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“Wilson-” House repeated more urgently. Wilson shuddered from how giddy he felt when House said his name. How desperate he sounded. His absolute resolve to defy Wilson would only make breaking down House so much more pleasant to the taste. He could definitely wait. Plus, he loved the way House would shy away from him yet relent to his pursuits. Wilson just knew that some part of House must have wanted this. He had to. Otherwise, Wilson wouldn’t be doing this. Would he? Wasn’t it House’s idea in the first place?
Wilson had House’s wrists tied tightly behind his back with a red silk rope. Wilson’s black tie was tied around House’s eyes, depriving him from trying to wander away from Wilson mentally. Although he did dislike being unable to see his shiny blue eyes- especially teary from the crying.
Wilson tried to take it slow, but he was impatient and only growing with excitement- knowing he would get off on the pure submission of House. He wanted to coerce him into participating. It’s been bugging him extraordinarily. At first, it has always been rejection and the constant attempts to wring himself from Wilson. Over time, House became more submissive, but not compliant. He made sure to portray his absolute distaste and hate for Wilson every chance he got. He avoided him at work and stopped picking up his calls or answering the door. He hated how House wasn’t interested in him anymore. He needed him to need him.
Coming back from his train of thought, he gazed lustfully at House. He had him straddled on his lap. He shuddered from the feeling of pleasure just as House clenched around him.
“Come on, House you know you want it,” Wilson murmured next to his ear. He rubbed his face into House's hairline, taking in his musky scent before leaning down to nip on his neck. He breathed in his musky scent. God how he loved the smell of House. He felt his rapid breathing and how House tried to lean away from him. He sighed in annoyance, suddenly grabbing House’s jaw with his left hand to tilt him back toward him.
“Stop denying it, I can feel the way you react to me, House,” Wilson assured him softly but when House only shut his eyes tighter, Wilson snapped, bringing his hand to House’s genital. He wrapped his hand firmly around it and squeezed it enough to be painful. House yelped in shock but still did not yield.
He knew this would happen so he reached in his coat pocket, stopping his menstrations for a short moment. Wilson could hear House tense and hold his breath. He loved that about him. How he could always analyze the situation, even tied up and deprived of sight.
“Don’t-” House spoke roughly. He knew his words would have little effect on Wilson, and he seemed to say it more out of habit than need.
Wilson rolled his eyes. He knew what House was thinking. “Don’t do this. Don’t please me. Don’t waste your time for this. Don’t do this to me.” But Wilson couldn’t fathom what was so wrong with having this. House wanted this. Always isolating Wilson from his past relationships and ruining his chance of any social life, constantly having to look after House by spending time with him or checking up on him weekly to ensure he didn’t overdose or hurt himself.
He pulled out the sound rod Wilson bought as a last resort. He didn’t want to do this but he knew in the end, his efforts would be rewarded. Wilson wanted to be the only one to solely please House, to have him crying for him because of him. He didn’t want House to see this as another ruse for the pure folly of having his body. Wilson wanted his mind. He wanted every part of House to want him with the same ache House forced upon him.
Concentrating his gaze back to House’s crotch, Wilson held it firmly in his left hand as his right began to insert the urethra sound into him. House yelped in surprise at the yet second intrusion and huffed in rapid breaths. Wilson felt his own dick swell as House squeezed him more tightly. He listened to House’s breath increase rapidly to the point of hyperventilation as he let his forehead drop against Wilson’s shoulder. He was slightly surprised but hummed in approval.
“It’s okay, House. You’re alright,” He reassured him as the sound rod was firmly pressed inside House’s dick all the way, with the mere tip handle jutting out cutely. With his hands now free, he brought his left hand to the small of House’s back to soothe him. He rubbed his hand in a circular motion as he felt House moan against his ear.
“Wilson.” He felt House try again with difficulty. Wilson did not move and let House try to talk. “What do you want from me?” House continued in a mere whisper. “I don’t want this-” House’s voice broke as he suppressed a shudder as Wilson adjusted himself. This was driving him crazy.
“You do, I know you do,” Wilson insisted, “Otherwise I would never do this.”
House opened his mouth to speak but Wilson hurriedly continued, “I know you House. Maybe better than you do yourself. I know you have self-destructive tendencies in the hopes of making yourself miserable, but I won’t let you continue on this way. I will make you see how much you need this- even if I have to convince you.”
When House remained quiet, Wilson brought both of his hands down to House’s outer thighs. “This is good for you, House,” Wilson urged his friend to see, “If you let me take care of you, you can take the edge off of things.” Wilson pointed out by adding extra pressure to House’s right thigh.
House winced and then grimaced as Wilson started to lick his collarbone again. House still remained quiet. Irritation was starting to get the best of Wilson so he placed his right hand back to House’s crotch. He applied pressure and didn’t let go. House tried to jerk away from him foolishly and then back toward him, conflicted between seeking release from Wilson and release from his erection.
House then leaned as close as he could to Wilson, nuzzling his head against his chest. Wilson almost purred in delight. He gave him a moment to collect himself before House huffed with difficulty, “Untie me.” Glancing up at Wilson, he knew Wilson would misunderstand him, so he quickly added, “I’ll do it.”
Wilson could hear the concealed defeat in House’s voice as he tried to hide the fact that it must be a facade. But still. This was the closest Wilson ever got to having House in the way he intended so he relented.
As he moved to untie his hands, he surprisingly felt House relaxing against him as he listened to Wilson’s heartbeat. As Wilson found the knot holding House’s arms in place, he felt House shift even more towards him, maybe involuntarily, seeking shelter in the warmth of his friend as he stated very quietly, almost inaudible if Wilson did not have House upon his breast, “I don’t hate you.”
Wilson felt himself brighten up before House added, “But I do hate this.” He just couldn't keep things nice, could he? Wilson sighed with frustration, but kept his mouth shut for he was worried what abrasive words he could hurl at House and have him change his mind.
As the rope knot came undone, Wilson rubbed House’s hands to shake off the stiffness before bringing them to wrap around Wilson’s neck. He liked the way House didn’t fight him for control this time; instead, he kept his hands placidly there as he gazed at Wilson with what seemed like wariness. Gods, how he wanted to take the blind off. He resisted his urges.
“So… you want me to- you want me to ride you?” House asked hesitatingly.
Wilson nodded, although he knew House couldn’t see, before humming a sound of approval. He could almost see the color rising in House’s cheeks. Now he knew what this was about. His stubborn pride. Ashamed and embarrassed to return Wilson’s gestures. He clenched his left arm into a fist to avoid it from slapping House as he leaned in to kiss him.
House let out a panicked whimper but opened his mouth for Wilson to take. Wilson grinned even more before jerking his hips upward- straight to House’s prostate. He could feel House moan before it turned into a pained groan from the rod keeping his dick in place as Wilson let his tongue plunder House's mouth as he swallowed his sounds.
As Wilson released his mouth he felt House try to breathe in raspy breaths before stubbornly adding, “Take. It. Out.”
He knew what it meant. He rolled his eyes and made his point, “Ride me.”
Wilson tried hard to control himself from thrusting as House bit on his lower lip in trying to weigh his options. “I’ll take it off if you’re really good,” Wilson persuades, placing his hands on House's waist, fingers digging into his skin.
House merely nods and repositions his hands shakily to hold onto his shoulders as he brings himself down against Wilson’s length. At his first take, House involuntarily shuddered, seemingly in disgust, but Wilson doesn't mind and instead brings his face to House's neck to nip at the skin there. He loved the way he could tell when House felt the pleasure of his actions. He feels him clench, encouraged by Wilson’s distraction.
He started slow but knew Wilson would want him to go quicker, so he did. As Wilson reluctantly removed himself from House’s neck, he saw how disheveled House looked. He didn’t stop but he could see how he kept wincing, trying to keep the balance on his left leg, his right must’ve started to hurt, while the blind seemed to have gone loose and fallen over one eye. House didn’t attempt to remove it, though, his hands grasping at Wilson’s shoulders until his knuckles turned white.
“House…” Wilson breathed. He felt sickened by House’s state yet excited to have his cooperation. “Look at me.”
He did, and Wilson gently removed the blind, but not before House flinched again from Wilson’s touch. He mentally sighs. One step at a time.
When he slips the tie onto the mattress, he finally gets to see House’s face, which was puffy with tears, and he seemed to have not stopped sniffling yet either. Damn, he should’ve known. He roughly jerks House by the hips down onto his length again.
“Wilson,” House cries out again. He looked down at his throbbing dick- strained from suppressed relief. “Please-” House tries again, agitatedly. He seems on the verge of another breakdown, but all it does is send a shudder of pleasure in Wilson as he shifts his weight further on House and tilts him backward. They end up with Wilson on top of House, crowding him. House starts to unexpectedly thrash, “You promised me, you fucking liar.”
Wilson didn’t even try to stop his attempts; instead, he sharply thrust back into him, sighing with pleasure. “You feel so good,” He huffed out before bringing his full weight onto House. He kept his steady pace as he brought his mouth down to House’s lips and tried to pull them apart, but House only turned his head away violently.
“Fuck. Off.” He wheezed, but it only made Wilson try harder. He grabs him roughly by the chin and tilts his head up towards him.
“Relax,” he condescended, which he knew would reward him with an exasperated air of annoyance from House, and just as he was about to huff an angry retort back at him, Wilson plundered his mouth. He let his tongue drink on House like it was his last time. House kept hitting his arms against his chest uselessly, but Wilson only grinned against him as it spurred him on.
As he broke off their kiss, House pulled his left arm over his face to hide his flushed face.
“Tell me this feels good,” Wilson murmurs as he settles his face against the crook of House’s neck. House only shudders, but Wilson can feel the hardness of his cock pressed between the two of them. “Tell me you like this. How good it feels.”
House seems torn between pride and agony to respond, but finally gives up his front when Wilson adds, “I’ll take it out.”
“You’re lying,” House tries to make out as he rasps for air. Wilson gives him a hurt look that read as: Am I really?
House gasps out more exasperatedly as Wilson seems determined to break him, lifting his hips to angle himself towards House’s prostate better. It works. House seems to moan more deeply than before as his body quivers. Wilson glanced down, and he still saw his aching hardness begging for release.
“Mmmm, House?” Wilson tries to urge him on as he nuzzles his face against his neck. House shifts his face upwards, giving him more room. He sighs at that.
House’s body starts to shake again, but not from the physical exertion, but from the mental pressure. Wilson notices that House is crying. No, that would be an understatement- he was sobbing and unconsciously brought his other hand to cross his left.
“Shhh,” Wilson comforts him, carefully bringing his left hand up to uncover his face as his right elbow leans against the bed to alleviate the strain on House. He brings down his lips to his left cheek to kiss his tears away, and he watches as House forces himself to stay still and not jerk away from Wilson’s touch. “It’s okay,” he reassures him again as he pulls his other arm over his head, “Don’t,” House strains out in fear before Wilson notices his hand placement- almost forcing a grip back on House’s wrists to hold him down with one hand before he repositions his other hand to grab each of House’s and intertwine both of their hands together instead.
“Better?” He tries gently as if speaking to a wild animal, for House seemed on the verge of hyperventilating as he looked up at him with unfocused eyes. He glanced away merely with his eyes, knowing better than to tilt his head now as he gave him a brief nod. Wilson ignored the way House was lying, his body shaking, and he could tell how hard it must have been for him to stay responsive to each of Wilson’s little requests.
Wilson quickly thinks up a solution for the increasing distress, still deep inside House, he reaches carefully to the counter, twinning his right hand from House’s but he doesn’t notice how it must have relaxed House for he grabbed back at his wrist desperately when Wilson let go.
His expression went soft, and he reassured House with a tight squeeze of his left hand, which was still intertwined with House’s right. Wilson grabbed the prepped Vicodin on the counter as well as one of the two unopened waterbottles House sometimes used with his pills, as quickly as he could, he undid the lid of the water bottle, drank some, and placed it down back on the counter. He then popped the lid off the medicine bottle. Leaning down, House opened his mouth willingly to take the two pills that Wilson offered him before Wilson brought his mouth down on him. He made House drink the water in his mouth to flush the opioids. Wilson kept on kissing him, like that, admiring how good House tasted, even with the aftertaste of Vicodin. He pulled back when House squeezed his left hand more tightly around their intertwined fingers. Wilson let his other right hand be held by House. It seemed to ground him, which was okay with Wilson since it led House to be more cooperative.
Wilson studied how House looked up at him. His eyes were laced with hatred, but lust and need overpowered his gaze as his face scrunched up in pain and heat as he began trying to press himself up into Wilson.
“Wilson…” House moaned. Wilson responded by pressing his body lower.
“House.” He mimics.
“Don’t-” He thought he would have to face rejection, but then House breathed out harshly, “Don’t stop.” He grins, accepting the invitation.
“Of course.”
Wilson decides not to pick up the pace, but rather turn it down a notch. This way, he can squirm out the desperation in House’s voice into pleas of submission.
Even at his slow pace, he ensures that each roll of his hips is even, steady, and deep, placing a direct pressure on House’s prostate before he draws back to hear House whimper for more.
He finally decides to press his attention back to his goal of getting a confirmation from House. He swears he’ll only hear what he wants. Wilson asks, “House?” He was trying to bring his attention back to him before he continued. House had his eyes shut tight and he could tell they were going to get puffy from the rate he kept crying. His left hand had turned white with House’s for how hard they clenched each other in their grasp, while House’s left hand gripped Wilson’s right hand so hard, knowing there were bound to be bruises left afterward.
When House finally unscrunched his face and tried to focus on Wilson, he specifically stared into his brown eyes; his blue eyes questioning, as if House seemed to be trying to read him. Wilson raised his eyebrows at the expression House was giving him: a look mixed with pleasurable pain and pity. He knew what House thought. That what he was doing wasn’t by choice but because he was sick. He remembered in their last heated conversation, House was pointing out how he was considering it to be a brain tumor. A fucking brain tumor. Wilson wasn’t sick… He was just madly in love. At least that’s what he thought of it so far. Yes, he was obsessed with House, and yes, maybe unhealthily- but he knew it definitely wasn’t going to stay one-sided for long and that in the long term, all of this would only benefit House.
He finally decides to finish his point, “Does this-” he punctuates with a harsh thrust in that moment, “feel good?” House cries out and turns his head sharply to the left, muffling his voice into the sheets. Wilson groans as he presses his body as close as he can, his head resting on House's shoulder, his own breath unsteady.
Wilson becomes angered at an uncontrollable rate at the silence and yanks away his right hand away from House to bring it to his cock. He stroked it smoothly a few times as House arched up and tried to squirm away from him. When he stays in place, he hears him trying to make out Wilson’s name.
His ears perk up, but this time with more sour venom and agitation in his voice, he coos, “Look at who’s pleasing you.”
House broke in that moment, sobbing out, “It’s good. It feels good, please-” he tries to add, inhaling a sharp gasp of air before trying to finish, “Please… take… it- out…”
Wilson started to speed up, both his thrusting and the stroking of House’s membrane.
“Really? You clearly aren’t being sincere enough,” Wilson notes, because House isn’t paying attention to him at all. He’s looking everywhere but him. The walls, the ceiling, the window, but not him. That made him really pissed. Without thinking, he brought his free right hand up and slapped him hard across the face. House instinctively froze, and Wilson felt his body tense under him. Oh, shit. He didn’t mean for that to happen.
Neither of them moved. Then, suddenly, as if a panic seized him, House twisted uncontrollably, trying to free his own right hand to no avail because Wilson did not want him out of his grasp. He wanted to fix this before letting House go.
“House,” he tried to soothe him back gently. When House didn’t listen, he yelled more loudly, “House! Calm down. I’m not trying to hurt you… just- just try to be sincere for once. What’s wrong with you?” He winced at that last part; he definitely shouldn’t have phrased it that way, since House seemed to place meaning in every little syllable that came out of Wilson’s mouth.
But something about his words must have rang true because House stopped his excessive thrashing and was glaring at Wilson. When House finally shifted his face back towards Wilson, away from the sheets, his eyes still seemed to be screaming hatred, but Wilson noticed that he overlooked what the sound rod had done to him. Since it still kept House from exerting his need to cum, he looked desperate for release.
It’s fixable. Wilson thought with relief.
It was Wilson’s turn to be surprised because when House reached up for him, he parted his lips for a kiss. Wilson let him explore his mouth this time, feeling House be hesitant yet yearning. When House drew back, he shakily gasped out, “I like it-” his voice broke, “So, please…” House couldn’t make out anymore.
He seemed incredibly tired, his voice hoarse and sounding devastatingly sad.
Wilson continues to quicken his pace as he asks, “Front-” he highlights with a stroke to House's penis, “or back?” he punctuates with a sharp thrust. House cries out as he arches back unwillingly to the pleasure.
“What-” he huffs in confusion, but Wilson doesn’t relent his pace.
“Pick.” He watches the gears turn in House's mind as he glances to find something in Wilson’s face.
House cries out “front” just as Wilson pulls it and himself out roughly in one fluid motion at that moment simultaneously. House then arches heavily, quivering from head to toe, face scrunched up in ecstasy and bliss and discomfort in an attempt to cum but can’t. Although Wilson could tell from the way he was shaking that he had a prostate orgasm. Even still, House was hard and started to turn in the sheets trying to bring his hand to his membrane to finish the deed, but Wilson swiftly snatched it and brought it over House’s head to hold it down with his left.
House glares daggers at him, but then seems to blush, training his eyes on something in the distance before mumbling, “I already said that I liked it, now get on with it.”
When Wilson looks back down at him without doing anything, House bites out, “Are you really gonna do nothing?! You want me to say it explicitly- I want you- now hurry the fuck up.”
Wilson chuckles but does it without complaint, “Yes, House."
Wilson snaps his hips forward, and House moans lowly, tears leaking from his eyes. He's so fucking gorgeous. Wilson picks up his pace, his rough thrusts undoing House's senses. He's letting a garble of incoherent noises, pleading Wilson not to stop.
Wilson complies fucking House hard and fast, House's cock leaking between them. He lifts House's left leg up, angling better at his prostate, causing House to curse under his breath.
Wilson lets out a shaky groan as his hips begin to stutter, and his rhythm grows erratic just as House clenches tight around him and cums untouched—every muscle spasming underneath him, his body squirming as Wilson continues to chase his own high.
"Fuck- House, I love it-" Wilson rambles, dropping House's leg and fucks into House roughly before slamming his hips one last time into him and cumming. He holds House and his hips down, making him take it as he spills into him.
House twitches beneath him, sweaty and blissed out, his hands gripping the sheets.
Wilson pulls out of him, and House grimaces. Wilson watches his stream of cum leak out of House, his own cock twitching in arousal again. Wilson lies down on top of him happily and closes his eyes for a few blissful seconds until House says, “Get off me, I need to go pee.”
He sighed as the high slowly left him, and he understood House was at his limit.
Wilson rolled off him, still happy despite everything with their progress, but as House tried to get off the bed, he began to dry heave. Wilson immediately tried to place his hand on his arm in comfort, but House flinched and yelled, “Don’t you dare touch me-” Before he actually did throw up on the floor. “Fuck.” House added shakily as he went around his vomit, limping to the bathroom.
Wilson hurried after him, but when he tried the door, it was locked. He shakes it more roughly in anxiety, but then he heard House say exasperatingly, “Screw. Off.”
“House,” Wilson said in a low tone as if in warning.
A silence rings out for a moment, the only thing heard was House’s quick, unsteady breaths, close to hyperventilation on the other side, before House said quietly, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Can you go away now?”
Wilson sighed but stayed still in place. “No. Open the door.”
He heard the pop of a bottle, clearly House taking more pills, before he heard more shuffling: House standing up to unlock the door.
Once Wilson pulled the door open, they stared at each other guiltily. House seemed to be embarrassed. Wilson felt ashamed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Wilson attempts feebly.
“No.”
He felt silly for asking. “Let’s go to bed then,” He said at last, seeing how House was literally avoiding him, eyes fixated on his feet, staring at the floor.
How do I convince him to stop?
House glanced at the clock on the counter. 3:46 a.m. His thoughts have been running for hours again, and he couldn’t shut them down. He sighed and tried to go back to sleep, but Wilson's body pressed up flat against him made House shudder involuntarily. When he opened his eyes the second time, 14 minutes had passed.
Quietly and as smoothly as he could, he removed Wilson's hand from his waist and tried to get up. He pressed his hand to his mouth as he suppressed a groan to escape him. His back hurt. With shaking hands, he picked up his right leg to move to the edge of the bed before getting up. He limped out of the room, recalling how he'd left his cane in the living room, where Wilson barged in late at night on him, watching Teli.
He stood staring at the couch, remembering how insistent Wilson had been the first time they had tried this. He shuddered, remembering his own lust and excitement. Wilson was right. He liked it, didn’t he? He was the one who got hard from Wilson’s maneuvers. It was his fault. He had, after all, killed Amber. If it wasn’t for him, Wilson wouldn’t have to be around fondling him.
He recalled in horror how good it felt last night. Sure, Wilson had on multiple prior occasions maimed him, but he was the one who ended up insisting on Wilson to keep going. House was the one manipulating Wilson into this. He was making both of them miserable, and he knew it. An image of Wilson pinning him down last night made him shiver in a good way, and before House knew it, he was rushing to the bathroom before he was vomiting the second time that night. Oh, god. He was about to get up and tiptoe into the bedroom when House froze. He heard the rustling of sheets; clearly, Wilson had awoken. He stayed completely still, his breathing rapidly increasing when he recalled that he hadn’t locked either bathroom door.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his back against the wall as he knew Wilson must’ve been in front of the door, but then the rustling faded into the distance, and before House knew it, he heard the door of his entrance click shut. He let out a relieved breath but stayed perfectly still for another few minutes. House then got up and hesitatingly opened the door of the bathroom that led to the hallway. He glanced into his bedroom and then limped to the living room. All was the same, empty and quiet, aside from a yellow sticky note on the coffee table.
House walked up to it reluctantly, unwilling to read the page. As if avoiding it would allow him to forget that any of it was true. He stood there for a moment, waiting for the thumping of his heart to slow from a running pace before he carefully picked up the short note.
Call me in the morning -W
House stared at the page until his eyes must’ve burned holes through it. That’s it? No: “I’m sorry” or “Are you okay?” or “Let’s talk after you feel better?” or “I’m sorry for screwing up so bad, I’ll leave you alone now.”
He crinkled up the page before tossing it into the trash and heading back to bed.
Wilson heard House shift against him constantly throughout the night. He made sure to note to himself to pick up melatonin at the pharmacy later in the day. When House moved to get up, Wilson pretended to sleep and let him slip out of his reach.
He heard some shuffling and then the creaking of the bathroom door, from the side of the hallway rather than the bedroom. Wilson wanted to go check up on House, but knew he wouldn’t let him and would just get angry. His eyes stared into the dark as his mind went into overdrive. He hated how he kept making things worse, but he was trying to fix this even though it kept getting messier and less effective. He didn’t know what to do, but without doing this, whatever this was, House would throw him out of his life, and he knew it. Maybe he should. It would certainly end their miserable relationship.
He urged himself not to spring up when he heard the sound of vomiting. A quiet, muffled cough ensued before he figured House turned on the faucet sink.
Wilson knew he couldn’t stay here. It felt wrong. Like, somehow all of this was his fault. He got up, making sure to make it heard before he almost stepped up to the bathroom door to call out to House and say something but thought better of it, so instead he rushed to the kitchen, reached for the note pad, scribbled in cursive a short note to let House know that he was not going to avoid this before he collected his coat and scarf on the couch, looked one last time towards the bedroom doorway, sighed and left.