Title: Conference
Author: sy dedalus
Rating: M
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summary: PWP. So, no summary.
Disclaimer: This piece contains male/male sexual content. Please note the M rating. I don't own the characters, etc.


Feet aching, tie too tight, thoroughly tired after two nights alone on a stiff hotel mattress, Wilson unlocked the outer door to their apartment, relieved to be home. He wanted a shit, a shower, a shave, and to hear what madness and mayhem House had caused in the three days he was gone. Wondering about the latter was the only thing that had kept him sane during the six hour weather delay at the Toronto airport.

Twinges radiated up his calves and hamstrings to settle in his lower back as he closed the distance between the outer door and their apartment door. He knew better than to wear new shoes on a trip—especially shoes House had deemed impractical. But, he mused, a few well-placed winces and an admission that House had been right about the shoes would earn him a lower back massage…if, that is, he was willing to let House know he'd been right. House's ego would hog all the space in the bed and he'd end up on the floor at 3 a.m. So he would just have to come up with another way of conning a back rub, he concluded.

Wilson stopped to take his jacket off and stretch, then gathered jacket and briefcase, and selected the right key. He sighed mentally as his key scraped the lock and allowed him access. Home.

Before he could close the door, House's masculine scent shot through his brain, suffusing his body, and possessive hands pulled him against a warm, bony frame. Stiff stubble scratched his sensitive neck, then warm lips and a hot wet tongue licked away the scratches. The nip of strong, white teeth.

Wilson dropped his briefcase and suit jacket, and leaned into House's body, eyes closed. Definitely home.

House's gruff voice puffed into ear between nips and licks.

"You smell like an airport."

Wilson snorted and smiled. Definitely House. He loosened his tie with one hand and reached back with the other to squeeze an ass cheek through House's jeans.

"New cologne," Wilson replied. "All the rage in Canada."

House's fingers attacked the buttons of Wilson's shirt while he pushed his hips against Wilson's boring, nerdy khakis.

"How many hot boys did you fuck?" House asked, intent on leaving as many marks on Wilson's neck as possible.

Wilson tilted his head back as House untucked his Oxford and slipped a hand under the waiting white t-shirt. Cold fingers. He shivered.

"Dozens," Wilson answered while House sucked on his exposed jugular. "Half of them barely legal Puerto Ricans." He caught House's roving hand and guided it to the front of his pants. "Begged for a ride home in my suitcase."

House's hand clamped down and Wilson squirmed.

"Hope you said yes," House murmured between nips at Wilson's ear lobe.

House used his weight to steer Wilson toward the back of the couch, quickly unzipping Wilson's fly and reaching through underwear as he went. He heard Wilson's breath catch in his throat and thrust against him in response.

"Where are your hot boys?" Wilson asked, hands gripping the cool leather, wishing he could say no, not until I've had a shower and a shit, but utterly incapable of resistance. Three days was a long time.

"Under the bed, in the closet," House answered, one hand stroking penis and testicles, the other loosening Wilson's belt. "I think a few jumped into the air ducts."

Wilson pushed his backside against House's insistent hips, delighted at the stiffness leaning to the left in House's jeans. His blood buzzed: he'd been anticipating the feel of House against him since he'd walked into an empty hotel room Thursday night.

House lifted the waistband of Wilson's briefs over the anatomy he was teasing. "Total waste of baby oil."

"Shame," Wilson breathed.

He felt House unzipping jeans and rifling through cloth, then gasped when two slick fingers caressed his ass and dipped inside. He didn't understand how House could have done that so quickly, but he'd learned not to underestimate a horny House.

"You brought home all sorts of diseases, didn't you?" House questioned, gently sliding his fingers in circles to loosen the tight muscles he'd encountered. He kissed the cervical vertebrae where Wilson's neck met his shoulders, picking up faint traces of hotel soap and Wilson's cologne on his skin and shirt collar.

"Little Limpy's gonna need all his shots when he's finished," Wilson sighed, relaxing into House's touch.

House thrust in mercilessly in response and Wilson gasped, his body clenching, accidentally spilling pre-cum into House's hand.

"Touché," Wilson grunted.

House smiled wickedly and withdrew his fingers. Wilson shook a foot out of a pants' leg and spread his legs, flushed and waiting. Three days of waiting for this moment.

"Welcome home," House whispered into Wilson's shirt as he steadied Wilson's hips with his hands and plunged inside.