"...And that's pretty much the lay of the land," Wilson said, leading his newest employee into his office. "I know it's a lot to take in on the first day, but the staff will help you get a feel for everything. So, Dr. Brent, if you have any questions...?"
The new radiologist swept his gaze around Wilson's office with a critical eye, his hands hidden in his lab coat pockets. A very young man just starting his residency, Brent had neatly groomed blond hair and a way of looking like he was always leaning on something even when he was standing in the middle of a room. "No pictures of your kids?" he asked.
"I don't have any."
Brent gestured to Wilson's unadorned hands, which still clasped a stack of files against his chest. "No wedding ring?"
Wilson hesitated before sitting down at his desk. "I'm divorced." He focused on arranging the files in their proper order.
The other man sat casually against the desk, propping one leg in front of Wilson. "So no reason why we couldn't have a drink sometime?" His green eyes sparkled, and his neat rows of teeth seemed a little too white.
It took Wilson a moment to realize what the question meant. "Dr. Brent," Wilson said slowly. "I'm not..."
"Oh, god," he groaned and dropped his bright gaze to the oaken desktop. "I'm so sorry. I was sure you were…"
"I'm usually very good at sensing it."
"I mean, I'm not trying to say you broadcast it or anything." Brent held his hands up in a placating gesture. He paused and smacked a palm to his forehead. "I'm going to get fired on my first day, aren't I?"
The two men shared a short laugh. Wilson took a pen in his hand, more for a prop than a need to write anything down.
"If I had to fire every nurse that asked me out to dinner, I'd be running a skeleton crew," he said. "Don't worry about it. Just focus on getting settled in, Brent."
"Thank you, sir." Brent pushed off the desk with a smile. "And please, call me Peter."
They shook hands and Wilson smiled back. "Good luck, Peter."
Brent turned to leave, but he paused in the doorway with his hand on the frame. He turned and tilted his head to the side slightly, as if he needed to take in the entire scene of Wilson sitting at his desk. "The offer stands," he said, "in a non-date way, if you like." He shrugged. "Or whatever."
Wilson opened his mouth, but Brent swept out just as House hobbled his way into the room. The older doctor gave the back of Brent's head a distasteful glance before turning to Wilson. "What's the Gap model doing in a lab coat?" he asked.
Wilson turned back to his paperwork. "He's my new radiologist."
House raised an eyebrow and slowly stomped his way to the edge of Wilson's desk. "Your cheeks are flushed," House murmured. He leaned forward to study Wilson's face, and Wilson sighed at the invasion of his personal space. "You have that look in your eyes."
"Did you come in here for something?" Wilson asked hopefully. "Lunch? A consult? The map of the lost continent?"
"Did that guy just hit on you?" House demanded.
"Paranoid," Wilson said in his spelling bee voice. "Can I have the language of origin, please?"
"You're being witty," House accused. "You're only witty when you're trying to hide something."
"Like my desire to get you out of my office?" Wilson shot back. "Seriously, what's the problem?"
"Now you're defensive."
"And you're insane, so I guess everything's normal."
House sat down on the desk in much the same way Brent had, cane dangling between his fingers. "You told him you were straight." He eyed the top of Wilson's brown head, still bent over paperwork. "Right?"
"I told him I wasn't interested," Wilson said, still not looking up at House. He flipped over a page in the chart with a flick of his hand.
"I said I'm not…" Wilson shrugged, trailing off.
House gave a dry laugh. "I understand you've run out of female staff members to flirt with, but does it have to be a radiologist? Boring!"
"Radiology is a noble field," Wilson responded automatically. "And Peter Brent comes highly recommended."
"He flips switches and looks at pictures all day! A well-trained dolphin could do his job."
"We can't put a saltwater tank in the lab. Also," Wilson continued, "I wasn't flirting."
"Oh, but when you dress like that," House purred with wide, sarcastic eyes, "you know you're just asking for it." He pawed the front of Wilson's sweater vest for good measure.
Wilson finally did look up. "Now that we're done discussing my fictional love life, can I get some work done?"
House stood to leave, scoffing in disgust and shaking his head.
"And for future reference," Wilson called at his retreating back, "green doesn't look good on you."
Later that week, Wilson was working side by side with Brent in the radiology lab, shuffling through files and lists.
"I didn't expect your first few days to be so slammed," Wilson apologized, handing another stack of forms to the younger doctor. "I wanted to ease you into it, but as you can see, we're perpetually short-staffed here."
"Let me guess." Brent flipped a few switches that controlled the MRI on the other side of the glass wall. He murmured an encouragement via a microphone to the patient inside, then turned back to Wilson. "High burnout rate?"
"You don't know the half of it," Wilson sighed. "I think you're the fifth radiologist we've hired since December."
"What do you do, feed them to wolves?" Brent joked.
Wilson shifted uncomfortably, thinking of House. "Something like that." His pager went off, and a quick glance at the screen reveled House's number, speak of the devil. He ignored it; if House had an emergency, he would have used their 911 code.
A signal beeped, and Brent let the patient know the scan was done. He hit a few other buttons to power down the machine and extract the table.
"If you need to go," Brent said with a tip of his head to the pager on Wilson's belt, "I can get your patient settled."
"No, it's nothing," Wilson said quickly. "I've got her." He left the observation room and helped the patient off the table and into her wheelchair, explaining the next steps in her treatment before handing her off to a nurse. When the woman was finally gone, Wilson allowed himself a tired sigh.
"Pretty long day, huh?" the younger doctor commented, coming into the room with some print-outs.
Wilson checked his watch. "Looks like you've made some overtime," he muttered. "Again, I'm really sorry."
Brent smiled. "No problem. I don't mind the hours." He sidled closer in the dim room. "Just moved into town, don't know a lot of people, so it's not like I have anything better to do."
Wilson winced in sympathy. "I'm sure you'll make friends in no time," he assured, taking the sheets of paper from his outstretched hand.
"Yeah." Brent smirked a bit. "I think so."
Wilson busied himself with the test results, finding a glimmer of good news in them. He was just about to voice his relief when Brent's pale fingers slid along his jaw, turning it towards him. The younger man had a questioning eyebrow raised, his entire posture asking 'Is this okay?' But Wilson couldn't get any words out of his tight throat, and Brent took that as assent and kissed him.
Wilson may have made a sound then, but it was certainly nothing intelligible. Brent saw it as encouragement, and he delved deeper and harder.
Brent broke the kiss and said, quite smugly, "I'm never wrong about these kinds of things." His hand drifted over Wilson's sweater-clad chest and stomach until it met a growing erection that Wilson hadn't even known was there, it had appeared so fast.
Wilson couldn't even get a word in; Brent pushed until his lower back slammed up against the thin edge of the MRI table. Wilson tried to twist to the side, but Brent's insistent hands were on his hips, lifting him smoothly and placing him on the sterile plastic surface. At that point, Wilson had his first spark of real panic. His clutching hands could feel the lean muscles bunching in Brent's arms, the practiced strength in his hold. Though he didn't look it, the guy was very strong.
"Peter, this isn't—" Wilson's protests were swallowed in another kiss, and Wilson was crushed against the body that stood between his legs. His wrists were grabbed in an unbreakable grasp, and Brent's face loomed over his as he crawled onto the table as well, straddling Wilson's hips.
"You can't tell me you don't want this," he said. "I have all the evidence right here." He palmed Wilson's cock through his pants, eliciting another shudder. "Come on, Dr. Wilson. Doesn't it feel good?"
"I…ah…" Wilson gasped as Brent laid flush on top of him, increasing the maddening pressure. "Yes, it does," he panted.
"No one would have to know," Brent whispered.
Wilson opened his mouth, not even sure what was about to come out of it, but he never got the chance to find out. With a sudden jerk, Brent was pulled away and held aloft by one irate House.
"Buffet's over," House barked at the radiologist in his grip. "Get the hell out."
Brent didn't have a choice in the matter; House sent him flying toward the door with a powerful shove. Then he turned back to glare down at Wilson.
Wilson wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, but otherwise didn't move.
But House spun and left so quickly, Wilson didn't have a chance to try to finish his sentence.
The next day, Wilson began his workday with no memo from Cuddy to fire Brent, which meant House had kept his mouth shut. Or so Wilson could only assume. He knew from experience where to find House when he didn't want to be found, except that House knew he knew, which meant…
Wilson sighed. It was too difficult to figure out who knew what, so he just went to the children's ward playroom. House was there as he'd expected, hogging the Guitar Hero game and slaughtering all the top scores. He'd attracted a crowd of kids, and they were all sprawled in front of the television, watching with rapt attention.
"Use the star power! Star power!" one small boy with glasses shouted.
"Whammy bar, whammy bar," a little girl chanted over House's shoulder.
House muttered to himself, "Backseat rockers."
"House." Wilson stood next to the TV with his arms folded across his chest. "I need to talk to you."
"Can't talk," House said. "Freebird."
"Please, House. Pause it for a second."
"Have you no clue how to shred? You can't just stop in the middle of a solo." He lifted the neck of the toy guitar high in the air, and the group of children clapped and cheered at the rising score on the screen.
"Will you at least listen to me?" Wilson pleaded.
"Sure. Go ahead."
Wilson balked and looked down at the young patients. "Not here!"
"That's too bad," House said. "I happen to be here right now."
"You can't hide in the peds ward forever. Eventually, you'll have to step back into the real world," Wilson fumed.
With an energetic strum of the fake instrument, House completed the song to the joy of the little children. He accepted a few tiny hands in high-fives before turning back to Wilson.
"The real world? You're the one living in a General Hospital script," he snorted.
"Encore, encore," the kids screamed.
Wilson threw his hands up in the air and left.
It was late that evening when Wilson finally managed to ambush House in his office. The older man was grabbing his backpack in preparation for his departure.
Wilson opened up with the classic: "Listen, I'm glad I caught you."
"I'm not," House said flatly. "Got to go." He tried to push his way past Wilson, but he wouldn't budge from the doorway. House dodged right to go through the conference room, but Wilson's arm shot out to block that exit as well.
"I can always jump from the balcony," House warned.
"I'm faster," Wilson reminded him. "I could tackle you before you reached the door."
House tapped his cane against the carpet, his gaze on his own white-knuckled grip. "Yes, it seems that tackling men at work is your new talent, isn't it?"
"I can't believe this is bothering you so much!" Wilson cried with a little half-laugh. "Dr. Brent didn't even come in to work today. What did you do, threaten to put a bomb in his car like in Godfather?"
House shrugged. "Personally, I like Goodfellas more."
"Seriously." Wilson propped his fists on his hips. "What's the matter with you?"
House's blue eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. "You're doing residents in the MRI, and you think I have the problem? This is a hospital, Wilson. Cuddy would fire your ass so fast—"
"When Cameron and Chase were having sex in broom closets, you didn't even bat an eye! You don't give a damn about the decorum of the hospital," Wilson shouted.
"It's different with you," House growled.
"How? How is this any…?" Wilson sighed and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to calm himself. "House. There's a whole list of things I've done in my life to make you comfortable, to keep you happy. But I can't keep pretending that—"
"I'm not asking you to!"
"Yes, yes, you are. I'm almost forty-two years old, and at this point, I can't keep lying to myself just because you're mad that I might be gay."
House cracked his cane down on the surface of his desk, and all the little toys and baubles jumped. Wilson did too. "I don't care if you're gay!"
"Funny way of showing it," Wilson said quietly. They stood there, silent, House's panting breath the only harsh sound in the room. "Why are you angry, then?" Wilson finally asked.
House pivoted on his cane and faced the dark window. For a long moment, he said nothing, and Wilson was about to turn and leave. Then, "Does it have to be Brent?"
It was said so softly, with such utter dejection, that Wilson had to step forward to hear it clearly. He was nearly at House's side when he answered, confused and frustrated.
"Who else would it be?"
With an animal snarl, House spun and, in one deft, crashing sweep, used his cane to clear the surface of the desk of all its contents. Wilson was still marveling at the amount of crap that had fallen to the floor when he realized House's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down.
"House, what—" Wilson gasped as his back hit the glass top hard, forcing the air from his lungs.
The cane hit the carpet with a dull thump, and House pinned Wilson's hips down with both hands. "Is this the way you want it?" he asked, his voice low and dark, his eyes shrouded in shadow.
"This isn't funny." Wilson squirmed under his grasp. "Quit it."
House's hand scrabbled at Wilson's mussed shirt, pulling at buttons and only succeeding half the time. The other hand remained firmly on Wilson's hip, holding him down while the other wormed its way past the crisp cotton and up Wilson's chest.
"Stop. House." Wilson considered thrashing wildly to free himself, but even at this strange turn of events, he feared he might accidentally kick House's bad leg. So he tried to remain still and calm and speak firmly. "You need to stop."
"Is this as far he got?" House asked darkly. His fingertips brushed a nipple, and he pinched it cruelly between his nails.
Wilson let out a gasp of pain, and his body shuddered both towards and away from the touch in tiny jerks. His eyes shut tightly.
"No. He was on top of you. Grinding on you."
Wilson opened his eyes and saw House heaving himself onto the desk, first his right leg, then his left. He hovered over Wilson, his face masked with the room's darkness, his body sliding up over him, just as Brent had.
"House, don't…" Wilson glanced at House's limbs, caging him in. He knew House couldn't last long on his hands and knees, that a position like that would cause terrible pain in his injured leg. "You can't."
"I need to." House dipped his head, tilting his mouth towards Wilson's slack lips. He was nearly at his goal when he reared back, hissing in pain and clutching at his right thigh. "Shit!"
"House." Wilson placed his hands on House's shaking shoulders and slowly pushed him away. "Is it bad?"
House nodded, biting his lip when his weight was placed on his knees. Wilson slid down off the desk and eased House into the chair. He found the cane near the glass wall and put it back in House's grip. They didn't look at each other, only at the floor.
"I don't know what to do with you," Wilson sighed, and left him there.
He made his way down to the lobby, his head swimming with what had just happened. Was this another one of House's mind games, or was it a warning? How far was House prepared to go to prove his point? And what the hell was his point, anyway?
That was the order of things as he pushed his way through the front doors of PPTH and into the warm night air. But a figure blocked his path, wearing a black eye and a sheepish grin.
"Brent?" Wilson squinted. "What happened to you?"
"I came to say I'm sorry," the younger man said with a shrug. "Your boyfriend made it very clear that you were off-limits, and I should have asked before I tried anything. I just thought you were one of those, you know." He gestured vaguely. "Closet cases in need of a little help."
"My boyfriend?" Wilson blurted out. His grip tightened on his brown leather satchel, and he glared up at the forth floor balcony. Sure enough, a darkened figure stood there silently. Wilson turned back to Brent, shaking his head. "He hit you?"
"Lucky shot," Brent chuckled. "I sort of walked right into it." He shifted on his feet, his hands in his back jean pockets.
"Yeah, lucky," Wilson mumbled absentmindedly. Without another surreptitious look upwards, he reached out and placed a hand on Brent's shoulder. "You should probably start looking for another job."
"Yeah. I figured." A shoe scuffed at the pavement.
"But first," Wilson said slowly, "why don't we go have that drink?" He smiled.
Brent perked up immediately, and Wilson didn't have to look back at the balcony. He could feel the death-rays of House's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
Wilson knocked on House's door that night knowing the man would be up despite the late hour. House had a way of dealing with damaged pride that went hand in hand with insomnia. He wasn't sure, however, if House would let him in.
Many minutes later, the door cracked open a few millimeters.
"What do you want?" House asked with a sneer.
"I'm attracted to men," Wilson said into the tiny slit of light. "That's the reason my therapist put me on the meds."
The door didn't slam shut, but it didn't open any further either.
"It hasn't been easy…" he tried again.
"Is that so?" House shot back. "'Easy' is actually one of the best words to describe you right now."
"House." Wilson slid his hand into the small space between the door and the jamb, knowing that House could break all his fingers with one good slam. "If you…" His fingertips brushed House's wrist. "If you don't want to be friends anymore…"
"Move your hand," House ordered.
Wilson's fingers retreated and the door shut, only to be opened fully once House undid the chain lock. They stared at each other through the widened expanse.
"If it bothers you…" Wilson said.
"I told you, I don't care. You could fuck hermaphrodites if you want. It's a free country."
Wilson's shoulders slumped. This wasn't going at all as he'd planned. "You tried to kiss me," he finally said.
House shuffled his sneakers in the doorway and wouldn't look up. "Bedroom acrobatics aren't really my strong suit, are they?" He shrugged. "But Brent. He looks limber. Good for you."
"House, stop being this way! You're not listening to me." Wilson's voice echoed through the hallway.
"Gay." House pointed at Wilson's chest with his cane. "Don't care." He pointed at himself. "Getting drilled by a young radiologist." He repeated his gesture to Wilson. "I'm all caught up."
"I'm not getting—"
"You smell like him!" House roared. "There's cigarette smoke in your hair. You left the hospital with him, and he's beautiful, so why wouldn't you fuck him?"
Wilson stilled for a moment, his face falling. "Is that what this is about?" he asked quietly. "You don't think you're…beautiful enough?"
"I'm done," House announced, trying to slam the door shut. But Wilson wedged himself into the doorway and slipped inside, wincing as he scraped his ankle.
"Why won't you just say it?" Wilson cried. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?" House's voice was quiet now, and he was already limping down the hall, away from the fight.
Wilson launched himself at House and caught him by the shoulders. He spun him around, knocking the cane out of his grip, and slammed their mouths together. House tasted like old coffee and squirmed like he was about to go into shock, but Wilson held on and kept dipping into House's mouth until the wordless protests stopped.
They stilled, and Wilson opened his eyes. House's giant blue irises gazed back at him, scant millimeters away. He broke the kiss, panting for air, and looked at House from a proper distance.
"Tell me you've thought of this," Wilson whispered.
House swallowed and pressed his forehead against Wilson's. He nodded as if he couldn't speak, and that was enough.
"I don't care about the radiologist," Wilson said. "I bought him a beer and told him stories about my boyfriend." He slid his hands down House's flanks. "My tall, blue-eyed, limping twerp of a boyfriend." Wilson licked his lips. "Don't make me a liar, House."
House nodded again. "Okay."
Wilson laughed; now he knew the secret to making House pliable. He shuffled them both in the direction of the bedroom, still exploring House's lips and neck and that little tip of his ear. But House stopped, frozen outside the bedroom door.
"My leg," he said slowly. "It's really killing me."
"After that stunt on your desk, I'm not surprised," Wilson said, kissing the hollow of his throat. "We don't have to—"
"Bullshit we don't," House interjected. "I didn't wait this long to throw in the towel when it counted!" He cupped Wilson's cheek in his hand and looked down at their toes. "Just, you know, be careful with it."
"I'm not exactly in my element here either," Wilson said, tugging House's tee over his head. "There's going to be a point where I guess I'll just defer to you."
"Hey, we're doctors." House shrugged and plucked Wilson's tie loose. "I'm sure we can figure it out."
Wilson gave him an incredulous, worried look. "Are you saying this will be like an exam?"
"Well." House broke away long enough to limp over to his bedside table and rummage around. "The lube will have a funnier name. Does that help?"
"Leave it to you to be prepared," Wilson laughed, pressing against House's naked back.
House turned his head to accept another kiss and allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the mattress. Wilson dropped to his knees to tug down the flannel sleeping pants House wore. But after a few bare inches of his hips were revealed, House stopped the progress with one hand.
"You first," he said.
Wilson stood back and divested himself of his shoes, socks, slacks, and boxers, until he was standing completely naked before House's heavy gaze. He felt ridiculous; Wilson had always viewed the human body as something silly, comical, something that could easily fail at a moment's notice. And he never felt more naked than in front of the one man that shared that view.
House made a show of inspecting Wilson from his seat on the mattress. "You'll do, I suppose," he said with wave of his hand and a half-formed smirk.
Wilson grinned in return and advanced slowly, forcing House to lean further and further back until he was laid flat and Wilson was hovering over him on locked elbows.
"Lose the pants," Wilson said quietly. House hesitated for a moment, his eyes cast down into the space between their bodies. Wilson followed his line of sight. "It's nothing I haven't seen before," he reminded him. "It doesn't bother me."
House breathed a puff of air through his nose and wordlessly complied, slipping the soft pants down his hips and off his legs. Wilson helped with a few tugs, and when the scar on House's thigh was revealed, he touched it lightly, exploring the whorls and dips in the shredded tissue.
His roaming hand was caught in one of House's and brought up to a lay on House's hard cock. "A more interesting area," House reasoned.
Wilson traced the skin there, damp with sweat, and noticed the small differences in their bodies. He couldn't help the comparison: clinical and absorbed in technicalities.
House grunted in frustration at the light touch. "This isn't science camp," he growled. "Just get on with it."
Wilson gave a nervous laugh and tried his best to fist the erection like he would his own, slow and tight. House tipped his head back onto the blue comforter and held up the white tube still clutched in his hand.
"Too much friction," he said.
"Sorry." Wilson grimaced and took the offered lubricant, squeezing out a dollop into his palm before resuming his task. His hands shook with each sweep up and down House's cock; he had a feeling that any small error would be mocked until the day he died, and the nervousness was infecting his whole musculature. "Better?"
"Quit thinking about it," House said, combing his fingers through Wilson's thick hair. "It's fine."
Wilson nodded and decided to delve into uncharted territory. He swung a leg over House so he was kneeling at his left side. Mindful of House's hand in his hair, he lowered his head to lightly lick at just the tip of House's cock. House went completely still, as if he was afraid of frightening a small animal away.
"Doing okay?" Wilson asked, chancing another swipe of his tongue. House's silence was unnerving; without proper feedback, Wilson wasn't sure he was doing the right thing.
"Yeah," House croaked. His hand slid down to the back of Wilson's neck, holding him in place.
Wilson forged ahead with determination, if not any real skill. He had received an appropriate number of blowjobs from his wives, so he knew the theory behind them. Mouth to skin. Apply suction. Repeat.
But House, as usual, complicated things somewhat. He made silent demands, like guiding Wilson's free hand to tug at his balls, or arching into a particularly deep swallow, triggering Wilson's gag reflex. House felt the tension and let go of Wilson's neck to allow him up. Wilson backed off with a soft choke, worked his jaw to dispel the ache, and resolved to dive back in.
"Hey," House said, "you don't have to take it all in one—"
He was not about to fail this part of the test. Wilson held the root of House's cock in a firm grip and took the head into his mouth once more. House was groaning in encouragement, but after a few moments, Wilson had to stop again. He sighed in frustration and eyed House like it was his fault.
"Rome wasn't built in a day," House said, not at all helpfully.
"I suck at this," Wilson lamented. He waited for the expected wisecrack, but none came. Instead, House traced a long-fingered hand, slick with lube already, up the back of Wilson's leg and up to his exposed ass.
"Just relax," House whispered, and Wilson did the exact opposite. He froze, still on his knees, half-bent over House's lap, his eyes wide and staring down at the mussed sheets. House slid a single fingertip around Wilson's opening in what were supposed to be soothing circles. But with each revolution, Wilson tensed even more.
"Hold on," Wilson said suddenly. He moved from his almost-squatting position to stretch out on his side next to House. The older man rolled over on his good side as well so they could face each other. "Maybe if you kissed me, it would go easier," Wilson said. "Please?"
House gave a bark of laughter. "You don't have to ask," he chuckled.
"I'm sorry!" Wilson cried defensively. "But my hands won't stop shaking, my ears won't stop ringing, I'm no good at this and I've never—"
House reached out and wrapped his arms around Wilson's waist, pulling them flush and kissing him to stop the flow of words. He plied Wilson's mouth open and coaxed his tongue to join in the kiss, trading thrusts back and forth.
"Your safe word is 'Hitchcock,'" House joked, mouthing the skin behind Wilson's ear as his hand trailed lower.
Wilson muffled a snigger against House's flushed neck, enjoying the feel of House nipping playfully at his earlobe. He'd always had sensitive ears, and as far as his hard-on was concerned, House could bite at them all night long.
The assault on his senses was overpowering: House's hand on his ass, working him open slowly but surely. The counterpoint of pleasure as House kissed and sucked the side of his neck. And the strange sensation of canting his hips forward to encounter another hard cock rubbing deliciously against his own.
"House, this is…" Wilson licked House's thrumming pulse on the side of his neck. "This is much better," he moaned.
House captured Wilson's mouth in another kiss, obviously a ploy to take his mind off the second finger probing his ass, but Wilson didn't care.
"You good?" House asked, his voice hoarse in Wilson's ear.
Wilson nodded, clutching at House's shoulders. "Never had…anyone do this to me before," he admitted. "Tried it myself, but it wasn't, oh fuck, it wasn't like this."
House got a glint in his eye at that confession. "Could you come like this?" House asked, twisting his fingers until he nudged Wilson's prostate.
Wilson didn't even try to suppress the full-body shudder or the laughter bubbling up from his winded lungs. "Want you first," he panted. "Isn't that the plan?"
"The leg," House reminded. "Not a lot of ways to work it." He continued to thrust his fingers in steadily, methodically. "But I want you to come."
"Does it still hurt?" Wilson asked, reaching out and running his fingertips cautiously over the layers of scar tissue.
"Some," House mumbled and reached down to pluck Wilson's hand from his leg, but Wilson shrugged him off and rested his palm lightly on top of House's thigh.
"Let me," he said firmly, and House did. Wilson massaged at the toughened skin, hoping to bring some relief to the overtaxed muscles surrounding the missing tissue. They stayed that way, touching each other in their most sensitive areas, for a long stretch of time. Eventually, House's discomfort lessened and he sighed in contentment.
"Wish I could be in you," he said.
"Wait, wait." Wilson reached behind himself and gently extracted House's hand. He reached over to the still-open nightstand drawer and fished out a square of blue plastic. "I know a way," he said.
"We don't have to cross everything off the checklist tonight," House protested, even as he let Wilson tear open the package and roll the condom onto his leaking cock.
Wilson ignored him and turned on his other side, spooning their bodies against each other, his back to House's chest. "Come here," Wilson said. He reached back and guided House to him, feeling him press in slowly, a heavy feeling between his legs.
House groaned and pressed his forehead between Wilson's shoulder blades. "Can't see your face," he complained quietly.
Wilson rocked back onto him and felt around blindly for House's hand. He clutched it to his chest and tried to take deep breaths to relax his muscles. "Sorry," he said.
The position wasn't ideal; it was hard to gain any momentum, and House's thrusts were reduced to a gentle rocking. But House's right leg was kept clear of the fray, and Wilson was writhing at being penetrated from behind.
He carefully reached back to clutch at House's hip, urging him deeper. The space between their bodies disappeared, and they both hissed at the warm, sweat-soaked slide of skin.
House paused and Wilson tried to get used to the feeling of the length inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about what House's must look like now.
House's hands brushed over the planes of his chest, briefly touching a nipple. Wilson jolted at the unexpected pleasure, keening low in his throat.
"Couldn't let another guy have you like this," House murmured into the shell of his ear. "Went crazy when I saw you with him, wanted to be the one you wanted."
Wilson twisted his head as far as it would go and caught a glimpse of House's blue eyes. "You are," he breathed, and kissed him. His lungs were on fire from lack of oxygen, and his limbs were shot through with fine tremors. But he kissed House until he took the hint and moved, rocking slowly in and out.
The air was thick and unmoving in the dimly lit room, and Wilson could feel rivulets of sweat running down his skin. With every thrust from House, the wet sounds between their bodies became louder. The bed frame squeaked, and the two men couldn't help but laugh at the high-pitched whine.
House kissed at the skin on the back of Wilson's neck, and Wilson brushed his hand over House's hip again, daring to caress lower on House's leg.
Another sudden wave of electric heat flooded his body. Wilson gasped; he hadn't expected to come from this, not the first time, but now it looked like he would.
The build-up was a new sensory experience, different from all the love-making he'd done with women. Those orgasms had always felt weak and fleeting compared to solo performances. This did not. Wilson bucked again, shoving his hips back into House before he knew what he was doing.
"Ah, oh, mm, House," he grunted, unable to form the real words.
House's hand left his chest and traveled down his stomach to stroke his cock. "You close?" His prickly chin scraped against the over-sensitized skin on Wilson's shoulder.
Wilson bit down on his lip, trying his damnedest to control himself.
House didn't break his rhythm at all, just kept rocking forward and back while jerking Wilson at the same pace. "Come on, Wilson," he said softly. "You can come, I've got you."
Held tight in House's arms, Wilson had no recourse. He thrashed his head from side to side before tipping it back on House's shoulder and making a single, surprised, choked-off noise. He came in long, shining lengths; a bright light shooting down his spine, carrying the pulses of energy to the tips of his fingers and toes. House's hand slowed on his cock, sticky and wet.
Through the fuzzy daze of afterglow, Wilson could feel House bite down hard on his earlobe, and if Wilson didn't know any better, he would have thought he'd come again. Aftershocks, striking at him hard and fast. House shoved into his body once more and then, with a sighing breath against his sweaty neck, he pulled free.
Wilson winced at the move, but he was too boneless to complain. The comforter beneath them was damp and warm. The room was quiet again save for their harsh breathing. With Herculean effort, Wilson managed to roll onto his back and get a good look at House.
"Wipe that grin off your face," House mumbled with a slow smile, pulling the condom off himself and tossing it towards the waste bin. "It's not like you invented anything new."
"Oh," Wilson said, his smile unwavering. "I had the patent papers ready and everything."
House hummed thoughtfully and leaned forward to steal another kiss. "Is this weird?" he asked. "I can't help but think this is weird."
"Weird?" Wilson shook his head. "I'm sure most men come to grips with their sexual identity during their forties, only to bottle up their feelings towards their best friend, waiting for a particularly unprofessional interloper to act as the impetus for change. Don't you?"
"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds silly," House drawled. He picked up his head and smirked at Wilson. "You bottled your feelings? For me?"
"Yep." Wilson dropped a lazy kiss on House's lips. "You know what?"
"I'm starting to think green might be your color."