House, M.D. - Subtle Extractions (sickwilson_fest entry #1)
Title: Subtle Extractions
Author: ForAllLove
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Word count: 1418
Rating: R (probably less, but just for safety) for *cough* those themes
Prompt: #37: Wilson has a splinter somewhere embarrassing.
Summary: House is romantic. It's the "how" and "when" that keep Wilson guessing.
Warnings: Fluff and hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. Not unless there's a second, secret set of episodes every season in which House and Wilson do nothing but make out.
Author's Note: First entry for sickwilson_fest. I'm pretty happy with this one. It's fluffy. ^_^
If there is one thing Wilson should have learned by now, it’s that House’s particular brand of romance is anything but predictable.
For example, if they’re making out at work, usually in Wilson’s office where they won’t be disturbed, House may at any time drop him and bounce off to cure a patient, only to resume when Wilson least expects, usually in the lobby or someplace equally public.
Or perhaps House might leave him a cupcake on his chair where he’ll be sure to find it, and while he does find the cupcake, he can’t seem to find any spare slacks, and has to wear the jeans House thinks are sexy and has just happened to bring that day.
And, while House did broadcast over the hospital loudspeaker that Wilson wears thong underwear, he’s pretty sure no one believed that. Wilson doesn’t own any thongs. The one he found on his pillow doesn’t count, and “worn twice” by no means justifies a generalization.
At any rate, Wilson has a little more conventional approach to romance, but he remains incurably optimistic that, if properly bribed, House will not thwart his sappiness. So, when he dragged House on a picnic earlier today, he figured House would be tickled to trade a dreary afternoon in the clinic for food and quite possibly more, since they weren’t likely to have company in the woods, on a Thursday, in September. Wilson had, rather cleverly, allowed for everything.
That is, everything except the sheer ingratitude of House’s thwarting capabilities.
First, House refused to get out of the car at the store, insisting instead that Wilson describe every choice in the deli by cell phone. At the picnic grounds, he groused through the window about leaves and bugs and fresh air until Wilson found a satisfactory table. Then, House parked himself and his right leg on the majority of one bench, and let Wilson deal with the food by himself.
Wilson was happy to oblige, though. The ground was uneven, so House was better off staying put. He couldn’t have asked for nicer weather - warm, bright, with the first leaves starting to fall. The trees were beautiful, House was beautiful, and he was content.
There was a Wilson-sized spot left next to House, which he tried to sidle into, but the combined weight of Wilson, House, and House’s leg almost tipped the table. So, instead of romantic, picnic-with-the-boyfriend cuddling, Wilson got stuck with pervy cane-poking from across the way. Combine that with the number of fat jokes House managed to get off, and it was only fair he get Wilson off, too.
It was still mostly romantic.
When Wilson announced his intentions, House seemed pleased - but, naturally, not pleased enough to do any work. He sat on top of their table and watched Wilson haul another over for a leg rest. He lay back and let Wilson strip his lower half for him. And he continued to lie there while Wilson scurried back to the car to get the lube. It was hard to be annoyed when House was so ridiculously handsome, but Wilson had years of practice. So, when his thrusts scooched House a little too far up the table, well, he just stood on his toes and kept right on going. House seemed thrilled, if the leg around Wilson’s waist, the hands in his hair, the sloppy kisses, and the amount of noise were any indication. And when House was occupied with getting his brain back in working order, Wilson took the opportunity to climb onto the table with him, determined to get his cuddle in. They lay there until enough leaves fell on House and he loudly proclaimed he was cold.
All in all, it was a nice date.
Unfortunately, the throbbing that’s keeping Wilson awake now has nothing to do with nice dates.
He’s ignored it so far, sort of, but it’s one of those niggling pains that drives you crazy. Plus, it’s in an area where he doesn’t exactly like hurting.
He extricates himself from House and pads into the bathroom, pushing the door mostly closed so the light won’t wake House. When his eyes adjust, he drops his boxers and tries to find the source of the pain, but, even doubled over, he can’t see well enough. He gingerly explores with one finger, which catches on what feels like a splinter. Whatever it is, it hurts.
Wilson snags the little hand-held mirror - House’s - from the shelf. Why House has it in the first place, he doesn’t know. Probably just for this purpose. Looking at himself, that is, not extracting splinters. He angles it to catch the light and, sure enough, there’s the equivalent of a small branch embedded in the back of his scrotum.
After a brief skirmish with the medicine cabinet, Wilson finds the tweezers, but soon discovers that he can’t angle the mirror properly, keep his shirt out of the way, hold his balls up, and remove the splinter with only two hands. He huffs in frustration, because it’s the manlier alternative to crying.
“Wilson?”
Wilson hop-turns at the sound of House’s voice and barely manages not to stab himself.
House is leaning against the door frame, somewhere between sleep-rumpled and amused. “Whatcha doin’?”
Wilson feels the burning sensation the splinter causes echoing in his face. “Nothing,” he squeaks, lunging for the door. House is braced against the frame, smirking, and Wilson can’t push him out. “It’s none of your business.”
“You’re digging around with sharp stuff in my territory - I’d say that’s my business.”
Wilson thumps his forehead against the door. “I have a splinter…” he trails off as he gestures downward miserably.
House quirks an eyebrow.
“From the picnic table, when we… got… carried away.”
House holds his hand out, so Wilson relinquishes the tweezers. House catches his hand and tugs, but Wilson wants reassurance first. House’s fingers gently squeeze his. “Come on. I’ll fix it.” Wilson smiles shyly, letting his friend lead him to the bed. He’ll tolerate any mocking if it means the splinter will go far away.
He lies down on his back, propped up against the pillows, while House switches the light on and settles between his legs. His lover’s gaze trails down his body; he almost forgets to be embarrassed.
“Wow.” House flashes him a grin that makes his pain worthwhile, then crows, “This thing’s huge!”
“So you found it?”
“Duh, see anything else huge down here?”
Wilson swats the top of House’s head, which is probably not the best idea, considering House is wielding the tweezers. House just laughs. Mocking, Wilson could stand. Not pulling out the splinter is another thing entirely. He flops back onto the pillows and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Come on, House, it hurts.”
House ignores him, unperturbed. “Seriously, how could you not notice this?”
“I was kind of distracted at the time,” he whines. “Could you please get on with it?”
“James.”
Wilson pushes himself up on his elbows in supreme exasperation. “What?”
House just smiles at him, splaying a warm hand on his belly. “You’re cute.” Shadows pool in one dimple as he presents the splinter.
Wilson blinks at it, then at the sparkle in blue eyes. House may deflect in odd and annoying ways sometimes, but when he doesn’t hold his feelings back, he never fails to melt Wilson’s heart into a puddle of mush. It just takes some subtle extraction. Rather than getting melted heart everywhere, Wilson bites his lip and looks at House through his lashes. “It still hurts,” he pouts playfully.
House’s eyes darken. “Should I kiss it better?” Wilson nods, fascinated, as his lover leans down. House presses soft lips against his balls, mouthing each one gently. The occasional scrape of stubble makes him shiver; the throbbing he feels now is entirely different. One thumb massages his perineum, and he arches, head tilted back, as House licks his way to the tip of his penis.
Wilson curls his toes and chokes back a whimper. “Hah… House, you were on that table, too… You could have splinters in- in your-” He breaks off in a mewl when House’s laugh rumbles across his skin.
House’s smile dazzles Wilson, so he laughs, too, feeling giddy just looking at him. House’s voice is husky when he asks, “You wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows as he presses the tweezers into Wilson’s hand.
Wilson flings the tweezers on the floor and pounces.
Author: ForAllLove
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Word count: 1418
Rating: R (probably less, but just for safety) for *cough* those themes
Prompt: #37: Wilson has a splinter somewhere embarrassing.
Summary: House is romantic. It's the "how" and "when" that keep Wilson guessing.
Warnings: Fluff and hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. Not unless there's a second, secret set of episodes every season in which House and Wilson do nothing but make out.
Author's Note: First entry for sickwilson_fest. I'm pretty happy with this one. It's fluffy. ^_^
If there is one thing Wilson should have learned by now, it’s that House’s particular brand of romance is anything but predictable.
For example, if they’re making out at work, usually in Wilson’s office where they won’t be disturbed, House may at any time drop him and bounce off to cure a patient, only to resume when Wilson least expects, usually in the lobby or someplace equally public.
Or perhaps House might leave him a cupcake on his chair where he’ll be sure to find it, and while he does find the cupcake, he can’t seem to find any spare slacks, and has to wear the jeans House thinks are sexy and has just happened to bring that day.
And, while House did broadcast over the hospital loudspeaker that Wilson wears thong underwear, he’s pretty sure no one believed that. Wilson doesn’t own any thongs. The one he found on his pillow doesn’t count, and “worn twice” by no means justifies a generalization.
At any rate, Wilson has a little more conventional approach to romance, but he remains incurably optimistic that, if properly bribed, House will not thwart his sappiness. So, when he dragged House on a picnic earlier today, he figured House would be tickled to trade a dreary afternoon in the clinic for food and quite possibly more, since they weren’t likely to have company in the woods, on a Thursday, in September. Wilson had, rather cleverly, allowed for everything.
That is, everything except the sheer ingratitude of House’s thwarting capabilities.
First, House refused to get out of the car at the store, insisting instead that Wilson describe every choice in the deli by cell phone. At the picnic grounds, he groused through the window about leaves and bugs and fresh air until Wilson found a satisfactory table. Then, House parked himself and his right leg on the majority of one bench, and let Wilson deal with the food by himself.
Wilson was happy to oblige, though. The ground was uneven, so House was better off staying put. He couldn’t have asked for nicer weather - warm, bright, with the first leaves starting to fall. The trees were beautiful, House was beautiful, and he was content.
There was a Wilson-sized spot left next to House, which he tried to sidle into, but the combined weight of Wilson, House, and House’s leg almost tipped the table. So, instead of romantic, picnic-with-the-boyfriend cuddling, Wilson got stuck with pervy cane-poking from across the way. Combine that with the number of fat jokes House managed to get off, and it was only fair he get Wilson off, too.
It was still mostly romantic.
When Wilson announced his intentions, House seemed pleased - but, naturally, not pleased enough to do any work. He sat on top of their table and watched Wilson haul another over for a leg rest. He lay back and let Wilson strip his lower half for him. And he continued to lie there while Wilson scurried back to the car to get the lube. It was hard to be annoyed when House was so ridiculously handsome, but Wilson had years of practice. So, when his thrusts scooched House a little too far up the table, well, he just stood on his toes and kept right on going. House seemed thrilled, if the leg around Wilson’s waist, the hands in his hair, the sloppy kisses, and the amount of noise were any indication. And when House was occupied with getting his brain back in working order, Wilson took the opportunity to climb onto the table with him, determined to get his cuddle in. They lay there until enough leaves fell on House and he loudly proclaimed he was cold.
All in all, it was a nice date.
Unfortunately, the throbbing that’s keeping Wilson awake now has nothing to do with nice dates.
He’s ignored it so far, sort of, but it’s one of those niggling pains that drives you crazy. Plus, it’s in an area where he doesn’t exactly like hurting.
He extricates himself from House and pads into the bathroom, pushing the door mostly closed so the light won’t wake House. When his eyes adjust, he drops his boxers and tries to find the source of the pain, but, even doubled over, he can’t see well enough. He gingerly explores with one finger, which catches on what feels like a splinter. Whatever it is, it hurts.
Wilson snags the little hand-held mirror - House’s - from the shelf. Why House has it in the first place, he doesn’t know. Probably just for this purpose. Looking at himself, that is, not extracting splinters. He angles it to catch the light and, sure enough, there’s the equivalent of a small branch embedded in the back of his scrotum.
After a brief skirmish with the medicine cabinet, Wilson finds the tweezers, but soon discovers that he can’t angle the mirror properly, keep his shirt out of the way, hold his balls up, and remove the splinter with only two hands. He huffs in frustration, because it’s the manlier alternative to crying.
“Wilson?”
Wilson hop-turns at the sound of House’s voice and barely manages not to stab himself.
House is leaning against the door frame, somewhere between sleep-rumpled and amused. “Whatcha doin’?”
Wilson feels the burning sensation the splinter causes echoing in his face. “Nothing,” he squeaks, lunging for the door. House is braced against the frame, smirking, and Wilson can’t push him out. “It’s none of your business.”
“You’re digging around with sharp stuff in my territory - I’d say that’s my business.”
Wilson thumps his forehead against the door. “I have a splinter…” he trails off as he gestures downward miserably.
House quirks an eyebrow.
“From the picnic table, when we… got… carried away.”
House holds his hand out, so Wilson relinquishes the tweezers. House catches his hand and tugs, but Wilson wants reassurance first. House’s fingers gently squeeze his. “Come on. I’ll fix it.” Wilson smiles shyly, letting his friend lead him to the bed. He’ll tolerate any mocking if it means the splinter will go far away.
He lies down on his back, propped up against the pillows, while House switches the light on and settles between his legs. His lover’s gaze trails down his body; he almost forgets to be embarrassed.
“Wow.” House flashes him a grin that makes his pain worthwhile, then crows, “This thing’s huge!”
“So you found it?”
“Duh, see anything else huge down here?”
Wilson swats the top of House’s head, which is probably not the best idea, considering House is wielding the tweezers. House just laughs. Mocking, Wilson could stand. Not pulling out the splinter is another thing entirely. He flops back onto the pillows and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Come on, House, it hurts.”
House ignores him, unperturbed. “Seriously, how could you not notice this?”
“I was kind of distracted at the time,” he whines. “Could you please get on with it?”
“James.”
Wilson pushes himself up on his elbows in supreme exasperation. “What?”
House just smiles at him, splaying a warm hand on his belly. “You’re cute.” Shadows pool in one dimple as he presents the splinter.
Wilson blinks at it, then at the sparkle in blue eyes. House may deflect in odd and annoying ways sometimes, but when he doesn’t hold his feelings back, he never fails to melt Wilson’s heart into a puddle of mush. It just takes some subtle extraction. Rather than getting melted heart everywhere, Wilson bites his lip and looks at House through his lashes. “It still hurts,” he pouts playfully.
House’s eyes darken. “Should I kiss it better?” Wilson nods, fascinated, as his lover leans down. House presses soft lips against his balls, mouthing each one gently. The occasional scrape of stubble makes him shiver; the throbbing he feels now is entirely different. One thumb massages his perineum, and he arches, head tilted back, as House licks his way to the tip of his penis.
Wilson curls his toes and chokes back a whimper. “Hah… House, you were on that table, too… You could have splinters in- in your-” He breaks off in a mewl when House’s laugh rumbles across his skin.
House’s smile dazzles Wilson, so he laughs, too, feeling giddy just looking at him. House’s voice is husky when he asks, “You wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows as he presses the tweezers into Wilson’s hand.
Wilson flings the tweezers on the floor and pounces.