Work Text:
It was just for one night. One night, he would stay at the apartment. One night, he would sleep on the couch. How he ended up on a not-so-metaphorical leash was far beyond him.
"Sit," comes the steady, too-calm voice of the prettiest man James Evan Wilson had ever laid his eyes upon. He does as he's told, sinking to the floor with little regard for his aging knees or work clothes.
Click
"Good mutt."
This had been the daily routine for the past week: House and Wilson get to the apartment, Wilson cooks dinner, House manages to goad him into playing a game, and somehow, every time, Wilson winds up on his knees.
House stretches back on the couch, letting his injured leg hang lazily off the tattered surface and leaning his head back, exposing the scraggly column of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows back a sound of pain. Wilson can barely stand before he feels a yank on the firm leather lead around his throat, pulling him back to his knees.
"I said sit," House chides, not even looking at his favorite oncologist from his place on the couch. A beat passes, the room is silent aside from the drone of the fan and the clunking of the ice machine. House looks up from his spot of leisure, leaning forward with elbows on knees and a grin on his lips.
The man between his outstretched legs can't help but gulp down his anxiety, something pooling in his gut that he isn't quite sure he wants to investigate. "I'm- I'm sorry, House, what exactly am I-"
A harsher yank on his the leash, House's icy eyes calculating as his smile turns something akin to sinister. His lips purse mockingly, doing nothing to hide the grin underlying. "Dogs don't talk, Wilson. You want to be a good bitch, don't you?"
Oh. Well. Something about that tone of voice sends that swirling mess in his stomach farther down, pooling where it should not be, given the fact that this man is his best and only friend. A feverish shake of the head later, House does not look convinced.
He tuts disapprovingly, relaxing his posture to lean back on the couch, clearly enjoying whatever fucked up upper hand he's given himself. Great, another thing to stoke the guy's ego. God knows he doesn't need it. "Wilson," a sing-song voice calls, a tad gruffer than usual, "come on, pup, I know you can do it."
"And what, exactly, am I supposed to-"
Whack
The rolled-up newspaper hits him lightly upside the head faster than he can finish his thought, let alone his sentence. Where did House even get that? Most likely stolen from the clinic, Wilson reasons. It doesn't matter, because it's raised in warning above the man's brown hair, a smug smile spread on his friend's face.
"Care to be a good puppy, Jimmy?"
"James."
Whack
Wilson shakes the impact from his head, glowering at the sickeningly blue eyes meeting his own. He sits back on his heels, resolving himself to stay like that as long as possible, just to piss House off.
Click
"Good boy," comes the sticky-sweet coo from the man who is suddenly very high above him, peering down as a king on his throne would a prisoner.
The feeling deep in his groin stirs again, pressing lightly against his bladder, twinging slightly in protest. A whimper escapes his lips as he realizes with a start that he forgot to pee after dinner, but opening his mouth to inform House doesn't look like it'll go very well.
Not that it's a big deal right now, as that whimper clearly did something to House, if the way his eyes are more black than blue is anything to go by.
Click
Wilson can feel the arousal stirring in his gut, flushing under the amorous eyes of his closest friend. He shifts in place, his bladder twinging in protest and another whine unwillingly trailing from his throat.
Click
Oh.
That's what the clicker's for.
Dog trainers use clickers to get the obedient beasts to associate it with reward, giving them a sense of satisfaction from preforming the correct action. It's almost like-
Wilson puts on his best puppy-eyes, whining softly up at House and shifting forward just enough to rub his cheek against his left knee.
Click
House grunts slightly, feigning approval but clearly trying to cover the noise that almost escaped.
His bladder twinges again as he shifts on his knees, sitting back, and Wilson gasps, a hand flying between his legs to alleviate some of the discomfort.
Icy eyes follow the movement of his hand, a smirk hiding among the scruffy facial hairs of the older man. "Aw, puppy," he coos, "does somebody have to go potty?"
How the hell did he know? It's not as though House monitored how much he drank- not usually. But he had been so busy with patients today, and House stopping by to drop off drinks wasn't all that unusual (though they were usually drugged), so Wilson had accepted the coffees and teas and pops without a second thought.
And House had served some white wine at dinner, pairing well with the rosemary chicken and asparagus, commenting offhandedly that Wilson had better "tinkle before playtime"
His eyes widen as he realizes what exactly House's plan was, unable to stop his protests. "House!"
Whack
He whimpers, gripping himself through his slacks, the steady pulsing of his bladder in time with his heart.
"Bad dog. Puppies don't speak." House narrows his eyes, leaning forward to hook a finger around the leather collar Wilson had all but forgotten, pulling the man uncomfortably close. "Now, does my little mutt need to potty?"
Wilson grates his teeth, fixing his jaw too tight as he nods, eyes as defiant as they can be with the need pooling in his gut, dick half-hard with pain and whatever hung in the air between them.
A smile Wilson's never seen before spreads on House's chapped lips as the man narrows his eyes in triumph. "Speak."
"Y-"
Whack
"Bad dog," he growls, voice low and gruff in a way that Wilson has never heard before. "I. Said. Speak."
Realization twists in Wilson's gut, the hopes of nothing embarrassing happening far gone. He's almost shaking with- what? Need? Fear? The overwhelming urge to piss? His lungs are shaky as he drinks in a deep breath, steeling himself.
"Woof."
Click
"Good boy," House leans back on the couch, a hand on his lap as he palms himself through his jeans, pupils blown wide with lust and grin a little toothier than need be.
Wilson can't help the whine trailing from his own lips, his bladder threatening to go out on him any minute. House just cocks an eyebrow, expectant. Another shaky breath, and a small bark.
Click
"Do you wanna go potty?"
A nod.
Whack
A bark, a little throatier this time.
Click
"Good puppy, come on."
House stands with a groan, still gripping Wilson's leash in his cane hand, limping towards the kitchen. There's nothing helpful for Wilson in there.
He whines and tries to stand up, but house yanks the leash hard enough that he stumbles to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees.
"You're a dog, aren't you?"
He doesn't need to be told twice. Anything for House to let him pee. He shuffles forward on all fours, knowing he'll regret it in the morning after a night crashing on House's couch. Knees a little more banged up than they were five minutes ago, the pair make it to the kitchen.
There's a plastic bowl on the floor. That's not where those usually go, Wilson thinks, narrowing his eyes at the suspicious sight. He turns to House, cocking his head and letting out a low whine in question.
Click
"I know puppy, it's a little confusing. You need to pee, don't you?" He waits a beat for the responding whine. "Well, your owner thought you would rather potty in a bowl than all over his good carpets, hmm?"
Wilson's brows crease as he thinks, mind hazy as he thinks about how much he has to /go/. After a tug on his leash, he whines in affirmative.
Click
"There's a good boy. Let me help you, come here." House tugs him gently forward by the leash, leading Wilson so his hips are flush with the bowl. "Okay puppy, go potty."
Wilson whines in confusion, knowing his work clothes are still on and that he can't take them off without permission, but he really, really can't wait.
Whack
"Are you stupid, mutt? I said, go potty. There's your bowl."
Wilson brings a hand to his fly, and House whacks him again.
"If I have to tell you twice, I'll give you to the pound. Be a good boy."
Face flushed red hot with shame, Wilson whines, head down and tears pricking the corner of his eyes. House yanks him up by the hair, forcing eye contact.
"Look at me, puppy. Don't take your eyes off me, got it?"
An affirmative whine.
Click
A twitch in his cock, and now tiny beads of precum aren't the only thing leaking, a tiny bit of urine escaping. Wilson's hand flies to cover himself as a whimper escapes him, squeezing his eyes shut.
Whack
"Bad dog. Look at me. Paws off. Raise your leg like a good bitch and go potty."
Wilson can't take the embarrassment as the sphincter in his urethra gives out, tears and snot streaming down his face as piss gushes into his pants, trailing down his leg and soaking into the fabric. He moans low and long at the release, panting heavily with every passing second, the only sounds his breath and the hiss of urine.
Clearly he had to pee more than he thought, if the sheer length of time is anything to go by. His cock twitches as the last drops spill into his pants, suddenly realizing how sticky and gross he's going to be. A whine and a look under himself confirm it: his pants are soaked and more piss got on the floor than in the bowl.
Whack
"You missed the bowl, pup. Do you know what that means?"
There's something cruel in his owner friend's voice, but so, so good. He whines his confusion, knowing full well he couldn't talk even if he wanted to.
"We can't leave a puddle in the kitchen, now can we?" House waits a beat for the man on the floor to whine a reply. "Drink up, mutt."
Oh. That was the plan all along, wasn't it? Wilson whimpers, trying to tug away from the puddle and bowl, loathing the restriction of the leash. He really is a bad puppy. But the grip House has on the leather is impressive, unwavering despite the force puppy Wilson is putting in, whining and yiping protests.
Whack
"Be a good bitch and drink up, Jimmy," House croons, eyes fond and hard simultaneously, "do you know what happens to naughty dogs?"
Wilson whines, eyes wet and face burning shamefully as he lowers his face to the ground, tie soaking up some of the puddle before his mouth can even touch it, tongue hanging from slightly parted lips. He feels embarrassment and arousal mixing in his stomach, more moths than butterflies as he whines another protest to his owner friend.
"Jimmy," House sing-songs, absent-mindedly stroking the leather of the leash with his thumb as he smiles almost fondly at the younger pup man, "drink up, my dear."
My dear.
That's all it takes for Wilson's tongue to fall fully from his lips, acidic tang filling his senses as he laps hungrily at the puddle on the floor. He hardly notices that he's slurping it down before House's laugh rings through his senses, his ears perking up immediately.
"Aw, puppy, looks like somebody really was thirsty, hmm?" House reaches out one callused hand to pat him on the head, fingers tangling slightly in his mussed-up hair. His smile is genuine and soft, contrasting the stark black of his blown pupils and the tent in his jeans as he caresses Jimmy Wilson with something akin to love. "You're okay, pup, you did good."
Click
"Now, how about we get you cleaned up?"
Wilson barks excitedly, absent-mindedly shaking his rear as though he has a tail, pawing at House's piss-soaked shoes. He does want to be cleaned up! That sounds good!
House laughs harder, grinning at the man he's trained so well. "That's a good boy. Let's get you to my room, hmm?"
Wilson follows him without a second thought (or any thoughts, really), barely a pace behind House as he leads them through their living quarters, limping steadily through the door to his bedroom. However, instead of leading him to the bathroom where he could be cleaned up, House stops at the bed, turning to face his puppy Wilson.
Click
"Good job following me, pup. It's time to get you out of those clothes, isn't it? Be a good boy and strip for me." His words are straightforward, but his tone is laced with bitter honey, sweet yet tainted with something unnatural.
Before he can think about it, Wilson's deft fingers are popping buttons from their holes, unclasping his belt, and shucking off soaked slacks, folding the discarded clothing into a neat pile at House's feet, socks and wet boxers placed neatly on the top.
Click
"There's a good boy." House ruffles his hair, smiling as he begins to strip himself, T-shirt and jeans far faster to shed than Wilson's work attire. He's stripped down to his boxers before Wilson has a chance to whine his confusion.
"Aw, what's wrong puppy? You've seen me naked before, you're fine."
He pouts, sitting patiently at House's feet and keeping his gaze disrespectful, making sure to not linger anywhere that platonic buddies don't generally check out on each other. He whines, leaning forward to nose House where he's still clothed, encouraging (?) him to remove what little he has left.
House throws his head back with laughter. "Wow, Jimmy, that desperate to see me naked? We've known each other for twenty years, you can just ask to see my dick."
There's no further warning before House is free of his boxers, erection flushed red against his thighs and stomach. House turns to lay his discarded clothes on the bed, bending just enough to show off something peeking from his ass, a plug firmly nestled betwixt his cheeks.
Wilson can't suppress the whimper that trails from his lips at the sight of it, cock aching with desire. He wants something, but he's too dumb confused to think it through.
House climbs into his bed, creating a mound of pillows to rest his leaking cock against, hips raised slightly in the air, legs spread. A whistle, the kind you call an obedient pup with, slices through the thick air of the room. "C'mere, Jimmy. Here, boy."
Jimmy Wilson climbs into the bed, whining at the man whose words he'd follow to the ends of the earth, eyes trailing along his naked form. The hair on his neck is practically vibrating as he drinks in the arch of the older man's back, the slight curve of his ass.
Rough hands reach back to remove the plug, a low moan trailing from House's lips as he fucks himself with it for a moment before sliding it free, ass clenching for anything to keep it in place. House hums his content, eyes lidded as he turns to Wilson.
"Don't you want to be a good boy for me?"
That's as much of an invitation as Wilson's going to get, and by God he takes the opportunity. He can barely see straight, vision fuzzy and brain not far behind, but he anchors his arms against his friend's back, hips already bucking before even making contact.
"Woah, calm down, pup. Easy does it," House coos, a note of rare affection painting his words into music for Wilson's ears. "That's a good boy. Line yourself up. There you go."
Click
Wilson can't wait any longer, sinking his aching dick into House's ass with a pathetic, drawn out whine, already struggling to keep himself in check. If House's responding moan is anything to go by, he feels the same, hips pushing backwards to meet Jimmy's.
"That's it, there's my good boy. I know you want to rut into me like the dumb mutt you are. It's okay. Go ahead. Make me your bitch."
That's all the encouragement Wilson needs before he's thrusting his hips into his partner's, stuttering occasionally as he simultaneously chases and fights his inevitable orgasm. He's panting, breath hot against House's neck as he fucks into him, whining uncontrollably every time House rocks back to meet him.
A low moan shivers through the room as House presses his face into his hoard of pillows, tears of pleasure threatening to spill from his eyes. "That's it, puppy, there's my good boy. Don't stop, I'm so close-'
Wilson digs his nails into House's sides as his hips stutter, growling against his neck as the feral urges overtake him fully, fucking House into the mattress until he's practically sobbing his pleas.
"Jimmy, I'm gonna-"
He bites. House screams and rocks his hips back to meet Wilson's, shuddering around him and stringing together curses as he comes undone, thick strings of white-hot lust coating his stomach and pillows, a few drops landing on Wilson's fingers, gripping the training tool with everything he's got.
Click
That's all it takes. The younger man snarls into his neck, pumping forward a few more times before keening, honey-brown eyes full of tears they finally fall, spilling onto the skin beneath his own as he paints him with his love, panting heavily into his freshly-marked neck.
They stay like that for a few moments, breathing in tune with each other's heartbeats as they recover what little dignity is left, House finally breaking the silence between them.
"Get off me, jackass, my leg hurts."