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Wilson felt like growling to himself and throwing his tumbler of whiskey to the floor. He hated that woman; just hated her!
She was averagely tall, but with obscenely long legs to make up for it. Her breasts just had to be fake; that perfect D-cup could not possibly stay at that altitude without assistance beyond a Wonderbra! And her lips were pink and pouty, displaying a smile full of secrets and twinkling eyes unfathomable enough to drown in.
Wilson didn't know her name. He still hated her, he reminded himself, as her gaze deflected from her target to smile prettily at Wilson, too. Even though she was the combination of Angelina Jolie, Charlize Theron and Sandra Bullock. Or something.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, turning away.
Cuddy was smiling and flashing her cleavage at benefactors and other important people. All the department heads were there, as well as a few especially distinguished doctors and the entire hospital board. Yet another charity thing; Wilson's task regarding these usually consisted of brushing his hair extra well and work his charm on the rich women Cuddy had managed to round up.
And to drag House there, of course. The grumpy doctor wouldn't have showed up if his life depended on it. So instead, Cuddy specifically ordered Wilson to make sure he made an appearance. Wilson usually had to buy House dinner and rent him a porn movie to get him to agree.
But this time, House mysteriously prolonged his appearance beyond the most important speakers and the free booze. The fund raiser had been lasting for three hours, and House still showed no sign of leaving. It was more than two hours since the head of diagnostics should have thrown back his final drink and limped out, according to the unwritten rules of the universe.
Nope, not this time. Wilson turned back to his friend, making sure he was actually looking at the real House, and found that yes, House was still standing there with him, drink in hand and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Did I just OD on Vicodin and go to heaven?” House said, looking at Wilson with his usual almost-grin. “Because those barely-concealed lumps of flesh may not be wings waiting to spread, but damn, she's definitely an angel!”
Wilson made a face at his friend. “Barely concealed, alright! That thing can't be called a dress! Didn't she get the memo about formal dress? Who is she, anyway; the expensive accessory to our oldest benefactor?”
House stared at him. “Who are you and what did you do to Jimmy? The Wilson I know, would never talk about perfect breasts like that!”
Wilson rolled his eyes. He hated the woman and he hated even more the fact that she was smiling at House. Drinking, looking at him over the rim of her glass, and fluttering her eyelashes like they were something else.
Because Wilson wanted House. He had resigned himself to the fact that House would probably never reciprocate the feeling, but he refused to just roll over and watch with a smile as House got hit on by random women.
God dammit, he was the one who'd always been there! Wilson had never abandoned his pain-ridden friend, had seen all the shit and the few highs, and he'd never given up on House. He'd bought him more lunches than he could count, he'd given him pills just because House had asked, he'd tried to make his employees stick around.
Wilson had always done everything for House; always given him everything he wanted or needed, and that should count for something! He was getting angrier by the second, watching the incarnation of female perfection smile and tilt her head invitingly at House.
At the man Wilson wanted and, he supposed, somehow loved. It was unbearable.
“I think I'm gonna hit that,” House said, grinning, and toasted to the beauty across the room. “Guess she's got a cripple fetish. I knew this cane would work to my advantage someday.”
“Christ, House, do you really have to?” Wilson exclaimed, unable to stop himself. He glared at his friend, who looked puzzled. “Just go fuck her and get over it, okay?”
House's eyebrows sky-rocketed. “Did you just say a naughty word?”
Wilson rolled his eyes, turning away so he wouldn't have to watch that smile again.
“You did!” House persisted, stepping closer to Wilson to peer intently at him. “You just said fuck! You never say anything inappropriate!”
Wilson just might have looked guilty; he didn't know. He scowled back at House. “We've been locked in this dance for years now, and I'm sick of it,” Wilson snapped. He was pretty sure House knew about his desires, but none of them had ever mentioned it – until that moment. “Just go... sleep with the supermodel over there; ditch me at this boring fund-raiser. I don't care.”
House's eyes narrowed. “You're ranting. When do you ever rant?”
“When I'm pissed off, is when!” Wilson barked. He downed the rest of his whiskey angrily. Why, oh why, did he have to act like a jealous teenager around House? And why had he gone and fallen in love with the man anyway? Wilson didn't think he'd ever know the answer.
“You're jealous!” House exclaimed, a lot louder than Wilson would have preferred. Cuddy turned to glare at them, and Wilson half-raised his hands placatingly. “James Wilson, you're jealous that I can hit what you can't!”
Wilson let out a short, bitter laugh. “Sure, House. I'm just so desperate for that woman I don't think you've earned the right to hit that.”
House smirked. “You don't think I deserve her?”
“You deserve better!” Wilson blurted angrily, then back-pedalled as quickly as he could. “I mean, what do you want her for anyway? One night, tops. She'll be gone before you wake up tomorrow morning.”
House looked at him as if he'd grown an extra head. “Dude – I'll make sure to give her your number before she leaves!” he said sarcastically.
“Forget it,” Wilson sighed, turning away from House to get himself another drink.
House, however, wasn't about to let things go that easily. He limped after Wilson, almost forgetting his cane in his hurry to solve the new mystery of Wilson Getting Bitchy. “Deserve better? Are you trying to get me to take up with Cuddy again? Because I know I deserve better than her, no matter how spectacular her ass looks in that skirt.”
Wilson almost laughed, but refrained. “I'm not trying to do anything that's even remotely humanly possible, House. I'm just trying to... never mind. I think she's coming over.”
“No, she's not,” House said dismissively. “If you don't want her for yourself, and you don't want me for another woman, what could possibly make you talk about that perfect-breasted creature with anything less than awe?”
Wilson was about to shrug and excuse himself for the night when he saw that Miss Perfection was, indeed, coming their way. Slowly, seductively, she was headed towards them. Anger flared in Wilson. Who did she think she was, coming on to House like that when Wilson...
Wilson made his decision. Only too aware that this was a now-or-never point of no return, he grabbed House's shirt collar and pulled the taller man down for a kiss, ignoring House's surprised yell as he pressed their lips together.
It wasn't as much of a kiss as just two sets of lips pressed together, one tasting of whiskey and one of Vicodin. It lasted all of four seconds before Wilson slackened his grip enough for House to pull back, but didn't release his shirt collar.
A surreptitious glance around told Wilson that Miss Perfection had stopped dead in her tracks and that everyone within a twenty-feet radius was watching them with various expressions of shock or annoyance.
Cuddy's mouth was hanging open to the point where it looked quite obscene.
“Are you drunk?” House asked quietly, looking straight into Wilson's eyes.
Wilson shook his head.
“Stoned?” House continued, ducking his head in embarrassment. Wilson had never seen him do that. “Brain tumour, on acid, inhaled too much paint fumes... anything at all that would excuse what you just did?”
“I've wanted you so long it's ruined my last two marriages,” Wilson said, just as softly as House but with more fervour. “I fantasize about you when I masturbate. I've had sex with men just because they looked like you. I've stuck with you, through everything. You figure it out, House. Make me another puzzle; then maybe you'll give me the time of day.”
He left, trying not to look anyone in the eye, not daring to breathe until he was outside in the hallway. He escaped to the closest men's room, running to the sink to throw cold water all over his face.
Staring wide-eyed at himself in the mirror, Wilson started realizing just what he'd done. What had he been thinking? Just kissing House like that, in front of everyone? Trying to claim him before that woman could! He could be fired for sexual harassment (not that he probably would be, knowing House and Cuddy, but still)! He could lose patients, could lose House's friendship forever!
He probably already had, at that. He groaned. What in the seven circles of hell had he been thinking?
“If you're done rubbing your skin raw, maybe you'd like to explain to me what the hell that was?”
Wilson turned around, blushing hotly. Cuddy was standing in the doorway, staring at him. That wasn't reprimand he heard, though – only shock.
“I... don't know,” he confessed, shrugging dazedly. “I just... didn't think.”
“You kissed House!” Cuddy said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the fund raiser party. She walked up to grab his arm imploringly. “You kissed your best friend in front of a room full of investors and benefactors! Why?”
Wilson covered his eyes with a hand, trying to clear his mind enough to find the answer to that question. “I'm... I like him. Have for years. I just didn't...”
“Know how to get into my pants?”
Wilson had to turn away. House, looming ominously in the doorway, was looking with those intense blue eyes from Wilson to Cuddy and back again. Wilson couldn't face his friend.
“Do you mind? We need to have finally-together-sex now,” House stated, looking expectantly at Cuddy. The Dean of medicine looked hesitant, but gave Wilson's arm a reassuring squeeze before leaving.
“Tomorrow morning, my office. Both of you,” she said.
The door closed after her, and House was still looking at Wilson. Looking right through him.
“I'm so sorry,” Wilson said quickly, before House could berate him. “I shouldn't have kissed you in there. Not in front of all those people.”
“But you're not sorry you kissed me, period?” House enquired, looking curious.
Wilson shook his head. His hands felt shaky, too. “No. I'm not sorry about kissing you, or telling you what I did. I'm sorry I embarrassed you, I'm sorry I blew your chances with that woman, and I'm sorry our friendship probably just went down the drain. I'm not sorry for anything else.”
House gave a disdainful snort. “Yeah, like that ruined my chances with her! If anything, she'll be all over me now for being versatile.”
Wilson smiled sadly, looking at the floor just in front of House's feet. He was so screwed. “Goodbye, House.”
House thumped over to the oncologist, looking extremely exasperated. “Wilson, you're an idiot.”
Wilson looked up at his friend, completely nonplussed. “What?”
House grabbed his tie, then turned around and walked towards the door. Wilson could only follow on his striped silk leash, stuttering and trying to tell House to let him go. House didn't.
“Wilson, this is Linda Reese,” House stated when they were in the hallway. Wilson, straightening up, was faced with the sight of Miss Perfection, looking rather confused. “Miss Reese, this is James Wilson, oncologist, as you know.”
Linda Reese smiled at Wilson. “I didn't know I had competition,” she said with a tinkly laugh. “I'd heard about doctor House but I never... well. Doctor Wilson, this may be a little forward, but would you consider -”
“Sorry, you can't have him,” House interrupted, giving her a lopsided grin. “He's mine.”
Wilson did a double-take. What the hell...
“But I thought you said...” Linda Reese began, looking confused.
“Yeah, yeah. I just said that so you'd come out here to see for yourself,” House said, grabbing Wilson's arm and pulling him close. “He's not available. You see, your breasts may be exceptionally perky and tempting, but I've got a cane. Cripple card trumps everything.”
Linda Reese gasped in shock and rage, then tossed her hair and left, marching away on her long legs and elegant high heels.
“No, hey, wait!” Wilson told House, looking in shock at the older man. “You just sent her away! Why would... did she just try to ask for my number?”
“Actually, she wanted to ask you for a date,” House clarified, hauling Wilson back towards the party. “She figured you for the shy type, so she wanted me to get you warmed up to the idea.”
Wilson glared at House. “Not funny!”
“Not kidding,” House shot back, and then they were back with Cuddy and the wallets. House marched them both up to the small podium with a microphone, and, still not releasing his grip on Wilson's arm, tapped the microphone hard so it squeaked.
“I just have a quick announcement to make before you get on with chugging cheap booze and looking at Cuddy's breasts,” House said, making Cuddy give him a horrified glare and the rest of the party look insulted and confused at the same time.
“I am Gregory House M.D, specializing in diagnostics. This here is doctor James Wilson, a mediocre oncologist,” House explained cheerfully. Wilson blushed. This could not be good. This would be the point where House publicly humiliated him until he'd have to go into exile from the medical world.
“Some of you may have noticed the little incident earlier. To make sure that it does not repeat itself, I am here to inform you that Jimmy is mine. All mine. Attempts to steal him will be met with violence and forced prescriptions for arsenic,” House concluded. Then he turned to leave, once more dragging Wilson behind by his tie.
Wilson was too stunned to react.
The people attending the Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital fund raiser could only watch in shocked silence as House, his exit impeded by Cuddy (who hissed something at him), responded by shouting, “Mine, mine, mine!” in a childish voice before leaving.
Two minutes later, the roar of a motorbike's engine told them that House and Wilson were finally on their way, and Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief. She then proceeded to inform the audience that doctors House and Wilson were great practical jokers, and that fortunately, they mainly restricted their jokes to their own time. A few nervous chuckles later, and the party was back in swing.
***
“Can't hear you; the music's too loud!” House yelled. Then he thumped off down the hallway, leaving Wilson to care for himself.
“House?”
“I'm in the bedroom getting naked!” House shouted, and Wilson could hear the cane clatter to the floor.
“What the hell are you doing, House?” Wilson said, walking after House in a daze. Things had just happened too fast for him to deal with it.
“As I said, you're an idiot,” House said when Wilson timidly entered his bedroom. The older man was, in fact, naked. His back to Wilson, he was just removing his socks before turning around, unashamed and uncaring of his complete lack of clothes. “I already told you, I'm in my bedroom getting naked. Why are you not doing anything about it?”
Wilson stared at House's unconcealed cock, noticing that the other man was half-hard already. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You stink at singling people out in public, Jimmy,” House said with a grin. “If you'd have been half the man I am, you'd have pushed me up against the wall and roared at miss Reese to fuck the hell off.” He sat down on the bed, then swung his legs up on it. “Well?”
“No!” Wilson yelled, grabbing his own hair with a confused hand. “First you spend all night flirting with that... that woman, then you get embarrassed when I kiss you, and finally you drag me home and strip down in front of me? No! This makes no sense, House, and you can't jerk me around like this!”
“Can I jerk you off like this?” House pondered, making Wilson turn away in embarrassment.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Wilson! I was flirting with that woman because I thought she was hitting on me, and then I got a better offer. I took it. What's not logical about it?” House snapped, sounding impatient.
Wilson slowly turned back around, saw House stretched out in all his naked glory on the bed, and groaned. “Because I'm supposed to... to be in love with you,” he admitted, lowering his eyes. “Not the other way around.”
House gave him a scrutinizing look. “I never said I was in love with you. So I like you more than Linda Reese. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
“Oh, I don't know; maybe because you just announced to the whole world that I was all yours and dragged me home to have sex with me?” Wilson raved. He fiercely glared at House, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You'd better be sure you're dead serious about his, House. Because if you're just making fun of me...”
“Just get on the bed, Jimmy!” House snapped, rolling his eyes. “My God, do you have to make this into General Hospital? The two of us, sex! How hard can it be?”
Wilson glanced at House's full-blown erection and didn't want to comment.
“You told Cuddy I was all yours,” Wilson persisted, removing his tie. “Did you mean it?”
House growled angrily. “Get on with it!”
Wilson stripped down until he was wearing nothing but his underwear. “House. For real. If you're serious about this, then I will let you do pretty much anything to me right now. Do anything you want. But if you're just pulling my leg, then I'll... I'll never talk to you again,” he concluded lamely. Like that was a big threat.
“Anything?” House repeated, his eyes glowing.
“Everything,” Wilson said softly, looking at the naked man in front of him. God, he wanted House so badly!
“Will you let me fuck you?” House asked boldly.
Wilson's breath hitched. He'd dreamt of that since things started going downhill with Wife the Second. “Yes.”
House licked his lips. “There's condoms and lube in the box under the bed.”
Wilson's eyes widened. “Under the bed?”
“I never outgrew adolescence,” House smirked.
Wilson collected the items from the small black box and gingerly climbed onto the bed. “So... you're serious?”
“Need me to prove it?” House said sarcastically, snatching the condom from Wilson and tearing open the foil. “Want me to get a tattoo saying ´Wilson's Bitch Master`?”
Wilson almost laughed. “No. I want you to wear something for me at work tomorrow.”
House looked suspicious. “What?”
Wilson leaned in, watching to see if House would flinch, but the man's stony expression never changed. When Wilson's lips closed over his throat, he barely made a sound.
Wilson sucked hard, teeth worrying the skin. He could feel the tendons on House's neck shift underneath his lips.
When he finally pulled back, a dark purple spot was blazing on House's neck. High enough that it would be easily visible over any shirt collar.
Wilson reached for his discarded jacket, pulling out a blue pen from the inner pocket. “I want you to come to work tomorrow with an ordinary shirt. No turtleneck. And you can't lie about this if anyone asks.” He uncapped the pen, holding it to House's throat. “Do we have an agreement?”
House snorted. “Unless you write a degrading name on my neck, yes.”
Wilson, a smile spreading across his face, grinned widely and began writing. When he was done, he threw the pen to the floor and turned back to House. “Good. Now we can have sex.”
House was already rubbered and slicked up. Wilson vaguely wondered how he'd managed to do that without Wilson noticing, but he didn't really care much.
“You're going to have to be on top,” House said, voice gruff. “Leg.”
Wilson frowned. How the hell was he going to that? He'd never tried it before. Still, he figured it couldn't be much difficult from having a girl ride him. He straddled House's legs, and reached behind him to grasp House's erection to hold it steady.
“Let me know if I'm hurting your leg,” Wilson said, feeling nervous for the first time that evening. He exhaled, positioned House until the head of his cock pushed against tight muscle, and pushed down.
House grunted when he breached Wilson, feeling the younger man contract around him. “You've... had a lot of practice.”
“A little,” Wilson admitted. He took it pretty well, even though the stretch and burn was always there.
“I'll give you more,” House volunteered. He looked a little uncomfortable.
Wilson's eyes slipped shut. He was concentrating on feeling House inside him. “Oh. Fuck.”
House lay perfectly still as Wilson raised his hips, then pressed them down again. Hard flesh sunk into him and he shivered.
“Touch me,” Wilson gasped, rocking along House's length. “Greg. Touch me.”
House took Wilson's cock in hand and began stroking. Wilson cried out in relief, rocking faster. His fingernails were digging into House's chest.
“Faster,” House ordered. Wilson complied. Within seconds, they were grinding and shuddering against each other, Wilson arching into House's touch. The older man's brows were drawn together, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fucked Wilson as best he could from the bottom.
Wilson moaned loudly. Finally, finally, he was with House and the older man was claiming him, taking him, and Wilson... just needed...
“Greg!” he cried, his back arching as he came, shooting onto House's stomach and chest, his come running over the older man's fingers and hand. “Greg, fuck!”
“Slut,” House said breathlessly. A chuckle accompanied his words. “You... always this easy when you have sex?”
Wilson smiled, heaving for breath, and leaned down to kiss House. The older man was hard and throbbing inside him. Wilson clenched, and House hissed in pleasure.
“You always this slow?” he quipped, rolling his hips against House's until the diagnostician shouted his name as he came.
Panting and sweaty, they untangled from each other, laying down next to each other on the bed. Wilson was nearly laughing out loud; he felt weirdly content.
“All yours?” he smiled, looking over at House.
“All mine,” House confirmed. “Not that I'm giving you the same guarantee, of course. I'm just saying you're not allowed to play around with other people.”
Wilson looked at the ceiling, finding himself not too worried. “That will require regular sexual activity between the two of us, of course. To keep me from seeking my pleasure elsewhere.”
House rolled over, turning out the light next to the bed. “Shouldn't be too difficult; you come faster than Slutty Selina from Camp Cream. You get to turn out the lights and lock the door.”
Wilson smiled indulgently at House's shoulder, then got up to do as he was told. It wasn't like this was anything compared to what he'd done for House before. Or what he would be doing in the future, he pondered as he locked the front door and turned the jazz music off.
***
“Plague boil.”
“House.”
“Fine, dear. Since you're so good at things that oncologists really shouldn't specialize in, I'll disillusion this fine young man. To answer your question, cancer patient whose name I don't know, this is a love bite, or, a lot of blood that's been sucked out of its veins and into my skin. Shouldn't you recognize it? You're seventeen.”
“Then why did someone write next to it? What does it say?”
“Want to answer this one, doctor Wilson?”
Wilson's laughter could be heard in the entire hallway.
“It says ´Wilson's Bitch Master`.”