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Addiction & Mozart
by Suggsygirl
Wilson sat on the couch a glass of whiskey in his hand, his head thrown back and his body slouched, a look of blissful contemplation on his features as across the room House played Mozart. Wilson closed his eyes and let himself drift away to the beautiful melodies House's fingers coaxed from the keys. He allowed himself to think of those long, elegant fingers ghosting across the keyboard. Imagined those fingers coaxing exquisite sounds from his throat, as House slid them over Wilson's skin.
Wilson's breathing quickened as he fell deeper into the fantasy, one which he ordinarily never allowed himself to indulge in, but the music and the alcohol lulled him and he found it impossible to stop.
Hours could have passed when Wilson felt lips brush over his own, so delicately he barely felt the contact. His eyes flew open and Wilson found he was staring directly into dazzling blue, he opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn't.
House raised his thumb and brushed it over Wilson's bottom lip. Every nerve ending fizzed and Wilson felt dizzy from this small touch, felt like he might cry from the sheer relief of having House this close, this intimate. His entire body froze and he found himself holding his breath, not daring to risk breaking the spell that the music had cast over the room. He could still hear the lingering notes despite the room's silence.
Leaning forward House placed his lips over Wilson's, not moving, just testing the water seemingly waiting for Wilson to capitulate. Not for one moment did Wilson consider doing anything but that. This had been so long coming that Wilson wondered whether he was dreaming, then House breathed into his mouth and broke his reverie. Wilson felt the power of the kiss, felt the passion and knew he was heading for disaster but he could no more alter the course than he could stop breathing. He held on for dear life, like House was his life preserver and he was drifting in the ocean.
The glass Wilson had been holding, slipped from his fingers as he tangled them in House's hair, pulling him down onto his lap. The smell of whiskey was potent in the air and Wilson knew House could taste it on his tongue. The flavour of House burst across his tastebuds and he understood that he was going to crave that flavour and seek it out, knew he was doomed to follow House to the ends of the Earth to sample that unique flavour again and again.
Wilson felt like he was soaring, like he might just float away were he not being held down by House's delicious weight. He kissed and stroked feveredly, worrying at any moment he might wake up from this perfect dream, might fall back down to Earth with a bang and a hangover.
House was making contented little sounds in the back of his throat and Wilson wished he had a tape recorder, needing evidence of every pitch and nuance, confirmation House had made those noises for Wilson, because of Wilson. He briefly pondered the state of his self esteem if he needed proof he could make someone feel good but then House did something utterly wonderful with his tongue and Wilson lost the power of rational thought.
House pulled Wilson up to stand, keeping hold of his hand once they were upright, urging him towards the bedroom. Wilson followed meekly, silently, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to risk losing this closeness with the one person he has ever truly loved unconditionally, the only person he has ever loved.
They fell onto the bed in a flurry of limbs, taking off shirts and pants haphazardly, fingers shaking with need and lust until finally they are both naked. Wilson kissed every part of House's skin as it was revealed, reverently and tenderly, treating House as if he is a thing to be worshipped, to be savoured. House's eyes shone with a fire, Wilson had never seen before and he felt that he could burst into flames under that fierce stare. He draped himself on top of House and hissed with pleasure as their bare skin touched, then slowly licked the sweat gathered in the hollow of House's throat moaning his satisfaction as House ran his palms down Wilson's back.
The night was spent in a frenzy of fevered kisses and needy caresses but amongst the whispered endearments and frantic stroking, Wilson was constantly aware that this thing with House could never work, would eventually hurt them both. In the end though it's still not enough to make him stop, House has always been Wilson's drug of choice and there's no rehab for that.
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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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