| |
Some By Virtue Fall
by Nestra
Notes: Beta heroics by shrift, grit kitty, Kass Rachel, and meara. Title from Shakespeare.
***
House tried to pretend his leg wasn't hurting and instead concentrated on the sight spread out in front of him. The pale skin of Wilson's back, the bared nape of his neck as his head hung down between his arms, the note of aggravation in his voice like the bouquet of a fine red wine.
"Any day now, really." Wilson twitched impatiently, and House wobbled as the mattress moved with him.
"Patience is a virtue, young man," House said.
"Yes, patronizing me is the best thing to do right now." His breath caught on a little hiccup as House slipped a finger inside and twisted. "That, on the other hand, really is the best thing...oh, god."
He eased his finger out and pushed into Wilson, steadying himself as best he could by clutching Wilson's hips. Despite the fact that he had to be hurting Wilson at least a little, Wilson hummed in satisfaction and wiggled his legs further apart.
"Wow, all those nurses were right," House said. "You really are a slut."
"Also a bad time for insults."
House let out his breath through gritted teeth. "It wasn't...oh, fuck...an insult." In defiance of everything House had ever experienced in his life, sex with Wilson actually did get better each time, from the first hurried groping to the first time Wilson had clambered on top of him. But experience had taught him that nothing lasted forever, especially nothing good, and from the way his leg was starting to shake, it seemed like the time had come. At least Wilson hadn't noticed anything yet, lost in his own world of quiet moans, and part of House was proud of the fact that he could make Wilson stop thinking like a doctor and just be a selfish bastard.
He didn't think he could move, but Wilson got tired of waiting and began to thrust back against him. He liked watching Wilson do all the work, but each push threatened to knock him off balance. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. Mind over matter had to work sometime, except it hadn't, not since the first time he'd tried to take a step away from his hospital bed, and he'd lost count of the times his leg had given out on him since then. And the really fun thing was the way it folded; one minute it was holding his weight, if reluctantly, and the next minute, nothing. He was too pissed to choke out a warning, and he slid awkwardly to the side, Wilson collapsing under him with a stifled "ow!" as House's elbow jabbed him in the ribs.
He could almost kid himself that the lessening of pain felt as good as the sex. Rolling off Wilson onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. If he squinted his eyes, he could find patterns in the shadows, like seeing cloud shapes.
The bed bounced as Wilson turned over, his breath brushing House's skin as he came to rest on his side. There was a blur of motion in his peripheral vision, and he felt Wilson's hand touch his arm. He jerked away. "Get off," he snapped.
"Why?" Wilson sounded eminently reasonable, damn him. "You've got no respect for anyone's personal boundaries, but I'm supposed to respect yours?"
"See, I knew you understood the rules."
"Silly me. I thought the rules might change because we're sleeping together."
"Then you should have known better." He wanted to grab the Vicodin, but the bottle on the bedside table was out of his reach, and he'd gnaw his leg off rather than ask Wilson to get it for him.
"We don't have to do this, you know." That was Wilson's doctor voice, complete with competing layers of empathy and distance. Nudging without pushing. House resented such obvious manipulation, even if it always worked on him.
"You mean I should just lie on my back like a proper Victorian wife?"
"I don't think Victorian wives did anything quite like this." Wilson's chuckle was warm, and there was no way House was ever going to let on how much Wilson's voice turned him on. He hadn't gotten him drunk enough to sing yet, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
"Someone should have mentioned that to Oscar Wilde." The pain was ebbing, but he could still feel the blood under his skin pulsing against the sheet.
"Besides," Wilson said, "there are other options besides you lying flat on your back."
"If you pull out the Gay Kama Sutra, I'm hobbling out of here as fast as I can."
"Hardly. But..." he trailed off and reached for House's hip, tugging gently. House let himself be moved and rolled towards Wilson. The change in position let him take pressure off his leg and put him in range of Wilson's mouth, so he leaned over and kissed him. Stubble scraped against his cheek, but Wilson's lips were soft.
Wilson sighed into his mouth as he broke the kiss, then rolled away, pressing his back up against House's chest. "Okay, now, just..."
House pressed back in, although he'd lost some of his erection to the combination of pain and self-inflicted humiliation.
"And I can..." Wilson rolled his hips, and suddenly everything was working again. House slipped a hand under Wilson's arm and over his shoulder and anchored him for a first tentative thrust. Wilson moaned and let his head fall back, his hair tickling House's face. He didn't have gravity on his side in this position, but if it meant that he could fuck Wilson without falling down, he'd take it. And it was probably worth it anyway, being able to see his face as his eyes drifted closed.
After a while, the endorphins started to kick in, and the pain didn't completely recede, but it faded enough that he could focus on what he was doing. He shifted his weight and rolled halfway on top of Wilson, and this was a very good compromise. He thrust deeper and got an "Oh, god," out of Wilson, and details started to blur in the haze of pain and pleasure and the taste of sweat on the back of Wilson's neck.
Wilson grabbed for his hand and dragged it down to his cock, and as he closed around it, Wilson convulsed and came. After a few seconds, he went limp, allowing House to pound into him as hard as he could manage until Wilson obligingly pushed back into him and whispered, "I told you it would work."
No way that should have been the thing to push him over the edge, but something about that whisper-soft voice in the darkness, and the yield of his body, and House closed his teeth on a yell as he came.
He stayed on top of Wilson for as long as he dared, but Wilson knew his body nearly as well as he did, and before his leg started to hurt, Wilson nudged him with a shoulder. "Up."
"Do your patients find this sort of benevolent bossiness endearing?"
"You'll have to ask them." Without House's having to ask, Wilson retrieved one of the spare pillows from the floor and dropped it on his chest. House adjusted it under his leg and figured he'd be good for a few hours, at least.
"No chance. I'd never get any criticism of St. Wilson out of them."
"If anyone could, you could." Wilson waited until he'd stopped moving, then snuck a knee onto the pillow under House's leg.
"Oh, don't you just say the sweetest things," House said, and shifted so that his leg brushed up against Wilson's, just barely.
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|