Rough Justice (Wilson/Tritter, House/Wilson, warnings, NC-17)
Title: Rough Justice
By: daasgrrl with evila_elf
Pairing: Wilson/Tritter, House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,700
Summary: Wilson makes a deal. Yeah, pretty much what you’d expect.
Warnings: Not pretty. Dark, nasty, and graphic. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Set post-“Que Será Será”. I haven’t really been in a writing mood lately, and this fic would most definitely not have been written if not for evila_elf, who answered my request for Wilson/Tritter with a part-finished fic and outline of her own, which, although quite different from the final result, provided the basic framework, and some key ideas which I built on. There was also a lot of discussion which fed into the story as well, and of course, her usual wonderful beta help. Thank you! I think :)
Oh, and again, note the warnings, please.
Rough Justice
Wilson sat at his desk, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had set aside the afternoon for doing paperwork, but it was going badly; he kept being distracted by his own signature. Even as he tried to focus on the particular patient chart at hand, part of his mind kept endlessly replaying the events of the previous night; Tritter in his hotel room with his patient, almost benevolent smile, the slippery weight of the plastic folder in his hand, the shock at recognizing prescription sheet after prescription sheet torn from his pad and filled out in an all-too-familiar hand. It had been impossible to know what to think, what to do, even with the benefit of Tritter’s ‘moment’. It made no sense to lie, he had realized that much, even then; it was just that to betray House with the truth would have felt every bit as bad as turning him in personally.
He hadn’t confronted House over the prescriptions, not yet; he didn’t need the grief. House would only turn the blame right back on him, and the worst part of it was that he would be at least partly in the right. When House had started complaining about his leg, he should have listened to what House was saying instead of sticking to his own stubborn insistence that House was just fine, would be just fine. Unsurprisingly, House had been right about his own pain. Stealing medication had been a mark of desperation; using Wilson’s pad to do so seemed like a subtle form of delayed punishment. The only catch was that Tritter had found out before Wilson had, and Wilson’s punishment might end up a lot more than House had intended. Not to mention what it might mean for House himself. At this moment, the only small consolation was that House was currently too preoccupied with Tritter’s threats and his own lawyer to even pay much attention to his patients, much less Wilson’s subdued mood.
He found himself doodling on a pad, idly wondering just how long it would take him to learn to successfully imitate House’s forgery, and whether he should confront House just to have him supply a sample for reference, when the door opened without as much as a preliminary knock. Wilson glanced up, instinctively expecting House, but instead, it was the face from his nightmares. Wilson’s office was a lot smaller than his hotel room, and Tritter seemed to take up all the available space with his presence. He loomed over Wilson in black suit and red tie, expressionless, implacable. Wilson stood to meet his gaze.
“Do you know just how easy it is for a handwriting expert to conclude that two sample signatures must have come from two different people? Took mine less than a minute. But then, you must have known it would.”
Tritter obviously wasn’t wasting time with pleasantries. That was a very bad sign. Wilson opened his mouth and closed it again. There was really nothing to say. House hadn’t even bothered with a good imitation, the bastard. He would have known how much attention the pharmacy normally paid to the doctors’ signatures, which was to say, none at all.
“So, that’s not the interesting thing,” Tritter went on. “But it did make me wonder, just a little. Why would you do that? Why bother with such an obvious lie? Why not just admit what we both already knew rather than get yourself into trouble as well? A very interesting attitude you have there, Doctor Wilson. I wouldn’t have expected Doctor House to inspire such… touching… loyalty.”
Wilson crossed his arms in front of him. His mouth felt dry and he said nothing, cursing his own stupidity. Tritter went on softly, almost as though he were talking to himself.
“Your friend is out of control, Doctor Wilson. I think you know that. What interests me right now is why you’re helping him.”
“I… I’ve told you everything I know.” Wilson sat down again and picked up his pen, staring at it as though the act alone would somehow banish Tritter from his sight. It didn’t.
“Which means for you,” Tritter paused, contemplating, “there’s obstruction of justice, for a start. Then, if Doctor House is convicted of trafficking, that would make you an accessory as well.”
Wilson looked up, startled. “Trafficking? For holding a few painkillers?”
“Over six hundred tablets on his premises. That’s a lot of pain for one person.”
Wilson tried to keep his face calm as the shock washed over him. That was more than he had ever imagined House stockpiling. And if Tritter was searching his apartment, House was in much deeper than Wilson had realized.
“So you didn’t know about that, either,” Tritter continued. The man didn’t miss a thing. “Interesting. So as you see, you could definitely do some time, and I wouldn’t count on practicing medicine ever again.”
Despite all his efforts to keep it at bay, the reality of what he had gotten himself into was slowly beginning to sink in. Wilson swiped a hand over his eyes, trying desperately not to think about it. He tried to muster up some righteous anger at House, but all he could feel was the sensation of drowning.
“Why are you doing this?” he managed finally.
“I told you. He’s out of control. Now you, you seem like a nice enough guy. But I don’t like being lied to.”
“So…what? Are you here to arrest me? Do I need a lawyer?’ He knew he sounded on the edge of hysteria. Maybe he could go next door and see if House would be willing to give him the number of his lawyer. Although that would likely be a conflict of interest, so perhaps not. He would have to find his own. Maybe Stacy would help him out with someone. He almost laughed at the thought.
“Calm down, Doctor.” Tritter smiled, but the sight was very far from reassuring. “It just made me a little curious… lying to a police officer, knowing the stakes were that high? Makes me wonder just how far you’d go trying to protect him.”
“How far?” He wondered briefly if he could possibly look as confused as he felt.
Tritter shrugged. “I didn’t set out to make trouble for you. You did that all by yourself. So I thought that maybe we could come to some sort of an… agreement. Keep the blame where it belongs. But I don’t want to waste any more of your valuable time right now. I can see you’ve got a lot of papers there. Lot of signing to do. Maybe you would be so kind as to spare me some time this evening.”
“Are you… sure I won’t need a lawyer?”
“Just a discussion, Doctor Wilson. Off the record.”
Tritter turned around and left without waiting for an answer.
***
Surprisingly, Wilson had been able to focus a lot better after Tritter’s visit than before it. There was a certain amount of relief in knowing that it was all out in the open, even if the consequences were yet to unfold. But now it was eight o’clock and he was decidedly jittery again, pacing the small confines of the room like a tiger in a cage. Tritter hadn’t mentioned a time; Wilson had arrived back at the hotel at six-thirty, and ordered room service, making sure he would not accidentally miss Tritter’s arrival. Now the remains of dinner sat outside the door, and CNN played on the TV at low volume, showing its usual nightly images of death and destruction and carnage. It was strangely comforting to know the rest of the world was in a mess, too.
He almost jumped when the knock at the door finally came. He’d put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on; it could only be Tritter, and it was, bearing with him the same yellow envelope Wilson had seen the night before. Wilson shook his hand, muttering a greeting on autopilot, and gestured him to a chair. Tritter didn’t take it. He stood fast in the middle of the room, staring slightly down at Wilson, and his eyes were hard as flint. He wasn’t chewing the gum this time, and somehow that made him all the more imposing, leached some of the traces of humanity from him. Wilson ran a nervous hand over his mouth and sat down at the desk, hoping Tritter would follow.
“You know, I’ve seen your file. It makes some very interesting reading, Doctor Wilson,” Tritter said. Wilson didn‘t bother asking how he had gotten hold of it - if House could do it, it certainly wasn’t going to be beyond this man. “Third marriage, it says, and yet you’re living here, so I’m thinking it’s a little out of date.”
Wilson shrugged, not bothering to explain.
“And Doctor House’s apartment… turned up some very interesting things as well,” Tritter continued. “Lot of stuff there that obviously wasn’t his. Stayed there a while, did you?”
“Well… yes. After I left my wife.”
“You mean after she left you. It’s always the woman who walks, and the man who pushes her to go. So you moved in with House. Were you sleeping with him?”
“What? No!”
“There’s only one bed there I could see.”
“I slept on the couch. Really.”
“Can’t have been comfortable. Couldn’t afford a hotel like this one? Or did you get a pay rise recently?”
Wilson shook his head. “I don’t think I need to explain anything to you. I needed somewhere to go. It was somewhere.”
“A-huh. So, just good pals.”
“Yes.”
“So good that you’d post $15,000 bail for him without a second thought. That you’d put your shining career on the line for him. Twice, in fact.”
“Yes!”
“Pity.”
“What?”
“It would make this so much more meaningful if you had been doing it.”
Tritter came over laid the yellow envelope gently on the desk in front of Wilson. Wilson looked at it, but made no move to touch. Then Tritter reached out and brushed a broad thumb against Wilson’s cheek. Wilson jerked his head back, but Tritter followed his movements easily, continuing to trace down to Wilson’s jawline and along his jaw. Wilson stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You see… House really needs to be taught a lesson. And he strikes me as a person who can only really learn if someone comes along and rearranges his life a little. And you… you need to learn to pick your friends more carefully.”
For the first time, Wilson felt a tremor of genuine fear. Intangible threats of jail and unemployment, however unpleasant, were somehow far less intimidating than the simple brush of Tritter’s hand against his face.
“What… do you want? I thought we were going to discuss…”
“Stand up, Doctor Wilson.”
“I think you should leave.” Wilson remained defiantly seated, his arms crossed against his chest. His declaration would have been far more convincing if his voice hadn’t shaken so badly.
Tritter held up both hands placatingly.
“I can do that, of course,” he said, and he picked the envelope up from the table again. “Fine by me. But I’m afraid I’ll have to take these with me. And in that case, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”
Wilson’s gaze followed it despairingly. “But if I do… what you want…”
Tritter shrugged. “It all stays here. And I’ll even drop the extra charges of possession and trafficking against your friend.” His voice caressed the last word. “But you’ll do everything I want.”
He smiled again, and Wilson found it even less reassuring than before. “Within reason, of course,” Tritter said. “But don’t worry, Doctor Wilson. I’m a very reasonable man. Careful, too.”
His eyes held Wilson’s for a long moment, and then with shaking hands Wilson reached out for the envelope. Tritter opened his hand and let him take it. A moment’s glance inside confirmed that the forged scripts were there. At least some of them. There could be copies, of course. And Tritter could always go back on his word. It was a classic deal with the Devil and Wilson thought that he must be either extremely desperate or extremely stupid to be going along with it. Or both. Nevertheless. It seemed like the only clear way out, if he had the courage to take it, and it wasn’t only his future at stake, but House’s as well. Today, as yesterday, there was no other decision he could make. Slowly, he put the envelope back on the table, and Tritter nodded in approval.
“Go sit down on the bed,” he said, and Wilson bit his lip and obeyed, positioning himself on one side, facing the window. Tritter drew the curtains, then turned back to face him.
He watched, fascinated, as Tritter started unbuckling himself. “I’ll say one thing for Doctor House. He was right after all. Saw another doc, and the swab came back clean. Nothing wrong with me at all. I thought you’d be pleased to know that.”
Tritter was already half-erect, and Wilson stared at his penis for a moment with almost clinical detachment. He could see the pale blue veins branching under the skin, the slightly darker patch of redness at the tip. Of course House had been right. So, nothing to worry about, medically speaking at least. He bit back a hysterical laugh at the thought.
“Suck it,” Tritter said, bringing him sharply back to reality. “Be gentle, now.”
Wilson looked into Tritter’s eyes. “I haven’t done this…”
“Yes, yes, I know. Just friends.” Tritter stepped forward a little, forcing Wilson to shuffle a little further back on the bed in momentary avoidance. “Do it anyway.”
Slowly, tentatively, Wilson leaned forward a little and took the tip into his mouth. It’s nothing, he thought. Just flesh, just blood and skin and cartilage. He shut his eyes and thought of a diagram from his anatomy texts, the twisting shape of the muscles anchoring shaft to pubic bone, the internal structure of the organ itself. Corpus spongiosum, corpus cavernosum, glans penis. He tried to ignore the musk filling his nostrils, the salty seep of fluid into his mouth that he had to swallow or choke on, the urge to gag as Tritter pushed in a little further. It was fine. He could do this.
“Not bad,” Tritter said, after a while. He reached out to stroke Wilson’s cheek again, taking advantage of his inability to turn his head very far in his position. “So much better than the lying.”
Tritter began to rock his hips gently as his eyes closed, and his breathing became heavier. Wilson’s jaw was beginning to ache, and he dared an upwards glance as he reached up a hand to stroke Tritter’s shaft. Maybe he could do it, finish him off now, and then he could stop, and it would be over, and Tritter would leave. He managed a few clumsy strokes up and down before Tritter’s hand closed on his, stopping him.
“No. Much as I’d love to come in that pretty mouth of yours,” Tritter said, and pulled out so abruptly that Wilson almost fell forward off the bed onto his knees. Instinctively, Wilson swiped at his mouth with his hand, and then the shock of what he had done hit him and he doubled up on the edge of the bed, wanting to throw up on the floor, anything to get the taste and the feel of Tritter out of him.
Tritter patted his back, comfortingly. “Now, that was for you. But there’s still House to think about. And you‘re going to have to work just a little harder for him.”
Wilson closed his eyes again, sick and sore and wanting this to be over. It wasn’t him doing this, it was someone else, someone else in this room, someone else on this bed. He just had to endure whatever Tritter wanted of him and then everything would be all right. It had to be.
“Belt, trousers, the rest,” Tritter prompted, pulling him unsteadily to his feet in the narrow space between desk and bed. Wilson kept his eyes closed as his fingers fumbled at his belt enough to release it, followed by the button and zip of his pants. Then he stopped, and only Tritter’s hands covering his own made him push all the material down to his knees. His shirttails flapped around his groin as one of Tritter’s hands came back up to stroke his ass. He held himself still, with some effort.
“Turn around. You can brace yourself on the bed.”
He opened his eyes for a moment uncertainly as he turned to obey, and saw Tritter shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a chair, grabbing something from an inside pocket as he did so. Tritter caught his eye and smiled, holding up a tube of lubricant and a condom like trophies. A condom. Yes, that was good. Wilson hadn’t even considered the health issues… but then he had had other things on his mind. Or to be more accurate, in his mouth. He wanted to laugh again, but it came out as something closer to a sob. He shut his eyes again and bent over until his hands and knees were braced against the bedspread, his feet still on the floor, clothing pooling around his ankles and shoes. Cool air and the brush of shirttails caressed his dick gently but he was completely, resolutely, limp.
Then there were warm fingers on his ass, followed by cool gel. A sharp pressure against the interior sphincter until the muscles relaxed a little and then Tritter had what must have been one of his fingers inside him. Wilson gasped involuntarily at the intrusion.
“Next time you see him, you might want to tell Doctor House how this feels,” Tritter commented, pushing deeper, but Wilson barely heard him. He squeezed his eyes shut against tears as he was stretched wider, biting his lip to stifle the sounds. His body was tense under Tritter’s hands, and his whole world was pain and humiliation.
“Come on,” Tritter said softly. “You have to relax a little or it’s really going to hurt.”
“Easy… for you to say,” Wilson managed to grit out. The fingers continued their relentless massage. Slowly, slowly, he managed to unclench a little. “You could just… forget the whole thing,” he muttered grimly.
“You know I can’t do that.” Tritter’s other hand was stroking his back now. “House will just have to owe you. Again.”
Wilson felt Tritter’s hands pull away from him, and heard the sounds of him fiddling with the rubber, the whispers of tearing foil and shifting clothing. Then the hands were back on his ass, and Tritter was pushing into him and oh, god it hurt, and his hands clutched at the coverlet helplessly.
“Guess you were telling the truth about this after all,” Tritter said almost conversationally, pulling out a little and pushing back into him.
But Wilson was no longer listening. He was back at House’s place, watching TV on the couch, it didn’t matter what, some show with lots of beautiful women to look at, and House was there with him, and there was beer. And Wilson turned his head to look at House’s mouth as he made some caustic remark, and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to shut him up by kissing him.
He was sitting at his desk, watching House pace and fidget around the office, saying that he was in pain, that he needed the Vicodin.
He was laughing, telling House to try ibuprofen instead.
He was lying on House’s couch in the dead of night jerking himself off at the thought of House’s hands on him.
He was leaving House’s office, turning back, reminding him his diagnosis had been wrong.
He was staring into Tritter’s eyes, nodding his head, telling him how he signed his name differently sometimes, how he was sure.
He was on his hands and knees, and it could be House fucking him like this, and how he wanted it, wanted him...
…but oh, god, it hurt, it hurt so damn much.
“Yeah,” Tritter was saying, “oh, yeah, that’s right, that’s good, that’s good,” and then he thrust hard into Wilson a few more times, and Wilson heard him grunting and panting wordlessly above him. Then, finally, there was a blessed stillness, and a long silence, broken only by the sound of Tritter’s harsh breathing. After a wait that seemed endless, Tritter pulled out, and only then did Wilson allow himself to crawl awkwardly onto the bed and collapse, his whole body trembling as he curled up into a ball. It was over, he had survived, and he had won… won something, he wasn’t sure what, now. But it was important. It must have been. He dimly heard the sounds of Tritter moving around the room, and then something fell softly next to his face, making him open his eyes for just a moment. It was the yellow envelope. Wilson reached for it with shaking fingers and clutched it close to his chest.
***
“Unless you’re offering me a date with Halle Berry, I’m busy.” House’s voice in his ear was every bit as impatient and acerbic as he’d anticipated. Tritter smiled at his own reflection in the fluorescent light of the hotel bathroom. One hand was holding a cell phone. Not his own phone, of course. The bathroom door was shut. He was, after all, a considerate man.
“Doctor House.”
“What?” There was a pause, in which Tritter imagined House pulling the phone away from his ear and rechecking the caller display. “Who is this? Where’s Wilson?”
“It must be nice for you, having such a… devoted friend. If you can find it in your heart to care about him at all, you should probably drop by and pay him a visit. Now.”
Tritter didn’t bother to flip it shut, just listened to a few more pleasing moments of House’s agitation, and then threw the phone in the cupboard under the sink. He slid the door closed on the sound of House’s voice. Then he washed his face and hands, and dried them on a towel.
He paused by the bed on his way out, but the huddled figure refused to move or meet his eyes, so he touched it gently on the shoulder. “You did real good,” he said softly. Then he left the room, propping the door slightly open with one of the polished shoes lined up next to the door.
As he waited for the elevator to arrive, he whistled a little tunelessly to himself, and reached into a pocket for another tab of gum.
***
Sequel: Tender Mercies.
Update 9th October 2010: Now with alternative sequel for the less forgiving *g*. Taps by brynnamorgan ♥