Author's Note: The story is going to begin to take a darker turn from here on out. This is a cathartic story writing experience for me, and a way to vent some of my own life experiences; and as such will involve much heavier topics from this point on. This story is rated "M" for a reason. Otherwise, please continue to enjoy!
"You know," Wilson broke away, his pupils wide and dilated in arousal; although barely showing against his dark brown irises; however House's were showing blatantly; his pupils wide and overtaking the entirety of his eyes; "tomorrow is Saturday," Wilson's voice husky and low with desire, "neither of us have any reason to go anywhere aside from the bedroom," he breathed in deep, smelling House's breath; a combination of the food and the alcohol.
House let out a deep, throaty laugh; "well, someone's excited," he mumbled back, leaning back in for a kiss; "but Wilson, I don't… I don't want to rush things,"
"That's fine. Let's start out slow and…. see where the night takes us," Wilson murmured, holding his hand out and gliding House up to his feet before leading the somewhat inebriated and slightly shaky House towards his bedroom; Wilson quickly realising that the two glasses of whisky he'd seen House drink were far from his firsts that night.
Laying his new partner down on the bed on his back; Wilson straddled him with one knee on either side of House's waist and leant down to passionately kiss him; taking full reign of the situation. He took his time; his hands gliding through House's hair, his hands reaching down to pull at House's shirt. House mutely smacked Wilson's hands away; "slowly… remember?" he murmured sleepily to Wilson. Wilson's response surprised House; he stood over House on his hands and knees, his right hand planted next to House's head, and his left running through his hair again, until his fingers knotted roughly and harshly in House's brown curls, leading him to wince and pull his head up slightly, which Wilson took as perfect opportunity to lean down and leave what would surely become a bruising love bite on House's neck. "You wanted this too, House, remember?" he reminded House, an air of coolness in his voice, and House squeezed open his eyes to see little more than a silhouette of Wilson knelt above him as he pulled off his own shirt and released his grip on House ever so quickly to remove his shirt over his head.
"Wilson, no, I don't… I don't think I'm liking this…" House began, trying to drunkenly pull away.
"Your lips say no, your little House says something else," Wilson murmured; and House felt a rush come over him like a bucket of cold water. What the fuck has gotten into Wilson?! Why is he acting like this? Why is he so dark? What is this non-consensual consent thing going on that he's playing into?
"Wilson, please, calm down, we have forever to do this. Can't we just… wait, at least until tomorrow? Please," House couldn't believe that he was begging for Wilson, Wilson of all people, to stop. To stop; House couldn't believe it; I'm actually worried that he might rape me, that Wilson of all people might rape me… I don't know if he doesn't understand the gravity of the situation that he's putting me in; but this isn't okay…
"Wilson! I said, 'get off!' or so help me!" House yelled, using all his strength to shove Wilson to the side, and in doing so, throwing Wilson off balance and send him crashing down into the floor between the bed and the wall, missing knocking his head on the bedside table by mere centimetres, tearing out a fistful of House's hair he'd had knotted in his fist in the process; leading House to instinctively reach up and rub where his hair had been pulled out.
"House! What the hell?" Wilson screamed; but then paused, as he heard hyperventilating coming from up on the bed, and got up on his knees to see House now totally sat up in a tripod position with his arms outstretched in front of him and his head, neck, and chest leant forward; using his accessory muscles to breathe. Asthma attack? was the immediate thought that popped into Wilson's head; as he rushed off to find his satchel in the kitchen where he kept an emergency blue puffer in cases where he came across someone in public having an asthma attack. Wilson quickly found it in his bag and rushed back to the bedroom, handing the puffer to House, who initially refused, with a shot of animalistic fear filling his eyes. "It's a puffer House, you're hyperventilating. This will help," to which House took the four puffs of the medicine and tried to calm himself down. Strange, I never knew House had asthma… why in 18 years of friendship has such an important thing never come up in conversation? I'm even his doctor for crying out loud!
The rescue puffer appeared to do the trick, as before long; House's breathing was returning to normal. "What the hell was that?" Wilson cried, "I banged my elbow on your drywall, that hurts, you know!"
House turned to Wilson with a cold, dark expression, "what the hell was all of that!" he roared, so intensely his throat hurt a little, but he didn't care; "Wilson, for fuck's sake- I thought you'd know by now that 'no means no'! Why didn't you stop?" House then lowered his voice to a raspy whisper; trying to hold back hot tears prickling his eyes, "why wouldn't you stop, James?"
Wilson paused for a second; thrown off guard by this- everything had just happened so quickly; he had thought that they were just simply having fun, indulging in a bit of role play and that everything was going just fine, and that they were both into it- until clearly, they weren't.
"House, I had no idea," Wilson sat back on the bed and wrapped his arm around House's shoulders, ignoring the involuntary flinch, as they sat there for about an hour; House's breathing slowly but surely returning to normal as he grasped with a death grip, but as he began to relax started to fiddle, with the puffer that Wilson had thrust into his left hand.
"I'm going to go have a shower," House muttered after a while, "and I think maybe afterwards you and I need to have a talk… I'm not going to allow this, Wilson," House spun around, reaching down for his cane that had been discarded by the bed, before he stood up on shaking legs, smacking away Wilson's helping hand, and limped off to the shower; while Wilson sat, dejected and anxious, on House's bed, wondering if he'd let his imagination and fantasies go too wild, too fast and ruined it. You idiot, he cursed himself, you've had years to prepare yourself for this moment and how you'd imagine sex with House to go- you barely gave the man 48 hours and as soon as he agreed to be your boyfriend, you jumped straight from one to one hundred!
Wilson calmed his breathing, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, noticing the heavy amount of steam and smell of hot water and soap radiating from the bathroom door; and set to work cleaning up the kitchen.
After what felt like ages but was likely no longer than fifteen minutes; Wilson heard the shower turning off, and soon after; the door open, the familiar sounds of House's cane taking a few steps out into the hallway before turning back into the bedroom and the door closing behind him; Wilson understood the hint that this door being closed, metaphorically and literally shutting him out; was House's way of demanding privacy and not to be interrupted for the time being; which given what I did, is the absolute least I can do, Wilson flinched, putting away the last of the dishes; pausing at whether to help himself to some of House's whisky before deciding against it, I've already messed up enough today, he's not going to appreciate that. Wilson went and grabbed a pillow and some blankets out of the linen closet and prepared himself for another long night on House's awful couch; well old friend, it's you and I for the millionth time. Can't say I'm at least not used to it.
Switching on the television and settling in for a long night; Wilson was shocked to hear the step-thump of House's cane making its way down the hall; he's coming to kick me out, and I don't blame him Wilson thought to himself. He sat up to begin gathering his things.
"Where are you going?" House enquired, coming to sit down next to him.
"I figured… I figured that you were coming here to kick me out," Wilson stammered, "not that I blame you; what I did was so, so, wrong,"
"I've not come to kick you out, and you don't have to sleep on this couch if you don't want to. I know how much you hate it. Plus, you're my boyfriend now, or did you forget? You share my bed with me," House answered, before walking into the kitchen and pulling down a glass, "last time I'll ask tonight; want some whisky?" House responded.
Wilson felt a smile of gratitude grace his lips; "yeah, actually, that'd be great," as House poured out two glasses, four fingers each, finishing the bottle; as he limped over to hand Wilson's his; before returning to retrieve his own.
"Want to talk about what happened back there?" Wilson queried.
"Not really, but I get the idea that you will anyway," House stared down at his glass, watching the whisky swish and twirl in his glass; God, I'm drunk.
"Do you want to tell me a bit about what freaked you out back there, House?" Wilson started quietly, before stopping himself, "but- if you don't want to talk about it; I totally respect that, and I won't push the issue. I've disregarded enough of your boundaries tonight,"
"Nah, its ok," House mumbled, staring down into his drink; "the fact that I'm a bit… inebriated… is probably helpful for the topic at hand, it isn't usually something I talk about,"
Wilson nodded along, showing that he was listening; but not wanting to interrupt House's flow and cause him to clog up and never mention this again. Getting anything out of House was near on impossible; unless he had the perfect triad at once; he was in the right mood, he was under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol and was alone with Wilson in order for him to open up.
"Shit… how do I say this? I haven't told anyone any of this before. I've not always been in situations where… I just don't enjoy being held down and taken advantage of without prior knowledge first. You know that I had a tough childhood, Wilson, are we able to leave it at that please?" House glanced up from his drink to look back at Wilson in the dimly lit room.
It took Wilson a moment for that to start to settle in, "House… were you… were you… abused?" Wilson's voice lowered with every word until it was barely over a whisper.
House sighed deeply out of his nose and scratched his eyebrow, "Wilson, you know that I don't like to talk about my past… what's done is done. Maybe one day…. It was nothing overly special, I'm sure. Everyone has their own stories. All I'm saying, and all I'm going to say, is that in future; if you want this, us, to work long term- you need to tell me about any fantasies or roleplaying you want to try out on me first, okay?"
Wilson sighed, knowing that he'd for sure get no more information out of House tonight, and honestly, I'm not sure that I want to know any more information; he thought to himself instinctively before closing off his brain, no, I'll be here for him if he needs me… when he needs me. What are boyfriends for, otherwise?
"Greggy, I'm really sorry about tonight, can I please sleep in the bed tonight?"
House grimaced like he tasted something awful in his mouth; "never, ever, call me 'Greggy', got it? It's House or its Greg. Its never, Greggy. And do you promise that, just for tonight, you'll leave it and not try anything?"
"Sorry, I was just trying to think of a cute nickname for you. But absolutely swear; cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye," Wilson swore.
House rolled his eyes; "this isn't the playground, Wilson, 'I promise' will suffice. And to be honest, I don't know if I'm really the cutesy, pet name type,"
"Okay, I promise. On the pet name front, don't worry, I'll make a believer out of you," Wilson winked.
"Yippee, lucky me," House muttered, downing the last mouthful of alcohol, as Wilson copied, as they stood up and headed, on House's end a little shakily to the point that Wilson was eyeing him with the intensity and scrutiny of a sheepdog to catch him if he started to fall.