Just a Little Touch, part 2
Just a Little Touch, part 2
Safely back in his office, House dropped into his chair and turned toward the balcony, gazing unseeingly out into space. His hand … tingled. The hand he used to grab Wilson’s wrist, the same one with which he touched Wilson’s shoulder, tingled. It had done the same thing that morning at the coffee kiosk as well. Touching Wilson was making his own hand feel good. He briefly wondered what it would do for the rest of his body, then shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his head. His mind and memory kept casting back to the moments when House had had his hands on Wilson, reliving the feeling of the other man’s skin under his, the feel of the muscles and bones. He fancied he could feel the entropy of the living cells under his fingertips, the rush of blood through veins and tissues, flooding his own skin and blood with some essence of Wilson, taking some of the man into himself.
He blinked rapidly. Damn Cuddy. Now that he had touched Wilson, he wanted to do it again and again and keep doing it, if this was the feeling he got from it.
His pager buzzed. He was needed in the clinic. Of course.
Wait, this might be useful. He considered the possibilities of running simultaneous experiments and decided it would be worth it, just this once.
*****
House had just sat down on the sofa with the box of pizza when a knock sounded at the door and a key scraped in the lock.
“You have lousy timing,” he growled without turning around. “The pizza’s already here and paid for.”
“Then I have wonderful timing,” Wilson shot back, smiling as he dropped onto the sofa beside House. “And you now have beer as well.”
House grunted and accepted the proffered bottle. “Okay, you’re forgiven.” And for a long time the only sounds were chewing and swallowing, and the tinny noise from the television as it extolled the virtues of large trucks crushing smaller ones.
When they were finished Wilson rose to take the leftovers and plates and empty bottles into the kitchen. House rose to follow him, watching as he tried to balance the empties and box and plates all together.
“You could help, you know,” Wilson said over his shoulder.
“True, I could.” House paused in the doorway, leaning on his cane. “So I experimented on clinic patients today.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Wilson managed to get everything onto the counter without breakage and turned around to make an exasperated face. “What did you do to them this time?”
“I touched them.” House waited to see Wilson’s reaction.
“Seriously? You actually touched… No, never mind. And?” Wilson made an impatient ‘come on, out with it’ motion with his hand as he moved past House and back into the living room.
“And it wasn’t the same.” House followed again, trailing behind as Wilson headed back toward the couch.
Wilson stopped walking. “The same as what?”
“The same as touching you,” House said, sidling up behind Wilson, waiting for him to turn around.
Instead, Wilson walked away, drifting toward the bookshelves on the other side of the room. “So you were experimenting on me too then?” he said, not looking back at House.
“Only a little,” replied House, changing course and following him once again to the bookshelves.
Wilson whirled around. “Don’t experiment on me,” he said, brown eyes boring into House with a ferocity he’d never seen before.
“Would it make you feel any better if I said I was experimenting on me?” House said after a moment.
“No, why?”
House waved his hand distractedly. “Something Cuddy said. Doesn’t matter. The point is, I’ve discovered something. Well, two somethings.”
Wilson covered his eyes with his hand. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could get you to not tell me, is there?”
“Nope. First discovery is, you like being touched.” House let it drop and waited to see if Wilson would pick it up.
“Most people do. And by people here I mean not you. I know you don’t. And what the hell does that have to do with anything anyway?” Hands on his hips now, Wilson’s leg was jiggling like he wanted to pace but didn’t have the room, with House standing right in front of him.
“Second discovery is, I like to touch you,” House said quietly, not looking Wilson in the face.
That did it, Wilson froze, motionless. He’d even stopped breathing. His mouth worked, open and shut, but nothing came out. His eyes went wide, darting frantically from House’s face to his hands, to the room behind him and back. His hand flopped uselessly at his side.
House moved in closer, propping his cane against the bookshelf behind Wilson, and brought his hands up to Wilson’s shoulders. He stroked the back of his knuckles along Wilson’s cheek, lips quirking when Wilson’s eyes slammed shut and he turned his face into the touch. “Am I wrong?” he whispered. “Do you not like this?”
Wilson’s breath ghosted over House’s face and he heard a small, breathy “No…”
“Which one? No, I’m wrong, or no, you like this?” House said, his lips moving against Wilson’s ear.
“Not wrong…” Wilson replied, turning his head from the knuckles on his cheek to the lips on his ear and back again.
“I’m never wrong,” House replied, more through habit than anything else, and then put his lips to better use, trailing kisses down Wilson’s jaw until he found Wilson’s lips.
Now this, THIS was even better than a hand on the shoulder. House’s fingers had been tingling while they were stroking Wilson’s face, but now his lips were tingling and the rest of him was on fire. He pushed up close to Wilson’s body, trying to find as many points of contact as possible only to be frustrated by clothes and Wilson’s hands, pushing against him.
“Wait!” Wilson’s breathy exclamation took him by surprise and he floundered backwards, suddenly very self-conscious. His leg flared pain up and down and he nearly stumbled, but Wilson’s strong, sure hands grabbed at his shoulders and held him upright.
“No, okay, sure,” House mumbled, turning his head away and attempting escape.
“House, shut up.” Wilson stepped into House’s personal space this time and held him against his chest, Wilson’s lips in House’s ear, a mirror of before. “I just think we should maybe go somewhere more comfortable and horizontal.” House lifted his head and turned to face Wilson. “Far be it for me to interrupt your journey to enlightenment. By all means, let the touching continue.” House could feel Wilson’s smile against the skin of his throat.
Wilson pressed House’s cane into his hand, then pushed him lightly toward the bedroom, following closely behind.
House stopped when he reached the side of the bed, turned around and waited for Wilson to catch up. He’d stopped at the door of the bedroom and stood, just looking at House. Slowly he approached, his eyes dark with lust and want, making House shudder with sudden desire. Wilson worked quickly, stripping off his own shirt, pants, everything, and dropping it all in a messy pile on the floor, then pulled harshly at House’s own shirt, shoving at the pants and boxers, until everything was gone. He stood in front of House, chest heaving, body vibrating, hard cock glistening and bobbing with each heartbeat. His Adams apple moved as he swallowed.
“House,” he whispered, making him tear his eyes away from Wilson’s quivering body and look up, “touch me.”
And with that, House was undone.
He growled low in his throat and lunged for Wilson, turning slightly so that they landed on the bed and bounced, House on top, while he plunged his tongue into Wilson’s mouth, biting at his lips, roaming his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, thrusting raggedly against Wilson’s belly in a lopsided attempt to gain some traction.
“House, wait,” Wilson panted, pushing House off of him and over onto his side. “I want to touch you too.”
House groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for some semblance of control. He heaved a long, slow breath and then blinked his eyes open, searching out Wilson’s face in the dark, leaned forward and touched his lips to the other man’s, gently but firmly. He let his hands roam, gentler this time, softer but with no less purpose, over Wilson’s shoulders, his arms, down his chest and over his stomach. Wilson returned the favor, caressing his strong fingers over House’s arms, outlining muscles, drawing random patterns on his back.
Eventually Wilson grasped hold of House’s hand and guided it downward, curling the other man’s fingers around his cock and guiding his hand up and down. He whispered against House’s lips, “God, touch me,” and House moaned raggedly against Wilson’s neck, taking up the rhythm that Wilson set and added a twist of his own at the top of the stroke. Wilson’s breath left him in a rushed gasp and his body shuddered under House’s hands and lips. Soft cries of “Oh! Yes! Like that!” escaped his lips along with pants and groans until his hips bucked unsteadily toward House’s. His back arched and he threw his head back, a wordless shout wrenching from his throat.
House felt a warm wetness covering his belly and slowed his strokes, loosening his grip a little, letting Wilson ride out the sensation until he felt Wilson pull his hips away. House considered staying put and letting him ride the too-much-pleasure knife-edge but decided to let the man recover instead. It didn’t take long.
“My turn,” Wilson whispered, bringing his face back to House’s and mouthing his way over House’s jaw and down his throat. “I want to touch you.”
House shivered. He felt Wilson’s hand rubbing small circles over his shoulder, down his arm and onto his back, his thumb brushing lightly over his waistline and down to his hip bone before coming down in front of him and dragging his fingertips over his straining cock. The first touch of Wilson’s fingers made his eyesight fuzz out and sparks shoot up his spine. He gasped and let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.
Wilson smiled and bit down lightly on House’s shoulder, working his way up his neck to his ear again, and tightened his grip on House’s dick, speeding up considerably. House gasped again and began panting. His eyes rolled back in his head and he lost feeling in his fingers and toes as the blood rushed to his head and his groin. Wilson dragged his thumb over the head of House’s cock and House cried out to the ceiling, moaning and thrashing his head from side to side.
Soon House felt the coil of white-hot need uncurling in his belly and it exploded outward, zinging up his back and down his legs, out through his arms and into his brain. He came hard, adding to the wetness on his belly, shot after shot until he thought it would never stop. His voice was choked and harsh when he cried, “Wilson!” and clutched for the other man’s shoulders spasmodically.
Eventually, he stopped shuddering and became aware of Wilson’s arms around him, cradling his head against his shoulder and stroking his fingers down House’s back, whispering, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay.” House licked his lips and pushed back slightly, his eyes quizzical and his eyebrows drawn together.
“Well,” Wilson whispered, answering the unasked question, “you didn’t seem like yourself for a minute, I figured I’d help ground you.” His lips drew up into a small smile. House nodded vaguely and nuzzled back into Wilson’s neck.
“I’ve never come that hard, I think,” House said, his voice low and reverent. “I don’t know what…”
“Yeah, I know,” Wilson replied. “Me too.”
They stayed entwined in each other for uncountable minutes, neither one willing to be the one to break the embrace. Their breathing evened out and became regular once more, their skin cooled as the sweat evaporated. Their bellies became sticky and cold. Finally, Wilson pulled away and reached down for something to attempt a clean-up with. He came back with a t-shirt and proceeded to swipe ineffectually at the mess. House took it away and tossed it back on the floor, pulling Wilson back into his arms.
“Well then,” Wilson attempted a casual tone. “What do you want to do now?”
House grinned. “Touch me again?”