Chapter Text
"What's your problem? Quit it with your gagging, drama queen," House snapped, placing his elbow up on the armrest of the couch to hold his head in his hand. With his other hand he had a hold of Wilson's hair, bringing his head up and down over his shaft. With each particularly deep lull over his cock, Wilson managed out a choke - followed quickly by a moan. Each of these individual chokes and gags pissed off House the slightest bit more, until eventually he had to shove Wilson off and lean down to ask him just what the big idea is.
"Fuck," Wilson breathed out, wiping the spit from his heavily salivating mouth with his t-shirt sleeve - despite how strangely he had to bend his arm to do so. "Don't look at me like I'm in the wrong here, you're using my throat like a fleshlight! Be gentle," he retorted, just as irritated as House. "Not my fault your penis is the length of my whole damn esophagus."
"6 inches isn't that big, stop being a baby."
"Yes, it is, you dick - no pun intended."
"You need to quit your whining, it's not a big deal - pun intended."
Wilson raised his hands defensively, trying to settle the argument as he shook his head in disagreement before entering his head back into the playing field and taking House into his throat. He tensed his eyes shut, breathing calmly through his nose as he slipped his lips back and forth on House's length. House reached to Wilson's head again, to which he smacked it away, trying to get his own pace set first. House closed his eyes, letting his head hang back as he exhumed a deep sound, along with a gulp of air. Wilson could tell by the way his wildly ruder associate had begun shifting his breath that he was irrefutably trying to... well, refute.
He sucked and sucked, establishing a clear and concise tempo before being thrown immediately off track by House's antic disposition, placing both hands against Wilson's head and bucking up into his throat like he really was some kind of fleshlight. Wilson would have drawn back, smacked House for doing such a thing, but he figured - why not? At this point, why not just let him buck it all out, so that he could stop fucking complaining.
Wilson was right, for the most part. House was no longer complaining. In fact, he completely tuned out the coughs and chokes as he replaced the sounds in the air with his own gasps, moans, shouts and Hallelujahs. "Aw, God, fuck Wilson, you and your pretty mouth," he managed to get out, along with an incredibly subtle whine. "Those noises too, they're doing something to me..." Sure as hell they were, Wilson thought. House was getting off on it. Not on the choking, the complaining. House liked to argue, maybe more than just average bickering.
Wilson was about to tap out for air when House thrusted his hips up into Wilson's jaws and blew his load right down Wilson's more than worn out throat. Only when he was done his stammers and shakes did Wilson draw back, gulping down the leftover semen before gasping in air. "Whew," he whistled, looking up to House's deflated appearance before standing up and sitting next to House on the couch, not without a well-earned dad-grunt.
"How was that smartass? Not so dramatic now, am I?" His grin was smug, squirmy, like he was trying on *purpose* to terrorize House with his quick refractory period. House didn't respond. He couldn't, really. He had just experienced one of the best instances of head he'd ever had in his life, and he wasn't about to speak and ruin his wash-over of pure, unaltered at-ease.
"Me with my pretty mouth, ay?" Wilson poked House's elbow with his own, teasing him out of ecstasy, only for House to shove directly into him in response, pressing him into the couch.
Because Round-Four's are just as fun as Round-One's.