Don't Stand (NC-17)
Posted to house_of_kink and 4/9/09 to house_wilson
Title: Don’t Stand
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson (AU)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 925
Summary: He’s sniffed out some weird club in New York.
Kinks: Public sex, light bondage, Dom-sub play
Notes: AU PWP in which Wilson is an 18-year-old li’l bastard; House is a willing-to-take-what’s-offered 28-year-old. Sequel to Book Marking. Unrealistic, pervy, no redeeming value whatsoever.
Jimmy Wilson is a weasel. House has known that for months, but here’s the latest straw wiggling off the weasel’s back: he’s sniffed out some weird “Dom-sub” club in New York. House has never been to one before and is not particularly interested, but Jimmy can be persuasive when he wants to be.
“I’m not doing any ritual crap,” House growls on their way there.
“Just be yourself,” Jimmy replies. “You’ll be perfect.” He’s been fidgeting since they got in the car and House is getting totally irritated by it, but at long last House is pulling into a garage around the corner from the club.
Jimmy leans down and draws from his backpack a black leather collar, three-quarters of an inch wide. “You want to put it on me, or should I do it?”
“Is that really necessary?”
Jimmy looks deeply into House’s eyes, amped up to eleven, and says, “Absolutely.” House fastens the collar snugly around Jimmy’s white throat, dick twitching at the hitch in Jimmy’s breath when the leather touches his skin.
In the club’s foyer, Jimmy’s head dips in something that looks a lot like humility, and he quietly takes off his trench coat. House, who’s only ever seen him in preppy teen attire, stops breathing for a second at his outfit: black hot pants, a black short-sleeved mesh shirt, and of course, the leather collar. House snatches the trench coat away and throws it at the coat-check person, barely stopping to get the claim check before ushering Jimmy into the main room of the club.
“You fucking stay by me every second,” House warns.
“Of course,” Jimmy replies, all soft, respectful tone, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that House doesn’t like one damn bit.
Jimmy looks damn good, young and lithe and more fuckable than any other sub in the place, and he knows it. He’s getting off on it, all the stares, all the blatant appreciation, all the oh-so-fucking obvious jealousy from the other twinks and bottom girls. House is furious at the little slut, half-tempted to yank his vain ass out of there and fuck him at home, behind closed doors, as God intended, but then... Then he looks at House, lit up under his skin like he’s fucking bioluminescent, and strokes a thumb along his collar tenderly as if it’s something he cherishes, and fuck it.
Fuck it all, because House is going to fuck his Jimmy. The boy wants to be seen? House will get him seen.
Fifteen minutes later they’re up on the wide sturdy surface of one of the taller bars. Jimmy’s ankles are cuffed to the bar rail, spread wide, and his wrists are chained to an iron bar hanging from the ceiling, the same bar he’s got his hands wrapped firmly around. It reminds House of a trapeze, not least because it hangs four feet or so in front of the bar they’re standing on, so that Jimmy’s upper body is stretched out over the men and women down on the floor.
Jimmy moans happily. The hot pants are down as far as they’ll go, which is to say they’re tucked right up under Jimmy’s balls and ass cheeks, and he seems to like that very much. One stroke and Jimmy’s sporting a goddamn sequoia; barely two fingers up his ass and he’s begging to get fucked. Literally begging: “Please, please, God, need you in me so much, please.”
Little slut. House leans closer, tugs at the collar, and growls, “You’ll get what I want to give you.”
“Yes,” Jimmy says, chest heaving. “Yes. Please.”
“What I want,” House repeats.
“What you want,” Jimmy confirms, and Jimmy is a lucky, lucky little bastard because what House wants is to fuck his ass right goddamn now.
Jimmy wails when House thrusts in, and House watches the crowd -- those few that weren’t already ogling -- turn to look at the boy. Their eyes are greedy, soaking in the beauty of this lean, sparkling boy getting rammed and loving every fucking second of it.
The sex is good, very good, House holding Jimmy’s hips and sliding that pretty ass smoothly up his dick and back down. That tight heat, and Jimmy’s moans, the feel and sound so good, so controlled, right along the path House wants to take, building evenly, yes.
Then there’s a sudden clench, surprising, Jimmy coming earlier than expected, without House even touching his cock. Odd. House opens his eyes and leans around to check Jimmy out, only to see a grinning woman wiping her semen-covered hand off on Jimmy’s thigh. Hell no.
The other patrons of the bar are staring at her, aghast, but House doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t know all the rules of a Dom-sub club, but he knows he’s going to take that bitch’s head off for touching his Jimmy. By the time he pulls out of Jimmy and climbs down to the floor, Security is already escorting her away, so all House gets is to yank a few strands of hair from her scalp. He wants her eviscerated, but has to settle for a lifetime ban for her and free membership for him and Jimmy. It’s not nearly, nearly enough.
The manager and a bartender help him lower Jimmy and get his clothes righted; he uncuffs the boy and pulls him into an embrace. “Can’t take you anywhere,” House murmurs.
“Sorry,” Jimmy says, although he sounds more sated than apologetic.
“You’re just too goddamn gorgeous,” House says, and Jimmy smiles and wiggles closer.
Title: Don’t Stand
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson (AU)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 925
Summary: He’s sniffed out some weird club in New York.
Kinks: Public sex, light bondage, Dom-sub play
Notes: AU PWP in which Wilson is an 18-year-old li’l bastard; House is a willing-to-take-what’s-offered 28-year-old. Sequel to Book Marking. Unrealistic, pervy, no redeeming value whatsoever.
Jimmy Wilson is a weasel. House has known that for months, but here’s the latest straw wiggling off the weasel’s back: he’s sniffed out some weird “Dom-sub” club in New York. House has never been to one before and is not particularly interested, but Jimmy can be persuasive when he wants to be.
“I’m not doing any ritual crap,” House growls on their way there.
“Just be yourself,” Jimmy replies. “You’ll be perfect.” He’s been fidgeting since they got in the car and House is getting totally irritated by it, but at long last House is pulling into a garage around the corner from the club.
Jimmy leans down and draws from his backpack a black leather collar, three-quarters of an inch wide. “You want to put it on me, or should I do it?”
“Is that really necessary?”
Jimmy looks deeply into House’s eyes, amped up to eleven, and says, “Absolutely.” House fastens the collar snugly around Jimmy’s white throat, dick twitching at the hitch in Jimmy’s breath when the leather touches his skin.
In the club’s foyer, Jimmy’s head dips in something that looks a lot like humility, and he quietly takes off his trench coat. House, who’s only ever seen him in preppy teen attire, stops breathing for a second at his outfit: black hot pants, a black short-sleeved mesh shirt, and of course, the leather collar. House snatches the trench coat away and throws it at the coat-check person, barely stopping to get the claim check before ushering Jimmy into the main room of the club.
“You fucking stay by me every second,” House warns.
“Of course,” Jimmy replies, all soft, respectful tone, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that House doesn’t like one damn bit.
Jimmy looks damn good, young and lithe and more fuckable than any other sub in the place, and he knows it. He’s getting off on it, all the stares, all the blatant appreciation, all the oh-so-fucking obvious jealousy from the other twinks and bottom girls. House is furious at the little slut, half-tempted to yank his vain ass out of there and fuck him at home, behind closed doors, as God intended, but then... Then he looks at House, lit up under his skin like he’s fucking bioluminescent, and strokes a thumb along his collar tenderly as if it’s something he cherishes, and fuck it.
Fuck it all, because House is going to fuck his Jimmy. The boy wants to be seen? House will get him seen.
Fifteen minutes later they’re up on the wide sturdy surface of one of the taller bars. Jimmy’s ankles are cuffed to the bar rail, spread wide, and his wrists are chained to an iron bar hanging from the ceiling, the same bar he’s got his hands wrapped firmly around. It reminds House of a trapeze, not least because it hangs four feet or so in front of the bar they’re standing on, so that Jimmy’s upper body is stretched out over the men and women down on the floor.
Jimmy moans happily. The hot pants are down as far as they’ll go, which is to say they’re tucked right up under Jimmy’s balls and ass cheeks, and he seems to like that very much. One stroke and Jimmy’s sporting a goddamn sequoia; barely two fingers up his ass and he’s begging to get fucked. Literally begging: “Please, please, God, need you in me so much, please.”
Little slut. House leans closer, tugs at the collar, and growls, “You’ll get what I want to give you.”
“Yes,” Jimmy says, chest heaving. “Yes. Please.”
“What I want,” House repeats.
“What you want,” Jimmy confirms, and Jimmy is a lucky, lucky little bastard because what House wants is to fuck his ass right goddamn now.
Jimmy wails when House thrusts in, and House watches the crowd -- those few that weren’t already ogling -- turn to look at the boy. Their eyes are greedy, soaking in the beauty of this lean, sparkling boy getting rammed and loving every fucking second of it.
The sex is good, very good, House holding Jimmy’s hips and sliding that pretty ass smoothly up his dick and back down. That tight heat, and Jimmy’s moans, the feel and sound so good, so controlled, right along the path House wants to take, building evenly, yes.
Then there’s a sudden clench, surprising, Jimmy coming earlier than expected, without House even touching his cock. Odd. House opens his eyes and leans around to check Jimmy out, only to see a grinning woman wiping her semen-covered hand off on Jimmy’s thigh. Hell no.
The other patrons of the bar are staring at her, aghast, but House doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t know all the rules of a Dom-sub club, but he knows he’s going to take that bitch’s head off for touching his Jimmy. By the time he pulls out of Jimmy and climbs down to the floor, Security is already escorting her away, so all House gets is to yank a few strands of hair from her scalp. He wants her eviscerated, but has to settle for a lifetime ban for her and free membership for him and Jimmy. It’s not nearly, nearly enough.
The manager and a bartender help him lower Jimmy and get his clothes righted; he uncuffs the boy and pulls him into an embrace. “Can’t take you anywhere,” House murmurs.
“Sorry,” Jimmy says, although he sounds more sated than apologetic.
“You’re just too goddamn gorgeous,” House says, and Jimmy smiles and wiggles closer.