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Eye of the Storm
by Topaz Eyes
Notes: Written for Porn Battle VI hosted by oxoniensis, using the prompt "rain."
~~~~~
"I have to pull over."
They're driving back to Princeton after the conference in Pittsburgh, but hadn't expected the rainstorm to be so fierce when they'd left. Wilson peers through the dark curtain of rain and shakes his head. House reluctantly agrees they should stop; the headlights simply reflect the huge drops that sound like machine gun bullets.
Wilson inches the Volvo onto the gravel shoulder, stops, and turns on the flashers. House shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His leg's complaining about being cooped up, but worse, he's had to pee for the last hour. "Gotta go."
"You'll have to wait."
"Can't. Bladder's screaming." He looks in the back seat. "There's an empty soda bottle--"
Wilson scowls at him. "You are not peeing in my car!"
House glares back. "Fine! I slip in the mud, it's your fault."
He opens the door and gingerly climbs out. In the five steps he takes from the car, bucketloads of water dump at once; he's soaked to the skin and shivering before he opens his fly.
He just finishes doing up when he feels a hand on his arm. "Gotta pee too," Wilson shouts.
House grins at the irony. Wilson hates wet upholstery. Serves him right.
He can't see five feet ahead but he feels Wilson's heat beside him. He glances over; Wilson's hair is plastered to his forehead and the rain rolls down his temples into his collar. He remembers the shower last night in the hotel--is Wilson thinking about it too?
Wilson seizes his shoulders as his mouth crushes his. Yep, he is, House thinks as the kiss surges right to his dick.
Wilson guides them back toward the car. In their haste, House slides on the wet gravel. Wilson steadies him and presses him against the hood. Solid and firm, House licks the rain off his neck. Wilson's breath fogs as he works one thigh between House's legs. The heat steams off him; House pulls him close, grinding as he squeezes his buttocks through wet wool.
He plunges into his mouth as Wilson rucks up House's T-shirt, rakes his fingernails down his cold skin. Each touch, each thrust of Wilson's erection on his hip sends shocks up and down his spine, and House groans deep in his throat. He's throbbing against his soaked jeans so hard it hurts. The downpour pounds around them but it can't drown out the blood roaring in his ears or numb his lips brushing against Wilson's collarbone. Even his leg is silent because fuck, this is almost as close as it gets. All that's missing is--
"Turn around!" Wilson shouts over the din.
House turns, his cold fingers fumbling at his fly. He peels his drenched jeans and underwear to his knees, leans over the hood with the drops pelting his ass cheeks, and hopes Wilson hurries up before he starts to shrivel.
Wilson's finger enters him and he jumps at the cold, but he pushes back from instinct, from sheer need. House fucks himself on the second finger without Wilson having to move.
"Hurry up!" House yells.
Now Wilson slides into his hole with one sure move. House gasps at the fullness inside him: the heat, the slickness, the thought that Wilson's bareback. Wilson starts to thrust, burying himself balls-deep, wet flesh slapping against House's cheeks, which House feels but can't hear.
House reaches down and strokes himself in time as he arches back. Wilson grabs House's hips, pushing faster and faster; the rain falls harder and harder, and House goes out of his mind with pleasure. Steam and fog and shouted curses all shoot straight to his dick, tighter and tighter until Wilson pumps erratically--then Wilson's grunting and coming inside him and the sensation of wet warmth is too much. House's balls draw up and he spurts on Wilson's Volvo as his orgasm sluices over him.
Content floods him when Wilson leans on House's back and rests his forehead on his shoulder. He grabs his hand and squeezes. "We should get back in," Wilson says in his ear.
He pulls out, and House shivers again at the loss of warmth. He struggles to pull up his soaked jeans, feeling Wilson's come trickle out. Oh well, the Volvo's already defiled. They slide into the car.
"There goes your upholstery," House says with a smirk. "Shoulda let me pee in that bottle."
Wilson sighs, but grins, and House knows it's okay as they wait until the rain lets up.
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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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