(no subject)
Title:destined for tragedy.
Rating:R [to be safe, mostly.]
Pairing:House/Wilson
Disclaimer:The show, the cane, and Hugh Laurie all belong to people who are not me.
A/N:I wrote this for regi_phoenix's birthday, which was...a long time ago. I'm sorry love, that your present sucks so bad. That said, I honestly have no idea what the point of this is. But, you know. Whatever.
i.
he wasn’t quiet sure how it began. a lingering stare, that seemed simply innocent; curious fingers that pressed so slightly against his skin. these become searing gazes, that make him squirm anxiously in his spot; touches, caresses that are almost carelessly wanton. the younger man [james] takes a perverse pleasure in seeing him nervous, unsure, about what he is doing. and the first night that james touches him, with those soft, unforgiving fingers, greg knows there will be no end.
ii.
darkness is no stranger in his mind. loneliness and silence are his best friends. so when james begins staying with him, flush against his warm skin at night, these things have no idea where to go, what to do. the sounds james would make - those damned moans that would send merciless shivers up his spine - find a permanent home inside his head, on a constantly-repeating track. and james knows how to touch him so all he can see was fire.
iii.
his words are rough and so goddamn possessive as his deft fingers roam his skin, bruising and marking as they go. it makes greg faintly amused; he’s sure everyone thinks he is the possessive one. but it’s james who is so careful to visually tell everyone that greg is his. when they do this [greg has not decided if it’s making love, screwing, fucking], james is never gentle, and never affectionate. it kills greg to think maybe james doesn’t love him.
iv.
they’re careful to keep it quiet at work; but everything has its way of getting out eventually. greg really doesn’t know how james expected the mark to go unnoticed. every time greg catches his reflection, he remembers james’ mouth locked on his neck, sucking, as though it was all he could do to keep himself alive. now, greg is very clearly labeled ‘property of james wilson,’ and it seems everyone knows, and everyone is only waiting for it to end.
v.
it ends as explosively as it should’ve began. greg is waiting for his lunch when he sees the other man [james?] on his balcony, pressing some nurse [slut, bitch. whore. greg only thinks. he’s not sure who he means.] into the cement barrier. on feet that can’t be his own, greg is swiftly down the hall, in james’ office, and smashing the glass door with his cane. james lazily brings his mouth away from the nurse’s neck; and both greg and james watch carelessly as the blood drips from greg’s hands.
this marks the end.
Rating:R [to be safe, mostly.]
Pairing:House/Wilson
Disclaimer:The show, the cane, and Hugh Laurie all belong to people who are not me.
A/N:I wrote this for regi_phoenix's birthday, which was...a long time ago. I'm sorry love, that your present sucks so bad. That said, I honestly have no idea what the point of this is. But, you know. Whatever.
i.
he wasn’t quiet sure how it began. a lingering stare, that seemed simply innocent; curious fingers that pressed so slightly against his skin. these become searing gazes, that make him squirm anxiously in his spot; touches, caresses that are almost carelessly wanton. the younger man [james] takes a perverse pleasure in seeing him nervous, unsure, about what he is doing. and the first night that james touches him, with those soft, unforgiving fingers, greg knows there will be no end.
ii.
darkness is no stranger in his mind. loneliness and silence are his best friends. so when james begins staying with him, flush against his warm skin at night, these things have no idea where to go, what to do. the sounds james would make - those damned moans that would send merciless shivers up his spine - find a permanent home inside his head, on a constantly-repeating track. and james knows how to touch him so all he can see was fire.
iii.
his words are rough and so goddamn possessive as his deft fingers roam his skin, bruising and marking as they go. it makes greg faintly amused; he’s sure everyone thinks he is the possessive one. but it’s james who is so careful to visually tell everyone that greg is his. when they do this [greg has not decided if it’s making love, screwing, fucking], james is never gentle, and never affectionate. it kills greg to think maybe james doesn’t love him.
iv.
they’re careful to keep it quiet at work; but everything has its way of getting out eventually. greg really doesn’t know how james expected the mark to go unnoticed. every time greg catches his reflection, he remembers james’ mouth locked on his neck, sucking, as though it was all he could do to keep himself alive. now, greg is very clearly labeled ‘property of james wilson,’ and it seems everyone knows, and everyone is only waiting for it to end.
v.
it ends as explosively as it should’ve began. greg is waiting for his lunch when he sees the other man [james?] on his balcony, pressing some nurse [slut, bitch. whore. greg only thinks. he’s not sure who he means.] into the cement barrier. on feet that can’t be his own, greg is swiftly down the hall, in james’ office, and smashing the glass door with his cane. james lazily brings his mouth away from the nurse’s neck; and both greg and james watch carelessly as the blood drips from greg’s hands.
this marks the end.