House M.D. Fic: Like This
Title: Like This
Author: Mistress Kat /
kat_lair
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing/Category: House/Wilson, PWPish relationship snapshot (What? It’s a category.)
Rating: R
Word count: ~520
Summary: House gets a reminder, even though he doesn’t need it.
Author notes: This is for
hullfire who won it in a caption competition (for reals!). I promised a porn-drabble, but it somehow turned into a foreplay-ficlet. Uh, sorry? Prompts given were a “store cupboard” and the first line of the fic. Speedy beta by
moth2fic who is awesome.
Like This
“Not like that, Gregory.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” House says. He doesn’t, and Wilson knows this, but he just smiles, removing House’s hands from his belt.
House’s stomach tightens. If Wilson is letting a small lie slide now, it means there are much bigger truths he’s going to pull out of him later.
“Well, you can’t blame a man for jumping into conclusions.” He would make a sweeping gesture at the surroundings, but it’s kind of difficult considering their position. House is sitting on a crate of what he assumes is boring office supplies, Wilson standing between his legs, close enough to make eye contact tricky. “I mean, unless you’ve developed a sudden fetish for paperclips, there really aren’t that many reasons for a clandestine meeting in a storage ro-”
Wilson’s hands wrap around House’s neck, fingers cradling the back of his skull. His thumbs dig into the soft underside of House’s jaw, forcing his head to tilt back until every muscle aches in protest. “Stop talking.”
House stops breathing too. He flails a bit for balance, and even though there are a plenty of other things he could grab for support - the shelf, the wall, the numerous cardboard boxes - his hands automatically land on Wilson’s hips and hold on.
The next thing he knows they’re kissing, the angle sharp and awkward, and House is getting dizzy because of that breath he forgot to draw and the breakfast he forgot to eat and Wilson who he can’t forget even when he wants to.
And that’s exactly what this is; a fucking reminder, a promise of things to come, a way to make sure he knows where and with whom he’ll be at the end of each day.
House growls low in his throat, opens his mouth wider and pulls them flush against each other. Goddamnit he thought they were past this, but apparently not, apparently Wilson is stupider than he looks and now House is actually going to have to say something, and he hates that whole let’s-share-our-feelings crap, and Wilson knows it, and… oh. Oh.
“Sonofabitch!”
“Language, language. That’s my mother you’re talking about.” Wilson lets House wrench out of the kiss but no further away than that, tightening his hold to the point of pain.
House slips his fingers under Wilson’s waistline in retaliation, pressing nails into the skin stretched thin over the peaks of bone.
“Greg.” The word comes out like an exhalation, slow and heated.
House presses harder. Wilson’s eyes grow dark and heavy as he sways closer.
“You already know. You know, Ja- You know.”
“Please,” Wilson says, voice raw and too close to breaking. His hands slide up to frame House’s face, scraping stubble as they go.
“Yeah. I…” House licks his lips and the salty pads of Wilson’s fingers get in the way so he licks them too. “Anything, okay. Any way you want. Just tell me how, I-”
Wilson pushes a thumb into House’s mouth, pulls it out and replaces it with his tongue. “This is good,” he whispers, when they come up for air.
House is inclined to agree.
Fin.
Author: Mistress Kat /
kat_lair
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing/Category: House/Wilson, PWPish relationship snapshot (What? It’s a category.)
Rating: R
Word count: ~520
Summary: House gets a reminder, even though he doesn’t need it.
Author notes: This is for
hullfire who won it in a caption competition (for reals!). I promised a porn-drabble, but it somehow turned into a foreplay-ficlet. Uh, sorry? Prompts given were a “store cupboard” and the first line of the fic. Speedy beta by
moth2fic who is awesome.
Like This
“Not like that, Gregory.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” House says. He doesn’t, and Wilson knows this, but he just smiles, removing House’s hands from his belt.
House’s stomach tightens. If Wilson is letting a small lie slide now, it means there are much bigger truths he’s going to pull out of him later.
“Well, you can’t blame a man for jumping into conclusions.” He would make a sweeping gesture at the surroundings, but it’s kind of difficult considering their position. House is sitting on a crate of what he assumes is boring office supplies, Wilson standing between his legs, close enough to make eye contact tricky. “I mean, unless you’ve developed a sudden fetish for paperclips, there really aren’t that many reasons for a clandestine meeting in a storage ro-”
Wilson’s hands wrap around House’s neck, fingers cradling the back of his skull. His thumbs dig into the soft underside of House’s jaw, forcing his head to tilt back until every muscle aches in protest. “Stop talking.”
House stops breathing too. He flails a bit for balance, and even though there are a plenty of other things he could grab for support - the shelf, the wall, the numerous cardboard boxes - his hands automatically land on Wilson’s hips and hold on.
The next thing he knows they’re kissing, the angle sharp and awkward, and House is getting dizzy because of that breath he forgot to draw and the breakfast he forgot to eat and Wilson who he can’t forget even when he wants to.
And that’s exactly what this is; a fucking reminder, a promise of things to come, a way to make sure he knows where and with whom he’ll be at the end of each day.
House growls low in his throat, opens his mouth wider and pulls them flush against each other. Goddamnit he thought they were past this, but apparently not, apparently Wilson is stupider than he looks and now House is actually going to have to say something, and he hates that whole let’s-share-our-feelings crap, and Wilson knows it, and… oh. Oh.
“Sonofabitch!”
“Language, language. That’s my mother you’re talking about.” Wilson lets House wrench out of the kiss but no further away than that, tightening his hold to the point of pain.
House slips his fingers under Wilson’s waistline in retaliation, pressing nails into the skin stretched thin over the peaks of bone.
“Greg.” The word comes out like an exhalation, slow and heated.
House presses harder. Wilson’s eyes grow dark and heavy as he sways closer.
“You already know. You know, Ja- You know.”
“Please,” Wilson says, voice raw and too close to breaking. His hands slide up to frame House’s face, scraping stubble as they go.
“Yeah. I…” House licks his lips and the salty pads of Wilson’s fingers get in the way so he licks them too. “Anything, okay. Any way you want. Just tell me how, I-”
Wilson pushes a thumb into House’s mouth, pulls it out and replaces it with his tongue. “This is good,” he whispers, when they come up for air.
House is inclined to agree.
Fin.