(no subject)
Title: Six Burners
Author: magie_05
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (PWP)
Summary: Wilson can't be that good in bed...
There was no way House was agreeing with Bonnie about anything.
The woman had spent her entire reign as Wife Number Two trying to strengthen Wilson's Chi and untangle his third and fourth chakras with magical beads and crystals; her opinions weren't exactly trustworthy.
Still, there was one idea of hers that was proving increasingly difficult to refute.
Wilson looked down at him on the bed, a sheepish grin on his lips and heat pouring out of half-lidded eyes. His fingers stroked chastely up the side of House's ribcage, both warming and chilling him through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He said nothing when that broad palm slid up to linger over his heart, moving in slow circles, sweeping up to cup his jaw while Wilson eased himself down to brush his open mouth across House's lips.
It was a wordless question, one that House immediately answered, though Wilson shouldn't have needed to ask. He lifted his head off the pillow to take the soft skin of Wilson's lower lip between his teeth, tugging him gently downward.
Wilson pulled back to flash the briefest of grins before shifting his weight, tilting his head, diving back in for a soft crush of lips and tongue.
So sex with Wilson had surprised him; big deal. So he hadn’t anticipated the taste of his mouth, his cock; the sweat-heightened scent of his aftershave. Didn’t mean anything; certainly didn’t put House on the level of anyone with a vagina that Wilson had ever taken to dinner…
He gasped a little for breath when Wilson pulled back to kiss along his jaw, drawing that same wet heat over House’s carotid, soft kisses moving slowly, undeniably lower -
Wilson made a low sound in his throat and straightened up again, his smile more mischievous this time, biting his lower lip as his eyes scanned up and down House’s face. He had barely a second to notice the way Wilson's features were embossed by the room's low light before his mouth was attacked again, consumed by heat and spit and softness while Wilson's hands slid over his face, into his hair, up his shirt, a brief tease of fingers over his skin before Wilson reached up to hold his face in both hands.
He would concede that Wilson was a good kisser, but who wouldn't be, with all those years of practice? Still, the man kissed him like he was starved for it, tongue pushing and tasting, sucking the moisture from House's lips, the marrow from his bones.
He kept it up throughout the slow removal of clothing, making soft sounds in his chest as he pushed up House's shirt, toyed with his fly, rolled the fabric down his thighs. House slid his hands beneath the flaps of Wilson's open shirt, mapping the textures of his chest, committing them to memory. Damp skin, smooth muscles, coarse hair...all while Wilson's tongue was in his mouth, Wilson's hands coaxing tremors from his skin, toying with his hair and navel and nipples -
But House wasn't to be taken in by slow kisses and gentle teasing. He went to work on Wilson's belt, tugging it roughly from the loops to clatter against the wood floor, hurriedly pulling at zippers and buttons and elastic until his hands were free to slide up the backs of Wilson's thighs and cup his ass, fingertips digging into smooth skin.
Wilson grunted but didn't change his pace, kissing obsessively, hands on House's face and shoulder as if he were even thinking about going anywhere. He felt the shift in weight as Wilson lay flat, one calf tangling in with House's as he pressed his hips forward, cocks rubbing together with sweaty friction.
Each exhale left him with a sharper sound as Wilson rocked against him, entirely too slowly, almost incidental to the slow movement of his hands up and down House’s sides, the long and leisurely kisses he was still insistently pressing into House’s neck, jaw, mouth. On a regular night, House might have just pushed Wilson off, pressed him face-first into the sheets and asserted himself, but there was something to be said for Wilson’s weight, Wilson’s heat, Wilson’s chest pressed against his own -
House would go with it, but he wasn’t calling it surrender.
He could get used to the wordless conversation of Wilson’s constantly moving lips, hot breath on his cheek, thick arms wrapping around his shoulders. But minutes passed. His jaw started aching. The heat became overwhelming, sweat pooling in the small of Wilson’s back, hair sticking to the back of his neck. The friction wasn’t enough anymore, nor the tiny movements of Wilson’s hips, the rub of his skin against the underside of House’s erection. Too sticky to be comfortable, especially when one of House’s legs inexplicably draped itself against Wilson’s hip, his hands working up the damp skin of Wilson’s back. Wilson slowly kissed him until he was desperate for more, his cock grinding against Wilson’s abdomen, his body outlined in sweat against the sheets -
There was no way he was going to beg; that was exactly what Wilson wanted. He wasn’t as fantastic as certain flaky ex-wives had claimed - he just used his Jewish foreplay skills to drag things out to the point where any stimulation would feel like bliss.
Still.
“Going…to do this…all night?” Until he spoke, House hadn’t realized he was panting. From the heat, of course.
He felt Wilson smile against his ear. “I could,” he said hotly, then dragged wet kisses down House’s cheek to his mouth, smearing their lips together as he spoke, “unless you have other plans for the evening?”
There was just enough room to work a hand in between them and run his fingers along Wilson’s cock. “Just one,” he breathed into Wilson’s mouth.
This earned a little note of smugness and one final plunge of Wilson’s tongue into his mouth before the attention shifted to House’s collarbone, wet lines of saliva tracing his sternum, pectorals, obliques - all while Wilson’s hands trailed behind along House’s arms.
He was not going to beg, even though he could feel the rivulets of sweat at his temples, the hot fluid trickling down towards his navel…the fluid which Wilson was licking from his skin, working his way straight down the center of House’s torso to find the fluid’s source, skimming the clever tip of his tongue right down into House’s slit.
He only cried out because it was so sudden.
Wilson hummed in self-assurance and did it again, working his tongue in strange shapes, working his mouth ever lower. His calm, lazy touches felt almost random, but there was clearly a plan: thumb tracing circles on the back of House’s thigh, coaxing it up; hot breath licking across all the right places; lips dragging over his balls. Fingers walking up the inside of his thigh, swirling around in the fresh layer of sweat before moving downward, teasingly drifting toward a very specific location.
"Ah," so Wilson knew the right places to touch, knew what it would feel like to have those sweat-slick fingers gently circling his hole while Wilson's thumb pressed up behind his balls, taunting his prostate through layers of warm tissue. This was clearly the result of spending so much of his adult life married to quietly domineering women; Wilson was obviously trained to think that this kind of stimulation was required for liftoff.
In any case, House figured he might as well reap the benefits, clamping his mouth shut even as his hips timed themselves to the rhythmic contractions of Wilson's hand, the concentric circles of his thumb and first two fingers and the deceptively close warmth of his open mouth brushing up and down House's cock...
If one or two loud moans escaped, well, House was just doing it to heighten the mood.
Wilson was still humming happily to himself, a low sound he could feel vibrating in Wilson's chest. Lazy kisses made their way back up his side just as one fingertip pressed inside him, making his back arc before he could stop to think. Meanwhile that thumb kept pressing into his perineum with increasingly rapid up-and-down strokes, sending sparks straight up through his cock, which was the occasional object of Wilson's onslaught of kisses.
Multi-tasking was a part of any doctor's job, after all; Wilson wasn't all that special...
He raised himself up very slowly, leaning down over House's body, supporting himself with one hand pressed into the mattress while the other was busy between House's legs. His mouth, wet and hot and swollen with so much work, ghosted up the side of House's neck, nibbling gently around his ear before letting out a wet stream of calm, barely-audible words. "Turn over for me."
It was in the interest of time alone that House practically threw him off, grabbing the back of his hair briefly before burrowing face-first into the cool side of the bed, shoving (what would become) Wilson's pillow under his hips and rutting against it a few times for good measure.
He chose to ignore the smug, happy noises coming from Wilson's direction as he waited, cool air highlighting the spots where that hot mouth had been, making him feel its absence that much more. Still, Wilson was in no hurry whatsoever, calmly opening the drawer, extracting what he needed and setting it purposefully into the sheets, then sliding the drawer closed with a soft thud. House was just about to protest the rudeness of leaving a horny cripple to freeze to death in his own bed when he felt Wilson's knees settling between his legs, Wilson's hands coaxing his scarred thigh away from his body, touching it with no hesitation, no pretext - just the certainty of trust.
House let out a low grumble, but he had to admit that it was mostly for show.
"Shh," Wilson said, but it was too calm and easy-going to feel like condescension, his hands sweeping up House's hips, his thumbs pressing gently along House's spine, relaxing tense muscles. The massage spread to his shoulders, thumbs tracing the always-sore joint on his right side, making his spine melt. House was about to remark that Wilson had paid the world's hottest non-hooking masseuse to do this for him when he felt Wilson's mouth latch on to the back of his neck.
Hands, lips, heat - the heavy tip of Wilson's cock painting the small of his back with pre-come...House reached back for Wilson's hair, tugging firmly before sliding his fingers down the back of Wilson's neck, returning the favor with firm, frantic pressure of his own. He didn't even hear the click of the lube bottle, didn't register the fluid-heightened pressure of Wilson's hands down his back, the slick palms trailing smoothly over his ass to the backs of his thighs.
When Wilson's fingers pushed into him, he could almost believe it was part of the massage.
He was so poised in his movements, so clinical in his execution. He stretched House open with slow self-confidence, as if he knew that each slow stroke of his fingers was making it harder to hold still, to keep from reaching back for Wilson’s cock and forcing the issue. As a safety measure, he took a mouthful of bed sheet, gripped the top edge of the mattress until he felt his knuckles whiten. More lube, and he felt Wilson’s fingers pushing in deeper, minutely exploring every groove of muscle before finally finding that spot -
Of course he only swirled his fingers around it once before pulling them out, just enough to tease. House groaned around his hidden mouthful of mattress.
“Shh,” Wilson said again, but there was just no time to be annoyed, as the warm, slick head of his cock was there a second later, rubbing bluntly against House’s relaxed opening, soft and calm and not enough...
Wilson stretched forward to rub his lips over House’s shoulders, his cock slipping in as if by accident.
Even his thrusts were self-denying, slow and indulgent, timed to the slow rhythm of his breathing. House pushed back into him, tightened inner muscles around his smooth, thick length of cock, and grunted impatiently, but it did nothing to increase the pace. Wilson fucked him slowly, confidently, alternating lazy thrusts with tight, firm rolls of his hips that rocked House’s whole body while his hands swept up and down House’s sides.
So this was what had won the hearts and panties of dozens of nurses and cocktail waitresses; House should have figured. The deliberate in-and-out friction of his cock just screamed ‘I’ll be there for you,’ ‘I’ll be nice to your mother,’ ‘I want to hear all about your cat.’ Wasn’t working on House, and he opened his mouth to say as much -
“Wils - ah…ohhgod.” Similar nonsense poured out of him with each breath, with each breathtaking roll of Wilson’s hips. So much different than other nights, other bodies. Not just a race to orgasm, but calmer, deeper, feeling every breath, every drop of sweat, every wet-whispery inch of his cock.
He felt everything, the soft bites on his neck, Wilson’s hands gripping his hips to keep the angle perfect, Wilson’s chest rubbing against his back. The manipulative moans in his ear - loud and drawn out and melodious, too self-possessed to be entirely sincere. His name on Wilson’s lips as that heat drove into him, as they ground together against the mattress, firmly reminding him who Wilson was thinking of -
Without warning, he felt the angle change, Wilson pulling his hips back with sweaty palms and pushing gently in - not faster, but somehow more.
His heart fluttered, lungs clamping down, choking out a moan or curse or name with each pump of hips. He felt orgasm building in his blood, vision blurring, every nerve licked with white-hot flame as Wilson’s cock nailed his prostate, the slow and drawn-out fucking bringing him closer to the hardest climax in recent memory, closer to the edge, so fucking close -
Wilson stopped, paused in the heartbeat before House came, staying still one millisecond before biting House’s shoulder, working a hand around to grab his cock, and pushing in hard…
It took serious skill to manipulate an orgasm.
Wilson stroked him as the waves crested, fucked him as they fell, sucked on his neck in between. The trifecta left him half-blind with pleasure, deaf to his own shouts, writhing helplessly in Wilson’s grasp. It was better and longer than any climax of his had a right to be, leaving him a boneless, sodden mess against the sheets with Wilson’s hands smearing copious amounts of his own come up his chest.
He had no clue how long Wilson fucked him after that - only that he never changed his slow, grinding tempo, never stopped moaning House’s name, even after they were both spent and trembling and gasping for breath. He was only dimly aware of the details, Wilson pulling his head back for uncoordinated kisses, Wilson slipping out of him with wetness and a jolt of pleasurable pain, Wilson crawling down his body and licking him clean, savoring his own taste against House’s skin…
He’d started to fall asleep to the soothing strokes of Wilson’s tongue up his thigh, swirling around his hole - when he awoke to his own wordless complacency. He could practically hear Wilson’s smugness.
A grunt was the only protest he could manage vocally, but it was apparently enough; Wilson slid up next to him and kissed House briefly on the lips, too cocky to second-guess himself. His leg draped over House’s ass and settled between his thighs, an all-too-blatant gesture of possessiveness.
House decided he could make Wilson come in his pants at work again to even up the score.
He tried not to imagine that Wilson had been this way after sex with his wives: this relaxed, this uninhibited, this - gorgeous. He laughed breathily as he ran his hands up House’s back, his hair a wreck, a little spot of come on his chin, biting his lip in an apparent attempt to look sheepish. “Hope those plans worked out for you, Doctor.” His smile faltered a little as he looked back into House’s heavy-lidded eyes. “You okay?”
Fuck it; Bonnie was never going to find out. “...Fantastic.”
Author: magie_05
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (PWP)
Summary: Wilson can't be that good in bed...
There was no way House was agreeing with Bonnie about anything.
The woman had spent her entire reign as Wife Number Two trying to strengthen Wilson's Chi and untangle his third and fourth chakras with magical beads and crystals; her opinions weren't exactly trustworthy.
Still, there was one idea of hers that was proving increasingly difficult to refute.
Wilson looked down at him on the bed, a sheepish grin on his lips and heat pouring out of half-lidded eyes. His fingers stroked chastely up the side of House's ribcage, both warming and chilling him through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He said nothing when that broad palm slid up to linger over his heart, moving in slow circles, sweeping up to cup his jaw while Wilson eased himself down to brush his open mouth across House's lips.
It was a wordless question, one that House immediately answered, though Wilson shouldn't have needed to ask. He lifted his head off the pillow to take the soft skin of Wilson's lower lip between his teeth, tugging him gently downward.
Wilson pulled back to flash the briefest of grins before shifting his weight, tilting his head, diving back in for a soft crush of lips and tongue.
So sex with Wilson had surprised him; big deal. So he hadn’t anticipated the taste of his mouth, his cock; the sweat-heightened scent of his aftershave. Didn’t mean anything; certainly didn’t put House on the level of anyone with a vagina that Wilson had ever taken to dinner…
He gasped a little for breath when Wilson pulled back to kiss along his jaw, drawing that same wet heat over House’s carotid, soft kisses moving slowly, undeniably lower -
Wilson made a low sound in his throat and straightened up again, his smile more mischievous this time, biting his lower lip as his eyes scanned up and down House’s face. He had barely a second to notice the way Wilson's features were embossed by the room's low light before his mouth was attacked again, consumed by heat and spit and softness while Wilson's hands slid over his face, into his hair, up his shirt, a brief tease of fingers over his skin before Wilson reached up to hold his face in both hands.
He would concede that Wilson was a good kisser, but who wouldn't be, with all those years of practice? Still, the man kissed him like he was starved for it, tongue pushing and tasting, sucking the moisture from House's lips, the marrow from his bones.
He kept it up throughout the slow removal of clothing, making soft sounds in his chest as he pushed up House's shirt, toyed with his fly, rolled the fabric down his thighs. House slid his hands beneath the flaps of Wilson's open shirt, mapping the textures of his chest, committing them to memory. Damp skin, smooth muscles, coarse hair...all while Wilson's tongue was in his mouth, Wilson's hands coaxing tremors from his skin, toying with his hair and navel and nipples -
But House wasn't to be taken in by slow kisses and gentle teasing. He went to work on Wilson's belt, tugging it roughly from the loops to clatter against the wood floor, hurriedly pulling at zippers and buttons and elastic until his hands were free to slide up the backs of Wilson's thighs and cup his ass, fingertips digging into smooth skin.
Wilson grunted but didn't change his pace, kissing obsessively, hands on House's face and shoulder as if he were even thinking about going anywhere. He felt the shift in weight as Wilson lay flat, one calf tangling in with House's as he pressed his hips forward, cocks rubbing together with sweaty friction.
Each exhale left him with a sharper sound as Wilson rocked against him, entirely too slowly, almost incidental to the slow movement of his hands up and down House’s sides, the long and leisurely kisses he was still insistently pressing into House’s neck, jaw, mouth. On a regular night, House might have just pushed Wilson off, pressed him face-first into the sheets and asserted himself, but there was something to be said for Wilson’s weight, Wilson’s heat, Wilson’s chest pressed against his own -
House would go with it, but he wasn’t calling it surrender.
He could get used to the wordless conversation of Wilson’s constantly moving lips, hot breath on his cheek, thick arms wrapping around his shoulders. But minutes passed. His jaw started aching. The heat became overwhelming, sweat pooling in the small of Wilson’s back, hair sticking to the back of his neck. The friction wasn’t enough anymore, nor the tiny movements of Wilson’s hips, the rub of his skin against the underside of House’s erection. Too sticky to be comfortable, especially when one of House’s legs inexplicably draped itself against Wilson’s hip, his hands working up the damp skin of Wilson’s back. Wilson slowly kissed him until he was desperate for more, his cock grinding against Wilson’s abdomen, his body outlined in sweat against the sheets -
There was no way he was going to beg; that was exactly what Wilson wanted. He wasn’t as fantastic as certain flaky ex-wives had claimed - he just used his Jewish foreplay skills to drag things out to the point where any stimulation would feel like bliss.
Still.
“Going…to do this…all night?” Until he spoke, House hadn’t realized he was panting. From the heat, of course.
He felt Wilson smile against his ear. “I could,” he said hotly, then dragged wet kisses down House’s cheek to his mouth, smearing their lips together as he spoke, “unless you have other plans for the evening?”
There was just enough room to work a hand in between them and run his fingers along Wilson’s cock. “Just one,” he breathed into Wilson’s mouth.
This earned a little note of smugness and one final plunge of Wilson’s tongue into his mouth before the attention shifted to House’s collarbone, wet lines of saliva tracing his sternum, pectorals, obliques - all while Wilson’s hands trailed behind along House’s arms.
He was not going to beg, even though he could feel the rivulets of sweat at his temples, the hot fluid trickling down towards his navel…the fluid which Wilson was licking from his skin, working his way straight down the center of House’s torso to find the fluid’s source, skimming the clever tip of his tongue right down into House’s slit.
He only cried out because it was so sudden.
Wilson hummed in self-assurance and did it again, working his tongue in strange shapes, working his mouth ever lower. His calm, lazy touches felt almost random, but there was clearly a plan: thumb tracing circles on the back of House’s thigh, coaxing it up; hot breath licking across all the right places; lips dragging over his balls. Fingers walking up the inside of his thigh, swirling around in the fresh layer of sweat before moving downward, teasingly drifting toward a very specific location.
"Ah," so Wilson knew the right places to touch, knew what it would feel like to have those sweat-slick fingers gently circling his hole while Wilson's thumb pressed up behind his balls, taunting his prostate through layers of warm tissue. This was clearly the result of spending so much of his adult life married to quietly domineering women; Wilson was obviously trained to think that this kind of stimulation was required for liftoff.
In any case, House figured he might as well reap the benefits, clamping his mouth shut even as his hips timed themselves to the rhythmic contractions of Wilson's hand, the concentric circles of his thumb and first two fingers and the deceptively close warmth of his open mouth brushing up and down House's cock...
If one or two loud moans escaped, well, House was just doing it to heighten the mood.
Wilson was still humming happily to himself, a low sound he could feel vibrating in Wilson's chest. Lazy kisses made their way back up his side just as one fingertip pressed inside him, making his back arc before he could stop to think. Meanwhile that thumb kept pressing into his perineum with increasingly rapid up-and-down strokes, sending sparks straight up through his cock, which was the occasional object of Wilson's onslaught of kisses.
Multi-tasking was a part of any doctor's job, after all; Wilson wasn't all that special...
He raised himself up very slowly, leaning down over House's body, supporting himself with one hand pressed into the mattress while the other was busy between House's legs. His mouth, wet and hot and swollen with so much work, ghosted up the side of House's neck, nibbling gently around his ear before letting out a wet stream of calm, barely-audible words. "Turn over for me."
It was in the interest of time alone that House practically threw him off, grabbing the back of his hair briefly before burrowing face-first into the cool side of the bed, shoving (what would become) Wilson's pillow under his hips and rutting against it a few times for good measure.
He chose to ignore the smug, happy noises coming from Wilson's direction as he waited, cool air highlighting the spots where that hot mouth had been, making him feel its absence that much more. Still, Wilson was in no hurry whatsoever, calmly opening the drawer, extracting what he needed and setting it purposefully into the sheets, then sliding the drawer closed with a soft thud. House was just about to protest the rudeness of leaving a horny cripple to freeze to death in his own bed when he felt Wilson's knees settling between his legs, Wilson's hands coaxing his scarred thigh away from his body, touching it with no hesitation, no pretext - just the certainty of trust.
House let out a low grumble, but he had to admit that it was mostly for show.
"Shh," Wilson said, but it was too calm and easy-going to feel like condescension, his hands sweeping up House's hips, his thumbs pressing gently along House's spine, relaxing tense muscles. The massage spread to his shoulders, thumbs tracing the always-sore joint on his right side, making his spine melt. House was about to remark that Wilson had paid the world's hottest non-hooking masseuse to do this for him when he felt Wilson's mouth latch on to the back of his neck.
Hands, lips, heat - the heavy tip of Wilson's cock painting the small of his back with pre-come...House reached back for Wilson's hair, tugging firmly before sliding his fingers down the back of Wilson's neck, returning the favor with firm, frantic pressure of his own. He didn't even hear the click of the lube bottle, didn't register the fluid-heightened pressure of Wilson's hands down his back, the slick palms trailing smoothly over his ass to the backs of his thighs.
When Wilson's fingers pushed into him, he could almost believe it was part of the massage.
He was so poised in his movements, so clinical in his execution. He stretched House open with slow self-confidence, as if he knew that each slow stroke of his fingers was making it harder to hold still, to keep from reaching back for Wilson’s cock and forcing the issue. As a safety measure, he took a mouthful of bed sheet, gripped the top edge of the mattress until he felt his knuckles whiten. More lube, and he felt Wilson’s fingers pushing in deeper, minutely exploring every groove of muscle before finally finding that spot -
Of course he only swirled his fingers around it once before pulling them out, just enough to tease. House groaned around his hidden mouthful of mattress.
“Shh,” Wilson said again, but there was just no time to be annoyed, as the warm, slick head of his cock was there a second later, rubbing bluntly against House’s relaxed opening, soft and calm and not enough...
Wilson stretched forward to rub his lips over House’s shoulders, his cock slipping in as if by accident.
Even his thrusts were self-denying, slow and indulgent, timed to the slow rhythm of his breathing. House pushed back into him, tightened inner muscles around his smooth, thick length of cock, and grunted impatiently, but it did nothing to increase the pace. Wilson fucked him slowly, confidently, alternating lazy thrusts with tight, firm rolls of his hips that rocked House’s whole body while his hands swept up and down House’s sides.
So this was what had won the hearts and panties of dozens of nurses and cocktail waitresses; House should have figured. The deliberate in-and-out friction of his cock just screamed ‘I’ll be there for you,’ ‘I’ll be nice to your mother,’ ‘I want to hear all about your cat.’ Wasn’t working on House, and he opened his mouth to say as much -
“Wils - ah…ohhgod.” Similar nonsense poured out of him with each breath, with each breathtaking roll of Wilson’s hips. So much different than other nights, other bodies. Not just a race to orgasm, but calmer, deeper, feeling every breath, every drop of sweat, every wet-whispery inch of his cock.
He felt everything, the soft bites on his neck, Wilson’s hands gripping his hips to keep the angle perfect, Wilson’s chest rubbing against his back. The manipulative moans in his ear - loud and drawn out and melodious, too self-possessed to be entirely sincere. His name on Wilson’s lips as that heat drove into him, as they ground together against the mattress, firmly reminding him who Wilson was thinking of -
Without warning, he felt the angle change, Wilson pulling his hips back with sweaty palms and pushing gently in - not faster, but somehow more.
His heart fluttered, lungs clamping down, choking out a moan or curse or name with each pump of hips. He felt orgasm building in his blood, vision blurring, every nerve licked with white-hot flame as Wilson’s cock nailed his prostate, the slow and drawn-out fucking bringing him closer to the hardest climax in recent memory, closer to the edge, so fucking close -
Wilson stopped, paused in the heartbeat before House came, staying still one millisecond before biting House’s shoulder, working a hand around to grab his cock, and pushing in hard…
It took serious skill to manipulate an orgasm.
Wilson stroked him as the waves crested, fucked him as they fell, sucked on his neck in between. The trifecta left him half-blind with pleasure, deaf to his own shouts, writhing helplessly in Wilson’s grasp. It was better and longer than any climax of his had a right to be, leaving him a boneless, sodden mess against the sheets with Wilson’s hands smearing copious amounts of his own come up his chest.
He had no clue how long Wilson fucked him after that - only that he never changed his slow, grinding tempo, never stopped moaning House’s name, even after they were both spent and trembling and gasping for breath. He was only dimly aware of the details, Wilson pulling his head back for uncoordinated kisses, Wilson slipping out of him with wetness and a jolt of pleasurable pain, Wilson crawling down his body and licking him clean, savoring his own taste against House’s skin…
He’d started to fall asleep to the soothing strokes of Wilson’s tongue up his thigh, swirling around his hole - when he awoke to his own wordless complacency. He could practically hear Wilson’s smugness.
A grunt was the only protest he could manage vocally, but it was apparently enough; Wilson slid up next to him and kissed House briefly on the lips, too cocky to second-guess himself. His leg draped over House’s ass and settled between his thighs, an all-too-blatant gesture of possessiveness.
House decided he could make Wilson come in his pants at work again to even up the score.
He tried not to imagine that Wilson had been this way after sex with his wives: this relaxed, this uninhibited, this - gorgeous. He laughed breathily as he ran his hands up House’s back, his hair a wreck, a little spot of come on his chin, biting his lip in an apparent attempt to look sheepish. “Hope those plans worked out for you, Doctor.” His smile faltered a little as he looked back into House’s heavy-lidded eyes. “You okay?”
Fuck it; Bonnie was never going to find out. “...Fantastic.”