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The Manly Art of Home Repair
by Rachael Sabotini
Summary: As days went, this one pretty much sucked as far as House was concerned, and bright light was just an insult on top of that.
For elynross.
It takes a village for me to finish a longer story. Many thanks to sherrold and Michelle Christian for their beta work, and catching many stunning continuity errors. I make no money from this, I mean no harm. All mistakes -- including any remaining continuity errors -- are my own.
The Manly Art of Home Repair
Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows in House's office, making the whole place shine. Briefly, House considered walking over to close the shades, but decided it would be too much work. As days went, this one pretty much sucked as far as he was concerned, and bright light was just an insult on top of that. True, it was low-level suckage, almost mere annoyance; so technically, he supposed it was a better day than most. House felt his lips curl into a tight half-smile as he tried to determine if a day which sucked less than most could truly be called a good day. And why hospitals had to be so god-damned white.
The day had started off with some truly spectacular aggravation. The garbage disposal had died, right in the middle of chopping up leftover breakfast cereal, spraying the splashguard, window, counters and House with minced-up apple core and dead coffee grounds; House knew right then that he should have gone back to bed, or at least stuck with his first instinct to never cook again.
Work had been no better. A kid threw up on him in exam room two, his patient in ICU was getting worse, not better, and Chase had made the coffee this morning as Cameron was out. What had he been thinking when he authorized that, letting her go and get her driver's license renewed? It really made no sense.
So, not only did he have to delete his own spam this morning off of his email, but now he was stuck doing paperwork and getting his files up to date on Cuddy's order.
House paused mid-mental tirade. It wasn't really her order, was it? Not if he struck a bargain with her to trade paperwork for a reprieve on his clinic time. Four hours less per week was a pretty good deal; it's just that right now, he wasn't sure it was worth it. He pushed back his chair and groaned. What he needed was a real distraction.
Well, speak of the devil in a sedate blue tie. Wilson stuck his head in through House's office door. "Hey, I'm headed out for coffee. You want anything?"
House looked at the pile of charts around him, stacks of red, yellow, blue and purple, all of them in urgent need of being brought up to date. "I'll drive," he said, grabbing his cane and swinging out of his chair.
"I was hoping you would say that." Smiling, Wilson held the door for him, falling in beside House as they headed for the elevator and then the physician's parking lot. House blinked in the fall sunlight as they crossed the pavement, and tried to remember where he'd last put his sunglasses. He thought they were in the glove compartment, but they might still be at home, tucked into that weird vase thing on his desk.
"I think I saw them in that weird vase thing you have on your desk." Wilson was looking at him, his eyes bright with laughter.
House just rolled his eyes in response. The fact that Wilson knew him so well was on occasion rather creepy.
Their 'usual' coffee place was only a couple of blocks from the hospital, but Wilson preferred the one that was a few miles beyond that, as he was less likely to run into anyone there. Getting out of the hospital meant House had to drive, and as far as he was concerned, the more time he got to spend in his car, the better. He'd taken to long evening drives after work, the top down, the Who blaring out of the speakers, going a little faster than he should. He'd actually sleep by the time he got home, and House was enjoying that.
Wilson would want the music turned down, but House was willing to butter him up a bit. "Oh, do you think redheaded barista will be working," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Wilson.
"The one that always tells you what a great car you have?"
"Now that I think of it, yes, that's the one."
"I think they took her off drive-through."
The day was pleasant enough, still warm but not hot, the leaves turning a crisp yellow-brown with a few scattered over the roadway. House turned up the music while Wilson sat nearly silent beside him, his head tipped back, his collar unbuttoned so that the long stretch of this throat could be seen.
House could only see him in the rear-view mirror and out of the corner of his eye, but somewhere between the hospital and the car, his energy had apparently faded. His eyes were closed, the wind pushing his hair around with dogged interest as they drove, and Wilson wasn't reacting at all.
It was a very bad sign.
House maneuvered the car into the handicapped slot, reached around Wilson, and pulled a handicapped permit out of the glove compartment. He tossed it on the dashboard, and put the hood up, while Wilson stared at him.
House shrugged. "Better parking."
The place was nice and quiet for a Thursday afternoon; too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the pre-dinner rush. House looked up and quickly scanned the menu, the background music just loud enough to identify John Henry Giles. "I'll have a tall mocha with extra whipped cream. Oh, and one of those," he said, pointing to a lemon poundcake with ridiculous amounts of frosting on it.
Wilson was staring at him, his words directed at the cashier even as he watched House. "Grande vanilla non-fat." He paid and dropped a two-dollar tip in the jar. "You never order a mocha."
"Sometimes you gotta live life on the edge." House jauntily set his cane down as he headed toward the comfy, overstuffed chairs.
Wilson merely looked at him, setting his own drink down on the table next to the chairs. Obviously, Wilson had something on his mind, something that he didn't feel comfortable talking about at the hospital -- which meant it was probably very personal, and quite possibly related to the girl in accounting that House knew he'd been seeing.
Yeah, that really would fit into the theme of the day.
But something about the way Wilson moved reminded House of the case he'd been working on yesterday, possible toxin-induced nerve damage. So he pulled out his iPhoto and brought up the images that he made Chase upload yesterday, just to double check. It had the added bonus of preventing any sort of relationship talk, as House knew that Wilson was a sucker for new tech.
It worked like a charm. "That's not your regular iPod. What is it?" Wilson had sprawled into his chair, his legs spread so wide he could be called dissolute.
It was a really good look on him. House stored the image up for late night examination, along with several other choice Wilson thoughts. Just because they'd agreed not to do things together didn't mean that House had to stop jerking off after all.
Still, it probably was cheating. House tilted his head up and to the right slightly, examining the ceiling rather than looking between Wilson's thighs. "Diagnostic images. Makes it easier to transport around."
"Huh." Wilson leaned forward and tugged at the device; House easily let it go. "Does Cuddy know you have it?" he said, frowning as he looked at the image. "The resolution isn't that great, is it?"
"It's fine for a portable. Why should she care? I don't think I need her signatory approval for this, unless you've found some way of hiding them in your budget...?" House's voice drifted off.
"I usually put them under office supplies, along with the alcohol."
"And the hookers?" House pulled the device out of Wilson's hands.
"Staff lunches." Wilson smiled. "I just never thought you'd spend money on something having to do with your profession."
"IT gave them out last month to see if they could use it for transporting diagnostic images. In general," he said, pressing the wheel to bring the correct image up, "I find the screen too small for most images, other than for a quick check of an area." Hmm. Yes. There was a nodule there. He'd have to look at the original when he got back to the hospital. House turned it off and shoved the device back in his pocket.
Wilson nodded his head at House's pocket. "Why didn't I get one?"
"Did you go to the meeting last week?"
"Good god, no. They didn't even serve coffee. Why did you go?"
"I can't be in the clinic if I'm in a very important IT meeting."
"You are a strange man, House. Why did you want to come with me, anyway? Usually you just wait for me to bring you the coffee, even when you're working on records."
House twirled the cane in front of him. "I need to borrow your car." He pursed his lips, stared at the ceiling a moment, then said, "I need you to borrow the yellow monstrosity for me."
"Julie's SUV? Why?"
"My garbage disposal died last night, and rather than pay someone an exorbitant fee to fix it, I want you to take us to Sears to buy a replacement."
"You want me to go with you to Sears."
House nodded. "Exactly."
"You don't seem like the type to be into home remodeling."
"I thought I would give it a whirl."
"Are you sure you're up to it?"
"Jimmy, I assure you that if I can inject someone with epinephrine, I can use an electric drill."
Wilson pushed himself back and folded his arms across his chest, an arch look on his face. "Drills are tricky things you know. Do you have a level?"
House shrugged. "I'll pick one up."
With a put-upon look, Wilson said, "Why don't I just do it?"
"Good god. All this and a plumber, too."
"Look, I replaced ours last summer when the motor burned out. So I'll come over on Sunday, and we can pick everything up."
House let himself smile slightly and spun his cane. Why, it was almost as if he had planned it. "How's ten sound?"
Wilson raised his coffee cup. "Let's try for early afternoon. It'll give you a chance to catch up on your beauty sleep."
House snorted. "As if you'd notice."
****
The bright yellow behemoth pulled up in front of House's co-op, a monster truck in its own right. Well, not a truck per se, but the same linage at least. Julie used it to haul her aging wirehair pointer to the dog park and back, so it was relatively low to the ground for an SUV and it had a running board. House tried to ignore that he was using doggie stairs to climb inside.
He couldn't ignore the dog hair though; the wiry red fur was everywhere. For a brief instant, Wilson looked like he might say something. He closed his mouth quickly though, and turned to fiddle with the dashboard.
"I assume you'll want the butt warmer."
"Please."
Immediately, House felt a tingle as the leather upholstery under his ass started to warm. "Ah, a true luxury automobile."
Wilson smiled, and House ignored how relaxed he looked. His hair was in total disarray this morning, and he'd pulled on a faded grey T-shirt and pants that had holes in the pockets and knees. Everything was paint-spattered, a deep mauve the color of Wilson's living room, and a lighter cream that might have been the master bath.
Hard to believe that a man in his late thirties still had designated play clothes.
Even worse, though, was the way the material on his shirt had worn thin, so that House could swear he saw a nipple when they were stopped at the light. Plus the short sleeves revealed freckled forearms and toned biceps, parts of Wilson that House hadn't seen deliberately displayed in several years; it was like he wrapped himself up in his lab coat and dress shirt, and Wilson completely disappeared.
It was such a clear violation of their mutual no-provocation policy that House felt justified in looking. Technically, he supposed that the clothes were Wilson's too-comfortable-to-throw-out ones that Julie let him keep, but really, it didn't much matter. What mattered was that they fit insanely well, just like the suits that he wore--
And really, not thinking those thoughts. Not since Julie arrived. Or at least at a reduced level since Julie arrived. Probably.
To distract himself, he sorted through the CDs in the car, but it all seemed to be old 80's pop. "Not quite the classics," he muttered as he popped in an old Madonna CD and 'Like a Virgin' pelted out of the abysmally poor stereo system.
Wilson rolled down the window and laughed.
****
The Sears store they ended up at was close to deserted, a run-down concrete building in a 25-year-old strip mall undergoing renovation. They had to walk past the scaffolding just to get inside.
The Craftsman section was in the basement, and House took them straight from the parking lot to the elevator. Wilson asked a question with a lift of his eyebrow, and House answered with a shrug. "They all have the same layout."
Opening on the paint department, the basement was testosterone heaven, filled with belt sanders, drill presses, and pressure washers. To the left was every manner of lawn care item imaginable -- thank god he owned a condo -- and to the right, the workshop and beyond that, lighting and home repair.
It took him longer than expected to find the kind of garbage disposal he was looking for. First of all, he didn't care what brand it was as long as the damn thing worked, and second, Wilson kept getting distracted by power tools, garden shears, and...screwdrivers.
House was pretty sure Wilson knew what he was doing when he demonstrated the new 'comfort grip.'
Eventually, a garbage disposal was purchased, along with a new radial arm saw, replacement bits, and a new socket set for Wilson to stash in the nowhere-near-empty third car garage. House found himself pressed against Wilson, his back to Wilson's chest, as Wilson tried to stabilize the load on the way out to the car.
"Not too uncomfortable I hope?" Wilson's breath slid down House's spine straight to his cock, and House felt himself harden. Which felt good, but not good enough to outweigh the fact that he couldn't move and the edge of the box was hard enough to bruise.
"Personally, if I'm going to be that close to someone, I prefer that clean sheets and a good mattress are involved, rather than cardboard and bare metal." He placed his hand on the back of the cart and leaned heavily on his cane for a moment, sliding his bad leg sideways a bit, so he felt more stable; Wilson noticed and pulled back, giving him room.
House caught Wilson looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, and House couldn't help glancing down to check him out.
But Wilson had moved to the other side of the cart, and House couldn't see a thing. He tugged the boxes around, stabilizing the mess. "Is this better?"
Well, no, as he couldn't see Wilson's ass, but as far as the cart went -- "That's great." Matching Wilson's pose and setting his hand on the top of the load, he and Wilson slowly made their way out to the car.
****
It wasn't a disaster.
Wilson turned out to be a fair hand with the plumbing, though he refused to let House help him in any fashion other than handing him the desired tool from out of the extremely well organized tool chest.
He lay partially on his side under the sink, one knee raised and his other leg extended, trying to get to a tricky spot. His position gave House an incredible view of Wilson's denim-clad ass. When he found himself staring at it for the third time, following the curve of it down between Wilson's thigh, and then up to the obvious location of Wilson's soft cock, House figured he needed some sort of distraction.
He began to rearrange the tool chest so that everything was wrong: screwdrivers in with the wrenches, washers in with the bolts, and, god, he really tried not to think about the nuts.
"Shit!" Wilson yelled, as a stream of water and finely chopped food decay oozed out from under the sink, darkening Wilson's T-shirt and jeans. "At least it's finally detached," he grumbled.
With a loud scrape, the old garbage disposal slid out from under the sink, and fell out on to the floor; House braced himself on the counter and shoved the contraption to the side with his cane. He could see where the seals had cracked and broken, and now that it was out of the sink, the thing smelled like burned rubber and ageing food.
It wasn't a good smell at all
"Can you shove the new one my way?"
"I'm afraid I am a delicate flower and such manly tasks are beyond me."
Wilson dragged himself out from under the sink and glared at House. "Listen, I offered to do this for you, and the least you can do is help. Now grab the damn thing and shove it in here."
In different circumstances, House would have really enjoyed Wilson saying that. As it was though, he crouched down, one hand on the cane to steady himself, and dragged the box over to where Wilson could get it. Damn, that sucker was heavy.
Wilson snagged it, hauling it close enough that he could fumble it out of the box with House's help. House felt his throat go dry as he watched Wilson's hands running over it, the play of the muscles in his forearms twisting as they maneuvered it under the sink, where Wilson could bolt it into place or whatever it was he needed to do.
Wilson's fingers brushed over House's, sending a jolt through House's spine. No. They said they weren't going to do this. Wilson seemed to have everything under control, so House pulled back and carefully stood, his legs shaky. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea in the first place.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, House let himself look at Wilson's jean-clad legs for a moment, as his heart thudded in his chest. Wilson had great legs, and the jeans were tight in the right areas, loose in others, and there was this spot where --
House jerked his head away and looked out of the kitchen window. There was no need for him to torture himself quite so much, but obviously, parts of him really enjoyed it.
"There!" Wilson's voice drifted out from under the sink. "I'm going to turn the water back on to check for leaks, and if that's good, then I want you to turn the circuit breaker back on so we can do a test run."
"And what if the thing explodes in a shower of sparks, like something Wyle E. Coyote hooked up?"
"Well, then," Wilson said as he pulled himself upright, his back cracking loudly as he stretched, "I'm sure you know a good doctor." He turned the water on, then felt around under the sink. "Seems good. Try the power."
That seemed to work too. House grabbed the remnants of last Thursday's take out and fed it down the sink, glaring at Wilson as if daring him to make the thing work. Wilson flicked the switch and--
Well, it was quieter than the old disposal, that was certain. And the food did disappear. "So, I guess it's fixed."
Pushing his hair to the side with one grimy hand, Wilson grinned at him. "I guess so." He was a mess. Despite his attempt to push his hair out of his eyes, it hung lanky around his face, as if at some point, watery gunk had dripped all over it. Wilson rubbed his hands together and grimaced. "God, I smell."
He did. He really did. "You want to shower?"
"What's the point?" Wilson tugged at his shirt. "This will still smell when I get done."
"I do have a washer and dryer you know. All the modern conveniences. Or I could just lend you a shirt to wear."
Wilson's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "I'm sure Julie would love it if I came home in your clothes."
House swallowed hard, staring at Wilson, who wasn't looking away. This was the thing they didn't talk about, the 'it only happened a few times, only when we were drunk, and we swear we can't remember any details' thing, that seemed to reappear at the most inconvenient times -- like in the middle of the cafeteria, when 'just this once' House noticed Wilson's fine hands and strong wrists as he picked up the salt shaker; like when Wilson was exhausted from a bad day, his tie loosened, head tilted back as he leaned against the door of the washroom, long neck exposed; or when he was covered with sweat and gook from a malfunctioning garbage disposal, and all House wanted was -- he cleared his now-dry throat. "I have a robe you can wear while everything washes."
Wilson didn't look away. "What if I'm not interested in the robe?" He stepped forward, and House got a good whiff of him, reflexively stepping back.
"How about you shower first, and then we discuss clothing options?"
"Optional clothing?" Wilson grinned, his entire face lighting up while his voice sank into a lower register. "I'm liking that thought."
House's cock twitched, voting for a naked Wilson as well. "I thought we weren't doing this?" he said cautiously. "You didn't seem interested when we were at Sears."
"What, when the toolbox nearly fell off the pile and crushed you? I'm not quite that sadistic."
"Huh. I thought you were more the masochist type."
"It's lucky that I found you then, isn't it?"
House paused and cocked his head to the side. "Do you think Chase is a masochist?"
"That would explain why he likes you so much." Wilson stretched lazily, and House could hear a soft 'crack' as everything settled back into place.
House turned for the alcohol cabinet, but Wilson laid a hand on his arm and shook his head 'no'. His eyes were sharp and clear, and House could feel each warm fingertip where it rested on his arms. Mentally, House prepared himself for hearing what Wilson had tried to tell him days ago and he had successfully avoided since.
Dropping his hand, Wilson cleared his throat and looked away. "I've decided I'm too old to require alcohol to loosen my inhibitions. If I just start at uninhibited, we can completely skip that step."
Well, that was new. "But what about my subtle seduction plan? Are you saying that whisky isn't required?"
"I think you're going to get lucky without it." Wilson nodded slowly, and his smile took a wicked turn. "You may want to make sure you have everything else we need. Lube. Condoms. That sort of things."
"In the nightstand by the bed." House cleared his throat. Wilson had never been this direct before, and it was throwing House off his stride. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This." House gestured between the two of them and the bed. "You haven't said one thing about it for the past eight months, so why the hell did you decide that tonight's the night? You and Julie getting a divorce?"
Wilson stared at him blankly. "Yes."
"Oh." House felt like someone had wrapped a giant rubber band around his chest. "Usually I have some warning before these things happen."
"Usually it happens because she finds out I'm cheating on her."
"She didn't find out--"
Wilson shook his head. "She always knew. She just didn't care."
That had been one thing that House had liked about Julie. She had her priorities and stuck by them. Very goal directed. "So why...?"
"The divorce?" Wilson shrugged. "She got a job offer down in Texas, and decided that she wanted her career back more than me and my wandering dick."
"Ouch."
"Yeah." Wilson's stomach growled loudly, interrupting them before things could grow more uncomfortable than they already were.
"I suppose we'll need--" House was going to say, "something to eat", but he knew Wilson would make comments and then there would be no dinner. "-- food, then, unless you like cold cereal for dinner."
"You got Lucky Charms?"
"Sorry, fresh out. I do have Raisin Bran though. Good for your colon."
"I think I'll pass." Wilson's smile made House's stomach twist in an unexpected fashion.
At a loss for words, House gripped his cane more forcefully "I guess I should order the food then. You want Thai?"
"I thought I was very clear about wanting you." Wilson pulled off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor, his shoes, pants, socks and boxers following after.
If he was a man with a good leg, House would have been on his knees with Wilson's cock in his mouth, and rubbing his face into Wilson's sweaty pubic hair. As it was, it took House until the water was running in the shower to be able to move and find the phone.
****
The sound of the dryer was fairly muted -- the CD he had on was more than capable of covering it -- while the Thai food smelled great: spring rolls, garlic chicken, pad thai, and panang curry. Barefoot, House carried the delivery box into the kitchen. He'd be eating the leftovers for the next few days, but it was worth it. A well-fed Wilson was a happy Wilson, and a happy Wilson was interested in getting laid.
Wilson rolled out of the bathroom door, hair spiky with moisture from the shower, black bathrobe wrapped tight around him; House had no idea what had taken so long, but he had his suspicions. Even if he was wrong, the thought of Wilson jerking off in his shower was a good one.
"Smells good," Wilson said, padding out into the kitchen and getting down the paper plates. The robe ended mid-calf, and House could see that the hair there wasn't completely dry, small droplets escaping down his ankles, falling onto his toes. "House?"
House shook his head, pretending that he'd meant for Wilson to catch him looking at his legs. "I've never seen that combination of chicken legs and a robe before."
"You know, if you're snotty, you won't get lucky tonight." He moved easily to the table, picked up a plate, and ladled on the food. The curry spread out over everything, tinting the pad thai and garlic chicken slightly, but nothing could compete with the unnaturally orange sauce for the spring rolls for sheer brilliance.
House stared at the food, then at Wilson. "I'm not really hungry at the moment."
"Too bad. Because I am." Wilson sprawled over the couch, his plate in his hand, and ate. The robe fell open slightly, treating House to a nicely formed leg and a runner's thigh. Damnit, though, the robe didn't fall open far enough to get the best view.
House filled his own plate, taking the chair and the coffee table. He picked at his food for a bit, mentally shrugged, and bolted the curry and rice. Then he tossed his plate in the garbage, bundled the nearly full containers into the refrigerator, and went back to the living room to jerk Wilson's plate out of his hands.
"Hey! I wasn't done yet."
"Yes, you were." He leaned over and ran his hand up Wilson's leg, watching as the robe stirred on his lap. "I think we're both done here."
"Or are we just getting started?" Wilson put a hand around the back of House's neck, pulling him down into a sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kiss. Wicked teeth and tongue nipped, licked and sucked at House's lips, and House gave as good as he got, his dick lengthening in response.
His back twinged, and with regret, House had to pull away. He gently ran his fingers over Wilson's jaw. "Bedroom?"
A wild light danced in Wilson's eyes. "I think so." He rolled carefully off the sofa and House caught a glimpse of dark hair, tight balls, and a nicely reddened shaft. He grabbed House's arm and gently tugged. "I'll show you the way."
****
First though, he really needed to lick Wilson's jaw, and maybe indulge in a couple of deep, hot kisses, where he could taste the curry and peanut sauce in Wilson's mouth. He stroked his hands over Wilson's arms and pressed his hand to the back of Wilson's neck; the hair was still slightly damp, just curling over the edge of the terry cloth. Touching Wilson felt incredible, and he didn't want to stop.
Pulling back with a rueful sigh, Wilson mock-glared at him. "You're never going to get naked if you keep that up."
"Maybe nudity is overrated." House headed for Wilson again, but Wilson batted his hands away. He pulled House's T-shirt up and off over his head, then ran his hands over House's chest, down to his belt and pants, unfastening them. Oh, yeah, House thought. He loved that Wilson knew what he wanted tonight, and House was more than happy to go along with it.
"Lie back." Wilson's voice sounded rough, raising goose-bumps along House's back and arms, sending a jolt of desire straight to his cock. Add to that the fierce, wicked look in Wilson's darkened eyes, the way his hands traced along House's skin, pinching his nipples, stroking his thighs, and House was feeling amazingly receptive to whatever Wilson had in mind.
Though 'lie back' was almost a little too reasonable; ' suck me' would have been a much better choice.
Naked, he lay back on the bed. Before Wilson could join him, House rolled over and opened the nightstand, taking out a condom and the bottle of Millennium lubricant he kept there and tossed them on the bed beside him.
Wilson arched his eyebrow as he looked at the dome headed-bottle. "They aren't implying anything with that, are they?"
"No. I'm sure the fact that it looks like a cock is completely unintentional."
"Say that again."
"What? That it looks like someone's dick?"
Wilson smiled. "I love it when you talk dirty."
"I love it when you dress up like a handyman to get my attention, so I suppose we're even."
"I did not dress up like a handy man. I --" Wilson rolled his eyes and unbelted the robe, letting it drop to the floor, before crawling his way up the bed and onto House. He pressed House back against the bed, his hand splayed over House's chest. "I fixed your sink, that's all. You can keep your handyman fantasies to yourself tonight."
"But you have great hands."
"So do you. Now use them and stroke my dick."
House felt his own cock harden. "You are so demanding." Still, he poured some of the lube into his hand then wrapped it around Wilson's half-hard, reddened cock and gave it an experimental stroke.
"Damn right I am." Wilson's voice should have been stronger, and his head arched back slightly, exposing his neck as he spoke. Oh, this was good, this was very good. House stroked again, a little firmer this time, and Wilson shifted his hips slightly, pressing into House's hand.
"Who's the handyman now, hmmm?"
"Shut up." Wilson picked up the bottle of lube and flicked it open.
"I was hoping for a bit more than a do-it-yourself handjob," House muttered as he stuck his hand out for Wilson to pour some of the lube into it.
"Hmmm. I think I can accommodate that." Bottle in hand, Wilson nudged at House's bad leg, adjusting the position to his liking. With a nod, he eased up onto his knees, spreading his thighs, and then poured the lube into his own hand. House hissed sharply as Wilson moved his hand around, under, and behind him, a look of fierce concentration on his face. He puffed a couple of times, slow and deep, and then House watched as Wilson pressed at least one of his fingers into himself.
Oh, fuck, but that was hot. House stilled as he watched Wilson work himself, the knowledge that Wilson was slicking himself, opening himself, ricocheted around House's mind, heightening his arousal. Blowjobs, sure, they'd done that before, and the occasional messy handjob, but drunken fucking had never really worked out for the two of them.
This time, though, no alcohol. House ran his hand up Wilson's leg. "Sometimes your ideas are sheer genius."
"I know." Wilson took a deep breath. "You might want to put that on," he said, nodding at the condom still lying on the bed in its purple wrapper.
House didn't have to be told twice, though his fingers shook so hard he was afraid he was going to drop it. He tore open the packet and rolled the condom down over his cock and pinched the tip, his heart pounding; even that little bit of sensation was enough to push him close to the edge. At this rate, he wasn't going to last long.
Then again, with Wilson above him, there was never a chance that he was going to last long. His gaze roamed over Wilson's body, taking in his thighs, his chest, and the long line of his neck. He reached up and brushed Wilson's groin right where Wilson's thick cock jutted out of his pubic hair, gliding his fingers up it and stroking the head. "Nice..."
"If you wrap your hand around it, it'll be nicer. Oh, yeah." Wilson's breath caught in his throat as his hand moved back behind his balls. "Just. Like. That." He tossed the bottle of lube at House's stomach. "Make yourself useful."
With a lecherous grin, House poured the liquid into his hands, closed the bottle and tossed it onto the floor, where it fell with a heavy thump. He slicked himself carefully as he watched Wilson, making sure the condom was nice and wet while trying not to stimulate himself too much and end the evening early. As soon as he could, he reached for Wilson's cock and let himself enjoy sliding his hands up and down, fisting it tightly and sliding his hand over the head, listening to the dirty, guttural responses Wilson made.
The angle was awkward, and House kept bumping into Wilson's arm as Wilson stretched himself open, but neither of them gave a damn. Wilson's cock glided through his hand, long and thick and hard, and House craved the sensation, the way Wilson just fit in his hand, the way his cock twitched as House built up a really good rhythm. He missed this when they were in their 'off again' periods; thank god they were apparently on again.
"Okay, ready," Wilson gasped, a drop of sweat finally escaping his hairline to slide down his cheek and lip. Wilson scooted around so he was kneeling over House, his thighs pressing House's together. "Are you?"
"Oh, yeah." Well, House thought he was, but the feel of Wilson sliding down over his sensitive cock, of the warmth and softness enveloping him made him groan. Wilson leaned forward slightly, getting the angle right as he moved up, then down a little further on House's shaft.
"That's...good. Yeah. Right there. Like. That." Wilson shifted and moved, rubbing up and down, pressing himself forward so that his hair fell into his eyes, and his mouth formed a wide, red 'O', his lips slightly swollen from House's kisses. He moved faster, leaning back a little, so that House could see the full long line of him. Naked Wilson was hotter than anything House had seen in years.
House groaned and wrapped a hand around Wilson's cock again. It was good, so good. House gripped Wilson's hip with his free hand, trying to push up with a little more force, a little faster, but it was like patting his head and rubbing his stomach, and he couldn't quite get the rhythm right.
Wilson leaned forward slightly, gripping House's forearms, sweat dripping down his face and chest. "That's fine. Fuck. Yeah." Wilson looked wanton, his face flushed, eyes slightly glazed as he shoved down hard on House's cock, like he couldn't get it deep enough or fast enough. A low keening noise spilled out of his lips, and Jesus--
House let go of Wilson's dick and clutched at the sheets, thrusting himself upward as much as he could, his body shaking as the tension in his balls grew and shuddered its way out of him.
Breathe, he thought. Must keep breathing. He grimaced as his cock protested any more movement, and Wilson immediately slid off of him, making sure that the condom stayed intact.
Kneeling on the bed, Wilson wrapped his own hand around his cock, his breath coming in deep gasps. His hands moved faster, slick little sounds that tickled at House's ears as he watched Wilson jerk himself off, Wilson's eyes squeezing shut as he concentrated, a study in debauchery; all too soon, white droplets of white shimmered on his hand and spilled out onto House's stomach and chest as Wilson's whole body went rigid.
Wilson looked incredible when he came.
He wiped his hand off on the sheets despite House's mock protest, then rolled onto his back, panting just a little, his voice high and light. "Well, I'd say that experiment was a success, wouldn't you?"
House laid his hand on Wilson's stomach and grinned. "We'll need to try it again to make sure." He took off the condom and tossed it in the garbage next to the bed.
"Later." Wilson covered House's hand with his own. "You haven't been crawling around under the sink all day."
Momentarily, House frowned. While it was true that he hadn't helped fix the garbage disposal, he had been a lot more, oh, active today that he normally was. His eyes flicked up to the nightstand and the bottle of Vicodan. Despite Wilson's protest at the movement, he scooted up the bed slightly, picked up the bottle and dry-swallowed one of the pills. He knew that as soon as the adrenaline wore off, his leg would be aching.
By the time he was done, Wilson was asleep.
****
Blinking sleepily, House felt Wilson shift away from him and the chill of the night air trickled over his side. A dim light spilled in from the living room; they must have left the bedroom door open last night.
Wilson was half-dressed, just buttoning up his pants. "I have to go."
"I know." Wilson never spent the night. Actually, House didn't expect him to, at least not while he was still married. From what he had gathered, as long as Wilson was home before dawn, Julie didn't complain too loudly. He was going to miss Julie in some ways.
Wilson pulled on the T-shirt. "It's not that. Julie needs the car tomorrow."
"Ah."
"She...she's picking up boxes from U-Haul." He swallowed hard. "She wants me out of the house by the end of the week."
"I suppose you'll need someplace to stay," House mused, teasing a little.
Wilson looked at him, his wry smile visible in the dim light. "Why do you think I fixed the garbage disposal?"
"I always wanted my own handyman," House said, "but we'll have to share the bed."
Wilson tossed his keys in the air and nodded. "I think I can manage that, as long as you don't hog all the covers."
"I'll get you a quilt."
"Oh, one more thing before I go--" Wilson darted in and gave House a quick kiss that was full of promise. "Lunch, later?"
House nodded and burrowed under the covers as he heard the front door lock behind Wilson. He usually fell right back to sleep, but he couldn't get his mind to stop evaluating all of the possibilities that lay open, from frequent mind-blowing sex to knowing that eventually, Wilson would be cheating on him. He wondered if he could be as calm about it as Julie had been. Plus he really did like to be alone, a lot, and he'd never lived with Wilson for longer than a conference, and would they kill each other if they were together over a longer span of time?
Aw, screw it, House thought as he turned over in the dark. Living with Wilson could not possibly suck, unless it was in the best of all possible ways.
-- 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 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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