Summary: Too much time spent in front of late-night television sends House's imagination into overdrive. HW slash, with kink and moments of sweetness.

Warnings: A… significant amount of humiliation for poor Dr Wilson. Explicit; animal roleplay.


Wilson had never thought that spending an evening watching television would have led to one of the strangest sexual experiences of his life. It had been a long day, and both he and House had retreated to House's apartment to collapse on his couch, drink beer and eat Chinese food until the small hours of the morning. Of course, there had been nothing of remote interest on, and after ten minutes of channel surfing, House had finally settled on one of the more obscure channels, showing a documentary about feral children. House's claim that it could be interesting was less than convincing, and it wasn't exactly Wilson's idea of an exciting night in, but he went along with it, watching the full hour about how children who had been raised by wolves, unsurprisingly, acted like wolves. Which was, he noted, possibly the better alternative to the child growing up to be like its alcoholic parents, who had left it in the garden at the age of 4. Oddly, the documentary had been followed by a slightly more interesting- but significantly more disturbing- insight into the lives of people who loved their animals so much they married them. During an ad break, a plea from a dog's home caused House to suddenly mention that, when he was a child, he'd always wanted a dog, and that want had never truly left him. As an only child who had never really interacted with his father, he'd wanted nothing more than a companion that wouldn't judge him. That wouldn't hate him if, as he had a tendency to do, he said something incredibly stupid. Or, well, said anything at all.

"Well, we could try it. Getting a pet dog, I mean. Although your landlady won't be too happy if you get an animal." Wilson had submitted, although if he'd been sober he'd have known instantly that House's landlady would sooner stab her own eyes out with forks than relax the rules for House, of all people. As if his personality wasn't bad enough, him coming in at all hours of the night, sometimes drunk, almost always high on something or other, entertaining hookers, only served to aggravate her further. If he hadn't been paying above the value of the place and been rather helpful with some aspects of her- and her husband's- somewhat embarrassing medical problems, Wilson knew he would have been out years ago. With House, though, that sentiment was appropriate in almost all situations; he had certain aspects and advantages that kept other people around.

"No way." House was sober enough to realise it, or at least used enough to being drunk to retain some logical thought.

"Well… there are alternatives, I suppose," musing, Wilson had sounded unconvinced as he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, but a glance at House told him that his offhand comment had had more of an impact than he'd expected, and in a slightly different way, "That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? In your twisted universe, I mean."

And Wilson couldn't help but swallow a little nervously as he saw the look in House's eyes. It was, almost ironically, rather feral, and it was scaring the shit out of him. House's existing collection of looks was terrifying enough without him adding still more. This one, though, was a little different to the others; Wilson could tell by the familiar stirring in his groin, the one that always happened when House was overly intense. When he gave him that unblinking stare with those cool blue eyes, smiled like he was thinking of something incredibly dirty… Oh God, he was. House was thinking bad things, and he was moving closer, agonisingly close, and Wilson could feel the familiar hardness against his leg as House pinned him, his body so warm, and so, so fucking close. Wilson wanted desperately to kiss him, but knew he couldn't. House was torturing him; he'd only pull away.

"Let's do it," House said quietly, his voice low, deep and oh so sexy, "Let's get a dog."

"What?" Wilson stared at him, doing his best to ignore the feeling of House's good leg moving somewhat provocatively against his groin as he struggled to comprehend just how the other man's mind worked.

"A dog. I want one."

Lord, it was obvious House was an only child. Still, despite how much Wilson loved to spoil him, he had some pride; there were practicalities to consider.

"Your landlady would kill you."

"Mm," House agreed, but the way he was smiling told Wilson that he wasn't willing to give up that easily. He had a plan, and Wilson wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what it was. Still, he didn't get a choice in that aspect; whether he wanted to know or not, House was going to tell him, "I don't want anything I don't have already. Just… an obedient little puppy. Soft brown fur," he reached a hand up to tangle his fingers in Wilson's hair, "deep brown eyes," he paused for a moment to give the younger man a meaningful look before emphasising his point with a sharp tug on the blue tie Wilson was wearing, "blue leash around that pretty little neck."

"Oh no. No way in hell, House!" Wilson had to object; he was hardly conservative when it came to sex; he enjoyed it and wasn't ashamed of that, but the sort of role-play that House was clearly suggesting could get a little too weird for his liking. If House was looking for an outlet for some twisted bestiality fetish, he could find it elsewhere, because Wilson was not going to-

"Ah!" he couldn't help but gasp in surprise as House's mouth made contact with his neck, the soft, wet warmth against his skin coming at exactly the same time as House took his nipple between two fingers and twisted sharply. He was confusing him, confusing his senses, aware that Wilson was half-drunk and unable to resist him at the best of times.

"Please," House whispered, mouth ghosting against Wilson's neck, and he felt the other man shiver beneath him. He pushed Wilson's shirt up with his free hand, unwilling to make the effort of taking it off completely, rolling Wilson's reddened nipple tightly between his fingers for a final time before lowering his mouth to it, licking wetly to soothe it and drawing a low groan from his lover as he did so. God, he loved it when Wilson was helpless, writhing beneath him as he struggled to resist.

"Please, Jimmy," he whispered again, knowing that Wilson loved to feel his lips against his skin, "Do this for me."

And he looked up, at precisely the moment Wilson looked down, and he saw it. Saw the other man's resolve shattering instantly as he saw the hunger, the lust, the love in House's eyes. Because he did love him and they both knew that, even if he struggled to show it sometimes.

"Alright. But," Wilson regained his composure enough to formulate a sentence, "I want you to cut down the amount of vicodin you're taking."

Wilson didn't know quite what to think as House nodded his agreement instantly; he was either desperate for this, or just lying. Sometimes he just couldn't tell whether or not House needed him or the pills more. Not that he'd ever force him to make that choice. He couldn't help suspecting that he'd be disappointed.

As House kissed him, though, one hand sneaking downwards to cup the bulge in the front of his trousers, he knew that he was serious. He was actually willing to cut down on painkillers for this… just how long had he been harbouring this little fantasy? That documentary had been a repeat; it was what, two years old? And that was a long time for House to suppress something, particularly when it was as big as this.

Other issues pushing themselves to the front of his mind, though, like the fact that House was kissing him with even more fervour than usual, Wilson resisted the urge to think and contented himself with just feeling, wrapping his arms around House in an attempt to pull the other man closer.

That is, until House pulled abruptly out of his grip, slapping his hands away.

"No. Bad puppy," he scolded, adoring but ignoring Wilson's outraged look, "Puppy doesn't have arms," he reminded the other man.

"What, I don't even get a name?" Wilson had to ask, despite his awareness that a name was the least of his concerns, considering just how sadistic House could be. But he wouldn't hurt him, would he?

"You don't talk, either," was the second reminder, and Wilson affected his best puppy dog eyes, horrifyingly appropriate though they were. Sighing, House returned the look with a glare, since he hadn't really intended on leaving his new puppy without a name. That would just be cruel, "Jimmy. Behave yourself."

Wilson pouted, although he was glad that House had let him keep his real name; a different one would have left him just a little suspicious about just who he was being named after. And he loved to hear House say his name; he didn't do it very often in conversation; usually it was only to mock him. Or when he was moaning his name, usually when he entered him, although it had been known to happen at his climax. House was not the most vocal of lovers, and sometimes it frustrated Wilson that he was still holding back, in his own, abstract way. He loved to hear Wilson, though; maybe there was a link. Or maybe it was something to do with the fact that, in public, he loved to hear himself talk, and he was always telling Wilson to shut up. It could be interesting to find out. Later. When House wasn't loosening his tie.

"Hou-" Wilson began, but stopped short as House gave him a stern look. Instead, he had to settle for a questioning look and a soft, curious whimper, which caused the tiniest flicker of a smile at the corner of House's mouth.

"Dogs don't wear clothes, Jimmy. Come on, off with it."

"You're not serious." Wilson didn't catch himself in time as he spoke again, and House covered his mouth with his hand, a little more roughly than was entirely necessary. He gave the older man a hurt look, and although the expression faded as House relinquished his grip to stroke his cheek lightly, actually looking apologetic, the feeling didn't go away quite so quickly. Still, a little sadly, Wilson continued loosening his tie until he could pull it over his head, doing so before he started on his few remaining shirt buttons. As he went to shrug the material from his shoulders, though, House's hands stopped him, and he stopped, looking up in some surprise.

"Forget it," House said, shaking his head as he got slowly to his feet, a little unsteady without his cane, and Wilson frowned as his expression and body language screamed that he was shutting him out.

"Hey, what? I thought you-"

"I do. But… I want you to too."

Wilson paused before venturing his reply. The feeling that he might regret it was overruled by the combination of concern and guilty arousal that were brewing inside of him, "I do. Want to," his expression softened as he also stood, cupped House's chin, turned the other man to face him, "I trust you, House," he offered his assurance as he saw the doubt that remained in House's expression.

"I would never hurt you," House had to say, knowing as his heart skipped a beat that it was true. It hadn't always been; he'd done some frankly fucking stupid things in the past, but not any more. Never again.

Wilson couldn't bring himself to say anything for fear of bursting into tears, instead pulling House into a kiss that said more than words ever could. House snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him close, and Wilson finally rid himself of his shirt, dropping it to the floor before starting on his belt, flushing slightly as House withdrew from their embrace to watch him with barely veiled arousal evident in his eyes. The trousers quickly disposed of, Wilson was left only in his underwear, taking a deep breath as he resigned himself to what was clearly going to be an evening of abject humiliation before slipping them off as well. He could feel, rather than see, House's eyes travelling down the length of his body and back up again, lingering on his evident erection, which diminished slightly under such intense scrutiny.

House smiled; he couldn't help it. This was going to be so much fun. First things first, though. He reached out to lay a hand on Wilson's shoulder, pushing down gently but firmly as he nodded towards the floor. Wilson looked at him for a moment, a little stunned by such blatant perversion even in the face of all that had already happened, but submitted, sinking to his knees although he didn't quite manage all fours initially. Patting his head, House took his seat again on the couch, settling down once more before picking up the remote for the TV and switching it on.

Wilson arched an eyebrow; feeling a little ignored, but went with it, slinking past House with the intention of joining him on the couch. As he lifted his arms –front legs, whatever- to rest on the seat, though, he found House once again preventing him from continuing.

"No dogs on the furniture."

Wilson's incensed expression was one that House would remember for a while; he was completely and utterly shocked by the pretty audacious refusal. Just how far was House going to take this? He fought back, though, the puppy dog eyes returning as he kneeled up –on his hind legs- hands curled over like paws as he affected the begging position. House's brain turned to mush and dribbled out of his ears, unable to process the image and the motions that swirled inside of him as he saw it, and with a nod of his head he gestured for Wilson to climb up next to him. Smiling sweetly and making House's heart melt like no real dog ever could, Wilson did so, lying down with his head in House's lap, careful to lean only on his good leg.

House's expression softened, and he made little effort to hold back as he began to stroke Wilson's hair, adoring how cute it was when the younger man –dog, whatever- nuzzled his leg gently, encouraging him. Thus encouraged, House allowed his hand to trail downwards, pianist's fingers tracing imaginary shapes down Wilson's arm, curving lines down his side, smiling at the familiar twitch that resulted as he touched the sensitive spot near Wilson's hipbone, the shiver that he felt as he traced the line of his spine. They remained there for a while, but soon after, House noticed new shivers, raised hairs on his pet's arms. The central heating was on timer, and had switched off; it was getting colder and of course Wilson felt it first; he wasn't wearing anything! House mentally berated himself for being so insensitive, and got to his feet once more, Wilson's small whimper of objection as he moved only serving to make him feel worse. Not bothering with his cane, he limped down the hallway, retrieving a blanket from underneath his bed before returning to the lounge and throwing it at Wilson on his way through into the kitchen.

A soft yelp informed him that he had hit his target, and House smiled fondly as he proceeded to ignore the dishes that needed washing and switched the heating on again, on a lower setting. Wilson was doing a pretty good job, but he hadn't managed the fur coat yet, and House wasn't going to make him freeze. That was just cruel. Back in the living room, though, he stopped as Wilson, his blanket still next to him, was sitting watching him expectantly, hands still curled over into paws. House couldn't decide whether it was inconvenient or the cutest thing he'd ever seen, but picked the blanket up anyway, gesturing for Wilson to follow him as he went back to the bedroom, figuring that if they were ever going to get some sleep, they might as well get comfortable first.

Whistling and patting the bed as a command for Wilson to join him, House watched as, on all fours, he climbed up and curled up in a fair imitation of a dog, considering it wasn't something he practiced regularly. He wrapped the blanket around Wilson's shoulders before patting his head again, allowing his hand to drift downwards as he stroked his cheek fondly. Wilson couldn't stop himself from licking the other man's hand affectionately; if he was going to do this, he was going to do it well, and was rewarded with a smile as House left the room to change. Even after all the years they'd known each other, the months they'd been sleeping together, he was still self-conscious about his leg, and refused to let Wilson see the scar, instead choosing to change in another room, and keep the lights turned low when there was no avoiding the exposure. Wilson didn't care; he loved House no matter what, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't persuade him to let him see it, let alone touch it. It made things a little awkward when they… got a little intimate, but Wilson didn't mind that. He just… for once, wanted to see the man he loved, chunk out of his leg and all.

When House returned from the bathroom to find his lover –dog- looking rather mournful, he frowned, concerned. He sat down beside him, stroking his head until, momentarily breaking out of his dog persona, Wilson took House's hand in his, pressing his lips to it in an attempt to communicate how he was feeling, expression sad as he kissed it twice more before, in an attempt to explain, releasing it and pawing gently at House's leg, careful to avoid the actual scar. He looked pleadingly at House, noticing his doubtful expression, and sighed. House sighed too, but a single glance over Wilson's position, impersonating a dog, for God's sake, told him that he owed him that at least.

Slowly, unsteadily, and with a wince that caused Wilson as much pain as it did him, House stood, hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his sweatpants, although he hesitated for a moment longer before actually removing them.

Wilson couldn't prevent himself from inhaling sharply at the sight. He'd known House for so long; seen him walk, run, ride on that goddamn skateboard without problems; grown used to the limp, the notion that House was constantly in pain because of his leg, but he hadn't… really thought about it. Thought about the physical mark it had left on the body of the man he loved so much. Thought about the true extent of the pain House suffered each day. He'd known, of course, he'd seen what House would do because of it and the lengths he'd go to even for short-term relief, but it just had never really sunk in.

House was staring evasively at the wall, his expression showing shame that Wilson wanted to hit him for feeling. Expression set with determination; he was going to get House to overcome this ridiculous self-consciousness, he moved, still on all fours but barely even registering his own position as he nudged House in the stomach with his shoulder, urging him to move; to move up the bed, back propped up against the pillows, legs spread apart as Wilson settled between them. He knew House was watching but didn't look up; didn't want to see that guarded expression because he couldn't bear the thought of House not trusting him. Instead he lowered his head, pausing for a moment before licking a long, wet line along the length of the scar. House tensed, but didn't stop him, and it was all the reassurance Wilson needed to continue; tracing lines, ridges with the tip of his tongue, pressing soft kisses to damaged tissue and finding himself unable to resist smiling slightly as he noticed a certain appendage in his peripheral vision, beginning to harden.

He set himself a target, finding it a little unnerving just how easily he was getting into this roleplay; no hands. He was going to do it with nothing but his mouth and if House managed to keep quiet through that then he was a better man –or dog­- than Wilson.

Slowly, he moved upwards, lapping softly at the inside of House's thigh as he did so and feeling the other man's breathing quicken at the sensations he was so unaccustomed to; Wilson was so rarely allowed to give him a blowjob, and he'd never truly explored before; was taking the opportunity to do just that. Planting a kiss at the very top of House's thigh, Wilson took advantage of the unusually exposed position; slow, wet catlicks –inappropriate? Who cared? – painting around the real target of his ministrations, because he knew he'd get nowhere without a build-up. House's fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed, sucked the tightening ball sac before him into his mouth briefly, before beginning a slow, swirling path upwards, ignoring House's urging to just fucking suck him off already. He wasn't that easy, not today.

He stayed gentle, planning ahead a couple of steps as he kissed the head of House's cock, swirling his tongue around the head before suckling on the very tip, delving his tongue into the slit and revelling in the soft whimper he drew from House's throat. But it wasn't enough… he wanted to hear his name; a proper moan at least; he wasn't going to settle for second best, this time.

With one smooth, swift movement –and a brief thanks to whichever god was listening that House wasn't too much bigger than the… implements he'd used to practice on- he pushed forward, taking House in almost to the hilt and drawing a surprised gasp from between already parted lips. Disturbingly true to his character, he actually growled in frustration and almost jumped as that got the reaction he was after; a deep, low groan from House as the vibrations travelled through him. That was interesting, he mused as he fought the urge to smile, which made things a little difficult, and the curious impulse to chew, which would possibly not go down well.

He almost choked as he struggled not to laugh at his own pun, and attempted once more to focus on the matter at hand; hollowing his cheeks he began to suck gently, letting it slip slowly from between his lips and almost hearing House's unfortunately only mental objection. He'd have to swallow his pride before Wilson did any swallowing of his own, and although Wilson was unfortunately no match for House when it came to wits or cutting remarks, he could beat him on patience any day. So he waited; blew cold air over the twitching cock that rose before him; knew that with the wetness of his saliva it would create the most fantastic contrast when he engulfed him again… just as soon as he was sure House could take it without falling over the edge. It would be a shame to let him go so soon… and he was enjoying this more than he'd ever thought he would.


House's voice made Wilson pause as a shiver travelled straight down his spine into his cock at the sound; God, that was sexy. Partway through the movement involved in lapping up the dribble of pre-come threatening to drop from the head of House's cock, he stopped, eyes directed upwards, tongue sliding from between parted lips, waiting. Wanting House to prove he wanted this just as much as Wilson did…


Suppressing his own groan of pleasure at the sound of House actually pleading with him, Wilson smiled. That was more like it.

"Good boy," he whispered, turning the tables slightly as, again, the movement of air over House's hypersensitive cock made him gasp, before he took it in again, finally urging him to full completion, enjoying the rare feeling of House clutching at him, fingers clenching in his hair because he so rarely got a chance to feel that desperation.

And, moments later, House exploded over his tongue with another gorgeous sound that Wilson wished he wasn't too distracted to enjoy; having been given no fucking warning, other than a slight tightening sensation in the balls that brushed his bottom lip, he struggled to swallow all of it, trying his best to ignore the taste and texture and general yick in favour of considering House's reaction to his efforts, and was rewarded with the sexiest, satiated smile he'd seen in a while as he meekly wiped a stray trail from his chin as it dripped stubbornly and, after a moment's consideration and a sultry glance at House from underneath his eyelashes, licked it from his fingers.

He smiled as House beckoned him closer, snuggled up beside him as the older man drifted into sleep, kissed his cheek and settled down to sleep himself. He was hard; House's little gasps and moans, rare as they were, had shot straight through him, but he knew he wasn't to relieve himself. He had to be an obedient little puppy, for his master.

His cock twitched in response to the thought of submitting, giving himself over to House completely, but he dismissed it. There would be time for that later. For now, he needed to sleep; get his strength up for the following day. Who knew what House had planned?

Not a fucking walk in the park, that was for sure…


Because if juliabohemian can do kink, so can I.

I almost creamed at the image of a naked Wilson in the begging position. Hope you all did too.