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No Regrets
by MissViolet
Wilson agreed that to refuse the gift of the Corvette would be rude and possibly dangerous. He eased into the passenger's seat of the little red car, finding it impossible not to grin crazily as House turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred beautifully, like a great cat, but when they drove out, the car staggered as House shifted gears awkwardly. "Shouldn't you be in fourth now?" asked Wilson, wondering if House had ever driven a stick shift before.
"The later models come with a shut-up button," he snapped in reply, but after taking a second lap around the parking garage, he soon got the hang of changing gears. Then he found a quiet road to push the little car, going fast, then slow again, pulling a U-turn, seeing how fast it could go from a dead stop, how quickly it could brake. Wilson was jostled around uncomfortably, wishing that House would stop putting the car through its paces.
"What about a nice quiet drive down a country road?" he suggested, feeling a bit shaken up.
House ended his experiments with the car's brake system and drove smoothly down the quiet street. They were topping 70 but it felt like a walk in the park, except for the wind rumpling through Wilson's hair. House drove smoothly, he had quickly learned how to drive a stick and Wilson was sure that he had never done so before. He couldn't stop watching House's hand on the gear shaft, the way his body shifted when he changed gears, hips sliding forward, eyes narrowed as he looked at the road. Wilson studied his profile. On foot, he was a cripple, but on the road, House was more than anyone's equal, in the fast little automobile, with its superb speed and style. His confidence behind the wheel was...appealing, Wilson decided. He wasn't sure how else to describe his fascination with House driving. They slowed to a stoplight, and Wilson's eyes were glued to his friend's hand as it trembled slightly with the throbbing gear-shaft. It was elegant and strong, the long fingers of a pianist, a surgeon...
"Would you quit staring at my hand," said House is a low voice, and then the light changed, and he speeded away, and Wilson was glad he couldn't see that his cheeks were flaming. He fiddled with the radio to hide his embarrassment, but it only offered AM stations. Still he kept at it, determined to find something to cover the awkward silence. House suddenly pulled the car over and covered Wilson's hand on the radio with his own, stopping him from fiddling.
"What are you doing?" he asked in a low whisper, leaning over the seat until his face was inches from Wilson's.
"Just checking out the radio," Wilson said, swallowing a bit nervously. He suspected that House was talking about something else.
"It's nothing but traffic and and news. I mean the staring. You've been staring at me since we left the hospital. At my face, my hands. What gives, Wilson?" he asked, but without much curiousity, as if he already knew.
House turned off the ignition. Wilson said nothing for a long while, cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It seemed about a year passed before he thought of something to say, and then realized that he had nothing. "Ah..." he began tentatively, hoping the words would come if he began to speak. "I was just looking, you know, watching you drive." House studied him intently. It was a stupid explanation and obviously not the whole truth.
"Is it...this?" House asked, touching his thigh lightly, almost casually. His hand settled there, tightening, making all of Wilson's muscles freeze and his breath catch. It was impossible to hide his reaction to his friend's touch. His thigh was tingling where House's fingers were digging almost painfully, and he looked up into House's eyes burning into his, burning with a question to which he already knew the answer. He picked up Wilson's hand, leaving the other resting on his thigh, and studied his face intently, until Wilson feared he would start trembling under his friend's penetrating gaze. He closed his eyes and nodded, not sure what question he was answering, was it the question House was asking with the iron grip on his thigh, now loosening and, oh, moving upward, stopping just high enough to be in sexual no-man's land. It was just a thigh, no reason for his breath to catch or hips to jut forward, to his shame. His hot little secret was being coaxed out of him, honest and forthright Jimmy Wilson, betrayed by his lusty body, and now that hand was moving towards his cheek, to stroke it, and it was an oddly tender gesture from such an abrasive man.
House's face was inches from his own. "Want it?" he said quietly, cautious, for all his bravado, he wasn't so cocksure.
"No!" Wilson whispered, even though it was a lie, it was one he could control, not like this wild pounding in his heart, this sudden heat between them. House only picked up his wrist, applied two fingers to his pulse. "Your heart's beating like a rabbit's. Either you want me, or I frighten you. Say it isn't the latter," he said with uncharacteristic sweetness. He did not put down Wilson's wrist, but lightly traced his finger over the delicate skin on the inside.
At House's touch, he was half-hard in his pants. Wilson shivered, and was miserable at his body's betrayal. House tracing circles on his inner wrist caused him to hitch his hips forward, to exhale loudly, pretending as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, if he were just shifting naturally in his seat to relieve a little tension.
"Want it?" House asked again, but he was surer this time. He leaned over until their thighs were touching, and everywhere there was contact between them, Wilson felt the electrical current of physical attraction. It was as if every cell in his body was screaming for him to turn and ravage House, kiss him hard, make him ache for it, and beg..."Please!" he gasped, as House's hand brushed his groin with a maddening feathery touch.
"Is that, please, stop, or please, go?" asked House mischievously, but he didn't wait for an answer. He leaned in and kissed Wilson lightly, soft and sweet with just a little bite at the end, not a demanding kiss but a tender one, capped off by just a little sweet painful nip to tell Wilson it was no good being a tease.
And finally it was Wilson who opened his mouth to ask for the kiss to go deeper, and House had his answer. He threaded his hands through Wilson's hair, kissed him hard, until their kisses started to lose control and he was pulling his hair and Wilson was groaning and House panting with soft little cries he couldn't control.
House suddenly opened the driver's side door and hobbled out. Using the car to balance himself, he limped to the passenger's side and yanked open the door. He grabbed Wilson by his arm and pulled him to his feet, none too gently, pushed him up against the body of the car, still warm from their joyride. He placed a hand on either side of Wilson's hips, so he couldn't move, and Wilson was shocked and by his strength, but his body thrilled to it.
"You haven't answered my question," he said, almost menacingly as he pinned Wilson to the car. "Want it?" he asked again, his hips hovering just an inch from Wilson's, their bodies aligned so perfectly, but not quite touching, so that all the heat flared up between them and made it almost impossible for Wilson not to thrust forward, except for the strong hands that pinned his hips to the body of the car.
"No!" he said again, lying through his teeth, but his body was such a poor liar, his cock all half-hard and throbbing in his pants, face flushed, lips swollen, hair sweaty and tangled...the very picture of debauchery, it was no use denying it.
"Come on, Jimmy," said House, softly, but not really pleading. It was more like an invitation, come join the party, it's what all the lads are doing nowadays. House eased his grip on his hips a little, but only to move his hands around to Wilson's ass, rubbing him there, and up his lower back...he was slipping his long fingers into the little gap between shirt and trousers, meeting bare skin, tracing slight circles. Wilson groaned lightly, closed his eyes and shook his head.
"You don't want it," said House, still teasing, with his feather-light touch, and now his hips were thrusting forward, he was going to pin Wilson against the car, though crippled, he was taller and stronger, and might easily hold him there, if Wilson tried to escape. The heat of his friend's body drew closer, and Wilson became hyperaware of his proximity, closer and closer, Oh, yes, touch me, he wanted to cry out, but didn't. House stopped drawing closer when he was only a half-inch from touching him, but it didn't matter, Wilson thrust his hips forward and closed the gap with a shudder. Their cocks brushed against each other, just lightly, one time, it could have been a reflex, but Wilson bucked his hips wantonly, again and again, it felt so good, so right, and he couldn't stop a needy little moan from escaping his lips.
"Nothing you want?" House was whispering in his ear, but he was bucking his hips, too, and his voice a little ragged. "Nothing, nothing?" he whispered, lips tasting Wilson's neck, brushing his hair aside, and finally just thrusting unashamedly into his friend, whose cock stiffened in response. When House leaned in to kiss him, Wilson opened his mouth. And House kissed him hard, with one hand at the back of his head, gripping his hair, biting his lips, making Wilson pant and all the heat and want and need pooling in his groin.
"Want it?" he whispered again, teasing, breathing hot breath in Wilson's ear, all over his neck, feeling him shiver beneath him. He moved his hands from Wilson's gorgeous ass back to his hips, trapping him, not letting him move, even as he continued to brush his stiff cock against him. Wilson groaned in frustration as he realized he was pinned, but it was such pleasure to be so helpless. He didn't have to think of any of this, House was in control. For so long he had thought of his friend as crippled, wounded, impotent, but that was patently untrue, the way he had him pinned against the car, the intensity of his blue eyes, the way his breathing hitched, fingers digging into his hips...he was overwhelmed by the sheer masculine vigor of the man who wouldn't let him move, who was pressing against him so that he could feel the electric sparks as their stiff cocks brushed together.
"It's just the friction," said Wilson foolishly, the lamest excuse he'd ever heard, and it came from his own mouth. And why should he bother to explain, if House brushed his stiff cock against his, why his breath should catch, his hips thrust forward as far as House would let him, it was just a biological reaction, anyone could see that.
"Mn, friction," said House thoughtfully. His gaze was so intense, Wilson wanted to look away, feeling stripped bare, but House caught him, turning his head, forcing him to look right into his eyes. "It's just that, is it?" he said, without much conviction, watching Wilson carefully as he thrust his stiff cock yet again into him, so that Wilson bit his lower lip, couldn't stop himself from crying out a little, and then House was leaning in so close, so that every inch of their bodies was touching, their hips, arms, the stubble of his cheek brushing against Wilson's, the scent of House overwhelming him: hospital soap, axel grease from his motorcycle, the wool of his plaid shirt mingling with the slight damp of his sweat.
"Say it," House demanded but instead of waiting for an answer, he was kissing him again, and this time it was so good, with all his heat and weight leaning into Wilson, whose arms came up without him meaning them to, and circled around his friend and also without meaning to, he slipped his arm down to his ass and pulled him in closer, trying to grind his trapped pelvis against House's, trying to get that nice teasing-hot feeling of their cocks brushing, and oh, there, and then Wilson tightened his ass as the sweet ache in his cock intensified and he began to buck and moan.
"Yes," murmured House appreciatively, watching Wilson come apart into little pieces, "God, you're beautiful like this. I want you to say something. Tell me how it feels, what you want, tell me," he said, his voice hoarse. He met Wilson's mouth again and this time there was no gentleness, no patience, he ravaged him with open-mouthed kisses, with tiny painful bites on the sensitive points of his neck, but he wouldn't let Wilson's hips move freely, he brushed against his hardness, again and again, denying him, teasing him, breaking him just a little. Wilson was stiff, hard as iron, he was groaning in frustrated need, he was going to boil over and spill himself, any moment now, and then, his eyes flew open, deep brown gaze burning into House, his head straightened, he still couldn't move his hips, House's fingers pinning him, but he tried again to rock himself against House's own erection, managed just the barest touch, then he head fell back against the car and he gasped out, "fuck me."
"Huh," House breathed out, almost thoughtfully, but he loosened his grip a little.
"I want you," Wilson continued, his voice breaking, hips thrusting, "God, yes, I need you like this. Just like this," and his hands were all over House, caressing his back, his chest, his ass, as if he could pull him closer, but House had already pressed them so tightly together, it wasn't possible.
"Yes," House whispered, and then he moaned voluptuously. He had been concealing his desire, his cock stiff, but his voice soft, now, he need not hide it any more. He thrust into his friend, heat washing over him, and then it was Wilson seeking his mouth, forcing it open, it was Wilson was slicking his tongue against his, biting his lips, pausing only to gasp out obscenities and dirty promises. Wilson's face was flushed, hips working like pistons, groans and mumbled curses breaking from his lips. "Oh yes, fuck yes," he was saying, and everything was tightening and reaching a point where wonderful things would happen, but then, in his next breath, Wilson said, "oh, God, stop now, or I'll--"
"Or what? You'll come in your pants? Mmm," he murmured in his ear. "I'd like to see that," he said in a sex-husked voice. House reached down, unbuckled Wilson's belt, unzipped his pants, put his cool hands on Wilson's hot and throbbing cock, stroking it lazily, and was it any surprise that Wilson was begging, was pleading for him to do it faster, crying out, oh God, please...more.
"That's hot, the way you're begging for it," House said offhandedly. He unzipped his own jeans, and at the sound, Wilson swallowed thickly, his cock jutted just a little bit more. He moved to take House in his hand but House brushed him aside, and pushed their two cocks together, their hot skin meeting and enflaming Wilson even further. House's hand was squeezing them together, then releasing, and their hard cocks were pressed together, and then House squeezed them again, and thrust his hips, and oh, Wilson couldn't take it any more, the ache in his groin, it was just too good, and House was moaning and kissing him again, greedy mouth, rapacious tongue, and House was whispering something in his ear, something like ah, harder, fuck, fuck, or was it him saying that? Then it was House's teeth in his shoulder, and House spurting hot come between them, all over his belly, and he looked down and loved the sight so much, his balls tightened as he spent all over himself and House, who reached down and clumsily squeezed another spurt out of his cock, and he groaned as it jetted up to his belly, and then House was breathing hard, finished, but still holding him, tightening his grip just a little bit so that a few more drops of come leaked out of his softening cock, causing him to cry out, oh....oh....oh, in long trembling breaths, envying his friend's aplomb as he watched the final throes of his climax with obvious delight.
"God, that was sweet," House breathed into his ear. Then he was carefully putting him back together, wiping his belly with his own tee-shirt, tucking his spent cock back into his pants, zipping him carefully, even buckling his belt as he whispered, "thanks," into his ear.
House zipped himself up and hobbled back into the Vette. After a full minute of leaning against the car, Wilson followed.
"Thanks?" he said, curious as House's choice of words.
"Yes, for the, you know," and House made a gesture that was halfway between the universal signs for "fill in the blank" and a wanking motion. He leaned into the back and picked up a bottle of water, uncapped it, drank a long swig. He exhaled loudly. "Ah, that was alright," he said, with obvious satisfaction, and leaned back in the seat, still breathing hard.
"You mean the water, or the coming all over me?" asked Wilson.
"Both, now that you pointed it out," said House blithely.
"Is it alright?" asked Wilson. "We're best friends!"
House studied him, not sure how to interpret this. "Because I made you come, we can't be friends? Is that your official policy?"
"It changes things, House."
"Only if you want it to. I don't how see things are all that different right now." House casually dabbed at the sweat on his face with the corner of his tee-shirt. "Except that I feel great," he said, flashing Wilson with a rare smile. To see his friend feeling good, that was alright. Wilson couldn't help but smile back. God, the way he looks when he smiles, thought House, his heart thudding a little. A good-looking man but with that million-dollar smile he's irresistible.
"No, I guess you wouldn't," said Wilson, shaking his head ruefully.
"Oh, are you saying you're having second thoughts? Well, I asked you about twenty times. Your mouth said No but your hips said Yes. I believe you also said fuck me and God, yes, a few times. I was pretty careful to give you an out, but you didn't want it. You chose me," House said, almost smirking, arrogantly confident. He started the Corvette. "But I would never ask you for anything you didn't want to give, Wilson," he said, soft, sincere. "I would never give you anything you didn't want to accept. But by God, you wanted it. You were begging for it," House said, blue eyes flaring at the memory.
"Only because you teased me for about an hour!" protested Wilson. "Cock-tease!" he said, two spots of color rising in his cheeks.
"Relax, I didn't want to be hasty. I had to make sure, didn't I? We wouldn't want to do anything we might regret, right?"
Wilson realized House was right, in his own cockeyed way. How many chances had he to say No, to turn away, to end it without embarrassment? But he had wanted it to go on and on, and he still did. He wanted to tease House, to pin him against a wall somewhere and make him pant and beg. You'll get yours, he thought, just wait and see, he thought, but said only, "No regrets."
House just smiled, looking straight ahead, and shifted into gear flawlessly, taking them home.
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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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