(no subject)
So here it is. The present tense songfic with the angry!sex. It's rushed, and it's shorter than I would have liked, and for all I know it's riddled with typos, but it is what it is. I'll post the other piece tomorrow, probably. If not, you have permission to berate me mercilessly.
Basically, this was an exercise to get me slightly more comfortable with writing smut - and also to actually get me writing again. So what I'm saying is that it isn't pretending to be a masterpiece; it's more of a practice run.
That said, here's the thing:
Title: 4th Time Around.
Author:
petrichor_fizz
Pairing: House/Wilson (mentions of Wilson/OFC)
Rating: NC17 for language and sex.
Spoilers: Set during S4, but nothing serious.
Words: Just over 1300, including the lyrics.
Summary: Wilson has a new girlfriend. Not for long he doesn't.
Disclaimer: Ain't got no ticket, ain't got no token.
AN: The title is from this song, but the song actually quoted is Love Sick, also by Dylan. That's how much sense this can be expected to make.
I'm walking through streets that are dead
Walking, walking with you in my head
My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired
And the clouds are weeping.
She's different from all the others. She's a little livelier; there's a little more fire in her eyes; she's more intelligent, with her own ambition that isn't dependent on him, and she works in a bookstore and makes jokes about Greek mythology.
He tells himself all of this. He talked himself into loving all of the others, too, one after another. The problem is the one person he can't talk himself out of loving. The problem is that persistent ache somewhere that won't die, that seems to be getting keener as he walks through the wet streets. He knows where he's going, but he doesn't know why. He's not sure whether he's gone to beg House's forgiveness or to tell him to back off, to let him have a functional relationship, just once. He's terrified of losing House, but the man has no right to alienate him for allowing himself a substitute. He's pretty damn sure he'll never get the real thing. So House is angry at a situation he caused (not an unusual state of affairs), and Wilson feels angry and guilty, and angry at himself for feeling guilty, but most of all he needs to see House, because the distance between them has started to gnaw at him like a hunger.
He arrives at House's doorstep dripping, his hair soaked, some of the water seeping through his thick coat to chill his skin. He fumbles for his key, and then thinks better of it - the way things are right now, he shouldn't presume too much. He knocks as neutrally as possible - if House guesses who it is, he might not open the door. This thought makes Wilson feel sick to his stomach, suddenly, when he remembers the way things used to be - after Vogler, after Grace, even after Tritter, it never got quite this bad, and now they're falling apart over something as innocent as a love affair he's only just begun.
Did I hear someone tell a lie?
Did I hear someone's distant cry?
I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile
While I was sleeping.
Eventually the door opens.
"What do you want?"
"Can I come in?"
"No."
"I'm all wet," says Wilson reasonably, as though House cares about his comfort.
"If I wanted to hear that, I'd hire a hooker. What do you want?" House looks at him challengingly, with eyes that say I'm not backing down, and Wilson is suddenly consumed by rage. He forces the door open past House's arm. House stumbles, but Wilson catches him by the shoulders, kicking the door closed behind him, and falls back against it.
"You bastard. What have I done to you? What have I ever done to you, besides give a flying fuck about you while still trying desperately to function? Or at least get laid occasionally. But God forbid I should get anything I want..." he hisses, marginally aware of House's hands braced against the door, framing his head, and House's eyes flashing in the dimly-lit room.
I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
This kind of love, I'm so sick of it.
"And they say chivalry is dead," House remarks, quietly but with force. "Is that what your grand romance amounts to? Pussy on tap?"
"Yeah, I'm a scumbag. I should at least have the decency to pay for what I get." It's not exactly the best retort - House made a prostitute joke about thirty seconds ago. But the only other response that comes to mind is something along the lines of it's not like that; I love her; she's special, and that kind of bullshit won't fool either of them. House is right. This relationship is predicated on sex, and if they happen to be able to stand each other's company, that's all very nice, but it isn't essential.
House seems to relax a little. "So you're not going to marry this one?"
"Probably not," admits Wilson, feeling suddenly deflated.
"Good," says House, "because watching you fuck up your marriages is starting to get old."
"Trust me. Watching you fuck up my marriages isn't a whole lot better." His hands are still on House's shoulders, and they're warm by now - the heat is pouring off House through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. House clears his throat.
"You should probably... take your coat off. It's drenched."
I see, I see lovers in the meadow
I see, I see silhouettes in the window
I watch them 'til they're gone and they leave me hanging on
To a shadow.
Wilson nods slowly, but he has a feeling he might be agreeing to something completely different. Neither of them moves for a second, and then they both do, and his hands are on House's waist and his coat is on the floor. House tastes like whiskey, but it's his smell, up close, that's intoxicating. Wilson falls to his knees and buries his nose in House's stomach, and House's hands are on the door again, and it's probably his thigh giving him trouble but Wilson wants to believe it's his knees buckling.
"Oh God," he breathes, "why do I keep fucking things up for us like this?"
House shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I can't..."
"I know. I know. Just let me--" He pushes House's shirt up and breathes him in, slides his hands up House's back as far as he can reach, pressing his lips to the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, then stands up and kisses him again. House nips at his lower lip possessively, like he's trying to draw blood. Wilson tries to walk them towards the hall, but House stops him.
"Couch is fine," he says. Wilson nods dumbly and lets House throw them both down, and then they're grinding against one another through two pairs of jeans. He wants to feel skin against his, but House is acting like they have no time to waste, and all he can do is let himself ride along on a wave of pleasure and adrenaline until he suddenly feels House's hand inside his pants, desperately groping at him.
I'm sick of love; I hear the clock tick
This kind of love; I'm love sick.
"You get rid of her," House commands breathlessly. All Wilson can think is more and harder, but he hesitates. House's hand stops its movement just as he thinks he might come. "You do it, you can fuck me, you don't need to string that slut along--" House is saying, and there's a rushing in Wilson's ears, and he should say something, anything to get that sensation back.
"Yes," he says desperately, "I'll get rid of her, just--" and House rewards him, and he knows he should be feeling guilty at this betrayal, but he's seeing colors and his mind is playing you can fuck me over and over, and it's doing as much for him as the friction is, or the hot breath against his ear, and his own hand finally moves towards House's cock and squeezes. Their mouths meet again, and Wilson squirms and closes his eyes tightly, as the intensity and heat overwhelm him, and he comes. House does too, not long after, as though he'd been waiting for it.
Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder
Sometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder
Could you ever be true?
I think of you
And I wonder.
They lie that way for a while, breathing heavily. Wilson's hair is still wet, and he's too hot and sticky, and his heart is beating wildly, but he feels a sense of release. Loss, too - he imagined it differently, the moment of truth, and everything's happened so quickly that he still doesn't know where they stand. He wants to pour his heart out to House, but it isn't the time - and if this isn't, then when? House suddenly pulls back from him, and he thinks this is it, this is the part where he throws me out in the cold again. But House just kisses him, and for now that's enough to give him hope.
Just don't know what to do
I'd give anything to
Be with you.