Work Text:
Chilly winds blow your scarf and coat in all directions. The long-set sun left a deep blue sky, almost disguising Doctor Wilson in the dim light. He sat on the bench by the bus stop, sulking in his lab coat. Of course, the one lucky day you parked down the street, you bumped into him. He looked too miserable to stay quiet.
“Doctor Wilson?” You asked as soon as you got close enough, a soft utter as you stood in front of him. “Reducing carbon emissions?”
He looked up, his eyes heavy with whatever he had been dealing with. “Funny. I’m not so keen on reducing the convenience of personal transport.”
“So… Why the bus?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“That – is a story better left untold,” he replied with a heavy sigh. You’ve never seen him so exhausted without House around.
You sit down next to him and look at the empty street, illuminated in a dark sapphire glow. You sighed as well and pressed your back against the wooden bench, wet from the previous snow. Your head turned to look at him and immediately met his gaze. “Do you need a ride?”
His eyebrows raised hopefully, his bus pass still in hand. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why would I not be serious? Do you need a ride?”
He glanced away at the empty street, knowing the bus would be another thirty minutes out. He nodded his head as he balanced his decisions, then shrugged. “I’ll take the ride, please.”
* * *
Once you arrived, you pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and shifted your car into park. “Nice place,” you smiled, looking up at the building. It wasn’t bad, but humble at best.
He looked at the complex as well, hesitating to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Yeah… It’s alright, I suppose.”
You couldn’t ignore his disconnected stare, unable to move at all. You finally sighed and took his hand off of the seatbelt buckle. “You don’t… Have to go home.”
“You’ve done enough for me already,” he protested, shaking his head. He met your eyes again, but the sadness in his eyes was evident. He never pulled his hand away, nor held yours tighter.
“Wilson,” you whispered, your hand now fully holding his. “You don’t have to go home. I have a couch you can sleep on–”
“I don’t want your couch,” he cut you off and his hand finally engulfed yours. “I… I just want something to distract me… from all of this.”
His eyes flickered from your gaze to your lips, and back up. Just from the sound of him begging and the uncertainty in his face, you knew what this was about. Your lips turned into a small smile. “I can figure something out.”
* * *
So back to your townhouse it is, ten minutes away. As you both shed your shoes and accessories to keep warm, Wilson looks at you hesitantly. Again, you give him a soft smile. “Sit down. I’ll make some tea and we can talk.”
His gaze falls to the couch, looking reluctant, but he obeys anyway. “Thank you,” he mutters, sitting on the soft couch. Judging by its hidden and stitched frays, it was either inherited or thrifted. Either way, he can’t deny how comfortable it is.
Just as he’s about to inspect your bookshelf, you poke your head into the living room. “Do you like cream or sugar?”
His head turns towards you and he involuntarily smiles. “No, thank you. Just plain is fine.”
“Okay,” you smile back and soon return with two mugs of tea. You set one down in front of him and the other you hold between your hands. “It’s still hot.”
He nods, looking down at the mug. “Thank you.”
“So, what happened to your car?” You ask, blowing on the surface of your tea to cool it down.
He sighs softly, folding his hands and focusing his gaze on you. “Well, my assets got seized. I can’t talk too much about it, but-“
“By the police?” You gasp, your eyebrows furrowing with concern. “Does this have to do with House being in court?”
“Yes, to both. Because I signed off on some of his prescriptions, they needed to ensure I wasn’t an accomplice,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of the tea that had cooled down. He’s surprised to find it lavender-flavored.
You shake your head and set down your mug. “All because he needed his drugs… You must be upset with him.”
“He’s not taking any of this seriously. I made a deal with Tritter, to cover both my ass and to give him an opportunity to make things better. Of course, he’s stubborn and didn’t take it,” he explains, taking another sip of the brew.
“You’re too loyal to him,” you reply, crossing one leg over the other and turning to face him.
He looks down at your legs, and back up into your eyes. You’re still wearing your work clothes. He saw you wearing them earlier that day; your deep red blouse was hard to miss in the beige halls of the hospital. “I know that. But I don’t really have anyone else right now.”
You smile sadly at that, reaching out to touch his arm in solace. “I’m sorry, Wilson.”
“You don’t have to apologize. None of this is your fault,” he shakes his head, reaching up to hold your hand between his. His thumb traces back and forth as if he were trying to comfort you, but it did wonders for himself.
“It’s not yours, either,” you reply, scooting a little closer to him.
He smiles a little wider, his gut reaction to you moving closer. He chuckles and shakes his head, as he always does when he finds something amusing, or perhaps he’s just nervous. He looks back up at you to find that your eyes haven’t lifted from his face. He takes the opportunity to reach with his other hand and cup your cheek, pulling you into a soft kiss. His lips are soft, and no stubble pricks at your innocent skin. He still smells faintly of aftershave, even after many long hours in the clinic.
He pulls away after a moment and looks into your eyes. His lips are still parted as he’s centimeters away from your face. “You are… exactly what I need,” he breathes, and you can detect the scentlessness of his chapstick.
A grin crosses your lips and he replicates it, but shortly after closes the conservative gap between your lips. His kiss is more intense now, holding onto you by your waist and cheek and giving your hands free roam. You take advantage and begin unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the clean white top he wears under it. You pull away this time to carefully undo every button on his shirt and slowly slide it off of his shoulders, leaving his arms bare.
“I didn’t expect you to be an undershirt kind of guy,” you mutter, letting your fingertips slowly trace along the vertical ribs of the tank top he wore. He watches your hand descend further, then stop before reaching his belt line. Against his will, he lets out a soft breath and shifts his gaze to match yours again.
“Why not? Expect me to flaunt my perfectly chiseled body?” He asks, a silly smile on his face. You rolled your eyes and traced your fingers lower. Your pointer finger dipped underneath his belt, and he tensed at the feeling.
“Absolutely. Can’t imagine who wouldn’t want to see under your shirt,” you reply as you both refocus on his lower region, your hand exploring lower. He stares intensely as you undo his belt, feeling guilty he hasn’t asked to undress you yet. You smile, gently pulling up the hem of his tank top. “Maybe I should say shirts , huh?”
“Plural, hah. Very nice joke,” he replies sarcastically, his eyes flickering between your hands and your eyes. You grin softly at his unappreciative tone and shake your head.
“Thank you,” you whisper, meeting his gaze once more as you pull his belt out from the loops and drop it on the floor. Your fingers hesitate to ghost over his bulge, but before you can think about it too hard, he grabs your wrist.
“Wait,” he whispers, He licks his lips, gazing down at your clothed body once more. His hands rake over your figure, taking in every curve and dip. His fingers find the hem of your blouse, curling two fingers under the fabric. He looks up at you with his eyes already pleading.
“Can I?” He whispers. You nod and sit up straight so he can lift your top over your head. He tosses it aside and gazes down at your breasts, still held by your bra. He mutters something to himself as he stares, his hands gently moving up from your waist to your chest, cupping and gently massaging you over your bra.
“James,” you whisper to get his attention. Your cheeks grew flushed as well, keeping your gaze on his as he returned to reality. “You can take it off.”
His fingers twitch, and you can see the thoughts flash behind his eyes. He lets out a small breath and reaches to your back to unclasp your bra. As it slips down your body, you drop it on the floor, your chest now bare. Unexpectedly, he pulls you onto his lap and grasps at your chest. “You’re extremely beautiful, you know that?”
“You’re kissing my ass,” you whisper, smiling down at him. He smiles back and leans forward, pressing a kiss between your breasts. Your eyebrows raise, watching him intently. He glances up to ensure you’re comfortable with the action before dipping down again and kissing the curve of your breast. Slowly, his arm reaches around your back and lays you down over the couch cushions, his leg in between yours. He holds himself up with a hand on the cushion by your head, still marking up your chest. Your fingers tangle in his hair and with a gentle tug, he lifts his head up again.
“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice a gentle mutter. Doe eyes gaze back up at you, lips saturated from tasting your skin.
You nod and rake your fingers through his hair. He looks so sweet with his face low to your chest and his cheeks dusted a soft pink. “Yeah. Enjoying yourself yet?”
“Absolutely. But I want to have more fun with you,” he replies, leaning closer to press wet kisses to your collarbone. He slowly makes way down your body, kissing along your soft stomach until he reaches your bottoms. He sits upright to unbutton and slide off your slacks, then drops them into the growing pile of clothes.
His hands spread across your hips and explore down to your thighs as he stares down at your panties. He smiles softly, tracing the pad of his thumb gently over your clothed pussy. A trembling, gasping breath falls from your lips, and you watch his smile grow. Two fingers pull aside the fabric and another two trace along your wet core. A knuckle brushes over your swollen clit, coaxing another soft gasp from you.
Finally, he decides to pull off the constricting piece of fabric and joins the pile of clothes on the floor, kneeling. He smiles still, watching you sit upright again in front of him. He pulls you closer to the edge of the sofa, resting your legs on his shoulders. A man could never be as beautiful as Wilson is now, eager and willing with his face now buried between your legs.
He starts by pressing a kiss to your mound, then your clit, then licks a hot stripe upward. A hand of yours rests in his hair again, feeling the soft locks while he consumes you. Your eyes fall heavy as he continues; his tongue now flattening against your clit as a finger prods at your entrance.
He slides a finger inside, then a second, all the while he continues licking tenderly at your clit. He looks up to ensure you’re alright, and fights back a smirk when he sees the look on your face. He lifts his head and wipes his mouth. “Now you look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair. A soft sigh leaves your lips as he continues to thrust his digits into you gently. “But I want you inside me.”
“I am inside you,” he replied sarcastically, curling his fingers against your walls. A gentle moan from you, and he smirked. “Unless you mean something else.”
You scoff, wanting to tug on his hair but your touch remains peaceful. “Of course I mean something else.”
“Just making sure,” he grinned and removed his hands from your body. His mouth wraps around his fingers to taste you on his fingers and he hums from the taste. He pulled himself out of his bottoms, giving himself long, gentle strokes as he stayed kneeling. A quiet hum arose from his throat as a small bead of precum slipped from the head. He reached into his wallet from his back pocket and grabbed a condom; you couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You keep condoms in your wallet?” You ask, grinning down at him.
He stood up just to sit on the couch beside you. “I’m sorry, are you complaining that I’m prepared to practice safe sex?”
“No! No, not at all,” you giggle, and he rolls his eyes in return. He repositions you onto your back again, rougher this time. Rolling on the condom, he hovers over you, just like before.
“Any more complaints before I start?” He asks, his voice low. You shake your head in response and he huffs.
He pushes inside you slowly until your skin collides. Shared moans between you sound through the living room, and you reach up to cup his face. He stays still for a moment, looking nowhere but your eyes. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips as he begins to drag his hips away and connect with you again. You hum against his lips, the sound muffling.
The tempo speeds up slightly, a gentle plap sounding after each thrust. Your lips part and you pull away from his kiss, leaving him panting quietly above you. He looks into your eyes desperately, pressing his hips as close to yours and holding position there, his eyes glued to your face. As a moan slips from you, he smiles and leans down to leave a mark on your neck before continuing his thrusts. He keeps a steady pace, not too slow, but by no means quick. He savors every moment, every moan and gasp that you bless him with.
It’s not until you speak the first coherent word that he snaps out of his haze. You mutter out close just loud enough for him to hear. He nods, reaching down with one hand to press the pad of his thumb against your clit and rub loose circles around it. His open mouth smiles and hovers against yours, as if trying to consume every noise from you.
“Oh, you’re getting awfully close,” he whispers against your lips, giving you a sloppy kiss. Your lips crash together, both open and breathing hard. You try your best to kiss him back in vain because moments later, your orgasm crashes over you and leaves you trembling, moaning into his messy kiss.
He chuckles softly and leans away, removing his hand from between your legs. He licks his fingers before gripping onto your hips to hold you steady as he starts chasing after his own peak. Sitting up straighter, he lets his hips think for him. Soon, his hips come to a halt, pressing as far into you as possible. His lips parted, letting out an unexpected whine, his face contorted and eyebrows taut.
He catches his breath, leaning back down to press a real, gentle kiss to your lips. He pulls back and grins, sitting on the couch next to you. “Good?” He asked.
“Great,” you sigh, still lying across the couch. You sit up straight as Wilson stands, confused.
“Where’s your bathroom?” He asks, casually pulling off the condom and tying it off.
You return to the moment and smile. You almost forgot that it was strange to have him naked in your living room, as natural as it feels. “Down the hall, the first door on the right.”
“And the bedroom?”
“The second door on the right.”