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  Something Else 
 by Jaryn  

 Part 1

House threw his oversized tennis ball against the wall, where it hit with
a dull thump before flying back to where he was sitting and into his hand.
Considering all the noise he so often made, like now, it was probably a
good thing no one had an office next to his. Then again, House
reconsidered, maybe it was a pity that Wilson's office wasn't directly
next to his.

Swapping hands, he thew the ball harder this time, just to hear the sound
reverberate around the room. 

A few days weren't long enough for his anger over what Wilson had done to
dissipate completely. It certainly wasn't long enough for him to forgive
Wilson yet. It was, however, long enough for the silence between them to
start feeling oppressive. They'd been friends for too long to let
something like this really get between them. Of course, it helped that
House wasn't entirely guilt-free himself, considering he'd stolen the
script from Wilson's office not that long ago. 

The next time House threw the ball, he missed it on the rebound and it
sailed past him to bounce off the door to the conference room. A sudden
burst of frustration had him grabbing his cane before walking out onto the
balcony and hopping over the barricade. 

At Wilson's office door, House froze in place before he moved to open it.
Wilson wasn't alone, but that wasn't the reason House had stopped. It was
because Wilson was laughing. House couldn't even remember the last time
he'd heard Wilson laugh like that. 

Stepping up closer to the door, House angled his head so he could see the
person sitting across from Wilson. It was a woman; of course it was a
woman. Both she and Wilson were so caught up in each other that they
didn't notice House was there. That, he decided, obviously had to be
rectified. 

Throwing the door open, House stifled a smirk at the shocked faces that
turned his way. "Not interrupting am I?" 

Wilson frowned at him, "I'm busy." 

"Is she dying?" House looked at the woman critically. She didn't even look
sick. "Are you dying?"

"House! This is Dr. Leia Stone. She's one of the oncology interns." 

Leia smiled, "And you're Dr. Gregory House, I presume." 

"That's just my stage name," House said blandly. 

Leia's eyes slid questioningly over to Wilson, obviously uncertain how to
take House's attitude. Wilson just rolled his eyes, "Did you want
something?" 

"Me?" House raised his eyebrows. "Why would I want anything?" House didn't
wait for an answer; instead he shifted his weight and stared hard at Leia.
"Pick her yourself did you?" 

"Excuse me?" Leia said.

House smiled heartlessly, "Wilson likes the dark ones. I've tried to tell
him that it's horribly racist to choose his staff by the colour of their
skin, but he never listens to me." 

"House, for God's sake!" Wilson snapped. "Either give me a good reason for
being here or get out." 

"I think I'll be going actually," Leia said icily, getting to her feet.
She gave House a spiteful look before smiling stiffly at Wilson and
letting herself out. 

Wilson waited until the door was closed before looking back at House.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Aw, you said a bad word. That must mean you're angry."

Wilson held House's stare for a silent moment, clenching the muscles in
his jaw. "Is this your way of trying to get revenge?" 

"Oh come on, I was doing you a favour. Do you know what would happen to
your reputation if everyone found out you were screwing one of your
interns? First a patient, now an intern, you're really trying to cover all
the bases aren't you?" 

"I am not-" Wilson started to say, before cutting himself off abruptly. 

House smirked, knowing full well that Wilson had at least been thinking of
sleeping with Leia if he hadn't already. The man couldn't help himself.
"Why don't you do what I do and hire a hooker? Save you a lot of trouble.
Or maybe you just like playing with fire, is that it? More exciting if
there's something at stake." 

"Shut up," Wilson said. "Just shut up and leave me alone." 

"Why don't you make me, Casanova?" House fired back. 

Wilson blinked, "What makes you think you have the right to make
judgements?" 

"Oh, because you never judge me?" House asked bitingly. "That's a good
one. Hey, I'm an out of control drug addict who believes he's God, right?
Everyone knows that. But you..." House stabbed a finger in Wilson's
direction, "you are just as out of control as I am. Maybe even more so."

"You're right, I am out of control," Wilson said, surprising House, and
threw his hands up in the air before letting them fall flat onto his desk.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

House squinted at Wilson, puzzling over the mix of sarcasm, honesty and
defeat in Wilson's voice. "You're always sorry."

"What more do you want me to do?"

House tilted his head and smiled, "Well...everything I tell you to do
would be nice." 

"Fine, anything you tell me," Wilson said, holding his hands out in a
classical pose of surrender. 

House eyed Wilson for a long moment. "All right, how's this, don't have
sex with your intern," he finally said, not actually believing Wilson
would comply and not having clue why he was choosing this of all things to
demand in the first place. "Don't even flirt with her." 

"Okay...fine," Wilson said, looking back at House steadily. 

House snorted his disbelief and took a step back towards the door. They
stared at each for another silent minute before House tore his gaze away
and turned around, yanking the balcony door open. "I will be greatly
amused, the day someone finds out you have more issues than I do," House
said and left the room without looking back. 



House might have dismissed the whole conversation with Wilson out of his
mind, but there was something about what Wilson had said and the way he
had said it that made him keep going back to it. 

Even though he was sure now that Wilson hadn't been serious, House found
himself watching his friend closely during the next few days. He watched
particularly closely if Dr. Leia Stone was anywhere around. However, House
only saw Wilson and Leia together twice; once in the clinic and again in
front of Wilson's office. Both times Wilson appeared to be behaving
completely professionally. In fact, judging by her closed off expression
and body language, House got the feeling that Leia wasn't too impressed
with Wilson anymore. 

Despite that, House refused to believe Wilson was actually following
through with his promise. Not without further proof anyway. On Monday
afternoon, House tracked Leia down in the Oncology wing and cornered her
in a patient room. 

Leia seemed to sense him walk in and turned around, her expression
hardening when she saw who it was. "Can I help you?" 

House smiled lazily, shutting the door at his back. The patient, an
elderly man, appeared to be unconscious; though House wouldn't have cared
if he was awake and listening in anyway. "Maybe you can. It seems that we
have a mutual friend." 

Leia frowned and replaced the patient's chart at the end of the bed before
turning to face House. "Are you talking about Dr. Wilson? Because I can
assure you," Leia said coldly, "he and I are not friends." 

"Aw," House made a pitying face, "you two broke up?"

"You two are quite suited to each other though, aren't you?" Leia said,
ignoring his response and walking towards the door. "I have other patients
to see, if you don't mind." 

"I do mind, actually," House said, not budging an inch. "You haven't told
me the whole story yet." 

Leia glared at him, "I don't see what business it is of yours." 

"Come on, tell me what the big bad head of oncology did to you." 

"He didn't do anything to me. But he has made it abundantly clear that
we're no more than colleagues," Leia said, her expression suspicious. It
was obvious that she'd guessed Wilson's sudden cold shoulder had something
to do with him. 

House pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling before shrugging, "What
can I say? I keep him on a tight leash." House met Leia's eyes, amused at
her stunned expression, before he turned and walked out. 



The next day, House barged into Wilson's office via the more usual route
this time. Wilson looked up at him with a small frown, but didn't seem
surprised to see him. 

"You actually did it. You obeyed me," House said triumphantly, moving to
stand in front of Wilson's desk. 

Wilson screwed up his face and looked back down at his desk, "Do you have
to make it sound so...subservient?"

"Isn't that what you offered me? Subservience?" House asked, bracing a
hand on Wilson's desk and leaning forward. "You said you'd do anything I
tell you to." 

Wilson's eyes met House's before skittering away, "That wasn't an
indefinite offer."

"Why did you offer in the first place?" House asked. "Guilt?" 

"I only told Cuddy-."

"Oh, I know," House cut in harshly. "You only manipulated everyone because
you were worried about me." 

Wilson rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, "I said I was sorry." 

"You're going to have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you."

"What?" Wilson dropped his hand and looked up again, his expression
incredulous. "Like what?" 

House smiled and straightened up, "Like doing what I tell you to." 

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I am?" House asked. Wilson's expression, he noted, wasn't
as indignant as he thought it should have been. "Be my servant for...hmm,
let's say a week and I'll let you off the hook." 

"Your servant," Wilson repeated.

"Don't look so scandalised. You can come over and do my dishes, cook me
dinner, that kind of thing." 

Wilson blinked a few times and sat back. "That's it, you just want me to
cook you dinner and do your dishes?" 

"For a week," House nodded. For a minute, Wilson looked like he was going
to say no, or to argue, but then something changed. It was subtle, but
House definitely saw it. The hardness, the defiance, went out of Wilson's
eyes and his posture relaxed. 

"If that's what it takes," Wilson sighed. "Not like I haven't done it
before." 

"Exactly," House said and smirked. "You're already well trained." Wilson's
expression changed quickly back to irritation, but House didn't give him
time to say anything. "This starts tonight. I expect there to be dinner
waiting for me when I get home. Use your key."



There was a smile on his face when House walked into his apartment later
that night. Whatever Wilson was cooking, it smelt damn good. For a change.


"Hey Jeeves, I'm home," House called out as he walked over to the closet
to hang up his jacket. 

"Very funny," Wilson said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "It'll be
ready in five."

"Good," House said, walking over to the couch. "I'll have it in here. I'd
like a beer too." 

A strange expression crossed over Wilson's face, but he only shook his
head and moved to open the fridge. House's lips quirked up as he sat down
and reached for the TV remote. Wilson walked over a moment later and held
out a bottle of beer, which he'd already opened. 

"Thanks," House said graciously and took the beer before turning his
attention back to the TV, randomly flicking through channels. Wilson's
eyes remained on House for a moment longer, no doubt surprised that he'd
actually been thanked. Wilson didn't say anything though, before finally
turning and going back into the kitchen. 

Give minutes later, Wilson came back with a bowl of stir-fry and noodles.
House thanked him again as he took the bowl, enjoying the perplexed
expression Wilson gave him before he went to get his own bowl. Sitting
together on the couch, they ate and watched an episode of Family Guy in
silence. 

Wilson finished eating before House, but he didn't get up straight away.
House noticed Wilson glancing at him every now and then, but a few minutes
passed before Wilson finally spoke. "You're using your cane again. How bad
is the pain?" 

House glanced over at him, finishing his mouthful of food. He then looked
down at his right thigh. "Not as bad as it was." 

"I still have the Vicodin." 

"On you?" House frowned, not liking the guilt he suddenly felt at Wilson's
words. Why should he feel guilty about stealing the script, after what
Wilson had done to him? Then again, they'd both been operating under
entirely different motivations. 

To House's surprise, Wilson reached into his pants pocket and produced the
bottle. House put his bowl down on his lap, "You've been carrying it
around?" 

Wilson made a face but didn't deny it, "I don't want you to be in pain. It
was never about...that."

House took the bottle and looked at it a moment before setting it on the
coffee table. "You're a strange man, Jimmy." 

"Likewise," Wilson said and got to his feet, holding out a hand. "Are you
finished?" 

Looking down at his bowl, House realised that he was and handed it over.
Wilson took both their bowls into the kitchen and a moment later, the
sounds of him doing the dishes could be heard. House sank back on the
couch and tried to relax. His eyes kept getting caught on the Vicodin
bottle though, almost as if it was mocking him. 

Annoyed, House grabbed the bottle and got to his feet before walking down
the hallway towards the bathroom. Opening the bathroom cabinet, House
shoved the bottle in and quickly closed it again. His reflection stared
back at him in the mirror, conflicted. Turning away, House went back to
the living room. He shut the TV off and sat down at his piano, playing
anything that came to mind without any real thought. 

A few minutes later, Wilson walked out from the kitchen, unrolling his
shirt sleeves. "May I go now?" 

House stopped playing and pretended to think about it. "Yeah, all right." 

Wilson just shook his head and moved to collect his coat. "Goodnight
House," he said on his way out, closing the door gently behind him.



Cuddy walked purposefully into House's office on Tuesday morning, though
she slowed down when she saw what House was eating. "Pancakes? Are those
the same speciality of Wilson's that you were raving about a while ago?"

"The very same," House replied, stabbing another piece up with his fork.

"Does this mean you're being friendly with each other again or did you
just steal them from him?" 

House swallowed his mouthful of pancake, raising an eyebrow in response to
the faint hopeful lilt to Cuddy's voice. "Why, feeling guilty that you
gave the game away?" 

Cuddy rolled her eyes. A moment later her expression shifted to concern
however. "Are you two...okay?"

"Wilson's making it up to me," House said.

"By making you pancakes?"

House smiled, "Among other things."

Cuddy frowned for a moment, "Well...good," she said. "If you're in such
high spirits you won't mind actually doing your clinic duty then." 

"Hey, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves here." 

"Play time is over," Cuddy said, giving him a stern look before turning on
her heels and leaving again. 

"Play time is never over," House muttered to himself and went back to his
pancakes. 



Wilson made spaghetti bolognaise for dinner later that night, serving
House like he was born to do it. "I think you missed your calling," House
said, reclining back on the couch and forking up some of the pasta. "You'd
have made a great manservant." 

"I'll keep that in mind if the doctor thing doesn't work out," Wilson
said, sitting down next to him. 

House smirked, "I would even say you actually like cooking for me." 

"Cooking for two is easier than cooking for one," Wilson shrugged. 

"Hmm. Good that you say that, because I think you should move in here for
the rest of the week," House said smoothly. "That way you can make me
breakfast too." 

Wilson looked over at him, "You're really going to try and milk this for
all it's worth, aren't you?" 

"Of course," House said, noting Wilson hadn't even tried to argue. "I need
another beer," he added, holding out his empty. 

Wilson eyed him for a moment but he took the empty bottle and went into
the kitchen to retrieve another one without saying anything. 



House might have started to feel like he was taking things a little too
far after a few days, but Wilson honestly didn't seem to mind anything
House asked him to do. In fact, Wilson started doing things without even
being asked, as if he'd been itching for the chance to iron House's shirts
and change the sheets on his bed. 

Living together went a lot more smoothly this time around, since there
were no arguments about dishes or stolen food. It was domestic bliss, in
House's opinion. 

On Friday night, House was in a particularly good mood since he'd just
solved his most recent case earlier - and saved another life,
consequently. He sat watching a rerun of The OC while Wilson was in the
kitchen, cooking. 

"It's ready," Wilson announced, walking into the room. 

House looked over at him and frowned to see that Wilson didn't have
anything in his hands. "And...I'm waiting."

"I thought we could...eat at the table for a change." 

"Oh you did, did you?" House raised an eyebrow. 

"Please?"

"Well, if you insist," House said, though it was more curiosity that made
him switch off the TV and follow Wilson into the kitchen. When he saw that
Wilson had gone all out in setting the table, House stopped in surprise
and frowned a little. Wilson had used the nicest plates and cutlery House
owned, as well as setting out serviettes, a bottle of wine and various
dishes of food. "Special occasion?"

"No," Wilson replied, turning to face him beside one of the chairs. He
pulled the chair back and gestured at it. 

For a moment House just looked at Wilson inquisitively. When Wilson didn't
say or do anything else he limped over to the chair and sat down as Wilson
pushed it in for him. House watched in bemusement when Wilson flicked out
one of the serviettes before placing it over his lap. Picking up the
bottle of wine, Wilson poured some into House's glass before his own. 

"You're either a lot guiltier than I thought, or something else is going
on here," House finally said.

Wilson only shrugged and moved to sit next to House, so they were at right
angles to each other. "Just playing my part." 

"Are you sure you're just playing?" House asked, picking up his glass of
wine. 

Wilson looked at him and his eyes communicated something that House
couldn't put a name to. "There is something to be said for...taking care
of someone." 

House sipped at his wine, thinking for a moment. "You weren't supposed to
like this you know." 

Wilson began to serve out the food and didn't reply to that. Picking up
his knife and fork, House turned to the very important task of eating,
though his mind was still puzzling over Wilson's behaviour. Wilson's
unusual acceptance of being his would-be servant was a puzzle, and if
there was anything House loved, it was being given something for his mind
to chew over.

While eating the very fine steak Wilson had cooked, House tossed ideas
around, not settling on one or another. Halfway through the meal though,
House had a eureka moment when he suddenly remembered Wilson's words from
Monday. 

"You're right, I am out of control." 

Swallowing his mouthful of steak, House picked up his glass of wine to
wash it down with and looked over at Wilson. Wilson seemed to be aware of
his regard but didn't look up from his plate. It occurred to House that
Wilson wasn't getting warm fuzzies by doing his laundry for him. This went
much deeper than anything like that. This was about control. 

House swirled the wine in his glass and looked down at it. Did Wilson get
a sense of control by giving up control? It seemed contradictive, but
still made some kind of sense. The easy acceptance of being a servant,
House thought, was probably linked to Wilson's need to be needed. That was
what House liked about Wilson. He didn't just have issues; he had issues
within issues within issues. 

"I think," House began slowly, "if you're actually enjoying this stint as
my manservant, I need to be a little tougher." 

Wilson looked up, his expression suspicious. "There's only two more days
left that I agreed to do this for."

"Exactly," House said. "And I think you should spend those two days
actually doing something uncomfortable." House put one arm on the table
and leant in towards Wilson, "Instead of my manservant, you should be my
slave." 

Wilson drew back and stared at him. "Do you really think I'm that
desperate to get back into your good graces?" 

House smiled, "You say that like being my slave would be a horrible
thing." 

"What, exactly, would you even get from a slave that you wouldn't get from
a manservant anyway?" 

"Oh, many things," House replied ambiguously and sat back. "Less arguing
for one. Slaves aren't allowed to argue or complain." 

Wilson dropped his eyes back to his plate, ostensibly concentrating on
cutting up his last bit of steak, but House knew better. He knew that
Wilson was thinking it over. "You're actually serious about this?" 

"Of course I am."

Moving his fork towards his mouth, Wilson paused and looked over at House.
"Fine, whatever. Slave or servant, either way I'm sure I'll still be
polishing your shoes."

House smiled, "Don't worry, I wear Nike's, you don't actually need to
polish them." 



It was overcast and drizzling outside the next morning, but House cheerier
than he had in a long while when he woke up. He yawned and stretched
before sitting up and was about to get out of bed when he had a better
idea.

"Hey, slave!" House called out. 

Wilson opened the door half a minute later. "You called, Master?"

It was said mockingly, but House smirked at the title anyway. "I'll have
breakfast in bed today," he said, plumping his pillows behind his back and
sitting back against them. 

Wilson gave a bow with a little added hand twirling before disappearing.
House laughed to himself. He knew Wilson was attempting to hold onto his
pride by treating this all as joke. Picking up a novel he was reading,
House relaxed and read while waiting for his breakfast. 

Around fifteen minutes later, Wilson walked back in with a tray he had dug
out from somewhere, on which sat a plate piled high with syrup-drenched
pancakes and a mug of coffee. House tried not to smile too broadly as
Wilson carefully placed the tray on his lap. House spread his legs a
little to make the surface more stable and picked up the coffee. "Now this
is what I call service." 

"Will that be all, Master?" 

House eyed Wilson, blowing into his mug. It was obvious Wilson had been up
for a while, since he'd already showered and dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt. "You're looking a little well-dressed for a slave." 

"Sorry, I couldn't find any rags." 

House smiled and took a sip of the coffee, "I think I'll have a bath when
I'm finished here." 

Wilson eyebrows shot up, "A bath?" 

"I think the appropriate response here would be `yes, Master, I'll attend
to that right away'," House admonished lightly, picking up his knife and
fork. Wilson only shook his head and left the room. A few minutes later
though, House heard the sound of water running into the bath. 

When House walked into the bathroom after finishing his breakfast, Wilson
was just shutting the water off. The room was cloudy with steam, making it
seem even smaller than it already was. "What, no bubbles?" House asked.
Wilson just gave him a sour look and went to leave. House grabbed his arm
before he got to the door, "I didn't say you could go yet." 

Wilson turned slowly and met his eyes before looking down at where House
was gripping him. House kept his hand where it was for a few more seconds
before letting go. "You're supposed to be at my beck and call." 

House started to take off his shirt and Wilson turned his back, standing
facing the door with his arms crossed over his chest. After pushing his
pyjama pants to the floor, House stepped tentatively into the hot water.
The temperature was perfect; hot but not too hot. Sliding all the way in,
House sat down with a contented sigh and rested his head back on the rim.
This was almost as good as Vicodin. 

A minute passed before House looked over at Wilson, who still hadn't
moved, wondering what was going through his friend's mind. Sliding down
into the water, House ducked his head under to get his hair wet before
sitting up again. He washed his hair methodically with shampoo and then
soaped up the sponge. Holding the sponge in one hand, House stared at it
for a minute.

"Could use a hand washing my back," House said, trying to sound casual,
though he didn't think he quite succeeded. He didn't know what he was
doing. Except, maybe, that he was testing how far Wilson would go.

Wilson looked back at him, his eyes flickering between House's face and
the sponge. Just when House was sure Wilson was going to leave, he walked
over to the bath and knelt beside it. Their eyes met for a brief second
before Wilson took the sponge out of House's hand. Drawing up his knees,
House leaned forward and folded his arms over them.

The first touch to his back was light, starting just below his neck before
moving back and forth across his shoulders. House closed his eyes and let
out a slow breath through his nose. The sponge slid lower, travelling
right down to where his body met the water and back up again. 

Wilson's bare hand suddenly made contact with his back and House tensed
up, his eyes snapping open. He didn't breathe as Wilson's fingers traced a
random pattern through the soap on his skin, the sponge having come to a
rest on his shoulder. Unnerved, House shrugged Wilson's hands off him,
"Thanks. You can go now." 

There was a nerve-racking pause before Wilson dried his hands on a towel
from a nearby rack and got to his feet, leaving the room silently. House
hadn't seen Wilson's expression because he'd purposely not looked, but as
soon as Wilson was gone he wished that he had.

After he'd finished with the bath and dressed, House walked down the
hallway towards the living room and stopped in the doorway. Wilson was
sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, and his packed bag was
sitting beside his feet. Grimacing, House rubbed a hand over his face
before walking around the couch until he stopped in front of Wilson. 

"I think I should go home," Wilson said, dragging his hands away from his
face, though his eyes remained staring at his shoes.

"Maybe you should." 

Wilson's head shot up; obviously he hadn't expected that. "What are you
doing?" 

"Doing? Just getting my own back. I thought that was obvious." 

"It's not just that. You're...up to something." 

Smiling wanly, House looked up at the ceiling. "Are you upset because I'm
ordering you around or because...you like it?" Pausing, House lowered his
eyes back down to settle on Wilson's, "Some people...get a sense of
control by giving up control." 

Wilson's expression tightened and he stared back at House for a seemingly
endless minute. Breaking the gaze abruptly, Wilson stood up and grabbed
his bag. After only one step towards the door, Wilson froze for a moment
but then kept walking and left the apartment. 

House stood looking at the front door for a couple of minutes before he
sat down heavily on the couch. 

Part 2

House tramped over to the diagnostic kitchenette and poured himself a
coffee, paying attention to what he was doing only enough to avoid
scalding himself. It was a nice day outside, warm and clear, but inside
the hospital it felt like another world. A sterile world with perfectly
maintained air conditioning. Lifting the mug up, House sipped at it and
looked out the window, his eyes gravitating towards Wilson's office. He
barely heard Chase, who was in the middle of inflicting a joke on Cameron
and Foreman. 

"...the doctor asks `do you gamble, drive fast cars or sexually fool
around?'" Chase smirked in preparation of the punch line and leaned
forward on the table. "And again the patient says `no'. So, finally, the
doctor says `then why do you give a shit if you live to be eighty?'" 

Cameron made a pained noise, "Where do you get these from?"

"Lame Jokes dot com," Foreman deadpanned. 

"Well, I thought it was funny," Chase muttered, sitting back in his chair
and thumping his feet up on the table. 

House snapped back into the present with a jolt and turned to face them.
"Why are you all here?" 

"No case?" Foreman said, arching an eyebrow. 

"No, that's why I'm here," House said. "You should all be out somewhere
else finding me a case."

Foreman rolled his eyes but got to his feet, heading towards the door.
Chase shrugged and followed Foreman out, leaving only Cameron behind.
House gave her a stony look. 

"Is something wrong?" Cameron asked, obstinately ignoring his glare. 

"Yes, it's Tuesday," House snapped at her and walked into his office.
Wilson, the stubborn, insufferable fool, hadn't spoken to him since
Saturday. 



Frowning at his computer, House dragged the mouse down slowly to scroll
through the webpage. At least this particular website didn't have any
intimidating photographs to go along with the information, but it was
still difficult to read with a sense of actual reality weighing on his
shoulders. 

A sudden knock on at his door made House jump like a teenager caught
watching porn. 

Rolling his eyes at himself, House looked over at the door accusingly and
then at his watch; the delivery boy was late again. Turning off the
monitor, House grabbed his cane and walked over to the door, yanking it
open in full angry-old-bastard mode. 

"You're..." House managed to get out before the rest of the sentence died
in his throat. He drew back a little and schooled his expression into
impassiveness. "Wilson." 

"Are you...expecting someone?" Wilson asked, almost as if he was looking
for an excuse to walk away. 

"Only my good friend Wong...or Long. Whatever his name is." House gazed
down at the bag slung over Wilson's shoulder; it was his luggage bag, not
his work bag. Wilson avoided his eyes and shifted his weight when House
looked back up. After a moment, House stepped to the side and opened the
door wider. 

Wilson hitched the bag strap further up his shoulder before stepping
through, brushing House's arm on the way past. After closing the door,
House stared at it for a few seconds before turning around slowly, only to
find Wilson facing in the other direction anyway. Standing in the middle
of the room next to the couch with his head hanging down, Wilson looked as
if he waiting to be condemned. 

House took a step towards Wilson and then stopped, "What are you doing
here?" 

Wilson swung around stiffly but focused his gaze somewhere over House's
shoulder, "That...depends on you." 

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it depends on you," House said and took another
step forward. 

Wilson glanced at House and then looked away again, clenching his jaw.
"You were...right." 

"I always am," House replied flippantly. "Hence why you need to be a
little more specific."

"You were right about..." Wilson grimaced and rubbed at the back of his
neck before throwing his hand up in the air, "That I...like it. Giving up
control." 

There was a stretch of empty silence. House dropped his chin, purposefully
keeping his expression neutral. "Is that why you're here, to give up
control?" House asked. "To me?" 

Wilson's face contorted and he stared down at the floor. If House hadn't
been watching so carefully he would have missed the very slight nod Wilson
gave a moment later. 

Closing the space between them, House lifted his free hand and rested it
on Wilson's shoulder. Wilson's eyes flew up to House's, partly inquisitive
and partly apprehensive. House held the gaze a moment before curling his
fingers around the strap of Wilson's bag and tugging it off his shoulder.
Wilson let him take it, his expression softening. 

"Have you eaten yet?" House asked and moved to put the bag down beside the
couch. In perfect timing, there was another knock at his door. Wilson
shook his head when House glanced at him. "You can share my Chinese then.
Go and get us some beers and a couple of bowls." House went to pay the
delivery boy. 

Wilson was setting the drinks and bowls on the coffee table when House
brought the food over. He divided it up evenly, noting in his peripheral
vision that Wilson had stepped back out of the way and was watching him.
When he was done, House handed Wilson a bowl and nodded at the couch, "Sit
down." 

After Wilson sat, House grabbed his own bowl and did the same before
turning the TV on, more to have some background noise than any real
interest of watching it. He waited a few minutes before speaking again.
"We need some rules," House said, picking up his beer.
"This....arrangement, it only happens here. Not at work and not anywhere
else." 

Wilson paused in eating and glanced over at him, "Okay." 

Taking a swig of his beer, House tucked the bottle between his legs and
picked up his chopsticks again, "And if either of us wants this to stop,
at any time, it ends. No argument." 

Wilson picked up his own beer and looked distant before nodding once, "No
argument."

House eyed Wilson a moment and then focused back on the TV. By the time
they'd both finished eating, their empty bowls placed on the coffee table
and the TV tuned to some old cop show, Wilson had somehow shifted closer
to House. Close enough that their legs were pressed together, spreading
warmth up through House's body - warmth that House did his best not to
notice. 



It started raining later that night. It had been threatening to all day,
so it came with some relief when House heard the first heavy drops hitting
the windows while he was sitting at his piano. House stopped playing and
turned to look out the window. The sound of the rain hitting the glass was
better music than he had been making; he was too distracted to play
properly. 

Wilson, after cleaning up the kitchen, had sprawled on the easychair with
a medical journal and was still there now, reading. They hadn't talked
about how long Wilson was going to stay with him. He guessed that Wilson
was planning to complete the week he'd agreed to be a `slave' for, but
something stopped him from clarifying that. 

House rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the start of a tension
headache building at the base of his skull. Referred pain was a very
strange thing, House thought with an inwardly wry smile. Deciding he'd go
to bed, even though it was early for him yet, he got to his feet and
walked towards the hallway. 

"Are you all right?" Wilson asked just before House left the room. 

Pausing, House looked back at Wilson with a slight frown. His usual
response would be to say he was fine, or make some other dismissive
comment. House didn't know, then, why he actually told the truth for once.
"Getting a tension headache. I'm going to bed." 

House continued walking and was not all that surprised when Wilson got to
his feet and trailed after him. In his bedroom, House stopped beside his
bed and leant his cane against the bedside table. For a moment, he just
stood there, sensing Wilson's presence at the doorway behind him. 

When Wilson didn't move, House lifted his hands and started unbuttoning
his shirt. He had only reached the second button when Wilson was suddenly
there, gently turning him and pushing House's hands away. 

"Let me," Wilson said quietly, taking over the unbuttoning and meeting
House's eyes before dropping his gaze down to watch what he was doing.

Holding his hands stiffly at his sides, House looked down as well and
watched Wilson's fingers moving deftly over the buttons. He'd told himself
that he wouldn't make the same mistake he'd made with the bath incident.
That he wouldn't let this get...intimate again. For whatever reason
though, House couldn't bring himself to tell Wilson to stop.

Finishing with the buttons, Wilson pushed the shirt off House's shoulders,
his fingers momentarily brushing over bare skin, and tugged it off. When
the shirt was free, Wilson folded it up and walked over to place it on the
desk. 

Before Wilson could try divesting him of any more clothes, House moved to
lie down on the bed, on his back, and used the heel of his palm to rub at
an eye. Wilson walked back over and stopped beside the bed, looking down
at him. 

"Do you have any menthol rub?" Wilson asked. 

House let his hand fall to his side and moved his eyes slowly to look over
at Wilson. "There's some in the bathroom cabinet," he found himself
saying. 

Wilson left and House rolled over onto his stomach, using his arms to
pillow his head before closing his eyes. He tried not to think too deeply
about what he - they - were doing. The sound of feet moving across the
floorboards heralded Wilson's return and then House felt the bed dip as
Wilson sat down next to him. House listened to the sounds of a plastic cap
being opened and then there was a pause before a few blobs of cold liquid
landed on his back, making him flinch. 

In contrast, Wilson's hands were warm as they began to slowly rub the gel
over House's shoulders and the back of his neck. The skin to skin touch
made House uneasy, but the gentle massage and the heat seeping into his
muscles gradually enabled him to relax. After a couple of minutes, Wilson
began to deepen the massage, digging in harder until the knots in House's
back began to give way. 

It was painful, yet House was glad for the distraction since it turned his
thoughts away from the feel of Wilson's hands gliding over his skin. A
while later Wilson began to gentle the massage again and by that time the
beginnings of House's headache had vanished completely, though he was left
feeling strangely exhausted. He fell asleep to the slow rhythm of Wilson's
fingers running along his spine. 



Two days passed and Wilson made no indications of going back to his own
apartment. House almost said something about it a handful of times, but
the words never made it past his lips. He couldn't deny that he wanted
Wilson to stay, though if that was because he was getting his meals cooked
for him and the housework done free of charge or if it was...something
else, House wasn't sure. 

On Friday, House was signing out of the clinic when he saw Wilson standing
next to the elevators nearby, chatting up a nurse. Everything else faded
away as he stood there staring at them. 

"Wilson!" House barked, making a handful of people nearby look at him with
startled expressions - including Wilson and the nurse. 

"House?" Wilson's expression had a hint of wariness. 

"Come with me. Now," House said and made his way over to the elevators
before punching the up button. He knew Wilson could ignore him if he
wanted to, that he was under no obligation to obey since they were at
work, but House didn't think he would. 

Wilson stared at House for a moment before he turned to the nurse with an
apologetic smile and said something quietly to her before walking over to
where House was. House looked back at the elevators just as the door
opened and, after the two people inside got out, stepped inside. Wilson
followed him and House hit the button for the fourth floor with the head
of his cane. 

"What is this-?" 

"Not here," House cut Wilson off, keeping his eyes on the elevator doors.
When they arrived on the fourth floor, House got out and walked towards
his office without checking to see if Wilson was following him or not. 

Once in his office, House stopped in the middle of the room and turned
around, just in time to see Wilson come through the door. "House," Wilson
ground out, exasperated now.

"I think you need another rule," House said, before Wilson could say
anything else. 

"What?" 

"You're not to flirt, or have sex, with anyone without my permission." 

"What?" Wilson spluttered. 

House took a step into Wilson's space. "You agreed," he said simply. 

"I didn't...not to this!" Wilson fired back, gesturing sharply in the air
with one hand. "You said that our...that it doesn't leave your apartment."


House grabbed Wilson's wrist and took another step forward, so that they
were almost nose to nose. "You can't keep screwing everyone who smiles at
you twice and marrying everyone you screw. You don't have any
self-control!" House paused suddenly as something fell into place. "That's
why you need to give me control, isn't it?"

Wilson swallowed visibly but didn't try to pull away, even though House
wasn't holding onto him that tightly. "Why are you doing this?" 

It wasn't clear to House whether Wilson meant the new rule or the whole
arrangement, but he supposed it amounted to the same thing. "Because,
obviously, you need it," House replied and, after a beat, released
Wilson's wrist. 

An almost challenging expression settled onto Wilson's features, "And what
are you going to do if I ignore this new rule?" 

House smiled, "Punish you, of course. Isn't that how it works?" 

A strange look passed over Wilson's face before quickly disappearing
again. He shook his head and walked out.



All House could remember of the dream that jolted him awake, was the sound
of Wilson's voice in his ear. He half expected to find Wilson, in reality,
telling him to get up, but it was quiet in his apartment. Looking at his
alarm clock, House frowned to see that it was nearly nine. Shoving his
blankets away, House yawned and got to his feet, surprised at the lack of
pain in his thigh. It was still a little stiff, but the ache that he had
long ago become accustomed to was missing. 

Cautiously, House managed to limp his way to the bathroom without any
aids. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror and opened the cabinet.
His `extra' Vicodin bottle, the one Wilson had given him, was still there.
House closed the cabinet again without touching it. Ten minutes later he
went back to his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and got
dressed. 

Smothering another yawn, House ventured into the kitchen and stopped in
surprise to see that Wilson was still on the couch, asleep. 

House walked over and looked down at Wilson with a contemplative
expression. Curled up on his side, with one hand tucked under his cheek
and his hair in a bedraggled mess, Wilson looked quite a bit younger than
he really was.

Lowering himself down to sit on the coffee table, House had his hand
hovering over Wilson's head before he realised what he was doing. He held
his hand there for a long moment before giving in to his initial impulse
and brushing Wilson's hair back from his forehead. 

Wilson opened his eyes and blinked confusedly at him. House slowly drew
his hand back and rested it on his knee, carefully keeping his expression
blank. "You're going to be late." 

Pushing himself up onto an elbow, Wilson reached out towards him and House
jerked back without thinking. Wilson gave him a puzzled look and froze for
a second before he laid his hand lightly on House's wrist and turned it to
see his watch. Wilson cursed and let go, pushing the comforter down before
getting to his feet. 

Staying where he was, House watched Wilson hurriedly putting the comforter
and pillow away. Wilson stopped before he left the room though and turned
back towards House with a small frown, "Where's your cane?" 

House gave Wilson a worried look, "Oh no! Have I lost it? I must have left
it lying around here somewhere..." he said, patting himself down. 

Long used to his sarcasm, Wilson was unfazed. "Your leg doesn't hurt?" 

House's expression twisted before he sighed, "A brief respite, don't get
excited." 

Wilson frowned at him for a moment longer but didn't comment further.
"I'll drive us both in after I've had a shower," he said and walked off
down the hallway.

"Wait for you to finish in the bathroom? I'll be here all day!" House
called after him but didn't get a reply. 



House had started to wonder if, or when, Wilson would test him. He didn't
completely understand why - though maybe it was for the challenge - but
House actually wanted Wilson to disobey, to fight him, to show something
other than complete obedience. 

So when House came across Wilson flirting with the same nurse he had
caught Wilson with last time, he wasn't shocked or angry. That the place
and timing of their meeting, outside Wilson's office, seemed suspiciously
staged made it easy for House to remain composed. 

The nurse saw House first and she said something to Wilson before hurrying
off. Wilson looked around, at least appearing to be confused, and his eyes
widened when saw House. They stared at each other for a long moment. 

Eventually, House broke the eye contact and walked away. Since they were
at work he wasn't going to say anything. He was pretty sure he didn't have
to say anything. 

Later that night, House got home first for a change, though he barely had
time to put his feet up before Wilson came through the door. House glanced
at him just long enough to notice Wilson's subdued expression before
looking back at the TV. His attention, however, remained on Wilson. 

After taking off his jacket and shoes, Wilson rounded the couch to stand
just to the left of House. House ignored him, keeping his eyes on the TV.
Some minutes passed before Wilson knelt, very self-consciously, at House's
feet. The action took House by surprise, though he made sure it didn't
show on his face, and he quickly tried to weigh up everything the gesture
might mean. 

"You broke a rule," House finally stated.

"I know. I'm sorry," Wilson said. 

House looked at the top of Wilson's head, feeling both uncertain and
determined. "You know what I said. If you break a rule you'll be
punished." 

Wilson nodded but didn't say anything. 

Grabbing the remote, House switched off the TV. "Look at me." 

Wilson looked up slowly and House was taken aback by the raw need he saw
in Wilson's eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen from Wilson
before and hinted at what House had already started to suspect; Wilson had
set this whole thing up because he wanted to be punished. Not for
flirting, and not even for the deceit that had started this all off in the
first place. It went much deeper than that. House tossed the remote onto
the coffee table. 

"Stand up," he said. 

Something undefinable passed over Wilson's face but he got to his feet. 

House shifted sideways until he was sitting in the middle of the couch and
trained his eyes on Wilson's. "Push your pants down and lie over my lap." 

Wilson's lips parted in shock and a moment later he flushed, "House...you
can't be-." 

"Now," House interrupted, trying to at least appear more in control than
he actually felt. The truth was he didn't really know why he was doing
this; only that Wilson, for some reason, needed it. 

Wilson looked nervous, conflicted, embarrassed and a variety of other
things but, after an eternity, one hand slowly and stiffly moved to his
belt buckle. It stayed there, not moving, until Wilson dropped his eyes
down and slowly threaded it open. His hands were shaking very slightly as
he unzipped his fly. House sat back but kept his eyes averted while Wilson
awkwardly knelt on the couch next to him. 

Pushing his pants and underwear down at the back, Wilson lowered himself
over House's thighs, turning his head away so House couldn't see his face.


The warm weight of Wilson's body over his lap, the sudden intimacy of it,
startled House. It was something he hadn't considered preparing himself
for. Breathing out, House cautiously rested his hand on Wilson's lower
back, feeling the muscles there quiver under his hand. Wilson's shirt was
covering his backside and House left it like that for the moment. Slowly,
he stroked up and down Wilson's back, vaguely thinking back to the massage
Wilson had given him a week ago. How had touching each other become so
recurrent? 

Wilson shifted slightly and his muscles relaxed under House's hand, though
there was still a sense of nervous energy about him. Keeping his eyes on
the back of Wilson's head, House bunched Wilson's shirt up onto his lower
back, exposing him. Wilson breathed in suddenly - House felt the expansion
of Wilson's chest against his thigh - but didn't make a sound. 

Not even quite believing what he was about to do, House steeled his nerves
and pulled his hand back, where it stayed motionless for a few erratic
heartbeats, before he brought it down hard on Wilson's arse. 

Wilson gasped and gripped onto the couch cushion, burying his face deeper
into his arms. House repeated the motion, this time on the other cheek.
Wilson didn't gasp again as House continued raining slaps but, by the
strangled noises he was making, it was obvious that was only because he
was trying hard not to make any sound. 

Increasing the pace of the slaps, House gradually made them harder and
harder until a red flush started to appear in stark contrast to Wilson's
pale skin. 

House lost track of how much time passed before Wilson finally lost the
battle to remain quiet and started crying out with each slap. The force
House was using began to drive Wilson's hips forward against his thigh and
it was then, with a sudden shocking awareness, he realised Wilson was
hard. House faltered and almost stopped, but some instinct made him
continue. As he did, House reassured himself that it was only a physical
response from the friction and adrenaline. Maybe that made it okay for him
to ignore, or maybe he just truly didn't care. 

House didn't know what he waiting for until it happened. Something,
finally, seemed to break in Wilson and he let out a strangled sob after a
particularly hard smack of House's hand. It was a sound that tore at House
somewhere - somewhere he couldn't identify - but he still didn't stop, not
even when Wilson started pleading with him to. Not even when Wilson's
backside became bright red and painful looking. 

It was when both the sobbing and pleading faded to become quiet gasps that
House finally ceased, feeling strange in the sudden stillness of the room.
Wilson's rough breathing quietened, though a tremble went through his body
every few seconds. Realising that his hand was still on Wilson's arse,
House moved it quickly and held it in the air before settling it onto
Wilson's back, stroking him again. 

When Wilson had stopped shaking, House carefully tugged at Wilson's
underwear and pants until he was covered up again.

"Sit up," House said and watched as Wilson tried to surreptitiously wipe
at his face with his sleeve before he slowly pushed himself back onto his
knees, not able to hide a wince at the movement. Wilson did his fly and
belt back up and slid sideways to sit down properly, staring away at
nothing. 

Taking in Wilson's expression, House had to admit that he really didn't
know what Wilson's motivations were for apparently having needed this. Nor
did he understand his own motivations for giving Wilson what he needed. 

House cleared his throat, "We need to talk." 

Wilson looked startled for only a few seconds before his expression became
resigned and he nodded.

"I didn't mean for this to go so far," House said, keeping his eyes
averted. 

"I would have..." Wilson stopped and half-covered his face with a hand.
"You...didn't do anything I didn't want," he confessed in rush, voice so
strained that it was barely audible. 

"That doesn't make this healthy." 

Wilson laughed shortly and dropped his hand, looking over at House.
"You're worried about what's healthy? When have we ever had a `healthy'
anything?" 

House shook his head, "What the hell are we doing?" 

"You know already. You know what this is," Wilson replied, holding House's
gaze. 

House wanted to yell that he didn't know, that he didn't have a damn clue.
However, a niggling voice in the back of his mind told him that he did.
For the first time, House asked himself seriously what he was getting out
of this. This had gone far beyond getting revenge and having a joke. And
despite trying to insist to himself, beforehand, that the punishment was
all about Wilson's needs, House had liked the power of taking - pushing -
Wilson somewhere he needed to go. 

"This is screwed up," House said.

"Maybe," Wilson agreed easily. "But we are screwed up, aren't we?" 

And that, House supposed, was enough of an answer. For now. 



A few days later, House and Wilson were in their customary spots in front
of the TV after dinner. 

It was late and it had been a long day, for both of them it seemed. Wilson
started to doze off, his head dropping sideways against House's shoulder.
At the contact, House reached up instinctively to push Wilson away but he
didn't follow through with the action. Turning sideways so he could see
more of Wilson's face, House pushed his fingers slowly through Wilson's
hair. 

Wilson sighed audibly and rested a little more heavily against him. House
frowned and forced himself to stop, moving Wilson's head to rest against
the back of the couch before getting to his feet. The movement seemed to
jolt Wilson fully awake and he sat forward, looking up at House with a
dazed expression. 

"I'm going to bed," House said and made his way down to the bathroom to
brush his teeth. 

Wilson had gotten into the habit of helping him get ready for bed, so
House wasn't surprised when he walked into his bedroom a few minutes later
to see Wilson was there. However, seeing that the blankets on his bed had
been turned back and his pyjamas laid out already, he didn't know why
Wilson was still standing, almost expectantly, next to the bed. 

"What do you want?" House asked coolly, moving to sit on the other side of
the bed to where Wilson was. 

Wilson circled around the bed slowly and, meeting House's eyes, knelt in
front of him. "To help." 

"I don't need any help," House said but Wilson ignored him, reaching to
take one of House's feet in his hands and tugging the sock free. Annoyed,
House reached down and grabbed Wilson's wrist, hard enough to hurt a
little. "I said I don't need any help." 

"Please," was all Wilson said. 

House let go of Wilson's wrist abruptly and stared at him. Then he closed
his eyes for a moment and shook his head before making a `whatever'
gesture with his hand. 

Moving cautiously, as if he wasn't sure he'd gotten the signal right,
Wilson lifted House's other foot and removed the sock. He then shifted
forward between House's knees and raised his hands, deftly opening the
buttons of House's shirt. House focused his eyes over Wilson's head at the
wall, staring blankly at it. After taking the shirt off, Wilson reached
for the old t-shirt that House slept in and held it out for him.

House took the shirt and put it over his head, frowning when Wilson took
over and tugged the shirt down into place before he could. It made House
feel mildly ridiculous, to be helped in and out of his clothes, as if he
couldn't do it himself. But then, Wilson wasn't behaving in that manner.
His manner was almost...reverential. 

Wilson's hands settled on his hips and House looked down, startled, but
also - despite himself - curious.

His hands moving to House's belt buckle, Wilson began to undo it. House
opened his mouth, a scathing comment already in place on his tongue, but
none of the words voiced themselves. When the belt was hanging open,
Wilson moved on to unbutton and unzip his pants. 

House only just managed to up to stop a shudder from overtaking his body
when Wilson's fingers grazed over his crotch. He tried to tell himself it
had been a while since he'd had sex and that was the only reason his body
was reacting like it was. 

Glancing briefly up at House's face, Wilson pulled his hands away and
scooted back. House only looked at him a moment before slowly rising to
his feet. His jeans fell to the floor and House stepped out of them.
Wilson moved the jeans aside before grabbing House's pyjama pants off the
bed. He held them open at House's feet with an infinite aura of patience,
as if he'd kneel there all night waiting for House to move. 

Letting out a breath, House put his right foot through one of the legs
first and then put a hand on Wilson's shoulder for support before putting
his left through. Wilson raised the pants up slowly to House's hips and
House swallowed thickly. For a long time neither of them moved and
Wilson's hands remained clamped on House's hips. 

Unsettled suddenly, House twisted out of Wilson's grip and turned around,
sliding in under the covers of his bed. Wilson followed him and tugged the
blankets up over House's body. His hand came to rest on House's shoulder. 

"You're not using your cane again."

House closed his eyes, a small frown between his eyebrows. He didn't know
why his leg had been feeling better again lately, though he had purposely
avoided thinking about it too much. Thinking about it could mean being
hopeful again and House didn't think he'd be able to handle the
disappointment for a second time. "Doesn't mean anything," House finally
said. "I don't always need it at home." 

Wilson squeezed his shoulder, "Okay." Taking his hand away, Wilson
switched the bedside lamps off and House heard him walk away. "Goodnight,"
Wilson said quietly. The door closed a moment later and House let out a
slow breath, feeling both thankful and oddly bereft to be left alone. 



House sat behind his desk, rubbing at his forehead as if by rubbing hard
enough he'd be able to block out the incensed clamour, which was so loud
it was making his whole office shake. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite as
dramatic as that, he conceded, but it might as well have been from the
headache he was getting. Along with his three fellows, Cuddy and Wilson
had invaded his sanctum all within seconds of each other.

"You can't blame me for-."

"-expect that to hold up in court?"

"House was the one that should-."

"I wasn't even in the room when he-." 

"Will you all just shut up!" 

The room fell silent instantly. 

House's hand dropped slowly away from his face and he looked up. That
hadn't come from his lips, though he'd certainly been thinking it. His
eyes went to Wilson, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was
looking intensely irritated. Everyone else was looking at Wilson too, with
varying degrees of shock. It was a rare, rare time when Wilson brought out
his claws. 

Wilson looked back at them all defiantly. "House cut some corners to save
a patient's life, so what? None of this is new. In fact, the only reason
Jeffrey's mother is trying to sue is because Cameron told her what was
going on," Wilson said, with a cold look directed towards her. "And give
me five minutes alone with the mother and I'll bet you she'll drop the
case anyway." 

House realised his lips were quirking up and quickly forced his expression
back into impassiveness. 

"Are you sure about that?' Cuddy asked, still looking a little startled. 

Wilson shrugged, "She probably only feels obligated to sue more than
anything. House did save her son's life after all. I don't think she's
about to forget that, no matter what little birdies have been whispering
into her ear." 

Cameron was looking red in the face, but she didn't say anything. After
another moment, she turned and left the room. 

Cuddy sighed before turning to Chase and Foreman, "Go after her and make
sure she doesn't do anything to make this worse." 

The two men shared a glance before leaving the room and walking off in the
direction Cameron had gone in. House allowed himself a slight smirk then,
though it faded when he caught Wilson's eyes, a wordless message passing
between them. Sensing Cuddy's attention, House quickly broke the gaze and
looked over at her. 

"Well, that was entertaining," House said. Cuddy's eyes kept flickering
between him and Wilson, her expression a mix of curiosity and bemusement.
"What?" House asked, alarm bells suddenly ringing loudly in his head. 

"Nothing. I'm just....no, nothing," Cuddy said and swept a strand of hair
back from her face as she turned to Wilson. "If you really think you can
convince Mrs. Lawrence to drop the case then the sooner you speak to her
the better," she said. After another curious glance between the two men,
Cuddy turned and left after the others. 

House kept his eyes on the door until Cuddy was completely out of sight
before looking at Wilson. "She suspects something."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Did you miss the way she was just looking at us?" House asked
incredulously. 

Wilson rolled his eyes, "People usually are surprised when someone
actually defends you." 

"You didn't have to come to my rescue, you know. I'm a big boy, I can tell
people to shut up all by myself," House said. 

Wilson frowned, "Right, well, excuse me for helping then."

House reached for his Game Boy and started it up, putting his feet up on
his desk, "You're excused." 

Though House's office door couldn't be slammed, Wilson did his best to
anyway.

 Part 3

The pain was incredible. It throbbed down into House's toes, up into his
chest, his head, and then back down again in excruciating waves. 

It had been a stupid thing to do, to try exercising again; recent lapses
in pain notwithstanding. House had known it was stupid. Stupid, too, to
have any hope that the lack of pain had meant anything. However, if there
was anything good to be said of pain, it effectively distracted you from
everything else. And House had a lot to be distracted from. 

Leaving the treadmill, House grabbed his cane and somehow made it into the
locker room, where he collapsed heavily onto one of the wooden benches.
Pulling his jacket over from where he had left it, House rifled through
the pockets but came up with nothing. 

"Fuck!" House threw the jacket away and pressed his face into his hands.
He remained like that, hunched over and breathing hard as the pain felt as
if it was trying to turn him inside out. At some point House thought he
heard the door opening and someone calling his name, but it sounded like
it came from miles away and he didn't have the strength to look up. Then
the voice was gone again. 

It could have been a minute or an hour later when House suddenly felt a
hand on his shoulder and another tugging one of his away from his face.
Something was pressed against his palm and House squinted at it. A pill.
Vicodin. Looking up, House met a pair of concerned looking brown eyes and
grimaced. He tossed the pill to the back of his throat, struggled to work
up some saliva, and swallowed. 

"Chase found you and came to me," Wilson said, as if House had asked. "I
think he was too afraid to try helping you directly. He said you seemed
pretty out of it." 

House just grunted and rubbed at this thigh, waiting for the pill to kick
in. Wilson stood there for a moment before he knelt - an action that was
becoming more and more common - and pushed House's hands away from his
thigh. Replacing House's hands with his own, Wilson then began a very
light massage over the abused muscles.

"Don't-" House choked out and tried to knock Wilson's hands away while
shooting an apprehensive look at the door. 

"It's locked," Wilson said patiently, not losing a beat in the massage. 

House sighed and clenched his eyes shut, leaning back on his hands. It had
started to occur to him that the control he had over Wilson seemed to be
an illusion more than anything. Wilson was the one who always got what he
wanted. That brought up the question of what he wanted, but... House
didn't know. He had no idea what he wanted. What scared House more,
though, was that it felt like he was giving up some kind of control too. 

The pain and tension in his muscles slowly began to abate from the massage
and the effects of the drug. Wilson soon reduced the massage to rubbing
his hands up and down House's thigh. Without the pain, there was no
distraction from the feel of Wilson's warm hands on his body, gliding up
very close to his groin before moving back to his knee. House opened his
eyes and looked down, his breath hitching when Wilson fingers came within
a fingertip breadth of touching his crotch on the upstroke. 

Sitting up, House gripped Wilson's wrists and physically forced his hands
away. Wilson only looked up and met his eyes calmly. 

"I need a shower," House said, hating how hoarse his voice sounded, and
let go of Wilson's wrists. 

"Can you stand?" Wilson asked, sitting back on his heels. 

House looked down at his thigh and flexed the muscles tentatively, not
bothering to reply. Sliding forward on the bench, House pushed himself up
with his good leg and grunted as he straightened to stand. He lost his
balance, however, and accidentally put too much weight on his right leg
all at once. The muscles in that leg gave out completely and he began to
fall. Wilson was there though, planting his hands on House's hips and
holding him up. Putting a hand on Wilson's shoulder without thinking about
it, House recovered his balance. 

"House," Wilson said quietly and House closed his eyes before looking
down. "Let me..." 

House could have tried to pretend to himself that he didn't know what
Wilson meant, but he wasn't - perhaps unfortunately in this circumstance -
stupid. It would be so easy, he thought, just to say yes. 

"No," House said, before he could think any further down that path. 

Wilson opened his mouth before apparently changing his mind and closing it
again, giving a small nod. Dropping his hands away from House's hips,
Wilson got to his feet. "If you're finished for the day, I'll drive you
home when you're ready."

House didn't reply and Wilson eventually turned and left. Undressing
quickly, House grabbed a towel and limped into the shower cubicle. He hung
the towel up on the back of the door and grabbed the lever, staring at it
a moment before twisting it hard to the right. A blast of freezing water
poured over his body and House swore under his breath, his lungs seizing
up at the abrupt temperature change. After a few seconds, House shoved the
lever in the other direction, head hanging down in relief as the water
began to warm. For a long time he just stood there, staring down at the
water disappearing into the drain. 



They didn't speak on the way out of the hospital and, wanting to evade any
chance of conversation, House pulled out his iPod. Putting it on shuffle,
House kept punching the forward button over and over, unable to settle on
anything. After another few stabs at the button, he gave up and shut it
off, yanking the buds out of his ears. Wilson looked across at him as they
walked outside, but didn't say anything. 

During the drive in Wilson's car, House sat and stared out the window,
resisting the urge to rub at his thigh. He'd had enough of Wilson's
concerned looks as it was. When they were home, Wilson stayed one step
ahead of him, opening the car door and then the apartment door, holding
his hand out for House's jacket and bag. 

House clenched his jaw in a sudden bout of irritation but said nothing,
letting Wilson take his things. He started to limp across the room to the
couch but stopped and turned to face Wilson. After hanging their jackets
up, Wilson turned to him, eyes wary. 

"This can't go on forever," House said. 

Something that might have been panic started to show on Wilson's face
before vanishing. "What can't?" 

"This. This thing between us."

"You're calling it off?" Wilson asked.

House frowned. "Where do you see this going? Are you going to keep living
here, sleeping on my couch? This isn't... we're not in a relationship." 

There was no expression on Wilson's face, which told House more than if
had he looked angry or upset. "I don't mind the couch." 

House shook his head and looked away. He heard footsteps a moment later
and looked back to find Wilson suddenly standing right in front of him.
Lifting a hand as if he was caught in slow motion, Wilson set it on
House's shoulder and gripped a handful of his shirt. The impassive
expression on Wilson's face slowly broke apart.

"Please... don't," Wilson whispered. "Just... don't do this." 

"Have you even got your head around what all this means?" House asked,
frustrated and angry because he was frustrated. "Do you even understand
what you're doing?"

Wilson held House's gaze. "I'm agreeing to submit to you." 

A strange, warm flush went through House's body at Wilson's words.
Submission. Domination. These words had taken on spectacularly different
meanings for House in such a short amount of time. And such powerful
meanings they were. 

Pulling his gaze away from Wilson's, House breathed in slowly and then let
it out. "Take your hand off me." 

There was a beat and then Wilson let go of him, taking a step back. 

House turned towards the couch, but looked back at Wilson again, "Go and
make us something to eat. Something quick and easy."

Wilson stared at him in clear confusion until relief flooded his whole
posture. Nodding with a faint smile, Wilson went into the kitchen. 

Later that night, House told Wilson to move in with him properly. 



Walking through the front door, the first thing House saw was Wilson lying
on the couch on his stomach, looking exhausted. 

Closing the door, House looked around; noticing what of Wilson's
belongings had been melded into his own. Not a lot it seemed, but then
House hadn't had a lot of space to give, even after packing a few boxes of
his things away. Wilson had said he hadn't cared about that though. 

The sight of Wilson's belongings with his own gave House a pang of
uncertainty about Wilson living with him permanently. As permanent as it
could be considered when Wilson still had his apartment. But keeping his
apartment meant he had a place to go if they ever needed space from each
other... or if this didn't work out. 

House, after taking off his shoes and jacket, walked over to the couch.
Wilson raised his head before starting to push himself up but House shook
his head. "Stay where you are." 

Wilson sighed gratefully and relaxed again, though he turned his head so
he could see House. "You're back early." 

"I won five hundred on Doppelganger," House said with a tight smile.
"Didn't think I'd hang around longer to try and beat that."

"What are you going to blow that on?" 

"Haven't decided yet," House replied, moving closer to the couch. "You've
been busy I see." 

"It's... all right?" 

"It's fine," House said, looking around again and then down at Wilson.
"You did a good job." 

Wilson smiled but didn't reply. 

House considered him a moment before he leant his cane against the coffee
table. He then perched himself on the edge of the couch next to Wilson's
hip. Wilson only looked at him in confusion when House put a hand on his
shoulder and massaged it lightly, clearly able to feel the tension in his
muscles.

"Take your shirt off," House said, before he could change his mind, and
took his hand away again. Wilson frowned at him uncertainly and didn't
move. "That wasn't a suggestion."

Wilson's eyes widened briefly. Levering his upper body up, he used one
hand to pull his t-shirt up over his head. Dropping it onto the floor,
Wilson glanced uncertainly at House again before he laid back down,
resting his head on his folded arms. 

Putting his hand on Wilson's lower back, House slid it slowly up to his
shoulders, the feel of Wilson's warm skin giving him a strange jolt to his
stomach. Wilson shivered and House looked up in time to see him close his
eyes. Leaning over him, House put his other hand on Wilson's back and
started a firm massage, concentrating on Wilson's shoulders and the back
of his neck. 

A few minutes later, House looked up again and saw that Wilson looked more
peaceful than he'd looked in a long while. 

The position he was in soon started to make House's back ache from the
uncomfortable angle. After a brief hesitation, he lifted his knee over
Wilson's hips, straddling him, while keeping his bad leg stretched out off
the couch. Wilson made a small noise when House sat down, resting his
weight onto the back of Wilson's thighs, but otherwise didn't react. 

Sliding his hands down either side of Wilson's back, House bent his thumbs
and used the knuckles to massage into the muscle that ran along Wilson's
spine. When he'd gone up and down a few times, House settled his hands on
Wilson's lower back, just above the hem of his jeans. House found thoughts
of what might have happened back in the exercise room at the hospital
filling his mind until he forced them away. 

Leaning forward, House went back to rubbing Wilson's shoulders, digging in
harder until he felt some of the tension finally ease. A small sound came
from Wilson's throat before he choked it off. Watching Wilson's face,
House leaned down further, pressing more of his weight onto Wilson, until
his lips were near Wilson's ear. 

"Are you hard?" House asked in a rough voice. Wilson flushed and tried to
turn his head away but House gripped his chin, keeping it where it was.
"Answer me." 

Wilson twisted underneath him but House easily kept him in place and he
went still again. "Yes," Wilson finally ground out, keeping his eyes
tightly shut. 

Letting go of Wilson's chin, House sat back and raised his weight off
Wilson. "Turn over," he commanded. 

It took a moment, but Wilson rolled over onto his back without dislodging
House's position and stared up at him, his expression a mixture of
embarrassment, disbelief, fear and arousal. House eyed Wilson's face for a
moment and then let his eyes travel lower, down Wilson's bare chest and
stomach, to the obvious bulge of his erection.

For a long while, House didn't move or say anything else. He had realised
lately that the more Wilson gave him, the more he wanted. He didn't just
want the power to make Wilson do his cooking and cleaning, or to stop him
having sex with anyone else. House wanted more... much more. 

Scooting back further, House raised his eyes to meet Wilson's. "Touch
yourself," he said. 

Wilson's lips parted and his breath hitched. This time when he flushed,
House noticed, it went right down his neck to the top of his chest. 

"What?" Wilson finally managed choke out.

"You don't get to ask questions," House snapped. "I tell you to do
something and you do it."

Wilson swallowed nervously but there was a flash of something in his eyes
at the same time. He put a hand on his stomach and slowly slid it down his
body. House watched its path until Wilson's hand reached his groin.
Closing his eyes, Wilson began to rub himself through his jeans,
expression tightening in pleasure. 

Licking his suddenly dry lips, House ran his eyes up and down Wilson's
body, alternating between watching his hand and his face. "Open your jeans
and push them down." 

Wilson froze. His expression was still completely open and House felt like
he could almost see what was going on in Wilson's mind - the fight between
his needs, his desires, his fears. Finally, Wilson moved to pop the
buttons of his fly open. When they were all undone, Wilson raised his hips
and pushed his jeans down as far as they could go with House sitting on
his legs. 

"Your underwear too," House added, his voice strained with doubt, but he
calmed a little when Wilson didn't hesitate this time to comply. 

House, not giving himself time to think, trailed his eyes slowly down to
Wilson's penis. It twitched as soon as he looked at it, as if Wilson could
sense his gaze. There was some kind of power about now knowing the size
and shape of Wilson's cock, House thought. The way it curved slightly to
the right, the positioning of his circumcision scar. It made House feel,
even if it wasn't true, that Wilson wouldn't be able to hide anything from
him any more. 

Looking back at Wilson's face, the next words he said spilled from House's
lips before he could question them. "Get yourself off." 

Wilson's breathing faulted again and House felt Wilson's body tense
underneath him. Wilson didn't look shocked any more though. In fact, if
anything, he looked even more aroused. Breathing in deeply, Wilson moved
his hand to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing.
Shuddering, Wilson pushed his hips up and started to stroke himself
firmly, the muscles in his forearm standing out as his hand moved. 

A moment later and House began to be uncomfortably aware that he was
getting hard. His cock felt as if it was throbbing in time to Wilson's
hand. Without thinking, House tugged Wilson's jeans a little further down
his legs. Wilson gasped when House's fingers brushed against his bare skin
and House paused, realising what he had just done. Inexplicably curious,
House moved his hand again, stroking his fingertips lightly over the top
of Wilson's thigh. 

Moaning quietly, Wilson jerked himself faster, his head thrown back to
bare the line of his throat. House continued lightly rubbing Wilson's
thigh with his fingertips. He was almost tempted to touch more, to do
more, but refused to give in to that urge. He wasn't gay, House told
himself. This didn't make him gay. 

Breathing faster, Wilson's face was red with exertion and shiny with sweat
while his hand was almost a blur on his cock. His mouth opened in a silent
cry and a moment later he was coming, his whole body tightening as he
ejaculated. 

When it was over, Wilson slumped boneless back against the couch, panting
hard. 

For a crazy couple of seconds, House had a vision of pulling his cock out
and jerking off right there, adding to the mess on Wilson's body. It
shocked him enough that he quickly climbed off Wilson and got to his feet,
grabbing up his cane at the same time. House didn't look back as he walked
away to his bedroom.

Shutting his bedroom door, House walked over to lie down on his bed,
praying that Wilson wouldn't try to follow him. Trying not to think about
anything at all, House opened his fly, pushed down his pants, and wrapped
his hand around his cock before starting to jerk himself off fast and
rough. Despite the effort not to think, it was the image of Wilson coming
that pushed House over the edge only a minute later. 



The next day was a Sunday. Which was unfortunate, House thought, because
if it had been a work day he'd at least have had something to distract
him. Instead, he lay in bed for a long time, staring up at the ceiling
while the events of the evening before played through his mind. He was the
most confused he'd ever felt in his life. There was an endless circle of
whys going through his head and he didn't have an answer for a single one
of them. 

House could hear Wilson moving around in the kitchen and dreaded getting
up to face him. It wasn't like he could avoid Wilson though. Giving in to
inevitability, House forced himself out of bed and grabbed some clean
clothes out of his wardrobe before heading into the bathroom to take a
shower. 

Fifteen minutes later, House grabbed his cane and made his way down the
hallway to the kitchen. Wilson, his expression subdued, was standing by
the stove cooking bacon and eggs. Wilson's eyes darted over to House and
then quickly away again. 

Doing his best to act like everything was normal, House moved from the
doorway to the fridge and pulled out some milk, drinking straight from the
bottle. There was a strange lack of protesting from Wilson's direction.
Seeing that Wilson had also made some coffee, House heated it up and
grabbed a mug. He debated with himself as he poured the coffee before
sitting down at the table. 

"Do you want some?" Wilson asked, finally breaking the silence, and
pointed at the pan with the spatula. 

"No," House said, deciding he wasn't hungry, and glanced up at Wilson,
"thanks."

Wilson served himself and hesitantly sat down at the table. They sat in a
strained silence; Wilson ate and House sipped at his coffee. When he'd
finished, Wilson scrapped off his plate and rinsed it in the sink. 

"Wilson," House said, just before Wilson left the room. Wilson froze but
didn't turn around. House got to his feet and walked over to him without
using his cane, until he was standing right at Wilson's back. Cautiously,
House raised his hands and placed them on Wilson's shoulders. After a
moment, Wilson's head dropped down and he leant back into House's hold. 

House ran his hands slowly down Wilson's arms to his wrists and back up
again. Somehow, this felt stranger to House than telling Wilson to jerk
off in front of him. Closing his eyes, House moved an arm to wrap around
Wilson's chest, pulling Wilson back against him. They remained standing
like that for a long time before House finally disengaged himself and
walked away into the living room. 

Wilson didn't go after him, but instead walked down the hallway into the
bathroom. 

An hour later, Wilson joined House on the couch to watch an old western
movie. Halfway through the film, House noticed that Wilson had edged
closer to him until there was only a small gap between their bodies.
Starting to get into the habit of not questioning himself or his actions
around Wilson, House wrapped his hand around the back of Wilson's neck,
massaging it firmly. Wilson sighed and leaned sideways into House so that
their shoulders were pressed together. 

"If you..." House started to say, trying to force his awkwardness away,
"...if you ever want or need anything, just ask me. No matter what it is.
I may not give it to you, but you can ask." 

"Anything?" Wilson repeated after a moment. 

House looked back at the TV, "Getting deaf in your old age?" 

Wilson was silent, but it was a thoughtful silence. "Can I sleep in your
bedroom tonight?" 

"What?" House snapped his eyes back to Wilson, incredulous. 

"I have a futon I could set up on the floor," Wilson said, his voice
carefully measured.

House forced himself not to react with his knee-jerk urge, which was to
say no. "Why do you want to sleep in my room?" 

"It's... lonely on your couch," Wilson replied after a moment, still in
the same measured voice. 

House thought for a few minutes, weighing things up in his mind. "I think
sleeping in my room is something to be earned. What would you do to earn
it?" 

"Anything you want."

House raised his eyebrows. 

"I... trust you." 

House blinked. No one trusted him. He didn't even think Stacy had trusted
him during the whole time they'd been together. Sure, she had loved him,
but trust? That was something that didn't usually go with him and rightly
so, because he wasn't trustworthy. 

The memory of stealing the script from Wilson's office suddenly gave House
an unpleasant twinge. He wasn't used to feeling guilt. Had it been anyone
but Wilson he probably wouldn't have. Instead of wanting to test Wilson's
apparent trust in him though, to poke holes in it, House uncomfortably
realised it actually made him want to live up to it.

"If you make something really, really good for dinner tonight, you can
sleep in my bedroom," House finally said. 

"That's it?" Wilson looked surprised. 

"I said really, really good." 

Wilson smiled, "I can do that." 

They went back to the watching the movie and didn't speak again.

Later that night, House found that having Wilson with him in his bedroom
didn't feel like an invasion of space or privacy, which he'd half expected
it to. It felt... companionable. Comfortable. 



Sliding into the booth, House planted his and Wilson's drinks on the table
and made a disgruntled noise, "This place didn't used to be so crowded."
His leg had actually been well enough, even after a full day at work, to
do without his cane, but being jostled by the crowds hadn't done him any
favours. Wilson, House noticed, hadn't said anything this time about the
missing cane, though he had been given a questioning look earlier. 

 "I did offer to get the drinks," Wilson said, pulling his beer towards
him. 

House didn't reply. He'd gone to get the drinks because he didn't want to
encourage Wilson's submissiveness when they weren't at home. Perhaps he
was overcompensating a little though, he thought. "You can get the next
round," House declared, picking up his beer and taking a sip. 

They talked a little about House's recent case and about one of the
doctor's on the board that had been pissing Wilson off lately, lapsing
every now and then into a comfortable silence. When they'd both finished
their drinks, Wilson got up to get them some refills. House relaxed back
against the padded seats, watching Wilson thread his way through the crowd
to the bar. While Wilson was standing in line, a dark-haired woman started
talking to him and suddenly House was sitting up straight again. 

The woman was clearly flirting with Wilson, and while Wilson didn't seem
to be encouraging her, he didn't seem to be discouraging her either.
Laughing at something Wilson had said, the woman put a hand on his arm and
leant into him. 

Before he really registered what he was doing, House was on his feet and
walking over to them. Wrapping his hand around Wilson's bicep, House
tugged him away from the woman's grip and glared at her. "We're leaving,"
he said, talking to Wilson even though his eyes didn't move from the
woman's, who was staring back at him in shock and suspicion.

"What? House-" Wilson sputtered. 

House pulled him away towards the exit without saying anything more.
Outside, he glanced at where his Corvette was parked before pushing Wilson
down a nearby alley. Finding a particularly dark and shadowed spot, House
pressed Wilson up against the wall. 

"House, I wasn't-" Wilson tried to say, but House put a hand over his
mouth, cutting him off. He focused on breathing for a moment, trying to
control the raging emotions that were threatening to make him do something
stupid. Turning Wilson's head a little, House shoved his lower body in
firmly against Wilson's and leaned in until his lips were next to Wilson's
ear. 

"She touched you," House said gruffly before sliding his hand off Wilson's
mouth. 

"I was just being polite. I wasn't... flirting back," Wilson pleaded
apprehensively. 

"I'm not punishing you," House managed to say, moving his hand down
Wilson's body to grip his hip. He didn't really know what he was doing, or
why he was feeling what he was feeling. House pressed his face in closer,
against Wilson's neck, and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Wilson's
breath hitched and his hands grabbed at House's shirt. 

Slowly pushing his hips into Wilson's, House parted his lips against
Wilson's neck. A second later he bit down, hard. Wilson gasped and fought
against him, but House held him in place. Wilson went still. For a long
moment, House didn't move, breathing harshly through his nose and feeling
both his and Wilson's pounding heartbeats where their chests were pressed
together. Eventually, he relaxed his jaw and let go, pulling back. 

Wilson's eyes were wide when they met his and he seemed to be having
trouble catching his breath. House was feeling much the same way. He
pushed his hips against Wilson's again, swallowing thickly at the feel of
their erections pressing together. It didn't even occur to House, in the
state he was in, that he shouldn't be aroused by the feel of another man's
cock against his own. That he shouldn't be aroused at all.

"We're going home," House said and Wilson only nodded dazedly. Letting
Wilson go completely, House turned and walked towards his car with Wilson
following a step behind. 

They were silent in the car during the entire drive. 

House led the way into his - their - apartment and stopped a few steps
into the living room, waiting for Wilson to follow him in and close the
door. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, just enough time to catch
Wilson's eyes, and walked to his bedroom. Wilson followed him. 

"House?" Wilson said, stopping in the doorway of House's bedroom. It was
as much his bedroom now really, House thought, since Wilson had been
sleeping every night on the futon next to his bed. 

House kicked off his shoes before turning to Wilson. He felt a lot calmer
now that they were alone again and he'd had time to get a handle on his
emotions. At the same time he still didn't have any answers about what was
happening. "Come here." 

Looking equal parts unsure and resolved, Wilson walked over and stopped in
front of him. Hesitantly, House raised a hand and traced a finger over the
bite mark he'd left on Wilson's neck, eliciting a shiver. House closed his
eyes for a brief moment, his hand dropping to Wilson's shoulder. Then he
pulled it away entirely. "Strip."

A conflicted expression passed over Wilson's face and he stared back at
House, as if searching for something. He appeared to have found what he
was looking for, because after a minute he began to undress. Wilson got
rid of his shoes and socks, his shirt and then his slacks until he was
only in his underwear. Glancing quickly at House, Wilson pushed those down
too. 

Naked, he stood in front of House, completely exposed in more than one way
and shivering either because he was cold or from nerves. 

Slowly, House let his eyes trail down Wilson's body, pausing a moment at
his cock, which was half hard, before rising back up. Lifting a hand,
House brushed the back of his fingers down Wilson's chest to his stomach
and then up to grip Wilson's shoulder, pulling him forward against his
body. Wilson's naked body pressing against his clothed one gave House a
peculiar rush and he felt his own cock, which had softened during the
drive home, start to harden again. 

House's slid his hands down Wilson's back to his arse, which seemed to fit
into his hands perfectly. Wilson shuddered but didn't otherwise move, to
get closer or to get away. Turning his head, House rubbed his nose against
the side of Wilson's neck and breathed in. After a moment, House let him
go. 

"Undress me," House said, surprised when his voice actually came out
steadily. 

Wilson leaned back, meeting House's eyes for a moment before he raised his
hands, which were shaking a little, to unbutton House's shirt. Once the
buttons were all open he slipped the shirt from House's shoulders and
pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor. Then he sank to his knees and
lifted each of House's feet to pull his socks off.

Instead of going straight to House's belt next, Wilson slid his hands
slowly up House's legs and stroked the inside of his thighs. House bit the
inside of his cheek, stopping himself from making any noise. When Wilson's
hands finally started to undo his belt, House tilted his head back to
stare at the ceiling, as if he might find an explanation to what they were
doing up there. Wilson efficiently opened his fly and slid his pants down
to the floor, helping House step out of them. 

Clasping House's thighs again, Wilson looked up questioningly. House just
nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Wilson's fingers slid under the
waistband of House's boxer-briefs and pulled them down to the floor. After
stepping out of them, House looked down, forcing himself to meet Wilson's
eyes. 

"Lie down on the bed," House commanded. 

Wilson moved to comply and, when he was on the bed, House walked over,
letting himself just look for moment. Wilson flushed at the attention but
didn't try to cover himself up. Shifting onto the bed at Wilson's side,
House laid a hand on Wilson's stomach, feeling the muscles there jump at
his touch. He slid his hand slowly up to Wilson's chest and leaned in,
pressing his lips against Wilson's shoulder in a sort-of kiss. Wilson
shivered and turned his face towards House.

Moving his lips to the bite mark on Wilson's neck, House found himself
instinctively nudging Wilson's legs open with his knee. Without
hesitation, Wilson spread his legs and House repositioned himself to kneel
in between them. Lifting his head, House met Wilson's eyes and they stared
at each other. 

Wilson went to raise his hands but then aborted the movement. "Can I...
touch you?" 

House gripped Wilson's wrists and pushed his hands into the mattress above
his head. "No," he said, keeping his eyes on Wilson's. 

Wilson looked vaguely unsettled for a moment and pulled against House's
hold. House just gripped him harder and didn't break the eye contact. Some
kind of realisation showed on Wilson's face and he stopped struggling.
Lowering his head, House kissed the side of Wilson's neck, lips sliding
over the bite mark again before sucking it gently. Wilson made a small
noise and turned his head to give House more access. Taking advantage,
House took the lobe of Wilson's ear into his mouth, rubbing it with his
tongue as he slowly lowered his body onto Wilson's. The feel of warm skin
against warm skin gave House an electric shock through his middle, which
intensified when Wilson gasped and pressed up against him.

Leaning in again, House followed the line of Wilson's jaw with his lips
and teeth. He nudged Wilson to face him and searched his eyes. Seeing only
a need that reflected his own, House lowered his head and pressed his lips
against Wilson's in a brief closed-mouth kiss. It wasn't as strange as
House expected it to be, to be kissing a man, to be kissing this man.
Feeling more confident, he leaned in a kissed Wilson more firmly, parting
his lips and sucking at Wilson's before thrusting his tongue into Wilson's
mouth.

Wilson moaned and opened his mouth wider, rubbing his tongue against
House's encouragingly. Without thinking about it, House rolled his hips
and groaned at the shock of sensation. Tightening his grip on Wilson's
wrists, House began to thrust harder against him. He kissed Wilson
aggressively, not caring if he was bruising Wilson's lips or scraping him
with his stubble. 

Digging his feet into the mattress, Wilson gasped into House's mouth and
rolled his hips up to meet House's thrusts. House pushed Wilson's hands
further up to the head of the bed and broke the kiss, panting hard into
the side of Wilson's neck as he thrust faster, ignoring the twinges of
pain in his thigh. A few more thrusts were all it took to reach oblivion.
House was hardly even aware of it when he bit down on Wilson's neck again
but heard Wilson cry out and felt Wilson stiffen before his cock pulsed
between them a moment later. 

Letting out a deep breath, House slumped against Wilson before slowly
releasing his wrists. Judging by how stiff his fingers were, he wouldn't
be surprised if Wilson had bruises there later. House barely managed to
shift some of his weight off Wilson before collapsing again. A few minutes
later he was asleep, oblivious to Wilson's arm wrapping around him. 

Part 4

House woke up to the incessant beeping of his alarm to find himself alone
in his bed. When the beeping became too much, he rolled over and shut off
the alarm with a smack of his hand. Then shoving back the blanket, House
looked down at his naked body, taking in the dried semen on his skin. The
knowledge that it wasn't just his gave him an unsettled feeling. 

Getting to his feet, House found his underwear and pulled them on before
searching for some clean clothes. It was quiet in his apartment, but he
tried not to think the worst. It wouldn't be unusual if Wilson had already
left for work. Except... this morning of all mornings, House thought
Wilson would have stayed. Or woken him up at least. 

Fifteen minutes later, House had showered and dressed in his work clothes
before he made his way to the kitchen, half-hoping to find some pre-made
breakfast. Or, at least, some sign that Wilson hadn't just fled. There was
nothing immediately visible on the counters and House was just about to
check in the fridge when he finally saw Wilson.

Wilson, who was sitting fully clothed on the couch, as still as a statue. 

House stepped into the living room, his eyes moving slowly from Wilson to
what Wilson was staring at on the coffee table. A Vicodin bottle. A sudden
sinking sensation made House's stomach tighten. 

"It's funny... how this is dated the very day you came to me and asked for
a script. A script I didn't give you," Wilson said before House had the
chance to say anything. "And yet it also has my name on it." 

House fought the urge to reply with something scathing. "Yeah, funny." 

Wilson looked over at him, "You stole the script. You went into my office,
after I turned you down, and stole it. You know what that is? It's the
actions of a drug addict who places drugs above everything else!" Wilson
said, getting angrier as he spoke. "You've been using your cane less and
less. Are you even in any pain? Or are you just pretending so no one will
question you taking the drugs?" 

"Don't be an idiot," House fired back, gripping onto the doorframe with
one hand. 

"I'm an idiot?" Wilson said, getting to his feet, his hands clenched into
fists at his sides. He stared at House fiercely for a long minute and then
his body slumped. "Yeah, I guess I am. I thought I could trust you." 

House gave a harsh laugh, "Don't start with the trust thing, because you
have no goddamn high horse to sit on." 

"Keeping something from you because I was trying to help you is a little
different from going behind your back for personal gain," Wilson replied
coldly. Not giving House a chance to respond, Wilson turned and grabbed
his work bag and jacket from where they had been sitting next to the couch
and left the apartment. 

House stood there staring at the Vicodin bottle before he walked over and
snatched it up. In a flash of anger and frustration he threw it over
towards the piano, where it hit the floor hard and popped open, scattering
pills everywhere. 

It was inevitable, really, that something like this was going to happen.
That thought didn't bring House any comfort however. 



Although it was a nice day outside, House had drawn all the blinds in his
office, creating a dark little alcove for himself that suited his mood. He
sat staring at his recent patient's file, unable to make sense of anything
he was seeing. Time was ticking and he had no answers, or even an idea of
what was wrong with this woman. He had his fellows out taking pointless
tests and meanwhile all he could do was stare at the damn file.

The door to his office opened and House dragged his eyes up to see Cameron
walk in. Of all people, House was least in the mood to deal with her.
She'd been sour ever since Wilson had `subtly' reamed her out in front of
everyone. 

"Finished so soon?" House asked sarcastically. 

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest, "This is a waste of time and you
know it. What's going on now? Does your leg hurt? Or are you and Wilson
just having relationship problems again?" 

House's lungs seized up and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
He'd been afraid of Cuddy picking up on something being different between
him and Wilson... but Cameron? House had not been worried about her. Until
now.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Cameron asked. "You must be aware that the
two of you behave like a couple."

House laughed shortly, a release of tension. Then he smiled. "I was
worried you'd realised we are actually screwing each other," he said
tonelessly. 

Cameron rolled her eyes, "Whatever's going on, you need to get your act
together or Emma is going to die." Dropping her arms, Cameron turned and
left. 

House sat back in his chair and contemplated the ceiling. More was at
stake than his patient's life. 



When he got home from work House went straight to his bedroom, exhausted.
He was also starving but had no desire to make or eat anything - not even
his infamous peanut butter sandwiches that Wilson had been trying to ween
him off. 

After Cameron's visit, House had finally figured out a diagnosis and Emma
was currently being treated. They'd know in the morning if she was going
to make it or not. 

If he had failed or not. 

Seeing a bag of Wilson's things on the floor next to the futon, House
kicked at it in a sudden rush of frustration and then cried out in pain;
he'd used his right leg without thinking. Gripping his thigh, House limped
over to his bed and sat down, hissing through his teeth until the pain
abated. Looking down at the floor, House saw that his action of kicking
the bag had spilled its contents everywhere. 

There was a shirt rolled up tightly half under a medical book that gave
House a strange sense of recognition. Standing up, House moved over to it
and squatted down awkwardly. Pulling the shirt out from under the book,
House could only stare at it for a full minute. It was his shirt, one that
had been stained beyond repair. One that House had told Wilson to throw
out two weeks ago. 

At first, House considered that it may have just gotten mixed up with
Wilson's things by accident. Or maybe Wilson had got it into his head that
he could get it fixed. It didn't seem likely though. The likeliest
explanation, even if it was hard to believe, was that Wilson had chosen to
keep it. 

Various thoughts cascaded through House's mind. A vision of Wilson's cold
eyes boring into him contrasted sharply against Wilson's eyes when he said
the words `I'm agreeing to submit to you' and `I trust you'. 

Some minutes passed before House rolled the shirt up and packed the rest
of Wilson's things back into his bag. Then he stood up and limped into the
kitchen, snatching up his phone. Hitting the speed dial, House pressed it
to his ear and listened to it ringing. 

"Yeah?" Wilson finally answered, sounding tired and wary. 

"Where are you?"

"I'm... still at work. Why?" 

House leant back against the kitchen counter and gripped it tightly with
his free hand, hard enough to hurt. "Are you... are you coming home?"
There was a long silence from Wilson's end and House pressed the phone
tighter to his ear, as if he'd be able to gain anything by the sound of
Wilson's breathing. 

"I'm not sure," Wilson said, his voice muffled as if he had his hand over
his face. 

"Damn it, Wilson. I'm hungry and I'm tired and I... I want you here,"
House forced out, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his
fingers. 

There was another silence, one that felt like it went on forever. "Okay,"
Wilson finally sighed. "I'm coming." Wilson hung up and House took the
phone away from his ear, putting it back on its dock slowly. He wasn't
sure now if he was relieved or not. Wilson coming home meant facing what
had happened, both the sex the night before and the script thievery.

House walked into the living room and dumped himself on the couch. Turning
the TV on seemed like a great idea to distract himself, but he didn't need
distraction. He needed to think.

Half an hour later, Wilson walked through the front door carrying a pizza
box. House looked over at him but didn't say anything - and neither did
Wilson - although their eyes met briefly. Wilson got them some beers from
the fridge before he sat down next to House with the pizza.

Wilson offered the box to him and House picked up a slice, catching
Wilson's eyes again for another significant moment. House found himself
staring at the blank TV while he ate. 

Some time later, Wilson put his half-eaten second slice back in the box
before sipping his beer, his eyes focused on the TV as well. 

"You said once... that I could ask you for anything," Wilson said slowly
and then paused. "I want..." Wilson turned and looked at House, "I want
you to submit to me." 

House snapped his eyes to Wilson's and stared at him. "What? Why?" 

"Because I want you to know...." Wilson shook his head and tried again, "I
want you to understand."

"I'm not into pain," House warned. 

Wilson smiled tightly, "I didn't say I was going to punish you. This isn't
about pain. This is about... this is about us."

House looked away, not saying anything for short while. "I'm making no
promises that I'll be able to do it."

"Okay," Wilson said. "That's okay." 

House drank his beer, thinking he probably deserved punishment and
wondering why Wilson didn't seem to want that. The bigger question, of
course, was what Wilson wanted him to understand by submitting to him.

"I'm still angry at you," Wilson said, as if House had doubted it. "But I
think we might finally have a way to..." Wilson shook his head and sighed.
"Well, I guess we'll find out."

Frowning, House looked over at him and Wilson met his eyes. "Is this going
to be a... sex thing? Submitting to you?"

Wilson blinked and then averted his face, "Would you rather do housework?"


House opened his mouth, shut it again, and looked away as well. "No." 

Later that night, Wilson slept on the futon again and House tried not to
think about the feeling of loss he had in the pit of his stomach.
Thankfully, his exhaustion had him passing out a few minutes after his
head hit the pillow. 



Two days went by with a heavy, subdued nature about them. House's patient
got better and it was back to avoiding clinic work and hanging around in
his office playing video games again. He had a feeling Wilson was waiting
for the weekend - and he was right. 

Friday night, after they'd eaten dinner, Wilson disappeared into the
bedroom for ten minutes before coming back to where House was sitting on
the couch. 

"House," Wilson said, his tone both questioning and insistent. 

"Yeah," House replied and turned off the TV. He got to his feet and
followed Wilson back down the hallway. 

Once past the doorway of the bedroom, House stopped and looked around with
a small frown. Wilson had set up a small stereo on his desk, which was
playing some low mood music. It could barely be heard but it effectively
cut off the sounds from the outside world, which House supposed was
probably the point. Wilson's futon, House also noticed, had been packed
away and there were fresh sheets on his bed. 

"So, where are the romantic candles and incense?" House asked, looking at
Wilson. He doubted the sarcasm did anything to hide his growing unease
with the situation.

"Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed, on your front," Wilson
said, not reacting at all to the question.

House stared at Wilson for a long moment. Then, moving stiffly, he began
to undress, and tried to ignore that Wilson was watching him. When he was
naked he moved to the bed and lay down, resting his head on his arms and
closing his eyes. A minute passed before the bed dipped under Wilson's
weight. There was another pause before Wilson straddled his hips and House
could feel that Wilson was still fully clothed by the scratch of fabric
against his skin. 

Wilson's hands settled on House's shoulders and he started a light
massage. House breathed out and tried to relax, but his mind kept on
racing with concerns about where this was going and what Wilson wanted
from him. Some time later, House felt a faint brush of lips over his
shoulder and - despite what was going on in his head - a shiver ran down
his back, tingling at the base of his spine.

Sliding further down the bed, Wilson's hands moved lower on House's body,
running down his back to the curve of his arse. House tensed up again,
fighting the urge to turn and push Wilson's hands away. He felt Wilson's
lips on him again, travelling slowly down his back and then - shocking
House - to the cheeks of his arse. 

House swallowed a noise, a rush of conflicting emotions ranging from
anxiety to lust flooding through him. Before he could settle on any
particular emotion, Wilson moved down to massage his legs, stroking his
hands right down to House's feet and back up again. Sliding his hands in
between House's thighs, Wilson then began to gently, but firmly, push them
apart.

Feeling a sudden rush of panic, House fought against the pressure, locking
his legs together. Instead of fighting him back by using more of his
strength, Wilson just continued the steady pressure. Eventually, House
gave in, allowing his legs to be spread, though his hands had become tight
fists and his muscles were tensed for any sign Wilson was about to do
something he couldn't handle.

All that Wilson did, however, was continue stroking and massaging him
until House didn't have a choice but to relax again. 

"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you," Wilson said, his voice low and
holding an element in it that House had never heard before. "Turn over." 

House opened his eyes and fought another rush of unease before he slowly
twisted and rolled over onto his back. Wilson had moved to the side to
give him room and House looked at him, blinking when he saw that Wilson
had taken off his tie and was holding it in one hand. 

Straddling him again, Wilson grabbed House's wrists and pushed them
against the mattress above his head. Wilson met House's eyes and leaned
down until they were breathing each other's air. Although House managed to
keep his expression blank, he couldn't stop his heart from starting to
thump wildly. 

Before House could even think about fighting him, Wilson pressed his
wrists together and used his tie to bind them together. As soon as Wilson
sat back, House tried to pull his hands apart, but while the tie wasn't
uncomfortably tight, he realised it would take a lot of struggling to be
free of it. 

"I knew learning sailing knots would come in handy one day," Wilson
murmured and House snapped his eyes up to Wilson's face again, wondering
where the hell this side of Wilson had come from. 

Wilson smiled, as if he could tell what House was thinking, and slid his
hands over House's chest, his palms rubbing over House's nipples and
making him shudder despite himself. Wrapping one hand under the back of
House's neck, Wilson lowered his head and suddenly forced their lips
together in a hard, reckless kiss. Getting a chance to release some of his
rising frustration, House kissed Wilson back fiercely and they battled
each other with lips and tongue, each trying to take the lead. Wilson, not
surprisingly since he had the upper hand, won and forced his tongue into
House's mouth. 

House pulled at his arms again, forgetting for a moment that his wrists
were tied together until the feel of the tie digging into his skin
reminded him. Giving that up, he tried twisting underneath Wilson and
bucking his hips up. Wilson easily held him down however, though he ended
the kiss and gazed down at House with a meaningful look. House just glared
back at him. 

For a moment, Wilson looked like he was going to say something but then he
broke the eye contact and slid back down House's body. House bit the
inside of his cheek when Wilson's body grazed his half-hard cock and
turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. The next thing he
was aware of was Wilson's lips on his chest, sliding towards a nipple. 

A gasp tried to escape House's throat when Wilson closed his lips around
the bud and sucked firmly, but he choked it off and stopped himself from
making any other noise by clenching his teeth together. After a minute or
so, Wilson's mouth left House's nipple and began to move slowly but surely
down his body. House hated the feeling of complete vulnerability that
suddenly assaulted him then, knowing that he was naked and tied up when
Wilson was clothed and free to do anything he wanted to. 

A breath later though and House was almost able to overlook all that
because Wilson's hand was on his cock, stroking him slowly into a fuller
erection. House twisted again, but this time it was in pleasure. Wilson's
other hand slid under to cup and roll his balls and House lost another
fight then, because he couldn't stop a groan from escaping his throat. 

Wilson's hand was warm and firm, but it was nothing compared to the sudden
soft wetness at the head of his cock. House gasped and looked down, hardly
able to believe what he was seeing. Wilson looked up and brushed his
tongue over the tip of House's cock again before taking the head into his
mouth, sucking and rubbing the glans gently with his tongue. House's
breath caught in the back of his throat, as if his lungs had forgotten how
to work.

Swallowing him down further with a frown of concentration, Wilson began to
bob his head slowly up and down while dragging his lips over the shaft. He
had one hand planted on the bed next to House's hip and his other hand on
House's balls. House's whole body shuddered and he let his head fall back
onto the pillow, his eyes sliding closed again. The urge to thrust up into
Wilson's mouth was nearly overwhelming but House kept himself in check,
breathing hard and straining with the effort. He didn't want to do
anything that might make Wilson stop what he was doing.

House knew he had lost completely when Wilson began to suck harder and
gripped his left hip, preventing House from moving. He felt himself
surrendering entirely to the sensations, to Wilson's control, and to a
need to give up control that he had never before given into. 

He tried to make a noise, to warn Wilson, but his orgasm came on too
strongly and too quickly. House cried out, his back arching him off the
bed as much as Wilson's grip allowed and shot his come down Wilson's
throat. Wilson didn't pull away and House's breath stuck at the back of
his throat again while he rode out the incredible high. When his cock
throbbed for a last time, House breathed out in a rush and slumped back
onto the mattress. 

Wilson kept sucking him as he softened and House made a choked, protesting
noise; the sensation too much for his overtaxed body. Seemingly taking
pity on him, Wilson let him go and moved up to straddle House's hips
again. 

The sound of a zipper being pulled down made House crack his eyes open.
They opened further at the sight of Wilson's flushed face; somehow the
idea of Wilson being turned on by sucking him off was more surprising than
anything else that had happened so far. Wilson pulled his erection free of
his pants and House swallowed thickly when Wilson started to stroke
himself.

House watched Wilson's hand for a short while before looking up and
meeting Wilson's gaze. He wasn't sure what he saw in Wilson's eyes, but
whatever it was made House suddenly want to reach out and touch him; to
touch his cock, even to suck him... whatever it took to get him off. It
shocked him and yet made House suddenly realise why Wilson was doing this.


It didn't matter who was in what role, because they fit together. And they
trusted each other like this, when there was nothing between them, when
everything was laid out in the open.

Something changed subtly in Wilson's expression for a moment; a shared
understanding maybe.

"Oh god," Wilson muttered a moment later, breaking their gaze and tipping
his head back. He came with a choked sob over House's stomach, bucking
into his own fist. When it was over, Wilson slumped down onto the bed next
to House. After a few minutes, he pushed himself up on an elbow and undid
the tie, freeing House's hands. Tossing the tie away, Wilson met House's
eyes and they studied each other. Wilson raised an eyebrow.

House closed his eyes and put a hand on Wilson's hip. Something that might
have been a smile quirked his lips. "Yeah." 



"Are you busy?" 

House turned to face Cuddy, who was standing in the doorway and holding
the door open. "Exceedingly so. Isn't it obvious?" He flipped his yoyo
over his wrist and raised an eyebrow.

Cuddy stepped into his office and let the door close. "I haven't had any
complaints about you in two weeks. It's making me nervous. What's going
on?"

"Oh ye of little faith," House said and smiled at her. 

Cuddy frowned at him, "Which faith are you referring to?"

"The faith that I will always make your life difficult," House replied. 

"Ah, that faith. So, you are up to something."

House flicked the yoyo up into his hand and moved to sit down at his desk.
"That would be telling." 

Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a contemplative look.
"Have you... met someone?" 

"What?" House slapped his yoyo on the desk and looked up at her. 

"There's the lack of complaints and the general lack of moodiness that's
usually hanging around this part of the hospital like a storm cloud.
You're also... smiling. I'm just wondering who the lucky-," Cuddy turned
when the door opened and Wilson walked in, "-woman is." 

Wilson looked from her to House and back again with a perplexed
expression. "Am I interrupting something?" 

"Nothing interesting," House said and snapped his fingers in the direction
of the file Wilson was holding. 

Wilson rolled his eyes but walked over and held it out for him to take.
House opened it, revealing an MRI print. Picking it up, House swung his
chair around and held it up against the light coming in from the windows. 

Cuddy walked over so she could see it, "Is that what I think it is?" 

"Probably," Wilson said, smiling. House shared a lingering look with him,
not even caring that Cuddy was there to see it. "Some of the muscle and
tissue has regenerated. Not a lot, but... it's something." 

"I'm getting this framed," House decided out loud. 

"That is amazing," Cuddy said. "How-?" 

"A mixture of the ketamine treatment and exercise, maybe. Couldn't say for
sure," Wilson said. 

House put the print down on his desk and glanced at Wilson before smirking
at Cuddy, "I have been getting a lot of vigorous exercise lately." 

"So... there is a woman as well?" Cuddy asked, raising her eyebrows. 

"I don't kiss and tell," House said. 

Cuddy gave an ironic laugh, "Not when it doesn't suit you, you don't."
Shaking her head, she walked towards the door and then stopped, looking
back. Her expression hinted of something that House couldn't put his
finger on. "I'm... happy for you. Really. It's great... news." 

House gave her a tight smile and nodded, watching as she pulled the door
open and left before looking at Wilson again. "She's cute when she's
jealous." 

"You wish," Wilson said, his usual exasperated expression in place. He
reached over though and put a hand on House's shoulder, giving it a
squeeze. "We should celebrate tonight." 

"Oh, we'll be celebrating," House assured him. 



Walking into the kitchen, House stood watching Wilson doing the dishes
before walking up behind him, pressing his body against Wilson's back.
Planting his hands on Wilson's hips, House nuzzled his neck, breathing in
the scent of shampoo and skin. 

"Can I take this as an offer to help?" Wilson asked, leaning back into
him. 

House laughed and slid one hand around to squeeze Wilson's crotch,
eliciting a low groan. "I'm just here as the support team." 

"That's being distracting, not supportive," Wilson said but gamely tried
to continue washing the pot in his hands. 

House kept rubbing Wilson's cock through his pants a moment before he
relented and stepped back, "I hope you're taking a shower after this. I
don't want you smelling, or god forbids tasting, like dishwashing liquid
later." 

"Yes, Master," Wilson said, amusement in his voice. "I'll take a shower."

"Good, I'll be waiting in the bedroom," House said and walked away. 

Things had changed quite a bit after the night he had submitted to Wilson,
House mused. There were still roles that they played, during sex and in
every day life, but the roles were there to be picked up or put away again
at whim. They had actually melded, House realised, into a relationship in
the full sense of the word, without it being discussed between them and
without any declarations being voiced. 

More of Wilson's belongings had been combined with his; Wilson's
toiletries were in the bathroom, his clothes were in the closet next to
his House's. There were now even things around the apartment that House
wasn't sure were his or Wilson's. Wilson's futon had been packed away for
good and they slept every night in the same bed. If they weren't in a
relationship - screwed up or not as it was - House didn't know what else
to call it. 

Taking off his shoes and socks, House lay down on the bed on his back and
tucked his hands behind his head. A while passed, barely noticed, while he
was wrapped up in his thoughts. Looking back, House felt like it had all
happened at an amazing speed, but he supposed it hadn't really. Especially
not when you took into account how long he and Wilson had been friends and
how close they'd already been. Maybe they'd always been a lot closer than
either of them had realised until the whole master-slave thing has
started.

Effectively distracting him from his thoughts, Wilson walked into the
bedroom then, dressed only in a towel. 

"I was about to come and check that you hadn't drowned," House told him,
sitting up.

"Right, because I was in there for all of two minutes," Wilson said,
walking over to stand beside the bed. 

House pursed his lips, "Two minutes? You? I guess stranger things have
happened." His eyes travelled down Wilson's naked chest, which was still
covered with a few errant drops of water. House slid his legs over so he
was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Take that off," he said, gesturing at
the towel. 

Wilson just looked at him a moment before a faint smile appeared on his
face and he untucked the towel, letting it fall free to the floor. He
didn't get a chance to do anything else, because House grabbed him and
pulled him forward between his legs. Slowly swiping up a drop of water on
Wilson's chest with his tongue, House then mouthed down to his stomach and
bit him a couple of times, sharply enough to make Wilson gasp. 

Pushing Wilson back a little, House looked up at him for a moment. Without
taking his eyes off Wilson's, House dipped his head down to press a light
kiss on Wilson's flaccid penis. Wilson trembled at the touch and gripped
House's shoulder tightly. They seemed to be frozen in space until House
pulled his head back and the moment broke. 

"I think it's about time we broke those cuffs in," House murmured,
brushing his fingers teasingly over Wilson's cock until it started to
harden. Then he pulled back and gave Wilson a small push, "Go and get
them... and the blindfold." 

Wilson walked over to the closet and opened it, pulling out the small
wooden box inside. Watching Wilson open it, House got rid of his shirt and
tossed it to the floor before standing up. 

After gathering up the red, cotton blindfold and set of leather cuffs,
which were joined together with a long chain, Wilson walked back over to
House before offering the items to him. 

"Lie down on your back," House said, taking the cuffs and blindfold. When
Wilson was in place, he slid onto the bed and straddled him. Watching
Wilson's face, House buckled one of the cuffs around Wilson's wrists.
Shifting forward, House threaded the chain through the metal loop he'd
screwed into the headboard before reaching for Wilson's other wrist.
"Comfortable?" House asked, buckling the other cuff and testing its hold. 

"Yes," Wilson sighed, all tension melting out of his body. 

House traced the pad of his thumb over Wilson's lips before leaning in and
kissing him. Wilson opened his mouth and allowed House's tongue entry,
moaning when it rubbed against his own. After a minute, House broke the
kiss and held up the blindfold. Wilson obediently closed his eyes and
House pressed the blindfold over them, tying it at the back of Wilson's
head. 

"I'll be right back," House said, after he made sure the blindfold was
properly in place, and got off the bed before walking over to the box. A
week ago he'd used some of the five hundred dollars he'd won at the races
to shop on an online adult store and had ended up buying more than he'd
intended to. As well as the cuffs and blindfold, House had bought a
leather paddle, a set of cock rings, nipple clamps, and - with some doubt
- a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. 

One of the cock rings was made of soft leather and had two loops which fit
around the penis and balls concurrently. Picking that up, House also
grabbed the lube and, after a hesitant pause, a condom. Going back to the
bed, he set the things on the side of the bed and knelt on the mattress. 

Wilson turned his face towards him and House reached out, stroking a hand
down Wilson's stomach to rest on his abdomen. Then he slid lower and
cupped Wilson's genitals, gently sliding Wilson's cock through the leather
loop of the cock ring before wrapping the strap around his scrotum. Wilson
made a muffled noise and shivered when House snapped the button closed. 

Moving in between his legs, House slowly stroked Wilson until he was fully
erect and then he let go, ignoring the disappointed sound he got in
response. Putting his hands on Wilson's thighs, House rubbed them a few
times, looking up at Wilson's face. 

It amazed House that before all this had happened he had never once really
looked at Wilson in a sexual light - not consciously anyway. And yet now,
it felt completely natural to; to find him attractive, to want to touch
and kiss him. Leaning over Wilson's body, House mouthed the hollow at the
inside of his hip and then kissed his way up to Wilson's chest. Taking a
nipple into his mouth, House sucked on it a moment, sweeping across it
with his tongue before biting down hard. Wilson cried out and arched up,
the cuff chain clinking when he tried to move his hands. 

"Keep still," House growled and Wilson sank back onto the bed, a quiver
going through his muscles. Planting his hands either side of Wilson's
chest, House pressed a kiss to the side of Wilson's neck before drawing
skin into his mouth and sucking. He felt Wilson stiffen, struggling to
hold himself in check, as he sucked harder and harder to the point of it
being painful. A choked sound forced its way out past Wilson's lips but he
managed not to move. 

Releasing him, House kissed the spot he'd just been sucking on, which was
now bruised red, before trailing one hand back down Wilson's body. Sliding
it under one of Wilson's thighs, House lifted his leg up to hook over his
shoulder. Wilson's his lips parted but he didn't resist, even when House
slid his hand down to Wilson's arse, squeezing a cheek firmly. 

Still watching Wilson's face carefully, House slid a finger between his
arse cheeks and ran a line from just behind his bound balls to his anus.
Wilson's breath hitched and his hands closed into fists. Looking down,
House saw a drop of clear pre-come appear at the tip of Wilson's cock as
he massaged his finger across the puckered skin. Wilson started to breathe
faster and made a needy noise in the back of his throat. 

Skimming his hand up, House used his thumb to rub the pre-come over the
head of Wilson's cock. "Don't come until I tell you to," House said.
Wilson only moaned in reply. 

Sitting back while keeping Wilson's leg over his shoulder, House picked up
the bottle of lube and squirted a decent amount onto his fingers. He
rubbed his fingers together, warming the liquid, before moving them back
between the cheeks of Wilson's arse. 

"Oh god!" Wilson choked out when House's slick fingers began to massage
him. 

House pressed the tip of one finger inside experimentally, smearing the
lube around. "Relax," he said and began to slowly push his finger further
inside. This wasn't the first time House had done this in a sexual sense
so he wasn't sure why he was feeling so hesitant. Maybe only because it
was Wilson. The ring of muscle clamped around House's finger but Wilson
breathed in and out deeply and managed to relax, allowing House's finger
the rest of the way in. Grabbing the bottle again, House added more lube
and began to thrust his finger in and out. 

Glancing up, House saw that Wilson looked both faintly surprised and
intensely aroused. It was an expression that sent a jolt of pleasure
straight down to House's cock, which started to throb and harden. When he
felt that Wilson was loose enough, he added yet more lube and began to
work another finger inside him. Wilson made a pained noise and tried to
move away from the intrusion. Pulling his fingers out, House smacked
Wilson on the side of his thigh. Wilson gave a cry, though it was more of
shock than pain. 

"I told you to hold still and relax." 

"I'm sorry," Wilson whispered, gulping for air before he relaxed back
against House again. 

House slipped his fingers back between Wilson's arse cheeks, pushing one
finger easily back inside and then, slower this time, a second finger. He
scissored them gently, stretching the ring of muscles and then pushed in
deeper, rubbing against Wilson's prostate. The air left Wilson's lungs in
a whoosh. He moaned and turned his head to press his face against his arm.


It was easier for House from then on to work Wilson open further and get
him to accept another finger. After another couple minutes of thrusting
and teasing Wilson's prostate, House pulled his fingers out and wiped his
hand on the edge of the sheet before opening the fly of his jeans. Freeing
his cock, House allowed himself a few strokes of his hand, his eyes
drifting closed at the rush of relief before he stopped and pushed his
jeans down further. He would have taken them off entirely but he was
impatient and it never failed to give him a thrill when Wilson was naked
while he was clothed. 

Snatching up the condom, House ripped it open with his teeth and spat the
wrapper to the floor before rolling the condom down his erection. Wilson,
who had obviously gathered what he had in mind, had started to breathe
even faster while his expression was a mix of trepidation and need. 

After smearing some lube over the condom, House picked up Wilson's other
leg and put it over his shoulder and then slowly pushed forward, forcing
Wilson to curl up. His cock brushed against Wilson's arse and House
groaned, rubbing himself there a few times before he reached down and
wrapped his hand around himself, nudging the head of his cock against
Wilson's opening.

House held his breath, breathed out, and then slowly began to push
forward. Wilson hissed through his teeth and House was frozen in place for
a long moment, unable to go further, before Wilson managed to relax and
loosen around him. Clenching his jaw, House slowly sunk in deeper. He
stopped half way and pulled back, thrusting in and out until he felt
Wilson was ready to accept more. Letting go of himself, House transferred
his hand to Wilson's cock, which had softened a little, and squeezed it.
Wilson's expression was a mixture of pain and pleasure as House thrust
himself inside right up to the root. 

Suddenly needing to see Wilson's eyes, House reached up and pulled the
blindfold off. Wilson opened his eyes, blinking rapidly for a few seconds,
and gazed up at House in amazement. House wasn't sure if the amazement
came from an emotional or physical feeling, but supposed that it could be
both. Switching his weight onto his other hand, House reached up and
stroked the back of his fingers gently over Wilson's cheek. Wilson turned
his head and kissed the palm of House's hand, his eyes sliding closed. 

This, House thought, was why neither of them had said anything about what
they were now or how they felt; they didn't need to. 

"Move with me," House said, and put both hands on the mattress as he
pulled out of Wilson halfway before driving back in. Wilson's expression
tightened; clearly uncomfortable but fighting to relax and do as House had
asked. It took all of House's willpower to keep his thrusts slow and easy.
When Wilson's expression began to soften, House gradually began to pick up
the pace; pulling out until the head of his cock was still inside Wilson's
body before thrusting back in. 

The exertion began to make his thigh hurt, but House ignored it, focusing
on the shameless sounds Wilson started to make, the feel of the pulsating
tightness wrapped around his cock, the creaking of the bed and the
clinking of the chain when Wilson pulled at his bonds. 

"Please," Wilson started to beg, pushing himself onto House's cock. "I
need... please, let me...." 

"Not yet," House said, feeling a drop of sweat start to drip down his
face. He clenched his eyes shut, breathing in great ragged gasps. When he
felt the pressure start to build, House fumbled down between them and
released the cock ring. "Now," House gasped, driving his cock in hard one
last time before he came. 

Wilson cried out before he followed a mere second later, his head thrown
back and his whole body tightening up like a bow string about to snap.
Instead of snapping though, Wilson crumpled onto the mattress under
House's sudden dead weight. 

They lay there like that before House got enough of his bearings back to
realise Wilson was going to start hurting if he stayed where he was.
Carefully, he pulled out and lowered Wilson's legs to the bed before
disposing of the condom. House freed Wilson from the cuffs before
collapsing again. Wilson rolled towards him and pressed up against his
side, draping an arm over House's middle. 

Turning his head, House lazily kissed Wilson's forehead, his cheek and
then his lips. Wilson smiled faintly before kissing him back. It was a
lethargic, relaxed kiss that slowly petered out after a minute. House
brushed the sweaty locks of hair hanging over Wilson's forehead back from
his face before resting his hand on Wilson's chest and closing his eyes.

This, House thought before he drifted off into sleep, was screwed up
bliss.	
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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.