They burst into the hotel room, Wilson pushing House backwards, their open mouths locked, breathing harshly. Wilson slams the door shut with his foot and presses House into the wall next to it, breaking the kiss to look at him.
He is breathtaking. Pale in the dim light of the city's nightly glow coming in from the windows, his eyes huge and dark-blue, mouth slack, tongue just visible, wetting his lips. He's wearing the suit Wilson picked out for him, the tie long gone after they left the opera.
Wilson impulsively brings his hand up to his face, messily grabbing House's cheek, running a thumb deftly over his slick, swollen lips, dipping it into House's mouth and out again, feeling his hot breath puffing out. Heavy lidded eyes look at him. He leans close, swiftly, his thumb still stroking, touching his lips to House's, hissing against them, hot and moist.
"I'm going to fuck you." House's head falls back, his eyes close, mouth opens, gasping, a wave of overwhelming arousal letting him shudder. Wilson smiles and brings his open mouth to House's exposed throat, feeling the strong pulse and the sucked in breaths, marveling, like a predator sure of his prey.
"It's like I'm already inside you, and have been all evening. Every time you were close to me, when we touched, I could smell you, I wanted to bury my face in your crotch, fuck you right there on the balcony for everyone to watch."
Wilson has been in control all evening, has been working for this, waiting for this; he feels a powerful possessiveness and sharp arousal as he yanks House's shirt out of his pants and roams his hand over his belly and chest, finding his nipples, kneading deftly there. His other hand is stroking down his neck, into the collar. Watching House's reaction, he presses their groins together. A gush of air escapes House's lungs, carrying an off-guard little counter-tenor sound with it. Wilson marvels at House's loss of control, the desire to drive him wild is unbearable, to hold him down and drive himself into him, watch him come apart, and House letting him.
He presses harder with his hips, alternating their stances to have his legs between House's, brushing his hand down his right thigh to carefully lift it over his left one, opening House for him.
He locks his eyes with House and begins a slow grinding motion with his hips in imitation of what's to come, to show House what he's intending to do to him. Their faces are so close; he can see every micro-expression, feel the puffs of air, the vibrations of his small moans. Wilson darts forward to bring their open mouths together in a fierce kiss, diving into House's in waves, parting, coming back for more. He is beyond aroused, ecstatic, and they haven't even undressed. Wilson laughs breathlessly, groaning into House's neck.
He pulls back a fraction, never stopping his hips and speaks urgently against House's lips, breathing harshly, "Touch me." He leans back, letting House's thigh slide from his. "Come on. I want you to." He yanks his own jacket off and then urgently opens his pants. House has watched him, panting and wide-eyed, swallowing hard. He grabs House's hand and brings it to his exposed groin, laying it over his erection; long, elegant fingers wrap around it, a soundless, harsh breath escaping Wilson. House looks down at what his hand is doing, flicking his eyes up to Wilson's face to see his reaction. Wilson leans against House, head tipped back, eyes closed, groaning, pushing himself into his hand.
He fights hard not to get carried away and, wanting more of that skin, he begins to pull House's suit jacket off, licking his chest and neck, tasting, marking. He swiftly opens House's pants and pushes them down along with his underwear, then simply lifts House's shirt and splays his hand on his belly, letting his eyes wander deftly over House's newly exposed skin, panting. He grabs his own dick, gasping, stroking himself, while shuffling closer until his penis touches House's, running it along the shaft, over his balls, sticking it fully between his legs, smearing his fluid on House. House is yielding, spreading his thighs a fraction and moans softly when Wilson's dick rubs behind his balls.
Wilson's breathing is thready and shaky as he slowly slides between House's thighs. Groaning, he stops, trying to get himself under control, resisting the overwhelming urge to just let go and bring himself off with a few thrusts. He pulls back completely, unceremonially yanks at House's pants and sheds the rest of their clothes.
"Come", he whispers and guides House to their bed, laying him down on immaculate sheets. He immediately kneels between House's legs, stroking his hands up the inside of his calves, his thighs, spreading them wide, kissing the smooth skin, biting, almost a little too aggressively, hearing House hiss, feeling him twitch. He lays his cheek against House's penis and nuzzles there, preparing him.
Wilson hisses at the incredible hot and tight feeling when he slides into House, watches his blue eyes widen at the shock of penetration, listening to him moan pitifully when Wilson immediately begins to thrust, adjusting and driving in again, breath rushing from his lunges, aroused to the point his vision fades briefly. House's hands are braced on his shoulders and he feels the smooth inside of House's thighs brush his waist.
He feels House tilt his hips up to meet him, take him in, move with him, yielding. He clings to that image, fucking a little faster, feeling House writhe under him, groaning harshly, rhythmic, as the thrusts hit him. It feels so good, so right, so natural, so incredibly slick and hot, nothing between them, joined, together, one goal.
Wilson has to see. He rises above House, his thighs spreading further and his hips pushing ever nearer, deeper. He looks down at House, hooking both his hands under the hollows of his knees, pressing his legs apart and against his chest. House throws his head back, breathing harshly, mouth wide open with the new, faster rhythm. Wilson begins to pump, dripping sweat, looking down at their joined bodies, this small connection that gives so much pleasure. He watches his thick penis easily sliding in and out of House's tight, slick heat. He groans helplessly as House tightens around him, grabbing one of House's hands that are clawing at the sheets and guides it down between their legs wanting him to feel what he is seeing there.
They both groan at the sensation and image of House touching Wilson's penis while they are fucking. Wilson reaches down again, groping House's plump balls and leaking dick, picking up speed again and stroking House in the same sharp rhythm, wet friction making that unique and primitive sound. When House's balls begin to draw up, his moans become high and urgent; Wilson leans down, thrusting deep and slides his lips over House's moaning mouth, fucking him with his tongue.
House tips over the edge with a series of guttural groans, body convulsing, his come making the space between their bellies slippery. Wilson fucks him through his climax, adjusting his thrusts to its waves, not being able to stop. House is still moaning when Wilson speeds up to the heady image of having done this to him, having fucked him boneless, leaving him almost helpless and unresisting, exposed to Wilsons cock. He drives forward, hips snapping, into loose and slick, velvety heat, muttering nonsense, saying House's name again and again, kissing his slack mouth. Until he comes, suddenly, shouting with every spasm, holding House's hips still as he thrusts and empties himself inside him.
When he comes to he is still hard inside House, still taken by the occasional shudder, clenching his muscles to push deeper into the slick heat again, House answering with silent little sighs. They are exhausted but oh so content. House's legs have slipped down, Wilson lying heavily on top of him, and he strokes lazy circles on Wilson's sweaty neck. Wilson feels his penis slip out of House as it softens further. He lifts his head and kisses House's chest, then his mouth, slowly, lazily.
He looks up into House's heavy-lidded eyes and smiles slowly - he looks thoroughly debauched. A shiver runs through Wilson; he did this; and it's an almost animalistic, a wild, heady feeling. He puts his nose to House's neck, behind his ear and down to the dip in his chest, smelling him, pressing their bodies together, sliding slowly on his skin. Wilson breathes harshly, as he feels House's left leg creep over his hip. He groans at the sharp stab inside him, the slight stirring in his groin. He is satiated, and yet he could do it all over again, slow and lazy lovemaking. Until dawn.
A pinch makes him yelp. He looks up into House's face, slightly hurt, and rubs his buttock. House stares at him with an amused glint in his eyes; then he's suddenly yawning and stretching like a cat under Wilson, making little noises in his throat.
Out of the motion he brings both hands to Wilson's hips and grabs his love handles, squeezing them. "You're crushing me. Get off." His voice sounds tired but the mean little edge is still there.
"I think I might be stuck to your paunch." Wilson raises his eyebrows and looks between their bodies, balancing on his elbows. House rolls his eyes.
"No, you're not, because I don't have a paunch, tit-bags. – Sorry! Wrong terminology; I love your man boobs." He makes big eyes at Wilson, fluttering his eye lashes. Wilson narrows his eyes, pinching his lips into a line when he starts to roll off House.
"Thanks", he says, switching on the lights and getting up for the bathroom and the mini bar. "I'm so glad I gave you the no-talking-during-sex rule. Your compliments tend to kill the mood."
"You gave me that rule because you dirty-talk enough for two. – And I follow that rule voluntarily, I could start ignoring it any time." He yells in the direction Wilson has disappeared.
"You love my dirty-talk! And I have proof – it melts your brain, so you're incapable of forming coherent speech." House purses his lips and smirks, which he hides behind a glare when Wilson returns with a towel and some water. He hands the water to House who's propped up on the pillows and sits down beside him to clean House's belly. House accepts the water and takes a few sips while watching Wilson; then he slowly spreads his legs and looks up at Wilson in silent demand. Wilson scoots nearer and carefully wipes away the remains of their love making there, wallowing for a second, a tug at his insides, his dick twitching. He gets fully between House's legs, leaning his hands on either side of his chest and kisses House again. Lingering, wet. He can't get enough of House; he's getting hard again, filling out quickly. He lowers his hips and brushes House's inner thigh with his tip. House breaks the kiss, looking into his eyes, surprised.
"You're up for it again?"
"Sorry. I could say it's your fault. There, you have actual prove how much I really like you. Ignore it, it's no 'big deal'. Not yet, anyway." He smirks and settles next to House on the bed. House leans in for a peck. "I'm hungry."
Wilson sighs a sarcastic, "Again?"
"What? - First dinner, then the opera, then a snack, then sex, now – "
"Fine, I'll get you something from the mini bar."
Wilson gets up again, grabs a bag of chips and some chocolate and returns to their bed. House has turned on the TV and has found a rerun of 'The Fall Guy' to watch. Wilson tosses him the chips and snuggles up behind House, chest to back, his hips flush with House's ass. He lays an arm over House's waist running his hand down to House's soft genitals, cupping them loosely. House continues to munch his chips, and watch Colt Seavers smoke a cigar in the outdoor tub, ignoring the molestation.
Wilson watches House finish the chips, lick his fingers, eyes on the screen. He loves to watch House do ordinary things, every move, every blink; it makes him feel welcome and at home. He loves the intimacy, loves that House lets him in, allows him to come so near; it makes Wilson proud. He's come a long way.
House turns his head a fraction and murmurs a sleepy "thanks", his eye lids drooping.
Wilson smiles, buries his nose in House's neck and whispers, "Yeah."