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Devious Ease
by Jane Carnall
Devious ease
Stacy scares Wilson. He's never mentioned this to House. He suspects, sometimes, that House knows it without being told. If so, it has to be the one weakness Wilson has that House has never humiliated him for.
House is sitting behind him on the bed, one arm round Wilson's chest, nuzzling the back of his neck in a way that Wilson knows House knows turns him on, because Wilson told him one night when he was drunk. This is disconcerting, but House's solid presence behind him is also comforting: Stacy is kneeling on the bed in front of him, her long hands with the dangerous-looking nails teasing Wilson's dick to erection - Wilson's dick doesn't have enough brains to be scared of Stacy's talons handling it so intimately, and Wilson wishes he didn't either, because what Stacy is doing to him right now feels so good.
Stacy's hands have coaxed him into a respectable hardness despite his belly full of terror, and Stacy flips a quick, scary grin at House - Wilson can tell Stacy is grinning at House over Wilson's shoulder, because she never grins like that at anyone but House - and she goes down on him. Her hair falls dark around his thighs, and her mouth is swallowing him whole, and if he thought he was scared rigid when she was handling him he just didn't know what that meant -
Stacy's mouth lets go of him. She says, to House, "He's close" and Wilson, who is not quite verbal any more and not quite making sense of what he can see, feels himself being manhandled into position - Stacy is lying back on the bed and grinning that toothy scary grin at House, and it has to be House who is moving Wilson like a fucktoy doll with rubber limbs to lie over Stacy: her arms come up to hold him and rub at the back of his neck, and he opens his mouth in a gasp and her tongue slides into him as his cock slides into her.
"Now," Stacy says.
House is lying on Wilson, like a comforting scratchy blanket, nuzzling his chin into Wilson's shoulder, petting Wilson's ass as if he wanted to push Wilson into Stacy.
Then he pushes into Wilson. At first Wilson thinks this is House's hand, because he is confused enough at all of the delicious things Stacy is doing to him not to wonder how House can be holding on to Wilson's shoulder with one hand and cradling the side of Stacy's face with another hand and still have a hand to spare to poke into Wilson's ass like he's doing a prostate check ...
Wilson's eyes open with sudden pain and he gasps, House inside him, and Stacy frowns and does something grippy and rippling to Wilson's cock, and says to House "Slowly!"
"Tight," House says, and his voice holds so much desperation and need that Wilson feels himself opening up, knowing what House is doing to him and wanting to give it: and there's a jolt of pleasure that isn't from Stacy gripping his cock and kissing his mouth, it's deep inside him and House is over him and into him and whispering hoarse broken words that are about Stacy and about Wilson, his long arms holding both of them. Sandwiched between them, House filling him as he fills Stacy, knowing both of them are more intent on each other's pleasure than on Wilson, he feels the last trace of pain melting: he is theirs, taken for granted, enjoyed, and wrapped like a present they are giving each other, and 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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