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Phoning It In
by l57371
House popped his front wheel and pulled jerkily up onto the curb outside 221 Baker. He cut the engine and kicked down the side stand, resting the rapidly cooling Repsol on the stand and turning the wheel to the left. Quietly, he sat still in the seat, eyes closed, listening to the engine tick and smelling the pungent green scent of the fresh rain.
Finally, he opened his eyes and caught sight of Wilson through the window into his kitchen. The younger man was chatting on his cell phone. Loose and animated though, so probably not a call from work. If it were, he'd be sober and serious and flipping through files, not smiling and gesturing with his free hand. Wilson had had time to change his clothes since getting home since he was now in loose-fitting sleep pants and an old t-shirt. House sat a moment longer, drinking in the sight of a seemingly happy Wilson. It was a sight too seldom seen.
Soon enough Wilson disappeared from view. House prepared to swing himself off the motorcycle, carefully tensing muscle after muscle, moving in increments. He unclipped his cane, set the steering lock and hobbled up the stairs and into the building.
As he unlocked the door, House heard Wilson signing off the phone conversation.
''Okay, bye. And thanks.'' A pause. ''Sure, maybe in a few days.'' Another pause. ''Good bye.''
House clattered into the apartment, making a little more noise than usual, dropping his helmet loudly. ''Hi honey, I'm home!'' he called.
''And just in time for dinner too,'' Wilson responded from the couch. ''Chicken Kiev in the oven.''
''Who were you talking to?'' House asked, curiosity getting the best of him.
''...You,'' Wilson said after a pause, forehead wrinkling. ''You're the only one here.''
''On the phone, moron.''
''Oh,'' Wilson turned away and rose to a stand, hurrying to the kitchen. ''Just an old friend. Talking about old times.'' He turned back to eye House carefully. ''Why, how much did you hear?''
''None.'' House raised his eyebrows innocently. ''I just saw you through the window.''
Wilson slumped a little. ''Oh. Okay. Good, then. Sit down, I'll get dinner.''
House frowned and thought as the other man walked away, If there's one thing Wilson needs to learn, it's how to lie better. He shook his head and dropped into the sofa cushions to await his dinner.
Later, when Wilson was in the bathroom, House snagged his phone and pushed the button for the recent calls list. It was empty.
* * *
After that, House made sure to keep an attentive ear tuned for Wilson on the phone, to no avail. The only calls Wilson made or received when House was at home were work or divorce related. No 'old friends', nothing interesting at all.
At last, one late night after coming home near midnight after a marathon diagnostics session and a nearly dead patient, now doing much better, he struck paydirt. As he paused at the front door after climbing the stairs, he heard Wilson's voice, very faintly, in the background.
''Oh yeah, yeah.'' Wilson sounded breathless, like he'd just been exercising. As silently as possible House slipped the key into the knob and very carefully popped the lock. Slowly he opened the door just a crack, straining to hear.
''Hard, yessss,'' Wilson's voice came from what sounded like it must be House's bedroom, so House stepped inside and pushed the door closed, twisting the knob to stop the sound of the bolt. Awkwardly he bent and placed his helmet on the floor, and shrugged out of his jacket.
''Want to touch,'' Wilson whined a little, then a small groan. ''Soon, have to soon.'' House's eyes widened and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. The light dawned. Wilson was in his bedroom, having phone sex on his bed. The very same bed that House had lain in, night after night, wishing Wilson was in it with him, and now he was, only it wasn't with House, it was with ... someone. Whoever was on the other end of the phone.
House pushed himself off the door and slowly, cautiously, silently made his way across the living room and over to the bedroom door, hugging the hallway wall in order to keep from being seen. He peeked around the door jamb as much as he dared, and had to suck in another breath, flattening himself against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.
Wilson was lain out on House's bed, House's pillow hugged to his chest just under his chin. While he listened on the phone he ducked his chin and buried his nose in the pillow case, breathing deeply. His penis was hard and glistening, bobbing with his heartbeat against his lower belly, dripping steadily into the hairs there. His hips writhed and circled, thrusting up into empty air. His right hand clenched spasmodically in the pillow, tightening with each jut of his hips. His left hand was clasped claw-like around the cellular phone, knuckles white, shaking. His feet were planted on the bed, knees up and dropped to the side. House felt a tingle in his belly and lower back, and slightly dizzy as all his blood suddenly rushed to his groin. The erection was so instantaneous he nearly passed out. He risked a second look.
''Oh, thank god,'' Wilson ground out, and immediately let go of the pillow and grabbed his cock with his right hand, stripping it mercilessly, hips thrusting wildly. ''No, right, like him.''
House would have given real money to know what question Wilson was answering.
''Yeah, close, so close,'' Wilson gasped, his hand stuttering, his hips hovering in mid-air. ''God, oh god! Haaaaaa-!'' he cried, come shooting up his belly and splashing over his knuckles. Pulse after pulse, he gave a strangled groan with each one.
House nearly forgot to pull back in time, leaning back against the wall again as Wilson came down, hand slowing, hips lowering to the bed. Wilson's voice came again, low and husky. He sounded wiped out. Or like he'd just had a really good fuck.
''Yeah, same card as last time. Thanks.'' House heard the phone click shut. His eyes widened, he had to get out of the hallway, because he was fairly certain Wilson's next stop would be the bathroom. Carefully he planted the tip of his cane and hurried as best he could with a pulsing, throbbing hard on, out of the hall, across the living room and into the kitchen, sagging against the wall again when he was sure he was out of the line of sight. Sure enough, House heard the sounds of Wilson entering the bathroom and shutting the door. He just hoped Wilson would take his time.
Hurriedly he unbuckled his belt and popped the button to his jeans, ripping down the zipper and pushing them down just far enough to free his aching cock. He licked his palm and went to work, squeezing and pumping as fast as he could, replaying in his mind the sounds Wilson made as he was coming. That was it, he was done for, and record time he was shooting his own come into his cupped and waiting hand. He allowed himself a minute to let his breathing calm, then yanked up his pants and hobbled to the sink to wash off the smell of sex. He did up his pants, then listened carefully; Wilson was still in the bathroom. He stumped back over to the front door, and waited.
Soon enough he heard the door of the bathroom open again. He waited a second, then opened and shut the front door, kicking his helmet against the wall. He called, ''I'm home!'' and walked slowly to the sofa.
''Oh, there you are. I was wondering if you'd be home tonight. There's some dinner in the oven, I'll go get it for you.'' Wilson came into the living room, and if House hadn't definitely known better, he'd swear Wilson had only gone to wash his hands. He looked completely put together, no flush in his cheeks, his hair perfect. On the way by he dropped his phone on the table, then went into the kitchen. Quickly House snatched it up and scrolled the recent calls list. This time he got lucky, a local number was the last called. He copied it down and replaced the phone.
''Swedish Meatballs okay with you?'' Wilson asked from the kitchen.
House groaned. Meatballs. Of course. Good thing he wasn't getting excited again any time soon.
* * *
The quiet of the clinic exam room was welcome after the din of the waiting area. House shut the door with a sigh and stretched out his cane to snag a stool, dropping into it gratefully. He paddled himself over to the patient bed and pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket, his cell from another. Carefully he dialed the number on the paper.
One ring. Two. ''Friends, how can I help you?''
House hesitated only a second. ''Friends? This company is called 'Friends?'''
''Yes, sir, this is Friends. How can I help you?'' The woman's voice on the other end sounded practiced at patience.
''A friend of mine passed on your number, said I should call you.'' House pressed gamely forward. ''He said I would enjoy your services. His name is James Wilson.'' House figured there would be no way Wilson would think to use an alias when calling a phone sex line.
''Of course, sir, I just need some information first. Would you like the same friend as Dr. Wilson had?''
''Yes, I believe I would.'' House smirked to himself. There was a bottom, and he was getting to it. He pulled out his wallet and prepared to dent his Visa card.
Five minutes later he was on hold and waiting for his friend. The door to the exam room opened and Cameron's head poked in.
''Oh good, I'm glad I found you, the PT and PTT tests came back-''
''Not now.'' He waved at the phone in his hand. ''Phone consult.''
''Whoops, sorry,'' Cameron whispered, pulling the door shut. Just before it slid home, she frowned and pushed it open again. ''Wait, you don't even do in-person consults-''
House pushed the door shut with the butt of his cane, taking particular delight in the squawk of indignation when the door hit Cameron's forehead.
''Hello?'' a voice said in his ear. A man's voice. A low voice, slightly gravelly.
''Uh, hi,'' House replied. Hookers he could deal with, but he'd never paid for phone sex before.
''So you're Greg, a friend of the good doctor's. It's nice to meet you.'' It was almost like listening to his own voice on tape.
''I don't know...''
''How this is supposed to work?'' the voice interrupted him. ''Well, first I introduce myself. My name is Adam, but I'll answer to whatever you want. George. Steven. Even James, if you like.''
House didn't answer.
''Okay, so, next you tell me what you want. What would like to talk about?''
''I want to know why Wilson - James - was calling you.''
''Now you know I can't tell you that. Call it client confidentiality.'' House could hear the smirk in Adam's voice. Or Steven's.
''What did he call you when you talked?''
''You know you're still paying by the minute, right?''
House blew a breath out through his nose. ''Yes, I know that, thank you. What did he call you?''
''A last name, never a first. Like Holmes or something. Now let's talk about you, shall we? Tell me, how do you like it, nice and slow or a little rough?''
''In person. I like it in person.'' House disconnected the phone and dropped his head into his hands, breathing deeply. Oh, this had so many possibilities, but first things first. He had to find out where Wilson was.
* * *
Unfortunately House's patient took that moment to start vomiting green paste, so his departure from the hospital was delayed by several hours. It was past nine by the time he finally got close to home. He pulled into a convenience store parking lot and over to the side, out of the glare of the harsh orange lights. He pulled out his phone and entered the series of numbers designed to hide his caller ID, then dialed Wilson's cell phone. It rang instead of going straight to voicemail; a good sign, since it meant he wasn't actually on the phone at the moment.
''Dr. Wilson,'' the man's tinny voice came over the tiny speaker.
House quickly cleared his voice and covered his mouth with the thin cotton of his bandana.
''Hi, it's your friend from Friends calling,'' House said, altering his voice a little higher and hoping that Wilson fell for it.
''Friend from ... oh, Adam, right. You're calling me? I didn't think you guys did that.' Wilson sounded confused and a little suspicious.
House thought quickly. ''I just wanted to check up on you. You sounded a little upset the last time we talked.'' He hoped he was right, but it was a good gamble. Wilson sounded upset most days since he left Julie.
''Yeah, well, you know,'' Wilson sighed. ''It's difficult. My wife was cheating on me, and now I'm living here with ... with him ...''
''With Holmes, you mean.''
''House, yes. With him.''
''But you want him,'' House said, a statement and not a question, mindful to keep his voice higher and altered enough that he hoped he was fooling Wilson.
''I don't- He- I ... do, yes. I want him.'' Wilson sounded like he had his hand over his face, House could hear his fingers rasping on the stubble on his cheeks.
House let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. ''You should tell him then.''
Wilson barked a laugh. ''No, no I shouldn't. You don't understand how he is. He won't appreciate it. He'd probably throw me out.''
House's heart clenched at the sadness in his friend's voice. ''You should tell him,'' he repeated, his voice dropping and softening before he thought about it.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and House panicked and hit disconnect before Wilson could ask any embarrassing questions. A few seconds later his phone rang, with Wilson's caller ID showing on the screen. House let it ring through to voicemail and got back on the bike, speeding toward home as fast as he could.
Within minutes he pulled up to his front door. He parked the bike at a sloppy angle that would block pedestrians in the morning, jumped quickly off as best he could and limped into the apartment house, swinging open the front door so hard it banged on the wall behind. Wilson, who was standing in front of the couch with his phone in his hand, jumped and spun around.
''I was just trying to call you,'' Wilson said, gesturing vaguely with his phone.
House finished unbuckling his helmet and dropped it on the floor by the door. His jacket soon followed. ''I know,'' he said to the floor, not daring to look Wilson in the face just yet. ''I felt it vibrating in my pocket. Figured it was you.''
He took up his cane and limped swiftly to the kitchen, his eyes avoiding Wilson's. ''Anything left for dinner?''
''Baked chicken in the oven.'' Wilson followed him in, fiddling anxiously with his phone. ''So did you ... call me then?''
House grabbed a tea towel and opened the oven, reaching inside for the foil-covered plate and hiding his face behind his shoulder as he eyed Wilson. ''Why would I do that?''
''I don't ... know,'' Wilson trailed off as he reached for an oven mitt to take the plate from House. He turned and placed the plate on the table beside a set of cutlery that was sitting, waiting. ''I just- I feel like you did.''
House dropped into the chair and picked up the fork, taking a bite of chicken to keep from answering. He kept his gaze on the plate.
Wilson sat down adjacent to him, still fiddling with the phone between his spread knees. He slouched back and watched his own fingers and the flipped the phone over and over. Finally he heaved a sigh and brought his eyes up to land on House's face. He waited until House raised his face to see what the silence was about.
House couldn't keep silent any longer. ''Any more calls from your old friends?''
Wilson's vision never wavered. ''One.''
''Really. And...?''
''And he was wondering how I was.''
''So how were you?''
Wilson's lips quirked. ''I said I was fine. We had a lovely conversation in which I asserted that I was indeed fine. Why are you so curious?''
''I'm always curious.'' Another bite. ''And did Adam believe you?''
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, House froze, fork halfway to his mouth. That's what he got for trying to keep a secret while eating Wilson's cooking. His mouth over-ruled his brain. His eyes snapped to Wilson's.
''I don't know,'' Wilson said softly, not breaking the eye contact. ''Did you?'' His eyes were wide and the hands gripping the cell phone were rigid, knuckles white, shaking. Wilson was scared, House realized, terrified.
House's voice was a low growl. ''No, I didn't.'' He consciously made his hand move, reach out and softly rub over Wilson's pale knuckles. Wilson's eyes followed the movement, still open wide. House rescued the phone from Wilson's clenching hands and set it on the table. ''I don't think you're fine.''
Wilson rose abruptly from the table and turned away, striding quickly toward the couch, one hand rubbing the nape of his neck, the other clenched in a fist at his side. He snorted a breath out through his nose. ''Just give me a few minutes and I'll get my stuff packed,'' he said but didn't make a move toward the open suitcase beside the sofa. Instead he hung his head and breathed deeply.
House stood slowly, abandoning the fork with a clatter and limped over to the other man, grasping his biceps and spinning him around. He quickly cut off the gasp of surprise, crushing his lips against Wilson's in a bruising kiss for a moment before it softened to a simple caress of lips. His fingers were claws in Wilson's arms, pulling him closer, but Wilson was frozen, immobile with shock.
Eventually House shifted to move away and chalk the whole thing up to a really bad idea. Whatever Wilson had wanted from him, it wasn't this, obviously. But just as House pulled in a breath, Wilson was back, and this time, he was kissing House just as passionately as House had him. His hands were still clamped around Wilson's biceps so all Wilson could do was cup House's elbows and pull House against him. His tongue slid along the ridge of House's lower lip and with a groan, House opened his mouth and welcomed him in.
House softened his hands and ran them up Wilson's arms and around his shoulders, rubbing and squeezing the bunching muscles he found there as Wilson's hands did the same, sliding up and down House's back and tugging at his shirt as if desperate for the feel of skin against his palms. A low moan in the back of Wilson's throat had House thrusting his hips shallowly, helplessly against the other man.
Wilson pulled back. ''Wait, just a sec,'' he whispered, running his hands back down House's arms and grabbing his hands. He pulled House slightly forward and began walking backward, heading for the hall that lead to the bedroom. A feral grin split his face as he went.
House swallowed and let himself be guided forward, pushing Wilson to go faster. ''C'mon, move!'' he growled as he stumbled.
They paused just inside the door of the bedroom and kissed again, a long, slow joining of lips and twining of tongues while trying to undress without breaking it. Wilson dragged House's shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, then went to work on House's belt while House shook the cuffs from his wrists.
House tried to lean into Wilson while he pulled off Wilson's shirt and nearly lost his balance. With a huff of frustration, House pushed back against Wilson's chest to stand again, but Wilson caught him in a hug and spun him around to back him against the bed, pushing slightly so that House landed on his back on the bed.
Wilson stood for a minute between House's knees, staring at House, eyes blown and dark, panting heavily. He visibly shook himself after a moment and pulled his own shirt quickly off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. His hands moved to his belt and House propped himself up on his elbows, not wanting to miss a thing. Wilson's pants followed his shirt and he paused, suddenly seeming unsure.
''The boxers too,'' House whispered, voice rough as gravel. Wilson looked up and held House's eyes as he pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, revealing a dark thatch of hair and a long, straight, very hard penis. Though he'd seen it before, House thought he might never get enough of it.
''Your turn,'' Wilson said, his own voice sounding strangled and forced.
House quickly reached for the button on his jeans, opening and pushing them down as far as he could reach. Wilson grabbed them and pulled them the rest of the way off, then climbed slowly onto the bed, knees on either side of House's legs. ''The boxers too,'' Wilson repeated, hooking his index fingers under the elastic and pulling slowly, lifting the elastic carefully over House's erection and over his ruined thigh muscle, then using his own feet to push them off of House's.
Silently the two men regarded each other for a minute. House dropped his gaze to Wilson's leaking dick, bobbing in time to his heartbeat, and couldn't help but reach out to touch. He dragged his finger tips up from the base to the tip, circling the head carefully and collecting the fluid there. House returned his gaze to Wilson's face and slowly, deliberately, brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them.
Wilson's eyes slammed shut and he grabbed for his dick, wrapping his hand savagely around the base and squeezing hard, moaning through clenched teeth. House smiled.
'Lay down,' he said and pulled on Wilson's free arm, making him tumble to the side beside him. He rolled up onto his side and trapped Wilson's legs under his own, wrapping his long fingers around Wilson's pulsing cock. He set a punishing pace, jerking Wilson quickly and mercilessly. ''Come on, come for me, Wilson,'' he whispered directly into the other man's ear. ''Let me hear what you sound like, I want to hear you come. In person, no phone.'' He looked down and watched as his hand moved up and down Wilson's penis, squeezing and twisting, rubbing the thumb over the head.
Wilson moaned a stream of syllables that may have been meant to be words, then thrust his hips into the air again and again. House felt his cock throb and squeezed one last time, then watched as the pearlescent liquid spurted out over his fist and landed in the fine hairs of Wilson's belly. ''House!'' Wilson moaned. ''Oh god, House! Yes!''
House slowed his hand and eased his grip, gentling Wilson through his orgasm and coaxing one last shudder from him before gently letting go. He stroked his hand over Wilson's thighs and up his belly, swirling his hand through the cooling come.
''That's what I want to hear,'' he said, shifting so that he was able to reach Wilson's chest with his tongue. He swirled it around a nipple and Wilson gasped, his dick twitching in response. He smiled and resumed licking down Wilson's abdomen, licking up the come as he went. Wilson opened his eyes and moaned again, then raised his hand and placed on the back of House's neck. Gently, he gripped and pulled, making House raise his head, then pushed on House's shoulder so that he was the one lying flat and Wilson was up on his side, but he didn't stop there.
He kept rolling until he was hovering over House's prone body, then lowered his head to kiss House's lips, licking the taste of himself out of House's mouth as he brought a thigh in between House's legs and rubbed gently up and down, dragging the course hairs of his leg up the bottom side of House's sorely neglected erection, then down again and over the soft skin of his testicles. Finally Wilson pulled back and said in a stern voice, ''Don't move.''
House didn't, and Wilson moved down House's body until he was straddling the older man's knees, then leaned down and wrapped his hand around the base of House's cock and his lips around the head. House clenched his eyes shut and willed himself not to come immediately. Instead a harsh gasp erupted from his lungs.
Wilson hummed his approval and went to work, running his lips up and down House's shaft while his fingers squeezed and stroked the base. He pressed his tongue to the little hot spot under the head of House's cock and sucked hard, then went back to running his lips around the ridge of the head and lightly over the shaft. Too soon, House felt the shiver start up his back and he flailed a hand down to smack Wilson's shoulder in warning. Wilson merely speeded up his hand and sucked even harder, using his other hand to press a finger tip lightly into House's perineum. With that, House tipped over the edge and spilled into Wilson's mouth, the orgasm sucked right out of him. His breath left him in a whoosh as he tried to speak, ''Wilsoooooo-'' His vision whited out.
The next thing he knew Wilson was laying beside him again, his fingers carding through the gray hairs on House's chest, tweaking over a nipple. House's mouth worked as he tried to speak through a parched throat.
''I didn't know,'' Wilson whispered, his dark eyes boring directly into House's.
''You weren't supposed to,'' House replied, his voice a rasp.
''Why now?'' Wilson asked, fingers still moving over House's chest.
House thought fast. ''Didn't want you spending any more money on that phone sex line. Friends? What kind of name is that? It sounds like it should be staffed by whiny twenty year olds. Besides, you're going to need that money to buy me stuff. I expect to be kept.''
Wilson snorted. ''The phone line would be cheaper.'' He rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. ''Stay here, I'll get you a drink.'' He walked out of the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen.
Quickly, House grabbed the bedside phone and dialed a number, then listened as Wilson's cell phone rang in the living room.
''Dr. Wilson,'' came his voice in stereo. ''Wait, House? What do you think you're doing?''
House grinned. ''What are you wearing?''
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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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