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Anything for Charity (aka The Tux Story)
by Michelle Christian
Wilson's type had always been fairly well-defined. Blonde, leggy, buxom, athletic-to-the-point-of-hyperactive. When he and House had gotten together, he realized that his type was a little more general than that. Actually, he'd thought he'd pretty much thrown his type out the window, except for the leggy part.
Wilson realized tonight that his type had been redefined even more.
***
House limped in with his usual off-handed air of disinterest and cheerful bitterness. Wilson had never quite figured out how he carried off, despite years of friendship. That same air of "You don't bother me with your boring complaints and I won't incinerate you with my Death Glare" surrounded him as he walked across the ballroom like he was crossing the clinic to Exam Room 1, the sanctuary of his portable TV in his pocket. The only difference was that House had never worn a tux to clinic duty, of course.
That was a shame, really. Wilson was quickly calculating how much money he could afford to bribe Cuddy with in order for her to make it mandatory.
He'd often been told he looked good in a tux. He had smiled and accepted it, and assumed it was true, as he'd gotten lucky every time he'd put one on. But he realized no matter how good he might look in a tux, House looked better. He had the kind of body tuxedos were made for. Everything about the suit emphasized his long limbs, and somehow made the limp even appear graceful. Elegant wasn't normally a word he associated with House, but at the moment, it was the only one that fit.
Wilson wanted to unbutton the shirt with his teeth.
"Impressive," Wilson said with a smile, allowing a bit of the heat he was feeling to show. "You even shaved. I'm almost afraid to ask what kind of dirt Cuddy has on you."
"Since it would no doubt be dirt involving you, you should be afraid," House said, with even more smugness than usual.
Before Wilson could respond, Cuddy marched up in her expensive--and quite low-cut--gown. Wilson couldn't help noticing the neckline with the quick down-and-up eye movement perfected through years of guy evolution. He also couldn't help House noticing in a far less subtle manner.
House came to attention like a soldier on the parade grounds. "Reporting for inspection, SUH!" House said, crisply and loudly enough to cause everyone in thirty feet to turn and look. Then do a double-take and stare for a moment, when they realized who he was and how he was dressed.
Cuddy smirked, obviously pleased with the deal they'd made, and carefully examining him from head to foot for anything untoward. "Very nice. I knew you would clean up good, once you'd been dipped and disinfected."
"Thank you so much, Dr. Cuddy," House said with utmost sincerity. "And may I say that you are looking lovely tonight, as well. I'm sure you'll get a high price from the sailors on leave once they get a look at you."
Wilson suddenly found the band quite fascinating.
"Just remember, you're not allowed to leave for two hours. And don't bite the donors." Cuddy continued on to a group of obviously well-to-do do-gooders.
"So, new tux, clean shave, shined shoes. And a smile on your face. Either you've already put the shaving cream all over Cuddy's car or you have something bigger planned for later," Wilson stated.
"Nothing so juvenile, young man." House sounded as if they were in a Noel Coward play. Wilson figured it was the tuxes. "I am looking at three clinic-duty-free weeks. Plus I heard that odds were good for me getting laid if I wore this suit."
Wilson did a slow sweep of House's body with his eyes that he knew House was aware of, despite his apparent attention to the crowds around them. "I'd say that's a very good bet on your part."
It was amazing really: Just when he thought House could not possibly look more smug, he raised the bar again.
They stood by the hors d'oeuvres table for another 15 minutes, mocking the people around them. Take two mature doctors--well, outwardly mature, at least--heads of their respective departments. Put them in formal wear and set them down in the middle of a ballroom, and suddenly they were acting like sullen 16-year-olds at their first semi-formal. About the time the string quartet struck up a rather peppy number he suddenly recognized as "Call Me," he was having flashbacks to his junior prom, which he never wanted to think about ever again.
Fortunately, House seemed to have another plan for the evening.
House's new, polished cane hit him in the shin, and House hooked his head to the side, in the universal signal for, "Come on, let's cut class."
He had hated being 16. He never got laid then.
After a quick glance to find Cuddy--she seemed to have cornered a local banker who, if his line of sight could be relied on, seemed to think Cuddy's breasts were talking to him--Wilson followed House, putting down his empty champagne flute on the buffet table as they passed it. In that casual way that can only be attempted by those looking to sneak away quickly, they made their way across the ballroom to the coat-check.
"Cuddy's going to kill you if we leave early," Wilson pointed out without conviction. That was generally his job: To be the kid who always said they were going to get caught--and go ahead with whatever was going to get them into trouble, anyway.
But rather than head to the cloak room, House made a sharp right and entered a closet.
"Not that I don't appreciate the irony, but isn't this a little cliche?" Wilson asked as he was pulled inside by his collar. The smell of cleaning supplies was strong, and there was a mop handle poking him in the side.
"It's a cliche that's going to get me laid. I find myself not even remotely bothered by it."
House leaned back against the door, and Wilson gladly leaned with him. He figured House was not only enjoying the full-body contact and kissing, but also using him as much as a prop as he was the door. Like that was anything new.
Kissing a clean-shaven House was a novelty. Most mornings-after were spent trying to figure out how to hide the whisker burn as much as the hickeys. He thought House was going to stroke out, he was trying so hard not to laugh, the first time he tried to pass it off as an allergic reaction to new shaving cream. It never occurred to most people that the red markings could be anything else, but he'd noticed Foreman looking at him very oddly the last couple of times he'd come in after spending the night with House.
But this time, there was nothing rough, nothing to mark his own skin except the suction of House's lips, and it was...different. Not soft like a woman, but much smoother than normal. Nice, which was another word he didn't often associate with House.
"This is almost like kissing a different man," Wilson mumbled against House's ear when he was allowed to escape his mouth.
"The spice gone out of our relationship already?" House asked, his hands busy up under Wilson's jacket. "I suppose the seven week itch is about right for you. Something of a record, isn't it?"
"I do normally make it to the two month mark, at least." His own hands were currently busy with the belt of House's pants, and he dropped to his knees as he finally got the buckle undone.
"I love a man who knows his place. If only more people had your attitude," House said, head tilted back against the door, one hand clutching his cane and the other buried in Wilson's hair.
"You wouldn't mind clinic duty so much, I bet," Wilson returned, as he ran his hands up and down House's legs before fully opening his pants.
House's legs shouldn't do that much for him. They were hairy and knobby at the knees and scarred from various injuries--not to mention the last one. But there was something about their length, how even limping, House managed to almost glide through life on them.
Also, he knew what they felt like wrapped around him as House moaned in pleasure, which had to help.
For the moment, though, he concentrated on what was between House's legs, sliding his lips over House's cock, ignoring the bucket at his back and House pulling too hard on his hair and the smell of ammonia. The taste of House, tangy on his tongue as the heavy weight jerked in his mouth, overwhelmed all other stimuli, blocked out all annoyances. He was consumed, instead, with the simple action of suction, of savoring the flavor of House across his tongue and down his throat. From the groans floating down to him, and the increased throbbing of the flesh in his mouth, he could tell he was not the only one enjoying this.
He was so caught up in the sensations, it took him a moment to realize the too-hard-grabbing of his hair was actually House trying to tug him away. Wilson pulled away reluctantly, swirling his tongue against the head as it left his mouth in retaliation and receiving a choked groan as evidence that he'd hit his mark.
"What?" Wilson asked.
"Now that's a pretty picture," House said, somehow managing to sound both gloating and loving at the same time.
Wilson then realized how he looked. Kneeling at House's feet, mouth red and wet from sucking him, hair disarrayed from House's hands, hard in his own pants.
That House liked to look was not a surprise, considering the amount of porn that the man had in his closet. That House liked to look at him was hardly a shock, either, since they'd been having sex over the last few months, and did whatever he could to get Wilson to strip off first most of the time. That did not stop Wilson's dick from getting harder, as he thought of how this was effecting House.
House closed his eyes as if trying to hold firmly to his own control.
"If you're planning to play hard to get, I'd have to say you're a little late to make it convincing," Wilson teased.
"Shut up for a minute," House said through gritted teeth, taking deep lungfuls of air. Finally, he opened his eyes, and his hand, which had never left Wilson's head, was trying to pull him up by it.
"Ow! You know, you could just..." The rest was swallowed by House's mouth, as he turned them with more grace than the space and his own physical limitations should have allowed. "Mmm," was the next sound he heard coming out of his own mouth, not even caring that House could and would use any noises or gestures he made in the heights of passion against him. In the most embarrassing and public way available to him.
House, being a contrary bastard, pulled back just as Wilson was about to get completely lost in the kissing again. Opening his mouth to ask what he was doing, Wilson watched as House unscrewed the head from the new cane Wilson had given him a few days before when it had become clear House wasn't escaping the hospital fundraiser this time around.
There had been no fanfare as Wilson handed over the cane. "To help you through the night," he said.
"Gee, I've always wanted one of these," House said, looking back and forth between the two canes in his hand.
The new one was simple, with a large, bulbous mahogany head with silver chasing. Wilson watched as he hefted it, obviously feeling the strange balance of it as he worked through the meaning of the gift. "Should I expect snakes to come shooting out the end?" House asked mildly suspicious, but not at all alarmed.
"I wouldn't expect so," Wilson said, amused. "You're the genius, I'm sure you'll figure it out," Wilson said as he turned to leave the office. "But be careful not too take too many Vicodin when you use it," he'd tossed over his shoulder before disappearing out the door, leaving a vaguely bemused House behind him.
Now he watched as House removed a small syringe with a hollow plastic tip from the hidden compartment. Setting aside the cane, House held up the syringe and looked positively demonic as he said, "Turn around."
"Um," was the most brilliant thing Wilson could think to say as he looked at him, incredibly turned on and feeling the urge to run at the same time. He knew he could get away, since he, at least, still had his clothes completely on and fastened. But did he want to?
House squirted some of the liquid out of the syringe and on to his right hand, coating his fingers.
Wilson stared at him, incredulous. "You put lube in it?!"
"What else was I supposed to put in there?"
"Bourbon. Your pills, even. Not Astroglide!" Wilson wasn't sure why he sounded so outraged. Maybe because House was obviously enjoying it.
"Well, I don't think the bourbon would help with anal sex. At least not as much as I could keep in this," he said reasonably. "Besides, it's not Astroglide. One of the perks of working in a hospital is that you are never shy of lubricant. And why should I pay for the fancy brand gay stuff when I can pick it up by the bucketful for free. Now turn around and drop your pants."
"Consider me swept off my feet," Wilson said. "Nothing says romance like bargain hunting for lube." Still, he turned around and dropped his pants. Not like he wasn't going to take House up on this, anyway.
He felt the usual one finger, then two, sliding in and out. This had been a surprise, how much he had come to enjoy this sensation. Maybe that was one of the pluses of sleeping with not only another man, but another doctor: he knew where all the nerve clusters were, and all the other sensitive places that would lead to specific physiological responses.
Unfortunately, House was also perverse enough to avoid those very places just to make him crazy.
"House...for fuck's sake," Wilson gasped out, trying to get House to move along with the program. Despite everything, he really wasn't sixteen anymore. Which meant that he rarely embarrassed himself during sex, but it also meant he didn't have the energy he once did, unfortunately.
House panted into his neck, chuckling evilly. "You're tighter than any of those socialites and tycoons out there, aren't you?" he muttered, then bit his neck, making Wilson groan in pleasure and continued frustration.
"If you don't fuck me soon, I'm going back out there and find someone who will," Wilson warned him, trying to rub back against the fingers and rub against the door simultaneously.
"Cuddy could probably get quite the tidy sum for you," he returned, finally reaching down and sticking the syringe up inside Wilson's ass, squirting lube right up him.
"Gah!" Aside from it being cold, it was an extremely odd feeling, to be sure. House put a hand over his mouth.
"Keep it down! I'm pretty sure this supply closet isn't soundproofed. Unless you really do want to advertise your talents."
Wilson simply panted, trying to remind himself why it was a good idea to keep quiet, and why it was a bad idea to kill House before he was finished.
House had apparently finally reached his own limits, because the next moment, he was shoving his erection slowly inside Wilson, his hand still over his mouth.
"God," House said. Wilson moaned in agreement. "Cuddy better not ever suggest renting you out; I'd have to clean out my account to keep you all to myself."
Somehow, being compared to a whore was almost romantic in this strange world he inhabited with House.
Thought was soon pounded out of Wilson's mind, as the thrusting began in earnest. He no longer worried about Cuddy or the hospital or the hundred people milling around just outside the door he was plastered, half-naked, against. He didn't care about the noise they were making, either their groans or the thumping against that same solid, wood door. All that occupied his mind and his senses was the movement of House inside him, the sound and heat and wet of House's mouth breathing against his neck, the hand on his dick and the other on his mouth, the arm wrapped around his body that felt less like a restraint to silence him and more like an embrace. All that mattered was that no matter how lost in his desire House was, he could still find those nerve clusters. Only now, he wasn't teasing--he was going after each of them.
Wilson wasn't 16 anymore, but he could still, apparently, come in a short amount of time when given the right motivation.
He leaned limply against the door. He was happy in his afterglow for several minutes, but the wood he was being rubbed against no longer brought him pleasure, mearly chafed; the hand on his over-sensitized dick he had to move to his hip; the warm, wet breath on his neck was starting to feel clammy; and as much as he liked House and what they did, he kind of hoped he was almost done, because he really wanted to find a cloth to wipe himself off.
Fortunately, House's timing was near-perfect, as always.
He let House rest against his back for a minute, not wanting to disturb his friend in his own post-oragasm relaxation, but eventually had to nudge him to move.
"You are no featherweight. Get off," he said, elbowing his friend in the ribs. Gently, of course.
"Already did." The smug really never went away. Of course, now he really had reason to be smug, which kind of fed Wilson's own smugness, so they were even.
As they were cleaning up with rags they'd found on one of the shelves, House commented, "We should really do this more often. There's nothing like sex when there's a possibility of getting caught. Cuddy's out there schmoozing and wondering where we got to, getting pissed. What could be better? Plus supplies completely readily to hand."
Wilson looked at him for a moment. "First, I think sex is fine without the possibility of being caught."
"If you're used to just 'fine' sex, I think you've been doing it wrong. I'm happy to correct your education."
"Second," Wilson continued, ignoring him, "Cuddy's still going to be pissed once we leave, and nothing says she won't try to renege on your deal if she thinks you skipped out. Which you did."
"Yes, but then Cuddy would have to acknowledge she saw us duck in here, and has been standing outside the door for the last twenty minutes listening," House said in a louder voice.
There was a suspicious thump from the other side of the door. Wilson stared at it, horror overcoming the rest of his post-coital relaxation. "I'm never leaving this closet again. Send food and see if I can get cable in here."
House had the devil in his eyes as he answered. "Oh, come on, board meetings will be tons more fun now, don't you think?"
"I think you're an insane pervert I should never have let near me!" Wilson shouted, not caring if Cuddy was still out there or not.
House's grin widened to Cheshire Cat proportions, as he opened the door.
--30--
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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 Fox Television, 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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