Spring 2009
Title: Spring 2009
Author: cindy_lou_who8
Summary: written for the
get_house_laid Round 3 prompt 3 - Wilson cries. House kisses him to shut him up. Things go from there.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 762
Warning: a slight amount of angst topped with some manual release
Disclaimer: If House and Wilson were mine, they would have done this long ago.
A/N: Spoilers for S4 finale. Deepest gratitude and thanks to my first readers,
phinnia and
arhh, and my beta
cutthroatpixie :)
Spring 2009
It's been a little over a year now. It's never directly spoken of, but it's there in the undercurrent of their conversations. It lurks like a thief in the night, like capillaries criss-crossing their way through the body.
A cold spring emerges in Princeton. It teases you with its randomness of one mild day, and reverts back like a child at night with ice and snow. It's on one of those evenings, after rain transformed to ice that Wilson is driving House home. They never discuss it; it is just assumed on bad mornings Wilson will arrive at his door far too early and roll his eyes at House's grooming habits or lack thereof, then return him roughly in the same condition at night.
Pleasantries won't be exchanged, and House will grumble about Wilson's granny-like driving, but he knows, he knows not to press matters of transportation. He hasn't taken the bike out yet, despite last Wednesday's mild temperatures. He wonders if he will ever ride again. He knows what one small accident could do to him now.
House pushes those thoughts out of his mind and concentrates on changing radio stations haphazardly. He is so caught up in his own actions, that he is hardly aware of Wilson pulling over to the side of the road. He is even less aware of the tears silently streaming down Wilson's face, which has only recently started to show his age.
House pulls himself out of his reverie and uncomfortably regards Wilson. He has to look away; the sight of Wilson crying brings him instantly back to those days that are never spoken of, and he feels at a loss. House fumbles around the pockets of his wool coat and pulls out a crumpled napkin, which he hands to Wilson. Wilson hasn't said a word, or made a sound, he just continues to cry silently. Wilson takes the napkin from House and swipes at his eyes, the material twisting in his hands.
The silence is deafening. House turns and looks at Wilson. He places a hand on Wilson's shoulder and says, “Wilson, look at me.” Wilson half-heartedly turns to House, once again futilely swiping at his eyes. House leans forward in the small space and kisses Wilson softly on the lips.
They pull apart after a moment, but neither of them speak. Wilson wipes his eyes again, and clears his throat. He starts the car back up and pulls away from the curb. House stares at his cane, as if it holds the answer to all the universe's questions, and says nothing.
A few minutes later, Wilson pulls the car up in front of House's apartment. House practically jumps out of the car, and winces when he hears a second car door shutting behind him. House unlocks the door and lets them both in, and seconds later he is being shoved hard against the door. Wilson's hands are on him, exploring, his lips once again meet House's.
Moments pass and they pause for breath, foreheads resting on one another's. Coats are shrugged off and hands are sliding up under shirts, feeling warm skin. House kisses Wilson harder now, and runs his hands through Wilson's thick and mussed hair. His leg is aching, but it's worth it to feel Wilson, warm and delicious in front of him, kissing him, feeling him grow hard as his hips press forward into him.
House moans into Wilson's mouth and Wilson takes advantage of this measure of goodwill, and presses his hand down into the front of House's jeans. House gasps at the contact, and pulls Wilson in hard for another kiss, teeth gnashing, as he claims what has been his for so long.
Wilson unzips and unbuttons House's jeans and quickly pushes them down, so he can then attend to his own uncomfortable pants. He shoves his pants down to his knees and frees his cock, and then House's, fisting them both. A few quick strokes is all it takes for both of them to be breathing heavily and coming over Wilson's hand.
Wilson has enough cognition remaining to locate some tissues to clean them both up, dressing himself after. House is able to pull his pants back up and just make it to the couch, popping a Vicodin along the way. Wilson follows soon after, and they sit in comfortable silence, heads resting on one another's, lost in their own thoughts and memories. As House gets more comfortable, settling his head on Wilson's shoulder, he hopes that the real healing can begin.
Author: cindy_lou_who8
Summary: written for the
get_house_laid Round 3 prompt 3 - Wilson cries. House kisses him to shut him up. Things go from there.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 762
Warning: a slight amount of angst topped with some manual release
Disclaimer: If House and Wilson were mine, they would have done this long ago.
A/N: Spoilers for S4 finale. Deepest gratitude and thanks to my first readers,
phinnia and
arhh, and my beta
cutthroatpixie :)
Spring 2009
It's been a little over a year now. It's never directly spoken of, but it's there in the undercurrent of their conversations. It lurks like a thief in the night, like capillaries criss-crossing their way through the body.
A cold spring emerges in Princeton. It teases you with its randomness of one mild day, and reverts back like a child at night with ice and snow. It's on one of those evenings, after rain transformed to ice that Wilson is driving House home. They never discuss it; it is just assumed on bad mornings Wilson will arrive at his door far too early and roll his eyes at House's grooming habits or lack thereof, then return him roughly in the same condition at night.
Pleasantries won't be exchanged, and House will grumble about Wilson's granny-like driving, but he knows, he knows not to press matters of transportation. He hasn't taken the bike out yet, despite last Wednesday's mild temperatures. He wonders if he will ever ride again. He knows what one small accident could do to him now.
House pushes those thoughts out of his mind and concentrates on changing radio stations haphazardly. He is so caught up in his own actions, that he is hardly aware of Wilson pulling over to the side of the road. He is even less aware of the tears silently streaming down Wilson's face, which has only recently started to show his age.
House pulls himself out of his reverie and uncomfortably regards Wilson. He has to look away; the sight of Wilson crying brings him instantly back to those days that are never spoken of, and he feels at a loss. House fumbles around the pockets of his wool coat and pulls out a crumpled napkin, which he hands to Wilson. Wilson hasn't said a word, or made a sound, he just continues to cry silently. Wilson takes the napkin from House and swipes at his eyes, the material twisting in his hands.
The silence is deafening. House turns and looks at Wilson. He places a hand on Wilson's shoulder and says, “Wilson, look at me.” Wilson half-heartedly turns to House, once again futilely swiping at his eyes. House leans forward in the small space and kisses Wilson softly on the lips.
They pull apart after a moment, but neither of them speak. Wilson wipes his eyes again, and clears his throat. He starts the car back up and pulls away from the curb. House stares at his cane, as if it holds the answer to all the universe's questions, and says nothing.
A few minutes later, Wilson pulls the car up in front of House's apartment. House practically jumps out of the car, and winces when he hears a second car door shutting behind him. House unlocks the door and lets them both in, and seconds later he is being shoved hard against the door. Wilson's hands are on him, exploring, his lips once again meet House's.
Moments pass and they pause for breath, foreheads resting on one another's. Coats are shrugged off and hands are sliding up under shirts, feeling warm skin. House kisses Wilson harder now, and runs his hands through Wilson's thick and mussed hair. His leg is aching, but it's worth it to feel Wilson, warm and delicious in front of him, kissing him, feeling him grow hard as his hips press forward into him.
House moans into Wilson's mouth and Wilson takes advantage of this measure of goodwill, and presses his hand down into the front of House's jeans. House gasps at the contact, and pulls Wilson in hard for another kiss, teeth gnashing, as he claims what has been his for so long.
Wilson unzips and unbuttons House's jeans and quickly pushes them down, so he can then attend to his own uncomfortable pants. He shoves his pants down to his knees and frees his cock, and then House's, fisting them both. A few quick strokes is all it takes for both of them to be breathing heavily and coming over Wilson's hand.
Wilson has enough cognition remaining to locate some tissues to clean them both up, dressing himself after. House is able to pull his pants back up and just make it to the couch, popping a Vicodin along the way. Wilson follows soon after, and they sit in comfortable silence, heads resting on one another's, lost in their own thoughts and memories. As House gets more comfortable, settling his head on Wilson's shoulder, he hopes that the real healing can begin.