fic: Three Corners [1/7] House/Stacy/Wilson
Title: Three Corners
Author: fallen-arazil, aka Djinn
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: House/Stacy/Wilson
Word Count: ~3800
Rating: ADULT (for het sex and naughty words)
Disclaimer: Is there any gay sex on House? Then I still don't own it.
Warnings: [this part] het sex, language [overall] slash overtones, language, sex
Author's Notes: This fic will be the death of me. I swear. It made me write het sex--I didn't want to. This fic is about House/Stacy/Wilson dynamics evolving into the House/Wilson dynamic we see in the current series, and though it is rather disturbingly het at the moment (I can't believe I wrote this, really) it will be becoming slash later.
... Perhaps it should be added that either the man or the woman thus deeply bound in lifelong friendship who seeks marriage must find a still rarer man or woman to wed, to make such a three cornered comradeship a permanent success.
--Anna Garlin Spencer
She introduced herself as Stacy.
The name smacked of a pseudonym, but Wilson was inclined to believe her--she looked too successful and too classy to be picking up younger men in a bar with a fake name. She was older than him by at least ten years, but good-looking, with dark hair and eyes and a bright, sultry smile. Everything about her told him what she was looking for--James had already grown adept at reading people, at being able to tell the desperate, lonely ones from the ones looking for one night, and Stacy was not the former.
James had only been divorced for three months, and even though he's something of a serial monogamist (the monogamy being theoretical at best) it was a little too soon even for him to be looking for more than a night. The way that Stacy licked her lips and tilted her head, baring her throat, was unrepentantly seductive, and the slant of her narrowed eyes was utterly unsubtle. She was witty, engaging, confident--everything about her said that she didn't need this, need him, and the fact that want was driving this encounter from both sides was very satisfying.
She seemed too good to be true, and in a way, she was. He never asked Stacy if she had a boyfriend, of course, because women who aren't looking for someone don't give off the signals she was, and if she was looking, it didn't matter if she had a boyfriend. It didn't matter to Wilson, anyway, and though he's been told that is a personal fault, he doesn't believe he's responsible for other people's morality. Still, even given Wilson's tacit assumption that she might not be single, he was a taken aback at how calm she was when the other man joined them, how she didn't even hesitate before introducing him as 'my boyfriend'.
What kind of woman went to a bar with her boyfriend and tried to pick up men when he was away fom their table? And what kind of boyfriend calmly joined her and the guy she'd been chatting up?
The boyfriend looked a little familiar, but Wilson couldn't place him, not even with the clue of his first name. It was finally a joke Stacy made at his expense that clued Wilson in--something about Greg 'not playing well with others', and it hit Wilson. Of course he wouldn't have recognized the man's first name, because this was Dr. House, and no one at the hospital was close enough to him to even dream of calling him Greg.
"You work at Princeton-Plainsboro." Wilson blurted, completely derailing the current topic of discussion, and the slow smile that curled House's lips would have been best described as 'smug'.
"You're just now realizing? I thought I was more infamous than that." He drawled, and Stacy laughed, leaning into the arm he had around her shoulders. "Well, I suppose I haven't made any interns cry in weeks. People might think I've gone soft."
"That's not what they think about you." Wilson murmured without thinking, and Stacy laughed again, flicking a few drops of chardonnay at him in a joking reproach.
"Hush! Don't encourage him. He's already got plans to panel our townhouse in gingerbread so he can lure neighborhood children into our oven."
"That sounds like a bad idea to me." Wilson said, seriously. "I mean, children today--so fatty. As a doctor, I'd recommend a leaner diet. Ethiopians, maybe."
House snorted into his scotch and soda, but tried to disguise it as a cough, and Wilson got the impression that he may have taken the older doctor by surprise. He knew he looked young, and clean-cut, and supposed that he didn't look like the sort who would indulge in such dark humor. Still, a man like House, who at a glance more closely resembled a disaffected gen-X computer programmer than a talented doctor, should have known better than to judge on appearances.
"You're one of the new Oncology residents, aren't you?" House guessed. "I think I remember seeing you trailing Fulbright."
Wilson had been an Oncology resident for almost seven months then, and had already done two full rotations. He hardly considered himself a 'new' resident, but he nodded anyway, because he was sure that, to House, anyone he hadn't paid any attention to seemed 'new'.
"I've been there a little more than half a year."
House's eyes narrowed, looking almost suspicious. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-eight." He replied, and resisted the urge to return the question. It felt like it would have been rude, though he doubted that it mattered to House. Instead, he made a weak joke. "Do you want to see my ID?"
"Nah," House drawled, "that can be faked."
They chatted for almost another half an hour, about pointless things--soap operas, which House insisted he only watched for Stacy's sake, and football scores, which Wilson had only a passing interest in but Stacy had an odd passion for. Hospital politics came up, and it seemed that House had a grudge against Doctor Yarborough, the hospital administrator, which he was not shy about sharing. Wilson almost forgot that Stacy had been trying to pick him up before House appeared.
Eventually House took advantage of a momentary lull in the conversation to very deliberately glance at his watch, and Wilson gathered that this was the point when House thanked him for the conversation and bundled his girlfriend off home. He was frankly surprised that House hadn't dragged Stacy off the minute he'd seen her speaking to another man, and wondered once again what that said about their relationship.
"It's really very crowded here." House murmured, which wasn't exactly true, but the number of people had increased in the hour since Wilson had arrived, and the general undertone of conversation was slowly increasing. House raised an eyebrow at Stacy, and something significant passed between them that Wilson didn't catch.
"Well," Stacy said at length, with a slow smile, "maybe we should head somewhere more ... intimate? What do you think, James?"
James almost jumped when she says his name, because he had thought his part in this was finished. Instinctively, Wilson turned his gaze to House, checking his reaction to the invitation Stacy had just made, but House only responded with a flat, assessing stare, head tilted curiously. James was not naive, and the possibility occurred to him that what had passed between House and Stacy was a consultation of sorts--that though Stacy had made the invitation, it was in fact coming from both of them.
It made certain parts of the evening make sense, actually. Stacy flirted with men and House stayed away, because no man with half a brain was going to flirt with a girl sitting next to her boyfriend. House returned to the table to assess Stacy's choice--and the question about his age made much more sense in that light--and after a while, they decide, all right. This one will do.
Wilson glanced at House again, and his expression hadn't changed, though Stacy had begun to fidget slightly beside him. The silence was quickly moving from surprised to uncomfortable, but Wilson still had no idea how to respond. He'd never looked at another man before in his life, let alone gone to bed with one. The idea that House was actually interested in sleeping with him was ... no, it was much more likely that this was an indulgence for his girlfriend, that they were picking up a man for Stacy. There was nothing in the way House had acted towards him that suggested he was anything more than mildly curious about him.
Stacy was very pretty, and Wilson was not a coward.
"Are you asking me back to your place?" He asked with a charming smile, just enough flirtatiousness in it to dispel the settling awkwardness. Stacy's face flashed with an expression that might have been surprise and might have been relief, but it was quickly replaced with the inviting smile she'd been aiming at him all evening.
"It'll be much quieter there." She told him. "Easier to get to know each other better." House was already pushing back his chair, digging in his back pocket for his wallet to pay for the drinks, as if Wilson's response was a forgone conclusion, and Wilson was standing to join them before he consciously registered his actions.
He didn't protest when House left enough money to cover everyone's drinks, Wilson's included.
The townhouse Stacy and House shared was neat and tastefully decorated, but Wilson was too nervous to fully appreciate the decor. Stacy offered him a drink when she let him in, and House leaned against the liquor cabinet and watched the two of them with an unreadable expression as she poured out three glasses of red wine. Wilson barely tasted it. It wasn't as if he'd never gone home with a woman he'd just met before--sometimes he and the women he met didn't even make it to someone's home. It was this new element, another man in the mix, that was making him anxious. It wasn't like he'd never kissed another man's lover, but he'd never kissed another man's lover in front of him, and the idea of it was slightly unsettling.
They quietly sipped their wine, Stacy playing her role as facilitator quite ably, making sure to touch Wilson often--a hand on his arm or wrist, or on his knee when he sat next to her. Between the touches and the wine, not to mention House's silence, Wilson relaxed, almost able to forget that the other man was there at all. He wasn't drunk, but he was very, very mellow when Stacy took him by the hand and, with a glance at House, led him to their bedroom.
Stacy tasted of wine, and a slightly waxy taste Wilson knew was lipstick. She was taller than his ex-wife. When Wilson had kissed Amelia, he'd had to stoop, almost uncomfortably, but Stacy was used to kissing House, who was taller even than Wilson, and she surged up against him, wrapping one arm around his neck and clutching his shoulder with the other hand, nails pinching his skin, and pressed up against the whole length of him. She kissed with her whole body, lazily undulating against him as Wilson's tongue explored her mouth, and when she pulled away she smiled slyly, her lipstick badly smeared, and leaned back into House's arms.
"Don't worry," she said, in a tone Wilson had always thought of as purring, "I don't bite."
House's teeth flashed in a smile over her shoulder. "I do." He chimed in, and the sudden urge Wilson had to laugh made him think he might be more intoxicated than he'd previously thought.
Stacy did laugh, softly, and tilted her head to kiss House, pulling Wilson closer at the same time so that she was pinned between the two men. She shimmied her hips again, back into House and then forward into Wilson, and released the hand on Wilson's shoulder to reach behind her and grasp the base of House's neck. Wilson nearly jumped when House's hand dropped onto his hip, pulling him forward to press Stacy between them more tightly. He jerked his sight to House, and found the man's bright blue eyes half-open, watching him curiously even as Stacy's lipstick further smeared against the corners of his mouth. Wilson licked his lips, holding the gaze for long seconds, before he jerked himself away from it and leaned forward to explore the graceful curve of Stacy's neck.
Stacy murmured pleased noises into House's mouth, and Wilson could feel every one of her breaths, her breasts flattened against his chest. His slacks were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, and he pressed his hips forward into her abdomen, trying instinctively to release some of the pressure. He heard her chuckle, and then she was pushing him away.
"Let's move this to somewhere more comfortable." She suggested, slipping out of House's arms and out of the cotton blouse she was wearing, dropping it to the carpet and sliding her hands down over her hips provocatively before sliding her skirt down her legs. She was wearing red lingerie, intricate lace and thin satin against pale skin.
Wilson felt House's eyes on him again and he jerked his attention to the other man, guiltily, but House only quirked a smile at him and tugged off the sweater he was wearing, turning and following Stacy to the bed. Wilson couldn't stop himself from curiously examining the other man--he had a slim, athletic build, lean and powerful, not much like Wilson himself, who was much broader in the shoulders.
"Doesn't show a lot of initiative, does he?" House commented from the bed, stripped to his boxers, one hand skimming down Stacy's thigh.
"Maybe I need a better incentive." Wilson responded reflexively, and almost regretted it, until House smirked at him and moved his hand to stoke down Stacy's stomach, sliding right into her underwear. She let out a sharp gasp, followed by a soft, breathy exhalation, just short of a moan.
Wilson stripped in record time and slid onto the bed on Stacy's other side, mouth gliding across her collarbone, hand cupping her breast through the lacy bra. He could see the motion of House's hand from the corner of his eye, and Stacy squirmed against both of them, trying to move into every sensation at once--the mouth on her neck, the hand fondling her breasts, the fingers rubbing her clit. Her hand dropped onto the back of Wilson's neck, grasping hold of his hair and pulling sharply, hard enough that the sensation went straight to his cock, and he jerked against her hip.
He managed to pull his mouth from her skin. "What are the ground rules here?" He asked, breathless, and House and Stacy exchanged a glance that made him abrputly realize that, as much as this was the first time he had done anything like this, these two had never invited someone else into their bed, either.
House was the one who finally spoke. "What Stacy says, goes." He said, firmly, reminding Wilson of his original certainty that this entire scenario was for Stacy's benefit.
"I say one of you needs to fuck me," Stacy said in a gasping growl, "now."
House rolled onto his back and fished in the nightstand for a moment, rolling back to toss a condom onto Wilson's chest. Wilson looked at the foil square blankly for a moment and glanced up at House--seeking approval, maybe--before skimming his boxers off and tearing it open, rolling the plastic down his length. Stacy had already wiggled out of her panties, and House's hand was between her legs, spreading her slickness over her folds. Wilson slid between her thighs and lined himself up, glancing at her flushed face before pushing inside.
"Ohhh." Stacy moaned, throwing one of her arms up over her face, the other reaching out and grasping House's arm, sharp nails digging into tanned flesh. "Oh, hell."
As Wilson began to move inside of her, House leaned over her and mouthed her nipples through the lace of her bra, one hand working on the clasp while the other was still between her legs, stroking her clit. Wilson could feel the tips of House's fingers against his dick on every thrust.
It wasn't long before Stacy was moaning at every thrust, rolling her hips to meet him, her hand moving from House's arm to the back of his head, pressing him insistently into the breast he was mouthing. The hand that had been working on Stacy's bra was now between House's own legs, stroking his dick almost lazily, and Wilson found himself transfixed by it, caught between whether to watch House's deft, doctor's hand stroke his dick or Stacy, flushed with her mounting orgasm, and he was greatly disappointed that he could not watch both at once.
Stacy grasped his shoulder insistently, pulling him down to kiss her, and only moments later she was clenching around him, nails tearing strips out of the back of his shoulder. He fucked her through her orgasm, pulling away from her mouth and burying his face in her neck, gritting his teeth at the sudden change in pressure around his dick. It couldn't have been more than a minute later when he came as well, jerking inside of her and panting against her neck.
He collapsed onto his side, reaching down to pull off the condom, and almost as soon as he had moved, House had rolled on top of Stacy, sliding inside of her easily, lifting her long legs to wrap around his waist. Wilson noticed that House didn't bother with a condom.
He had just come, but watching them move against each other, Stacy's lips still slightly red from her lipstick sliding over House's ear as he panted into her neck and thrust into her, made his dick twitch so hard it almost hurt.
When they came, he closed his eyes, and seconds later he was asleep.
It was around three in the morning when he woke up, Stacy curled up against his side with House at her back, his arm thrown over her and resting lightly on Wilson's hip. It was a tricky thing to slip out of the bed, and a trickier thing to locate his clothes in the dark. He abandoned his socks as a lost cause, and took the rest into the living room, so he could turn on a light to dress.
He was still shirtless when Stacy came out of the bedroom, wearing a thigh-skimming satin robe and nothing else. She smiled at him sweetly, her eyes slightly unfocused with sleep. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee before you go?" She asked, softly.
It was oddly hospitable, and it made Wilson feel strange. "Thank you--no. I ... should be going. I have rounds in the morning."
"Of course." She responded, nodding. She walked past him into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a leaf of paper. She pressed it into his hand. "This is our phone number here. We should get together again sometime. I had a very enjoyable evening."
"Yes. I did, too." Wilson said, and meant it. For a moment, he wanted to kiss her goodnight, but House was asleep in the other room, and it felt ... wrong. Instead he shoved the phone number into his pocket, finished buttoning his shirt, wished her 'good night', and left.
It was three weeks later when House settled down across from him at a cafeteria table, and though Wilson was usually very good at the art of conversation, he found himself utterly at a loss for what to say.
"Stacy thinks that you didn't enjoy our little 'get-together'." House said. No lead-in, no small talk--straight to the point. "Apparently, she gave you our number, and you have yet to use it."
Wilson gave him a tentative look. "I ... wasn't certain that the invitation was mutual."
House looked amused at that. "I'm a big boy, James. I'm not threatened by the fact that Stacy likes you."
Wilson thought this was an odd response--to his mind, one's girlfriend having a fondness for sleeping with another man was exactly the sort of thing one should be threatened by, and he couldn't understand why House wasn't. It was one thing to invite another man home with you, to invite him into your bed as a sort of living, breathing sex toy, but Wilson figured that the etiquette then required that you carry out the characterization--one doesn't give their phone number to a dildo, no matter how good the orgasm was.
One does, however, keep it in a drawer, and Wilson has the sudden, horrifying idea that is what the phone number was about, keeping him in a drawer, so that if Stacy has another urge for something kinky, they'll already have someone lined up. House, after all, clearly has little time for most other people, and Wilson can't see any reason that he would be a special case, just because he's slept with House's girlfriend. Slept with House, sort of.
"I'm not--I mean, I don't usually ... do. That sort of thing." Wilson said awkwardly, and he knew he sounded like a naive idiot, but he couldn't come out and say 'I don't want to be your girlfriend's sex toy' without humiliating himself. Wilson enjoyed sex, and he'd enjoyed everything about the evening he'd spent with House and Stacy, but once he'd left, the dynamic had left him feeling oddly used. It hadn't been three people sleeping together, it had been Wilson sleeping with them--they were a unit, and Wilson was an extraneous addition, an odd man out.
"What, have sex?" House drawled. "That's not what the nurses say about you."
Wilson blinked. "So you've been asking people about me. Since before or after you and Stacy picked me up?"
House raised an eyebrow. "You mean did I research you? Make sure you were up to snuff?"
"Yes. Did you?"
House leaned back in his chair. "Yes. That's it exactly. Stacy and I stalked you. We monitored your movements. There may have been hidden cameras involved. Secretly, I've been stealing your socks and using them as head covers for my golf clubs."
"At least you aren't masturbating with them." Wilson muttered, thinking of the pair of socks he had abandoned when he left. He'd been speaking mostly to himself, but House overheard him, barking out a laugh.
"Stacy thinks you're cute. I think you're ... interesting." House told him, his tone deceptively casual. "You can think what you like about that. In any case, I've been instructed to invite you over for dinner, next Tuesday night. We promise not to threaten your virtue."
"What virtue?" Wilson quipped, making the easy joke, and he didn't examine why the slight smile House gave him in response felt like a victory. "I ... all right." He nodded, poking at his lunch, feeling strangely shy. "I'll come. It's a little weird, though. Usually you invite someone to dinner before you sleep with them."
"Our way seems to have worked out in the end." House responded with a smirk, and though Wilson didn't say anything, he was forced to silently agree.
~END
[ Chapter Two ]
ETA: Found a beta! Thanks rivers_bend, and the other people who offered. Everyone is so helpful. ^_^
Author: fallen-arazil, aka Djinn
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters: House/Stacy/Wilson
Word Count: ~3800
Rating: ADULT (for het sex and naughty words)
Disclaimer: Is there any gay sex on House? Then I still don't own it.
Warnings: [this part] het sex, language [overall] slash overtones, language, sex
Author's Notes: This fic will be the death of me. I swear. It made me write het sex--I didn't want to. This fic is about House/Stacy/Wilson dynamics evolving into the House/Wilson dynamic we see in the current series, and though it is rather disturbingly het at the moment (I can't believe I wrote this, really) it will be becoming slash later.
... Perhaps it should be added that either the man or the woman thus deeply bound in lifelong friendship who seeks marriage must find a still rarer man or woman to wed, to make such a three cornered comradeship a permanent success.
--Anna Garlin Spencer
She introduced herself as Stacy.
The name smacked of a pseudonym, but Wilson was inclined to believe her--she looked too successful and too classy to be picking up younger men in a bar with a fake name. She was older than him by at least ten years, but good-looking, with dark hair and eyes and a bright, sultry smile. Everything about her told him what she was looking for--James had already grown adept at reading people, at being able to tell the desperate, lonely ones from the ones looking for one night, and Stacy was not the former.
James had only been divorced for three months, and even though he's something of a serial monogamist (the monogamy being theoretical at best) it was a little too soon even for him to be looking for more than a night. The way that Stacy licked her lips and tilted her head, baring her throat, was unrepentantly seductive, and the slant of her narrowed eyes was utterly unsubtle. She was witty, engaging, confident--everything about her said that she didn't need this, need him, and the fact that want was driving this encounter from both sides was very satisfying.
She seemed too good to be true, and in a way, she was. He never asked Stacy if she had a boyfriend, of course, because women who aren't looking for someone don't give off the signals she was, and if she was looking, it didn't matter if she had a boyfriend. It didn't matter to Wilson, anyway, and though he's been told that is a personal fault, he doesn't believe he's responsible for other people's morality. Still, even given Wilson's tacit assumption that she might not be single, he was a taken aback at how calm she was when the other man joined them, how she didn't even hesitate before introducing him as 'my boyfriend'.
What kind of woman went to a bar with her boyfriend and tried to pick up men when he was away fom their table? And what kind of boyfriend calmly joined her and the guy she'd been chatting up?
The boyfriend looked a little familiar, but Wilson couldn't place him, not even with the clue of his first name. It was finally a joke Stacy made at his expense that clued Wilson in--something about Greg 'not playing well with others', and it hit Wilson. Of course he wouldn't have recognized the man's first name, because this was Dr. House, and no one at the hospital was close enough to him to even dream of calling him Greg.
"You work at Princeton-Plainsboro." Wilson blurted, completely derailing the current topic of discussion, and the slow smile that curled House's lips would have been best described as 'smug'.
"You're just now realizing? I thought I was more infamous than that." He drawled, and Stacy laughed, leaning into the arm he had around her shoulders. "Well, I suppose I haven't made any interns cry in weeks. People might think I've gone soft."
"That's not what they think about you." Wilson murmured without thinking, and Stacy laughed again, flicking a few drops of chardonnay at him in a joking reproach.
"Hush! Don't encourage him. He's already got plans to panel our townhouse in gingerbread so he can lure neighborhood children into our oven."
"That sounds like a bad idea to me." Wilson said, seriously. "I mean, children today--so fatty. As a doctor, I'd recommend a leaner diet. Ethiopians, maybe."
House snorted into his scotch and soda, but tried to disguise it as a cough, and Wilson got the impression that he may have taken the older doctor by surprise. He knew he looked young, and clean-cut, and supposed that he didn't look like the sort who would indulge in such dark humor. Still, a man like House, who at a glance more closely resembled a disaffected gen-X computer programmer than a talented doctor, should have known better than to judge on appearances.
"You're one of the new Oncology residents, aren't you?" House guessed. "I think I remember seeing you trailing Fulbright."
Wilson had been an Oncology resident for almost seven months then, and had already done two full rotations. He hardly considered himself a 'new' resident, but he nodded anyway, because he was sure that, to House, anyone he hadn't paid any attention to seemed 'new'.
"I've been there a little more than half a year."
House's eyes narrowed, looking almost suspicious. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-eight." He replied, and resisted the urge to return the question. It felt like it would have been rude, though he doubted that it mattered to House. Instead, he made a weak joke. "Do you want to see my ID?"
"Nah," House drawled, "that can be faked."
They chatted for almost another half an hour, about pointless things--soap operas, which House insisted he only watched for Stacy's sake, and football scores, which Wilson had only a passing interest in but Stacy had an odd passion for. Hospital politics came up, and it seemed that House had a grudge against Doctor Yarborough, the hospital administrator, which he was not shy about sharing. Wilson almost forgot that Stacy had been trying to pick him up before House appeared.
Eventually House took advantage of a momentary lull in the conversation to very deliberately glance at his watch, and Wilson gathered that this was the point when House thanked him for the conversation and bundled his girlfriend off home. He was frankly surprised that House hadn't dragged Stacy off the minute he'd seen her speaking to another man, and wondered once again what that said about their relationship.
"It's really very crowded here." House murmured, which wasn't exactly true, but the number of people had increased in the hour since Wilson had arrived, and the general undertone of conversation was slowly increasing. House raised an eyebrow at Stacy, and something significant passed between them that Wilson didn't catch.
"Well," Stacy said at length, with a slow smile, "maybe we should head somewhere more ... intimate? What do you think, James?"
James almost jumped when she says his name, because he had thought his part in this was finished. Instinctively, Wilson turned his gaze to House, checking his reaction to the invitation Stacy had just made, but House only responded with a flat, assessing stare, head tilted curiously. James was not naive, and the possibility occurred to him that what had passed between House and Stacy was a consultation of sorts--that though Stacy had made the invitation, it was in fact coming from both of them.
It made certain parts of the evening make sense, actually. Stacy flirted with men and House stayed away, because no man with half a brain was going to flirt with a girl sitting next to her boyfriend. House returned to the table to assess Stacy's choice--and the question about his age made much more sense in that light--and after a while, they decide, all right. This one will do.
Wilson glanced at House again, and his expression hadn't changed, though Stacy had begun to fidget slightly beside him. The silence was quickly moving from surprised to uncomfortable, but Wilson still had no idea how to respond. He'd never looked at another man before in his life, let alone gone to bed with one. The idea that House was actually interested in sleeping with him was ... no, it was much more likely that this was an indulgence for his girlfriend, that they were picking up a man for Stacy. There was nothing in the way House had acted towards him that suggested he was anything more than mildly curious about him.
Stacy was very pretty, and Wilson was not a coward.
"Are you asking me back to your place?" He asked with a charming smile, just enough flirtatiousness in it to dispel the settling awkwardness. Stacy's face flashed with an expression that might have been surprise and might have been relief, but it was quickly replaced with the inviting smile she'd been aiming at him all evening.
"It'll be much quieter there." She told him. "Easier to get to know each other better." House was already pushing back his chair, digging in his back pocket for his wallet to pay for the drinks, as if Wilson's response was a forgone conclusion, and Wilson was standing to join them before he consciously registered his actions.
He didn't protest when House left enough money to cover everyone's drinks, Wilson's included.
The townhouse Stacy and House shared was neat and tastefully decorated, but Wilson was too nervous to fully appreciate the decor. Stacy offered him a drink when she let him in, and House leaned against the liquor cabinet and watched the two of them with an unreadable expression as she poured out three glasses of red wine. Wilson barely tasted it. It wasn't as if he'd never gone home with a woman he'd just met before--sometimes he and the women he met didn't even make it to someone's home. It was this new element, another man in the mix, that was making him anxious. It wasn't like he'd never kissed another man's lover, but he'd never kissed another man's lover in front of him, and the idea of it was slightly unsettling.
They quietly sipped their wine, Stacy playing her role as facilitator quite ably, making sure to touch Wilson often--a hand on his arm or wrist, or on his knee when he sat next to her. Between the touches and the wine, not to mention House's silence, Wilson relaxed, almost able to forget that the other man was there at all. He wasn't drunk, but he was very, very mellow when Stacy took him by the hand and, with a glance at House, led him to their bedroom.
Stacy tasted of wine, and a slightly waxy taste Wilson knew was lipstick. She was taller than his ex-wife. When Wilson had kissed Amelia, he'd had to stoop, almost uncomfortably, but Stacy was used to kissing House, who was taller even than Wilson, and she surged up against him, wrapping one arm around his neck and clutching his shoulder with the other hand, nails pinching his skin, and pressed up against the whole length of him. She kissed with her whole body, lazily undulating against him as Wilson's tongue explored her mouth, and when she pulled away she smiled slyly, her lipstick badly smeared, and leaned back into House's arms.
"Don't worry," she said, in a tone Wilson had always thought of as purring, "I don't bite."
House's teeth flashed in a smile over her shoulder. "I do." He chimed in, and the sudden urge Wilson had to laugh made him think he might be more intoxicated than he'd previously thought.
Stacy did laugh, softly, and tilted her head to kiss House, pulling Wilson closer at the same time so that she was pinned between the two men. She shimmied her hips again, back into House and then forward into Wilson, and released the hand on Wilson's shoulder to reach behind her and grasp the base of House's neck. Wilson nearly jumped when House's hand dropped onto his hip, pulling him forward to press Stacy between them more tightly. He jerked his sight to House, and found the man's bright blue eyes half-open, watching him curiously even as Stacy's lipstick further smeared against the corners of his mouth. Wilson licked his lips, holding the gaze for long seconds, before he jerked himself away from it and leaned forward to explore the graceful curve of Stacy's neck.
Stacy murmured pleased noises into House's mouth, and Wilson could feel every one of her breaths, her breasts flattened against his chest. His slacks were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, and he pressed his hips forward into her abdomen, trying instinctively to release some of the pressure. He heard her chuckle, and then she was pushing him away.
"Let's move this to somewhere more comfortable." She suggested, slipping out of House's arms and out of the cotton blouse she was wearing, dropping it to the carpet and sliding her hands down over her hips provocatively before sliding her skirt down her legs. She was wearing red lingerie, intricate lace and thin satin against pale skin.
Wilson felt House's eyes on him again and he jerked his attention to the other man, guiltily, but House only quirked a smile at him and tugged off the sweater he was wearing, turning and following Stacy to the bed. Wilson couldn't stop himself from curiously examining the other man--he had a slim, athletic build, lean and powerful, not much like Wilson himself, who was much broader in the shoulders.
"Doesn't show a lot of initiative, does he?" House commented from the bed, stripped to his boxers, one hand skimming down Stacy's thigh.
"Maybe I need a better incentive." Wilson responded reflexively, and almost regretted it, until House smirked at him and moved his hand to stoke down Stacy's stomach, sliding right into her underwear. She let out a sharp gasp, followed by a soft, breathy exhalation, just short of a moan.
Wilson stripped in record time and slid onto the bed on Stacy's other side, mouth gliding across her collarbone, hand cupping her breast through the lacy bra. He could see the motion of House's hand from the corner of his eye, and Stacy squirmed against both of them, trying to move into every sensation at once--the mouth on her neck, the hand fondling her breasts, the fingers rubbing her clit. Her hand dropped onto the back of Wilson's neck, grasping hold of his hair and pulling sharply, hard enough that the sensation went straight to his cock, and he jerked against her hip.
He managed to pull his mouth from her skin. "What are the ground rules here?" He asked, breathless, and House and Stacy exchanged a glance that made him abrputly realize that, as much as this was the first time he had done anything like this, these two had never invited someone else into their bed, either.
House was the one who finally spoke. "What Stacy says, goes." He said, firmly, reminding Wilson of his original certainty that this entire scenario was for Stacy's benefit.
"I say one of you needs to fuck me," Stacy said in a gasping growl, "now."
House rolled onto his back and fished in the nightstand for a moment, rolling back to toss a condom onto Wilson's chest. Wilson looked at the foil square blankly for a moment and glanced up at House--seeking approval, maybe--before skimming his boxers off and tearing it open, rolling the plastic down his length. Stacy had already wiggled out of her panties, and House's hand was between her legs, spreading her slickness over her folds. Wilson slid between her thighs and lined himself up, glancing at her flushed face before pushing inside.
"Ohhh." Stacy moaned, throwing one of her arms up over her face, the other reaching out and grasping House's arm, sharp nails digging into tanned flesh. "Oh, hell."
As Wilson began to move inside of her, House leaned over her and mouthed her nipples through the lace of her bra, one hand working on the clasp while the other was still between her legs, stroking her clit. Wilson could feel the tips of House's fingers against his dick on every thrust.
It wasn't long before Stacy was moaning at every thrust, rolling her hips to meet him, her hand moving from House's arm to the back of his head, pressing him insistently into the breast he was mouthing. The hand that had been working on Stacy's bra was now between House's own legs, stroking his dick almost lazily, and Wilson found himself transfixed by it, caught between whether to watch House's deft, doctor's hand stroke his dick or Stacy, flushed with her mounting orgasm, and he was greatly disappointed that he could not watch both at once.
Stacy grasped his shoulder insistently, pulling him down to kiss her, and only moments later she was clenching around him, nails tearing strips out of the back of his shoulder. He fucked her through her orgasm, pulling away from her mouth and burying his face in her neck, gritting his teeth at the sudden change in pressure around his dick. It couldn't have been more than a minute later when he came as well, jerking inside of her and panting against her neck.
He collapsed onto his side, reaching down to pull off the condom, and almost as soon as he had moved, House had rolled on top of Stacy, sliding inside of her easily, lifting her long legs to wrap around his waist. Wilson noticed that House didn't bother with a condom.
He had just come, but watching them move against each other, Stacy's lips still slightly red from her lipstick sliding over House's ear as he panted into her neck and thrust into her, made his dick twitch so hard it almost hurt.
When they came, he closed his eyes, and seconds later he was asleep.
It was around three in the morning when he woke up, Stacy curled up against his side with House at her back, his arm thrown over her and resting lightly on Wilson's hip. It was a tricky thing to slip out of the bed, and a trickier thing to locate his clothes in the dark. He abandoned his socks as a lost cause, and took the rest into the living room, so he could turn on a light to dress.
He was still shirtless when Stacy came out of the bedroom, wearing a thigh-skimming satin robe and nothing else. She smiled at him sweetly, her eyes slightly unfocused with sleep. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee before you go?" She asked, softly.
It was oddly hospitable, and it made Wilson feel strange. "Thank you--no. I ... should be going. I have rounds in the morning."
"Of course." She responded, nodding. She walked past him into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a leaf of paper. She pressed it into his hand. "This is our phone number here. We should get together again sometime. I had a very enjoyable evening."
"Yes. I did, too." Wilson said, and meant it. For a moment, he wanted to kiss her goodnight, but House was asleep in the other room, and it felt ... wrong. Instead he shoved the phone number into his pocket, finished buttoning his shirt, wished her 'good night', and left.
It was three weeks later when House settled down across from him at a cafeteria table, and though Wilson was usually very good at the art of conversation, he found himself utterly at a loss for what to say.
"Stacy thinks that you didn't enjoy our little 'get-together'." House said. No lead-in, no small talk--straight to the point. "Apparently, she gave you our number, and you have yet to use it."
Wilson gave him a tentative look. "I ... wasn't certain that the invitation was mutual."
House looked amused at that. "I'm a big boy, James. I'm not threatened by the fact that Stacy likes you."
Wilson thought this was an odd response--to his mind, one's girlfriend having a fondness for sleeping with another man was exactly the sort of thing one should be threatened by, and he couldn't understand why House wasn't. It was one thing to invite another man home with you, to invite him into your bed as a sort of living, breathing sex toy, but Wilson figured that the etiquette then required that you carry out the characterization--one doesn't give their phone number to a dildo, no matter how good the orgasm was.
One does, however, keep it in a drawer, and Wilson has the sudden, horrifying idea that is what the phone number was about, keeping him in a drawer, so that if Stacy has another urge for something kinky, they'll already have someone lined up. House, after all, clearly has little time for most other people, and Wilson can't see any reason that he would be a special case, just because he's slept with House's girlfriend. Slept with House, sort of.
"I'm not--I mean, I don't usually ... do. That sort of thing." Wilson said awkwardly, and he knew he sounded like a naive idiot, but he couldn't come out and say 'I don't want to be your girlfriend's sex toy' without humiliating himself. Wilson enjoyed sex, and he'd enjoyed everything about the evening he'd spent with House and Stacy, but once he'd left, the dynamic had left him feeling oddly used. It hadn't been three people sleeping together, it had been Wilson sleeping with them--they were a unit, and Wilson was an extraneous addition, an odd man out.
"What, have sex?" House drawled. "That's not what the nurses say about you."
Wilson blinked. "So you've been asking people about me. Since before or after you and Stacy picked me up?"
House raised an eyebrow. "You mean did I research you? Make sure you were up to snuff?"
"Yes. Did you?"
House leaned back in his chair. "Yes. That's it exactly. Stacy and I stalked you. We monitored your movements. There may have been hidden cameras involved. Secretly, I've been stealing your socks and using them as head covers for my golf clubs."
"At least you aren't masturbating with them." Wilson muttered, thinking of the pair of socks he had abandoned when he left. He'd been speaking mostly to himself, but House overheard him, barking out a laugh.
"Stacy thinks you're cute. I think you're ... interesting." House told him, his tone deceptively casual. "You can think what you like about that. In any case, I've been instructed to invite you over for dinner, next Tuesday night. We promise not to threaten your virtue."
"What virtue?" Wilson quipped, making the easy joke, and he didn't examine why the slight smile House gave him in response felt like a victory. "I ... all right." He nodded, poking at his lunch, feeling strangely shy. "I'll come. It's a little weird, though. Usually you invite someone to dinner before you sleep with them."
"Our way seems to have worked out in the end." House responded with a smirk, and though Wilson didn't say anything, he was forced to silently agree.
~END
[ Chapter Two ]
ETA: Found a beta! Thanks rivers_bend, and the other people who offered. Everyone is so helpful. ^_^