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The Ties That Bind
by marginaliana
Warnings: Sex, some BDSM elements, and House being himself.
Notes: Micropsia, aka Alice-in-Wonderland Syndrome, is a condition in which subjects randomly perceive objects around them as being much smaller than they really are. You don't need to know that, but it's kind of cool. Also, Wilson quotes the Girl Scout Promise (not the motto, which is "Be prepared," same as the Boy Scouts). Many thanks to my beta chaotic_vanity.
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Part 1: House
House always trusted his instincts. Many less-secure doctors of his acquaintance did not, denigrating instinct and intuition as self-indulgent whimsy and upholding the great triumph of the scientific method. House believed in the power of science, too, but he also had his great maxim - everybody lies. The universe lied, too. People, situations - they didn't just pop up and give you the information you needed. You had to see that something was missing and then pry it out, sometimes by subtlety, sometimes by force. Instinct, he knew, was just his subconscious noticing something amiss and then nagging him until he did something about it. Yeah, intuition was messy. But life was messy. And he was damn glad of it - otherwise things would be really boring. If there was one thing House couldn't abide, it was being bored.
So when his intuition started telling him something was up with Wilson, he decided to keep a closer eye on his best friend. After all, Wilson was the least boring person he knew, and getting to mess with his head never seemed to get old. One day at lunch, House's vigilance paid off.
"...and that's why the French don't wash." Wilson laughed, throwing his head back, and House allowed himself a moment of admiration for Wilson's lovely neck before forcing himself to focus on the conversation. He loved making Wilson laugh, really laugh - it was a challenge, partly, and it was one of the few things he realistically felt he could do for his friend. Listening and comforting were right out - he just wasn't that kind of person - but laughter he could do.
"If Cuddy calls you into her office for discrimination against the French, I'm going to disclaim all responsibility," said Wilson, still smiling that big dopey grin.
"I suppose she wouldn't go for the fun kind of punishment anyway," mused House. "She'd just give me a lecture and more clinic hours. No good stuff like spanking me over her desk."
And there it was - the thing he'd been noticing subconsciously for weeks. If he hadn't been paying extra close attention, he would have missed it - the faint intake of breath, the widening of those deep brown eyes, the slight shifting in his seat. To confirm, House laid it on a bit thicker.
"Of course, I am the one with the cane. I should be the one doing the spanking."
Whoa, thought House. That's interesting. Something smoldered in Wilson's eyes just as he looked nervously away.
"Yeah," he joked, and only House would have heard the strain in his voice. "Though Cuddy would just tell you that you're compensating for something." He imitated their boss. "A man with a big stick like that? Who do you think you're fooling?"
House snorted. "Naw, she'd be begging me for it." Wilson swallowed. House almost said something right then, watching Wilson's lips tighten, but then the intuition kicked in. Now is not the time, his subconscious said, nor the place. This needs to be private.
Before he could examine the impulse, however, they were interrupted by Chase rushing up.
"We have a patient," he said, and House rolled his eyes.
"This better be good. You interrupted my lunch date."
"Micropsia-"
"Drugs. Come on, give me something interesting."
"Tox screen is clear. Also, somatosensory agnosia and seizures." House cocked his head and sighed, pushing himself up from the chair.
"All right. Sorry, Wilson. Your musing on the size of my penis will have to wait." Chase choked and House whacked him on the back with the cane as Wilson merely shook his head in fond exasperation.
"Ow!" said Chase as House herded him out of the cafeteria.
"Don't be such a baby. I couldn't let you choke to death, could I? How would that look? Me being a doctor and all."
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Fucking with a micropsia patient was always a good time, thought House two days later, but now that they'd figured out which bizarre neurological disease had caused the condition, he was bored. That wasn't good for anyone. Time to see what Wilson's up to.
Wilson wasn't up to much. He'd covered his desk with paperwork and as House peered in from the doorway, he held up two pages in one hand, apparently comparing them. The other hand rubbed at his eyes.
"It's only noon," said House, "and you've already let Mistress Paperwork make you her bitch. What's up with that?"
"I've been her bitch for 36 hours now. Someone in Accounting has been screwing with my numbers," said Wilson wearily. "And if I don't get it straightened out by the budget meeting tomorrow, then we'll be short money for next year."
"Which means fewer bunnies and rainbows for the cue balls, eh? Can't have that." Wilson smiled faintly.
"Something like that. So if you don't mind..." He raised an eyebrow pointedly and held up the papers again.
House reached out and parted them with the top of his cane, bracing himself against the desk with his other hand. "You need a break."
"House. I need to finish this."
"You're too tired to see straight, and if you don't take a break now, you'll miss something. When did you last eat?"
"I... think Nancy brought me something this morning. Coffee. And..." He looked around, eventually uncovering a Styrofoam plate and a donut under a pile of papers.
"That's practically fossilized," snorted House. "Come on. You're going to lie down for a nap - just an hour or so. I'll bring you something worth eating. Give me your wallet."
"I can't..."
House's patience fell away. "Enough," he said forcefully, resting his cane on the desk. "I won't distract you too long because I want that Tivo as much as the bald kids do. But if you start hallucinating I'll have only myself to talk to. So you're going to shut up and take a nap if I have to put you to bed myself." He reached out and grabbed Wilson's tie, pulling upwards.
Wilson's eyes widened and his lips parted as House dragged him to his feet. Hmmmm, thought House, even as he tapped his foot impatiently. Let's add ties underneath the cane on our list of possibilities.
"Fine!" squeaked Wilson after a long moment, and House let go, smirking as Wilson staggered back, almost tripping over his chair.
"Hey," he said, jerking his head towards the door. "No injuring yourself, either. I've got 'the crippled doctor' trademarked." Wilson laughed shakily but obeyed.
As House ogled his friend's ass down the hallway, he paid special attention to his instincts. He's tired, House thought. Weakened. That's the time to strike. I suppose I'd better wait until after the meeting though. Damn, it's going to be a long night.
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Part 2: Wilson
He knew he shouldn't have gone to sleep in his office. It was only that he was so tired, from two and a half days with no sleep and fighting with Accounting and then the dying people, always the dying people. So tired that the thought of driving himself home to his empty apartment was too daunting; so tired that he could only slump back in his chair and try to gather his wits for that final push. And then he'd fallen asleep there, almost sitting up, and his last thought had been that he'd just rest a moment...
When he awoke, he knew almost immediately that something was different. Outside the window was completely dark, and he knew he must have slept for several hours. He stretched, but was brought to a halt by a tug on his arms. Blinking, he looked down and followed the line of one wrist before it disappeared behind his back. His fingers quickly identified the material binding him as a silk tie and his breath quickened. Shit! There was only one person who would have done this to him.
Out of the darker corner of the room came House's voice. "I see you've figured out why you're here."
"House, this isn't funny!" Wilson was irritated, not only because he was still quite tired but also because he couldn't help feeling a faint flickering of arousal.
"Come off it," scoffed House. "I've been watching. I know what you like. That little conversation about spanking was very enlightening."
All the fight left Wilson. Once House got an idea in his head, he never let go. The fact that this one was true was just an added bonus.
"Fine," he said bitterly. "Go ahead. Make whatever stupid jokes you want. Are you going to leave me here? Let this be a fun scene in the morning for one of my assistants to stumble onto? And then you can have a laugh with everyone else about poor, stupid Wilson who can't do anything right, who can't even keep himself from falling in love with his stupid asshole of a best friend. Go on!"
There was a silence as Wilson realized he'd said too much, then House stepped into the light. "That's not what I'd say." His face was unreadable and Wilson cursed himself, looking away. "I'd say, 'Wilson thinks he's a failure, thinks he doesn't deserve happiness. So he punishes himself by fucking up all the good things in his life.'" He hooked another chair with his cane and pulled it forward, settling onto it between Wilson's parted legs. He rested the cane carefully against the edge of the desk and leaned forward, ignoring Wilson's flinch.
"I'd say, 'It's a damn good thing Wilson has a friend who's too stubborn to let himself be driven away.'" House leaned in further, his lips brushing Wilson's ear, and Wilson couldn't quite suppress a shiver. What? House... His cock hardened as his fingers once again brushed against the silk of the tie. This was eerily like his late-night fantasies, and Wilson idly wondered if he might be dreaming.
"There's no way you can fuck this up, Jimmy," said House, "and if anyone's going to do any punishing here, it's going to be me. Got it?" His lips ghosted along Wilson's jaw line and Wilson found his own lips parted, gasping for air as his heart pounded wildly.
"Got it?" repeated House, and Wilson nodded, no longer sure what he was agreeing to but not really caring. He'd fought so long to keep control of himself around House, to have a normal life with a wife and 2.5 kids, to be what everyone wanted him to be. Now House was offering to take that off his shoulders, at least for a little while, and he wanted it. God, how he wanted it.
Wilson tilted his head back, offering House his throat in an unmistakable gesture of submission.
"Good," said House, his voice low and approving. The calloused fingers of one hand slid into Wilson's hair, his lips onto Wilson's neck. Wilson relaxed into the touch, letting out a sigh of pleasure. House's mouth was sure as he tasted, leaving a trail of warm wetness from Wilson's ear down over his Adam's apple to his collarbone, barely visible beneath the fabric of his shirt. Here he bit down, and Wilson arched up as far as he was able, given the tie. Then House's other hand was caressing his chest, teasing a nipple through the shirt, drawing forth a moan of pleasure.
"Please," said Wilson, no longer caring how much ammunition he gave House. "Please."
House tipped Wilson's chin downwards, forcing him to meet House's gaze. House's eyes glittered with something Wilson couldn't name, and it took his breath away.
"Please what, Jimmy?"
"Kiss me." That hadn't been what he'd intended to ask for, but suddenly Wilson wanted that closeness, wanted some tangible evidence of the intimacy. Before he could examine the desire, House was leaning in.
"Since you beg so nicely." Then House's lips were on his, and Wilson drank in the sensation. House tasted uniquely himself, somehow, with a faint undertone of spicy barbeque chips. His tongue slid against Wilson's, forceful and demanding.
Then his hand slid down to cup Wilson through his pants and Wilson bucked in the chair. Slowly House lowered his zipper, lengthening the anticipation until Wilson was squirming with desire. When his hand finally closed on Wilson's cock, all thought fell away. A few strokes and he was coming, biting his lip to keep from shouting House's name.
House held him carefully as he recovered, caressing his hair almost idly. As he came down from the high of orgasm, Wilson felt the puffs of House's breath against his cheek pause, then pull back.
"You're unobservant as well as being something of a masochist." House's voice was gruff and Wilson tensed. "I've felt the same way for years."
Wilson couldn't help himself. The exhaustion of the past 76 hours, plus the incredible hand job, plus the emotional revelations proved too much. He laughed. His laughter was tinged with hysteria, shaking his whole body.
"Well," said House, obviously taken aback. "That wasn't quite the reception I was expecting, I admit." Wilson laughed harder, tears running from his eyes.
"You!" he hooted, the look on House's face making him even more amused. "You declared your love by tying me to a chair!" Slowly House began to grin.
"You have to agree it was somewhat original," he pointed out, which only set Wilson off again. He laughed for what seemed like hours, until the mirth died down into giggles. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against House's shoulder, completely worn out.
"Want to be free?" murmured House. Wilson nodded faintly and sat still as House undid the knots. As his hands came loose, Wilson leaned back, rubbing his wrists where he knew there would later be bruises. House sat back as well, a wary look on his face.
"What now?" he asked, and Wilson realized that despite his own earlier declaration, House still wasn't sure of his welcome.
"You think the cane would get in the way of me fucking you over the desk?" he asked casually, and was gratified to see House swallow in obvious arousal.
"Probably not," said House hoarsely. "But... no lube."
"You didn't plan that far ahead?" Wilson teased. "Weren't you a boy scout? Be prepared..."
"I wanted to be a girl scout - you get more ass that way."
Wilson snorted. "I don't think you exactly live by their motto, either."
"You know the girl scout motto?"
"Uh, 'something something, to serve God and my country, something, help people at all times...' It helps the kids, to have something to do. The nurses help them get some of the medical merit badges."
"You are every mother's wet dream," said House derisively.
"I'm your wet dream," said Wilson, knowing House couldn't deny it. House swallowed.
"True enough. But not for long, if you don't help me out here."
"My, what a gracious offer," Wilson said wryly, but he sank to his knees and unzipped House's pants. House's cock was silky and firm in his mouth and he sucked enthusiastically, enjoying the way House writhed above him.
"Fuck, yeah," said House, and then, "god," and then he appeared to run out of words, coming with a keening sound into Wilson's mouth.
As House caught his breath, Wilson rested his head on House's thigh, feeling exhaustion catch up with him once again.
"Up you go, wonder boy," said House, tugging gently on Wilson's arm.
"You call me that because my blow job was wonderful?"
"No, I call you that because I'm wondering where you learned it."
Wilson grinned but pointedly refused to answer as he zipped his pants and tugged his shirt into a semblance of respectability.
"Well, I'll drag it out of you sometime," said House. "In the meantime, let's go. I told Cuddy you needed the day off."
"Considerate." Wilson raised an eyebrow.
"And I happen to have some laundry that needs doing. Also, you cook."
"Fair enough. Where's that tie, anyway?"
"Here. Want to preserve it for posterity?" House handed it over. It was unbelievably ugly - a shade of purple never before known to man and embellished with bright red birds and flowers.
"Jesus, where did you find this?"
"Salvation Army. Couldn't find anything ugly enough at the usual places." House smirked.
"You wanted something this ugly?"
"Well, I figured I'd get you to come all over it and if you liked it you'd want me to spring for the dry cleaning. This way my wallet is safe."
"Your wallet's about the only thing."
"So should I toss the tie, then?"
"No, save it," said Wilson, an evil idea springing to mind. "I'll wear it next week just for the pleasure of forcing you to spend the day looking at it." He moved toward the door and House followed.
"And wanting to claw my eyes out?"
"Thinking about using it on me again."
House stopped in his tracks. "Wow. I think you're going to have to take me home, Doctor Wilson. I'm having a little trouble handling my cane..."
The 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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