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That fifth glass of Scotch had gone straight to his head. His host was being rather generous with the pours this evening, and it had left Wilson feeling a little out of sorts. He should go to the bathroom to freshen up, splash some cold water on his face and sober up a little. Yeah, that was a great idea.
He steadied himself on the arm of the couch and levered himself to his feet, swaying a little as the floor shifted underneath him like a conveyor. He went to take a step in the direction he assumed was the bathroom. Suddenly he felt a tug, and his body weight and a little bit of gravity pulled him back down onto the couch. He landed, a dead weight, square in someone’s lap.
Danger, danger, danger.
“Fuck, what the-” Wilson’s vision was swimming as he tried to get his bearings. He looked around in a daze; he must’ve fallen. Damn it, why did he let himself drink that much? House was going to laugh at him.
He tried to get up again, but he was stuck. So fucking pathetic, he thought. Come on, old man.
That's when he noticed the hands on his hips. They seared into his skin like a brand. Then, he felt the breath on the back of his neck. Heavy, wet, unsteady breaths that sent a tremor down his spine and through to his toes. He hoped it didn’t disturb the apartment below.
Apartment . He was at House’s apartment. That left an obvious candidate for whose nose was currently buried in his hair and nudging the back of his head. He didn’t need to turn around to prove it, he could feel the stubble scraping against his nape. It was nice.
So nice in fact, he decided to close his eyes and just be. He’d worry about the consequences in the morning.
But when his eyelids gave in and patterns swirled in the darkness, his brain went swirling with it. He felt like he was being tossed back and forth by some higher power that saw him as nothing more than a toy. Prey to bat back and forth before boredom sets in and hunger takes over.
The panic hits him first, a vague feeling of imminent doom that starts in the bones and radiates outwards. Sweat started to bead on his forehead and top lip. He felt flushed all over, and his hands started to shake.
“House.” It sounded like a plea.
“Mhhm.” House hummed in a half-hearted reply. His grip didn’t loosen.
Wilson’s heart started to beat faster, he felt dizzier than ever. He tried again to break loose of House’s hold on him, but his limbs had inconveniently turned to jello. The exertion made his stomach graduate from gentle roly-polies to olympic-level somersaults.
“House, seriously, I don't feel good…”
Wilson trailed off as a hand snaked up his chest and settled on his jaw. Two fingers rested on Wilson’s lower lip and applied a gentle but unwavering pressure. A question was asked without any words being spoken.
Wilson would blame it on the Scotch later. There's no real explanation for his following actions.
Chest rising and falling in staccato, he didn’t have the energy to fight. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to try.
So he gave in.
His lips parted, and he felt the sharp intake of breath behind him more than he heard it. House slid the two fingers past the entrance of Wilson’s mouth, coming to rest on his tongue. Wilson felt the saliva forming and threatening to spill down his chin. So he brought his lips together and began to suck gently on the intrusion. His stomach flipped again, but not in the same way it had before.
The sort of dumb courage that could only come from a bottle was currently clouding James’ usually impeccable judgement. The fingers in his mouth were generously coated now, and as if that same distant entity had regained its interest, Wilson started unconsciously rocking his head forward and backwards. He took the fingers deeper into his mouth.
He started to lose himself again. Eyes falling shut, he surrendered to the rhythm of his lips sweeping over the tips, past the knuckles, and back again.
But then he let himself get a little too relaxed, lost track of his place in space and time, and his body swayed a little too far. House’s fingers brushed the back of his throat. The muscle suddenly and violently contracted, as Wilson’s weak gag reflex betrayed him. He made a pathetic, wet choking noise as his body tried to repel the foreign object in his throat.
His first reaction was to scramble for purchase on House’s arm and pull the obstruction free. That proved to be a mistake, as House’s fingers were dragged quickly and heavily along the length of his tongue, causing his throat to constrict a second time and his stomach muscles to clench painfully. His upper body pitched forwards and he doubled over as spit flooded his mouth. It tasted like bile and regret. James wanted the taste out of his mouth, but his head was still stuffed with cotton wool, so he did the most logical thing he could (currently) think of. He herded the fluids to the front of his mouth, bowed his head, and spat them out down the front of his work shirt.
He thought that would surely mark the end of whatever fucked up game they were playing. He would- he should slink off to the bathroom, brush his teeth, change into one of House’s old t-shirts and fall asleep alone in House’s bed while House passed out on the couch.
They’re supposed to wake up in separate rooms, avoid eye contact while Wilson makes them both coffee, go back to their separate apartments, and continue on with their separate lives.
Whatever he’s supposed to do next, it definitely doesn’t involve acknowledging the long, hard object he can currently feel nestled between his ass cheeks.
Danger, danger, danger.
So he didn't. At least, not yet. There was something else crowding his sensory inputs. He could feel it, hear it, smell it. House’s breath on the side of his face; uneven, heavy, and laced with middle-shelf whiskey. It made Wilson’s head spin all over again.
House had sat up to bring his chest flush to Wilson’s back. His arms returned to encase Wilson, although this time with two spit-covered fingers he hadn't bothered to wipe clean yet. Wilson grimaced slightly as the sticky hand came up to cup his jaw.
Wilson's mind felt a thousand miles away from his body. So when House ducked his head down next to Wilson's ear and parted his lips to finally speak, the whispered words seemed to echo like they were bouncing off the walls of a tunnel.
"I need you."
It was a quiet admission. It was only three words yet they said so much more. Wilson wanted to tell him he knows, and it's okay, and he loves him too. But he knew better than to spook House right now. So he kept up the tone of the moment and echoed back in the same desperate whisper.
"Fuck, House."
Something in House seemed to snap. A sound vibrated low in his throat that Wilson could only describe as a growl, as he brought his lips down to James’ neck and began pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all the way down his neck to his shoulders. He used the moist hand still on Wilson’s jaw to tilt his head for better access.
James was lost, knocked off-balance from all the different waves of feeling crashing into him. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. He'd been kissed before, but never like this. He was usually just along for the ride, going through the motions to get off like any bored housewife with an emotionally distant spouse.
Never had someone taken control like this. Let him empty his mind, and let his body just feel. He certainly never expected House to want him like this, no matter how many times Wilson may have thought about it. No matter how many times Wilson has choked out his name with his hand around his dick and cum leaking onto his stomach.
Like House could read his thoughts, he interrupted them with another low murmur in his ear.
"Do you trust me, Jimmy?"
Wilson felt his heart pick up its pace. Of course he did, but the way House used that teasing nickname made alarm bells ring in his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and answered honestly.
"Yes."
House bit his lip and buried his face in James' neck once again. He seemed to be wrestling with himself about something. The bravado and teasing that had snuck back into his vocabulary only proved this further. He knew House well enough by now to see through it, which meant he knew something was wrong.
Wilson turned to try and look House in the eye, only managing to brush his cheek against the surprisingly soft hair at the top of House's head.
"What is it?" He softened his voice as much as possible, though his words were still clumsy.
House just huffed, his usual 'not-getting-my-way' sound.
"Hoouuse." It was Wilson's turn to be petulant as he drew out the vowels of House's name in a whine.
House said something into Wilson's neck, but it was muffled by the shirt collar pressed against his lips.
"Huh?" Wilson sounded confused.
House lifted his head up like it was too heavy for his shoulders. A line of spit connected his lips to Wilson's shirt where he had drooled a little damp patch onto it.
"I did this to you." House repeated.
"Wha-?" Wilson sounded just as confused. House was starting to get frustrated, like he realised he'd have to elaborate for the sake of everyone who didn't live in his brain. He drew in a breath. He closed his eyes and let the admission out.
"I got you drunk. On purpose. It turns me on."
He waited for a response that never came. Some sort of berating for being a creep, a lecture on consent from New Jersey’s number one most ethical oncologist; the poster boy for appropriate relationships.
He knew it was over when Wilson didn't say a word, instead he got to his feet and walked an unsteady path into the kitchen. House could hear shuffling and thought Wilson must be gathering up his stuff to leave. I deserve that, he reasoned. He rested his forehead in the palm of his hand as he slid his eyes shut.
As the uneven footsteps left the kitchen, he expected the next sound he'd hear to be the front door slamming shut. So he was startled to hear the heavy clink of a glass object being dropped onto the coffee table in front of him.
The sound of a stopper being teased out of a bottle, followed by the unmistakable sound of liquid being poured into glasses. One, and then another.
House was pulled from his self-pity with a startled oof, as the air was knocked out of him by something heavy landing in his lap. Wilson had sat back down, this time facing House, knees encasing his thighs as he straddled him.
Wilson had a glass of Scotch in each hand. He held one out towards House, who quickly realised it wasn’t a choice as he wrapped his fingers around the cold glass.
Wilson gave House one last stare down, before tipping the glass up, and downing the whole drink in one go. The only hint that it affected him in any way was the shiver that racked his spine as he brought the empty glass from his lips.
"Your turn." He said simply, throat a little tight.
"Now, Wilson, if you've picked this moment to go completely insane, you legally have to tell me." He was looking at Wilson incredulously, though he had to admit he was a little impressed. "It's my number one rule to not stick my dick in crazy, lest-"
Wilson cut him off by taking the drink back out of House’s hand, and tipping it up to his lips. House spluttered a little before regaining control of his breathing through his nose, and downing the liquid as fast as he could to minimise the burn. Usually he'd want to savour it, but he had a feeling he lost those privileges the second he'd brought Wilson across his apartment's threshold. That didn't mean he couldn't make a sarcastic comment about it, though.
"You know, Jimmy, that was pure, unfiltered, cave-aged whisky from the actual Scotch region of Scotland, and you just disrespected and defiled-"
"I swear to god, House, if you don't shut the fuck up and kiss me-"
House didn't need to be told again.
He balled up the front of Wilson’s shirt in his fist and tugged, bringing him forward to meet his lips. He snaked one hand around the back of Wilson’s head and nestled it into his hair. His other hand stayed resting on Wilson’s chest, fingers pressing and rubbing surprisingly delicately. He seemed to find the thing he was looking for. The wet patch on his shirt was still very present, and House ran his fingertips lightly over the spit-soaked material, his mouth moving in a steady rhythm against Wilson’s.
House parted his lips first, inviting James’ tongue to explore his own. It was all so tender, he couldn’t believe this was the same House that he’d known all these years. Why the fuck did it take him this long?
Wilson whined quietly as he felt House's mouth leave his. But it turned into a soft moan as he felt House’s wetted lips travel across his jaw, and return to suck marks onto his neck. House’s tongue was tracing patterns onto the skin of his throat, and he felt himself flush. Patches of pink spread from James’ cheeks down to his chest, freshly warmed by the strong pull of whisky. That familiar fuzzy cotton wool feeling was starting to return with full force. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he knew House had a lot to do with that feeling, too. He wasn’t stupid, he knew this was fucked up. But he liked it. Which must mean he’s fucked up too, and, well, that just means he couldn’t be in better company.
Wilson’s tiny whimpers and moans gave House some of his confidence back, though he could probably thank the alcohol for that, too. Speaking of alcohol-
“I think it’s time for another drink.” House’s low voice met Wilson’s ears and he felt himself shudder with arousal. The tone, the voice, the words, Wilson wasn’t sure which one it was exactly, but he was suddenly aware of his cock straining against the fabric of his slacks. It wasn’t a question, so it didn’t need an answer. Wilson shifted in House’s lap just enough to reach for the half-empty bottle of Scotch. He looked around for the glasses but they were nowhere to be seen.
House noticed Wilson’s brow furrow and his mouth open and then close as if he was about to say something. He’s so cute when he’s confused. House decided to help him out, because honestly he was getting a little desperate.
He took the bottle and worked the stopper out of the neck with deft fingers. Wilson forgot sometimes just how talented his friend was. He felt a little pride radiate through his insides as he watched on.
The absent smile on his face was quickly replaced by a look of confusion as the cold rim of the bottle was pressed against his lips, startling him. He didn’t know what he was expecting exactly , just that he trusted House to find a solution like he always does. He’s so smart. Which must mean this is a good idea. So he parted his lips and let House tip the bottle until the liquid spread into his mouth.
The taste wasn’t as bad as it was earlier, and Wilson found he actually started to like it a bit. That’s why he just let House keep pouring. He’d take whatever House gave him, he always knows what’s best for him. Anyway, it wasn’t like he was gulping it down, it's not like his usual red wine.
It wasn’t until the edges of his vision started to get a little dark that he remembered breathing. The thing his body has to do to survive. Unfortunately his brain and his body weren’t entirely connected right now, and his lungs tried to suck in a breath with the bottle still pressed to his lips, and hot liquid still running down his throat.
He spluttered, shoving the bottle away, his body taking over as it went into survival mode. He coughed violently, leaning forward to get gravity on his side and try to clear the obstruction. House set the bottle down before bringing one of his hands up behind Wilson to try and give him a thump on the back. He may have used a little too much force, and Wilson lost his balance and landed face first against House's chest. Evidently it didn't work, as Wilson resumed coughing, the force of it wracking his entire body. He listened closely to his breathing, Wilson was hyperventilating, which meant he only had a few moments before it became a full-blown panic attack.
House knew he needed to take a different approach, so he rubbed Wilson's back firmly, and did the only other thing he could think of.
"Shhh, it's okay, you're okay. Just focus on your breathing."
Wilson took a couple of shuddery breaths in and out, before he felt his body tense up for yet another round of coughing. House heard the wet sound of something thick being coughed up and swallowed.
House kept the firm hand on Wilson's back, rubbing circles. Wilson held a hand against his side, ribs aching from the exertion.
A particularly forceful cough brought up a sizable amount of the thick mucus. It tasted awful and it burned as much coming back up as it did going down, and all he knew was he needed it out of his mouth. He tried to swallow it down. His body disagreed.
His stomach churned and he suddenly realised this may have been a huge mistake. Not only had he choked on it, but his body was already rejecting the alcohol before he'd gone and downed more.
The realisation made him gag, stomach clenching and eyes welling up. He clamped a hand over his mouth reflexively.
He felt dizzy again, and his other hand landed on House's shoulder as he tried to steady himself and settle his stomach.
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. In... Out... In... Ou- Fuck.
His mouth was filling with saliva and his hands were getting clammy. He knew what this meant, he tried to get up off House's lap but the hands around his back had him held tight.
He tried to open his mouth to convey how he really needed to get to the bathroom. But the second he tried to make a sound his throat constricted and he gagged again, spit flooding his mouth. He couldn't aim for his shirt this time, so he let the gross mixture in his mouth spill out onto his pants.
When he lifted his head back up, however, two things made him tense up.
The first one was a fresh wave of nausea that he could feel clawing up his throat. But the second was the odd look House was giving him. He couldn’t read it, but it seemed almost…
He couldn't focus long enough to finish that thought, however, as the First Thing demanded his full attention. He heard the panic in his own voice as he tried to squirm out of House's grip.
"House, please, I'm serious, I need to-''
This time when Wilson doubled over, he curled in on himself towards his own lap. If he was going to embarrass himself, at least he could minimise the cleaning bill.
House didn't let go. He pressed a comforting hand to Wilson's back, holding him steady.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. You're safe. Just relax."
Wilson relaxed his shoulders as much as he could, and tried to steady his breathing. Just as Wilson thought he might be in the clear, he felt the familiar burn of stomach acid reaching his throat and his stomach churned. His lips parted as he gagged, coughing up spit and bile, the warm stickiness running down his chin.
He couldn't hold it back, he was going to throw up. He shuddered and his eyes closed involuntarily.
The feeling made him gag again and choke out another cough, this time he felt a small amount of his stomach contents travel up his oesophagus. He covered his mouth with his hand in a final attempt at control. But it was futile, and his body expelled the liquidy vomit into his hand. There was too much to catch and it spilled out between his fingers. He tried to aim the mess towards his own lap, but an equal amount splashed onto House's lap, too.
He tried to get an apology out, but it was too late. The floodgates had opened, and Wilson's body was paying him back for all the abuse it had endured that evening.
His stomach muscles clenched painfully and his throat made a wet choking noise as James threw up the Scotch and the Chinese takeout from earlier. Multiple waves of watery vomit were brought up one after the other, as he struggled to catch his breath in between. Each retch contorted his body, his muscles tensing and shaking as his stomach emptied itself bit by bit. House never stopped stroking his hair through all of it. Even as the sour liquid started to seep into his clothes.
Wilson was dry heaving now, spitting out the occasional build up of saliva. His eyes were still screwed shut.
House ran his thumb over over his chin to clear the trail of spit running down it, and Wilson thought he heard something like metal scraping together.
The hand in Wilson's hair trailed downwards to rub his back gently, as Wilson tried to slow his rapid heart rate.
"Relax," House repeated softly.
Wilson nodded, trying to ignore how embarrassed he felt. He wondered when House would run out of patience and send him to the bathroom to clean up.
"I'm so sorry." Wilson sounded broken and pathetic, his voice scratchy and his nose running. He sounded like he was going to cry.
"Wilson, look at me." He stopped rubbing Wilson's back so he could tip his chin up. His voice sounded oddly strained, like he was the one trying to catch his breath this time.
Wilson obeyed mostly out of habit, and was immediately met with a sight that made his eyes widen and his lips part.
The expression on House's face; he'd never seen that look before. It was a look of awe. It was a stark contrast to the current situation, and Wilson couldn't hold back the nervous exhale that almost resembled a laugh. Wilson had known House a long time. He thought he had him all figured out. But here he was, staring at Wilson covered in his own vomit; body aching, and throat raw, like he was the most beautiful thing on the planet.
But there was also a hunger in his eyes. His cheeks were tinted red and hair was stuck to his forehead with damp sweat.
Wilson caught sight of movement, and instinctively looked towards it.
House had undone his pants, and his hard cock was currently pulled out through his unzipped fly. No underwear, Wilson regarded distantly.
Wilson should be disgusted, of course House was getting off on this. He should make a scathing comment about House being more messed up than he thought. But he didn’t. Instead, Wilson eyed the glistening head of House's dick, and the precum leaking from the slit.
He swallowed thickly.
"You… wanted..."
He trailed off, watching House stroke himself.
He was mesmerised by the way House's hand moved slowly up and down his shaft, the way his hips rocked slightly with each movement. He watched the muscles in House's arm flex.
He watched Wilson watch him for a moment before bringing a hand up to cup his jaw. He rubbed his thumb over Wilson’s swollen bottom lip before pushing it inside. Wilson sucked on it gently; he didn’t have to be instructed to coat it with saliva, he knew what House wanted.
House returned the hand to his dick, rubbing the spit-covered thumb over the head, and teasing his slit.
Wilson couldn't hold back his moan, and House actually looked relieved. Wilson got the impression that he had lost some of his confidence over the course of the night's events. These moments were rare and Wilson made sure to savour it.
“Can I kiss you?” House kept his voice deliberately level.
Wilson should protest. He should screw his face up in disgust that House would suggest such a thing.
But he didn’t. He just licked his lips, and nodded.
House leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. He brought his lips up to Wilson’s and kissed him slowly, tenderly.
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
Wilson nodded his head again, and House continued kissing him. He slid his tongue into Wilson's mouth, tasting the bitter remnants of the Scotch and the Chinese food. House moaned unashamedly against Wilson’s lips.
Wilson responded with a soft whimper, and he wrapped his arms around House's neck, pulling him closer.
They broke apart for air, both panting heavily.
"Are you sure this is okay?" House asked. Wilson thought he could hear guilt underlining the words.
“House.” Wilson leaned in to speak softly into his ear. He grabbed one of House's hands and placed it over the tent in his wet slacks.
“I liked it, too.”
"...Good." Was all House said, but Wilson could feel the tension leaving him as he leaned in to kiss him with renewed vigour.
Wilson felt lightheaded again, but this time it was because House was stealing the breath from his lungs as he kissed him with a passion he's never felt before. His hips bucked of their own accord, trying to find some sort of friction.
He felt House's hand slide down his chest, and then come to rest over his clothed erection. He gasped and arched his back, grinding against House's palm.
It wasn't enough.
He needed more. He needed to feel skin on skin.
"Please, House." He whispered, not wanting to break the kiss. "I need-"
He cut himself off with a whine as Wilson felt House's hand move away from his crotch. He felt the button of his pants being wrestled with, until the pressure on his cock was eased as his fly was undone.
He felt House's fingers brush the waistband of his underwear, and then they were sliding in underneath the damp fabric.
"Oh God." Wilson groaned as House's hand found his cock.
House's touch was gentle, but firm. He stroked Wilson's length slowly, up and down, wanting to feel every inch of his shaft. He traced the outline of Wilson's balls with his thumb, and Wilson was glad he was sitting down as his knees felt weak underneath him.
He reached up and gripped the back of House's head, pulling him in for a deep kiss.
House moaned into his mouth, and Wilson felt him start to pump faster. He could feel the heat radiating from House's hand, and he couldn't help but thrust upwards, desperate to get more of the sensation.
"Fuck, Wilson." House growled, and Wilson felt the roughness of his stubble against his cheek. "You look so fucking beautiful right now."
Wilson couldn't respond verbally. He just moaned into House's mouth, and bit down on his lower lip.
All too soon, House's hand slowed its pace, and Wilson felt the cool air on his sensitive cock, whining at the loss of contact.
"What do you want?" House's voice was low and husky, but Wilson could hear the strain in it.
Wilson took a deep breath and let it out shakily. The blush on his cheeks and neck deepened.
“I-I need to cum.”
“Uh-uh, Jimmy, did you forget your manners?” House said in an exaggerated disciplinary tone.
House expected some sort of sarcastic retort, but instead Wilson looked at him with wide, watery eyes.
“Please. Please let me cum- fuck, House- I need it so badly- need you- always needed you-” He was wrecked. He looked absolutely debauched, and his voice sounded broken to match. Wet, messy, desperate, perfect.
House smiled crookedly. He leant up and tugged Wilson's boxers the rest of the way down to his knees, exposing his leaking cock fully for the first time.
Wilson watched as House cupped his balls, squeezing lightly. His dick twitching weakly at the teasing.
In a now familiar scene, House brought three fingers up to Wilson's mouth, which he sucked in without hesitation. Wilson's tongue knew what to do even if his brain was fried. He coated the fingers generously as he bobbed his head absently on the intrusion. Wilson whined as the fingers were taken away, but his disappointment was short lived as he felt the freshly lubed hand wrap around his shaft.
"Yes, god yes." Wilson cried out hoarsely, trying to push his hips forward to get some friction even though his legs ached and shook.
House took pity on him and moved his hand once again, flicking his wrist with practised ease as he pumped Wilson's shaft. Wilson's hips jerked erratically and desperately as House dragged his fist over the head with rough, calloused fingers.
Wilson was going to lose it any second, but he held on tightly to House's shirt, keeping him pinned close to his body. He buried his face into House's neck, panting heavily next to his ear, a string of whimpers and obscenities pouring from his lips.
His thighs quaked as he felt the orgasm start to build up from somewhere deep within him. His breathing came out ragged and laboured, his whole body starting to tense up.
"Faster- Please, House- I need-" Wilson pleaded, unable to form coherent sentences.
And House obliged.
His fist worked harder, enveloping the sensitive spots over and over in its generous embrace.
House could feel every tremble of his body and every stuttered breath. He needed to tell him how amazing he is, how brilliant. So he did.
"Good boy. Such a good boy, James. Will you cum for me?"
"H-House-!"
Wilson's whole body went stiff and his hips stuttered uncontrollably. His cock pulsed as his release coated House's hand and shirt, adding to the sticky mess between them.
Wilson let out a sob as House kept pumping a little too long; overstimulated, overwhelmed, and exhausted. He stayed buried in House's neck, trying to catch his breath and maybe form a coherent thought.
He felt House shift underneath him and clung on tighter out of instinct. He wasn't ready to end this. That'd mean letting House go, and then having to talk about what the fuck just happened.
As if reading his mind, House interrupted his spiralling thoughts.
"Relax, Jimmy, I'm not going anywhere. You did this to me, the least you can do is let me take care of it." House punctuated this sentiment by snaking his free hand around Wilson's waist and gently but firmly gripping his hip.
Wilson uneasily removed his face from its burial and glanced down between them.
House's cock was very reminiscent of the man himself; long, trim, and intimidating. Wilson's mouth watered despite the fatigue that permeated his bones.
House wasted no time spitting into his hand and taking hold of himself. His erection was so hard it looked painful; red, swollen, and leaking. He hissed at the contact, finally getting to feel skin on skin. He gave a few teasing pumps with a loose fist before losing patience and picking up the pace.
Wilson leaned back in to nip at House's neck, sucking marks that would not be covered easily by his work attire.
It wasn't long before House's breathing picked up and his strokes became increasingly erratic. Wilson could see the muscles in House's forearm tensing and relaxing as he pumped himself towards climax.
"Kiss me." House panted, his voice strained. "Let me taste you."
In wordless agreement, Wilson pressed his lips against House's once more. It was surprisingly tender and gentle for a man so close to the edge. He invited Wilson's tongue into his mouth, moving it against his own as his hand continued working.
The combination of Wilson's warm mouth and the slick, hot grind of his palm against his cock was too much for House. He felt his own orgasm building up. He pulled Wilson impossibly closer for another deep kiss, and Wilson felt House's grip around him tighten.
House stilled against Wilson's lips, panting into his mouth as his orgasm hit with such force that his vision blurred, and for a second he thought he might black out. He closed his eyes as he became lost in a sensation he had not felt in a long time.
He felt his own warm load coat his knuckles and drip down into his lap, a few errant drops landing on Wilson's thigh. House shuddered beneath Wilson, his body shaking with a mixture of aftershocks and the stark contrast of the cold, damp clothes clinging to his burning hot skin.
When House finally opened his eyes, Wilson saw a strange expression in them. He was drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his chest was still rising and falling dramatically as he caught his breath. For once in his life, House actually looked satisfied.
"That was... wow." House said, sounding rather stunned.
"Yeah." Was all Wilson could muster in agreement, his voice thick and body heavy with languor.
He felt House's arm snake around his shoulders, pulling him in tight against his chest. As much as he liked the closeness, Wilson couldn't help but squirm at the feeling of the sticky, drying mess between them. One more minute, Wilson agreed with himself. And then I get us some towels.
---
It wasn't until they'd cleaned themselves up and taken a shower that Wilson finally asked.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
House shrugged. "What do you mean?"
"That you liked me. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I don't know Jimmy, maybe because 'hey, I know you're my best friend and all but I want to get on my knees and suck you off' never occurred to me as a conversation starter."
"Y-you wanna suck me off?"
"Jesus, Wilson, that's what you took from that?" Wilson felt his cheeks go pink, but before he could stutter out a lame response, House sighed. His voice went quiet and he looked away from Wilson as he spoke.
"Because… I fuck things up. And because... I don't know why, but it's different with you. Like I need to actually think things through. Ask for permission instead of forgiveness for once. I almost fucked that part up just now anyway."
"But you didn't. You're just lucky that I seem to be made for you."
House smiled - a small but genuine smile - as his head was clear for the first time in years. James Wilson was perfect. And he was all his.