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  Trust Issues 
 by Medic_girl	

 Wilson turned his back on House, taking a deep breath. "Get out, House!
Now!" Six hours had not softened his anger in the slightest, and if House
didn't leave now, he wasn't sure how long he could keep from saying
something he would regret. "Just go! I can't deal with you right now!"

House didn't move. He deserved everything Wilson was trying not to say,
and then some. The words tasted horrible in his mouth, but he had to say
them anyway. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."

Wilson spun back around to face his friend, his lover, and at the moment
the object of more rage than he had felt in a while. "Not good enough this
time, House!"

Well, that just wasn't fair. Didn't he know how much pride those two words
cost him to say? He sighed. "I really screwed up this time, didn't I?"

Wilson actually turned to face him, most of the anger draining away to be
replaced by pain. "She was my patient, House. She hadn't felt like eating
since she started on chemo, but she said she was hungry. I decided to buy
her lunch." He sat down heavily in his chair. "I know fidelity has never
been my strong suit, but I thought you knew you were different!"

"I know, Jimmy. I'm sorry. I never should have-"

"You dumped your lunch tray on my patient! Because you thought I was
cheating on you! Could you not tell that she was a patient by the fact
that she...oh, I don't know...Had no hair?!"

House knew he shouldn't say it. He knew he was in enough trouble and
should keep his mouth shut. But the filter between his brain and his mouth
chose that moment to go on the fritz. "Well, there was Grace..."

Wilson stood back up so quickly that he knocked the chair over behind him.
His mouth opened, then closed again. His eyes widened, not really
believing House had brought that up now. In the end, all he could do was
point a finger at House and say, "I knew you had trust issues. I knew it
wouldn't be easy, but this...this goes above and beyond! How am I supposed
to be in a relationship with you if you don't trust me?"

House hung his head. "I do trust you."

He looked pitiful, but this time it wasn't enough. Wilson stood firm. This
time House had embarrassed him (which he was used to), hurt him with the
lack of trust (Which he should be used to), and had embarrassed his
patient (Which he would never get used to). So what if he looked pitiful,
looked like he was hurting too? Maybe House should have to suffer some for
this. It hurt that the man he loved didn't trust him, and all other
problems aside, he just wasn't ready to forgive him yet. The suspicious,
angry words that had taken a while to process had cut deep. It was like
that Pam Tillis song: `I've got the bleeding stopped but there's gonna be
a scar.' No, he wasn't ready to forgive just yet. "Yeah, House, I can
really tell how much you trust me. Dumping chili on a lymphoma patient is
the best declaration of devotion I've ever seen." He righted his chair and
sat down, spinning away from his gaze. "It's gonna take more than words
this time." He went back to his paperwork, and pointedly ignored the feel
of House's gaze boring into the top of his head. 

House's voice sounded contrite, and perhaps a little worried. "What's it
going to take, Jimmy? How can I prove it?"

Wilson stood up slowly, getting an idea. It would be perfect! A perfect
plan fell together in his brain. He could prove to House that he deserved
his trust, have some fun, and cause House enough anxiety to satisfy his
petty need for revenge. "You want to know how you can prove it?" he asked,
putting a cold smile on his face. House tried to hide his look of alarm at
the expression and the tone, and nodded solemnly. Wilson took a step
forward and possessively gripped House's bicep. "Tonight you are mine. You
will do as I say, without question, without hesitation. Do you
understand?" 

House stared at him, losing the fight for his poker face. This wasn't like
Wilson at all. Wilson, his Wilson, knew very well just how terrified his
lover was of giving up control. Now he was asking for a whole night of
being subservient. House closed his eyes, realizing that he deserved it,
that whatever Wilson chose to do to him tonight was justified. He nodded.

"Okay," Wilson continued. "What time are you planning to leave?"

"I-I...was ready now. That's why I came to talk to you before I did."

The cold smile still on his face, Wilson began his game. "Leave now. Go
get dinner, go to a bar, whatever, but there are two rules: Be home in
exactly two hours, no earlier, no later, and you are to indulge in no
alcohol whatsoever."

House took in a deep breath. He was expected to do what Wilson was saying,
and not even have a little bit of scotch to take the edge off his nerves?
But a look into Wilson's deep brown eyes showed no mercy, so he nodded.
"So, 8:15 sharp?"

"And not a minute later," Wilson added.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The apartment was dark when House let himself in, dark and silent. His
nerves were already slightly frayed from two hours of wondering over
Wilson's sudden attitude shift, worrying over what was going to happen. If
the object was to punish him for not trusting Wilson, he was sure that the
two-hour wait was part of the plan, just a little more psychological
torture. 

He heard his lover only a split-second before he felt the hands on his
shoulders, sliding his leather jacket off. Wilson's breath tickled his
ear, his voice soft. "One last time. Do you trust me? Say no, and I won't
do this. We'll get past this the way we always do. I'm giving you a chance
to get out of this. I don't want to do anything you can't handle."

House's mind raced in time with his out-of-control heart rate. He was
scared, and with hands on his back, he knew Wilson knew it. But he had
done something very wrong this time, and this might be the time he
wouldn't be forgiven. And the most screwed up fact was this: He trusted
Wilson with his body a lot easier than he trusted him with his heart. He
nodded. "I trust you," he said, and managed to only flinch a little when
he felt the blindfold cover his eyes.

It was amazing how taking away even the dim light from the street lights
filtering through the blinds expanded all his other senses. He could hear
the blood rushing through his ears. He could smell Wilson's cologne, even
ten hours after he had put it on this morning, and he wondered for a brief
moment whether Wilson had applied more in preparation for whatever he had
planned. He could feel his lover's hands before they even touched him, and
he reveled in it for a moment before allowing himself to be carefully led
to the bedroom.

Wilson guided him silently backward until the backs of his legs hit the
bed. He was as compliant as a puppy as Wilson slowly undressed him, then
with gentle pressure on his shoulders, guided him to lie down on the bed.
As he was arranging his leg in a comfortable position, Wilson took his
left wrist in his hand. House froze as he felt the soft cloth of the
restraints Wilson had obviously slipped out of the hospital tighten around
first one wrist, then the other, then his left ankle. He winced, waiting
for the fourth one to cinch against his right ankle, effectively
immobilizing his bad leg, but it didn't happen. Instead, his arms were
moved as Wilson tied the straps to the bed posts, not pulling them tight,
just restricting his movement, leaving him unable to protect himself. Then
his left leg was secured to the footboard, but his right was still
untouched. "Did you forget one?" he asked, trying to make his voice as
steady as possible. Damn, it was hard, though. He knew he was trembling,
and was horribly embarrassed by that. 

He felt the bed shift, and Wilson's voice was very close to his ear. "I
didn't forget. I'm not going to immobilize your leg. I know how much it
hurts you when you can't shift it around. I wouldn't do that to you."

House tried to take comfort in the soft, reassuring tone that Wilson used,
but it was so hard. Giving up control for the night was one thing. This
was another thing altogether. 

Wilson couldn't help but see the effect this was having on House, so he
gently traced House's cheekbone with one hand. "One more time. If you
can't handle this-"

House raised his head and looked in Wilson's general direction. "Look, I
did something horribly wrong today. Something inexcusable, even for me. I
know I treat my patients like crap, but your patients are sacred to you. I
deserve to be punished for that, and you have my permission to do whatever
you feel you need to do to me. Now, get the belt, get the ice, whatever
you need, and get on with it!"

The lack of sarcasm in his voice made Wilson stop dead. Did House really
think he was going to hurt him, cause him actual pain? The thought of what
an ice cube could do to House's thigh made him cringe. He sat up and took
the blindfold off. His eyes searched the clear blue ones in front of him.
"Do you really think I'd do that to you?" House didn't respond, just
stayed locked onto Wilson's eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you, House. Never." He
ran a hand through his captive lover's hair, and the pieces suddenly
clicked into place. "House, is that what you have to believe to be able to
let me do this? Do you have to prepare for pain to be able to let go?" The
older man quickly averted his eyes, and Wilson reached up to untie his
wrists.

"Don't," House said softly, finally meeting Wilson's eyes again. 

Wilson paused before he could release his captive. "House, I'm sorry. I
didn't understand. I can't do this to you." He fumbled for the Velcro
closure, and House pulled his wrist away as best he could.

"You need to," House said.

"I can't ask for more than you can give. This is torture for you, and I
can't do it!" This time, Wilson looked away, ashamed of himself, but he
felt House's eyes boring into him like ice-blue lasers.

He finally managed to meet them again, and House continued. "I hurt you
today. I will probably do it again, because I'm...like that. But if I do
it without any consequences, I will do it again for sure. You want to
punish me, and you should."

"But, I-"

House cut off his protest. "If you don't want to call it that, call it
something else. Call it a test. Call it therapy if you need to."

Wilson smirked. "Therapy?"

"Sure. You're helping me work through my `trust issues'. Or taking
advantage of the doctor-patient relationship. Take your pick."

It felt good to have House joking again. "And you're okay with this?"

His voice was serious again. "Whether you'll say it or not, this is a
test. Of how much I trust you. Of whether or not I'll surrender to you.
And I will." Wilson opened his mouth to deny that it was a test, to say he
didn't want it anymore, anything to convince House that it wasn't
necessary, but he was cut off. "Do you know why I'll do it?" Wilson shook
his head, completely blown away. "Because," House continued, locking his
gaze on Wilson's. "I know you won't hurt me."

Tears prickled in Wilson's eyes at the statement. The total trust behind
the words, the fact that House, his friend before anything else, was on
the bed, tied up at his mercy, and that he was okay with that. "You're
right," he finally said. "I won't."

"Well, then," said House, nodding toward his naked body with his head.
"Get on with it!"

And with that, the spirit of fun was back in the game for Wilson. It was
no longer about punishment or revenge. It was about trust and pleasure and
secret fantasies. And love.

Wilson knelt on the bed, one leg on either side of House's hips, and
kissed him deeply, harshly, so intensely that it let them both gasping for
breath. "Awfully demanding for someone in your position," Wilson said
playfully.

"Just speeding things along," House replied, trying to hide the fact that
the kiss had literally taken his breath away.

Sitting back on his knees, Wilson smirked. "Speeding things along, huh?
What if I intend for this to take a while? What if I want to draw this out
until you're begging for it?"

House was quiet for a moment, and a flash of fear hit Wilson. Had he gone
back across the invisible line? Maybe begging was too much to say.
Finally, he replied, "Then you seem to be off to a good start."

Smiling again, reassured, Wilson trailed his fingers in soft little trails
down the thin chest in front of him, digging trails through the graying
hair, teasing the nipples into tight little points. House let out a
shuddery breath. "Like that?" Wilson asked, his smile turning into a grin
as he retraced the same paths, then scraped his fingernails over the hard,
sensitive nipples. House groaned, and the part of his anatomy that had
been trying to appear inconspicuous during the conversation was starting
to make its appearance. 

"How about this?" Reluctantly taking his fingers from their task of
tormenting the older doctor's chest, he drew light circles on he sides of
his ribs, making him squirm as he hit sensitive spots. Wilson's grin
turned downright evil. "Huh," he said. "Now, why did I never know you were
ticklish?" He dug his fingers in to the sensitive skin over his ribs and
stomach, and House let out an undignified squeal as he tried to writhe
away from the probing fingers. He kept this up for what seemed to House
like an eternity, but in reality was only about thirty seconds. 

As he gasped for breath, he replied, "Uh...because you'd try it?"

"Want to tell me where else, or do I have to figure it out on my own?"

House looked indignant. "Come on! You really think I'd tell you where to
attack? I have some pride."

Wilson licked his lips at the challenge, then abandoned the ribs to skim
his fingers into the hollow of the navel. House writhed again, and Wilson
lowered his head and poked his tongue into the small hole. This time House
twisted violently, trying to escape, but he was trapped. "Last chance,"
said Wilson. "Where else?" House kept silent, and Wilson licked the
sensitive skin over and over as his lover squirmed and whimpered, trying
to hold back his laughter. The bonds held him tight, and he could only
endure the torture.

Finally, Wilson gave him a break, and continued tracing his fingers over
the helpless body. "If you won't tell me," he said menacingly, "I guess
I'll have to find out for myself." His hands moved up House's arms to just
below the restraints, then lowered his fingers to skim the inner forearms
to his elbows to his biceps. No response that could indicate ticklishness,
but there was a definite twitch in his groin. Wilson took special note of
that. Who would have guessed that House's inner arms would be an erogenous
zone?

The response changed as he hit the top of his captive's armpits, from
chill bumps and relaxing to tensing and trying not to pull away. He dug
his fingers in, and a burst of laughter was forced from House's lungs, but
he didn't linger there. Applying slight pressure on his way down, he moved
down the torso to where a trim abdomen met slender hips. "What about
here?" he asked palpating the area around House's pelvic girdle. Definite
reaction there, as House bucked under his touch. "Ooh, good spot," Wilson
muttered, pressing on the spot for a moment before relenting and allowing
his prisoner to regain control of his lungs.

Sliding his hands around the outer edge of the dark hair framing House's
erection, he ghosted his fingers all around the area, stimulating
everywhere but where it seemed to be desperately needed. He teased and
tormented until House was moaning and arching his back under the touch.
Smirking, he watched the reaction as the back on his knuckles carelessly
brushed the straining shaft. He was so close to getting what he wanted.

He kept his eyes focused on House's as he reached into the drawer to
retrieve the lube. They never broke eye contact as Wilson slicked up a
couple of fingers and he slipped them down to prepare House. A gasp broke
from his lips as the brief moment of pain faded into waves of pleasure as
he Wilson worked slowly, stretching and teasing, then adding another
finger. His own untouched erection strained through his jeans, and he had
been so intent on the task at hand (so to speak) that he had forgotten
about it. 

Cursing himself for having his left hand occupied, he fumbled with the
buttons on his jeans with his clumsy right hand. This didn't work. Finally
giving up, he pulled his handout. "Hold that thought," he said, then stood
up quickly and shed his pants and boxers in one swift stroke, shedding his
tight black t-shirt, then as an afterthought he released the restraint
from House's ankle before resuming his position and applying more lube to
his hand. 

House was panting as Wilson's fingers crept back inside, one at a time,
too slowly for his taste. His cock was straining, desperate for attention,
and Wilson's fingers swept closer and closer to his prostate, he was so
close to giving in, to begging for it, when Wilson bent forward and took
him in his mouth. He gave a choked gasp, every nerve ending bordering on
overload.

Wilson moved up and down on the straining shaft with torturously slow, his
tongue working around the sensitive head, his fingers finally brushing
against the sweet spot, making House spasm and cry out. Wilson smiled
innocently. "Something you want to say?"

He couldn't take any more. "Please!"

Wilson just couldn't resist. "Please? Please what? This?" He brushed
against his prostate again, causing the same spasm. Wilson chuckled,
amused and aroused.

Finally able to breathe, somewhat, House clarified. "Please. Fuck me."

Wilson leaned close, all humor gone from his eyes. "No." House opened his
mouth to reply, desperation showing in his eyes, so Wilson went on. "I'm
not going to fuck you. This time, you're here at my mercy, helpless, and
I'm going to do something I'd never be able to do otherwise." Fear was
creeping back into House's eyes, and though Wilson was going for impact,
he didn't want House to be actually afraid. He leaned in and kissed him.
Then he whispered into his ear. "I'm going to make love to you."

House felt his breath flee his body at the words. Ordinarily, he would
tease Wilson endlessly for those words, but they seemed oddly appropriate
this time. Sensing that a response was needed and being unable to find his
voice, he nodded. 

Receiving the ascent, Wilson pulled his fingers out and House whimpered
from the loss. Kissing him again, Wilson lubed his own erection, which at
some point had gone from interested to begging for attention. Satisfied
that he was ready, House was ready, and the world in general was set, he
glided inside. House made an indescribable noise, that Wilson echoed it
with one of his own.

It was slow and gentle and loving and sweet, not rough or combative like
usual. There was no struggle for domination, no fighting. Wilson released
House's wrists, freeing his hands, and he clung to Wilson tightly. There
was kissing and caressing and general tenderness they had never had
before. It didn't take long before they were both laying in a pile, spent
and exhausted.

Wilson was the first to regain the power of speech. "Wow."

House was sprawled bonelessly beside him. "Yeah."

Finally, Wilson found the motivation to get up and clean them up, smiling
at the fact that House simply laying there with his eyes closed, not
asleep, just relaxed as Wilson cleaned his stomach and groin with the soft
cloth. Returning the rag to the bathroom, he curled up on the bed beside
him.

They were silent for a long time, both processing the evening's events. As
usual, House's Lear jet of a mind processed it first. "When Stacy did-"

Wilson cut it off. "You don't have to say it."

He turned on his side and propped his head up on his hand. "Yeah, I do. If
for no other reason, because you need to hear it. You need to understand."

Nodding slowly, Wilson said, "Okay."

House turned back over onto his back so he could say his piece without
having to look Wilson in the eyes. "I trusted Stacy. Trusted her
completely. Not only with my body, but with my...heart. But when it came
time for proof that she could be trusted, she seriously damaged both. I
swore I'd never trust like that again." 

Wilson held his breath, unsure where this was going. Given he had just
tied him to the bed, there was a good chance it wasn't going anywhere
good.

Continuing, House said, "I know how hard the decision had to be for her,
but the fact is that she folded under the pressure. My trust comes with a
very high price tag, and it's not fair to ask someone to carry that
weight. It would crush most people."

"Not me," Wilson put in, his heart pounding.

House ignored that. "I won't ask you what you would have done, because I'm
not sure I want to know, but you have to know what my trust could cost
you. It could hurt. A lot."

Wilson sat up and put his left hand on House's chest, feeling the heart
beating way too fast. "I was there for the aftermath. I saw what she did
to you. I know what your trust cost her, what it could cost me, and I
accept that."

House breathed in deeply. "Even if it could crush you?"

He wasn't avoiding Wilson's eyes now, he actively sought them out and
Wilson didn't avoid them. He accepted the stare as the lie detector it was
and told the truth. "I'd let it crush me before I'd hurt you like that."

Something in House's eyes softened, as if he wanted to believe. He just
needed something more, so Wilson continued. "And even if you don't want to
know, you need to. I wouldn't have done what she did. You may have
survived, but it still killed something important in you. I would have
respected your wishes, even knowing the risks."

House sat up to be level with Wilson. "Really? You're not just saying what
you think I need to hear?"

Wilson shook his head resolutely. "Absolutely not. He looked down, feeling
nauseated just thinking about what he was saying. "I would have let you
die before I would have violated your trust, even though it would have
killed me as sure as it did you."

House searched his eyes again, looking for anything that might betray a
lie. He found nothing. So he flopped back down on the bed. "I guess the
test is over."

Wilson curled up beside him. "It wasn't a test, House."

"Yes it was," House replied. "But it's okay. You passed."  
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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.