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Ardor Resolutus
by Topaz Eyes
Notes: Beta'ed by the fabulous nightdog_barks, who also inspired the title; and I am indebted to purridot for providing the proper Latin translation.
~~~~~
On Wilson's entry into the manse, House shut the door behind him and they stood silently across from each other in the foyer. House had lit one entryway lamp as Wilson stepped over the threshold; the soft yellow gaslight cast subtle shadows over House's grizzled countenance. House himself made no move towards him; he appeared perfectly controlled, except for his hand shaking wildly whilst gripping his cane, which, Wilson knew from long friendship with the man, belied his nervousness at the situation.
Wilson trembled as well; the fear warring with anticipation within him made him feel light-headed at the foolhardy journey he'd just taken to House's door. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Wilson slid his gaze away from House's clear eyes, down to his robe on which the light flickered. The deep green silk looked not unlike a verdant, shimmering flame for one confused moment. How fitting, he thought wryly, that he should be the obedient moth drawn inexorably to it; perhaps he always had been, all these years of their acquaintance, and he had simply been too blind to see. And all of this revealed, Wilson thought, flustered, all our time spent together, was only to lead to this moment, because of one unguarded kiss--
House's smug voice aroused him from his fugue. "I see you wasted no time in bringing yourself here."
Wilson looked down at himself then, at his lack of cravat, his open copper-striped waistcoat, his braces visible beneath, one tail of his shirt untucked in the front because he had missed one buttonhole in his haste. That observation settled the flurry in his mind, and he shook his head in chagrin.
"It is fortunate that no one was out to see my madness," he admitted.
"Madness is one way to describe it," House agreed. His own shaking had ceased, and his face set into an amiable mien.
Wilson cocked his head at House's impudence. Well then. Caution be damned now. He stepped across the foyer to stand in front of his friend--his soon-to-be lover, he thought with startling clarity--and raised his hand to stroke House's cheek.
Wilson could not restrain a sharp intake of breath when House closed his eyes and leaned into Wilson's palm; stubble scratched Wilson's skin as House rubbed gently against it, leaving Wilson to marvel at such unexpected tenderness. Wilson laid his other hand on House's shoulder, feeling the muscles tense beneath his grip. Wilson's breath caught again at the shining wetness when House licked his lips.
Turning House's head forward again, Wilson brushed House's lips with his own. House responded almost chastely, then drew back until only their foreheads touched. "Not here," he murmured, his Scotch-laced breath puffing on Wilson's face. "Follow me."
Wilson nodded, letting him go. House turned and limped down the hallway to the back of the manse, Wilson following; his heart pounded fit to burst his chest at the thought that House was leading him to his bedroom.
House stopped at the burnished cherry door to allow Wilson entry, then closed and locked the door behind them, hanging his cane on a hook on the back. Wilson looked around; he had seen this room only in passing before, having spent most of his time in House's study. Now he noted the room in more detail, as one does when one's senses are heightened by the rush of excitement. The only source of illumination came from the bedside lamp on the opposite side of the room. To his left, the coal stove had died to glowing embers, save for the occasional tongue of flame licking upwards, only to settle back down in its cast-iron grate, thereby leaving a faint chill in the air. The bed itself looked warm, and wide enough to hold two easily; a dark counterpane, perhaps maroon, or maybe deep indigo--the light was not bright enough to distinguish--was spread messily over the top. His nose registered not sandalwood, but rather a subtle fragrance of sweet coal, cedar and clove, with a musky undertone he associated with House.
He felt a waft of warmth behind him, and turned to face the man himself. Wilson first fixed his eyes on House's lips, then on the column of his throat, the bump of his Adam's apple, wondering what they tasted like--until House reached out, clasped Wilson's shoulder, and drew him in.
House's lips, pressing on his own, were no longer light and tentative, but questioning, determined. Wilson responded in kind, noting their slightly cracked and dry texture, the slight tang of the skin above; his eyelids fluttered closed, until House's tongue darted out to lick along his lower lip. Wilson's lips parted of their own accord, and suddenly House's tongue was inside his mouth, exploring.
The resulting jolt of pleasure resonated through Wilson's body, and soon their tongues were twined in earnest. Wilson's hand crept up to the back of House's neck, toying with the fine hair there. House had gripped both Wilson's arms, his hands sliding up and down, gently squeezing biceps, triceps, before reaching to pull off his waistcoat. The vest dropped with a soft whiff of fabric onto the rug. Wilson's braces were next, after which House's hands skimmed Wilson's waist. So much to learn, Wilson thought heatedly as House untucked his shirt the rest of the way to allow his hands access to Wilson's bare chest and sides.
Boldly Wilson broke the kiss to press his mouth along the firm line of House's jaw, dragging down his neck, tasting the mossy salt of his skin, and, to his surprise, not minding the prickling of stubble on his lips. He smiled at House's surprised, and aroused, gasp, which encouraged him to further his attentions, nuzzling at the exposed hollow between the collarbones, then working up and down from earlobe to nape.
When he pulled back to draw a breath, House tipped his chin up to claim him with an unforgiving crush of his mouth. Wilson eagerly plunged inside, transforming the kiss to a heated duel of lips and tongues. Wilson felt House seize his hips and pull him flush against his body; Wilson moaned deep in his throat, part in surprise, part in sheer desire, as House's hard length pressed along his thigh.
Then House arched his hips, and Wilson drew back from the kiss to stare at House openly. Wilson had seen House in many a passionate state, but nothing like this in all the time Wilson had known him: the man's hooded eyes darkened to storm-gray, his hair mussed, his parted lips reddened and shining, his chest heaving. How long had his friend harbored such desire for him? How long had House suffered in his hidden, silent yearning--?
"Sit down." House inclined his head towards the bed.
Wilson obediently crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking slightly on the goosedown mattress. Instinctively he removed his boots, letting them drop onto the floor. Wilson shivered as he looked up at House looming over him; he trembled not with cold, but at the naked hunger on his friend's--his lover's--face.
House advanced, pushing Wilson back onto the counterpane. Slowly, deliberately he unbuttoned the first three buttons of Wilson's shirt with nimble fingers, dropping heated kisses as each button fell away. Wilson arched up, wanting, needing more contact with House in any way possible; only to find himself thwarted when House rose back up.
"It would be easier if you lay on the bed proper," House growled.
Drunk with a desire worthy of Eros himself, Wilson hurriedly swung his legs up and onto the bed, sliding over to allow House to climb beside him. House lay down beside him heavily on his side, raised on one elbow. Wilson closed his eyes under the intensity of House's dark and ravenous gaze sweeping over him.
"Magnificent," House said appreciatively.
Wilson opened his eyes to find House's gaze focused on his trousers, which tented tightly over his groin. His cheeks flamed with the thought that his ardor was so obviously on display.
"Blushing becomes you, Wilson," House murmured with lazy amusement.
Wilson, piqued at the insult to his manhood, countered hotly, "I assure you I am no delicate rose. Nor am I any sort of shrinking violet."
"Yes, I quite agree," House replied with a salacious grin, as he pressed his hand most gently over the arousal which strained Wilson's trousers. The touch inflamed Wilson's senses and he canted his hips up reflexively to seek more of it.
"Modesty, however, is a lie. Modesty implies shame," House continued, cupping Wilson's arousal and massaging it through the wool fabric. "Yet there is no inherent shame in the human body save that which society demands us to believe."
Each light squeeze of House's fingers ratcheted the burning in his loins ever higher; Wilson arched and ground against House's hand, even as he panted, "Your--pronouncements--against original sin--brand you as a heretic."
"Heresy is the forceful denial of honest desire because societal eunuchs are terrified of genuine feeling." He heaved himself up, still working his hand. "Luckily for you, I do not subscribe to such drivel."
He bent down to capture Wilson's lips. Wilson met his kiss as a man starved, his senses reeling with every plunge of House's tongue and contraction of House's hand. For indeed he was famished for this touch, had been for a very long while; though until last night he had never dreamed that House, his best friend, would prove to be so apt a lover.
And even that dream paled in the face of this reality, as House pulled back to turn his attention to unfastening the rest of Wilson's shirt. Each undone button earned Wilson a fervent kiss, House's beard scratching his sensitive skin, House's tongue laving the sting away. All the while, House continued to massage the aching bulge in Wilson's trousers, fraying Wilson's nerves just that much further with each press until he thought he might die of this sweet agony.
Soon House reached the last button of Wilson's shirt. Here he stopped massaging, looked up, and sat back, his eyes smoldering yet inscrutable as he undid the button and spread the shirt open. Wilson shivered as the chill room air hit his overheated skin.
"House?" Wilson raised his head off the pillow, aggrieved at the sudden loss of House's attention.
House regarded him evenly and did not speak.
"House!" Wilson thrust up with his craving for the now-missing pressure.
A wicked smirk spread across House's face, yet still he remained silent. Again Wilson arched up, but to no avail.
"This is torture, man!" Wilson cried.
House nodded. "Yes."
With that, he reached down to undo the top button of Wilson's trousers and planted a kiss on his stomach, his tongue sweeping the dip of his navel. Wilson bucked and spasmed at the touch; he felt House's lips curve into a smile on his skin.
"Please," Wilson said through gritted teeth. "I can't--House, this is too much to bear--"
House raised himself up. "What do you want?"
"For the love of everything--House--touch me."
House quickly unfastened the remaining buttons of Wilson's trousers. Wilson lifted his hips without thinking so House could push them down to his thighs. His erection, freed from the constraints of its woolen binds, rose from its nest of pubic hair to arc long and hard against his belly, aching fit to burst.
"Truly magnificent," House murmured, and looked up.
Wilson met his triumphant gaze, then gasped suddenly as House took him directly in his hand. Wilson cursed and thrashed on the pillow. The warmth of House's skin on his member--the slide of House's fingers as he stroked--and, oh God, the sweep of House's thumb over his glans--nothing mattered, nothing, not the breaking dawn outside, not the sure condemnation of his fellows over this supposedly immoral and shameful act. Only House lying beside him mattered: House's breath in his ear, his forthright gaze, and his searing touch, hurtling Wilson headlong towards the twinned ecstasy of death and rebirth--a warm wetness pooling on Wilson's belly, and House bending down to claim Wilson's mouth with a crushing kiss, swallowing his cries.
~~~~~
When Wilson woke up, the sun was shining full and glorious through the window; it was mid-morning, he estimated blearily, perhaps ten or so; he still felt so sated from dawn's exertions that he could not bring himself to worry about the sun's significance just yet. Wilson noted that the quilted spread that covered them was actually a swirl of maroon, indigo and deep brown in the full light of the sun. Yet he did not remember climbing under the covers; he had gone directly from unimaginable bliss to deep and dreamless sleep.
Beneath the bedclothes, Wilson's shirt was open, his trousers unfastened and lowered to reveal his nakedness down to his knee. Shamelessly, he kicked them off under the sheets; there was no need for modesty anymore, he thought, false or otherwise, now that House was acquainted with him in the most intimate way.
He turned his head to look at House beside him. His friend--his lover now, Wilson thought blissfully--lay on his side, his graying head pillowed on one arm. House's robe drooped to reveal his bare chest which was lightly matted with fine hair. In repose, the sunlight softened the lines of his craggy face, which had the felicitous effect of making him appear more at peace, if not necessarily younger. In this light, Wilson noted, with remorse, the purple bruise blooming along the man's jaw.
House opened his eyes--not with the slow, half-dazed fluttering of one just emerging from sleep, but rather with alacrity, as if he'd been awake for some time. This observation led Wilson to wonder if House had watched him while he slept; the thought filled him with tenderness.
"Your assistant came calling at about eight o'clock this morning," House said without preamble. "Apparently there had been a--an unfortunate incident in your office yesterday evening and you were naught to be found."
"Oh good God," Wilson groaned, remembering the fit of impassioned frenzy that had led him to destroy his inner office; furthermore, his stomach leadened with the realization that he had already missed several patient appointments.
House, the bastard, grinned with Wilson's unconscious confirmation. "As your office was in its usual impeccable state before I took leave of it, I assume it occurred--afterwards."
Wilson's heart thudded in sudden panic. "What--what did you tell Robert?"
House's grin rearranged to a thoughtful frown, though the amused glint did not leave his eye. "I directed my servants to inform him that the good Doctor Wilson took temporary leave of his senses last evening. He arrived at my door in an agitated state. Fortunately, I determined that it was but a passing fever, for which I prescribed a day or two of recuperation under my watchful eye."
Wilson raised an intrigued eyebrow whilst gesturing at the two of them and the bed. "And this is what you call 'recuperation under your watchful eye'," he observed.
"Yes, something like that." The grin returned. "Your assistant agreed to close your office for the next two days. I assume he is at home recuperating with his dear wife as we speak."
"That would not be an inaccurate assumption," Wilson agreed, and shook his head fondly. He sobered then, reached out and caressed House's contused jaw. "House--" he began, meaning to apologize.
House kept his countenance perfectly still. "Does the thought of our being lovers still bother you?"
Wilson's heart ached at the trembling fear beneath the straightforward words. He shook his head as his fingers trailed down from House's jaw to slip beneath House's robe. "No. I admit, last night before I landed at your doorstep--" he closed his eyes and drew a breath to steady himself. "I only regret now, how much time we have wasted before arriving at this juncture."
At House's wide-eyed surprise, Wilson pulled House flush against him, shamelessly aligning their bodies together. "So let us not waste one minute more," he added against House's lips, just before he kissed him.
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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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