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The Second Diabolic Plan
by Michelle Christian
"I don't want to ruin the mood, but are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely. Now stop complaining and lift up."
"I don't believe I was complaining. More questioning your sanity." A pause while limbs are shuffled. "And mine for going along with this."
***
After much wheedling and no few bribes, Wilson was right where he wanted to be. He could feel the engine's purr come up through the frame of the car and right through him. She handled beautifully and she was red.
This was officially the coolest car ever. House was officially the most annoying back seat driver ever.
"Not sure why you wanted so desperately to drive. Don't you get enough chicks with your cute, young doctor shtick?" House complained, as he reached towards the gearshift again.
"Yes, I do enjoy my wild and crazy guy lifestyle. Are you trying to kill us?" Wilson pushed the hand away from the gearshift. "Besides, I think she was just waiting for someone who knew how to handle her, since you obviously need driver's ed."
House turned and glared at him. "We're not going to turn this into one big car=sex metaphor, are we?" He reached for the gearshift again.
"I think many, many people have beaten us to it." Wilson reached down to push House's hand away for the fourth time, then kept his hand on the knob of the stick.
"Far be it from us to be cliched," House said, closing his eyes in what appeared to be enjoyment of the ride and the evening, auto-induced breeze in his face. But soon his hand was back next to Wilson's, fighting for space on the shift.
Wilson couldn't help laughing even as he struggled and said, "You're twelve. We're going to die in a fiery crash and then I'm going to be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
Soon, House's hand slipped around off Wilson's hand to his arm, and down over his thigh, and into his crotch.
"Jesus Christ!" Wilson shouted, swerving. Thank God they were on one of the side streets headed back to House's place.
"See, I don't think you have any room to complain about my driving," House said innocently, squeezing Wilson's dick in his pants.
"You really are trying to kill us," Wilson said, barely managing not to squeak as he started once again trying to struggle with Dr. Hands.
"Hey, hey, both hands on the wheel," House admonished. "Ten and two. I know your mother taught you better than that."
Wilson realized he could struggle with House or keep them on the road, so he gave in and kept his eyes straight ahead. "I don't recall her ever giving advice on what to do if I was ever molested by a lunatic while going 45 miles an hour."
"She was very lax in her teachings, then." House proceeded to turn from squeezing to rubbing, which made Wilson bite back a groan.
Wilson loved it when he was like this. House playful was sexy as hell, and generally led to the most fun he could have. But someday he wondered if it would lead to their own ER, lots of embarrassing questions, and starring roles in their very own urban legend.
"Can't you wait five minutes? We're just a couple miles from home," Wilson asked, desperately trying to stay in control and out of people's lawns.
"What, you never did it in a car before?"
"Not when I was actually driving," Wilson retorted.
"You are so old fashioned. Maybe we should just go home, turn off the lights, and do it in the missionary position." House was so good at sounding fake-disappointed. Wilson refused to turn and look at him since he was having a hard enough time concentrating and knew it would just lead to him leaning over and nibbling that lower lip off. Which would just end with them going the urban legend route.
"Yes, because that will make us normal and staid," Wilson scoffed instead, turning down the street which led to House's condo. "What's with you tonight, anyway? Yearning for your youth and days in the gay porn industry?"
House stretched over more, apparently to get further into Wilson's crotch, but also to lick at his ear. "I'll have you know I was a top seller. They called me The Long Dong Doc."
Wilson did laugh at that, because sometimes it was fun to be twelve. And not with a little relief that they were finally turning into House's garage.
As soon as the engine was turned off and the garage door was closed behind them, House reached up, grabbed Wilson by the back of the neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Now that they were no longer in imminent danger of losing life and limb, Wilson returned the kiss with interest. Soon, House's hand was working its way between the buttons of his once-crisp dress shirt, and things were progressing quickly.
Wilson was enthusiastically supportive of these developments, but certain parts--parts belonging to neither House nor him--soon got in the way, as House tried to pull him across the seats.
"Ow!" Wilson said suddenly, and pulled back.
"Okay, there's something I haven't heard from you in a while," stated House, his left hand keeping a firm grip in Wilson's shirt, his right rubbing up and down the offending auto part.
"I don't normally have a gearshift stabbing me in the pelvis, either," Wilson said, surveying the situation, while still keeping one eye on House's obscene caresses to the Vette. "This isn't going to work."
"You have too little imagination. And too low a pain threshold. Come back here."
"Not unless you want one of us to injure something that the both of us will severely miss. And the answer is still no."
They both looked in the back.
"You'd think the mobster would be more accommodating and realize that I might want to have kinky teenage sex in the back seat," House grumbled.
"Very inconsiderate of him," Wilson agreed. "If you insist on involving the car...."
"You did suggest a threesome once," House pointed out.
"...we could try it across the hood?" he continued doubtfully.
House seemed to contemplate it for a few seconds, and reinitiated his caresses to Wilson's chest with the hand he still had grasping his shirt. "No, might ruin the paint job. Besides, I can't think of a way which wouldn't put me in traction for a week."
He sounded almost ready to risk it, and Wilson was almost ready to let him and would probably suggest it again if House kept playing with his nipples like that. Wilson let his head fall back and moaned a bit, as House found a particularly well-known favorite spot. Okay, maybe impalement-by-gearshift wouldn't be so bad.
That was, of course, the point at which House decided to stop.
"Get out," he said, and pulled his hand away.
Wilson blinked at him for a second. "Excuse me?"
"Get out."
"I'm sorry, for some reason I thought this would be more fun if I was actually here." Wilson was irritated, which was not a new sensation when it came to House, but not usually what he was feeling while they were having sex. Okay, not every time they had sex. "Or am I interfering? Should I leave you two alone?" Wilson said, gesturing to where House was still pumping the gearshift.
"She means nothing to me, honey, I swear," House said with his best puppy dog eyes. The look immediately cleared to a more usual evil gleam and a hint of glee, as he opened his door. "Now stop blubbering, get out of the car, and get your ass over here."
Wilson finally got the plan, but still felt doubtful as he rounded the car. However, he couldn't help running his hand and hip across the still-warm front and hood of the car as he circled it, feeling the just-contained energy practically vibrating as if the Vette was still running and the sleek paintjob which felt almost like flawless skin. He finally got around and opened the passenger door. House, busy loosening his own clothes, leered at Wilson in such a way that House must have thought was sexy.
Okay, maybe it was a little, but he'd never admit it.
"Now strip."
"Wow, do you know how to sweet-talk a guy." But Wilson was soon draping his shirt and jacket over the hood of the car. "I didn't even get dinner out of this."
"Don't worry, I won't tell the other guys you were easy," House said, reaching to help with his pants. "Besides, I let you drive my car. And now, maybe I'll love you."
"Honest to God, you start singing the Beatles right now, and I'm leaving." Which was pretty much the emptiest threat ever since he was standing there wearing nothing but his socks.
House looked him up and down for a moment with a hungry stare. "All right, then. Climb aboard."
Wilson looked at House for a second, then shook his head and started to arrange himself over the other man's lap. "Barry White you're not exactly, either."
"Come here, baby," House said in the deepest voice he could manage, while pulling Wilson down for another heated kiss.
Which is how he ended up here, straddling House's lap in the too small front seat of a 1966 cherry red Corvette.
"You do realize that, despite the obvious metaphor and your obvious wish for it to be true, this car is not your penis?" Wilson asked between kisses.
"Good thing, too," House responded, separating from Wilson's lips just enough to make himself understood. "It'd be a serious thing if my penis were that color. Although," he actually pulled farther back until Wilson could see the gleam in his eye more clearly, "if it were, I might have enjoyed that little frottage show you just did a minute ago even more."
Wilson simply nuzzled his lips again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled.
"Mm-hm." Whether that was assent or not, Wilson didn't care, as House was silent for several minutes after that.
They necked for quite a while, House running his hands freely along Wilson's body, urging him closer. Wilson was not idle, either, using one hand on House's shoulder for balance and letting the other wander down to finish opening his pants.
House threw his head back, humming, as Wilson attacked that long neck in front of him, and tried to pull away the impeding clothing while still maintaining as much contact as possible. Not that he had much choice with the dashboard digging into his back.
"Don't you think," Wilson said nipping at House's Adam's apple before licking it and sucking just below it for several seconds, "that we are a little old for this?" A biting trail led back to his ear, which became his new target. "Making out in a car."
House was obviously trying to keep his voice steady, as he pulled Wilson's hips down to his own. "If this is going to be my midlife crisis vehicle, I want to go all the way with it." His unaffected act was quickly shattered with a groan. "Besides, I've heard you're only as young as who you feel." This statement was punctuated by House's fingers sliding between Wilson's buttocks.
Wilson gave a breathless laugh. "You know, if a midlife crisis was your true aim, you should have aimed for a partner a good fifteen years younger, at least. I am not the wunderkind I once was."
House showed his teeth. "Don't worry, Doogie, I have a cheerleader outfit for you to try on later," he said, then sunk his teeth into Wilson's collarbone.
Wilson threw his head back, gripped his fingers in House's hair, and moaned. He seriously hoped that the neighbor on the left would not be coming out to his garage any time soon. The bedroom was pretty well insulated (they'd never heard any complaints, anyway, even after the incident with the ice cubes), but he was sure the condo's builders hadn't taken the same precautions towards sound-proofing the garages.
As House's fingers became more insistent, and the rocking of their hips more vigorous, Wilson used the last of his working brain cells to realize there was another logistical problem.
"Hey," he said breathlessly, trying to pull House's head away from his chest. "If you have in mind what I think you do, we're missing a valuable component."
House abandoned the nipple in his mouth briefly to mutter, "I promise to pull out in time, baby," and dived back down.
"I should hope that never becomes a problem for us," Wilson said, snickering. "I was actually thinking of a step a little before that. Lube? Perhaps you've heard of it."
"Hm, the concept sounds vaguely familiar," responded House, while scraping up along Wilson's breastbone, back to his clavicle. Wilson moaned and then shivered as he felt a tongue take the same route back down, licking away the sweat from his skin.
"I suppose we could keep the automotive theme alive and use motor oil," Wilson suggested, grinding back down into House's lap.
"There are only so many fluids I'm willing to have around this upholstery," he replied. He rummaged in the pocket of the jacket he was still wearing for a moment, before pulling out a small tube and putting it before Wilson's face. "Ta-da."
Wilson shared his evil grin. "Impressive. I never knew magic could be such a turn-on."
"I am good enough to be both Penn and Teller," House responded smugly, and proceeded to put the lube to its intended use.
"And we circle back to group sex," Wilson sighed as he felt House's now-slick fingers enter him.
They had tried this once, in one of House's dining room chairs, and it had worked well enough at the time, but both had decided that it was a position better suited to a bed where they had more room. Also, the bed was less likely to make those disconcerting creaking noises which had been lost on them at the time, but later was cause for concern, lest the chair not hold up so well next time. For some reason, though, as he slid down House's erection until he was flush with his lap, this was all much hotter than it had any right to be. Maybe it was all the black leather and shiny red metal. Maybe it was the mood they were both in. Maybe it was the near-carbon monoxide poisoning they were experiencing that was killing off brain cells at a rapid rate.
Whatever the reason, Wilson rode House with an unusual urgency, driving down and up in an increasing rhythm, House's hands sliding along his sides, occasionally gripping at his hips and helping him with his motions. Wilson's hands were not idle, grasping House's clothed shoulder, but also sinking into the buttery softness of the back of the car seat, sliding along the slick coolness of the car door, bracing against the dashboard behind him, as he searched for leverage and the right angle to meet House's thrusts.
"God, I feel like we're in the porn version of American Graffiti," Wilson laughed through his panting.
House groaned. "I am so buying that DVD."
The garage was filled with the sounds of panting and moaning for several minutes before House spoke again. "I'm starting to worry about your porn obsession, though. Maybe I should inspect your collection."
"Since you have my collection, I don't think that'll be a problem for you."
Wilson clamped down on House with his internal muscles and enjoyed the blissed out look on his face. "God, you are the best sex toy ever," House groaned. "I don't know why Cuddy doesn't just rent you out. The hospital wouldn't have to take money from someone like Vogler ever again. Or not more than once."
Wilson reared up again. "Where was that 'Shut Up' button again?" he asked and slammed his mouth firmly over House's.
Wilson knew he wasn't going to last much longer, and once House dropped one of his hands down to Wilson's lap and sank his teeth into Wilson's shoulder.... Moments later, through his own haze of satisfaction, Wilson felt House surge up with a particularly vigorous thrust, sending come as high into him as muscles and gravity would allow.
They both lay crumpled for a few moments, until Wilson felt the thighs underneath him bunch up again, and his own back give a rather insistent complaint.
"Simultaneous muscle spasms," Wilson said, as he tried to straighten up. "That's so romantic."
They both grunted in relief and pain as Wilson extracted himself and nearly fell out of the still-open car door. "I was going to get you chocolates, but I knew you were watching your weight," House said, head back and eyes closed, only not in pleasure this time.
Wilson tried to stretch his legs a bit, wincing at the pain of blood returning to too-cramped body parts. "We really are too old for this." He reached down and helped House out of the car.
If Wilson was in pain, he knew House's had to be ten times worse. But House still said, "Maybe. But it was fun," and smiled as he winced.
Leaning more heavily on Wilson than normal, they slowly made their way into the townhouse. "Of course, there are advantages to getting older," House said, with the air of someone about to present a great bit of wisdom. Also, someone in extreme pain, but Wilson chose to outwardly ignore it as much as he could.
"Do tell." Wilson knew there was no way House would make it up the stairs to the bedroom in his condition just yet. He wanted to lie down himself, but he figured a short massage on the living room floor might make House a little more mobile. His lower back gave another twinge.
"Financial security, respectability--and the wisdom to use both of those to have a large, sunken whirlpool bath installed on the first floor."
Wilson stopped and looked at him for a moment and felt more love than he'd ever had for another human being in his life. "Wow. You really are a genius."
***
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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 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.
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