Disclaimer: I don't own them. *sniff*
A/N: Quick and unbeta'd.
"I've been waiting all day for this." The words were whispered as Wilson found himself thrust firmly against the front door. He'd just gotten home after a long day of work, barely having set his keys and briefcase down before being pounced on by House. "I'm going to play you tonight."
Wilson blinked owlishly at his lover. "Play me?"
Blue eyes locked onto brown ones, holding Wilson's gaze with an unbreakable force. "You and I are going to make beautiful music together."
"W-we are?" Wilson swallowed through a bout of light-headedness. All his damn blood had apparently gone south for the winter.
"I'm in charge tonight," House commanded with a soft growl, possessively pressing his body against Wilson's.
The oncologist nodded meekly, shifting his hips to try to relieve the pressure from his suddenly too tight dress pants.
House grinned ferally, his hand darting out to lightly squeeze the bulge in Wilson's pants. "Mine," he purred against Wilson's ear before nibbling on his earlobe.
"Yours," Wilson panted in agreement, turning his head to give House better access to his neck.
House pulled away with a triumphant smile. "Bedroom, now." Wilson eagerly obeyed, yelping in surprise as House smacked his ass. "I want you naked and on your back when I get in there!"
Wilson practically ripped his clothes off, eager to please House and looking forward to a night that he was sure he'd remember for the rest of his life. As he lay back against the soft, cool sheets, he grinned and let his hand drift downward. He was used to being on top, setting the rhythm and leading House to a powerful release. He was perfectly fine with that being the standard in their relationship because it made those rare times when House's dominant streak appeared even more of a turn on.
"Why are you touching my property?"
Wilson flushed red as he quickly snatched his hand to his chest. "Sorry."
"Maybe I should just let you finish yourself off and go watch some TV?"
"No!" Wilson cried out brokenly. "I'll behave."
The angry expression on House's face melted away and a familiar twinkle glinted in the blue eyes. "I sincerely doubt that," he chuckled. He limped to the bed and perched on the side, lightly resting a hand just above Wilson's navel. "Grab the headboard and don't let go."
Wilson readily complied as a shiver raced down his spine.
House straddled Wilson's hips and leaned down until their foreheads were almost touching. "If you let go, even once, I'm going to stop and you're going to be taking cold showers all weekend. Understand?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice barely audible.
House smiled as he pressed a gentle kiss to Wilson's forehead. He kissed his way down his lover's nose, his lips coming to rest against Wilson's soft ones. House pressed his tongue forward, enjoying the soft moan that escaped when Wilson granted him access. He mapped every inch of topography in that glorious, warm interior, until both he and Wilson were forced to come up for air. Their lungs no longer aching, they kissed again and House brought his hands into play, combing his fingers through his lover's hair and smoothing them downward against the flushed skin of Wilson's neck. House seized the nape of Wilson's neck with a firm hand, chuckling at the grunt of happiness it caused.
"You know who you belong to," House panted in approval against Wilson's mouth.
"More," Wilson pleaded as he started to lower his hands.
"Uh-uh, Jimmy boy. Hands stay put, remember?" House grinned at the frustrated sound that slipped from the other man's mouth.
When he was sure Wilson was going to control himself, House began gently lapping his tongue along his throat and down to his chest. His hands moved with him, each finding a nipple which were squeezed and teased until Wilson moaned in agonized pleasure. House's fingers abandoned their torment to glide and tickle their way along his lover's ribs, almost as if he were a living, breathing piano. The sensation elicited soft, breathy giggles from Wilson's parted lips, which were choked off with a moan of anticipation as House's hands migrated even further south. Rock hard and wanting to do something about it, Wilson couldn't help himself as he bucked his hips upward, frowning as House slid away.
"Easy there, Jimmy."
"Y-you s-said…" Wilson swallowed deeply, wondering if he had any blood at all left in his brain. "Couldn't let go. Didn't say…"
House grinned at his lover's ever-present logical nature. "I guess I didn't, huh? Okay then, I'll just sit here while you-"
"No!" Wilson gritted his teeth and forced his lower body to cooperate. When he finally stilled his thrusts, he stared at House, his eyes like pools of chocolate syrup. "House."
"Right here," the other man replied as he scooted forward and firmly kneaded Wilson's straining thighs, making sure his hands didn't go anywhere near the one appendage that was desperately crying for attention. House worked his hands up to the other man's hips, sliding them under Wilson's body so that he was cupping two quivering cheeks. After delivering a couple of gentle squeezes, House withdrew one hand and held it to Wilson's lips. "Want to do the honors?"
Wilson lifted his head and began sucking House's fingers with such vigor that the other man half-way wondered if his fingernails were about to come off. "Geez, save some of that for later, chief. I might have other uses for your mouth, you know."
Bushy eyebrows waggled seductively as Wilson pulled back, the fingers sliding out of his mouth with an impressive popping sound.
"You're named for the wrong president," House chuckled as he trailed his hand down his lover's sternum. "Woodrow Wilson, my ass. You should have been named after Herbert Hoover."
Wilson opened his mouth but all thoughts of speaking disappeared as one lubed finger worked its way inside, quickly joined by another. He practically squealed in delight, clenching his eyes shut and focusing on the sensational talent of his lover's fingers.
Once House was sure he'd loosened him up enough, he grabbed Wilson's ass and lifted him upward. "Relax for me," he soothed as he carefully pressed his own throbbing erection into the glorious, tight warmth that was Wilson. When the other man grunted and started to shift, House slapped him sharply on his butt cheek. "Quit wiggling or this won't last."
Wilson pouted and groaned impatiently, but obeyed House's command.
"Atta boy," House praised him. "Open your eyes and look at me." When Wilson did as ordered, House wrapped a hand around his throbbing shaft. "Together, Wilson. Tonight we're going to make beautiful music together."
"Together," Wilson nodded and gazed at House with complete trust and devotion. "Love you, House."
"Love you, too, Wilson."
The two men began moving together, two separate instruments working in unison to create a symphony that nothing on earth could rival. When the crescendo came, it was powerful and loud, the voices of the two men echoing off the walls until the room seemed to be filled with a thousand cries of pleasure. Slowly the room grew quieter and the only sounds that could be heard were those of two men, breathing heavily from a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
"Can I let go now?" Wilson panted as he glanced up at the headboard. At House's approving nod, he let go and held his hands in front of his face, clenching and unclenching his sore fingers.
House gently reached out and took a hand between his. "You really had a grip on that," he mused as he gently massaged each finger individually. "Does it hurt too badly?"
"A little," Wilson shrugged. "But it's worth every bit of the ache. My God, House…"
"Finally you admit it," House broke in. "I am God."
"I said 'my God'."
House grinned and clasped the other man's hand against his chest. "I'll settle for being your god."
Wilson just shook his head and rolled over so that he was contentedly flopped across House's torso. He pressed his ear against the still-heaving chest and marveled at how even their hearts seemed to be beating in time with one another.
"So…"House drawled with a twinkle in his eye. "You like it when I play you?"
"Hmm," Wilson pretended to think about it. "Let me put it this way… I never thought I would be jealous of your piano and your guitar."