MST: Did a bad, bad thing
Cross-posted to house_mst
Fifth Wall, baby, I'm sorry karios was so mean to you. Come, enjoy this MST by two guest MSTers who are in absolutely no way based on actual authors in the Housefic realm. At all. Really. I swear. Would I lie to you?
This is all perspi's fault.
An empty cage, ten feet by ten feet, stands in the middle of a large barren warehouse. Noises filter in from just beyond the warehouse door to the left.
Wilson: Stop struggling! Ow! Ow!
Wilson staggers in the door, carrying a large white sheep in a purple sweater (jumper). He manages to force it into the cage, although it is twisting and bucking.
Wilson: Ow, you scratched me! Well, at least House must be having similar difficulties.
House walks in the door calmly, leading a chipper-looking dog behind him. He takes off the leash and nudges the dog toward the cage.
House: Here you go, pup, in the cage.
The dog happily bounds in, almost knocking over the sheep in the process.
Wilson: That’s it?
House: Yep, that’s DayDog, your torturer extraordinaire.
Wilson: You didn’t have any problems getting her here?
House: No. I think she likes me.
DayDog: *grins at House*
House: Did you have issues with HireHelpSheep? She looks perfectly nice to me.
Wilson: He. And no, he’s not nice.
House: What? I thought my nemesis was a girl.
Wilson: No, I think he’s a boy.
HireHelpSheep: *gives nothing away*
DayDog: Hi, Sheep.
HireHelpSheep: Hi, Dog. You’re in a good mood.
Dog: I’ve had coffee; I’m feeling just fine. How was your flight?
Sheep: Terrible, and I have the worst jetlag now.
Wilson: You two know each other?
Dog: Just a bit. We met at the HOF nominee luncheon.
Sheep: Do you still have your nominee sweatshirt? I found mine quite comfy.
House: Ehem! Let’s get back to the subject. The two of you are going to get a taste of your own torturous medicine today. I present to you -
Wilson: The schmoopiest bad!fic ever!!!
House: You stole my dramatic moment.
Wilson: Get over it.
House: Anyway, this bad!fic is so sickly sweet that even Cameron won’t read it. And now it’s all yours!
Laughing ominously, House throws a packet of paper into the cage and then leaves. After a glare at the sheep, and an even longer glare at the dog, Wilson follows House out.
Summery: House could hear the music long before he entered the front door.
Sheep: The ominous, ominous music…
Dog: Very first word spelled wrong. *shakes head*
(Wilson dancing)
Dog: Hmm, let’s see: he could slip and fall, he could strain a muscle, he could appear in the loser reel for “So You Think You Can Dance”…
Ratting: PG i think, boys kissing and the word ass this is fluff people
Sheep: Do you do any ratting, DayDog?
Dog: I’m not that kind of working dog.
Sheep: Ah, so if I called up Paula’s agency…
Dog: Not that kind of working dog, either.
Author's Note: I do not own them or FOX, because if i did they be married to each other by now.
Sheep: Threesome marriage is pretty kinky.
Dog: Especially when one of the parties is a crude television network with a conservative - some would say reactionary - sister news channel.
Sheep: I bet House would hate it.
Dog: Wilson would too.
Sheep/Dog: *sigh happily*
House could hear the music long before he entered the front door. He had pond off his clinic hours to Cameron;
Sheep: “Pond off” - American slang?
Dog: I was going to ask you if maybe it was Australian.
Sheep: No way. Must be a Bad!Ficean term.
she had been so sure that she had been right about the patient that she had been the one to propose the bet. So now, House was fifty buck richer and had a free afternoon; so that meant Wilson didn’t expect him home for another few hours.
Sheep: Fifty bucks and a free afternoon? Sounds like a good time for House to go to a seedy bar in a seedier neighborhood and get his drink on. And then to get mugged and left to die in a puddle.
Day: But it says fifty buck. Maybe the author means deer.
Sheep: Fifty deer? Mysterious. But still possible… He could get trampled in a stampede. Yes, that could work.
House moved silently towards the source of the music and the area his partner (and as of two weeks ago his husband) was.
Sheep: Husband? Crap. Studies show married men live longer.
Dog: Some say it just feels that way.
Sheep: That’s an old chestnut.
Dog: Eh. I’m bored. Anyway, they’re not legally married. In New Jersey, it’s civil unions for gays, and even that might be disbanded.
Sheep: Homophobia, eh? Maybe House is being stalked by a rabid homophobe.
Dog: And the stalker kidnaps Wilson!
Sheep: Hey, this is my scenario.
Dog: Not any more!
Sheep/Dog: *scuffle*
What he found was both amusing and slightly arousing. The warmth of the may after noon drifted in from the back yard through the open French door of the Kitchen.
Sheep: Huh. So kitchen gets a capital letter and May doesn’t.
Dog: Maybe they’re not referring to the month. You’ve got to admit “may after noon” describes House pretty well.
Sheep: I admit nothing.
The two door and most of the kitchen was what had made Wilson fall in love with the house and convince him that they were buying it regardless that he hadn’t seen the rest of the rooms.
Dog: The two door? Doors are what made Wilson fall in love with the house?
Sheep: And most of the kitchen. Wonder what part he didn’t like.
Dog: I’m thinking the refrigerator. It probably fell on him, crushing his legs and trapping him for several hours. *sighs happily*
House had agreed after seeing the bathroom that offered both an in ground whirlpool with 34 jets and sauna room.
Sheep: Do you know what would happen to House if he got trapped in a sauna overnight?
Dog: Do you?
Sheep: *slowly smiles a wide, toothy smile*
The oncologist was dancing to Chris Isaack’s deep baritone as he sang baby did a bad, bad thing. Wilson was trying to sing along and cook at the same time;
Dog: Oh, that sounds dangerous. Wilson could get distracted and drop something on his foot. Or slice off a finger with a knife. Or get burned horribly on the stove.
Sheep: Or accidentally poison the food, taking out both House and himself.
Dog: *fans herself*
because of the spring heat the younger doctor was wearing a snug white beater, and a pair a loose khaki cargo shorts and nothing else so.
Sheep: “So” what?
Dog: So what’s a “white beater”?
Sheep: House and Wilson are both white…
Sheep/Dog: *daydreaming*
House was surprised that he found Wilson naked calves and feet so appealing, may it was because Wilson body was always hidden under a suit and tie. Wilson still unaware of Houses presence in the kitchen started to swivel his hips to the music as the beat picked up. Wilson shorts slipped down his waist with the movement of his hips revealing a strip of sun kissed back to House, who licked his lips in appreciation.
Sheep: “Sun kissed back” - you know what that means…
Dog: SKIN CANCER! *smiles blissfully*
Sheep: And why does Wilson wear his tie over his calves and feet?
The oncologist abandoned his cooking and let the song wash over him; he ran his hands down his waist grinding his hips along with the song.
Wilson: We’re back, with something new to torture you!
House: This one’s just for you, HireHelpSheep.
House steps aside, revealing five small coffins.
Sheep: Are those…?
House: That’s right. *opens the lids* All five continuity monkeys are dead. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Sheep: NOOOOOOOOO!
House: Like that one, you bitch?
Wilson: “Bastard.”
House: *rolling eyes* Whatever. *to Sheep* This was the brainchild of Stacy, my ex-girlfriend - oh, excuse me, ex-wife. She’s quite the clever accountant, that Stacie is.
Sheep: *sobs loudly*
Wilson then did something that stunned and aroused House so much, that he could not suppress a moan that escaped from his throat. Wilson bracing his hand high on his thighs and shimmied his ass almost all the way to floor and brought him self back up in one flawless move. House clapped his hands to show his approval of James performance after the song had ended.
Sheep: Um. The current-day Wilson? Portly wearer of sweater vests?
Dog: I bet he just blew out a knee!
James froze at the sound of clapping hands; mortified the younger doctor turned around to see House leaning against the doorway.
Dog: You know, “mortify” comes from the Latin mortificāre, to kill. *grins*
Sheep: It also has a secondary definition: “To practice ascetic discipline or self-denial of the body and its appetites.”
Dog: That sounds just like Wilson.
Sheep/Dog: *laugh heartily*
Houses smug expression grew into delight at the sight of Wilson blushing because he had been caught performing dance moves only Vegas stripper could imitate.
Sheep: It’s called a knee-bend. Pretty much anybody who’s in shape can do it.
Dog: Except House.
Sheep: Especially after you jab his right thigh with a blunt object. Or break his kneecap. On the other leg.
“You’re wasting your talent by being a doctor,” said House “I am sure the Chippendale dancers could use some one with your talent. Not to mention you would look just dashing in a bow tie and gold thong.”
Sheep: Once again: the current, portly, sweater-vest loving Wilson?
Dog: Maybe House is a chubby chaser.
Wilson rolled his eyes along with Houses comment “They kicked me out when I started a petition to change the bow ties to neck ties. “Went freelance joined the strip club scene; how did you think I paid for three divorces and one husband who refuses to buy his own lunch.
Dog: All the money you saved on punctuation?
” “Was your stage name boy wonder” asked House as he stepped in front of Wilson running his hand down the younger mans chest “ so mister stripper how much will it cost me for an encore by you and Chris Isaack or maybe we could go into one of the back room and you could give me a private dance”
Sheep: Was every punctuation key except the quotation mark broken on this writer’s computer? That paragraph is more insane than the chapter order of “Not With a Bang.”
Dog: Good promo, nicely subtle.
Sheep: Go on with yours; you know you want to.
Dog: No, no, I couldn’t possibly, even though a new chapter to The Annals is forthcoming. Of course, a person could always add Annals, or Not With a Bang for that matter, to their Story Alert list for automatic notification when something new was added.
Sheep: Of course.
Wilson grabbed Greg’s wandering hand he brought it to his lips; kissing the palm of Houses hand trailing his tongue along his index finger. “You would like that wouldn’t you,” asked Wilson
Sheep: How do you kiss the palm and lick the index finger at the same time?
Dog: Tongue strain, for sure. And since House didn’t wash his hands since coming home, that opens up so many other possibilities: colds, flu, parvovirus, any of the infections caused by staphylococcus aureus, or infectious diarrhea. *wags tail happily*
House gave Wilson his best leer “baby you give a whole new meaning to drop it like its hot
Sheep: Like it’s burning your skin off
Dog: Searing the muscle all the way to the bone
Sheep: Blackening your flesh but leaving your nerves alive and dancing
Dog: *nervous about how easy that was to imagine* We were just quoting something, weren’t we?
Sheep: Definitely. A song. Or a poem.
Wilson laughed at this “it will cost you” he said “like you have to do the dinner dishes”
House grabbed Wilson around the Waist one hand slipping down to give a quick squeeze to the oncologist talented ass. “Sure” muttered House before he pushed Wilson against the counter and kissed him.
Sheep: And then they had sex.
Dog: Which occurred in canon, and therefore inevitably brought disease and pain and near-death down upon them.
Sheep/Dog: *smiling gleefully*
Sheep: Hey, Dog, you’re pretty cool.
Dog: I like to think so.
Sheep: I’ve got a surprise for you. *pulls object out of woolly coat*
Dog: Heh! That’s the best.
House and Wilson re-enter the warehouse.
Wilson: That should be enough torture for them. They’ll definitely both leave us alone now, don’t you think?
House: If not, you can just start lecturing them, and they’ll die of boredom.
Wilson: Nice. You know what your problem is, House?
House: Uh oh. Look in the cage.
Wilson: Whuh? How did they get a laptop?
House: It’s what they’re doing with it that’s the problem. They’re - they’re -
Wilson: COLLABORATING! RUN!
House and Wilson make a break for the door. After a few stumbles, during which House accidentally smashes his Vicodin into dust and Wilson twists his ankle, they make it out the door, only to be followed by a mysterious and menacing figure. The screams reverberate hauntingly.
The End (I think)
Perspi: Hey, Dee, you should write a sequel to this MST, which should definitely be porn.
Dee: Inter-species porn is too far even for me.
Perspi: Not Sheep/Dog porn! House/Wilson porn.
Dee: But after that dark ending, I’m pretty sure they’re dead. How do I get them back to life?
Daisylily: Lollies!
House: And blowjobs.
Wilson: Lots and lots of blowjobs.
Fifth Wall, baby, I'm sorry karios was so mean to you. Come, enjoy this MST by two guest MSTers who are in absolutely no way based on actual authors in the Housefic realm. At all. Really. I swear. Would I lie to you?
This is all perspi's fault.
An empty cage, ten feet by ten feet, stands in the middle of a large barren warehouse. Noises filter in from just beyond the warehouse door to the left.
Wilson: Stop struggling! Ow! Ow!
Wilson staggers in the door, carrying a large white sheep in a purple sweater (jumper). He manages to force it into the cage, although it is twisting and bucking.
Wilson: Ow, you scratched me! Well, at least House must be having similar difficulties.
House walks in the door calmly, leading a chipper-looking dog behind him. He takes off the leash and nudges the dog toward the cage.
House: Here you go, pup, in the cage.
The dog happily bounds in, almost knocking over the sheep in the process.
Wilson: That’s it?
House: Yep, that’s DayDog, your torturer extraordinaire.
Wilson: You didn’t have any problems getting her here?
House: No. I think she likes me.
DayDog: *grins at House*
House: Did you have issues with HireHelpSheep? She looks perfectly nice to me.
Wilson: He. And no, he’s not nice.
House: What? I thought my nemesis was a girl.
Wilson: No, I think he’s a boy.
HireHelpSheep: *gives nothing away*
DayDog: Hi, Sheep.
HireHelpSheep: Hi, Dog. You’re in a good mood.
Dog: I’ve had coffee; I’m feeling just fine. How was your flight?
Sheep: Terrible, and I have the worst jetlag now.
Wilson: You two know each other?
Dog: Just a bit. We met at the HOF nominee luncheon.
Sheep: Do you still have your nominee sweatshirt? I found mine quite comfy.
House: Ehem! Let’s get back to the subject. The two of you are going to get a taste of your own torturous medicine today. I present to you -
Wilson: The schmoopiest bad!fic ever!!!
House: You stole my dramatic moment.
Wilson: Get over it.
House: Anyway, this bad!fic is so sickly sweet that even Cameron won’t read it. And now it’s all yours!
Laughing ominously, House throws a packet of paper into the cage and then leaves. After a glare at the sheep, and an even longer glare at the dog, Wilson follows House out.
Summery: House could hear the music long before he entered the front door.
Sheep: The ominous, ominous music…
Dog: Very first word spelled wrong. *shakes head*
(Wilson dancing)
Dog: Hmm, let’s see: he could slip and fall, he could strain a muscle, he could appear in the loser reel for “So You Think You Can Dance”…
Ratting: PG i think, boys kissing and the word ass this is fluff people
Sheep: Do you do any ratting, DayDog?
Dog: I’m not that kind of working dog.
Sheep: Ah, so if I called up Paula’s agency…
Dog: Not that kind of working dog, either.
Author's Note: I do not own them or FOX, because if i did they be married to each other by now.
Sheep: Threesome marriage is pretty kinky.
Dog: Especially when one of the parties is a crude television network with a conservative - some would say reactionary - sister news channel.
Sheep: I bet House would hate it.
Dog: Wilson would too.
Sheep/Dog: *sigh happily*
House could hear the music long before he entered the front door. He had pond off his clinic hours to Cameron;
Sheep: “Pond off” - American slang?
Dog: I was going to ask you if maybe it was Australian.
Sheep: No way. Must be a Bad!Ficean term.
she had been so sure that she had been right about the patient that she had been the one to propose the bet. So now, House was fifty buck richer and had a free afternoon; so that meant Wilson didn’t expect him home for another few hours.
Sheep: Fifty bucks and a free afternoon? Sounds like a good time for House to go to a seedy bar in a seedier neighborhood and get his drink on. And then to get mugged and left to die in a puddle.
Day: But it says fifty buck. Maybe the author means deer.
Sheep: Fifty deer? Mysterious. But still possible… He could get trampled in a stampede. Yes, that could work.
House moved silently towards the source of the music and the area his partner (and as of two weeks ago his husband) was.
Sheep: Husband? Crap. Studies show married men live longer.
Dog: Some say it just feels that way.
Sheep: That’s an old chestnut.
Dog: Eh. I’m bored. Anyway, they’re not legally married. In New Jersey, it’s civil unions for gays, and even that might be disbanded.
Sheep: Homophobia, eh? Maybe House is being stalked by a rabid homophobe.
Dog: And the stalker kidnaps Wilson!
Sheep: Hey, this is my scenario.
Dog: Not any more!
Sheep/Dog: *scuffle*
What he found was both amusing and slightly arousing. The warmth of the may after noon drifted in from the back yard through the open French door of the Kitchen.
Sheep: Huh. So kitchen gets a capital letter and May doesn’t.
Dog: Maybe they’re not referring to the month. You’ve got to admit “may after noon” describes House pretty well.
Sheep: I admit nothing.
The two door and most of the kitchen was what had made Wilson fall in love with the house and convince him that they were buying it regardless that he hadn’t seen the rest of the rooms.
Dog: The two door? Doors are what made Wilson fall in love with the house?
Sheep: And most of the kitchen. Wonder what part he didn’t like.
Dog: I’m thinking the refrigerator. It probably fell on him, crushing his legs and trapping him for several hours. *sighs happily*
House had agreed after seeing the bathroom that offered both an in ground whirlpool with 34 jets and sauna room.
Sheep: Do you know what would happen to House if he got trapped in a sauna overnight?
Dog: Do you?
Sheep: *slowly smiles a wide, toothy smile*
The oncologist was dancing to Chris Isaack’s deep baritone as he sang baby did a bad, bad thing. Wilson was trying to sing along and cook at the same time;
Dog: Oh, that sounds dangerous. Wilson could get distracted and drop something on his foot. Or slice off a finger with a knife. Or get burned horribly on the stove.
Sheep: Or accidentally poison the food, taking out both House and himself.
Dog: *fans herself*
because of the spring heat the younger doctor was wearing a snug white beater, and a pair a loose khaki cargo shorts and nothing else so.
Sheep: “So” what?
Dog: So what’s a “white beater”?
Sheep: House and Wilson are both white…
Sheep/Dog: *daydreaming*
House was surprised that he found Wilson naked calves and feet so appealing, may it was because Wilson body was always hidden under a suit and tie. Wilson still unaware of Houses presence in the kitchen started to swivel his hips to the music as the beat picked up. Wilson shorts slipped down his waist with the movement of his hips revealing a strip of sun kissed back to House, who licked his lips in appreciation.
Sheep: “Sun kissed back” - you know what that means…
Dog: SKIN CANCER! *smiles blissfully*
Sheep: And why does Wilson wear his tie over his calves and feet?
The oncologist abandoned his cooking and let the song wash over him; he ran his hands down his waist grinding his hips along with the song.
Wilson: We’re back, with something new to torture you!
House: This one’s just for you, HireHelpSheep.
House steps aside, revealing five small coffins.
Sheep: Are those…?
House: That’s right. *opens the lids* All five continuity monkeys are dead. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Sheep: NOOOOOOOOO!
House: Like that one, you bitch?
Wilson: “Bastard.”
House: *rolling eyes* Whatever. *to Sheep* This was the brainchild of Stacy, my ex-girlfriend - oh, excuse me, ex-wife. She’s quite the clever accountant, that Stacie is.
Sheep: *sobs loudly*
Wilson then did something that stunned and aroused House so much, that he could not suppress a moan that escaped from his throat. Wilson bracing his hand high on his thighs and shimmied his ass almost all the way to floor and brought him self back up in one flawless move. House clapped his hands to show his approval of James performance after the song had ended.
Sheep: Um. The current-day Wilson? Portly wearer of sweater vests?
Dog: I bet he just blew out a knee!
James froze at the sound of clapping hands; mortified the younger doctor turned around to see House leaning against the doorway.
Dog: You know, “mortify” comes from the Latin mortificāre, to kill. *grins*
Sheep: It also has a secondary definition: “To practice ascetic discipline or self-denial of the body and its appetites.”
Dog: That sounds just like Wilson.
Sheep/Dog: *laugh heartily*
Houses smug expression grew into delight at the sight of Wilson blushing because he had been caught performing dance moves only Vegas stripper could imitate.
Sheep: It’s called a knee-bend. Pretty much anybody who’s in shape can do it.
Dog: Except House.
Sheep: Especially after you jab his right thigh with a blunt object. Or break his kneecap. On the other leg.
“You’re wasting your talent by being a doctor,” said House “I am sure the Chippendale dancers could use some one with your talent. Not to mention you would look just dashing in a bow tie and gold thong.”
Sheep: Once again: the current, portly, sweater-vest loving Wilson?
Dog: Maybe House is a chubby chaser.
Wilson rolled his eyes along with Houses comment “They kicked me out when I started a petition to change the bow ties to neck ties. “Went freelance joined the strip club scene; how did you think I paid for three divorces and one husband who refuses to buy his own lunch.
Dog: All the money you saved on punctuation?
” “Was your stage name boy wonder” asked House as he stepped in front of Wilson running his hand down the younger mans chest “ so mister stripper how much will it cost me for an encore by you and Chris Isaack or maybe we could go into one of the back room and you could give me a private dance”
Sheep: Was every punctuation key except the quotation mark broken on this writer’s computer? That paragraph is more insane than the chapter order of “Not With a Bang.”
Dog: Good promo, nicely subtle.
Sheep: Go on with yours; you know you want to.
Dog: No, no, I couldn’t possibly, even though a new chapter to The Annals is forthcoming. Of course, a person could always add Annals, or Not With a Bang for that matter, to their Story Alert list for automatic notification when something new was added.
Sheep: Of course.
Wilson grabbed Greg’s wandering hand he brought it to his lips; kissing the palm of Houses hand trailing his tongue along his index finger. “You would like that wouldn’t you,” asked Wilson
Sheep: How do you kiss the palm and lick the index finger at the same time?
Dog: Tongue strain, for sure. And since House didn’t wash his hands since coming home, that opens up so many other possibilities: colds, flu, parvovirus, any of the infections caused by staphylococcus aureus, or infectious diarrhea. *wags tail happily*
House gave Wilson his best leer “baby you give a whole new meaning to drop it like its hot
Sheep: Like it’s burning your skin off
Dog: Searing the muscle all the way to the bone
Sheep: Blackening your flesh but leaving your nerves alive and dancing
Dog: *nervous about how easy that was to imagine* We were just quoting something, weren’t we?
Sheep: Definitely. A song. Or a poem.
Wilson laughed at this “it will cost you” he said “like you have to do the dinner dishes”
House grabbed Wilson around the Waist one hand slipping down to give a quick squeeze to the oncologist talented ass. “Sure” muttered House before he pushed Wilson against the counter and kissed him.
Sheep: And then they had sex.
Dog: Which occurred in canon, and therefore inevitably brought disease and pain and near-death down upon them.
Sheep/Dog: *smiling gleefully*
Sheep: Hey, Dog, you’re pretty cool.
Dog: I like to think so.
Sheep: I’ve got a surprise for you. *pulls object out of woolly coat*
Dog: Heh! That’s the best.
House and Wilson re-enter the warehouse.
Wilson: That should be enough torture for them. They’ll definitely both leave us alone now, don’t you think?
House: If not, you can just start lecturing them, and they’ll die of boredom.
Wilson: Nice. You know what your problem is, House?
House: Uh oh. Look in the cage.
Wilson: Whuh? How did they get a laptop?
House: It’s what they’re doing with it that’s the problem. They’re - they’re -
Wilson: COLLABORATING! RUN!
House and Wilson make a break for the door. After a few stumbles, during which House accidentally smashes his Vicodin into dust and Wilson twists his ankle, they make it out the door, only to be followed by a mysterious and menacing figure. The screams reverberate hauntingly.
The End (I think)
Perspi: Hey, Dee, you should write a sequel to this MST, which should definitely be porn.
Dee: Inter-species porn is too far even for me.
Perspi: Not Sheep/Dog porn! House/Wilson porn.
Dee: But after that dark ending, I’m pretty sure they’re dead. How do I get them back to life?
Daisylily: Lollies!
House: And blowjobs.
Wilson: Lots and lots of blowjobs.