"Okay, House... You need to... s-stop this... right now..."

Wilson's somewhat breathless attempt at a calm, controlled command was made somewhat less effective by the slight break in his voice over the words, as House slipped a rough, possessive hand into the front of the pajama pants he was wearing -- which happened to be the only thing he was wearing.

"You don't really want me to," House pointed out in a softly bragging voice. "You're enjoying this, in spite of yourself..."

"House... I mean it," Wilson persisted, though his voice was trembling and embarrassingly higher than usual. "Untie me. Now."

"No," House bluntly refused, all traces of amusement suddenly vanished from his eyes as they locked onto Wilson's wide, questioning gaze. "For once, I'm going to show you what it's like to be completely out of control -- to be at the mercy of someone else for a change. You like to be in control so much? Well, personally, I think this should be a necessary process for you, before you can earn that right."

"House... I didn't agree to this. I don't want this," Wilson insisted, his voice somewhat stronger now, alarmed by the wicked gleam he saw in House's eyes. He pulled uselessly against the leather cuffs at his wrists as he demanded, "Untie me, now," in a voice that shook slightly with the beginning traces of panic. "You will stop, now, House, or I swear to you, I will..."

His words broke off in a breathless moan as House's surprisingly skillful hand set to work under his pajama pants, teasing and tormenting his half-hard member to swift, erect attention.

"You'll what?" House taunted him softly with a self-satisfied smirk. "Should I actually be scared of you, for some reason? You know, you're really not all that convincing like this."

"House, I mean it," Wilson repeated, though he knew by now that his attempts were utterly useless. "I want you to stop. I'm ordering you to stop. If you don't... you'll regret it later. I promise."

House just smiled down at him, shaking his head slowly as Wilson opened his eyes with an effort to gauge House's expression. Utterly unconcerned, House leaned down over him and spoke in a low, almost predatory tone next to his ear.

"Only once I decide to let you up."

A little shiver that was half fear, half arousal went down Wilson's spine, and he pulled against his bonds again, the attempt only confirming what House's words had already made clear.

He was helpless -- utterly at House's mercy.

And he wasn't entirely sure that he didn't like the idea.

Still, he tried one more time to make House think that he didn't.

"I'm... telling you I don't want this," he repeated, gasping as House's nimble fingers played teasingly around the head of his swelling erection. "House... untie me. You don't have my consent."

"Please," House sneered in a soft, knowing voice, as his free hand shifted up to slide Wilson's pajama pants down around his thighs. "Try it again -- but try to sound a little less beside yourself with pleasure when you do."

House continued for a few moments, stroking, caressing Wilson's body, one hand focusing on his package, while the other slid up his chest to play teasingly over the sensitive skin of his stomach, his ribs, then up to lightly rub over his nipples. Every touch was surprisingly gentle, loving, affectionate despite House's initial, rougher handling of his body.

Finally, once Wilson had betrayed his own desire with an entirely unintentional upward thrust of his hips toward House's exploring hand, House drew away, resting on his knees beside Wilson as he looked down at the younger man with a smug, knowing smile.

"Still want me to stop?"

Wilson let out a little whine of frustration, torn between sticking to his original command and maintaining some semblance of his pride, or simply surrendering to the expert pleasure House was inflicting on his needy, desperate body. The light brush of House's fingertips against the inside of Wilson's thigh finally made up his mind, even as House slyly murmured words that now sounded more threatening than reassuring.

"Because... you know I'll stop... if you really want me to. I'm not going to force myself on you, Wilson. I'm not some... perverted freak who gets off on dominating other people."

Wilson was too aroused, too eager for House to continue his attentions, to rise to the taunting bait. He shook his head, eyes closed as he laid his head back on the pillow behind him and nearly whimpered.

"D-don't... don't stop. For God's sake, House, don't stop..."

Reassured that his lover's refusals were really not meant as seriously as he had wanted House to believe, House renewed his efforts. His hands were gentle at first, but gradually became harder, more possessive, as they wandered over Wilson's exposed flesh, and his lips fell on Wilson's throat in a bruising, angry kiss.

"You think you can play with me -- just keep me on the side like some little toy you can come back to, whenever some nurse or candy striper or freakin' dying cancer patient actually sees through your routine and has the good sense to run like hell? I'm not your dirty little secret, Wilson. I'm not just a... a convenient lay you can keep on the side and never tell anyone about in case it ruins your chances with someone else!"

"No," Wilson whispered, shaking his head, barely coherent through the violent onslaught of physical sensation House was creating in his body, but desperate to make House understand. "House... no... it's not... not like that..."

"When I'm through with you," House continued, ignoring his attempts at explanation, his voice low and almost frightening in its intensity, "you won't ever want anyone else."

Even as the desperation rose in House's voice, his hands on Wilson's body gentled, moving with slow adoration, near reverence, and Wilson felt a sudden constriction in his throat, and a suspicious prickling sensation behind his eyes -- sensations he was utterly unfamiliar with feeling in a situation like this.

"I'm going to blow your mind," House whispered against his throat before closing his teeth around the sensitive skin there in a possessive little bite that made Wilson gasp at the mingled pleasure and pain of it. "I'm going to leave you so amazed... so... so absolutely blown away... that you'll be ruined for anyone else. No one else will ever do it for you the way that I can..."

Even through the distraction of House's mouth and hands working over him, Wilson couldn't miss the heart-rending strain of desperation in the older man's voice, and a swift ache of guilt started in his chest as he realized the effect his thoughtless actions had caused.

"House... no..." he whispered weakly, though he knew that House wasn't listening anymore, hardly even heard him. "No, you're wrong... I don't... don't want..."

"When I'm finished," House murmured breathlessly, fervently, barely aware he was speaking, "you'll never want anyone else... you'll be proud to claim me in public... nothing anybody says will matter..."

The tears that had been forming in his eyes slid down his face, and Wilson turned his head away, unwilling to allow House to see the evidence of his tumultuous emotions, afraid even now that such sentiment would only earn him mockery from his friend.

Not that you don't deserve it. Not after the way you've made him feel... the way you've treated him today... for the past few days...

"House... I only want you..." Wllson whispered insistently, pulling against his bonds, no longer with the intent to escape, but with the desperate need to embrace House and hold him close to him, to reassure him of how he really felt. "House... please, you've... got it all wrong. I'm so... so sorry... I didn't... d-didn't know you... felt..."

House ignored him, not listening as his rough, possessive hands roamed over Wilson's body, feasting on every sensation of contact as if it might be the last, as his mouth worked it's way slowly downward from his stomach with a series of randomly interspersed sharp nips and tender kisses.

And maybe that's what he thinks... maybe he thinks that after this...

"House..." Wilson's voice came out in a hoarse groan. "House... listen to me..."

But a moment later, whatever Wilson would have said was swallowed up in mindless physical sensation, as the heat of House's mouth abruptly surrounded his swollen arousal. Wilson's words choked off in a strangled cry of pleasure and need, and his back arched against the bed beneath him as he strained against the cuffs at his wrists.

House's strong hands roughly shoved him down against the mattress again, holding him in place and not allowing him to move as he brought Wilson to the brink of fulfillment -- only to draw back, replacing the intensity of his motions with light, teasing licks and kisses that only served to draw out Wilson's anguished anticipation.

"How do you like it?" House muttered with resentment in his voice, though when his mouth resumed its non-verbal work, it was nothing but gentle. "Being completely in someone else's control -- whether you come or whether you wait for hours being totally out of your hands -- and in the hands of someone who'd probably love to see you suffer for a while? How do you like it, Wilson?"

Wilson opened his mouth to respond, but House took him in all at once again, and all conscious thought fled his mind. This time, House worked insistently at his cock, one hand edging inward to brush the underside of Wilson's swollen sac -- and that light contact, in combination with the intensity of House's other efforts, was all it took.

With a choked cry of helpless pleasure, Wilson's release overtook him -- and House held him there, in his mouth, readily swallowing down the remnants of his arousal.

As House slowly drew away, backing up onto his knees on the mattress between Wilson's parted, trembling legs, Wilson collapsed against the bed, gasping for breath, overwhelmed with too many physical and emotional sensations to process. As the aftershocks of his orgasm faded away, the more troubling thoughts of House's earlier words -- the heartbreaking sentiments he had unintentionally revealed -- filled Wilson's mind, and he swallowed hard, trying to moisten his dry mouth enough to speak.


House just shook his head as he climbed awkwardly to his feet, a look of defeat on his face, in spite of the mastery he had so expertly claimed only moments earlier. Wilson felt a cold sensation building in his chest at the lost, hopeless look he saw in House's eyes, and renewed his struggles against the bonds that held him to the bed.

"House... wait... talk to me..."

But House ignored him, eyes downcast, as he found his cane beside the bed, and made his way slowly and painfully toward the bathroom. Wilson's mind raced, trying to fathom what House could be thinking, what confounding conclusions he might have reached, what his motivations were for this entire incident.

Several possibilities came to mind -- and none of them were good.

When House stepped into the bedroom again, Wilson had recovered a bit. He studied House's face cautiously, troubled by the carefully closed up expression he saw there, as well as by the uncharacteristic quiet of his friend.

"House... hey... come here," he gently urged him, frustrated at his own helplessness to compel his request, yet keeping his voice soft and even. "We need to talk about this..."

"No, we don't," House cut him off in a low voice of resignation.

As he spoke, he came near to the bed and drew Wilson's pajama pants up around his waist again, then pulled the blankets up over Wilson's bound form, with a care and concern that set that tight ache to work in Wilson's chest again. House met his eyes for just a brief moment before making his way toward the door -- and that moment was enough to break Wilson's heart.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," House said simply, his voice barely over a whisper as he turned off the bedroom light and stepped out the door. "Good night."

"House... House!"

Wilson called after him, his voice urgent, but weak with exhaustion, as he pulled one last time against the leather cuffs, but found himself ironically outwitted by his own careful purchase of cuffs that could not be easily escaped by their wearer. He had intended said quality to keep House at his mercy -- and now, they prevented him from getting to House, to plead for his mercy, and forgiveness, for Wilson's own stupidity.

"I'm sorry," he called softly into the darkness -- unsure whether or not House even heard him at all.

When House did not respond, or return, Wilson finally gave up, resigning himself to the fact that he would be there, bound to the bed and helpless to make any difference in their situation, until House decided otherwise.

Really, it's not more than you deserve, he silently berated himself. You're the one who missed the signs, missed how he was feeling, and let him believe that you're only using him... ashamed of him. You deserve to lie here like this all night, alone and uncomfortable.

He was uncomfortable, his wrists beginning to ache and itch slightly from their bondage, but in no pain -- so gradually, the heady, pleasant exhaustion of his climax began to overtake him.

Despite his fears and helpless concerns, Wilson felt himself finally drift off to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Wilson awakened to find that the slight discomfort of the night before had become a sharp ache that woke him from his sleep, drawing him abruptly to wakefulness. He blinked, disoriented, into the sunlight filtered through the bedroom blinds for a few moments, as the events of the night before gradually came back to him -- along with a sick feeling of apprehension, and urgent need.

He had to find House -- had to talk to him, try to make things right between them.

"House?" he called out, his voice a weak, sleepy croak, but nevertheless audible, he knew, in the stillness of the apartment.

There was no response.

Wilson glanced up to the leather cuff at his right wrist with frustration, before turning his eyes toward his other wrist -- and finding it, surprisingly, free. He frowned in confusion, before his gaze fell on the nightstand beside the bed -- and the tiny silver key that lay there.

A warm, sad smile of affection came unbidden to Wilson's lips as he reached out his free hand to the key, then brought it hurriedly toward the lock on the other cuff. His hand was shaking, he realized with increased frustration, as he struggled to fit the key in the lock for a few moments, before finally finding success and freeing himself.

As the cuff fell away, he struggled to steady himself on trembling, tired arms, sitting up on the bed and lurching unsteadily to his feet. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that it was still quite early, an hour or so yet before he had to be at work.

"House?" he called again with urgency as he made his way out into the hallway. "House? Are you here?"

The apartment was empty.

With a weary sigh, Wilson returned to the bedroom and reached into the closet for clean clothes, hurriedly dressing himself and preparing for work. He didn't need to look outside, to see the empty parking space where House's car usually was, in order to know that House had gone to work early this morning. And, as that was something House almost never did of his own accord, Wilson knew that the reason for it did not bode well for their relationship.

House was trying to avoid him.

Either afraid of Wilson's retaliation for the events of the night before – assuming he's even planning on this relationship going on at all – or just disgusted and hurt enough by Wilson's careless behavior that he no longer cared to see him at all, House had deliberately left without waking him, deliberately avoiding any contact of any kind.

Wilson bit back a sigh as he made his way swiftly to his car, knowing that he didn't deserve to feel the self-pity rising up within him. He had created this mess with his own self-absorbed carelessness.

Still – he knew it was going to be a very long and difficult day.