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Massage
by hilsonlover
"Finally! I'm starving!"
Without bothering with an answer Wilson throws his coat, keys and briefcase on the sofa, barely reserving a glare for House, and slowly makes his way to the bedroom.
"Hey, where are you going? I said I'm starving!" House whines, while hauling himself up from the sofa. He switches the TV off and limps to their bedroom as well. Wilson not reacting to him is ... intolerable.
Wilson stays unresponsive, peels off his shoes, throws his tie into a corner of the bedroom and laboredly crawls onto the bed. He lies down on his stomach; all limbs splayed out and eyes squeezed tightly shut. Peace won't come as long as House's curiosity isn't satisfied so he gathers some strength and mutters, "Make yourself a sandwich or make a call, I don't care. But I'm not cooking today, my back hurts and I just want to rest in peace for a while."
When he doesn't get an answer Wilson allows himself to indulge in the illusion that he will get his wish and can wait in peace for his back muscles to relax at least a bit. Every movement hurts, that's what you get when you jump out of bed instead of rolling out of it in a careful way. He sighs - he's pathetic.
The bed dips and he groans. House still being here isn't a very good sign, he really isn't in the mood to deal with House's insanity right now. He almost whines loudly when House demands, "Strip!"
"House! My back hurts! Sex won't help with that," he retorts petulantly, the whining more than evident in his voice.
"I never said anything about having sex. I just ordered you to strip."
"I don't want to strip! I'm fine, just leave me alone!" Wilson laments in a high-pitched and desperate voice.
"Geez, you're not fine so stop the whining and strip already! Don't you trust me?" is the exaggeratedly exasperated retort.
"Is that a trick question? I'm seriously not in the mood for games and-"
He is cut off when House has had enough and forcefully, albeit carefully rolls him from his stomach to his back, piercing him with his eyes. The piercing look always gets through and Wilson hates that his hands are already working on the buttons of his shirt before he is consciously aware of what he's doing. House helps him to get rid of his clothes, then instructs him to roll back on his stomach.
"I'm still not in the mood for sex," Wilson feels the urge to emphasize his earlier statement, but since this is already a question of trust he doesn't put up a fight.
"You said so already, I'm not deaf. And it's still not about having sex. What do you do when my leg hurts really bad?"
"Avoid you like the plague? Give you more Vicodin? Whatever it is I can't remember it involving you being naked," Wilson answers while still being clueless until he hears the lid of a bottle clicking. Judging from the smacking sound House's hands make, he is warming up some lotion and Wilson wracks his brain on how to get House away from the idea of having sex. He groans when House's slippery hands land on his shoulders, smearing lotion in long strokes all over his back.
"M-Massage? You are going to give me a massage?" Wilson almost whimpers simply from the image in his head.
Broad hands run from his shoulders over his back to his buttocks and up again, sending shivers rolling up and down his spine in anticipation. He can't believe that House of all people is willing to give him a massage but until eight months ago he didn't believe a lot of things where House is concerned. That apartment-hunting-thing was a catalyst for many things, new and good.
He could just lie here forever with House's hands running up and down his back, emitting warmth, possessiveness, tenderness and strength all at the same time. He starts to relax under the gentle strokes when House suddenly begins to knead his muscles forcefully.
"Ow! God damnit!" he exclaims with tears stinging his eyes. That fucking hurts!
"Don't be such a cry-baby! You're tense as a rock; it will hurt a bit at the beginning. Don't work against me and try to breathe evenly," House instructs him, betraying his harsh comment with the gentleness in his voice.
Wilson tries not to tense up but it's difficult. House applies pressure and kneads the muscles at Wilson's shoulder inch by inch, slowly but steadily relieving tension. From the shoulders he travels down the spine; sometimes creaking sounds can be heard when hardened muscles and tissues give way and relax. Wilson's lower back is a challenge for House who feels sweat breaking out on his forehead. How Wilson has been able to do anything without eating painkillers like candy is beyond his understanding. Wilson's groans and moans of pain change into whimpers when House works on his lower back. With a gasp he asks, "Is it normal that it hurts that much?"
"Your muscles are not only hardened, there is some palpable myogelosis," House pants while pressing his thumbs deeply into Wilson's lower back, eliciting sharp hisses and not so evenly breathing.
Wilson is sweating due to the pain level. The pressure House applies to his muscles is almost unbearable, which has him thinking that he might be better off with his normal sore back. He's short of losing it and crying out in pain, begging House to stop when he thinks of the pain House experiences on a daily base. Suddenly he feels a pang of guilt coiling up in his gut - how often has he lectured House about his pain? That the pain certainly can't be that bad, that he doesn't need more Vicodin, that it is all in his head. He feels deeply ashamed about his arrogant behavior.
He feels even more ashamed when House states, "This is not a contest. If you want to cry out it's okay. I will mock you later but you shouldn't hold back. At least that's what you tell me every time."
The guilt grows in an unknown dimension, leaving Wilson dizzy and covering his whole body with a fine flush. His breathing is hitching; tears of shame and pain fight an ugly battle, making him feel like crap. Not worthy of even thinking that he's in pain, unworthy of getting House's attention and tenderness.
Of course, House wouldn't be House if he couldn't pick up on the slightest sign of Wilson's distress. He stops with his motions and simply rests his hands on top of Wilson's lower back, spreading warmth, feeling fine almost imperceptible tremors flutter through Wilson's body. He leans down, drops a series of a small kisses along Wilson's shoulder blades, then nibbles along the nape of his neck.
"Just relax, okay? No guilt-trip now. That would mean that I had to think about some things I did. And we both know that I don't deal well with feeling guilty," House whispers with a strange croak in his voice.
A thousand responses lie on Wilson's tongue, ready to jump out of his mouth but his only outward reaction is to nod and say, "Okay."
House chuckles low in his throat, "Glad to hear that. So, where was I?"
With this he runs his hands up and down along Wilson's back, then alternates between strong kneading moves, putting pressure on some points, and rhythmic tapping, sending vibrations through the strained muscles. House ends the massage with telling Wilson to breathe deeply in and out, taking the out-breath as a sign to combine vibrating motions with firm pressure on some points. This leads to further relaxation as the muscles loosen up. More and more tension abandons Wilson's back as House wanders down his spine with this special treatment. Wilson is again short of crying but this time for a different reason.
Wilson's back is slack and he's floating on a fluffy cloud, relishing in the feeling of House's hands stroking up and down his back, over his buttocks and along his thighs. Gently House's hands travel up again, ending in circles around his buttocks before vanishing between his thighs again, bringing Wilson to spread his legs wider in invitation.
Yeah, he did say that he didn't want to have sex but that was before House took care of him. While House leisurely trails his fingers around Wilson's entrance and along his perineum he feels his penis filling, his balls getting hot and heavy.
"Still not in the mood?" a raspy voice asks him. "Because I'm definitely turned on by the sight of you splayed out on the sheets."
If Wilson wasn't hard before, he was now by the sound of House's voice, telling him that he's turned on by him. Fine tremors make a quick run through his whole body, clearly visible for House who titters at this, "I take this as approval."
Wilson is merely able to nod before he lets out a moan as one of House's fingers wiggle into his anus. House takes his time, stretching Wilson carefully, getting him used to the intrusion. Wilson is still new to the bottom-business and normally remains tense for quite a while. Today it's different - House is able to slip his fingers in easily and gleefully fucks Wilson with them, relishing in the more and more desperate moans.
"H-House! Stop, ugh, stop teasing me! P-please!"
Begging Wilson. The day can't get any better in House's opinion. Hastily he sheds his clothes, grabs the tube of lube and lies down between Wilson's widespread legs. To prevent a very eager Wilson from further humping the mattress House presses himself against Wilson, pushing his cock in the cleft of Wilson's butt, eliciting a groan from them both. Immediately Wilson tries to push back against House and whines low in this throat when it doesn't get him anywhere.
House nibbles at an earlobe while he pours some lube between Wilson's buttocks and at his entrance. Wilson waits for House to breach him but House simply glides his length up and down Wilson's cleft, driving him insane with unfulfilled lust.
"House!" he squeaks, not caring about his whining and begging to get House's cock up his ass. "Please, House. Please, get into me. Now!"
"Demanding today, aren't you?"
"Oh fuck! If you don't do anything right now I'll take it in my own hands."
His statement isn't really finished before House takes his cock in his hand and guides it to Wilson's anus, pushing in with one swift stroke, growling when he meets no resistance. Wilson hasn't ever been this relaxed; it's a whole new feeling, no pain, not even the slightest burning sensation. He tucks his legs up a bit further, urging House to penetrate deeper, hiccupping when House hits his prostate for the first time.
"Get on your knees," House demands and somewhat awkwardly they clamber up on their knees without losing their connection. Wilson expects House to quicken the pace and gets ready for a rough pounding. Instead House remains still for a while, just running his hands up and down Wilson's back, brushing his fingertips along Wilson's flanks. Wilson has to stifle a sob from escaping his mouth at these tender caresses by biting hard on his lower lip.
Finally House withdraws completely, earning him a desperate wail from Wilson before gliding back in slowly. He establishes this slow tempo, sending hot waves of pleasure and longing for more through Wilson's entire body. It doesn't take him long to push back against House, signaling him to speed up things. At least that's his intention. It doesn't work though; House simply holds him in place with his hands around his hips, preventing him from pushing back, gaining him some desperate whimpering noises.
Sweat is trickling down the nape of Wilson's neck, gathering in his clavicle and he's keening, begging House to take him harder, deeper, allow him to push back; anything to get released from this bittersweet ecstasy. Both men feel House's cock swelling even more when Wilson starts to beg, none of them wanting to think about what this means. With a grunt House complies at last, forcing Wilson to howl out something that could go as "God!" or "Good!." Wilson knows already that he'll be embarrassed beyond measure afterwards and he just can't bring himself to care, he's way too busy with his burning body and not forgetting to breathe at the same time.
He screams when House angles his hips a bit different, slamming onto his prostate with every thrust. Heat is coiling up in Wilson's stomach; sparks of his oncoming climax are already rolling up his spine, making his head swim. The dizziness and effort of continuing to breathe forces him to rest his head on his crossed arms. House groans at this movement and the sight before him, his moves getting more and more erratic and chanting, "Yes! God, yes!"
Wilson has lost all capability of speaking or thinking, he's focused on feeling. Feeling heat everywhere, feeling safe and secure and simultaneously thrown off balance from the intensity of feeling so much at once. He's panting and sobbing at every thrust into him, longing for release but also wishing for it to never end. A muffled cry of "Wilson!" from House when he shoves into him almost violently for the last time helps Wilson to tip over the edge himself with an inarticulate sound, something between a heartrending sob and a curse.
House drapes himself over Wilson's back, letting him hold them both upright. After a short recovery time he pulls out of a still trembling and heavily breathing Wilson, flops down on his back, stretches his legs and smiles in blissful content.
"What the heck are you doing?"
"I'm lying down - obviously," is the insouciant reply from Wilson.
"You have your own side in this bed," House states.
"My side is wet."
"Mind telling me why you have to cuddle me?"
"No."
"We don't do cuddling."
"You don't, but I do."
"It doesn't work that way."
"Yes, it does. Now keep quiet and don't interrupt my post-massage-and-coital-bliss-moment," Wilson sighs while snuggling closer to House.
When Wilson begins to squirm a bit because House hasn't responded to his statement in any way, House finally encircles him, asking, "So, is your back still hurting?"
"No. No, it isn't. But I'm sure it'll come back."
"Hm, such a shame. Guess, we'll have to repeat this," House quips drowsily.
In a very soft voice Wilson retorts, "Oh yes, we have to repeat this very soon."
END
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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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