M*A*S*H was on a commercial break when House decided he'd been circumspect long enough. "I still can't believe you never slept with any of them."
Wilson, slouched at the other end of the sofa, gave him the evil eye. "Oh, give it a rest. You're getting annoying." He flipped channels again and paused at a World's Strongest Man rerun.
House pressed on. "I mean, you flirt with everybody! Susan—that red-headed nurse in PICU—Sheila, in accounting —"
"I flirt with you," Wilson shot back. "Doesn't mean anything."
Hearing that smarted, a little. Realizing that it smarted was worse. When had he gotten invested in this?
Wilson must have seen something in his face. "What?" His voice was wary. "Don't tell me you didn't notice me flirting; you flirt right back."
"Your point?"
"You just got quiet. When you get quiet, you're upset about something. You can't be upset that I flirt with you..."
Don't figure this out, House thought. Don't be smart. Be an idiot for one more night.
"...unless you're upset that it wasn't going anywhere."
"Now who's being annoying?" House deflected.
But it didn't work. Wilson clicked the television off. He was sitting up now, looking energized. "Y'know, I'm a free man. I can do whatever I want."
"Not if it means molesting me."
"Hey!" He sounded genuinely offended. "It's not molesting if you want me to do it."
When Wilson had showed up on his doorstep, House had thought there was nothing sexier than Wilson disheveled and hurting. Now he had to admit the possibility that Wilson bright-eyed and bushy-tailed was every bit as alluring. Damn him.
Wilson apparently felt talkative now. "Something's bugging you. Spill."
"Oh, it's just that I'm not sure what's worse, you morose or you perky," House lied.
To his credit, Wilson ignored that. "C'mon. What's really eating you? You were into this idea until I actually suggested it."
House couldn't hold back. "What is this, some kind of appeal for parity? Your wife sleeps around, so you have to, too? Forgive me for not being flattered by your newfound interest." He took an unnecessarily long swig of his scotch and didn't look at Wilson. He hadn't meant to sound so hurt.
"House." Wilson's voice was quiet but compelling; House turned his head. "This isn't newfound interest. Are you insane? I can't remember a time when I didn't want to do this."
"But you just couldn't?" House did his best to sound mocking, not plaintive.
"Until now." Wilson licked his lips, unconsciously.
House felt his resolve weakening.
"It's been a really long time since I sucked a guy's dick," Wilson mused. There was a sly glint in his eye, like he hoped he knew what effect that image would have.
"I wonder if you remember how." Despite knowing what a bad idea this probably was—did he really want to be Wilson's rebound fuck?—House was starting to enjoy this. It had an inevitability to it. Honestly, who was he to fight against the inevitable? Especially if the inevitable included a blowjob from Wilson.
"I want to kiss you first. Can I —"
That was a stupid question, so House didn't let him finish it.
This was nothing like kissing Stacy. Wilson's mouth was sure, and his hand clenched hard on House's bicep. His mouth tasted like Oban. And then he slid to the floor between House's parted knees and yanked at House's belt.
The blowjob was inexpert. Wilson almost choked, at first. But he was eager—man, was he eager—and House gave himself over to it.
The hooker he'd called—his distraction, which come to think of it had been Wilson's idea, too—had been dissatisfying. Sleeping with Stacy had been a hell of a lot better. Relearning her body, the way she arched her back on top of him. Believing, for an instant, that things could work for them again.
But God help him, this was better still. This was a rush that left his body thrumming for more.
Wilson tightened his fist around the base of his cock and swirled his tongue around, then dove down to suck as much of him as he could manage. House looked down at the vision of Wilson between his legs, and bit back a moan as he came, hard.
Wilson leaned back, still kneeling. His mouth was wet and House could see his erection straining at his jeans.
"I don't do floor," House said, proud of how calm his voice sounded. "You want your turn, you'd better get to bed."
He almost laughed at how fast Wilson took off for the bedroom. By the time he got there, Wilson was naked, stretched out across the comforter.
His outflung arms hinted a desire for the bedposts, which House filed away for later. He wasn't about to tie Wilson down—it would take him too long to scrounge a quartet of neckties, among other things, and though he wouldn't have admitted it he was eager to get his mouth on Wilson's cock.
House made it as slow as he could manage. He licked everywhere, first, to a steady hum of appreciation, and then rubbed his face along the wet shaft. Wilson jerked under him, moaning in what might have been pain and might have been pleasure. Let him have beard burn in the morning: House didn't care. Wanted him to remember who'd done this.
Julie probably couldn't give head worth a damn. Most women couldn't. Besides, even if she could, she'd been doing somebody else, not Wilson, hadn't she?
The thought filled him with a tenderness he quickly suppressed. He couldn't afford to be too gentle. Wilson probably expected him to be a sadist, at least a little. Not into real pain—pain was too intimate a companion for him to find it remotely erotic—but into...stretching things out. Making a guy suffer a little on the way to the top. House was more than happy to oblige.
He hadn't done this in a while, either, but he remembered how to let a prick slide into and out of his mouth, arhythmic, keeping everything off-balance. How to blow a stream of air across the wet head, then suck it in, hard.
He wondered, idly, how many different ways he could make Wilson groan.
When he rubbed his thumb behind Wilson's balls, pressing just there, Wilson jerked into his grasp. "Jesus," he muttered. "Greg—ohh —"
Yeah. That was it. House exulted.
He pulled back and surveyed his handiwork. One Wilson, melted. He smirked. "Shove over," he said, elbowing Wilson in the ribs as he climbed up to the head of the bed.
"I c'n sleep on the couch if you want," Wilson mumbled.
"If I want you out of my bed, you'll know," House said, and yanked the covers up over them.
He was almost asleep when Wilson spoke again. "This was supposed to be the worst day of my life." There was something like wonderment in his voice.
"See what difference a good blowjob makes?"
"'ll have to remember that." Wilson sounded half-asleep himself.
If this worked, he'd have to thank Julie. Send her a card, maybe. The thought made him smile, there in the dark where the gently snoring Wilson couldn't see.
The End