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Normally, House would keep himself way more reigned in situations like these, but he’s proven to be much less sensible after a few of his favourite drinks with his favourite person. Not that he’d ever admit to either, be it admitting to loving the ‘tantalizing fruity’ mixed cocktail cans or Wilson being his go-to-guy.
It doesn't need much admitting to because it’d be plain to see. But House needs to at least try to care about his reputation.
But sitting on Wilson’s couch, feet propped up on the coffee table after being told one too many times to keep them off, and fumbling with Wilson’s sleeves makes it hard to care about anything that isn’t in front of him. He just means Wilson.
Can of go-go juice in his right hand, the buttons on Wilson’s dress shirt in his left, he’s elated and not paying attention to whatever Wilson’s rambling about right now. It doesn’t matter to him – and he made that clear 20 minutes ago, when he started – so he’s just been listening to the sound Wilson makes with his mouth as it opens and closes. The shitty TV flashes bright colours in the ad break they’ve been sitting through.
The air of the apartment settles with the smell of the bowl Wilson scrounged up for the last bong rip he’ll have in a while. Through his barely disguised disappointment, he says, "You’re supposed to smoke weed in college, drink your damn beer” as if House was ever in a place to judge. But he’ll judge, alright.
House goes through buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff of the shirt, letting his eyes roam to the pale skin that lies underneath. Wilson’s arm is sturdy, not built by any means, but certainly man enough. The arm on them matches the colour in his hair, eyebrows, and, logically, down south. House spent a normal amount of time thinking about Wilson, and all parts of his body. He’d watch Wilson during training, watching the grip he had on a scalpel, and how tender yet anchoring it was, and how he definitely was not jealous over a scalpel being manhandled by Wilson and not himself.
“And – I’m telling you – there’s just absolutely no way he got that score if he wasn’t cheating! The dude is, like, rank 60 in the class? He can’t be serious.”
House gave a mmmmn at that, sounding both annoyed and not even phased. Wilson didn’t seem to care.
It just wasn’t – natural of him to be thinking those things. Yeah, sure, sexual urges and thoughts and all were natural, but Greg had to go and fuck it all up by having them over the wrong people. He’d just figure he’d wait it out or– get bored of it, somehow. Clearly he hasn’t found that solace yet, swallowing hard at watching Wilson’s knuckles flex without any good reason.
It was probably the second hand smoke that was getting to him, he could justify. He didn’t have any over Wilson’s greediness– jury was still out over it being who’s bong or their collective bong– so really, in all technicality, it was Wilson’s fault for whatever Greg ended up doing, and will do.
House slides his doctor-in-training hand over the sleeve he was holding and starts fidgeting with the body hair on full display. The sleeve was pulled up to just over Wilson’s elbow, so House had his full arm to fidget with, and that he did.
House pulled his hand up and down the length of Wilson’s arm in a circular motion. He lightly traced his nails over the skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Again, Wilson was no Hercules, but God he definitely had meat on his bones. House downed the last of his can with a little show of throwing his head back and saw Wilson staring right at him. Guess he stopped talking.
“House.. What are you doing?” Knowing Wilson’s eyes, big stupid doe eyes with their red coating, made it harder for House to meet them as he looked into his can as if he had to truly make sure he was out. He felt his pulse get that much quicker but made no stop to his tracing of Wilson’s appendage.
He wasn’t doing anything that bad right now, but he knew, if he really fucked this up, it’d be a hard thing to cover with ‘oops, sorry, just one of my quirks we’ll never talk about again, i’m definitely not trying to get you naked.’ For all intents and purposes, he needed to keep his actual.. wants out of this. Anything deeper than surface level touching.
“Not doing anything. Got bored of your shirt, moved onto something new. Got bored of your story too when you first started. You done now?”
Wilson rolled his eyes with a chuckle (he didn’t need to look up to tell, he could feel it in his bones) and shifted so he had one leg up on the couch, bent so he and House’s didn’t crash. He sat up to look at House, now, without any distraction. Didn’t – or did it? – do House any favours. House didn’t have the same access to Wilson’s arm because of the move, just now his hand splayed on Wilson’s knee.
“You’re so weird, man. You might be– honestly– the most weirdest guy I’ll ever meet.” Wilson’s looking at him with the dopiest smile he’s got, and Christ, does it just make House wanna push him to the ground and kiss him stupid.
“Most guys would just be mad I said that, but sure. Name calling can also work on me.” House unthinkingly wets his lips as he holds eye contact in an almost Pavolovian reaction. He feels his heart trying to give out over nothing, nothing at all, as he slides his hand already on top of Wilson’s over his denim jeans.
He’s technically not touching him, so it's fine. Right now is fine.
But there’s an obvious change in Wilson. Things just went from weird to not-high-enough-for-this-weird, at least from House’s perspective. He gulps not so discreetly, but can’t stop himself from gliding their hands over Wilson’s thigh. His own hand acts as House’s training wheels, being too much of a coward to make the first move all on his own– but fuck it. He watches Wilson bite down on his lip and takes it as an okay sign.
House, in all honesty, doesn’t even know what he wants from this. He just wants, so goddamn desperately, that he doesn’t realize he’s biting off more than he can chew.
Wilson removes his hand from under House’s, and just before House can feel the defeat and panic wash over himself, Wilson places it over House’s. It isn’t a firm grip, but a promising, lingering one. Wilson must be able to read him like a book – despite not knowing himself what he’s written all over with – and gives him a soft, anticipating look. They’re both holding their breaths.
House can feel – feel it in his stupid, aching bones – that Wilson’s about to open his mouth and make them word something out, but he can’t have that for the life of him. He just, selfishly, wants to take and hold and have Wilson. They know each other better than anyone else could ever know them, so against his much better judgement while still high, Wilson only lets out a soft breath that sounds eerily enough like ‘House..’
They’re really in for it now, being doped up and buzzed enough to make impulsive decisions, but not so far gone that they’re unaware of what's happening. House isn’t, and if Wilson wasn’t at this point, the not-so-subtle touching is definitely doing it for him.
Wilson scans all around House’s face and lands on his chapped lips. It was his turn to gulp and let his breathing hitch, pulling House’s hand further up his own thigh.
House, eagerly so, met Wilson’s force there, now spreading his fingers to cover more ground. He splayed his hand out in a way for him to hold onto the meat of Wilson’s thigh, greedily so, and exhaled. He felt like a finicky teenager who’s one step away from cumming in his pants (though he wouldn’t be that disappointed if that's how their night ended up going).
Wilson hummed lightly at the firmer hold, and let to holding House by the wrist now. He let his eyes travel down to where House was touching him, oh so lightly, but couldn’t keep himself away from the sight of House wanting. Of him needing. He really, really wanted more of him, but he’d have to say something if they go any further and–
House then snakes his hand up to Wilson’s already unbuckled belt and lingers. His palm is over the leather as his hands sprawl over Wilson’s lower stomach over his shirt.
Wilson then stops his hand and gives him his firmest look. His ‘I’m going to be the responsible one here and probably say too much and drag things out’ look that House knows all too well. Except the words come out way too fast at the same time.
“House, if– do you really want to– I mean, I’m fine if–”
“Just– Just shut up. Yeah, yes, I want this you fucking loser. Pretend I’m a really hot girl if my hands aren’t enough for you.”
It all comes out messy, weirdly loaded, and all at once. Neither really know what to say to each other– but the skin that is touching burns all the more. They sit staring at each other for a while, anxiety rising in House’s throat, and Wilson trying to make sense of House’s blabbering and shuffling away from what they’re actually doing.
Wilson gulps and loosens his grip on House, but keeps his stare heavy. For a guy that “doesn’t even smoke a lot”, he can hold a tolerance for weed. You’d only be able to guess if you’d be sitting where Greg is– close and personal to smell him and stare into his huge eyes.
“No, you’re- you’re fine, House. Uh..” Wilson repositions himself, free hand on the other side of his belt, which is a great view House tries to burn into his memory. “How.. what do you..” He leaves himself trailing off.
“Do you ever shut up?” It’s House’s turn to roll his eyes at that. He’d been given the go-ahead, so only some parts of his brain are screaming at him when he leans over Wilson’s lap, beer can long forgotten on the floor.
His other hand now rests on Wilson’s free thigh. House lets his breath ghost over Wilson’s face as he tries to act braver than he really is.
“Thought you knew how to woo a girl, Wilson. Or are you usually being swept away? Makes sense if you–”
Wilson cuts him off by leaning in to meet House’s lips and cutting him off. It’s messy and they bump each other on their noses upon collision, but it’s better than anything either of them have had. Wilson angles his head to fit better with House’s and snakes his hand to hold the back of his head, holding House in place.
House makes a noise he’ll never, ever admit to making as he melts into Wilson’s touch. The way he’s leaning is quickly becoming uncomfortable but he steadies himself on Wilson’s thighs, breathing heavily into their chaste kiss. When they’re done sucking on each other’s faces like they’re each other’s first, it's a quick break that House chases back into for another taste.
House remembers how to work his limbs and aims for Wilson’s belt, tugging at it uncoordinatedly until it somehow drops to the floor next to them. He then trails his hands up to Wilson’s stomach, chest, and biceps to feel and press with all he can. He’s desperately trying to imprint every smell, touch, sight, and taste to his memory in case he’ll never have another opportunity to say hi to Wilson’s chest hair.
Letting his hands trail anywhere and everywhere, he relaxes more into them making out and lets Wilson take the lead. He stays pliant, hands on Wilson’s body as Wilson drags House’s face closer and closer to his own. He can barely hear himself groaning over House’s broken up noises, failing at hiding his desperation to get them as close as possible. Everywhere House is touching him feels like it’s on fire, every noise House makes is pushing him more and more into needing to have this all to himself territory.
He then lets his own hands roam, too, and trace along the back of House’s shirt. House makes a surprised funny sound at the feeling, which both endears and adds more fuel to the fire in Wilson’s head. He wants to keep finding new sounds for House to make, just for Wilson to listen to.
Wilson is basically pulling on him at this point – pulling House closer to him until he’s about to fall over on himself. Wilson nips at House’s lips that earn a guttural groan out of House, and grins into the kiss like he knew that would happen. With that parting, Wilson invites himself into House’s mouth, licking into him feverishly. The longer they kiss and breathe and lick into each other’s mouths, the harder it becomes to be the responsible one out of the two. Wilson makes his way to hold onto House’s waist and scoots him even closer, falling back on the arm on the chair doing so.
House is now crawling over him, kiss broken over the movement, breathing harshly into Wilson’s stupidly lovable face. His stupid, lip bitten, completely flushed face heaving back at House from under him.
The sight is almost too much for him to bear. More urgently, House isn’t known for his core strength and knows he won’t be able to keep himself hoisted above Wilson long. So, House lowers himself on his knees bracketing Wilson’s hips and starts sucking into his neck. He doesn’t know if any of it is enjoyable enough or good or– but he feels the grip on the back of his neck tighten with an obvious approval from Wilson (“Oh, House,”) so he lets himself go off based on that. He’s straddling him now, unbuttoning the last couple of buttons holding Wilson’s dress shirt together as Wilson has one hand on his neck and the other gripping House’s waist. He tries not thinking about what it’s doing to the ever-rising tent in his pants – neither how right they feel there.
In the end, it’s just lust, and guys do this all the time.
As if he was trying to drown out his thoughts, House pushes back experimentally on Wilson’s lap, met with a length he wanted to know much more about. He stuttered out another groan into Wilson’s neck, the only thing holding him together being the anchors that are James Wilson’s strong, hands keeping him in place.
“House, you’re so good,” Wilson breathily mumbling into House’s hair, kissing the messily thrown mop. Embarrassingly enough it’s the praise that pushes House to grind up on him again, making them both let out incriminating groans.
Free out of the confines of his shirt, House tugs it off WIlson with all the strength he can and leaves open mouth kisses wherever he can. It wasn’t romantic, no– just needy. Maybe that’s worse, but right now, House isn’t concerned about that in the slightest.
Wilson’s hand moves up to card through House’s hair as he trails further down. He’s groaning, eyelashes aflutter as he watches the descend of his best friend get closer and closer to where he wants him to be. He gulps with so much want, so much need, and looks at House with something too close to affectionate that he can’t convey. Not now, and not like this. They’re just getting off.
House looks back up at him once he gets to WIlson’s abdomen. Maybe he wasn’t a queer and maybe he just– really liked Wilson’s figure. To have it as its own. Maybe it was less to do with wanting his best friend’s cock in his mouth and more with ‘I should work out more.’ That was reasoning for tomorrow morning.
House pressed one final open-mouth kiss that turned into sucking that turned into a blooming hickey. If Wilson had any objections, it couldn’t be heard over the whimper that was made in its stead. House tugged Wilson’s jeans off the best he could before he decided to be helpful and lifted his hips up to make it easier for House. The only thing then keeping them from going any further was thin fabric and House – or Wilson – clamming up.
House paused, clearly noticed by Wilson, who unthinkingly cradled House’s face with one hand. He could be dreaming, but Wilson felt House momentarily press into the touch before stopping himself.
“This is.. fine?” House was a lot of things, but he wasn’t going to put his hands anywhere Wilson wouldn’t want him to. With all they’ve done now, House has more than enough shower-nozzel material to last him for months.
Wilson looks down at him, something way too loving coating his eyes for what they’re doing– for everything House wants out of him. He’s a greedy, selfish man, being looked down at like he could be something priceless. It scares him, in all honesty, to see Wilson’s mouth parted and quirked into a soft smile, to understand this is something he deeply wants.
Wilson cleared his throat, broken out of his trance. “Yes, yeah. Please, House.”
It could have been his whiney voice, or the fact he was begging, or the fact House would do anything Wilson asked of him if he was looking at him like that, but as soon as that ‘please’ slipped out of his mouth, House slipped Wilson out of his boxers without much trouble.
He definitely.. didn’t realize just how popular Wilson was with girls until now. Wilson wasn’t huge, by any means, just about average most people would call it – but he made it up in width. For some reason, after all the touching and grinding they’ve pushed through, House didn’t really expect to be shown much interest. He let his fingers lightly rest on the curve of his length, earning a breathy sigh from Wilson.
House gulped as he realized Wilson was still watching him with wide eyes.
“Guess now you,” He took a shuttering breath, “actually can imagine me as a pretty girl, huh?” House joked again, trying to not look like a drooling, braindead idiot.
“You look so beautiful, Greg.”
The sincerity caught him greatly off. Wasn’t it enough to be the best person House had ever known, but to also be great at sex? House felt his throat tighten as he tried to push the good, mushy feelings that gave him.
Wilson is stupid. He doesn’t mean it.
Instead of replying, House lowered himself to face level with Wilson’s cock and dragged his tongue from bottom to top. He’d be lying if he said Wilson was his first man, but he wouldn’t if he said it’d be the first he’d actually enjoy.
House circled the head slowly, teasing and pulling noises out of Wilson like a greedy kid on Halloween. When he finally took the head of Wilson’s cock into his mouth, it’s like he was reliving his first experience all over again– exciting, scary, and overwhelmingly good. He let his tongue set flat but circled around him, inching himself lower onto Wilson’s length and pacing himself with how much he could take. With what he couldn’t fit in his mouth he pumped with his hand.
Wilson was known for sleeping around, sure, but he’d never had a blow job this good before. The teasing, almost torturous pull of House’s tongue was making him see stars already– and they had just started. He involuntarily squeezed House between his thighs, his grip on his hair tight but staying in place. He let House move as he wanted to, desperate to keep anything he’d get right now. Still, his grip stayed present, anchoring House’s movements. They fell into a rhythm that was both familiar, somehow, and completely new to them both.
Heat coiled in Wilson’s stomach the more House showed off, coming back up for air with a ‘pop’ sound you’d only think existed that loud in pornos. Then he’d get straight back to business, making easy work of what Wilson thought was a well built tolerance. House, now more access than ever, let his free hand roam Wilson’s thighs once more, no longer trapped by the fabric of his jeans. He gripped and traced and loved on the body that was Wilson’s, and just for a split second, wanted to show it with all of his might.
House let his tongue go flat again, but now took Wilson the entire way he could which hit the back of his throat. Ever the trooper, he didn’t gag, but the feeling shocked Wilson to his core, arching his back and lifting his hips to chase the feeling.
He whimpered and House gave his best encouragement-sounding hums to tell Wilson to keep going and not stop. When Wilson stopped and opened his mouth for a shaky apology, House lifted up his hips himself so he could hit the back of his own throat. Talk about doing all the work.
Wilson breathed a hurried, “Okay, okay” and now held House by his face with both hands. He could hardly keep his eyes open as he sloppily thrusted into his mouth, babbling sweet nothings into their shared apartment that only they could hear. House was good, so good, and taking all of Wilson so well, except when he would gag a tiny bit, but it didn’t deter either of them. House exhaled through his nose as he slobbered and made a mess out of his side of the couch– He’ll complain later– tears slowly budding in his eyes. It was hard but he kept his eyes open, wanting to watch Wilson come undone because of what he could do for him.
That sight alone was almost enough to get House off, embarrassingly enough, mindlessly chasing friction for his own release by rutting on the couch (pants on, no less).
When Wilson’s hips stuttered, sloppier than ever, House sucked at the head of Wilson’s cock – at Wilson’s everything – drinking in all the noises he could.
It was Wilson’s last guttural cry being, “My boy, that’s my boy, House, so good,” that had them cumming at the same time. House did his very best to keep all he could catch in his mouth while his body shook with a life-changing orgasm coursing through his veins.
Wilson fell back onto the couch, wrung out, still holding House’s face as he himself looked like he was fucked out. House swallowed.
House laid his head on the thigh he’d been groping just 5 minutes ago. They both laid in bliss, catching their breaths, hand carding through House’s hair with the kind of affection he wasn’t used to. It was foreign and vaguely, wrong, but it wasn’t so wrong that it was an immediate full-stop. House let it go on for a little longer.
Their breathing evened out together as it became apparent how sticky and uncomfortable House’s pants were. God, he really did play the part of a horny teen here, didn’t he. He groaned, which eventually turned into breathy chuckles. He felt Wilson shift to look down at him.
“Come here, you,” Wilson basically yanked House back up to his side, laying on top of him on their cramped (and now desecrated) couch. Wilson cradled his arm over House the best he could.
The act was so loving it felt like Wilson forgot it was House who he just went to third base with. It was, by all accounts, something that wasn’t meant for the both of them, but House couldn’t shrug Wilson’s arm off of him. He thought about it, and the thought selfishly died there. God, he wanted this so much, and having a taste of it was so cruel because he knew he couldn’t have it to keep. He betrayingly wrapped his own arm around Wilson. He didn’t want to say anything. House didn’t want to ruin the one good thing he had even more than he was by having these feelings.
They stayed like that for a half hour, cradling each other until Wilson fell asleep. House got up by himself and showered, throwing his clothes into their broken washing machine.
He went to sleep alone in his room after covering Wilson up with a blanket.