Amnesty: Two House/Wilson fics
Okay, I am calling amnesty on these two House/Wilson fics from, er, 2007-2008.
First, what was going to be a sequel to No Pain. Summary: House conducts a study. Wilson isn't happy. ~1,000 words.
Despite House's recent transformation into a creature of the night, Wilson had not expected the guy's living room to be covered with blood when he checked in after work.
Well, not in a crime scene sense. Rather, most available surfaces were buried under heaps of blood bags, and the floor was littered with boxes of varying fullness stamped with labels like "Hemopure," "RHH" and "PHER-02." The whole place reeked; Wilson thought he could identify alcohol and antiseptic beneath the rich tang of blood. All he could see of House was the back of his head as he sat hunched over on the couch.
Wilson blinked. "Did I miss something?"
"Ah, Wilthong!" said House cheerfully.
Wilson dropped his things by the door and walked around the couch to find that House had a Sharpie between his teeth, which explained the strange diction. He was holding an empty blood bag with one hand and writing intently in a notebook with the other.
Beside the notebook on the coffee table lay more blood and saline bags, a tangle of medical equipment-at a glance, Wilson made out a blood pressure cuff, sat monitor and thermometer in the pile-and a haphazard stack of bookmarked journals. An open bottle of whiskey rose up from the center like a lone skyscraper.
He gestured helplessly at House and the room in general. "What are you-?"
Finished writing, House uncapped the Sharpie, marked an X on the bag and tossed it in an open box labeled "PolyHeme® CHP" before reclosing the marker with the cap still between his teeth and reaching for the next PolyHeme bag. He went through the movements with a smooth, practiced air, as if he'd been doing this all day, every day, since Wilson had last come over earlier in the week.
Oh, Jesus. Had he?
"I'm conducting a study of the effects of artificial blood on vampires," House finally said. He tore off the top of the bag with his teeth and spat the plastic out to one side. "Trying to isolate what, if anything, human blood has that sustains vampires that artificial blood doesn't."
As Wilson watched, he swallowed down the contents of the bag in long pulls without pausing.
"Gah," House said with an exaggerated grimace when he finished. "And I thought real bagged blood tasted bad." He reached for the whiskey and downed a generous shot straight from the bottle.
Wilson stared.
"Clears the palate," House said.
…
"I have a feeling the paper won't be accepted by the top medical journals, but I can still tell Cuddy I'm working."
…
Wilson waved an arm at the scene. "Any one of these could be toxic, let alone in the amounts and combinations you've been taking. You don't know what this body can handle. You could kill yourself."
House shrugged. "Then I'll know if there's life after undeath."
"You-" Wilson floundered for words. "You could be immortal, and you're still stupidly risking your life! You haven't changed at all!"
…
"There's no substitute for real, fresh, hot human blood, though."
Before he knew it, House had him by the back of the neck and pushed his nose and lips into Wilson's throat. Wilson put a hand on House's shoulder, ready to shove him away, but House didn't bite, only breathed in, long and appreciative.
Since he'd been turned, House always seemed to want to sniff at him. "What do I smell like to you?" Wilson wondered aloud.
"Like sex and a steak dinner and a shiny new bike," House murmured into his neck. His fingers tightened. "Like all the right answers."
…
"Wait. I can't come into work again looking like I've been attacked." The last few bites had come up in spectacular bruises, and there were only so many times he could explain them away as clumsiness or allergic reactions to mosquito bites. In winter. "Cuddy thinks I've picked up an abusive girlfriend. She keeps asking if there's something I want to talk to her about."
House shot him a wicked grin. "I know a place Cuddy won't check. Unless there's something you want to talk to me about."
…
[House tugs down Wilson's jeans, goes for the femoral artery]
Then came the increasingly familiar pinch-hot-burn-pain of House's fangs sliding through his skin to get to the artery, like being pierced with a pair of low-gauge needles. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the few seconds until the teeth retracted. House began to suck softly at the wound: warm lips, warm breath, wetness. Little zings of pleasure spiked out from the bite and from the suddenly sensitive places where House was resting his hands.
…
Uh, and then orgasms and happily ever after, in the sense of House continues to be an ass and Wilson continues to put up with it.
http://www.med.unipi.it/patchir/bloodl/bmr/tools/tools10.htm
http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn15083-how-vampires-evolved-to-live-on-blood-alone.html?feedId=online-news_rss20
Second, a medical kink story that I wanted to write after I learned what an endorectal coil is. It was going to be pervertible sex toy fic on an MRI machine bench, with Wilson strapped down in a vest-like torso coil and House teasing him. Alas, I never could bridge from the banter intro to the satisfying kinky sex part. ~800 words.
When he got the call from House at 8 p.m. telling him to drop his paperwork and come down to the MRI room, Wilson expected to find the team running an after-hours test on their patient, or, if he allowed himself a little optimism, House wanting to do a scan of his leg without anyone knowing about it.
Still, he had learned very soon after meeting him never to expect the expected when it came to House, and so he wasn't entirely startled to be greeted with a shirt thrown in his face when he opened the door.
"Please don't tell me you called me down here just to do that," he sighed as he caught the bundle of cloth before it fell to the floor. His view now unobstructed, he checked the dimly lit room for patient crises or booby traps, but there was only the innocuous-looking scanner and a suspiciously innocuous-looking House, standing between the MRI bench and a rolling metal cart with a line of instruments laid out on top.
"Nope. Just a fun bonus," House replied, disappearing behind the machine. "Put those on and get your butt over here."
Wilson disentangled the cloth in his hands and found that it wasn't a t-shirt after all but a pair of pale green scrubs. He raised his eyebrows. "Are we doing illicit surgery after hours on an invisible patient in the wrong room, or is this another one of your insane theories about my mental health that for some reason requires me to get a secret MRI?"
"Come, now, Watson," House said from out of sight, affecting a posh English accent. "Surely you can put your deductive powers to better use." He reappeared, holding a torso coil.
A thrill went through him.
But House couldn't be suggesting what he thought. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"
"Hold you down on this table."
Wilson stared. House lowered his head to adopt one of his many "you cannot be as stupid as you're pretending right now" expressions, and waited.
Torso coil. Holding him down. Tray of equipment. Deserted wing at night.
The thrill returned, but denial came by instinct. "I was drunk!"
"Which means you were telling the truth. You want this." House patted the bench. "You naughty boy."
"Okay, I'm not into dirty talk."
"Fine. Now stop stalling and go get dressed."
Wilson peered at the tray. A half-used tube of Surgilube, a pair of latex gloves, and, yep, the department's new endorectal coil. His heart beat faster at the thought that this could actually happen.
Still: "And what happens when the janitors walk by when we're in the middle of this?"
"We're alone until midnight." House held up a set of keys. "Your buddy Rosenthal owed me a favor for saving the chimps he calls a radiology team from misreading a brain scan. How d'you think I got in here?"
"Uh, you either broke in or stole a key?"
"I'm wounded. Now go."
Wilson went.
He padded back in a few minutes later wearing nothing but the scrubs and his socks. After he placed his shoes and folded clothes on the table by the door, he looked up to find House staring at him.
"What? You know as well as I do nobody in the world looks good in scrubs."
"Not the scrubs," House said in a low voice. He reached up and trailed a finger along the neckline, from Wilson's sternum up across his collarbone to his trapezius. Wilson shivered at the combination of the chill, the touch and House's intense gaze. "Skin." He let his hand pass over Wilson's shoulder before smoothing his palm down Wilson's bare arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. "Your skin. Hardly ever see so much of it." Up his arm again, this time dipping his thumb under the sleeve to caress Wilson's shoulder, once, fleetingly. "Never enough."
Without warning, House grabbed his ass. Wilson yelped and laughed at the same time, pushing involuntarily forward. His thinly covered groin brushed up against House's jeans, which turned his undignified exclamation into a soft indrawn breath. "Plus," House said, fingers circling in tandem over the thin cloth on his shoulder and butt, "I know you're naked under there."
Wilson gave him a crooked smile. "I'm naked under my work clothes every day."
"But you're more naked under this."
Wilson inclined his head. He wasn't going to argue the point with the man who was about to help him bring a longstanding fantasy to life.
House stepped away from him and patted the bench. "On your back."
Wilson sat, swung his legs up, and lay back. He gazed at the tiled ceiling and took a breath, letting his heart beat faster.
"Arms up."
He crossed his wrists over his head. "Do I get an IV and a panic button, too?"
"Masochistic on top of the medical fetish?"
Wilson's reply was cut off with an oof when House dropped the torso coil on his chest.
[… House straps on the torso coil.]
"Good?"
"Tighter."
[… And eventually they get around to inserting the endorectal coil, moving it slowly in and out.]
"Okay?"
"Mm."
[…And then they get off and I suppose it ends with a joke/comment that poorly conceals the fact that House loves him.]
Thanks for reading. :)
First, what was going to be a sequel to No Pain. Summary: House conducts a study. Wilson isn't happy. ~1,000 words.
Despite House's recent transformation into a creature of the night, Wilson had not expected the guy's living room to be covered with blood when he checked in after work.
Well, not in a crime scene sense. Rather, most available surfaces were buried under heaps of blood bags, and the floor was littered with boxes of varying fullness stamped with labels like "Hemopure," "RHH" and "PHER-02." The whole place reeked; Wilson thought he could identify alcohol and antiseptic beneath the rich tang of blood. All he could see of House was the back of his head as he sat hunched over on the couch.
Wilson blinked. "Did I miss something?"
"Ah, Wilthong!" said House cheerfully.
Wilson dropped his things by the door and walked around the couch to find that House had a Sharpie between his teeth, which explained the strange diction. He was holding an empty blood bag with one hand and writing intently in a notebook with the other.
Beside the notebook on the coffee table lay more blood and saline bags, a tangle of medical equipment-at a glance, Wilson made out a blood pressure cuff, sat monitor and thermometer in the pile-and a haphazard stack of bookmarked journals. An open bottle of whiskey rose up from the center like a lone skyscraper.
He gestured helplessly at House and the room in general. "What are you-?"
Finished writing, House uncapped the Sharpie, marked an X on the bag and tossed it in an open box labeled "PolyHeme® CHP" before reclosing the marker with the cap still between his teeth and reaching for the next PolyHeme bag. He went through the movements with a smooth, practiced air, as if he'd been doing this all day, every day, since Wilson had last come over earlier in the week.
Oh, Jesus. Had he?
"I'm conducting a study of the effects of artificial blood on vampires," House finally said. He tore off the top of the bag with his teeth and spat the plastic out to one side. "Trying to isolate what, if anything, human blood has that sustains vampires that artificial blood doesn't."
As Wilson watched, he swallowed down the contents of the bag in long pulls without pausing.
"Gah," House said with an exaggerated grimace when he finished. "And I thought real bagged blood tasted bad." He reached for the whiskey and downed a generous shot straight from the bottle.
Wilson stared.
"Clears the palate," House said.
…
"I have a feeling the paper won't be accepted by the top medical journals, but I can still tell Cuddy I'm working."
…
Wilson waved an arm at the scene. "Any one of these could be toxic, let alone in the amounts and combinations you've been taking. You don't know what this body can handle. You could kill yourself."
House shrugged. "Then I'll know if there's life after undeath."
"You-" Wilson floundered for words. "You could be immortal, and you're still stupidly risking your life! You haven't changed at all!"
…
"There's no substitute for real, fresh, hot human blood, though."
Before he knew it, House had him by the back of the neck and pushed his nose and lips into Wilson's throat. Wilson put a hand on House's shoulder, ready to shove him away, but House didn't bite, only breathed in, long and appreciative.
Since he'd been turned, House always seemed to want to sniff at him. "What do I smell like to you?" Wilson wondered aloud.
"Like sex and a steak dinner and a shiny new bike," House murmured into his neck. His fingers tightened. "Like all the right answers."
…
"Wait. I can't come into work again looking like I've been attacked." The last few bites had come up in spectacular bruises, and there were only so many times he could explain them away as clumsiness or allergic reactions to mosquito bites. In winter. "Cuddy thinks I've picked up an abusive girlfriend. She keeps asking if there's something I want to talk to her about."
House shot him a wicked grin. "I know a place Cuddy won't check. Unless there's something you want to talk to me about."
…
[House tugs down Wilson's jeans, goes for the femoral artery]
Then came the increasingly familiar pinch-hot-burn-pain of House's fangs sliding through his skin to get to the artery, like being pierced with a pair of low-gauge needles. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the few seconds until the teeth retracted. House began to suck softly at the wound: warm lips, warm breath, wetness. Little zings of pleasure spiked out from the bite and from the suddenly sensitive places where House was resting his hands.
…
Uh, and then orgasms and happily ever after, in the sense of House continues to be an ass and Wilson continues to put up with it.
http://www.med.unipi.it/patchir/bloodl/bmr/tools/tools10.htm
http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn15083-how-vampires-evolved-to-live-on-blood-alone.html?feedId=online-news_rss20
Second, a medical kink story that I wanted to write after I learned what an endorectal coil is. It was going to be pervertible sex toy fic on an MRI machine bench, with Wilson strapped down in a vest-like torso coil and House teasing him. Alas, I never could bridge from the banter intro to the satisfying kinky sex part. ~800 words.
When he got the call from House at 8 p.m. telling him to drop his paperwork and come down to the MRI room, Wilson expected to find the team running an after-hours test on their patient, or, if he allowed himself a little optimism, House wanting to do a scan of his leg without anyone knowing about it.
Still, he had learned very soon after meeting him never to expect the expected when it came to House, and so he wasn't entirely startled to be greeted with a shirt thrown in his face when he opened the door.
"Please don't tell me you called me down here just to do that," he sighed as he caught the bundle of cloth before it fell to the floor. His view now unobstructed, he checked the dimly lit room for patient crises or booby traps, but there was only the innocuous-looking scanner and a suspiciously innocuous-looking House, standing between the MRI bench and a rolling metal cart with a line of instruments laid out on top.
"Nope. Just a fun bonus," House replied, disappearing behind the machine. "Put those on and get your butt over here."
Wilson disentangled the cloth in his hands and found that it wasn't a t-shirt after all but a pair of pale green scrubs. He raised his eyebrows. "Are we doing illicit surgery after hours on an invisible patient in the wrong room, or is this another one of your insane theories about my mental health that for some reason requires me to get a secret MRI?"
"Come, now, Watson," House said from out of sight, affecting a posh English accent. "Surely you can put your deductive powers to better use." He reappeared, holding a torso coil.
A thrill went through him.
But House couldn't be suggesting what he thought. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"
"Hold you down on this table."
Wilson stared. House lowered his head to adopt one of his many "you cannot be as stupid as you're pretending right now" expressions, and waited.
Torso coil. Holding him down. Tray of equipment. Deserted wing at night.
The thrill returned, but denial came by instinct. "I was drunk!"
"Which means you were telling the truth. You want this." House patted the bench. "You naughty boy."
"Okay, I'm not into dirty talk."
"Fine. Now stop stalling and go get dressed."
Wilson peered at the tray. A half-used tube of Surgilube, a pair of latex gloves, and, yep, the department's new endorectal coil. His heart beat faster at the thought that this could actually happen.
Still: "And what happens when the janitors walk by when we're in the middle of this?"
"We're alone until midnight." House held up a set of keys. "Your buddy Rosenthal owed me a favor for saving the chimps he calls a radiology team from misreading a brain scan. How d'you think I got in here?"
"Uh, you either broke in or stole a key?"
"I'm wounded. Now go."
Wilson went.
He padded back in a few minutes later wearing nothing but the scrubs and his socks. After he placed his shoes and folded clothes on the table by the door, he looked up to find House staring at him.
"What? You know as well as I do nobody in the world looks good in scrubs."
"Not the scrubs," House said in a low voice. He reached up and trailed a finger along the neckline, from Wilson's sternum up across his collarbone to his trapezius. Wilson shivered at the combination of the chill, the touch and House's intense gaze. "Skin." He let his hand pass over Wilson's shoulder before smoothing his palm down Wilson's bare arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. "Your skin. Hardly ever see so much of it." Up his arm again, this time dipping his thumb under the sleeve to caress Wilson's shoulder, once, fleetingly. "Never enough."
Without warning, House grabbed his ass. Wilson yelped and laughed at the same time, pushing involuntarily forward. His thinly covered groin brushed up against House's jeans, which turned his undignified exclamation into a soft indrawn breath. "Plus," House said, fingers circling in tandem over the thin cloth on his shoulder and butt, "I know you're naked under there."
Wilson gave him a crooked smile. "I'm naked under my work clothes every day."
"But you're more naked under this."
Wilson inclined his head. He wasn't going to argue the point with the man who was about to help him bring a longstanding fantasy to life.
House stepped away from him and patted the bench. "On your back."
Wilson sat, swung his legs up, and lay back. He gazed at the tiled ceiling and took a breath, letting his heart beat faster.
"Arms up."
He crossed his wrists over his head. "Do I get an IV and a panic button, too?"
"Masochistic on top of the medical fetish?"
Wilson's reply was cut off with an oof when House dropped the torso coil on his chest.
[… House straps on the torso coil.]
"Good?"
"Tighter."
[… And eventually they get around to inserting the endorectal coil, moving it slowly in and out.]
"Okay?"
"Mm."
[…And then they get off and I suppose it ends with a joke/comment that poorly conceals the fact that House loves him.]
Thanks for reading. :)