighed and watched House through his peripheral vision; he knew House better than anyone, and as such could spot the minute changes that indicated his pain levels were rising; his facial muscles were slightly taut into a grimace, running his tongue between his teeth and unconsciously licking them, jaw tight and his bottom jaw working subtly back and forth, and his eyes squinted ever so slightly on the television. Nobody else would have noticed these changes, and one change alone mightn't indicate anything; but so many at once meant House was in a fair bit of pain, not even to mention how he was kneading his thigh muscle closest to Wilson; flat hand down, fist up.
House focused harder on the monster trucks on the screen; however his excitement and reactions were somewhat muted than they ordinarily would've been, when he would have been whooping and cheering, and turning to exchange excited grins and facial expressions with Wilson; tonight, or at least now, Wilson couldn't tell if he was grimacing from pain or in amazement and shock at watching regular sized sedans and hatchbacks be flattened by these impressive, but overdone and somewhat frankly, ridiculous; monster trucks.
Taking in a deep breath, holding for four seconds, and exhaling for six; Wilson calmed his nerves. Frankly shocked that he had any nerves at all, as after Stacy had left; Wilson had mastered the very delicate art in massaging House's injured thigh and perfecting the exact pressure and where to balance the very fine line between ineffective and painful, to be able to give House some relief when he couldn't help himself.
"Let me do it," Wilson muttered under his breath, and House while he side-eyed Wilson momentarily, he didn't push him away- neither physically, nor with a snide remark; barely getting a chance to protest at all before Wilson felt the spasming start to secede before passing entirely under his hand and House leant back with his head against the back of the couch; Wilson not missing the shot of his perfect blue eyes fluttering in relief and his mouth forming a perfect "o"
Wilson smiled, relief at being able to help his friend, and a flutter of excitement in his heart and stomach from watching House's reaction. Wilson's mind began to wander, as he closed his eyes, and involuntarily imagined himself and House in this very position; only instead of simply massaging the destroyed muscle; Wilson was gently rubbing House's cock, teasing it through the thin layer of cotton underwear as he pictured running his other hand down House's warm skin over his belly before slipping fingers underneath House's waistband and dragging it slightly down; pulling out his hardening cock and sliding his right hand, pumping it up and down until he was hard as a rock, nuzzling his head underneath his hand to suck on House's balls while he slowly, torturously yet gently ran his thumbnail along the underside of House's shaft. He released House's balls from inside his mouth, replacing his mouth with his left hand, gently massaging them, while he coughed momentarily before opening his mouth and sliding House's hard cock deep down his mouth dropping the back of his tongue to allow House's penis to slide deeper as he worked his jaw and facial muscles to suck firmer and firmer; like he was sucking through a giant, broad straw- fuck, he imagined that House would be huge, if his guesses from when he'd seen House's cock while flaccid was anything to go by- he felt House's hand on the back of his head; knotting his fingers desperately through his hair, grasping; as Wilson knew that he'd soon be at completion. His other hand scratching at the couch in a useless attempt to slow himself. Wilson was just way too talented for anyone to last very long. Then with one hand on his shaft with his mouth focusing more so on the head and upper shaft; House's grip intensified until he gasped, and his head fell back the same way Wilson had seen it before, massaging his thigh; as his bitter seed shot into the back of Wilson's throat- which Wilson swallowed down hungrily.
His head fell back the same way Wilson had seen it before, massaging his thigh.
His head fell back the same way Wilson had seen it before, massaging his thigh.
Oh no. No, no, no… Wilson's imagination had gotten away with him, at probably the worst possible time. He fell back to Earth after his momentary hold in mid-air; like Wile-E-Coyote running off a cliff and holding in mid-air; before plummeting to the ground.
"Wilson, what's going on?" House interrupted; his eyes glancing down at Wilson's underwear, and his own semi erection from his thoughts being visible.
"Uhh, House… I can explain…"
"Are you sure about that? Because, it seems pretty obvious to me, I was in pain, and you were... getting off on watching me writhe in agony!" House seemed... almost disgusted, not that Wilson could blame him for the assumption, or the disgust at the thought of such an assumption... crap, he thinks I find his pain sexy!
"House, I promise you; it's not that... I... I have something to tell you... you might want another beer for this conversation"
"Okay..." House cracked open a beer and stared deep and unyielding into Wilson's embarrassed, deep chocolate brown eyes; "shoot. This better be good, Wilson, because this," House gestured at Wilson's underwear and crotch, now thoroughly flaccid, "deserves some explanation; given what you were just doing for me," there was a subtle inflection of House's voice, that others may have missed sounded really sad and disappointed. Has Wilson always found my pain...sexual?Like he gets off on it?
"House... it's got nothing to do with your pain, it's got everything to do with... well, you,"Wilson flinched, only to squint open his eyes to see a mixed expression of surprise, relief, and confusion on his soulmate's face.