Wilson wasn't surprised to find House in his office. "That was a hell of a lecture," he said, sitting on the edge of House's desk.
House sent his yo-yo towards Wilson's ankles, drawing back before impact. "I hate medical students."
"You hate everybody."
"Which includes medical students."
There was a silence. "You gonna see her husband tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
Wilson took a breath. "I told Julie I'm on call tonight—"
"I don't need a babysitter."
"I was hoping for pizza and a good fuck." Sometimes bluntness was the only way to shut House up.
"That's not appropriate babysitter behavior." The yo-yo zipped back into his palm. "Hmm: I run into my ex and suddenly you want to get laid. Jealous?"
Wilson ignored that. "Come on," he said, and pulled out the biggest gun he had. "Please." If he hadn't been paying close attention, he would have missed House's slight flush.
House stood and shouldered past him, heading for the door. "You ask so nice."
"I can ask a lot nicer."
He should have known House would hold him to that.
"I thought you were going to ask." Right in his ear, making him quiver.
Snark should not be so sexy. "If I open my mouth now, I'm going to say all kinds of—ohh—idiot things," he managed. He waited for the predictable retort, but it didn't come.
House's voice was barely above a whisper. "Say them."
The surprise of it made Wilson jerk into House's grasp. House skated his hand down, tugged at Wilson's balls, and Wilson choked on a moan.
The first words out of his mouth were "Oh God." House made an approving sound. Megalomaniac bastard. "This feels so good, you have no idea."
"I think I can imagine."
"I want you to fuck me," Wilson blurted. He felt perilously close to babbling. He wanted it hard and fast, but that was the one thing he couldn't ask for. Reminding House of what his body couldn't do anymore: not a good plan, unless he wanted the evening to end very, very badly. "Nice and slow."
His deliberate strokes turned Wilson's nerves into a tangled skein of pleasure. "God. God. Oh God."
"You said that already." House didn't quite manage his usual dry tone.
"Please," Wilson managed. It really was a magic word: House's thrusts got jerkier, deeper. It was possible Wilson might die from this, it felt so fucking good.
Greg wanted him to talk dirty. He opened his mouth to try, but words were leaving him. "Greg, I—please."
And then he was being pounded into the mattress, almost sobbing. Behind him Greg murmured, "yeah," voice rough, though which one of them he meant to encourage toward climax Wilson couldn't say.
"You're a real friend," House observed, after. "Willing to come your brains out just to improve my day."
"Hey, somebody had to do it."
House snorted.
"Go to sleep," Wilson said.
"For you," House said. "But only since you asked."
The End