HOUSE M.D. FIC: To Boldly Go
Title: To Boldly Go
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 409
Summary: House and Wilson role-play Star Trek. Cracktastic PWP.
Disclaimer: House et al. are owned by Shore et al., not me.
Author's Note: Written for pgrabia out of a shared enjoyment of ST:TOS jokes.
“You’re a Trekkie,” House says apropos of absolutely nothing one afternoon as he and Wilson are grappling with each other’s clothes on the slippery leather of his lumpy couch.
“Trekker,” Wilson corrects him automatically, to which House rolls his eyes.
“A dork by any other name would smell as sweet.”
“What’s your point,” Wilson grunts, yanking House’s t-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans.
House grabs Wilson’s wrists to still them and gives him a long, appraising look. His mouth crooks in a grin. “Ever play Star Trek when you were a kid?”
“Sure.”
House’s grin widens. “Wanna play now?”
Wilson lets go and leans back into the couch cushions to consider this, wondering whether there’s a catch. “I’m assuming you’re Kirk. ‘Beam me up Scotty, there’s no intelligent life down here.’”
“Nope,” House says, suddenly solemn. “You’re Kirk, I’m Spock.”
“You’re letting me be Kirk?” Wilson’s voice rises half an octave in surprise.
House raises an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that Nimoy got twice as much fan mail. Chicks dig a challenge.”
“I thought maybe it was because I’m in charge of this relationship,” Wilson deadpans.
“Actually,” House tilts his head back and addresses the ceiling, “it’s because Kirk was a self-important douchebag who spent half his time trying to get into the pants of every woman he met and the other half offering unsolicited advice on how people on other planets should run their lives.”
Wilson tries to glare, but dissolving into a snort ruins the effect. “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t you be Doctor McCoy with the baby blues and the cantankerous ‘tude?”
“Wrong again. Cuddy’s already got that part down. Listen.” House reaches across Wilson’s lap, ‘accidentally’ grazing his crotch with his elbow, and replays his answering machine messages.
“House, are you out of your fucking mind? Did you really think that I was going to approve-” Cuddy’s voice bleats before the object of her ire punches “delete.”
“Point made,” Wilson concedes, nuzzling behind House’s ear and pulling the other man’s hand firmly down onto the bulge in his slacks. “Now get back down here and use your Vulcan Death Grip.”
For a moment he’s sure that House is going to retort that there’s no such thing as a Vulcan Death Grip, but then the older man unzips his fly, voice husky in his ear: “Is that an order… Captain?”
“Warp speed,” Wilson gasps as House’s warm hand makes first contact with his cock.
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 409
Summary: House and Wilson role-play Star Trek. Cracktastic PWP.
Disclaimer: House et al. are owned by Shore et al., not me.
Author's Note: Written for pgrabia out of a shared enjoyment of ST:TOS jokes.
“You’re a Trekkie,” House says apropos of absolutely nothing one afternoon as he and Wilson are grappling with each other’s clothes on the slippery leather of his lumpy couch.
“Trekker,” Wilson corrects him automatically, to which House rolls his eyes.
“A dork by any other name would smell as sweet.”
“What’s your point,” Wilson grunts, yanking House’s t-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans.
House grabs Wilson’s wrists to still them and gives him a long, appraising look. His mouth crooks in a grin. “Ever play Star Trek when you were a kid?”
“Sure.”
House’s grin widens. “Wanna play now?”
Wilson lets go and leans back into the couch cushions to consider this, wondering whether there’s a catch. “I’m assuming you’re Kirk. ‘Beam me up Scotty, there’s no intelligent life down here.’”
“Nope,” House says, suddenly solemn. “You’re Kirk, I’m Spock.”
“You’re letting me be Kirk?” Wilson’s voice rises half an octave in surprise.
House raises an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that Nimoy got twice as much fan mail. Chicks dig a challenge.”
“I thought maybe it was because I’m in charge of this relationship,” Wilson deadpans.
“Actually,” House tilts his head back and addresses the ceiling, “it’s because Kirk was a self-important douchebag who spent half his time trying to get into the pants of every woman he met and the other half offering unsolicited advice on how people on other planets should run their lives.”
Wilson tries to glare, but dissolving into a snort ruins the effect. “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t you be Doctor McCoy with the baby blues and the cantankerous ‘tude?”
“Wrong again. Cuddy’s already got that part down. Listen.” House reaches across Wilson’s lap, ‘accidentally’ grazing his crotch with his elbow, and replays his answering machine messages.
“House, are you out of your fucking mind? Did you really think that I was going to approve-” Cuddy’s voice bleats before the object of her ire punches “delete.”
“Point made,” Wilson concedes, nuzzling behind House’s ear and pulling the other man’s hand firmly down onto the bulge in his slacks. “Now get back down here and use your Vulcan Death Grip.”
For a moment he’s sure that House is going to retort that there’s no such thing as a Vulcan Death Grip, but then the older man unzips his fly, voice husky in his ear: “Is that an order… Captain?”
“Warp speed,” Wilson gasps as House’s warm hand makes first contact with his cock.