Top of Form 1

TV Shows » House, M.D. » REWIND Sequel to Click Baby Click

Author: G.E Waldo

Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Reviews: 82 - Published: 07-01-08 - Updated: 08-07-08


Bottom of Form 1


(Sequel to Click Baby Click)

Part If

By GeeLady

Summary: Chac the photographer wants House (and not just on film). Wilson is in a mid-life crises...youdo the math.

Rating: M. Adult. NC-17 Slash, language.

Pairing: House/Chac & H/Wilson.

Disclaimer: I manipulate the sexy House and others to my hearts content. No fee's, no earnings,...just fun!



He booked a cab. Easiest way to get there. Not the cheapest.

House decided that he wanted a long weekend spent somewhere other than his apartment with the television. Wilson was busy with girlfriend number three - or was Amber number four since divorce number three? - and Amber was undoubtedly soon to be wife number four, and so Wilson had little time for beer and pretzels with him. House was tired of asking Wilson out (he hadn't intended to think about it that way), and he was sure Wilson was tired of inventing reasons to say sorry, no can do.

Amber, for all her cut-throat bitch ways, seemed to be making Wilson happy and House decided to leave it be. Cut-throat being a proxy of himself meant he was already dating Wilson in a metaphorical sense - better not push it.

But there were other people who were happy to spend time with him and one of them lived in New York. House hated going to New York but if it meant a nice weekend spent under the sheets with a hot young thing, he could tolerate the damn place for a few days.

His plane landed on time and, with the business address on the small plastic coated card, he taxi-ed it to the nice middle business class address. Fifty-seven dollars later, the cabbie pulled up beside a pleasant looking old fashioned brick building on a wide street crowded with old trees. The narrow, fenced lawn gave way to a small cobblestone path that ended at a smoked glass door with a very modern intercom. One where you had to push designated numbered buttons and the desired office was contacted via telephone.

After four or five rings, a quick, impatient man's voice answered. House didn't recognize it. "Yes?"

House almost didn't speak. What if the guy was the boyfriend? What if the annoyed voice was his sometimes model-partner? What if House was intruding on the guys' private party? What if the voice that just spoke is that private party? Houses' left foot turned as though to leave, but his tongue had other ideas. "Uh, is Chac there?"

"Come on up."

House heard the click that signaled the call had ended. The door buzzer sounded and House hurried to grab the handle before it stopped. He checked the office number on the card - it was the only address Chac had given him - and was relieved to see an elevator though it was only a four story building. His leg could just manage two stories. Three or more was beyond him.

Two uncertain knocks brought someone to the door. Not Chac. Someone House had never seen before. Not Sai, Chacs' set designer. Not a woman, so not Michele, his make-up artist.

A young blonde looker wearing nothing but a pair of very tight, low rider, black jeans. He was fit and smooth chested and gave House a curious once over.

"Chac!" The blonde bombshell called over his shoulder while his eyes never left Houses cane. "I think your dad is here."

Chac walked over saying. "My dad lives in Buenos Aries and he can't stand me." Chac halted when he saw who it was. His mouth hung open for a minute but then he smiled, a very private smile just between him and House. "I'm surprised you're here. But pleased."

House looked back down the hall and then back at the young blonde standing very close to Chac. "If I came at a bad time . . ."

Chac reached out and grabbed Houses' coat sleeve. "Never. Come on in."

Blonde kid went back to his place on the table and fell into his pose again.

House figured the kid was a model but, seeing the way the blonde was eyeing up Chac, couldn't help but wonder if he was more than that.

"Take a break, Tyler. And drop the playgirl pose, what do think this is - a boudoir? It's lunch time. Go eat a few a cheeseburgers. God knows you need a few pounds." Chac instructed while leading House to another room. A desk, green plants, pictures on the wall and a soft leather couch said home base. This was Chacs' regular hub of business.

"Sorry about Tyler." Chac said for the young man's social gaff at the door. "He's a nice kid but an idiot. It's a commissioned photo spread. He's "spreading" for his new boyfriend. Gauche leather and denim shoot. It's a favor. Normally I wouldn't put my name on anything so tacky."

House sat, easing his weight off his leg. "No problem. People often mistake me for an old grouch."

"Well, as I said, an idiot. My dad is Italian. If you tanned for a year at three mile island and ate pasta morning, noon and night, you still could never pass for him." Chac sat in his own wood swivel chair and smiled across his desk at his special visitor. "I finish shooting at four. Dinner?"

House was glad Chac suggested it. Chac was intelligent. He was attractive and even more important -Chac was not boring. The photographer obviously favored his company. All of these were reasons why House decided to come to New York even though he previously said he wouldn't. Plus he had been feeling the loneliness more than usual since Wilson had hooked up with girlfriend what-ever-number Amber was. "Sure."


Chac enjoyed dinner but he was loving dessert more. The sexy doctor was naked under him in his large soft bed and Chac was kissing him to the point of swallowing his tongue. He moved to the older mans neck and chest and nipped and licked his way south, his cock harder and harder with every passing minute. "Oh, fuck, I want you so bad." He growled.

Chac could see how hard House was too and his need to be touched and stroked. But Chac pushed off House until he was sitting on his knees. He gently cupped Houses' balls and massaged just a little. Then he left his fingers travel south and just touched the hole. "I want you here." He watched Houses' reaction. There was some uncertainty there. "I swear it won't hurt at all. I'll take my time going in. We'll use a condom. If you've never experienced it - oh babe' - you have to know what it feels like to appreciate it."

Chac leaned forward and kissed House on the mouth over and over, sensually tasting him. "Trust me."

House nodded, though not liking the "oh babe" part and, even in the darkened room, Chac noticed the scowl. "Sorry. When I'm really into someone - and I am really into you (in more ways than one in the next few minutes) - it's just what I call him. I like calling my boyfriends babe."

"I'm not your boyfriend."

"Whatever you say." Chac lifted himself off House for a minute. "It's easier for you the first time if you lie on your stomach."

House did as he was told and Chac spent a moment or two cupping Houses' ass cheeks with appreciative hands. He leaned over and kissed his right one, then patted it. "Mmmmm, you've got such a fine man ass." Chac could feel himself quickly harden again and slipped a condom over his erect penis. He applied a generous amount of lube on the himself and then his intended target, making House jump.

"Sorry. It's a bit cold."

House didn't let on it wasn't the chilled KY that had startled him. No one, other than a doctor, had ever touched him there before - not with the intent he knew was in Chac's mind. House had learned from some patients who came to the clinic for tear and soreness treatment that anal sex hurt some and didn't others. He had no idea which he was. Thankfully Chac was hung relatively average so there should be no-

Suddenly Chac's fingers were at his entrance, gently feeling around. He slid one finger inside.

It felt . . .not unpleasant.

Chac lay beside House propped up on his left elbow, leaving his right hand free to play. House felt one, then two, then three fingers. Each time Chac was very gentle and very slow. Even his nails, House was glad to discover, were filed short and smooth so there was no chance of them accidently pinching or scraping.

Chac was doing his best to make it pleasurable, not painful and House was beginning to enjoy it.

Then Chac was suddenly on him again, lying full length and House could feel something up against his hole. It wasn't a finger. Chac leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Ready?" and kissed the side of Houses' face that was turned to him.

House nodded and felt Chac slowly pushing at his entrance. Once, and again and then again. And finally, . . .he felt Chac's hard cock push all the way in. A soft moaning Ooooooo sound could be heard and House wasn't sure which of them had made it.

Chac very slowly withdrew and pushed in again. House felt an almost instinctive need to raise his ass and push back against him. It just felt natural to do that.

It also felt wonderful.

Chac whispered while kissing him and sliding in an out. "I want to fuck you harder."

House nodded, curious. Always curious.

Chac let loose a bit and began driving into him, moaning and gasping, his breath coming in hard, fast billows. "Oh, fuck!"

House could feel Chac's cock striking against his prostate, making him arch his back. That seemed instinctive too, a natural, hot, driving reaction to being fucked in the ass. It was weird and sharp and incredibly hot. It was a high. It was sexually all new and he couldn't help but love it.

"That's amazing." He ground out between Chac's thrusts which were becoming harder and faster. But not once did it hurt.

"Oh, babe', I want to fucking nail you to the bed." Chac growled in his ear. "I want fuck you harder. I want to screw you until I'm insane."

House wasn't sure how the man would manage that as his whole body was already being moved violently on the bed. But somehow his lover drilled an even deeper and driving pump, pistoning madly, crying out with each thrust. "You're! So! Fucking! Hot!"

Chac came with an Ahhh through gritted teeth, but still he drove his cock into House over and over until his cock softened, forcing him to stop. He lay on House, slumped with sweat. Spent. Kissing Houses' back and the top of his head, "I love your body. Goddamn, babe', you make me horny."


"House took some vacation time."

"Did he say where he was going?" Wilson stood stiffly before Cuddy's desk, his hands clenched with the disbelief that House would actually take a vacation. Or take a vacation without telling him. Or inviting him along.

"I'm assuming he went home."

Wilson didn't think House would be going to see his parents for any reason. and if there was a necessary reason for House to go and visit his parents, House would make up any reason possible to avoid going. "To his apartment?"

Cuddy sighed. "Use the phone. Find out."

When Wilson reached for her desk phone, she slapped his hand away. "A different phone."

Wilson left her office and dialed Houses' apartment on his cellular. It rang three times before Houses' answering machine picked up: "I am here but I'm ignoring you. If you have reached this number in error, you're an idiot. Prove me wrong by not leaving a message."

"House." Wilson spoke into his cell' while slipping into his over-coat. "Pick up." Wilson gave it a few seconds before he hung up.

Amber was expecting him home. Friday night dinner. Their special time together. Movie mixed with cuddling, spiced up by kissing, followed by some average, missionary American sex. It was their routine.

It would have to wait.

Wilson drove to Houses' apartment and found it dark. He used his key and checked all the rooms to make sure. Speculating where on Gods' blue earth House would have found to go vacationing in, Wilson even examined Houses' bedroom closet and found a few things missing that were usually there. Wilson, not for the first time, thought how odd it was that one guy, even a best friend, would know that about another guys' closet, even if he was the best friends's best friend.

Did other guys know what was in each others' closets?

On the chest of drawers next to the closet lay THE CALENDAR. Cuddys' project. The thing she had asked him and a few other doctors to participate in and had bribed House to.

Wilson had never actually looked at the finished product. House had made her swear not to peddle the thing down at the hospital and she had reluctantly agreed. The cover was a beautiful picture of Plainsboroughs' main entrance doors and surrounding brickwork, framed by trees and greenery with that framed by head-shots around the borders of the doctors that could be seen inside in far more flattering circumstances (and with much less clothing).

Wilson carried it to the living room, turning on a few lights as he went. He opened it to January and was startled to see Doctor Kassab nude from the waist up reclining back in a wicker chair with his Golden Retriever asleep with its soft head on Kassabs' well toned abdomen. Kassab also appeared asleep. Wilson shook his head. Incredible how sexy and candid a picture the photographer had managed to create from such a common domestic scene. In the bottom right corner of the photo was a smaller picture super-imposed displaying Kassab in his physician attire, assisting a patient in Intensive Care.

Next was February. Yates, the hospitals' Obstetrician. A good looking older man with salt and pepper hair who obviously worked out. His was a very seductive photo of himself holding his newborn baby in a shared but shallow bath. Wilson recalled the birth-announcement e-mail that had arrived on his desktop a few weeks previous. He had sent back a standard greeting of congradulations. In the photo, soap bubbles covered the more private areas between Doctor Yates fit stomach and hips. The baby and Yates were both laughing.

In each photograph, as in this one, there was an accompanying second, smaller photo of that months physician performing some doctor-related task at Plainsborough.

Wilson flipped through the next few months and saw Foreman - March. (Well muscled. The man clearly worked out every day). April was Chase. (Young and innocently sexy looking). One other physician was the May doctor whom Wilson knew about professionally and by name but little else.

Wilson then turned to find himself on the page looking back. He, James Wilson, was Doctor June. The photographer - what was his name? Jake? Chad? Jed? - had produced an almost embarrassingly seductive photo of himself leaning against a chain mesh fence. The black shirt they had dressed him in was undone passed his navel with his jeans top button undone as well, showing just the slightest hint of private hairline. The dark hair on his head was being teased by the wind and he was almost but not quite smiling.

He wasn't sure how the guy had maneuvered him into that revealing pose and he couldn't recall everything they had discussed. But he did remember the fellow asking him if he was in love with anyone. Or - no. The photographer had wanted to know if he and House were involved.

Wilson wondered how he could have forgotten that. Suddenly Wilson remembered the answer he had given him. No. He had distinctly said No, we're not involved. Why would you think so?

And he recalled, he thought, the expression on the man's face at his answer. Pleasure. Or satisfaction? More like relief.

The next months, July and August, were Houses' months. Wilson wondered why House kept the Calendar at all considering his vehemence at Cuddy even allowing the thing into the hospital.

But they all knew House had been the feature and Wilson had seen Cameron studying the calendar on her lunch break. Despite Cuddys' ban on the calendar being kept at the hospital, Cameron had seen fit to pour over it every chance she got. He felt a little uncomfortable with the idea that other doctors and nurses might be doing the same with his picture.

He flipped the page over to July and saw House with his motorcycle. A beautiful picture. House looked . . .sad. Isolated. Alone. Sexy. Wilson smiled at himself. Next thing he would be dating House. Yeah, right.

But House had been the feature and that meant at least five or six more pictures of him than anyone else. Naturally Cameron would want to see House in situations away from the usual. She had always been a bit obsessed with her former boss.

The next picture was House at work performing his particular craft of Diagnostics. It was House sitting in his chair, forehead leaning on his cane, deep in thought.

Wilson had seen House like that hundreds of times. But never like this. Never so it's the man you saw, and not the doctor. The doctor was trying to find a disease; a hidden secret; a threatening illness; a creature invisible.

House, the man was pouring every shred of his flagging energy into this one task. He was foregoing sleep, food. He was enduring pain, loneliness and the doubts of skeptics. He was doing what hardly anyone else did - pouring out his soul so another human could keep theirs. And, for the most part, it was he who was invisible. Avoided by others. Disdained by fellow professionals. Outright hated by some. The unforgiving and exacting world House would then shrug off like a dirty shirt. House, utilized by the unfeeling. Sought out but under-appreciated. He was the coveted unseen genius.

Until this moment.

Wilson found he was holding his breath along with the figure in the photo. He let it out and turned the page. The last photo of July House before August House.

This one showed House at play, sitting in a chair, twirling his cane like he had done a thousand times. Not smiling. Not laughing. Concentrating. Do it well. Get it right. It seemed play, for House, was sometimes as serious as work. That was a new thought for Wilson. He had always considered Houses' leisure time activities to be rather crude and childish.

But, Wilson corrected himself, this was not really House at play. This was House distracting himself from something. Easing the boredom or occupying his mind while the idiots or the ignorant said what they needed to say then passed on by. It was sweet and sad at the same time.

August House . . .

Wilson could hardly drag his eyes away from August House. He was caught and held still by the face looking up at him from an operating table. What depth - what soul - in the photo. What life with all its tragedy and triumph in the eyes staring into his. Wilson had no idea what had prompted House to make that expression but if the picture could talk he was certain it would be the eyes that would speak. They were fierce and strong and all at once needy to a frightening degree. They were hollow but filled with want. Thwarted by the world and a conquer-er of it.

And so achingly vulnerable, and thus so beautiful, they made Wilsons' heart hurt.

It was as though the infarction time had returned. Rushed back in and swallowed their lives up all over again. Chewed on Houses' sanity and fears - and his determination to keep his leg. The photo brought the memory of Stacy's decision to take a third of it away with her. And Houses' terrible pain when she made that walk.

The terrible knowledge of betrayal that had eaten his friend up. Consumed him from center to surface. The awful knowledge he would be crippled for life. And the vulnerable part - how he had no idea as yet of the pain he would go through in that life to be.

The photo showed all these things, somehow, by simply revealing a look in the blue eyes of a man who habitually hides his soul from everyone.

Everyone except the photographer.

Wilson was startled to find he was feeling a pang of jealousy.

The next photograph was a work of art. And the thing so shocking about it was House was the art piece. His naked body was draped on a table, languid and sleepy like a cat. Soft pink tinged light from behind just falling across enough skin that you wanted to see more. Soft body hair shining from the glow, making you want to feel it from navel to chest with your fingers. Long muscled thigh - the kind all men wished they'd been born with - on a perfect leg bent at the knee. Muscled arms stretched back over the head, throat exposed and arched and open - and ready - for anyones' lips to discover.

Wilson could not tear his eyes away from his friend. His best friend. His best friends' very sexy, very naked body.

The last picture almost had Wilsons' heart breaking and his soul itching to cure whatever ailed this man sitting in the chair, curled around himself. His cane his support. His scar as so natural a part of him now as to be a thing of birth or design. And those goddamn blue eyes that shot their burning power and their beseeching payer to his soul. Asking . . .asking . . .

Wanting help. Wanting something . . .someone, but never asking. Never admitting. So sad and sexy and craving . . .him. Yes, Wilson felt that Houses' eyes were looking straight at him.

He shook his head. But all photo's like this are supposed to make you feel like that. Right? Like it was you the two dimensional person was staring at.

But Wilson realised there was something else the photos of naked House and his beautiful eyes had made him feel. Shifting in his seat on Houses' leather couch, it was a sensation, and a situation, impossible to ignore.

His cock was as hard as iron.



Return to Top