House, M.D. - Fantasies Aren't Always What They're Cracked Up to Be (sickwilson_fest #2)
Title: Fantasies Aren't Always What They're Cracked Up to Be
Author: ForAllLove
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Word count: 3360
Rating: NC-17, I think - see Warnings
Prompt: #8: Wilson wakes up chained to a wall.
Summary: I have no idea where the heck this came from. It stuck in my head when I read the prompt, which, by the way, is all the summary you're getting unless you read the one-sentence version linked below.
Warnings: Language, (what I'm going to call) graphic BDSM including spanking and electrostimulation, initial non-con, and, of course, a happy ending *ahem*. No lasting damage, and I promise it turns out okay, but if you want a one-sentence summary, click here. Please don't, though, unless you're really concerned, 'cause it'll mess up my masterfully crafted suspense!
Disclaimer: If I owned House, M.D., somebody would have spanked Wilson by now. Because he deserves it. That's the only reason. Yup.
Author's Note: Second entry for
. I'm always kind of nervous when I post stuff, but this one... *cringe* Anyway, just posting it 'cause otherwise I'll keep changing stuff and never work on number three.
One drink. That’s all. One little bitty drink, and now Wilson’s head felt like a cotton ball and he wasn’t even sure which way was up. House was going to laugh. He cracked his eyes open to darkness; his lashes brushed against silky fabric.
Wilson jerked his head back, but the blindfold came with him. “Up” was the wrong way up - he was standing. He started to panic as he realized how little he could move. His feet were locked to the floor, spread far enough apart that he felt the burn in his inner thighs; his hands were chained together over his head by padded cuffs. When he stood on his toes and tugged at the chains, his torso pressed up against a stone wall, cold and rough against his skin. Way too much skin.
This could not be happening.
Wilson yanked on the restraints some more, his instinctive cries for help turning into House. What happened to his nice, relaxing weekend at home with his best-friend-turned-lover? Oh, no, House had to check out some seedy little joint on the way home, leave Wilson in the corner while he went to the bar… the opportune moment for whoever drugged his drink to pounce. He stilled to listen for some kind of response, but all he could hear over his own pulse was the diseased grinding of a fan. He shivered and buried his face against his arms. House would find him; he was good at solving puzzles. House would save him.
A hand touched his shoulder. Wilson flinched with a whimper. How long had this person been here, watching him panic and fight against his restraints without a word of reassurance? “Help me,” he pleaded, though his stomach dropped as the hand trailed down his back. This was no comforting touch of a rescuer. “Please, just let me go…” It was a large hand. A man’s hand. And it was squeezing his ass.
The resulting surge of nausea left Wilson light-headed. “Listen, I’m an oncologist, a- a doctor. I treat cancer. My patients need me. My-” He bit back the word “boyfriend”; this psycho who abducted him could just as easily harm House. The thought of House in this situation hurt like getting the wind knocked out of him. Wilson amended his sentence, “My friends will miss me.”
The hand lazily migrated to his front and tweaked a nipple.
Out of desperation, Wilson launched into his plans for the evening, to make himself seem as human as possible. “I’ve got to go home - I’m making stir-fry for dinner. We’re gonna watch monster trucks on TiVo.” He’d had other plans for later in the evening, but at this point, he would trade all of them just to hold House and be safe.
The hand drifted down to his groin and was joined by its match in binding him securely. “Please, don’t,” he appealed again, but the hands paid him no mind, cinched the straps, and gave him a parting squeeze.
Wilson didn’t know what to expect. Here he was, at the mercy of a man he couldn’t see or even hear, about to be… what? Raped, maimed, skinned alive, set on fire? How many days - or weeks - would he have to suffer? Would House ever find what was left, or would he spend the rest of his life searching until everyone else had given up hope? Would he die alone of a broken heart? No, that wasn’t his House. He was more likely to burst into the room in a moment, all snark and protectiveness, and rescue Wilson. Wilson hoped he’d bring the police; his captor’s hands were strong, and even an angry House was still a crippled one. If this faceless kidnapper forced House to watch, or tortured or murdered him…
Wilson was close to hyperventilating, chilled with terror colder than the room itself. The fan drowned out any sounds of movement behind him. He curled into himself as much as he could, waiting for the slice of a knife or-
When a strap lashed across his backside with a crack, Wilson yelped more from surprise than pain.
Before he’d taken a breath, the strap was back, searing across his skin with less than a second between strokes. His captor worked his way down Wilson’s bottom, inch by inch, with punishing precision.
The pain from each blow blended into one solid burn that made Wilson want to clench his buttocks, but his legs were spread too far apart. The strap licked the tops of his thighs and he gasped, eyes wide against the blindfold.
His kidnapper whipped him twice more across the sensitive “sit spot.” Before the initial throbbing had a chance to subside, a round paddle replaced the strap, smacking the same spot on the underside of one buttock until Wilson couldn’t stand it. He danced away from the blows; a cruel arm pulled his hips back and held him there.
The paddle repeated the same punishment on the other side, then began all over again. His captor angled the paddle upward so Wilson’s bottom bounced with each whack; Wilson growled even as tears welled in his eyes. He was humiliated and frightened, and the rapid spanks were building to unbearable. The paddle slapped furiously in the center of his ass until he cried out.
As quickly as the spanking had started, it ceased.
The man withdrew his arm, and left Wilson to recover from the onslaught. Wilson laid his head against his biceps again, trying to catch his breath. Too soon, that hand was back. The faceless man parted Wilson’s buttocks with a thumb only moments before the hateful strap smacked between them.
The very nature of Wilson’s position left him completely exposed; these spanks were gentler, but everything here was so much more sensitive. The tip of the strap stung his tender little anus with annoying accuracy. The man picked up the pace along his perineum, and finished with a few taps to his balls that left Wilson whimpering.
His kidnapper cast the strap aside and kneaded Wilson’s burning backside with both hands. His touch soothed the physical pain a bit, but made Wilson’s stomach feel like it was tied into knots. The man spread his bottom and held him open. One slick finger tickled the sore, vulnerable opening, then pressed inside.
Wilson’s tears finally began to trickle free. He’d never told House that he was the only one Wilson had let do this. There were so many things he had never told House. “Let me go home,” he moaned in despair. “I want my House.”
His captor just added a second finger. Wilson wanted to push him away, to fight, anything. No man, no one at all, should have to endure this kind of violation.
He startled for the fourth time since he’d awoken when an unexpected thrill coursed through his body. His abductor had slipped a long, smooth vibrator into him while he was busy being miserable. Wilson felt himself quickly responding to the sensations as the device wiggled in and out of him, and hated himself for it. He wanted to belong to House, but this captor was tricking his body out of his romantic notions in ways that were simply unfair.
The vibrator pulled out of him, pressed against his balls, and was gone. The kidnapper started to stick pads to Wilson’s sore bottom. Wilson shivered, still cold despite the burn from the spanking, and dreaded whatever new torture the man was planning to inflict upon him. A tingle ran through his backside, then another. This was it?
The tingles came slowly at first, but soon strengthened until Wilson felt his muscles twitching. It felt like a new kind of burn. Then the vibrator was back inside him, this time on some sort of pole anchored to the floor. The pulses gradually made his buttocks contract more forcibly. Wilson whined and began to squirm. Each contraction nudged the vibrator against his prostate; no matter which way he moved his hips, he couldn’t keep it from stimulating that uniquely arousing spot while his abused flesh quivered.
The burn quickly crescendoed into outright pain. His bottom spasmed several times each second. Wilson caught his chains in both hands as his knees buckled. Every jolt, now coming one on top of the next, rocked his hips so he was involuntarily fucking himself on the vibrator.
A wail bubbled up in Wilson’s throat. His captor was silent somewhere behind him, taking pleasure from his writhing, toying with the degrees of his agony. Wilson could never have imagined such a creature existing. He would not beg - he could withhold at least that much… couldn’t he? As though not even his thoughts were private, the man turned up the electricity to course beneath Wilson’s skin in one continuous current.
Wilson’s legs wouldn’t hold him anymore; he slid down onto the vibrator until his body closed over its base where it attached to the pole. As his ass rippled uncontrollably, he gave in to the pain and screamed. “Turn it off, please! Stop - stop!”
Just like that, the torture was over. Wilson sagged in his restraints, sobbing. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the hands that pressed his buttocks together, then jogged him up and down on the vibrator. They removed the pads and, after a few light spanks, the vibrator as well. The reflexive clench as it slid out prompted Wilson to straighten up on trembling legs; his palms were sore from gripping the chains.
The man wasn’t satisfied without molesting him further. He pawed Wilson’s abused bottom, even jiggled it a bit, before spreading his cheeks and looking at his hole.
It wasn’t fair! After all those divorces and mistakes he’d made, Wilson had finally found the person he belonged with. He deserved House. They bickered and pissed each other off and played pranks and spent almost every moment together, because they made each other so happy that even House smiled all the time. Wilson loved House. And to be ripped away from him like this was more than he’d stand for.
When he felt the press of his captor’s jeans-covered erection, Wilson jerked his hips away. “Haven’t you done enough already?” he snarled.
The kidnapper’s hands left him, and there was nothing.
Panic spiked into Wilson’s throat again. Up until now, the man had only been playing with him; how much more pain would he inflict upon Wilson if he were angry? He curled his hands around his chains and huddled against the wall. His heartbeat, nearly drowning out his frightened whimpers, hammered in his ears until he felt dizzy. Still nothing.
Wilson dared to turn his head over his shoulder, straining to hear any movement over the grinding fan. He gasped when a gentle mouth captured his own parted lips, too surprised to recoil. Whiskers, the bite of Vicodin…
“…House?”
“Yeah?”
“House!” Wilson smiled, weak with relief. House was the one who’d been here with him; he’d been safe the whole time.
The whole time…?
“House, you asshole!” Wilson buried his face in his arms and burst into tears.
House touched his shoulder, and this time he did recoil. “What? I thought you’d like it.”
“Getting kidnapped by some psycho serial rapist sounds like fun to you? I was scared to death!”
“But you knew it was me!”
House was getting annoyed. House, the jerk who’d done the kidnapping, was getting annoyed. Wilson would have glared, if he weren’t blindfolded. Instead, he huffed, “How could I?”
“I limp, Wilson.”
It shouldn’t have made him feel bad to hurt House’s feelings after all he’d done, but Wilson was worn out, and his anger was already fizzling. “I can’t hear anything over that- that fan,” he hiccupped miserably. “It was mean. I thought I’d never see you again.”
House’s hand touched his hair, tentatively. “I’m sorry,” he murmured close to Wilson’s ear.
Wilson’s heart started to melt. House wouldn’t freak him out on purpose, would he? He was just being House. And right now, Wilson just wanted to see him. “…Take the blindfold off?”
He waited for House to untie the knot, then peeked back over his shoulder. House’s eyebrows drew together as he traced a stray tear down Wilson’s cheek with one finger. Both his touch and his voice were soothing when he asked, “You really were scared, Jimmy?”
Even as Wilson nodded, House’s arms encircled his waist. He felt the damp, silky-smooth brush of the blindfold that still dangled from House’s fingertips, looked down, and snorted, “My own tie.” House cast it aside in favor of cuddling him closer. Wilson sighed happily and rubbed his cheek against his lover’s. House kissed the corner of his mouth; he turned his head for a proper kiss. “Why?” He wasn’t angry anymore, just curious, especially when the other man hesitated.
“Remember how we got together?”
Wilson smiled. It had taken a lot of time and stress to come to terms with being in love with House, but, once he made up his mind, he’d kvetched about being lonely every day for a week, hoping his friend would take the hint. For a brilliant diagnostician, House could be unbelievably dense at the worst times. He, albeit sarcastically, suggested that Wilson join a personals site, so he did - a kinky gay horror that was sure to pique House’s curiosity. Then he sent him the link.
He’d wished he’d had a camera. Especially for the part in his desk chair.
But that had nothing to do with this evening, unless House was reading way too much into his choice of website. Confused, he pointed out, “But I only made that profile for you. I deleted the next day.” Besides, he’d barely paid attention to anything except writing his ad for a tall, scruffy, gorgeous older guy with a cane. Yep, he was shameless… but he got his man.
“Well… I saved it,” House admitted sheepishly. “Thought I could ‘fulfill your darkest fantasies’ sometime.”
“Oh, House… I had to choose those ‘kinks’ from a checklist in order to sign up. I just picked random stuff. I don’t- I’ve never tried-” Wilson scrunched up his face in embarrassment.
He felt the warmth of House’s chuckle as his friend nuzzled behind his jaw. “Should have deleted your profile sooner. No telling what kind of freak you might have ended up with.”
“I like the one I got,” Wilson said. He caught House’s smile out of the corner of his eye before his lover ducked his head. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hands petting his belly.
“So-o-o, that bar we were in just happened to be next door to a BDSM club. I, uh, rented a dungeon,” House exaggerated as though the words tasted awful.
Wilson giggled. As if that fooled him. “And then you just happened to drug me?”
House protested, “Hey, only a little!” Wilson tipped his head back onto his friend’s shoulder, smiling affectionately. “Sorry… I wanted you to like this.” House sighed into his hair. “I really screwed up, huh?”
“N-nooo…” Wilson drawled the word, surprised at himself.
Knowing House was the faceless captor did put a whole new spin on things. It had been his own love who’d pushed him to his limits, then brought him back safely when he couldn’t take any more. It wasn’t about hurting him. House wanted him to know what it felt like to give up control and experience what he gave - could the pain be a means to that surrender, a contrast to the pleasure?
He’d never really thought about it that way.
Slowly, he reevaluated each act. “That shocking stuff was horrible, but the- the spanking was… kind of hot…” Great, now he was blushing again… and it suddenly occurred to him that House had too many clothes on.
“You took so much, so well. I was really impressed.” The other man’s voice had dropped a register.
Wilson shivered; for the first time, he was glad of the chains that held him up. “Yeah, well, my ass is tough. All those years of you being a pain in it… House-” His friend would probably take him home if he asked, but they’d made it this far. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was riding high on endorphins alone, and Wilson found he was ready to be, wanted to be swept off his feet. He gulped, then stammered, “Don’t these fantasies usually end in- in sex?”
House shifted around to look directly at him, cupping Wilson’s face in his hands. “You sure, Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, “I’m sure.”
House leaned in and kissed him, just a gentle tease of lips at first, which soon deepened until Wilson would have latched onto the other man for dear life, if he were free to do so. His lover’s hands smoothed over his hair, eventually breaking the kiss when they tipped his forehead against House’s. They parted with a few soft pecks; House caressed his face one more time before moving back behind him.
At the sound of House’s zipper, loud enough to beat the fan’s rattling, Wilson trembled in anticipation. Apparently, House intended to do him right here. Not that he was complaining, but… “Gonna be okay, standing?” He squeaked when the tip of House’s cock bumped his sore little entrance.
“I’m not going to last very long,” House apologized.
“You want to sit down?”
“That’s not what I meant,” came the sing-song reply.
Before Wilson could tease back, House was sliding into him. Though the vibrator had opened him a bit, he still felt himself stretching to accommodate his lover while House impaled him the same inescapable way- “Oh, me neither,” he gasped. Definitely not if his mind kept running off like that. The idea of being at House’s mercy was… electrifying.
House laughed, “You don’t have a choice, there, Jimmy-boy.” He tapped the straps in reminder. Wilson’s erection was perking back up, much quicker than he’d thought possible. House stroked it gently, tickling the head with one finger, then wrapped his arm around Wilson.
Wilson whined as House began to thrust, clenching and unclenching his fists over his head. House leaned into him for support. His lover’s right hand snaked between Wilson’s palms, and he clasped it with both hands, grateful for the touch.
House braced himself on his forearm, then caressed Wilson’s fingers. “I’ll take care of you,” he soothed between kisses. “You’ve been so good, so sweet… I’m gonna take you home and get you a hot bath. Your stir-fry can wait; we’ll order something tonight.”
Purring, Wilson turned his face back for some of those kisses. From abject terror to love and safety - he felt positively euphoric.
House rubbed his jeans against Wilson’s bruised bottom. “You have no idea how hot you made me, watching your plump, rosy cheeks, quivering and helpless as I plundered your tight little hole…”
Wilson laughed breathlessly. House couldn’t cancel out the sweet things he’d said and done, no matter how hard he tried. “Talking dirty was not on my list.”
“Maybe it’s on mine.”
A sharp pang of arousal made him whimper. “We’ll have to explore it l-later…”
House’s free hand stroked over his hip to squeeze his backside. “So, you liked being spanked, huh?” He smacked one buttock hard enough to make Wilson jump. “How about being on camera?”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
House picked just then to change the angle of his lopsided thrusts so they nailed Wilson’s battered prostate.
Wilson squealed. He was reeling, right on the edge, yet helpless to do anything but clutch his lover’s hand and push his hips back for more.
House picked up the pace, showering Wilson with kisses and intermittent spanks until he was frantic. House wasn’t far behind. He yanked his fingers from Wilson’s grip, then fumbled with the straps with both hands.
“My profile- you didn’t read it right,” Wilson sobbed, scrabbling at the wall.
House ripped the straps off and planted both hands against the wall. “Wilson!”
“I was supposed to be the top-!”
Here's the summary:
House thinks Wilson has a rape fantasy (long story), but when he sets out to fulfill it, he forgets to tell Wilson it's not real.
Author: ForAllLove
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Word count: 3360
Rating: NC-17, I think - see Warnings
Prompt: #8: Wilson wakes up chained to a wall.
Summary: I have no idea where the heck this came from. It stuck in my head when I read the prompt, which, by the way, is all the summary you're getting unless you read the one-sentence version linked below.
Warnings: Language, (what I'm going to call) graphic BDSM including spanking and electrostimulation, initial non-con, and, of course, a happy ending *ahem*. No lasting damage, and I promise it turns out okay, but if you want a one-sentence summary, click here. Please don't, though, unless you're really concerned, 'cause it'll mess up my masterfully crafted suspense!
Disclaimer: If I owned House, M.D., somebody would have spanked Wilson by now. Because he deserves it. That's the only reason. Yup.
Author's Note: Second entry for
. I'm always kind of nervous when I post stuff, but this one... *cringe* Anyway, just posting it 'cause otherwise I'll keep changing stuff and never work on number three.
One drink. That’s all. One little bitty drink, and now Wilson’s head felt like a cotton ball and he wasn’t even sure which way was up. House was going to laugh. He cracked his eyes open to darkness; his lashes brushed against silky fabric.
Wilson jerked his head back, but the blindfold came with him. “Up” was the wrong way up - he was standing. He started to panic as he realized how little he could move. His feet were locked to the floor, spread far enough apart that he felt the burn in his inner thighs; his hands were chained together over his head by padded cuffs. When he stood on his toes and tugged at the chains, his torso pressed up against a stone wall, cold and rough against his skin. Way too much skin.
This could not be happening.
Wilson yanked on the restraints some more, his instinctive cries for help turning into House. What happened to his nice, relaxing weekend at home with his best-friend-turned-lover? Oh, no, House had to check out some seedy little joint on the way home, leave Wilson in the corner while he went to the bar… the opportune moment for whoever drugged his drink to pounce. He stilled to listen for some kind of response, but all he could hear over his own pulse was the diseased grinding of a fan. He shivered and buried his face against his arms. House would find him; he was good at solving puzzles. House would save him.
A hand touched his shoulder. Wilson flinched with a whimper. How long had this person been here, watching him panic and fight against his restraints without a word of reassurance? “Help me,” he pleaded, though his stomach dropped as the hand trailed down his back. This was no comforting touch of a rescuer. “Please, just let me go…” It was a large hand. A man’s hand. And it was squeezing his ass.
The resulting surge of nausea left Wilson light-headed. “Listen, I’m an oncologist, a- a doctor. I treat cancer. My patients need me. My-” He bit back the word “boyfriend”; this psycho who abducted him could just as easily harm House. The thought of House in this situation hurt like getting the wind knocked out of him. Wilson amended his sentence, “My friends will miss me.”
The hand lazily migrated to his front and tweaked a nipple.
Out of desperation, Wilson launched into his plans for the evening, to make himself seem as human as possible. “I’ve got to go home - I’m making stir-fry for dinner. We’re gonna watch monster trucks on TiVo.” He’d had other plans for later in the evening, but at this point, he would trade all of them just to hold House and be safe.
The hand drifted down to his groin and was joined by its match in binding him securely. “Please, don’t,” he appealed again, but the hands paid him no mind, cinched the straps, and gave him a parting squeeze.
Wilson didn’t know what to expect. Here he was, at the mercy of a man he couldn’t see or even hear, about to be… what? Raped, maimed, skinned alive, set on fire? How many days - or weeks - would he have to suffer? Would House ever find what was left, or would he spend the rest of his life searching until everyone else had given up hope? Would he die alone of a broken heart? No, that wasn’t his House. He was more likely to burst into the room in a moment, all snark and protectiveness, and rescue Wilson. Wilson hoped he’d bring the police; his captor’s hands were strong, and even an angry House was still a crippled one. If this faceless kidnapper forced House to watch, or tortured or murdered him…
Wilson was close to hyperventilating, chilled with terror colder than the room itself. The fan drowned out any sounds of movement behind him. He curled into himself as much as he could, waiting for the slice of a knife or-
When a strap lashed across his backside with a crack, Wilson yelped more from surprise than pain.
Before he’d taken a breath, the strap was back, searing across his skin with less than a second between strokes. His captor worked his way down Wilson’s bottom, inch by inch, with punishing precision.
The pain from each blow blended into one solid burn that made Wilson want to clench his buttocks, but his legs were spread too far apart. The strap licked the tops of his thighs and he gasped, eyes wide against the blindfold.
His kidnapper whipped him twice more across the sensitive “sit spot.” Before the initial throbbing had a chance to subside, a round paddle replaced the strap, smacking the same spot on the underside of one buttock until Wilson couldn’t stand it. He danced away from the blows; a cruel arm pulled his hips back and held him there.
The paddle repeated the same punishment on the other side, then began all over again. His captor angled the paddle upward so Wilson’s bottom bounced with each whack; Wilson growled even as tears welled in his eyes. He was humiliated and frightened, and the rapid spanks were building to unbearable. The paddle slapped furiously in the center of his ass until he cried out.
As quickly as the spanking had started, it ceased.
The man withdrew his arm, and left Wilson to recover from the onslaught. Wilson laid his head against his biceps again, trying to catch his breath. Too soon, that hand was back. The faceless man parted Wilson’s buttocks with a thumb only moments before the hateful strap smacked between them.
The very nature of Wilson’s position left him completely exposed; these spanks were gentler, but everything here was so much more sensitive. The tip of the strap stung his tender little anus with annoying accuracy. The man picked up the pace along his perineum, and finished with a few taps to his balls that left Wilson whimpering.
His kidnapper cast the strap aside and kneaded Wilson’s burning backside with both hands. His touch soothed the physical pain a bit, but made Wilson’s stomach feel like it was tied into knots. The man spread his bottom and held him open. One slick finger tickled the sore, vulnerable opening, then pressed inside.
Wilson’s tears finally began to trickle free. He’d never told House that he was the only one Wilson had let do this. There were so many things he had never told House. “Let me go home,” he moaned in despair. “I want my House.”
His captor just added a second finger. Wilson wanted to push him away, to fight, anything. No man, no one at all, should have to endure this kind of violation.
He startled for the fourth time since he’d awoken when an unexpected thrill coursed through his body. His abductor had slipped a long, smooth vibrator into him while he was busy being miserable. Wilson felt himself quickly responding to the sensations as the device wiggled in and out of him, and hated himself for it. He wanted to belong to House, but this captor was tricking his body out of his romantic notions in ways that were simply unfair.
The vibrator pulled out of him, pressed against his balls, and was gone. The kidnapper started to stick pads to Wilson’s sore bottom. Wilson shivered, still cold despite the burn from the spanking, and dreaded whatever new torture the man was planning to inflict upon him. A tingle ran through his backside, then another. This was it?
The tingles came slowly at first, but soon strengthened until Wilson felt his muscles twitching. It felt like a new kind of burn. Then the vibrator was back inside him, this time on some sort of pole anchored to the floor. The pulses gradually made his buttocks contract more forcibly. Wilson whined and began to squirm. Each contraction nudged the vibrator against his prostate; no matter which way he moved his hips, he couldn’t keep it from stimulating that uniquely arousing spot while his abused flesh quivered.
The burn quickly crescendoed into outright pain. His bottom spasmed several times each second. Wilson caught his chains in both hands as his knees buckled. Every jolt, now coming one on top of the next, rocked his hips so he was involuntarily fucking himself on the vibrator.
A wail bubbled up in Wilson’s throat. His captor was silent somewhere behind him, taking pleasure from his writhing, toying with the degrees of his agony. Wilson could never have imagined such a creature existing. He would not beg - he could withhold at least that much… couldn’t he? As though not even his thoughts were private, the man turned up the electricity to course beneath Wilson’s skin in one continuous current.
Wilson’s legs wouldn’t hold him anymore; he slid down onto the vibrator until his body closed over its base where it attached to the pole. As his ass rippled uncontrollably, he gave in to the pain and screamed. “Turn it off, please! Stop - stop!”
Just like that, the torture was over. Wilson sagged in his restraints, sobbing. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the hands that pressed his buttocks together, then jogged him up and down on the vibrator. They removed the pads and, after a few light spanks, the vibrator as well. The reflexive clench as it slid out prompted Wilson to straighten up on trembling legs; his palms were sore from gripping the chains.
The man wasn’t satisfied without molesting him further. He pawed Wilson’s abused bottom, even jiggled it a bit, before spreading his cheeks and looking at his hole.
It wasn’t fair! After all those divorces and mistakes he’d made, Wilson had finally found the person he belonged with. He deserved House. They bickered and pissed each other off and played pranks and spent almost every moment together, because they made each other so happy that even House smiled all the time. Wilson loved House. And to be ripped away from him like this was more than he’d stand for.
When he felt the press of his captor’s jeans-covered erection, Wilson jerked his hips away. “Haven’t you done enough already?” he snarled.
The kidnapper’s hands left him, and there was nothing.
Panic spiked into Wilson’s throat again. Up until now, the man had only been playing with him; how much more pain would he inflict upon Wilson if he were angry? He curled his hands around his chains and huddled against the wall. His heartbeat, nearly drowning out his frightened whimpers, hammered in his ears until he felt dizzy. Still nothing.
Wilson dared to turn his head over his shoulder, straining to hear any movement over the grinding fan. He gasped when a gentle mouth captured his own parted lips, too surprised to recoil. Whiskers, the bite of Vicodin…
“…House?”
“Yeah?”
“House!” Wilson smiled, weak with relief. House was the one who’d been here with him; he’d been safe the whole time.
The whole time…?
“House, you asshole!” Wilson buried his face in his arms and burst into tears.
House touched his shoulder, and this time he did recoil. “What? I thought you’d like it.”
“Getting kidnapped by some psycho serial rapist sounds like fun to you? I was scared to death!”
“But you knew it was me!”
House was getting annoyed. House, the jerk who’d done the kidnapping, was getting annoyed. Wilson would have glared, if he weren’t blindfolded. Instead, he huffed, “How could I?”
“I limp, Wilson.”
It shouldn’t have made him feel bad to hurt House’s feelings after all he’d done, but Wilson was worn out, and his anger was already fizzling. “I can’t hear anything over that- that fan,” he hiccupped miserably. “It was mean. I thought I’d never see you again.”
House’s hand touched his hair, tentatively. “I’m sorry,” he murmured close to Wilson’s ear.
Wilson’s heart started to melt. House wouldn’t freak him out on purpose, would he? He was just being House. And right now, Wilson just wanted to see him. “…Take the blindfold off?”
He waited for House to untie the knot, then peeked back over his shoulder. House’s eyebrows drew together as he traced a stray tear down Wilson’s cheek with one finger. Both his touch and his voice were soothing when he asked, “You really were scared, Jimmy?”
Even as Wilson nodded, House’s arms encircled his waist. He felt the damp, silky-smooth brush of the blindfold that still dangled from House’s fingertips, looked down, and snorted, “My own tie.” House cast it aside in favor of cuddling him closer. Wilson sighed happily and rubbed his cheek against his lover’s. House kissed the corner of his mouth; he turned his head for a proper kiss. “Why?” He wasn’t angry anymore, just curious, especially when the other man hesitated.
“Remember how we got together?”
Wilson smiled. It had taken a lot of time and stress to come to terms with being in love with House, but, once he made up his mind, he’d kvetched about being lonely every day for a week, hoping his friend would take the hint. For a brilliant diagnostician, House could be unbelievably dense at the worst times. He, albeit sarcastically, suggested that Wilson join a personals site, so he did - a kinky gay horror that was sure to pique House’s curiosity. Then he sent him the link.
He’d wished he’d had a camera. Especially for the part in his desk chair.
But that had nothing to do with this evening, unless House was reading way too much into his choice of website. Confused, he pointed out, “But I only made that profile for you. I deleted the next day.” Besides, he’d barely paid attention to anything except writing his ad for a tall, scruffy, gorgeous older guy with a cane. Yep, he was shameless… but he got his man.
“Well… I saved it,” House admitted sheepishly. “Thought I could ‘fulfill your darkest fantasies’ sometime.”
“Oh, House… I had to choose those ‘kinks’ from a checklist in order to sign up. I just picked random stuff. I don’t- I’ve never tried-” Wilson scrunched up his face in embarrassment.
He felt the warmth of House’s chuckle as his friend nuzzled behind his jaw. “Should have deleted your profile sooner. No telling what kind of freak you might have ended up with.”
“I like the one I got,” Wilson said. He caught House’s smile out of the corner of his eye before his lover ducked his head. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the hands petting his belly.
“So-o-o, that bar we were in just happened to be next door to a BDSM club. I, uh, rented a dungeon,” House exaggerated as though the words tasted awful.
Wilson giggled. As if that fooled him. “And then you just happened to drug me?”
House protested, “Hey, only a little!” Wilson tipped his head back onto his friend’s shoulder, smiling affectionately. “Sorry… I wanted you to like this.” House sighed into his hair. “I really screwed up, huh?”
“N-nooo…” Wilson drawled the word, surprised at himself.
Knowing House was the faceless captor did put a whole new spin on things. It had been his own love who’d pushed him to his limits, then brought him back safely when he couldn’t take any more. It wasn’t about hurting him. House wanted him to know what it felt like to give up control and experience what he gave - could the pain be a means to that surrender, a contrast to the pleasure?
He’d never really thought about it that way.
Slowly, he reevaluated each act. “That shocking stuff was horrible, but the- the spanking was… kind of hot…” Great, now he was blushing again… and it suddenly occurred to him that House had too many clothes on.
“You took so much, so well. I was really impressed.” The other man’s voice had dropped a register.
Wilson shivered; for the first time, he was glad of the chains that held him up. “Yeah, well, my ass is tough. All those years of you being a pain in it… House-” His friend would probably take him home if he asked, but they’d made it this far. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was riding high on endorphins alone, and Wilson found he was ready to be, wanted to be swept off his feet. He gulped, then stammered, “Don’t these fantasies usually end in- in sex?”
House shifted around to look directly at him, cupping Wilson’s face in his hands. “You sure, Jimmy?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, “I’m sure.”
House leaned in and kissed him, just a gentle tease of lips at first, which soon deepened until Wilson would have latched onto the other man for dear life, if he were free to do so. His lover’s hands smoothed over his hair, eventually breaking the kiss when they tipped his forehead against House’s. They parted with a few soft pecks; House caressed his face one more time before moving back behind him.
At the sound of House’s zipper, loud enough to beat the fan’s rattling, Wilson trembled in anticipation. Apparently, House intended to do him right here. Not that he was complaining, but… “Gonna be okay, standing?” He squeaked when the tip of House’s cock bumped his sore little entrance.
“I’m not going to last very long,” House apologized.
“You want to sit down?”
“That’s not what I meant,” came the sing-song reply.
Before Wilson could tease back, House was sliding into him. Though the vibrator had opened him a bit, he still felt himself stretching to accommodate his lover while House impaled him the same inescapable way- “Oh, me neither,” he gasped. Definitely not if his mind kept running off like that. The idea of being at House’s mercy was… electrifying.
House laughed, “You don’t have a choice, there, Jimmy-boy.” He tapped the straps in reminder. Wilson’s erection was perking back up, much quicker than he’d thought possible. House stroked it gently, tickling the head with one finger, then wrapped his arm around Wilson.
Wilson whined as House began to thrust, clenching and unclenching his fists over his head. House leaned into him for support. His lover’s right hand snaked between Wilson’s palms, and he clasped it with both hands, grateful for the touch.
House braced himself on his forearm, then caressed Wilson’s fingers. “I’ll take care of you,” he soothed between kisses. “You’ve been so good, so sweet… I’m gonna take you home and get you a hot bath. Your stir-fry can wait; we’ll order something tonight.”
Purring, Wilson turned his face back for some of those kisses. From abject terror to love and safety - he felt positively euphoric.
House rubbed his jeans against Wilson’s bruised bottom. “You have no idea how hot you made me, watching your plump, rosy cheeks, quivering and helpless as I plundered your tight little hole…”
Wilson laughed breathlessly. House couldn’t cancel out the sweet things he’d said and done, no matter how hard he tried. “Talking dirty was not on my list.”
“Maybe it’s on mine.”
A sharp pang of arousal made him whimper. “We’ll have to explore it l-later…”
House’s free hand stroked over his hip to squeeze his backside. “So, you liked being spanked, huh?” He smacked one buttock hard enough to make Wilson jump. “How about being on camera?”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
House picked just then to change the angle of his lopsided thrusts so they nailed Wilson’s battered prostate.
Wilson squealed. He was reeling, right on the edge, yet helpless to do anything but clutch his lover’s hand and push his hips back for more.
House picked up the pace, showering Wilson with kisses and intermittent spanks until he was frantic. House wasn’t far behind. He yanked his fingers from Wilson’s grip, then fumbled with the straps with both hands.
“My profile- you didn’t read it right,” Wilson sobbed, scrabbling at the wall.
House ripped the straps off and planted both hands against the wall. “Wilson!”
“I was supposed to be the top-!”
Here's the summary:
House thinks Wilson has a rape fantasy (long story), but when he sets out to fulfill it, he forgets to tell Wilson it's not real.