Fic: A Piece of Wood
Title: A Piece of Wood
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Well, it's sex in a public bathroom.
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 016. House/Wilson -- arguing in a public toilet about who might be bigger... (*waves ruler*). Except there's no ruler.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: This fic was beta-ed by my lovely, wonderful wife, Cristina. I'm also dedicating this fic to her for no reason beyond that I love her and would dedicate *every* Housefic I write to her. So this is really a just 'cause I could present. The idea for the fic itself came from the prompt. And I had a *ton* of fun writing this, so I hope everyone enjoys it and tells me so.
REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPY AND KEEP ME WRITING, SO IF YOU LIKE AND WANT MORE FIC, CLICK ON THE 'POST A COMMENT' OR WHATEVER THE EQUIVALENT IS, OKAY? Favorite lines are much appreciated :D Especially since I don't know what others find funny or good.
Brad heard the arguing voices even before he entered the grimy gas station bathroom. Well, not exactly arguing. One angry voice, one placating one. He paused with a hand on the door, wondering if he really wanted to enter when there was a fight of some kind or if he could hold it until the next stop. His common sense told him to run, especially when he heard something wood-like slamming against what sounded like a wall.
His bladder told him it was either here or on the side of the I-95.
Here was probably better. Probably. He wasn’t sure of the carnage yet.
He entered timidly, knowing that he was not particularly big, particularly strong, or particularly scary. He was barely 5’7”, skinny, and his arms and legs were stick-thin and without any muscle.
Two men were arguing in the corner. One of them wore a leather jacket, a tight t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He had stubble, short, curly, brown-gray hair, blue eyes, and was currently snarling. The other wore a suit and tie, had wavy, brown hair, brown eyes, and was waiting for the tirade to end with a look of amusement and exasperation. A cane was propped up against the wall and the man in the leather jacket (Brad dubbed him Leather Jacket in his mind and the silent one Suit Man) was using his right hand to brace himself.
Brad sneaked to the urinal, hoping that he hadn’t been noticed.
“Oh come on! We’ve been driving for, what, seven hours now?” Still Leather Jacket.
“Taking shifts,” Suit Man pointed out.
“Not the point. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What?”
“Teasing me the whole way, even while we’re arguing. And we are settling this now.”
“House, we’ll be there soon. We can settle this stupid argument then.”
“Uh-uh,” House answered. “We’ve been arguing about this all the way through New York, Rhode Island, and all we’ve seen of Massachusetts. We are settling this argument now.”
“This isn’t an argument to be settled in a public bathroom. We’re going to reach our hotel soon. We can settle it there. I know, I know, we’ve been using circumstantial evidence, but we can properly prove it.”
Brad was amazed. Suit Man sounded so patient with this House guy. Like he’d spent years dealing with him. Then again, if they’d been driving together for seven hours, they probably did know each other very well.
“Oh, no. We are settling this here, because if we argue about this all the way to Boston, I’m going to crash the car,” House deadpanned.
“Then we won’t argue about it all the way in to Boston and just agree to prove it at the hotel. House, it’s a stupid argument.”
“If it’s as stupid as you think, why have you been arguing with me over it for the past seven hours? You could have just given in back in New York, and then we could’ve talked about your astoundingly bad taste in ties.”
“See? This is exactly why I should argue this stupid point with you! My ties are far more boring.”
“Well, we could’ve talked about other things! I saw a great episode of the OC yesterday while you went out to get food. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it all day.”
“Oh no! No OC. It’s bad enough that you watch it, but I am not listening to you tell me the story.”
The OC? Brad wondered. He had trouble reconciling the idea of House watching the OC with the clothes he was wearing and his extremely abrasive attitude.
“Wasn’t it you who was always telling me to seize the day? To take the opportunities given? Well. We are settling this.”
Suit Man sighed. “Fine.”
Brad thought about jumping in, protecting Suit Man. Then again, one of them had a cane. He wondered which one. And why.
“We don’t have a ruler,” Suit Man pointed out a minute later.
Brad blinked. Multiple times. A ruler? What kind of argument was this? Brad was waiting for the sounds of punching and crashes and someone begging not to be hurt, not a statement about a ruler.
“Wilson, you idiot, what exactly is a ruler?”
“House, how does this help anything?” Silence. “Fine. A piece of wood, metal, or plastic with marks placed at set intervals for the purposes of measuring length.”
“And if you wanted to, say, compare the length of two objects, would you need those marks?”
“Only if you wanted to know how much longer one thing was.”
“Which the argument wasn’t about.”
“Okay, so no.”
“So what you’re saying is that we really just need a piece of wood.”
“Yes. Or metal. Or plastic. And I suppose we could take one of those bathroom stall doors and use that to measure, but I have no idea about the cleanliness.”
“You idiot,” House replied, sounding abrasive and almost fond at the same time. “A. Piece. Of. Wood.”
“Yes, you made that point already! I don’t get what greater meaning you’re trying to impart on me here.”
Neither of them said anything. The only sound was a rhythmic tapping. Brad ducked into the stall and stood carefully on the toilet. This way, he could see without being seen.
House had picked up the cane and was tapping it against the ground.
“House! This isn’t time for one of your games.”
House smiled disconcertingly. “Oh, no, James, this is exactly the time for one of my games.” His blue eyes glittered with something unidentifiable.
Wilson’s breath hitched and he stared at House in shock. “Greg, no! We are in a public bathroom. Anyone could walk in.”
“It’s completely deserted. We’ve been arguing here for, what, twenty minutes now and yet no one’s come by. And anyway. Part of the fun, that. But first… we’re settling the argument.”
“With what?!” Wilson asked, frustrated.
“A piece of wood.”
Wilson looked like he was ready to strangle House. “Greg, I know I usually get your games, but I’m missing the point entirely here.”
House brandished his cane. “What’s this made of?”
“Wood.”
“Exactly.”
Comprehension dawned on Wilson’s face. “With that?” he asked, pointing at the cane.
House nodded. “Have a dry-erase marker with me too,” he added, putting his hand in his pocket and removing a dry-erase marker.
Wilson stared at House, dumbfounded. “Why do you have one of those with you?”
“I’ve been using it to write House and Wilson forever on all the MRIs,” House answered glibly.
Wilson nearly melted, Brad noted. He leaned in close and whispered, “Fuck. I know you’re just joking, but… God, I love you.”
House smiled slightly, pleasantly this time, and kissed Wilson. “I love you, too,” he murmured back. He punctuated it with another kiss.
Brad was uneasy. He wasn’t a homophobe, but he had never expected to see such a private, intimate moment between two men. He’d never seen such a private moment between anyone, he realized. He felt almost like he was trespassing.
Wilson reached up and cupped House’s cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly. House leaned into it, keeping his balance with obvious difficulty.
“We still have to settle the argument,” House answered huskily.
Wilson nodded and let his hand drop. House smirked. “So, you think it’s you, I think it’s me. Care to bet?”
Wilson nodded. “Whoever wins tops tonight?”
House’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Whoever wins gets to tie the other one up.”
Wilson grabbed House’s shoulders and kissed him suddenly. The kiss went on for minutes, or, at least, it felt like it to Brad, who was watching the mash of lips, the flashes of tongue, the way their hands (well, Wilson’s hands and House’s left hand) roamed all over each other, with a growing sense of horror. And a growing something else, he realized.
He was being turned on by this. By two middle-aged, or at least, close to middle-aged men, kissing and groping each other in a public bathroom off I-95 like trailer trash. It clashed entirely with what Brad considered ‘polite society’ and ‘acceptable public behavior.’ And while House kinda seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed defying public convention, Wilson seemed eminently respectable. At least, he would if his hands weren’t currently squeezing House’s ass and his hips weren’t grinding into House’s.
They parted again, Wilson’s eyes suitably glazed-over. House dropped one more kiss onto Wilson’s lips. “I think you like that idea,” House grinned, placing little sucking bites along Wilson’s jaw line, moving up to nip at his earlobe.
“Fuck, Greg…” Wilson moaned.
“That’s kinda the idea,” House answered, sticking his tongue in Wilson’s ear. Wilson’s hands tightened on House’s ass.
Brad was starting to realize why all his relationships with girls sucked.
Fucking men was clearly way better. At least, if the way Wilson was arching into House and panting and moaning was any indication. And Brad was really, really hard right now watching this scene. He knew that he say something, make some indication of his presence, but he was riveted. Not to mention, he didn’t want this to end.
“Unzip,” House purred in Wilson’s ear.
Wilson’s hands left House’s ass, trailing all the way around to House’s zipper, undid the button, pulled down the zip, pushed down House’s pants and boxers just enough to draw out House’s hard, leaking cock. His hands explored lazily, leaving House shuddering and gasping.
“You too,” House murmured, his blue eyes dancing with lust. Wilson reluctantly let go of House’s dick and moved to his own pants, undoing his belt quickly, unzipping, and pushing his pants down further than he had House’s. Wilson hooked a hand around House’s neck and dragged him in for another kiss.
House broke it quickly, pulling back as much as he could without losing his balance. “Uh, uh, uh, we have a bet to settle before we can get sticky.”
“Oh, fuck, Greg… now?”
“Yep. C’mere.”
House reached for Wilson and pulled closer until they were standing side by side. House shifted his weight entirely onto his left leg and picked up his cane. He rooted in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out the dry erase marker. He uncapped the marker and handed the cane to Wilson. “You first, James.”
Wilson took the cane and positioned it so that the base of his cock was right next to the top of his handle. House leaned over, using his hand to support himself, and drew a line, then put JW next to it. “There. My turn.”
House took his cane back and handed Wilson the uncapped marker. Wilson took it and waiting for House to position the cane properly, then leaned over and drew a line, scribbling GH next to it. He couldn’t resist giving the tip of House’s cock a little kiss.
“Excellent idea,” House panted. He moved the cane out of the way, propping it up against the wall, and leaned back. Wilson squatted down properly, not putting his knees on the ground (it really was very dirty, Brad noted distantly, much more intent on watching the live-action porn in front of him). He leaned forward and took just the tip of House’s dick in.
Brad shifted, trying to see better, and… ah, there it was, a great angle. He saw Wilson’s lips sliding further down House’s cock, saw his cheeks hollow, saw the outline of House’s cock in Wilson’s mouth, the slight trail of saliva meandering down the hard shaft.
Wilson looked up towards House, whose eyes were screwed shut. He was panting. “So close,” he gasped out, “So damn close. You’ve been teasing me all day… all fucking day…”
Wilson hmmed, apparently in agreement, but if the way House arched his back as best he could and tangled his hands in Wilson’s hair, it felt damn good too.
Brad doubted he’d ever been this turned on his life. Wilson was making little sucking noises, House was moaning encouragement, and the sights were incredibly arousing. Brad wanted to be there, be part of it, to feel Wilson’s tongue and House’s hands and their cocks and their sweat and that was a very strange thought, he noted distantly, because he’d never considered himself gay before, but the way these two men moved together, it was like there was no other option, no other way to have sex…
A hoarse shout and Brad watched Wilson’s adam's apple bob, realizing that he was… swallowing, and the thought was enough to make his eyes widen and his dick harden impossibly and his balls draw up close to his body.
Wilson stood, shaking out his legs slightly to get the blood circulating again. House was slumped against the wall, panting, but as Wilson’s face came closer to his, his eyes opened slowly and he smiled.
House reached for Wilson’s cock, stroked him insistently, almost roughly, rubbing his thumb around the tip, squeezing the base, and his other hand went around Wilson’s neck and pulled him closer for a kiss.
Brad tried to divide his attention between the extremely hot kiss and the extremely hot handjob and found his eyes snapping back and forth, back and forth, like the oddest tennis match he had ever watched. Wilson stiffened suddenly, his mouth falling away from House’s, and he came all over House’s hand and bare stomach.
He smiled at House and leaned forward again, sharing a very sloppy, very sated post-coital kiss.
“My pocket,” House murmured. “There are some wet wipes in my pocket.”
“You planned this?” Wilson asked, looking faintly annoyed.
“And you didn’t?” House smirked. “I know you have condoms in your pocket.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Wet wipes. Now. I hate sticky, cold semen drying on my hand.”
Wilson removed the wet wipes and helped clean up. He threw the used wipes away, and House reached for his cane, ready to leave.
“I wonder who won,” Wilson said, looked pointedly at House’s cane. House shifted his weight again and picked up the cane, finding the two lines without any difficulty. He smirked and showed it to Wilson, who groaned but then laughed.
House leaned against his cane again and kissed Wilson briefly. “See, told you I had a bigger dick.”
“You are a bigger dick,” Wilson teased.
“True,” House conceded, “But this does mean I get to tie you up.”
“Oh, I think I can live with that.”
They walked out, House leaning heavily on his cane. Wilson exited first, and as House was leaving, he glanced back.
His eyes met Brad’s, who hadn’t had the presence of mind to duck down while the two men were cleaning up. Brad flushed and tried to think of something to say, especially when that look crossed House’s face.
House’s face seemed to say, Enjoy the show?
-- End
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Well, it's sex in a public bathroom.
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 016. House/Wilson -- arguing in a public toilet about who might be bigger... (*waves ruler*). Except there's no ruler.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: This fic was beta-ed by my lovely, wonderful wife, Cristina. I'm also dedicating this fic to her for no reason beyond that I love her and would dedicate *every* Housefic I write to her. So this is really a just 'cause I could present. The idea for the fic itself came from the prompt. And I had a *ton* of fun writing this, so I hope everyone enjoys it and tells me so.
REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPY AND KEEP ME WRITING, SO IF YOU LIKE AND WANT MORE FIC, CLICK ON THE 'POST A COMMENT' OR WHATEVER THE EQUIVALENT IS, OKAY? Favorite lines are much appreciated :D Especially since I don't know what others find funny or good.
Brad heard the arguing voices even before he entered the grimy gas station bathroom. Well, not exactly arguing. One angry voice, one placating one. He paused with a hand on the door, wondering if he really wanted to enter when there was a fight of some kind or if he could hold it until the next stop. His common sense told him to run, especially when he heard something wood-like slamming against what sounded like a wall.
His bladder told him it was either here or on the side of the I-95.
Here was probably better. Probably. He wasn’t sure of the carnage yet.
He entered timidly, knowing that he was not particularly big, particularly strong, or particularly scary. He was barely 5’7”, skinny, and his arms and legs were stick-thin and without any muscle.
Two men were arguing in the corner. One of them wore a leather jacket, a tight t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He had stubble, short, curly, brown-gray hair, blue eyes, and was currently snarling. The other wore a suit and tie, had wavy, brown hair, brown eyes, and was waiting for the tirade to end with a look of amusement and exasperation. A cane was propped up against the wall and the man in the leather jacket (Brad dubbed him Leather Jacket in his mind and the silent one Suit Man) was using his right hand to brace himself.
Brad sneaked to the urinal, hoping that he hadn’t been noticed.
“Oh come on! We’ve been driving for, what, seven hours now?” Still Leather Jacket.
“Taking shifts,” Suit Man pointed out.
“Not the point. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What?”
“Teasing me the whole way, even while we’re arguing. And we are settling this now.”
“House, we’ll be there soon. We can settle this stupid argument then.”
“Uh-uh,” House answered. “We’ve been arguing about this all the way through New York, Rhode Island, and all we’ve seen of Massachusetts. We are settling this argument now.”
“This isn’t an argument to be settled in a public bathroom. We’re going to reach our hotel soon. We can settle it there. I know, I know, we’ve been using circumstantial evidence, but we can properly prove it.”
Brad was amazed. Suit Man sounded so patient with this House guy. Like he’d spent years dealing with him. Then again, if they’d been driving together for seven hours, they probably did know each other very well.
“Oh, no. We are settling this here, because if we argue about this all the way to Boston, I’m going to crash the car,” House deadpanned.
“Then we won’t argue about it all the way in to Boston and just agree to prove it at the hotel. House, it’s a stupid argument.”
“If it’s as stupid as you think, why have you been arguing with me over it for the past seven hours? You could have just given in back in New York, and then we could’ve talked about your astoundingly bad taste in ties.”
“See? This is exactly why I should argue this stupid point with you! My ties are far more boring.”
“Well, we could’ve talked about other things! I saw a great episode of the OC yesterday while you went out to get food. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it all day.”
“Oh no! No OC. It’s bad enough that you watch it, but I am not listening to you tell me the story.”
The OC? Brad wondered. He had trouble reconciling the idea of House watching the OC with the clothes he was wearing and his extremely abrasive attitude.
“Wasn’t it you who was always telling me to seize the day? To take the opportunities given? Well. We are settling this.”
Suit Man sighed. “Fine.”
Brad thought about jumping in, protecting Suit Man. Then again, one of them had a cane. He wondered which one. And why.
“We don’t have a ruler,” Suit Man pointed out a minute later.
Brad blinked. Multiple times. A ruler? What kind of argument was this? Brad was waiting for the sounds of punching and crashes and someone begging not to be hurt, not a statement about a ruler.
“Wilson, you idiot, what exactly is a ruler?”
“House, how does this help anything?” Silence. “Fine. A piece of wood, metal, or plastic with marks placed at set intervals for the purposes of measuring length.”
“And if you wanted to, say, compare the length of two objects, would you need those marks?”
“Only if you wanted to know how much longer one thing was.”
“Which the argument wasn’t about.”
“Okay, so no.”
“So what you’re saying is that we really just need a piece of wood.”
“Yes. Or metal. Or plastic. And I suppose we could take one of those bathroom stall doors and use that to measure, but I have no idea about the cleanliness.”
“You idiot,” House replied, sounding abrasive and almost fond at the same time. “A. Piece. Of. Wood.”
“Yes, you made that point already! I don’t get what greater meaning you’re trying to impart on me here.”
Neither of them said anything. The only sound was a rhythmic tapping. Brad ducked into the stall and stood carefully on the toilet. This way, he could see without being seen.
House had picked up the cane and was tapping it against the ground.
“House! This isn’t time for one of your games.”
House smiled disconcertingly. “Oh, no, James, this is exactly the time for one of my games.” His blue eyes glittered with something unidentifiable.
Wilson’s breath hitched and he stared at House in shock. “Greg, no! We are in a public bathroom. Anyone could walk in.”
“It’s completely deserted. We’ve been arguing here for, what, twenty minutes now and yet no one’s come by. And anyway. Part of the fun, that. But first… we’re settling the argument.”
“With what?!” Wilson asked, frustrated.
“A piece of wood.”
Wilson looked like he was ready to strangle House. “Greg, I know I usually get your games, but I’m missing the point entirely here.”
House brandished his cane. “What’s this made of?”
“Wood.”
“Exactly.”
Comprehension dawned on Wilson’s face. “With that?” he asked, pointing at the cane.
House nodded. “Have a dry-erase marker with me too,” he added, putting his hand in his pocket and removing a dry-erase marker.
Wilson stared at House, dumbfounded. “Why do you have one of those with you?”
“I’ve been using it to write House and Wilson forever on all the MRIs,” House answered glibly.
Wilson nearly melted, Brad noted. He leaned in close and whispered, “Fuck. I know you’re just joking, but… God, I love you.”
House smiled slightly, pleasantly this time, and kissed Wilson. “I love you, too,” he murmured back. He punctuated it with another kiss.
Brad was uneasy. He wasn’t a homophobe, but he had never expected to see such a private, intimate moment between two men. He’d never seen such a private moment between anyone, he realized. He felt almost like he was trespassing.
Wilson reached up and cupped House’s cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly. House leaned into it, keeping his balance with obvious difficulty.
“We still have to settle the argument,” House answered huskily.
Wilson nodded and let his hand drop. House smirked. “So, you think it’s you, I think it’s me. Care to bet?”
Wilson nodded. “Whoever wins tops tonight?”
House’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Whoever wins gets to tie the other one up.”
Wilson grabbed House’s shoulders and kissed him suddenly. The kiss went on for minutes, or, at least, it felt like it to Brad, who was watching the mash of lips, the flashes of tongue, the way their hands (well, Wilson’s hands and House’s left hand) roamed all over each other, with a growing sense of horror. And a growing something else, he realized.
He was being turned on by this. By two middle-aged, or at least, close to middle-aged men, kissing and groping each other in a public bathroom off I-95 like trailer trash. It clashed entirely with what Brad considered ‘polite society’ and ‘acceptable public behavior.’ And while House kinda seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed defying public convention, Wilson seemed eminently respectable. At least, he would if his hands weren’t currently squeezing House’s ass and his hips weren’t grinding into House’s.
They parted again, Wilson’s eyes suitably glazed-over. House dropped one more kiss onto Wilson’s lips. “I think you like that idea,” House grinned, placing little sucking bites along Wilson’s jaw line, moving up to nip at his earlobe.
“Fuck, Greg…” Wilson moaned.
“That’s kinda the idea,” House answered, sticking his tongue in Wilson’s ear. Wilson’s hands tightened on House’s ass.
Brad was starting to realize why all his relationships with girls sucked.
Fucking men was clearly way better. At least, if the way Wilson was arching into House and panting and moaning was any indication. And Brad was really, really hard right now watching this scene. He knew that he say something, make some indication of his presence, but he was riveted. Not to mention, he didn’t want this to end.
“Unzip,” House purred in Wilson’s ear.
Wilson’s hands left House’s ass, trailing all the way around to House’s zipper, undid the button, pulled down the zip, pushed down House’s pants and boxers just enough to draw out House’s hard, leaking cock. His hands explored lazily, leaving House shuddering and gasping.
“You too,” House murmured, his blue eyes dancing with lust. Wilson reluctantly let go of House’s dick and moved to his own pants, undoing his belt quickly, unzipping, and pushing his pants down further than he had House’s. Wilson hooked a hand around House’s neck and dragged him in for another kiss.
House broke it quickly, pulling back as much as he could without losing his balance. “Uh, uh, uh, we have a bet to settle before we can get sticky.”
“Oh, fuck, Greg… now?”
“Yep. C’mere.”
House reached for Wilson and pulled closer until they were standing side by side. House shifted his weight entirely onto his left leg and picked up his cane. He rooted in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out the dry erase marker. He uncapped the marker and handed the cane to Wilson. “You first, James.”
Wilson took the cane and positioned it so that the base of his cock was right next to the top of his handle. House leaned over, using his hand to support himself, and drew a line, then put JW next to it. “There. My turn.”
House took his cane back and handed Wilson the uncapped marker. Wilson took it and waiting for House to position the cane properly, then leaned over and drew a line, scribbling GH next to it. He couldn’t resist giving the tip of House’s cock a little kiss.
“Excellent idea,” House panted. He moved the cane out of the way, propping it up against the wall, and leaned back. Wilson squatted down properly, not putting his knees on the ground (it really was very dirty, Brad noted distantly, much more intent on watching the live-action porn in front of him). He leaned forward and took just the tip of House’s dick in.
Brad shifted, trying to see better, and… ah, there it was, a great angle. He saw Wilson’s lips sliding further down House’s cock, saw his cheeks hollow, saw the outline of House’s cock in Wilson’s mouth, the slight trail of saliva meandering down the hard shaft.
Wilson looked up towards House, whose eyes were screwed shut. He was panting. “So close,” he gasped out, “So damn close. You’ve been teasing me all day… all fucking day…”
Wilson hmmed, apparently in agreement, but if the way House arched his back as best he could and tangled his hands in Wilson’s hair, it felt damn good too.
Brad doubted he’d ever been this turned on his life. Wilson was making little sucking noises, House was moaning encouragement, and the sights were incredibly arousing. Brad wanted to be there, be part of it, to feel Wilson’s tongue and House’s hands and their cocks and their sweat and that was a very strange thought, he noted distantly, because he’d never considered himself gay before, but the way these two men moved together, it was like there was no other option, no other way to have sex…
A hoarse shout and Brad watched Wilson’s adam's apple bob, realizing that he was… swallowing, and the thought was enough to make his eyes widen and his dick harden impossibly and his balls draw up close to his body.
Wilson stood, shaking out his legs slightly to get the blood circulating again. House was slumped against the wall, panting, but as Wilson’s face came closer to his, his eyes opened slowly and he smiled.
House reached for Wilson’s cock, stroked him insistently, almost roughly, rubbing his thumb around the tip, squeezing the base, and his other hand went around Wilson’s neck and pulled him closer for a kiss.
Brad tried to divide his attention between the extremely hot kiss and the extremely hot handjob and found his eyes snapping back and forth, back and forth, like the oddest tennis match he had ever watched. Wilson stiffened suddenly, his mouth falling away from House’s, and he came all over House’s hand and bare stomach.
He smiled at House and leaned forward again, sharing a very sloppy, very sated post-coital kiss.
“My pocket,” House murmured. “There are some wet wipes in my pocket.”
“You planned this?” Wilson asked, looking faintly annoyed.
“And you didn’t?” House smirked. “I know you have condoms in your pocket.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Wet wipes. Now. I hate sticky, cold semen drying on my hand.”
Wilson removed the wet wipes and helped clean up. He threw the used wipes away, and House reached for his cane, ready to leave.
“I wonder who won,” Wilson said, looked pointedly at House’s cane. House shifted his weight again and picked up the cane, finding the two lines without any difficulty. He smirked and showed it to Wilson, who groaned but then laughed.
House leaned against his cane again and kissed Wilson briefly. “See, told you I had a bigger dick.”
“You are a bigger dick,” Wilson teased.
“True,” House conceded, “But this does mean I get to tie you up.”
“Oh, I think I can live with that.”
They walked out, House leaning heavily on his cane. Wilson exited first, and as House was leaving, he glanced back.
His eyes met Brad’s, who hadn’t had the presence of mind to duck down while the two men were cleaning up. Brad flushed and tried to think of something to say, especially when that look crossed House’s face.
House’s face seemed to say, Enjoy the show?
-- End