When House opens his door, his brow immediately furrows. "I thought you two were on a date," he says, his hand still gripping the doorknob. "No play-date until Wednesday."
"We were," Amber replies smoothly. "Play-date's been bumped up."
House stumbles to the side as she blusters into his space, Wilson following quietly in her wake, politely closing the door. His eyes track them across the room; his body stays rooted. "Why?" he asks, his chin lowering as his head tilts.
With long, steady strides, Amber steps forward, a grin pulling at her mouth. Her voice is falsely cheery when she speaks. "Well, you see, James and I were in the middle of our appetizers, when-"
"Yeah, yeah," House interrupts. "Skip story-time. Get to the point."
"Turns out we have a common fantasy," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Right, honey?"
House rolls his eyes, side-stepping her and tossing his cane in Wilson's direction. "Here, knock yourself out," he says, boredom seeping from the words. He retreats to his bedroom, startled when Amber's foot wedges itself between the door and the frame. "I meant knock yourself out somewhere else. I'm not interested in watching."
"Good," Amber says, advancing into the room, Wilson at her side. The two of them exchange smirks. "You won't be able to see much anyway."
Amber-damn her-was right.
House is sprawled on his back, his entire field of vision obscured by Amber's pink slick-wet skin. Her thighs quiver on either side of his head as, with a one-two orgasmic punch, she comes above him and Wilson, both hands gripping House's hips, comes inside him.
House's eyes close as Wilson withdraws, and Amber shifts off the bed. He aches for a touch, his penis rigid and curved, the head smearing a line of clear wet fluid below his navel. Hot breath pours into his ears, and the ache flares.
"He's good, isn't he?" Amber's words curl into his right ear before the heat of her breath disappears.
The heat near his left ear-Wilson's breath, his lips-travels over his cheek. House's eyes remain closed, his hips lifting, as a hand-Wilson's-wraps around his erection. Wilson's hand squeezes gently as his mouth forms words against his lips. "She'll be even better."
Before House processes the words, Wilson's lips close over his mouth, the mattress dips at the foot of the bed, and Amber kneels between House's legs. House opens his eyes wide, gasping into Wilson's mouth, as the cool, wet tip of a dildo presses against his sphincter and slowly, slowly pushes inside of him.
House twists his head, breaking the kiss to peer between his own spread legs. Amber is smirking, a strap-on harness fastened around her hips, and thrusts the dildo again. House groans, his eyelids fluttering, his body jerking as Amber's next push forward coincides with a downward stroke of Wilson's hand.
The rough sound of his breathing rasps in his ears, mingling with desperate whispers of "Yes, fuck, there. Faster, like that, oh, fuck." His hands fist the sheets, and he's already straining at the edge of his orgasm.
A few thrusts-strokes, seconds-later, House shudders and arches, spilling over Wilson's hand, onto his own stomach. He refuses to open his eyes, catch the grins on their faces as he collapses onto the bed, sticky with semen and sweat.
Amber's words, however, reach his ears, and he scrunches his face. "Pays to share, doesn't it, hon?"