Story Summary: Hilson slash, not really smut the M is just to be on the safe side. It is pretty hot though. It's not an established relationship, this just kinda happens. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the characters. If I did, you wouldn't be reading this on fanfiction, you'd be watching it on TV.
"Get up. I wanna lay down."
"I was here first. Go lay down on the other couch."
"You can't see the TV as well from there."
"So sit down. I'm only taking up one square, there's plenty of room."
"Wilson, my leg's hurting me. You don't want me turning to drugs again, do you?"
Wilson looked into House's eyes for just a fraction of a second before sighing his admission of defeat. He wasn't even sure why he bothered arguing in the first place. The moment House had proclaimed his desire to lie on the couch, Wilson knew he'd end up on the floor. He slid across the upholstery and down onto the rug, keeping his back against the couch. Yes, he could have found another place to sit, but somehow that seemed to be letting House win even more. At least now he still had his spot...sort of.
Holding his leg, House limped over to the couch and sprawled himself across it as Wilson dodged him. His head rested on one of the cushions and his feet dangled over the other armrest. Wilson leaned back again once House got settled. His back brushed against House's good leg, but House didn't readjust himself. They watched TV in silence, occasionally broken the sound of House rubbing his bad leg.
Suddenly House reached up quickly with his left hand. Wilson dodged his head again, afraid of getting whacked, but House was only trying to scratch his back. He switched to his right hand, this time really hitting Wilson in the head as he replaced his left arm by his side. But it seemed like he still couldn't get the itch.
"I don't know where the back scratcher is, House."
Wilson sighed again, reached over, and scratched House's back.
"Higher," House commanded.
Wilson obliged. He saw House relax, even close his eyes.
So much for needing to see the TV, Wilson thought. He turned back toward it himself, hearing the commercial end. His hand slipped off of House's back and rested at his side.
"Wilson, your services are required again," House said a moment later.
Without even looking back, Wilson reached over. He felt for House's spine and scratched. House grabbed Wilson's wrist and moved it so his hand rested on his shoulder blade. Wilson resumed. Without being asked, after a moment he switched to the other shoulder. House didn't complain. When Wilson centered his hand in between the shoulder blades and started scratching his spine again, he made some sort of sound halfway between a grunt and a moan.
Scratching was getting tiring, and Wilson was still trying to focus on his TV show, so he switched to more of a kneading motion with his knuckles. He absentmindedly moved his hand down House's back, first on his left side, then his right, then in the middle. When his knuckles got down to House's lumbar region, House didn't say anything but he arched his back. Wilson decided to be more gentle. For a moment he just rested his hand on House's back, but then House muttered, "Don't stop," and Wilson slid his hand back and forth, rubbing.
His hand moved up, and he could feel that House was wearing an undershirt, and he could feel where it ended and where there was just skin beneath the shirt. As he traced the edges of the undershirt with his fingernail, Wilson became aware that he was paying much more attention to House than the TV. He didn't even realize it had gone to commercial again. He ran his nail down House's spine gently, and he could feel House shiver a bit. A word came into his head. Sensual. This was sensual. Kneading House's back felt nice. Clearly House thought so too.
Not even bothering to look at the TV anymore, Wilson focused all his attention on the back rub, switching every minute or so from fingers to knuckles to fingernails and then back again. His fingers went all the way up to House's collar and softly scratched the neck right above it, but he was careful not to go underneath the collar. Pausing at the shoulder blades on the way, Wilson moved his hand back down again. He was looking at what he was doing now, not just feeling, and Wilson noticed that there was about a half inch of skin between the bottom of House's shirt and the waistband of his jeans. When he got there, Wilson slowly ran his fingernail across that half inch of skin. There was no mistaking it, that was definitely a moan. Wilson looked over his shoulder at where House's feet were dangling over the armrest. His toes were curled.
"House," Wilson warned, stopping again. "You'd better not be getting off in there. This is a new couch."
"You're the one raping me with your hands," House retorted, slightly muffled by the couch. "Get going, I'm losing altitude."
"What, you think I'm gonna pass up a chance to get off just because it's you? You don't know me at all, Wilson."
"I'm not doing this." Wilson started to get up.
"Oh, my sincerest apologies," House said sarcastically, turning on his side to look at him. "I didn't realize it was too one-sided for you. Well you know what they say about give and take and all. I can see that the only way this is gonna work is if you get off too. Well come on, let's get this over with."
"What are you talking about?"
House grabbed Wilson's wrist and pulled him onto the couch with him. Wilson didn't even know why he didn't resist more than he did, except that he'd been caught off guard, but before he knew it he was lying facedown on the couch, or rather, on House, and House's fingernails were zooming up and down his back. House didn't even bother with knuckles and palms, he was all about the fingernails. Wilson felt goosebumps pop up all over his body, he was hot, he was pressed against House pretty much everywhere. House's fingernails were sneaking under his shirt. Wilson shivered. He arched his back like House had done earlier. House was reaching his head up. Was he actually going to kiss Wilson? No, he was just going to run his teeth over Wilson's shoulder. Oh, and his tongue, apparently. Wilson moaned.
"Yeah, I'm that good," House said before resuming nipping Wilson's neck. He took his hand off Wilson's back for a moment, licked his fingers, and replaced them beneath Wilson's shirt, running them up and down. Wilson shivered, his body was shaking. He found himself undoing the buttons of House's shirt and pressing his mouth to the space where clavicle met sternum. He probed, he sucked, he heard House moan and he moaned himself and practically jumped whenever House used his teeth. Were they even going to take their pants off? Did they even need to? They were pressed together, every inch of them from chests to ankles. House was rubbing his toes against Wilson's calves, scratching with his toenails like he had with his fingernails and making the hairs on Wilson's legs stand on end. He wound his legs around Wilson's, pushing them even closer. House ran his teeth across the top of Wilson's shoulder, Wilson squeezed House's sides and gasped, and then it was over. He felt House finish about a half second after he did, and he lied there, panting, his head against House's chest. He felt his heart pumping the blood through his body, he heard House's heartbeat as well as his own. He felt House run his fingers through his hair gently before resting them on the skin beneath his shirt. And he almost got excited again.
"Can I ask you something?" Wilson said after a moment without looking up.
"Is it gonna ruin the moment?"
Always the sarcastic one, Wilson thought, smiling to himself. "Did your back even really itch?"
"Wilson," House explained, causing him to look up and catch his eye. "My leg didn't even really hurt."