Drabbles - Kisses


He wishes there were more words for all the small sounds the body makes while being kissed, being touched; more words to describe truthfully all the subtle, fleeting things Wilson can detect in House when he touches his face and tips his head back, the micro-expressions on his face, the thousands of nuances of his eye-color, changing constantly, depending on mood and who those eyes see; the thready sounds he makes when Wilson descends on his lips with his own. He can't name all of them, as he would have liked. It would take years to describe a simple kiss.


He can't believe this is happening. His lips are on House's. He initiated this. They've been yelling at each other about House's methods of getting his team back and House had mocked him for his 'useless' psychoanalyzing. House had not been this nasty since before Mayfield. He'd advanced on House, a sharp rush of adrenalin surging through his body. House had shrunk back in the armchair, his demeanor of a lazy lion bathing in the sun gone. He'd brought his face level with House's, his fists clenching, breathing harshly, looking into the wide blue eyes and he simply kissed him.


They are kissing now, Wilson is pressing into House, rubbing their open mouths together. He feels House pushing at him and their mouths come apart with a harsh, wet sucking noise, a thin thread of saliva still connecting them. House stares at him, his iridescent blue eyes searching his face, his mind trying to solve the puzzle behind this unexpected turn of events.

This is a classic Wilson overreaction to something he feels helpless about. Wilson can hear House thinking, see him draw conclusions, sees his own intention reflected in his eyes. Leaning forward at the same time lips meet.


Wilson carefully unbuttons House's shirt and parts it, his hands brushing the smooth skin underneath, and sliding it down over House's shoulders. He's only seen glimpses of House's body naked in the past; he's wanted to do this for so long. He lifts his hand and lays it over a pectoral muscle, sparing the nipple, circling it slowly but deftly with thumb and forefinger, tugging just a fraction on the skin. He brings his head level with it, opening his mouth and lays his broad tongue and lower lip against it, marveling at the heavy breathing and thrown back head.


His eyes are closed, lips open in silent expectation. Wilson lingers over them, he descends, but then he smiles and ghosts his lips over House's cheek, the skin on his neck, his chest and stomach and the nest of curls; and House keens, his thighs falling open wide as Wilson kisses him where he wants it the most. Wilson breathes over him on his trail back up his long body, face and lips close, smelling his belly, his armpits, behind his ear, nosing House's cheeks and lips; and House sighs as Wilson kisses him where he needs it the most.