Crash (PG-13)
Posted to house_wilson
Title: Crash
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Under 1500 words of cracky fun
Note: A silver anniversary present for fallen_arazil (six months on the Internet’s like twenty-five years in real life, isn’t it?). Written in the mystical POV known as true omniscient. For those outside the US, Canada, UK, and Deutschland, Pampered Chef is a real thing: http://www.pamperedchef.com/ Beta by the marvelous daisylily.
The scrape, click, and tumble of the lock echoed loudly through the house, cutting off all other sound. The door shook for a moment and then swung in quickly, the man with his hand on the doorknob staggering as the door pulled him along.
A second man, bundled against the winter weather, came stumbling only inches behind. He reached out and grabbed the taller man’s waist to steady them both. “House, what are we doing here, again?”
House planted his cane and pivoted to face Wilson. The door slipped shut behind them.
“You know what we’re doing,” he replied, bringing his left hand up under Wilson’s coat.
A sly smile spread across Wilson’s face, and he pulled House closer. “Mm hmm,” he said, “but why here? Of the options we know are open, there’s better music at Foreman’s place, and the cuffs are at Chase’s.”
Neither man had moved to take his coat off; they were more focused on their lower halves. House was unbuckling Wilson’s belt as he replied, “But I love Cuddy’s vibrator the best. It makes you shake in the most delicious way.”
Their mouths met fiercely, lips twisting and tongues thrusting. What little space had been between them disappeared as their bodies pressed desperately against each other.
“Lisa,” a low alto drawled, “you didn’t say there’d be a live show.”
The two men froze, coats askew and pants hanging low on their hips. Their heads turned in unison toward the source of the voice. In the living room sat six women, regarding them with expressions that ranged from shock to bemusement.
“Um,” Wilson and Cuddy said at the same time, both grasping for some way to bring this scene into the realm of normality. Brenda, she of the low alto, began to laugh. Cameron looked like she’d never be able to close her jaw again. Stacy covered her face with a hand, as the other two women exchanged slightly scared looks.
House smirked.
“All-girl orgy? And here I thought those letters to Penthouse were fake.”
Cuddy thought longingly of the Pepto-Bismol in her desk drawer at work. One of these days the stress House induced was going to cause her stomach to boil completely over, and she’d start breathing fire. Actually, maybe a flamethrower coming out of her mouth could keep him in line; nothing else seemed to. She opened her mouth to reply, when Dana suddenly found her voice.
“It’s, um, Pampered Chef. You know, like a Tupperware party but with cooking stuff?”
Brenda smiled proudly. Dana had only been part of the staff for a few weeks, fresh out of nursing school, but she was starting to gain a backbone. Good for her.
“Cooking stuff, huh?” House had let go of Wilson, who was hurriedly re-fastening his belt, and taken two steps into the living room. He was looming over the seated women in what Stacy felt was a patently obvious attempt to intimidate and retain the upper hand. The way that little mousy woman - Sherry? Sheryl? something like that - was trembling, almost in tears, might be leading him to think it was working. Stacy just shook her head and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Thank God she had lost her taste for curry.
House lasered in on Cuddy. “If it’s cooking stuff, you should’ve invited Wilson. He’s always interested in the latest gadget.”
She rose and fixed him with a glare. He might have height on her, but this was her house, goddammit. And she was definitely getting that home security system installed, the second the cleaners were done scrubbing the place from top to bottom.
“Wilson was invited,” she ground out between clenched teeth, and suddenly realized she was going to have to start monitoring her damn Head of Oncology too.
His face a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something he refused to admit was admiration, House twisted around toward the cringing Wilson. “Exhibitionism? That’s the kink you were saving to share with me later?”
“No!” Wilson shouted, just a smidge louder than he’d intended. He could feel his face growing even hotter as he continued in a quieter but no less frustrated voice, “This event was supposed to be at Cameron’s, and I’d said I couldn’t make it.”
“You didn’t tell me that’s why you didn’t want to go to Cameron’s. I thought it was just that the stuffed animals and little-girl lace curtains had freaked you out.”
Cameron wished she could fall through the floor. The thought of House and Dr. Wilson having sex in her bedroom was completely embarrassing. Well, not completely. It was also kind of… arousing. Which, she realized, did make the embarrassment complete. She fought herself, trying to be angry instead, that House would violate her in that way. Instead of the other way that she’d occasionally had dreams about -
She realized her face must have been redder than Wilson’s.
“Gotta pee,” House announced abruptly and marched off down the hallway, abandoning Wilson. I’m going to kill him, Wilson thought. I’m going to kill myself and then him. No, that won’t work; guess I have to kill him first. A gun would be quick; wonder if Foreman could get me one. He closed his eyes against that thought. Way to be racist, James. The sound of a loud sob broke his train of thought, and his eyes popped open.
Except for Brenda, who was awkwardly patting her shoulder, everyone in the room was staring at the sniffling woman huddled in a chair.
Wilson sighed, guilt now eating away at the embarrassment. After a moment, he called, “Sharon,” stretching one hand to her. “I’m sorry; it’s just -”
She shrank away, turning and pressing her face to Brenda’s shoulder. Brenda gave Wilson her look of death, but whether it was for hurting Sharon or putting Brenda in the position of having to comfort her, he couldn’t tell.
“Alrighty then!” House hollered as he re-entered the room. He took in the sight of the crying woman, huddled against Brenda’s shoulder, for God’s sake, and shook his head in exasperation. “Wilson. Another nurse?”
“Sonographer!” Sharon exclaimed, practically spitting at House. “I’m a diagnostic medical sonographer, not a nurse!” She turned her head up toward Brenda. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Brenda replied, and really, none was, because Brenda knew she was pulling in double what Sharon was. You are in deep shit for fooling around with Dr. Hands behind my back, though, Brenda thought. Good thing I’m a forgiving woman.
Shoving Wilson’s shoulder, House began to edge out of the room. “We’ll just be running along now. Have fun at your orgy, I mean, party.”
“House!” Cuddy yelled, stomping out to the foyer. “Give me back my key!” The silver key came flying back and, rather unbelievably, hit Cuddy’s cleavage and slid down her shirt.
“Two points!” was the last thing the women in the living room heard before the door slammed shut.
Dana took a deep breath and stood up. “As I was saying, one of the great things about bamboo cooking utensils is how well they resist staining and cracking…”
Wilson sulked all the way back to House’s apartment. It would’ve perturbed House, if Sulky Wilson wasn’t his fourth cutest incarnation. As it was, House just turned up the music, kept sneaking peeks out of the corner of his eye, and did his best to keep his amusement hidden. Amusement, of course, would turn him into Bitchy Wilson, which was so far off the cute list it wasn’t funny. Or amusing.
With the front door shut firmly behind them, House grabbed Wilson as he attempted to stalk off. “I believe we were right… here,” he said, and tugged at Wilson’s belt buckle.
“What?” Wilson yelled, and yanked his pants out of House’s grip. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this agitated. For a man with an incessant need to know and elephant-like recall, House could be remarkably selective with his short-term memory.
“We just inadvertently came out in front of a room full of people, including our boss, your employee, your ex, my…well, I’m sure now she’s an ex, in the most graphic way possible without nudity. Plus I’m pretty certain we confessed to regularly using our co-workers’ homes and personal possessions in the process of our affair. And to having kinks, plural. And possibly the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby.
“You, of course, have no shame, but I am utterly and completed humiliated and just inches away from committing ritual suicide. What in the world makes you think I would be willing to have sex now?”
Wilson’s thighs began to tremble lightly as a buzzing filled the air. “The fact that I swiped Cuddy’s vibrator,” House purred triumphantly against his ear.
Title: Crash
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Under 1500 words of cracky fun
Note: A silver anniversary present for fallen_arazil (six months on the Internet’s like twenty-five years in real life, isn’t it?). Written in the mystical POV known as true omniscient. For those outside the US, Canada, UK, and Deutschland, Pampered Chef is a real thing: http://www.pamperedchef.com/ Beta by the marvelous daisylily.
The scrape, click, and tumble of the lock echoed loudly through the house, cutting off all other sound. The door shook for a moment and then swung in quickly, the man with his hand on the doorknob staggering as the door pulled him along.
A second man, bundled against the winter weather, came stumbling only inches behind. He reached out and grabbed the taller man’s waist to steady them both. “House, what are we doing here, again?”
House planted his cane and pivoted to face Wilson. The door slipped shut behind them.
“You know what we’re doing,” he replied, bringing his left hand up under Wilson’s coat.
A sly smile spread across Wilson’s face, and he pulled House closer. “Mm hmm,” he said, “but why here? Of the options we know are open, there’s better music at Foreman’s place, and the cuffs are at Chase’s.”
Neither man had moved to take his coat off; they were more focused on their lower halves. House was unbuckling Wilson’s belt as he replied, “But I love Cuddy’s vibrator the best. It makes you shake in the most delicious way.”
Their mouths met fiercely, lips twisting and tongues thrusting. What little space had been between them disappeared as their bodies pressed desperately against each other.
“Lisa,” a low alto drawled, “you didn’t say there’d be a live show.”
The two men froze, coats askew and pants hanging low on their hips. Their heads turned in unison toward the source of the voice. In the living room sat six women, regarding them with expressions that ranged from shock to bemusement.
“Um,” Wilson and Cuddy said at the same time, both grasping for some way to bring this scene into the realm of normality. Brenda, she of the low alto, began to laugh. Cameron looked like she’d never be able to close her jaw again. Stacy covered her face with a hand, as the other two women exchanged slightly scared looks.
House smirked.
“All-girl orgy? And here I thought those letters to Penthouse were fake.”
Cuddy thought longingly of the Pepto-Bismol in her desk drawer at work. One of these days the stress House induced was going to cause her stomach to boil completely over, and she’d start breathing fire. Actually, maybe a flamethrower coming out of her mouth could keep him in line; nothing else seemed to. She opened her mouth to reply, when Dana suddenly found her voice.
“It’s, um, Pampered Chef. You know, like a Tupperware party but with cooking stuff?”
Brenda smiled proudly. Dana had only been part of the staff for a few weeks, fresh out of nursing school, but she was starting to gain a backbone. Good for her.
“Cooking stuff, huh?” House had let go of Wilson, who was hurriedly re-fastening his belt, and taken two steps into the living room. He was looming over the seated women in what Stacy felt was a patently obvious attempt to intimidate and retain the upper hand. The way that little mousy woman - Sherry? Sheryl? something like that - was trembling, almost in tears, might be leading him to think it was working. Stacy just shook her head and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Thank God she had lost her taste for curry.
House lasered in on Cuddy. “If it’s cooking stuff, you should’ve invited Wilson. He’s always interested in the latest gadget.”
She rose and fixed him with a glare. He might have height on her, but this was her house, goddammit. And she was definitely getting that home security system installed, the second the cleaners were done scrubbing the place from top to bottom.
“Wilson was invited,” she ground out between clenched teeth, and suddenly realized she was going to have to start monitoring her damn Head of Oncology too.
His face a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something he refused to admit was admiration, House twisted around toward the cringing Wilson. “Exhibitionism? That’s the kink you were saving to share with me later?”
“No!” Wilson shouted, just a smidge louder than he’d intended. He could feel his face growing even hotter as he continued in a quieter but no less frustrated voice, “This event was supposed to be at Cameron’s, and I’d said I couldn’t make it.”
“You didn’t tell me that’s why you didn’t want to go to Cameron’s. I thought it was just that the stuffed animals and little-girl lace curtains had freaked you out.”
Cameron wished she could fall through the floor. The thought of House and Dr. Wilson having sex in her bedroom was completely embarrassing. Well, not completely. It was also kind of… arousing. Which, she realized, did make the embarrassment complete. She fought herself, trying to be angry instead, that House would violate her in that way. Instead of the other way that she’d occasionally had dreams about -
She realized her face must have been redder than Wilson’s.
“Gotta pee,” House announced abruptly and marched off down the hallway, abandoning Wilson. I’m going to kill him, Wilson thought. I’m going to kill myself and then him. No, that won’t work; guess I have to kill him first. A gun would be quick; wonder if Foreman could get me one. He closed his eyes against that thought. Way to be racist, James. The sound of a loud sob broke his train of thought, and his eyes popped open.
Except for Brenda, who was awkwardly patting her shoulder, everyone in the room was staring at the sniffling woman huddled in a chair.
Wilson sighed, guilt now eating away at the embarrassment. After a moment, he called, “Sharon,” stretching one hand to her. “I’m sorry; it’s just -”
She shrank away, turning and pressing her face to Brenda’s shoulder. Brenda gave Wilson her look of death, but whether it was for hurting Sharon or putting Brenda in the position of having to comfort her, he couldn’t tell.
“Alrighty then!” House hollered as he re-entered the room. He took in the sight of the crying woman, huddled against Brenda’s shoulder, for God’s sake, and shook his head in exasperation. “Wilson. Another nurse?”
“Sonographer!” Sharon exclaimed, practically spitting at House. “I’m a diagnostic medical sonographer, not a nurse!” She turned her head up toward Brenda. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Brenda replied, and really, none was, because Brenda knew she was pulling in double what Sharon was. You are in deep shit for fooling around with Dr. Hands behind my back, though, Brenda thought. Good thing I’m a forgiving woman.
Shoving Wilson’s shoulder, House began to edge out of the room. “We’ll just be running along now. Have fun at your orgy, I mean, party.”
“House!” Cuddy yelled, stomping out to the foyer. “Give me back my key!” The silver key came flying back and, rather unbelievably, hit Cuddy’s cleavage and slid down her shirt.
“Two points!” was the last thing the women in the living room heard before the door slammed shut.
Dana took a deep breath and stood up. “As I was saying, one of the great things about bamboo cooking utensils is how well they resist staining and cracking…”
Wilson sulked all the way back to House’s apartment. It would’ve perturbed House, if Sulky Wilson wasn’t his fourth cutest incarnation. As it was, House just turned up the music, kept sneaking peeks out of the corner of his eye, and did his best to keep his amusement hidden. Amusement, of course, would turn him into Bitchy Wilson, which was so far off the cute list it wasn’t funny. Or amusing.
With the front door shut firmly behind them, House grabbed Wilson as he attempted to stalk off. “I believe we were right… here,” he said, and tugged at Wilson’s belt buckle.
“What?” Wilson yelled, and yanked his pants out of House’s grip. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this agitated. For a man with an incessant need to know and elephant-like recall, House could be remarkably selective with his short-term memory.
“We just inadvertently came out in front of a room full of people, including our boss, your employee, your ex, my…well, I’m sure now she’s an ex, in the most graphic way possible without nudity. Plus I’m pretty certain we confessed to regularly using our co-workers’ homes and personal possessions in the process of our affair. And to having kinks, plural. And possibly the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby.
“You, of course, have no shame, but I am utterly and completed humiliated and just inches away from committing ritual suicide. What in the world makes you think I would be willing to have sex now?”
Wilson’s thighs began to tremble lightly as a buzzing filled the air. “The fact that I swiped Cuddy’s vibrator,” House purred triumphantly against his ear.