fic: Obedience
Title: Obedience
Author: fallen_arazil, aka Djinn
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: ADULT
Summary: House has taken everything from Wilson, and Wilson wants something back.
Disclaimer: Is there any gay sex on House? Then I still don't own it. But if I ever do, boy howdy!
Author's Notes: For karaokegal, xmas prezzie, since she so dearly loves the hate!sex. (though this is only angry!sex)
He let Wilson in because he'd never done anything else--even when they fought, even when it was Wilson's fault that they fought (which was admittedly rare) House had never failed to open the door and let him in, even if he complained the entire time, so this was no different.
What was different was Wilson, because he'd never clutched so hard at House's hair, never gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise, or bit until he drew blood--Wilson was careful, thorough. House was the one who tore shirts and popped off buttons, Wilson was the one who mended and sewed the buttons back on.
Only tonight, Wilson popped three buttons on House's oxford when he bunched it in his hands, and when he shoved House back against the door frame, his head hit the wood hard enough to really hurt, and when he bit down on Wilson's tongue as a result, the other man only growled and kissed him harder. House lost his cane somewhere between the door and the couch, but he barely had time to notice as Wilson shoved him, stumbling, across the distance.
"You son of a bitch." Wilson hissed, as he tore at House's fly. "You don't care ... you don't give a fuck what you've done to me--"
"You did it to yourself." House growled through clenched teeth. "I didn't make you lie--"
"Yes you did." Wilson snapped, pressing House down against the cushions and climbing over him, straddling his hips to pull open his trousers. "You always make me do things, you don't even have to be there anymore, you think I'm your goddamn dog--"
"Shut up." House grabbed the other man and yanked him down, the cold metal of Wilson's zipper biting into his dick for a second before they lined up right, and then Wilson was rutting against him, desperately, moaning into his ear, and House groaned "Shut up, shut up--" and kissed him so hard it hurt when their teeth clicked together, and neither of them flinched. The kiss tasted more strongly of blood than spit, but it didn't matter--Wilson's dick was hot and slick against his own, and it was only moments before he arched under him and came. Wilson reached between them as the first spasm hit, and with clawed fingers he gripped House's thigh, hard. The pain was far more intense than the pleasure, but the combination was so overwhelming that he wasn't entirely sure he didn't scream.
When his vision cleared Wilson had rolled away, sitting at House's hip, elbows on his knees, hands dangling empty between them. House's leg throbbed, and he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the table, but it was just out of reach.
"Wilson," House said, his voice hoarse, "fetch."
Wilson laughed, utterly mirthless, and handed him the pill bottle.
Author: fallen_arazil, aka Djinn
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: ADULT
Summary: House has taken everything from Wilson, and Wilson wants something back.
Disclaimer: Is there any gay sex on House? Then I still don't own it. But if I ever do, boy howdy!
Author's Notes: For karaokegal, xmas prezzie, since she so dearly loves the hate!sex. (though this is only angry!sex)
He let Wilson in because he'd never done anything else--even when they fought, even when it was Wilson's fault that they fought (which was admittedly rare) House had never failed to open the door and let him in, even if he complained the entire time, so this was no different.
What was different was Wilson, because he'd never clutched so hard at House's hair, never gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise, or bit until he drew blood--Wilson was careful, thorough. House was the one who tore shirts and popped off buttons, Wilson was the one who mended and sewed the buttons back on.
Only tonight, Wilson popped three buttons on House's oxford when he bunched it in his hands, and when he shoved House back against the door frame, his head hit the wood hard enough to really hurt, and when he bit down on Wilson's tongue as a result, the other man only growled and kissed him harder. House lost his cane somewhere between the door and the couch, but he barely had time to notice as Wilson shoved him, stumbling, across the distance.
"You son of a bitch." Wilson hissed, as he tore at House's fly. "You don't care ... you don't give a fuck what you've done to me--"
"You did it to yourself." House growled through clenched teeth. "I didn't make you lie--"
"Yes you did." Wilson snapped, pressing House down against the cushions and climbing over him, straddling his hips to pull open his trousers. "You always make me do things, you don't even have to be there anymore, you think I'm your goddamn dog--"
"Shut up." House grabbed the other man and yanked him down, the cold metal of Wilson's zipper biting into his dick for a second before they lined up right, and then Wilson was rutting against him, desperately, moaning into his ear, and House groaned "Shut up, shut up--" and kissed him so hard it hurt when their teeth clicked together, and neither of them flinched. The kiss tasted more strongly of blood than spit, but it didn't matter--Wilson's dick was hot and slick against his own, and it was only moments before he arched under him and came. Wilson reached between them as the first spasm hit, and with clawed fingers he gripped House's thigh, hard. The pain was far more intense than the pleasure, but the combination was so overwhelming that he wasn't entirely sure he didn't scream.
When his vision cleared Wilson had rolled away, sitting at House's hip, elbows on his knees, hands dangling empty between them. House's leg throbbed, and he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the table, but it was just out of reach.
"Wilson," House said, his voice hoarse, "fetch."
Wilson laughed, utterly mirthless, and handed him the pill bottle.