There's a tongue, and it's hot and wet and doing downright unhygienic things. And it's only by repeating 'bald cancer kids, bald cancer kids,' that Wilson has managed to get this far without coming.

He grabs the pillow and bites down hard. He just knows that any and all noise he makes can, and will, be used against him on the next occasion their in public together. But that tongue hasn't stopped moving and he suspects he's going to lose this game (but if this is losing he thinks he can live with that).

He unclenches his jaw, spits out the pillow and grips it between both hands, resting his head against the mattress with his eyes tight shut, his lips parted, breath coming in harsh pants. Which is when House decides to push in and Wilson loses not just the game but all concept of the rules and his own name.

"God! Jesus, fucking christ, House. Please, please... oh!"

And even in this position, even with House's tongue most definitely preoccupied, Wilson can hear the chuckle, the self-satisfied grin, that smile of victory. But it's really not going to matter for much longer, House runs his thumb up along the inside of Wilson's thigh and Wilson bites back a cry and arches his back, spreads his legs wider, turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of his tormentor.

House digs his thumb in at the top of one thigh and then glides his fingers back down, teasingly light touches to the sensitive skin at the back of Wilson's knee. He brings his hand back up, pinching a couple of times just to be a bastard and then he brushes his knuckles against Wilson's balls and bites back a laugh at the tortured groan that seems to resonate right through Wilson's body.

"Please!" House lives to hear that word, said like that, by this man. He even gets a strange buzz every time Wilson says it casually in public, like last week when they were walking down the corridor and bickering over something and Wilson had turned, with a roll of the eyes. 'Please' - said in a heavily sarcastic tone. House had stopped dead and stared for a good few seconds. Wilson had blushed and they'd both finished work early.

"House!" Wilson pushes back against House's evil master mind of a tongue and punches the pillow, gasping and grunting and writhing about without a care for the shame of it. House finally takes pity, or looses his patience, and removes his tongue. Gasping a little himself he slips one finger inside Wilson as he shifts his weight carefully, sliding along Wilson's body until his lips meet a shoulder blade and then the salt tasting nape of Wilson's neck and finally his ear lobe.

"This what you want?" House teases as he adds a second finger. Wilson manages to lift his head from the mattress and wrap a hand round House's neck and pull him down. Just when House expects to be kissed Wilson smirks and whispers into House's lips.

"Fuck me."

And just like that Wilson's winning. House tries to act cool but fails when a deep inhalation catches in his throat and makes him shudder. He leans forward and catches Wilson's lips with his own, just to gain the upper hand he bites down hard against Wilson's bottom lip as he twists his fingers.

The situation spirals somewhat out of control, both of them have forgotten the game, the rules and the fact that they have neighbours. House adds a third finger ruthlessly and Wilson makes a downright porn-show worthy noise that has House searching desperately for the bottle of 'Slide and Ride' that is now lost somewhere in the sheets (House had taken great delight in firstly dragging Wilson to the lewdest sex shop he could find, secondly making him pay for everything on his card and thirdly buying a lube with a ludicrously cheesy name).

Seizing the bottle with a triumphant 'finally' House flips open the lid with one hand and pours the slightly blue liquid directly onto Wilson's bare ass.

" i Jesus !" Wilson turns an outraged expression House's way. "Warn me next time." He rests his forehead against his crossed arms as House uses his free to apply a generous amount of the lube to himself.

"God you're demanding tonight." He manages to gasp out, sounding only mildly undone at the seams.

"Shut up and hurry up." Wilson arches his back again as House slides his fingers out and grabs a handful of Wilson's ass roughly.

"Yes sir. Any more directions?" House chuckles at the shiver that runs down Wilson's body as he struggles to find a comfortable position. His leg protests meekly but the sight laid out before him overrides all pain receptors.

"House..." It's said as a warning, Wilson turning his head slightly and looking up at House from under heavy lidded eyes.

"Yes?" House runs his hand over his cock a few times, the lubricant making an obscene wet noise. Wilson grunts and lifts himself up on both hands, pushing back against House a little. He groans when House's hand grips his hip and stops him moving.

"Any time." Wilson looks back again, this time reaching out for the headboard and arching his back so that he's inches from House's chest. A sarcastic response dies on House's tongue at the sight of Wilson all eager and desperate, his body arched and stretched and accentuating every hard line of muscle. House pushes up into Wilson body and they both groan, taking a minute to calm themselves before the game ends too soon.

House pulls back and Wilson leans over further, both hands clutching the headboard so hard his knuckles are white. His head hangs down, eyes scrunched closed as House slams back in. House manages to loosen his grip on Wilson's hip and as the sense to slip his hand underneath Wilson's body and grasp his cock. Already painfully close after his encounter with House's tongue, Wilson cries out at the contact and pushes back, forcing House deeper into him.


"You know..." House squeezes a little, until Wilson bucks up underneath him. "For a saint." House gasps mid-sentence as Wilson's muscles clamp down around him. "You sure do blaspheme a hell of a lot." House ends the sentence with a not-quite-playful slap to Wilson's ass.

"Oh yeah..." Wilson's hand drops from the headboard and joins House's wrapped round his cock. "That's what God would have a problem with." Their fingers lace together and Wilson groans when House slows the pace, pulling out almost entirely from Wilson's body before forcing back in and driving the air from Wilson's lungs with a delicious grunt. "My language, not the fact that I'm..." Another slap and Wilson's lost for words, it takes him a while to pick up the remains of the sentence. "The fact that I'm fucking the devil incarnate!" House laughs breathlessly against Wilson's spine, using his free hand to steady himself as he races towards oblivion.

"Getting fucked by, Jimmy." House manages, licking a long wet line up Wilson's back he then uses his free hand to grab Wilson's hair not so gently and pull him upright so that their bodies are pressed together, back to chest. Wilson gasps at the suddenness of the position, his head spinning for a moment, his whole world consisting of nothing but the points of contact between House's body and his own. House grunts as Wilson makes contact with his thigh, he freezes for a moment, waiting for the sharp point of pain to subside. Wilson drags himself up on his knees and slides back down onto House's cock - the pain runs away and hides. House's hand wraps round Wilson, holding him close and tight while his other hand is still working on Wilson's cock, driving him slowly crazy with the lazy pace he's set. Wilson tips his head back on to House's shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut.

House turns his head and presses a kiss to the exposed line of Wilson's throat and then up higher, latching onto his ear lobe and sucking hard. Without warning he grips Wilson's cock harder and quickens the pace, his hips slapping against Wilson's ass as he pushes up into the tight body around him. Wilson finds House's mouth and shares a sloppy kiss before turning away and gasping out loud.

"God, yes! Ple -" Wilson's cry is broken off as he comes hard, coating both their hands and the bed sheets beneath them. House bites down on Wilson's shoulder as he releases his cock and places both hands on Wilson's hips. His leg has started protesting again, with a deep breath House pounds into Wilson's body, determined to not let his leg win. Now boneless in his post coital glow Wilson in pliable against House, murmuring encouragements and pushing back into each thrust so that it's only a few short minutes and House is biting back down on that shoulder, muffling his shout of exultant ecstasy.

They stay motionless for what could be minutes. Their laboured breathing falling in time, finally House places a gentle kiss on the side of Wilson's neck and pulls out. Wilson hisses a little and falls heavily onto the mattress before him, smiling like an idiot.

House lays down more carefully, stretching out by Wilson's side. He grabs the bottle of Vicodin on the bedside cabinet and swallows one quickly before turning back to the still grinning oncologist. He runs the backs of his fingers up and down Wilson's side before placing a sleepy kiss on his chest.

"Dunno why you're grinning." He finally says, pulling the blankets up to cover them both.

"You don't?" Wilson asks jokingly.

"You're sleeping on the wet patch."