Leave in Quiet (R)
Posted to house_wilson
Title: Leave in Quiet
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating/Warning: R (“sex and violent classes”)
Notes: Takes place directly after episode 3-15, "Half-Wit"; spoilers to that point. Written for karaokegal, in hopes of jumping the queue. Thanks to the ever-superb daisylily for beta and to QOP nightdog_barks for her expertise. There's a short sequel to this: Un-See, and then a longer sequel set after episode 4-16: Nothing on the Radio.
I’ve everything to show
I’ve everything to hide
Look into my eyes, listen to the radio
I turned up the radio - but I can’t hear it
What are you saying? What are you playing?
Who are you obeying day out, day in?
Baby baby baby baby - that stuff is driving me crazy
DJs communicate to the masses - sex and violent classes
The kitchen light was off as House walked in the front door of his apartment. He only had a second to wonder about this anomaly before the voice hit his ears.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
He smirked into the darkness and shut the door behind himself. That time again. He normally lied in these cases, but on this particular night the truth was so pleasantly perfect.
“Out with the kiddies. Cold beer, warm laughter, pizza and camaraderie. You know how Chase’s accent deepens and Cameron’s cheeks turn rosy when they have a couple under their belts. Oh no, wait, you don’t.”
His eyes had adjusted just enough to see a form rising from the couch, moving quickly. The lamp flashed on, directly in his eyes, and in the time it took him to blink the spots away, the form was in front of him. A strong hand slammed into his left shoulder, and he jerked back, twisting his right thigh in the process. The pain lanced up and down, dull ache transforming into sharp jabs. As he brought his hands up to push back, he was stripped of his cane.
“Liar,” Wilson hissed, and smacked the wood hard into the side of House’s right calf.
“Not tonight,” House laughed, even as his calf began to throb in time with his thigh. He bent his left knee and tried to widen his left foot, to bear all his weight so he could stay upright as long as possible. “Tonight I followed somebody’s advice about pizza with friends and taking a chance. It was totally worth it - Foreman knows some of the best filthy jokes I’ve ever heard.”
He felt Wilson’s hands at his waist first, slowly but firmly grasping him, steadying him. Then Wilson’s body began to press into his: groin, thighs, abdomen, chest. Wilson’s breath blew hot across his neck, right along his shirt collar. House waited, heart rate rising, dick rising against the hardness thrusting shallowly against him. He thought for a moment that Wilson might be changing the rules of their game, but then a foot hooked behind House’s left ankle and yanked. Wilson’s hands flew away, and House went down, hard.
He swung his legs as he fell, hoping to pull Wilson down with him, but succeeded only in getting his shins stomped. Stretching backward over the couch, Wilson then shoved the floor lamp over, casting them into shadow. House struggled to rise, but was thrust back into the floor by Wilson’s left knee on his sternum.
“You son of a bitch,” Wilson exhaled, and grabbed House’s wrists, pinning them to the floor just above House’s head. “Do you know what I felt when I first heard you had brain cancer?”
House wheezed and gasped in a struggle to bring air into lungs compressed by Wilson’s weight. Wilson shifted his knee off House’s chest, digging it into House’s right side before finally letting it rest on the floor. He shifted back several inches, dragging House’s arms down with him, and sat squarely on House’s groin.
Taking a painful breath, House was at last able to reply, “You felt relieved.” He was rewarded for his correct answer by Wilson digging his fingernails into the healthy flesh just to either side of the scar on House’s thigh. Wilson then dragged the fingernails along, tracing the outline of the scar all the way down and then up again. The searing threatened to take House’s breath away again, and he fought to keep his eyes open.
“I was glad.” There was just enough light to see the reflection of Wilson’s teeth bared in a wide grin. “Finally, I thought. Finally House is getting his shit together, and doing what he’s supposed to do.”
Wilson was grinding into House’s erection, the press and release of weight setting a tempo for the throbs of pain pulsing out of his thigh.
“Finally, House is going to die.”
Wilson’s mouth descended swiftly on House’s. Their teeth clashed and House’s lip got caught in the crossfire. He barely felt the tear, but the blood tasted sweet. Wilson thrust his tongue into the gash, and then deep into House’s mouth, probing, stabbing, choking.
Just as House began to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen, Wilson pulled back. He reared up and then slammed back down into House’s groin. House began to curl up against the ache, but Wilson shoved his forearm across House’s face to smack House’s head once more into the hard wood floor.
“But you fucked that up, didn’t you?” Wilson’s voice was loud in House’s ear; his breath was hot on House’s ear and neck. “Just like you fucked up all those other times you could’ve died… should’ve died. You’re a screw-up, Gregory House. Can’t do a damn thing right.”
Wilson was dragging himself down House’s body, muttering as he went. “And everyone makes it so easy for you, too. I give you Vicodin, as much as you want, pills and pills and pills. Cuddy goads you off the Vicodin, shows you the pain and futility of your life, and you do nothing. Pathetic.”
House’s belt buckle clinked and clanked as Wilson roughly yanked it open. The zipper was next, the teeth digging into House’s belly through his boxers as it opened.
“You’re shot, twice, point blank. All you have to do is spill all your blood on the floor, no effort at all, and you can’t even do that properly.”
His hips were wrenched violently side to side as Wilson yanked down his jeans. House made no move to help; in fact, he used his rapidly fading strength to press his lower half into the floor and make the process as difficult as possible. The resulting scrape of rough denim against the skin of his ass was exactly the result he’d wanted.
“Then it’s Christmas time, I’m feeling generous, and I lead your feeble, pitiable detoxing ass straight to a big ol’ bottle of oxycodone. Let you know what I want with a silly ‘preferring people to pills’ remark.” Wilson bit the inside of House’s left thigh with a perfect pressure, just short of breaking the skin. Dragging his teeth, he pulled off but kept his head tilted for a moment toward the spot where the bruise was blooming.
“Drop off a pretty, pretty bottle of Maker’s Mark at your apartment, and let you do your thing. Call you three times to prompt you, fucking remind you, and you can’t even fucking overdose right!”
House’s boxers and jeans had bunched at mid-thigh, and Wilson bore down with his forearms, driving the compacted, stiff folds of fabric painfully into House’s muscles. Then Wilson’s head descended again, and it was the shallowest, loosest, driest blowjob House had ever received. Wilson didn’t bite but he was in no way careful with his teeth. House arched up, sucked in a long breath, and concentrated on not immediately coming. It was so, so difficult, and House did the only thing he could think of.
“Cameron!” he gasped.
The effect was immediate. Wilson jerked up, stalked forward on his knees - in the process trapping House’s arms tightly against his sides - and slapped House full across the face. “You are never to call out that bitch’s name when we’re doing this.”
House looked up, past the hardness curving Wilson’s fly and into the eyes that were blazing hot just for him. “Not calling her name,” he panted. “Warning you.”
He swallowed and continued in a clearer voice, “She called me just before I got home and said she had my wallet. She was going to have another drink or two with Chase and then bring it by.”
Sensing Wilson was about to draw away, House grabbed at Wilson’s ass and pulled him closer. His lips ached to close around the bulge, but he had to wait for Wilson to let him, to force him. Instead, he panted hot, letting his breath caress where his mouth was not yet permitted.
Wilson denied House even this, tilting House’s chin up with a jabbing finger. “You’ll get rid of her, and then you’ll come to bed. We’re not close to being done.”
“The last time she saw me like this,” House said, and choked as Wilson’s hand clamped around his larynx. He coughed and gasped for a moment until the pressure loosened enough for him to continue. “When she saw me like this, she forced her way in and bandaged my wounds.”
Wilson laughed deeply. It was a good laugh, a great one, with fire and passion, and not a bit of the false edge of his laughter earlier in the day.
“She thought you’d made those cuts on your arm.”
“For endorphins, I told her.”
Wilson was pleased, House could tell. He knew because Wilson consented to bring his groin back close to House’s mouth. House breathed in deeply and imagined he could smell Wilson’s balls through his slacks.
“She’s not bright, not in the ways that count,” Wilson mused. He pulled away abruptly, ignoring House’s whimpers of protest. “But she can’t come in tonight, and you obviously cannot be trusted to prevent that.”
Wilson’s face dove suddenly near, and House stretched up toward him, begging silently for another kiss. “Too weak,” Wilson over-articulated; House stretched more desperately for a taste of those dancing lips. Wilson denied him.
And then Wilson denied him further by moving up and away, stripping House of the beautiful heavy pressure. Without that contact, House began to feel that he was floating, and the awful unmoored sensation caused panic to claw at him.
“Get up,” snarled Wilson, and House wanted nothing more. But his throat was closing and his muscles were on strike.
He managed to squeak, “My leg,” and Wilson took mercy on him.
Strong hands grabbed under House’s armpits and yanked him to a sitting position. “Useless,” Wilson spat, as he shoved his left shoulder under House’s arm and into House’s side.
Wilson’s sturdy arms surrounded House, embracing him, squeezing him, pulling him upright. “Weak and useless,” Wilson reiterated, as he jerked House’s jeans and underwear back up over his hips. House ducked his head and kept it low - it seemed obscene at that moment to present himself as taller than Wilson.
When House’s feet were fully under him, and his jeans were fastened enough to keep them out of the way, Wilson began dragging House down the hall. House did his best to keep up and tried not to stumble.
Then he was twisting, flying through the air, landing hard on his back on the mattress, and Wilson was there, every bit of him, covering House, heavy and secure.
Wilson crashed his mouth onto House’s, and House’s teeth began to ache. He thought one of Wilson’s incisors might have just scratched his gum. Wilson’s fingernails were digging everywhere, and the bursts of pain were sparks that flashed bright.
The loud knock at the door startled House, but Wilson seemed ready for it. “You will remain silent,” he ordered, before pushing off House roughly. He stretched for something over House’s head, and House was allowed for a quick moment to contemplate the lines of Wilson’s torso before his vision was blocked.
“Silent,” Wilson hissed, and shoved the pillow into House’s face. House grabbed blindly for Wilson’s hand, to hold him there just one second more, but all he found was cold, smooth cotton.
No matter. House clutched the pillow and wrapped it around his head. He would be quiet, and Wilson would take care of everything. Wilson always took care of his House, always provided what his House needed.
House breathed deeply, slowly, and smiled, content.
Title: Leave in Quiet
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating/Warning: R (“sex and violent classes”)
Notes: Takes place directly after episode 3-15, "Half-Wit"; spoilers to that point. Written for karaokegal, in hopes of jumping the queue. Thanks to the ever-superb daisylily for beta and to QOP nightdog_barks for her expertise. There's a short sequel to this: Un-See, and then a longer sequel set after episode 4-16: Nothing on the Radio.
I’ve everything to show
I’ve everything to hide
Look into my eyes, listen to the radio
I turned up the radio - but I can’t hear it
What are you saying? What are you playing?
Who are you obeying day out, day in?
Baby baby baby baby - that stuff is driving me crazy
DJs communicate to the masses - sex and violent classes
The kitchen light was off as House walked in the front door of his apartment. He only had a second to wonder about this anomaly before the voice hit his ears.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
He smirked into the darkness and shut the door behind himself. That time again. He normally lied in these cases, but on this particular night the truth was so pleasantly perfect.
“Out with the kiddies. Cold beer, warm laughter, pizza and camaraderie. You know how Chase’s accent deepens and Cameron’s cheeks turn rosy when they have a couple under their belts. Oh no, wait, you don’t.”
His eyes had adjusted just enough to see a form rising from the couch, moving quickly. The lamp flashed on, directly in his eyes, and in the time it took him to blink the spots away, the form was in front of him. A strong hand slammed into his left shoulder, and he jerked back, twisting his right thigh in the process. The pain lanced up and down, dull ache transforming into sharp jabs. As he brought his hands up to push back, he was stripped of his cane.
“Liar,” Wilson hissed, and smacked the wood hard into the side of House’s right calf.
“Not tonight,” House laughed, even as his calf began to throb in time with his thigh. He bent his left knee and tried to widen his left foot, to bear all his weight so he could stay upright as long as possible. “Tonight I followed somebody’s advice about pizza with friends and taking a chance. It was totally worth it - Foreman knows some of the best filthy jokes I’ve ever heard.”
He felt Wilson’s hands at his waist first, slowly but firmly grasping him, steadying him. Then Wilson’s body began to press into his: groin, thighs, abdomen, chest. Wilson’s breath blew hot across his neck, right along his shirt collar. House waited, heart rate rising, dick rising against the hardness thrusting shallowly against him. He thought for a moment that Wilson might be changing the rules of their game, but then a foot hooked behind House’s left ankle and yanked. Wilson’s hands flew away, and House went down, hard.
He swung his legs as he fell, hoping to pull Wilson down with him, but succeeded only in getting his shins stomped. Stretching backward over the couch, Wilson then shoved the floor lamp over, casting them into shadow. House struggled to rise, but was thrust back into the floor by Wilson’s left knee on his sternum.
“You son of a bitch,” Wilson exhaled, and grabbed House’s wrists, pinning them to the floor just above House’s head. “Do you know what I felt when I first heard you had brain cancer?”
House wheezed and gasped in a struggle to bring air into lungs compressed by Wilson’s weight. Wilson shifted his knee off House’s chest, digging it into House’s right side before finally letting it rest on the floor. He shifted back several inches, dragging House’s arms down with him, and sat squarely on House’s groin.
Taking a painful breath, House was at last able to reply, “You felt relieved.” He was rewarded for his correct answer by Wilson digging his fingernails into the healthy flesh just to either side of the scar on House’s thigh. Wilson then dragged the fingernails along, tracing the outline of the scar all the way down and then up again. The searing threatened to take House’s breath away again, and he fought to keep his eyes open.
“I was glad.” There was just enough light to see the reflection of Wilson’s teeth bared in a wide grin. “Finally, I thought. Finally House is getting his shit together, and doing what he’s supposed to do.”
Wilson was grinding into House’s erection, the press and release of weight setting a tempo for the throbs of pain pulsing out of his thigh.
“Finally, House is going to die.”
Wilson’s mouth descended swiftly on House’s. Their teeth clashed and House’s lip got caught in the crossfire. He barely felt the tear, but the blood tasted sweet. Wilson thrust his tongue into the gash, and then deep into House’s mouth, probing, stabbing, choking.
Just as House began to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen, Wilson pulled back. He reared up and then slammed back down into House’s groin. House began to curl up against the ache, but Wilson shoved his forearm across House’s face to smack House’s head once more into the hard wood floor.
“But you fucked that up, didn’t you?” Wilson’s voice was loud in House’s ear; his breath was hot on House’s ear and neck. “Just like you fucked up all those other times you could’ve died… should’ve died. You’re a screw-up, Gregory House. Can’t do a damn thing right.”
Wilson was dragging himself down House’s body, muttering as he went. “And everyone makes it so easy for you, too. I give you Vicodin, as much as you want, pills and pills and pills. Cuddy goads you off the Vicodin, shows you the pain and futility of your life, and you do nothing. Pathetic.”
House’s belt buckle clinked and clanked as Wilson roughly yanked it open. The zipper was next, the teeth digging into House’s belly through his boxers as it opened.
“You’re shot, twice, point blank. All you have to do is spill all your blood on the floor, no effort at all, and you can’t even do that properly.”
His hips were wrenched violently side to side as Wilson yanked down his jeans. House made no move to help; in fact, he used his rapidly fading strength to press his lower half into the floor and make the process as difficult as possible. The resulting scrape of rough denim against the skin of his ass was exactly the result he’d wanted.
“Then it’s Christmas time, I’m feeling generous, and I lead your feeble, pitiable detoxing ass straight to a big ol’ bottle of oxycodone. Let you know what I want with a silly ‘preferring people to pills’ remark.” Wilson bit the inside of House’s left thigh with a perfect pressure, just short of breaking the skin. Dragging his teeth, he pulled off but kept his head tilted for a moment toward the spot where the bruise was blooming.
“Drop off a pretty, pretty bottle of Maker’s Mark at your apartment, and let you do your thing. Call you three times to prompt you, fucking remind you, and you can’t even fucking overdose right!”
House’s boxers and jeans had bunched at mid-thigh, and Wilson bore down with his forearms, driving the compacted, stiff folds of fabric painfully into House’s muscles. Then Wilson’s head descended again, and it was the shallowest, loosest, driest blowjob House had ever received. Wilson didn’t bite but he was in no way careful with his teeth. House arched up, sucked in a long breath, and concentrated on not immediately coming. It was so, so difficult, and House did the only thing he could think of.
“Cameron!” he gasped.
The effect was immediate. Wilson jerked up, stalked forward on his knees - in the process trapping House’s arms tightly against his sides - and slapped House full across the face. “You are never to call out that bitch’s name when we’re doing this.”
House looked up, past the hardness curving Wilson’s fly and into the eyes that were blazing hot just for him. “Not calling her name,” he panted. “Warning you.”
He swallowed and continued in a clearer voice, “She called me just before I got home and said she had my wallet. She was going to have another drink or two with Chase and then bring it by.”
Sensing Wilson was about to draw away, House grabbed at Wilson’s ass and pulled him closer. His lips ached to close around the bulge, but he had to wait for Wilson to let him, to force him. Instead, he panted hot, letting his breath caress where his mouth was not yet permitted.
Wilson denied House even this, tilting House’s chin up with a jabbing finger. “You’ll get rid of her, and then you’ll come to bed. We’re not close to being done.”
“The last time she saw me like this,” House said, and choked as Wilson’s hand clamped around his larynx. He coughed and gasped for a moment until the pressure loosened enough for him to continue. “When she saw me like this, she forced her way in and bandaged my wounds.”
Wilson laughed deeply. It was a good laugh, a great one, with fire and passion, and not a bit of the false edge of his laughter earlier in the day.
“She thought you’d made those cuts on your arm.”
“For endorphins, I told her.”
Wilson was pleased, House could tell. He knew because Wilson consented to bring his groin back close to House’s mouth. House breathed in deeply and imagined he could smell Wilson’s balls through his slacks.
“She’s not bright, not in the ways that count,” Wilson mused. He pulled away abruptly, ignoring House’s whimpers of protest. “But she can’t come in tonight, and you obviously cannot be trusted to prevent that.”
Wilson’s face dove suddenly near, and House stretched up toward him, begging silently for another kiss. “Too weak,” Wilson over-articulated; House stretched more desperately for a taste of those dancing lips. Wilson denied him.
And then Wilson denied him further by moving up and away, stripping House of the beautiful heavy pressure. Without that contact, House began to feel that he was floating, and the awful unmoored sensation caused panic to claw at him.
“Get up,” snarled Wilson, and House wanted nothing more. But his throat was closing and his muscles were on strike.
He managed to squeak, “My leg,” and Wilson took mercy on him.
Strong hands grabbed under House’s armpits and yanked him to a sitting position. “Useless,” Wilson spat, as he shoved his left shoulder under House’s arm and into House’s side.
Wilson’s sturdy arms surrounded House, embracing him, squeezing him, pulling him upright. “Weak and useless,” Wilson reiterated, as he jerked House’s jeans and underwear back up over his hips. House ducked his head and kept it low - it seemed obscene at that moment to present himself as taller than Wilson.
When House’s feet were fully under him, and his jeans were fastened enough to keep them out of the way, Wilson began dragging House down the hall. House did his best to keep up and tried not to stumble.
Then he was twisting, flying through the air, landing hard on his back on the mattress, and Wilson was there, every bit of him, covering House, heavy and secure.
Wilson crashed his mouth onto House’s, and House’s teeth began to ache. He thought one of Wilson’s incisors might have just scratched his gum. Wilson’s fingernails were digging everywhere, and the bursts of pain were sparks that flashed bright.
The loud knock at the door startled House, but Wilson seemed ready for it. “You will remain silent,” he ordered, before pushing off House roughly. He stretched for something over House’s head, and House was allowed for a quick moment to contemplate the lines of Wilson’s torso before his vision was blocked.
“Silent,” Wilson hissed, and shoved the pillow into House’s face. House grabbed blindly for Wilson’s hand, to hold him there just one second more, but all he found was cold, smooth cotton.
No matter. House clutched the pillow and wrapped it around his head. He would be quiet, and Wilson would take care of everything. Wilson always took care of his House, always provided what his House needed.
House breathed deeply, slowly, and smiled, content.