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Humiliation
by Baked Goldfish
Tritter shoved House into the backseat, not caring that House landed hard on his right thigh. "So your plan for dealing with bullies is to be a bigger bully?" House asked.
Getting in the front seat, Tritter shrugged. "Thought we went over that in your boss' office."
House, unable to rub his sore leg, slid to the side of the car and pressed the muscle up against the armrest. Scowling, he muttered, "I'm slow."
Tritter eyed him in the rearview. "You're an ass."
House chuckled dryly. "Stop it, you're starting to sound like my mother."
"I'll bet." He leaned back. "Keep talking. It's gonna be a few before the truck comes for your bike, there."
House slumped down and tried to get comfortable.
[-----]
By the time they got to the station, House was fidgeting in the backseat. "You didn't happen to keep any of those happy little pills, did you?"
"Kept all of 'em," Tritter said.
"Think I could have one?"
"Why?"
"Pesky little thing known as nerve damage and missing muscle," House said, leaning forward. "Perhaps you noticed the cane?"
Tritter barely smiled in the rearview. "Sorry," he said. "Evidence." He got out and opened the back door, standing back.
House stared up at him for a moment before trying to scoot out with his hands still cuffed behind his back. "Trying to teach me a lesson?"
"You've broken the law," Tritter said, "possibly multiple times."
"So let me call my lawyer," he said.
Tritter stepped back and let House stumble out of the car on his own before yanking him up by the collar of his jacket and pulling him along. "Eventually."
[-----]
The interrogation room was cold, and House had no idea what he was doing there.
The ink on his finger was annoying him, even though he couldn't see it, and he couldn't get comfortable on the hard plastic seat. His leg was beginning to throb, and he knew that, in a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to hide his anxiety.
The door swung open quieter than he'd thought it wood. House swallowed hard; he'd almost forgotten how big Tritter actually was, even - especially - compared to him. He seemed to take up half the room when he entered, and House shifted in his chair, nervous.
Tritter held up a small pill and smirked as he closed the door. "Waiting for these?"
"I could use one," House said, trying not to sound too desperate.
Sitting down at the edge of the table, just in front of House, he held the pill out in front of him. "Open up."
Wary, House didn't take his eyes off Tritter as he opened his mouth. He almost bit Tritter as he placed the vicodin on his tongue, but Tritter pulled away too quickly.
"Wanna add assault to the list of charges?"
House tilted his head back and dry swallowed. Grudgingly, he said, "Thank you."
Tritter crossed his arms and stared down at House. "Figure I need to see how long it takes to wear off."
"And until then, you're gonna keep me handcuffed in an interrogation room?" House scoffed. "I know I'm no cop, but I'm pretty sure there are rules against that sort of thing."
"Not really." Tritter glanced at the one-way mirror behind him. "Told the guys I could handle this alone."
"Did you tell them how I left a thermometer in your ass?" House pulled a mocking, goofy face. "Boy, I bet they laughed and laughed. At you. Not with you."
Faster than House thought possible, Tritter hefted him up out of the seat by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. "Don't worry," he said, and House could still smell coffee on his breath. "Made sure I left that part out. Didn't know if you wanted to tell 'em yourself."
Tritter's forearms were pressing hard into his chest, and House could feel himself flushing. "Now, I know there are rules against this."
"No cameras," Tritter said, sliding one arm up until his forearm was resting uncomfortably against House's throat. "And I know how to not leave marks."
House stared at him. "Pupils dilated, flushed cheeks, heart rate and breathing are both up," he mumbled. "And yet I don't see you starting to beat me up."
"There are a thousand other ways to humiliate a man."
House scrambled against him, pushing ineffectually. Tritter pushed his forearm even harder against House's throat, and put his whole weight into shouldering him against the wall. House groped for some kind of grip on the bare white wall behind him, but only found himself gasping as the blood rushed to his head. "What-"
"Bullies like to dominate," Tritter said, almost matter-of-factly, even as he fought to keep House against the wall. "Little experiment: what do we do when someone tries to dominate us?"
"We-"
"That leg feeling better, buddy?"
House finally stopped struggling, and Tritter eased his forearm back just enough for House to breathe. He knew he must have been radiating fear, and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back. Tritter's knee was shoving his legs apart. "Yes."
"Good." The hand that was pushing against House's chest slid down, and then the only sound in the room was the leather-metal-denim scuff of House's belt being undone.
"What," House said, his voice shaky. "You're not gonna tell me I sure got a pretty mouth?"
Tritter shoved against his throat to let him know who was still in charge. "You can say no whenever."
House swallowed. "Would it do any good?"
Tritter smiled coldly. That hand slid down House's shorts, rubbing and tugging with calloused, thick fingers so unlike House's own. The only thing that kept his knees from giving was the incessant pressure of Tritter's forearm against his neck, pushing just hard enough so that he only barely got enough oxygen. He was dizzy, could hear the blood pumping through his veins, could feel heat in every part of his body as Tritter pushed closer, hard and straddling House's left leg.
House's eyes closed, and Tritter leaned in. One large hand could wrap halfway around House's neck, and so that's what he did, gripping him hard enough to hold but not hard enough to bruise. He was grinding against House's leg and sucking on his lower lip, and he could hear House struggling against the cuffs, trying to find something to grab onto, to subjugate, to control. He knew those cuffs had to be getting tighter, biting into flesh as House tried to use his hands.
"Turn around," he said, twisting House around with one hand as he reached for his own belt. "Took your advice, by the way."
House was barely coherent as he said, "Advice?"
"Using lube."
House heard the sound of the condom wrapper being torn open, the sound of it being put on, and the sound of a cap being popped open. Moments later, his jeans were around his ankles, his feet were being kicked apart, and Tritter was wrapping an arm around his chest, pressing his cuffed hands into the small of his back. "Lucky me."
Tritter started pushing slowly, slick but cautious. "Anytime you wanna say no."
"It doesn't-" He grit his teeth and grimaced. The vicodin had dulled a lot, but he could still feel himself being stretched beyond belief, with Tritter hot and hard, moving deeper inside him.
Tritter pushed his hand down House's shorts again, intent on keeping him hard; he gripped House's chin with his other hand, forcing him to at least halfway face him. House did the unexpected, and fuck if he wasn't sucking on Tritter's fingers, mouthing and tonguing him as though that were the only thing he'd ever been trained to do.
House didn't even seem to know what he was doing as Tritter pushed his fingers deeper into House's mouth; pulling back, tugging his lower lip, only made House try and suck his fingers back in. Tritter tried to watch with some kind of analytical detachment, but the way House was still wrapping his mouth around Tritter's fingers even though it was obviously making it hard for him to breath right just made Tritter lose it. He rocked against House even harder, feeling teeth against wet skin when he went too hard and hot little gasps when he did anything House liked. The best, though, was when he felt both at the same time.
House was lost in the feeling of being pressed from all sides; eyes closed of their own volition, every nerve singing both pain and bliss as he struggled to keep himself from collapsing against Tritter, his body feeling overheated and overworked, he knew he was about to come. But Tritter pulled out suddenly, pushing House down to his knees even as he tore the condom off. He dragged House back, then stood in front of him, and tugged House's head forward. House didn't even need to be told once; his own cock still achingly hard, he took Tritter's in his mouth, sucking and licking his head until Tritter came. Ribbons of spit and come ran down his chin as Tritter clenched House's hair, pushing so hard he almost gagged him.
When Tritter was done, he pushed House away violently, still panting and flushed. "Calm down," he muttered, catching his breath as he put himself away. "When you're ready, you'll get cleaned up, we'll get you to a cell, and you'll get to call what I'm positive is a lawyer your hospital keeps on retainer for scenarios just like this one."
House sat back on his haunches, uncomfortable and shaking with tension. With his hands behind his back and nothing but cold cement floors and walls all around him, he knew there wasn't much he could do about it. He glared darkly down at the ground, feeling empty and cold, trying to find a decent position while he tried to wipe the come off his face with his shoulder. "Okay," he said, sullen and quiet.
Tritter picked up the used condom, wrapped it in the wrapper, and put it in his pocket as he moved towards the door. He stopped suddenly and turned back to House. "Just one more thing, Doctor. Don't think I'm anywhere near done with you."
House turned his glower to Tritter. "You think this was humiliating?"
Tritter looked thoughtfully into the middle distance. "I think it was a taste," he said. "A bully is always waiting for a bigger bully to come around. This was me, letting you know that he's here." He smiled at House and left.
With his useless hands behind him, House leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the tension in his body.
-end-
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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 NBC/Universal, 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.
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