This is my first attempt at actual slash. So be nice. I hope you enjoy it. I thought I'd try and write one since I'd never done it before. Please tell me what you think, I'm very open to ideas seeing as I've never dappled in this genre before.

Disclaimer: House and Wilson are not my property, FOX owns them. I just release the frustration we all have when we want to just say "FUCK ALREADY!!" hehe

Paring: As if it weren't clear from the above: House and Wilson

Rating: R

Love to all.

The Morning After…

Wild wet heat…


…two bodies pressed together in a kiss, so hard and wild that Wilson bites the inside of House's lips as their bodies writhe against each other. The salty taste of blood fills both their mouths, but they don't dare stop now.

Pulsing, clawing hands…


…for a desire hidden for too long. Buttons too easily slide away from drunken fingers; clothes are instead ripped away in wanton lasciviousness.

Deep, feral scent…


…the air. It's the smell of expensive cologne and cheep vodka, of acrid sweat and sweet arousal. But the scents, which would require a delicate nose to detect, are lost among the sharp inhalations of both men as their skin meets for the first time.

Wilson forces House down against the bed, pinning his wrists above his head as he kisses his neck. His tongue skates and glides across the other man's neck and collarbone tracing it with fierce kisses and soft bites. He'll have bruises tomorrow.

Wilson feels House's body arch underneath him, pressing flesh to flesh. (Quite an impressive arch, seeing as Wilson is semi-on all fours in order to hold House down.) The firm caress of skin makes a small gasp slide from Wilson's lips. House smiles crookedly at the noise, but Wilson is enjoying his control too much to so easily relinquish it just because his own libido would like to have him do so.

He pushes House down again, even more forcefully this time; the mattress slams against the wall.

Wilson traces the line of his kisses down House's chest (for a man who never works out, he's beautifully muscled.) Wilson lips leave soft, wet traces of vodka-tainted saliva all the way down to his hip. Wilson can feel the bone jutting up just under the soft flesh. He takes a moment to caress the spot with his lips; House moans and gasps in longing.

The way Wilson's lips linger just on the edge of ecstasy and the way those hands are wrapped gently around his hips pulling them gently in towards him is driving House crazy with desire. Unconsciously, he tries to writhe in pleasure, but he doesn't realize how firm Wilson's grasp is and it keeps him pinned in place.

"Oh…fuck! James!" He moans in such ardent passion that the sound of the hunger in his voice makes Wilson's own cock rise in desire.

Wilson slides his hands around off House's hips and uses one of them to prop himself up and with the other he gently runs one of his callused fingertips over the hard shaft of House's cock. Just the soft touch makes House moan and his head twitches from side to side.

Wilson brushes his lips over the tip of his cock. Yes, he is a tease. But, after all, House has put him through hell a hundred times isn't it right that he should have his fun now?

"Mmm—Oh please! Ah! Please!" House begs between gasps. "Fuck…oh….James…shit… please!"

How the mighty have fallen. House is begging for something. Wilson saw such delicious irony here. And no, he did NOT have a domination fetish. And no he was NOT enjoying keeping House just on the edge of total bliss.

Truth be told though, House's desperation was driving him mad. Wilson wants to deny him even longer, but the moans are making him wild. He wonders which on of them is going to lose control first.

He slowly, ever so slowly, slips his mouth over House's rock hard cock, making sure that his tongue covers ever inch and side of it with firm caresses. He sucks gently but even that is enough to make House's muscles spasm.

House can no longer even say James's name, he claws the bed sheets as if trying to rip them from the bed. He's loosing control. His hands move and grip James's shoulders as if trying to draw him in and push him further away at the same time. He's leaving deep marks on the skin with his nails but both men are too wrapped up in the passion to even notice this.

Wilson doesn't want to deny House his pleasure anymore.

He moves his mouth faster.

With one final caress he allows House to orgasm with wild screams. His hips buck and his back arches, his whole body jerks. Wilson watches with a satisfied smile on his lips. He can't say he's not proud of the work.

Finally, House's breath returns to his chest, he collapses among the tangled sheets—exhausted.

Wilson curls his head on the other man's heaving chest, and at last the wildness of their passion and the stupor of liquor draws them down into the sweet seduction of sleep.

House awakes among the disaster zone of his bedroom.

He is alone. Although, he isn't entirely sure why this realization surprises him. He wakes up alone every day; why was it strange now?

He rolls over and an empty vodka bottle clatters off the bed and onto the floor. The noise makes a bolt of pain shoot through his head—actually the pain hits more of his whole body. There isn't an inch of him that doesn't hurt.

He tries to remember last night: he'd been drinking. The hangover was clear proof of that.

There's something else, something he knows he needs to remember.


Wilson was here last night.

He rakes a hand through his hair. Why is that important? He wishes he could remember—if only he hadn't drunk so much last night.

He's pouring two white pills into his palm when he finally does remember. His hand drops and the pills spill onto the floor. His arms fall limply to the bed; his fingertips just brush the bare skin of his hip.

Wilson was HERE last night.

House has lost count of how many nights he's woken from dreams in which Wilson had been here, but this had been no dream. Wilson had been there. All soft flesh and wild passion. He'd been here.

But he wasn't anymore.

House retrieves the Vicodin from the floor and swallowed them down. He isn't sure if he is thankful Wilson is gone or if he wants to cry.

He gets in the shower and tries to wash the traces of last night from his skin, but even after the water has washed every inch of his skin the scent of Wilson's cologne still clings in his hair and on his skin. He can't escape it. It follows him around the apartment filling his nose like a specter it haunts him, making him unable to forget what had happened last night.

The morning after…

How will they look at each other?

Wilson must not have wanted this; if he had, he would still be here. How would House be able to admit that he had wanted it?

House downs his cup of instant coffee dispassionately. Even through the disgustingly cheep flavor he can still taste Wilson's kisses—bittersweet.

He tries everything not to think of last night—but it's all he can think about. He sinks down on the couch and lays his head back, just giving into the remembrance.

Suddenly, someone's hands are over his eyes and a soft laugh is coming from behind him. Lips are being pressed against his hair, and are pulled away with a much exaggerated "mu-ah" sound.

"Wilson?" He asks tentatively he doesn't want to dare to hope.


House turns around and looks up at the other man who is standing behind him. "What happened last night?" He didn't want his voice to sound so hostile, but he can see the light vanish from Wilson's eyes at his tone.

"You didn't feel the same way about it then. I'm sorry. I'll go." Wilson says all this very quickly, it's obvious he's embarrassed.

"No!" House grabs Wilson's wrist.

He doesn't have the words; he pulls Wilson down into a kiss that nearly makes Wilson flip over the back of the couch.

The morning after…

They become lost in their passion; they don't even bother to head back to the bedroom. Their hands once again explore the other's body, with the hunger that can only come from the second time around.

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