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Cool Treats
by Topaz Eyes
"House, you never told me you had Popsicles in your freezer!"
House looked around his chair, towards Wilson's voice in the kitchen. He sniggered under his breath and settled back in his chair, trying to ignore the damp T-shirt that clung to his shoulders. "You never asked!"
He heard a distinct grumble, something about House holding back on him yet again, and grinned outright. "Hey, Wilson, bring me an orange one!"
Wilson came out, scowling, but he carried two Popsicles. On his way past he threw House the orange one, keeping a grape one for himself. He then sank onto the couch and sighed.
Wilson looked as hot as House felt. Early August in Jersey sucked. At ninety-two degrees with a humidity index of one-hundred and two, it was like breathing butter. Waves of heat shimmered off the sidewalks.
And that was just outside. Inside wasn't any cooler; with broken air conditioning in House's apartment, it sucked infinitely harder. Wilson had set two portable fans in the living room with pans of ice water in front, but all it did was increase the humidity in the apartment. Not that the fans would help Wilson anyway. While he was in the kitchen, House had turned both of them towards his chair.
"Hey! Stop hogging the fans!"
"FYI, aging cripple here. Don't want me to keel over with heat stroke."
"Why are we here, anyway? Why aren't we at my hotel? Or even at the hospital? Where there's working AC?"
House glared at him as he slammed his Popsicle against the edge of the coffee table. "I get more channels than you do. And better porn. And I don't work weekends." He ripped the wrapper away from half, and raised the ice pop to his mouth, biting down to the top of the stick.
"Oh, of course, porn is far more important to you than your personal comfort," Wilson replied dryly.
"And yet, you're still here."
Wilson rolled his eyes. House crunched the mouthful of Popsicle. The orange-flavored ice was wonderfully cooling in his mouth, and House shivered as he swallowed.
Wilson snapped his Popsicle with his hands. "Don't bitch to me if you get brain-freeze."
"All prepared." House picked up his Vicodin bottle from his end table and rattled it. He bit the ice pop again, his teeth hitting wood, and he rolled his eyes in pleasure. "Yummy," he declared with his mouth full.
Wilson shook his head. House watched as he carefully tore the wrapper and withdrew one grape ice stick. Wilson then sank back into the cushions and tilted his head back as he raised the Popsicle to his mouth.
If anything, Wilson looked positively wilted in the heat. His forehead shone with sweat, his hair limp and plastered to his head. His T-shirt was soaked at the neck and underarms, and, as Wilson spread his legs open, House saw perspiration darkening his shorts. House rolled the empty stick in his mouth and thought idly of giving one fan back. Nah. He reached for the second half of the Popsicle and unwrapped it, gleefully shoving the whole thing in his mouth.
Then he looked up at Wilson, who had tilted his head forward again, and was staring at the TV while he ate his ice pop. Wilson was sucking on it, moving it in and out of his mouth in a totally obscene manner. House blinked when Wilson's tongue lazily rolled around the ice pop and lapped up the melting juice that trickled down the sides. Then Wilson started sucking his Popsicle again, completely ignoring him.
Bastard.
House pushed his ice pop around his mouth thoughtfully. He could think of better uses for Wilson's lips, if it weren't so bloody hot and if he could pry himself out of his chair to get to the bed. He saw the grape juice shining on Wilson's mouth. Jesus. House swallowed, hard, when Wilson pulled the pop out with a distinct slurp and set it on its wrapper on the coffee table. He turned to look at him with a look of feigned innocence.
"Want another?"
House blinked, and recovered. "Yeah. Grape this time." He mentally kicked himself for how rough he sounded.
Wilson's mouth twitched, as if suppressing a grin. "Coming up."
Then Wilson tried to stand, and House grinned at the sound of leather peeling off wet legs.
"OUCH!"
"Even an idiot knows not to sit on leather with bare legs."
Wilson winced and turned around to look at the cushion. The back of his legs were red.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but no, you did not leave half your skin on my couch," House added helpfully.
"Shut up, House," Wilson snapped, and headed to the kitchen again.
House drummed his fingers on the armrest while Wilson rummaged around in the freezer. Even the fans weren't helping cool down the place; all they did was push around the hot air. Maybe it was a good idea to head over to Wilson's hotel where it would be comfortable, at least. But then he'd have to concede defeat. And he'd have to deal with a smug Wilson for at least a week if he gave in.
Not to mention that Wilson's little Popsicle-fellating stunt totally required payback.
This time when Wilson came back, he had a bath towel draped over his arm. He dropped House's Popsicle in his lap. "You know, I already showered at the hotel before I came here," he said wryly, "and I'm gonna need one before I leave."
Wilson spread the towel out on the couch before he sat down, then reached for his half-eaten first pop.
House, turning his unwrapped Popsicle over and over in his hands, grinned as the plan unveiled itself. He looked up, barely suppressing his glee. "Wanna cool off?"
Wilson, his half-eaten Popsicle back in his mouth, looked at him warily. He pulled the pop out. "You are not dumping ice water on my head."
House shook his head. "Too obvious. Lie down." He nodded at the couch.
Now Wilson looked at him wide-eyed. "What? And let you dump ice water on my back?"
"Like I want to ruin my couch even further."
Wilson's brow furrowed and he gestured with his free hand. "Why should I let you?"
"Because you want to cool off." House could fake innocence too when he wanted. "And because I guarantee this will work. Without dumping any ice water on you."
House watched Wilson's good sense war with his desire not to sweat to death. After a minute, Wilson relented and swung his legs up onto the couch. House had to resist pumping his fist into the air. Wilson was so easy to manipulate when you knew which buttons to push.
"On your stomach."
Wilson sighed and rolled over, pillowing his head on his hands.
House slid his Popsicle onto the coffee table and levered himself out of his chair with a soft "Ooph." He limped over to the couch. "Shove your ass over so I can sit."
Wilson wiggled over to give room. House pulled a corner of towel out from under him and sat, extending his bad leg.
"My brain must have melted because I don't know why I'm letting you do this," Wilson muttered, his eyes drifting closed.
"Because you're curious." House pulled up Wilson's sweaty T-shirt up to his chest.
House's gaze wandered over Wilson's lightly freckled skin. Perspiration glistened on his back. House's resolve wavered. It' d be easier just to grab one of the portable fans. But then he remembered Wilson's show.
He picked up Wilson's uneaten half of his Popsicle and took a lick. He then ran it lightly down the center of Wilson's back.
Wilson flinched and strained to look at him, his face twisted in shock. "House! You said you weren't going to use ice!"
"I said I wasn't going to dump ice water on you."
"What--?"
"I didn't say I wouldn't use a Popsicle." He drew the ice pop up one side and down the other, leaving a trail of grape-colored liquid on Wilson's skin.
Wilson clenched his jaw and turned his head back. "I am going to kill you as soon as I get up."
"I don't think so." House drew random swirls with the Popsicle across his back. "Admit it, you like the cold on your skin."
"No."
House gazed at his handiwork. Not bad. He set the Popsicle down on the table. He then leaned down and blew gently on Wilson's back.
Wilson arched and gasped, and House thought he saw him subtly rocking his hips into the couch. Perfect. He puffed short bursts of air on the small of his back, where droplets of grape juice had accumulated. Wilson sighed and visibly relaxed.
House then leaned down further, supporting himself with one arm on the edge of the cushion, and ran his tongue along Wilson's skin.
Wilson moaned into the couch cushions as House licked his back, tasting grape juice and salt. Wilson was definitely enjoying this now. He dragged his lips all over, following the purplish trails, grinning against Wilson's skin as he wriggled under his mouth. He heard a muffled whimper when he blew on Wilson's back again to cool his skin.
"Jesus, House!"
House picked up the Popsicle again. It had melted a bit, leaving a small puddle soaking into the wrapper. He licked the ice pop, and dragged it down to the waistline of Wilson's shorts.
"You know, Popsicles were invented in 1905," House said conversationally as he pulled the ice pop just above the waistline. "A kid left some fruit soda on an ice porch overnight. The soda had a stir stick in it. Temperature got so low outside that the next day, the fruit soda had frozen to the stick." He lifted the elastic and slid the Popsicle beneath. Wilson moaned something unintelligible.
"They were originally called 'Epsicles,'" House continued. "It took eighteen years for them to be sold to the public. They were renamed Popsicles soon after."
He set the pop back down and tugged at Wilson's shorts. Wilson obediently lifted his hips so House could pull them down to his ankles. Yep, he was aroused, all right--enough that House grinned in amusement when Wilson spread his legs as far apart as he could on the narrow couch. Yes, payback was sweet.
House continued running the melting ice pop along Wilson's skin, up his cheeks and along the back of his thighs. He followed by licking and kissing along the trails he drew, and blew them dry with long breaths of air. Wilson trembled and swore, rocking against the towel the entire time.
By then, the Popsicle was almost wholly melted. House ate what was left, then leaned over to grab the wrapped one he had set on the table. He snapped, then unwrapped it, crunching one half immediately. He gazed at the purplish smears on Wilson's skin.
"Now you'll definitely need a shower before you leave."
Wilson turned his head. "Go to hell."
"And yet, you're enjoying this."
"Who says I am?"
House grinned wickedly and reached beneath, stroking his hard-on. "Little Jimmy does." He popped the ice pop into his mouth.
"I hate you." Despite that, Wilson pursed his lips and pressed against House's hand. House sucked on the Popsicle thoughtfully.
"This isn't all that cooling," Wilson complained. "You could at least aim one of those fans at me."
House removed the second half of the ice pop, which had melted enough to be shaped into a blunt tip. "How is that fair when I'm doing all the work? Besides," he added slyly, "you'll be cooling off soon enough." He pried Wilson's ass cheeks apart.
"House, what---AGGGGH!"
Wilson jumped as House pressed the Popsicle onto the skin just behind Wilson's scrotum.
House grinned and deliberately dragged the grape ice pop along the crack of Wilson's ass. "I'm just going to cool down your core body temperature." He watched as Wilson flinched and wiggled and squeezed his eyes shut.
"House--" Wilson gasped through gritted teeth.
House frowned, contemplating the purple liquid melting and sliding down Wilson onto the towel; how Wilson was starting to grind into the cushions as he rocked. He'd have to remember this.
"Cooling off now?"
Wilson clenched his butt cheeks together, turned his head and glared at him, belatedly realizing what House meant. "I am not explaining to an ER doc how I got splinters in my anus!"
"I'll take that as a 'not yet'." House gently peeled apart his cheeks and pressed the tip of the pop against Wilson's hole.
Wilson inhaled sharply, and his eyes glazed over. House twisted the pop, easing the tip just inside. Then his own eyes widened in shock as Wilson pushed back, pulling the ice pop a bit further in.
Well. House gently, very gently, thrust the grape Popsicle in and out. Wilson trembled, and swore into his fist, and tensed his cheeks, and arched forward into the cushions. This was new. Never in his life had he thought his best friend was this kinky. Enjoying being ravished by a Popsicle? You learn a new thing every day.
Soon it was clear that Wilson wasn't going to last much longer. Wilson was taking it all--hell, he was demanding more. House felt sweat break out on his neck with the exertion of moving his arm. It was worth it though--this was way, way more fun than the fellating stunt. So he swirled the melting ice pop inside Wilson's opening. Soon enough, Wilson was groaning and clenching and grinding so hard that House lost his grip on the stick. But that didn't matter, because Wilson had already stilled and shuddered, and was now coming hard against the towel.
House waited until Wilson's spasms subsided before he retrieved what was left of the ice pop. When he pulled it out, the very tip of the wooden stick showed, most of it still protected by a thick wedge of grape ice. He placed it back in the wrapper and tossed it into the wastebasket by his chair.
"Cool enough?" House asked solicitously.
Wilson was trembling. "I--I think you g-g-gave me frostb-b-bite," he said through chattering lips.
House took the towel and dabbed at his skin. "Hardly. You should know not to confuse hypothermia with afterglow," he said, earning him another patented Wilson glare. "Though you may want that shower now."
He leaned out of the way just as Wilson kicked off his shorts. "Then we are heading back. To. My. Hotel."
"Suit yourself." House shrugged, stood up and hopped to his armchair.
Wilson rolled over, pulled the grape-and-semen-soaked towel out from under him, and stood up. He tugged his shirt down and wrapped the towel around his waist, then flashed a grin.
"You owe me two for that stunt," he said, and headed off to the bathroom.
In the flow of two fans, House picked at the upholstery on his chair with his thumb, grinning. When he heard the shower running, he heaved himself up. He wanted another Popsicle.
Maybe cherry this time.
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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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