(no subject)
Title: Modes of Persuasion (AKA PORN)
Author: magie_05 (LIKES PORN)
Rating: NC-17 (FOR PORN)
Summary: IT'S PORN :D
He had arguing with Wilson down to a science.
One had to approach the situation with a clearly defined plan. Rhetoric was key. Ethos, pathos, logos. First establish the speaker (House's) superior authority on any given subject, then appeal to the audience's (Wilson's) sappy, easy-to-manipulate emotions, and finally, drive the point home using logic (House's specialty). Using these simple, age-old rules, House had an advantage in an endless array of arguments, from the life-and-death issues like drugs and risks and Wilson's ex-wives to - this.
“You left toothpaste in the sink.”
“Hm.”
“In my bathroom.”
“How about that.”
“Again.”
“Fascinating.”
“See, this is why we can't share a room. You're impossible.”
“And living with you is like living with a slightly butcher Joan Crawford, but I'm still using wire hangars.”
“The bathtub I could understand. That one I might have been willing to let slide. But there's just no reason for you to use my sink and my toothpaste and....oh, God, have you been using my toothbrush?”
“You know, you weren't so repulsed by the thought of my tongue two nights ago, when it spent most of the evening in your - ”
“That's different! You stick a toothbrush in your mouth in your own bathroom, you have a reasonable expectation that no one else has used it. Until you see spat-out toothpaste all over your bathroom mirror.”
“So you don't have a 'reasonable expectation' that my mouth is clean enough for you? Nice.”
“You're completely ignoring the point.”
“No, I get it. You want to maintain the illusion of distance between us, so you banish me from your room and insult my personal hygiene. When, really, I'm the one who should be complaining; my mouth may have been on your toothbrush, but your cock has been in Julie - ”
“House!”
From there, it evolved into an argument about Wilson's obsessive grooming schedule, which further progressed into a discussion about his pathetic need to be liked stemming from his deeply screwed-up relationship with his family, which branched out to include, among other things, his stubborn refusal to have sex with House in public -
It was way more fun than simply cleaning up the dried toothpaste.
The issue still wasn't fully resolved that evening, as evidenced by that annoying crinkle still fixed between Wilson's eyebrows. House figured he'd stop pouting in a day or two, when his pride succumbed to his need for physical validation. House wasn't worried in the slightest; arguing was satisfying enough in itself, but the best part was the inevitable reconciliation.
Still, he was slightly suspicious when he felt Wilson crawling up behind him in his bed.
“Hmm,” he said in exaggerated thought as Wilson's hands pushed up the front of his shirt, his mouth dragging hotly up the side of House's neck, “did I miss something?”
“Like what?” Wilson said against his ear before pressing his lips there, his voice soft and heavy with arousal, his chest pressed firmly against House's back.
House swallowed an involuntary intake of breath when he felt Wilson's fingertips skimming over his navel. “Like...a few lines of dialogue?” It wasn't like Wilson to give up the sex when there was still a perfectly good argument on the table. “Or have you seen the error of your ways?”
Wilson nipped carefully at a very specific spot on House's neck while his hands deftly unknotted the drawstring of House's pants. “Something like that.”
Judging from the sizable bulge pressing into House's tailbone, Wilson was either feeling especially penitent for his early morning hypocrisy - or else, he was just plain horny.
Either way, it was good news.
He sat up a little so Wilson could take off his shirt, leaned his head back to take in Wilson's tongue. It seemed only fair to lie there and enjoy this, considering that this morning's argument had been entirely Wilson's fault. So there was no shame in reaping the benefits, leaning back against Wilson's chest, reaching back for his hair, pushing his well-deserved erection into Wilson's palm. His imagination started going wild around the time Wilson's tongue started painting a broad line up the cord of muscle in his neck, ending in a series of wet kisses along House's jaw, his cheekbone, the sensitive spot at the corner of his mouth -
Wilson was, often literally, a complete sucker in these situations.
Clearly House was in for an evening of pure indulgence, courtesy of Wilson's massive guilt complex. He arranged himself at a three-quarter angle on the bed, half on his stomach while Wilson's mouth dragged along his shoulders, while his fingertips teased delicately along the waistband of House's shorts. A brief loss of contact, and then he watched Wilson's shirt drop to the bedpost, felt those thick arms slip around him, felt Wilson's chest soft and warm against his back.
He smiled to himself as Wilson nibbled insistently around his earlobe, his hand cupping House's hip. “Mmm,” he sighed, dragging his lips against the upturned corner of House's mouth, “what's so funny?”
“You.” He had to stop talking at this point to accommodate Wilson's tongue. “You are nothing if not predictable,” he said several seconds later, an edge of breathlessness to his voice.
At precisely the expected moment, Wilson kissed House's neck and shoved a hand down the front of his pants. “Happy to amuse you, as always.”
House lay back and relaxed while Wilson's hand slowly stroked him, his arms twisted securely around House's torso, his mouth suckling gently at House's skin. He was touching House's cock as if it were something that might shatter if handled too roughly, a delicate operation involving just the smooth pads of his fingers - tightening just under his tip, trickling back and forth to his balls. It would have been annoying, being treated like glass, being softly teased like one of Wilson's blond, leggy charity cases -
That was, if it wasn't ridiculously hot.
Wilson was warm and soft and overwhelming at House's back, crooning nonsense into his ear, very indulgently jerking him off. It wasn't House's fault that his body reacted automatically - his neck arching up against Wilson's mouth, his spine aligning itself perfectly with Wilson's torso, his hand reaching back for Wilson's hip -
Lying there with his cock in Wilson's hand and his ass pressed up against Wilson's crotch was enough for about 0.3 seconds, after which time it just became inconvenient. Rather than risk any vocalization, House took the dignified approach of shoving his hand down the back of Wilson's pants and squeezing what he could reach of Wilson's ass.
This moved paid off in the form of a pleased little note in his ear, a sudden firm tug on his cock and a cascade of kisses trickling down quite low on his back. Wilson's face was buried in the small of House's back as he gathered the soft material of House's pants in his fists, tugging them softly downwards...
The feeling of Wilson's finally naked form settling on top of him was enough to quelch any knee-jerk indignation House might have felt at his own wordless submission. There just wasn't a whole lot to complain about with Wilson's hands sweeping up his sides, Wilson's lips pushing through his hair, Wilson's cock bumping up against his hip. He lay on his side next to House, one leg tangling in with House's calves, one hand possessively cupping the back of his head, reclaiming House's mouth in a soft, tantalizing, guilt-drenched kiss.
God, he loved arguing with Wilson.
He stretched leisurely against the mattress as Wilson leaned over towards the nightstand, burrowing noisily in the drawer. He was mouthing his way across House's shoulders a second later, slick fingers creeping up the back of House's thigh, hot breath licking over his skin. House arched his back very slightly once those fingers reached a point quite high on his inner thigh, a dull, anticipatory heat roiling in his abdomen, his eyes slipping shut to allow him to properly envision his own very ambitious plans for the evening -
Plans which would go nowhere if Wilson didn't get on with it.
He was seemingly fascinated with a patch of skin annoyingly too far south of the Promised Land; House was seconds away from making a Jew-related joke based on his poor sense of direction when Wilson smeared a generous handful of lubricant over House's cock.
It was, at least, forward motion, so House swallowed a stream of insults (and a couple inconvenient sounds). Wilson resumed his lazy exploration of House's cock, warming the thick liquid against his skin, dipping all-too-occasionally down to House's balls.
He sort of hated when Wilson got like this. Granted, there was probably a really good payoff on the way, but this kind of slow, indulgent, Lifetime-movie sex - what could only be described (with an appropriate amount of bile in one's throat) as lovemaking - made Wilson completely unbearable, more prone to his outbursts of sentimentality, more likely to blurt out ridiculous questions like “Does that feel good?”
Judging from the way Wilson's mouth and hands and cock were sliding over House's skin, this question was apparently supposed to be erotic. Sort of just came off as nerdy. House was preparing a litany of complaints, starting with Wilson's chronically sub-par sex dialogue and ending with his disturbing fondness for the new cologne he'd been wearing...
Unfortunately, thanks to Wilson's poor timing, all that came out was a choked moan.
It sounded more like a cough, really, and only happened because Wilson chose that precise moment to actually handle his cock like a man. Still, Wilson was clearly going to use it as ammo, pushing a short little note of smugness into House's ear, drawing his fingers back, apparently revisiting the lube before very slowly trailing two fingers down the base of House's spine.
Being forcibly kissed while Wilson's fingers moved in slick little circles around his hole was just enough to keep House quiet for the next several seconds, long enough for Wilson to press the very tip of one finger into him, a barely-detectable millimeter of action which, for some bizarre reason, made House's entire body jerk sharply upwards on the mattress -
“Shh,” Wilson breathed across the back of his neck, ludicrously smug. His mouth latched onto House's earlobe and a second finger slipped inside him with an intriguing tinge of pain, successfully placating him. He grunted and pushed his hips back and rearranged his limbs on the mattress, guy code for 'stop screwing around and fuck me already,' but then, Wilson had always been suspiciously bad at the translation. He felt the head of Wilson's cock rubbing against him precisely everywhere except where he wanted it - the small of his back, his hip, in between his thighs, leaving a trail of chills and warm fluid in its wake. Meanwhile, Wilson's breath was trickling hotly across his skin, Wilson's mouth laying gentle kisses along his neck and shoulders, Wilson's fingers dipping into him at a deliciously crooked angle. By the time Wilson was settling fully on top of him, House had inadvertently clawed his way up the mattress, sweat beading along his temples, open and slick and eager enough to fully accommodate tonight's main course -
Wilson, however, seemed to be filling up on the appetizers.
“Oh,” he said, just as the wet tip of his cock breached that very important first ring of tight, slick muscle, sending a tidal wave of confused nerve signals up House's spine. “Oh.”
He could feel Wilson shaking. Could feel the choked little moans in Wilson's chest vibrating against his back. Could feel the head of his cock throbbing with the rhythm of his heartbeat, pushing into House by degrees. Any normal, healthy, sane adult male would have, at this point, fulfilled his biological imperative with primal, exuberant vigor, but Wilson had to once again demonstrate his deviant nature.
He was fucking House like it was some kind of hobby.
House had to glance over his shoulder to ensure Wilson wasn't a reading a book while he was doing it. He moved with lackadaisical slowness, carefully rocking his hips, barely pushing in enough to keep House awake. He made a sound like “hohGod” in House's ear and pulled completely out of him, shifting his weight and exhaling a sigh and nibbling wetly along House's jaw before - very slowly - slipping back into him.
The burn of a second penetration sent an electric jolt through his nerves, culminating in an involuntary vibration of his larynx which, coincidentally, left his body as a low groan.
These mysterious reactions continued as Wilson very slowly and deliberately ground his hips against House's ass, apparently having finally remembered how this sex thing was supposed to go. His calm, circular movements rocked House's whole body against the mattress, a gratifying, comforting sort of rhythm that was turning House's muscles into liquid. He felt the points of Wilson's hipbones digging into his ass, Wilson's arms slipping firmly around his chest, Wilson's mouth latching onto his neck. House was just getting into it, closing his eyes and setting up a good counter-movement - when Wilson suddenly decided to stop and pull completely out of him again.
He continued the process more times than House had the presence of mind to count, fucking him in long, organized stages, taking occasional breaks to re-coat himself with lube, giving House just barely enough to keep the homicidal urges at bay. The repeated re-entries were successfully driving House insane with pleasure; he could feel it welling up in his stomach, burning in his blood, sizzling through his nerve endings. He had little choice but to bury his face in the sheets to muffle the noises, one arm pinned behind him to grab at Wilson's hip, his cock grinding wetly against his own abdomen. Whatever was lacking in Wilson's timing, he was thoroughly making up for it in execution; House was a few good strokes away from one hell of an orgasm, one that would more than expunge Wilson's earlier bad behavior from House's memory. It was so sweet, always being able to come out 'on top,' as it were - to once again re-establish his inimitable dominance -
“Ah!”
Wilson suddenly pushed into him with such unexpected, earth-shattering force that it took all of House's willpower to avoid coming on the spot. He paused there, his cock thick and hot and buried up against House's prostate, and pushed himself up, his palms to the mattress. House squirmed and whined and pulled at Wilson's hair, but he was immovable. “Wilson, holy fuck - ”
“We'll get back to that,” Wilson said, with sudden and surprising diction. “First, there are a few issues we need to clarify.”
He pressed in impossibly further and House suddenly lost the ability to breathe.
“One: you don't invade my bathroom without my prior, expressed permission. Deal?”
“Nrg.” No way he was giving up without a fight -
Wilson clucked his tongue. “You sure? Okay,” he said with a showy, resigned sigh, pulling out a few inches -
“Alright, alright!” He was going to castrate Wilson later, after the orgasmic haze wore off.
“Good,” Wilson practically purred, rocking into him, a hand braced on House's shoulder to steepen the angle. “Second: my objection to seeing your spit, hair, and dirty clothing all over my bathroom has nothing to with distance, emotions, or how I feel about you. Agreed?”
“Blarg,” House mumbled sullenly, and was rewarded by a firm roll of Wilson's hips.
“That's right.” His voice was disgustingly smug and pleased but hot damn, his cock - “Thirdly, we're not going to need to have this particular conversation again for some time, am I right?”
House would sooner go through this torture again than...okay, than not go through this torture again. “Anything you want, just - ”
These were, apparently, the magic words this evening.
Wilson worked a hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking him manically while truly fucking him for the first time all night - sweat and skin and bone-rattling rhythm...
Then House may have blacked out for a while.
He was aware only of his suddenly inability to see, move, or stop babbling, of Wilson's heat spilling into him, Wilson's hands sliding down his sweat-soaked skin, Wilson's mouth kissing lazily along his shoulders. He was quite numb to the heavy warmth of Wilson settling against him, even more so to the way his hands wound up tangling in Wilson's hair, how Wilson's head ended up on his shoulder. Really, if they were on the subject of personal space, House was the one who should be complaining - being forced to practically cuddle in his own bed, to deal with Wilson's soft touches and quiet, content little hums and immense, unbearable ego -
It was something House would have to think about while he was cleaning toothpaste out of Wilson's sink in the morning.
Author: magie_05 (LIKES PORN)
Rating: NC-17 (FOR PORN)
Summary: IT'S PORN :D
He had arguing with Wilson down to a science.
One had to approach the situation with a clearly defined plan. Rhetoric was key. Ethos, pathos, logos. First establish the speaker (House's) superior authority on any given subject, then appeal to the audience's (Wilson's) sappy, easy-to-manipulate emotions, and finally, drive the point home using logic (House's specialty). Using these simple, age-old rules, House had an advantage in an endless array of arguments, from the life-and-death issues like drugs and risks and Wilson's ex-wives to - this.
“You left toothpaste in the sink.”
“Hm.”
“In my bathroom.”
“How about that.”
“Again.”
“Fascinating.”
“See, this is why we can't share a room. You're impossible.”
“And living with you is like living with a slightly butcher Joan Crawford, but I'm still using wire hangars.”
“The bathtub I could understand. That one I might have been willing to let slide. But there's just no reason for you to use my sink and my toothpaste and....oh, God, have you been using my toothbrush?”
“You know, you weren't so repulsed by the thought of my tongue two nights ago, when it spent most of the evening in your - ”
“That's different! You stick a toothbrush in your mouth in your own bathroom, you have a reasonable expectation that no one else has used it. Until you see spat-out toothpaste all over your bathroom mirror.”
“So you don't have a 'reasonable expectation' that my mouth is clean enough for you? Nice.”
“You're completely ignoring the point.”
“No, I get it. You want to maintain the illusion of distance between us, so you banish me from your room and insult my personal hygiene. When, really, I'm the one who should be complaining; my mouth may have been on your toothbrush, but your cock has been in Julie - ”
“House!”
From there, it evolved into an argument about Wilson's obsessive grooming schedule, which further progressed into a discussion about his pathetic need to be liked stemming from his deeply screwed-up relationship with his family, which branched out to include, among other things, his stubborn refusal to have sex with House in public -
It was way more fun than simply cleaning up the dried toothpaste.
The issue still wasn't fully resolved that evening, as evidenced by that annoying crinkle still fixed between Wilson's eyebrows. House figured he'd stop pouting in a day or two, when his pride succumbed to his need for physical validation. House wasn't worried in the slightest; arguing was satisfying enough in itself, but the best part was the inevitable reconciliation.
Still, he was slightly suspicious when he felt Wilson crawling up behind him in his bed.
“Hmm,” he said in exaggerated thought as Wilson's hands pushed up the front of his shirt, his mouth dragging hotly up the side of House's neck, “did I miss something?”
“Like what?” Wilson said against his ear before pressing his lips there, his voice soft and heavy with arousal, his chest pressed firmly against House's back.
House swallowed an involuntary intake of breath when he felt Wilson's fingertips skimming over his navel. “Like...a few lines of dialogue?” It wasn't like Wilson to give up the sex when there was still a perfectly good argument on the table. “Or have you seen the error of your ways?”
Wilson nipped carefully at a very specific spot on House's neck while his hands deftly unknotted the drawstring of House's pants. “Something like that.”
Judging from the sizable bulge pressing into House's tailbone, Wilson was either feeling especially penitent for his early morning hypocrisy - or else, he was just plain horny.
Either way, it was good news.
He sat up a little so Wilson could take off his shirt, leaned his head back to take in Wilson's tongue. It seemed only fair to lie there and enjoy this, considering that this morning's argument had been entirely Wilson's fault. So there was no shame in reaping the benefits, leaning back against Wilson's chest, reaching back for his hair, pushing his well-deserved erection into Wilson's palm. His imagination started going wild around the time Wilson's tongue started painting a broad line up the cord of muscle in his neck, ending in a series of wet kisses along House's jaw, his cheekbone, the sensitive spot at the corner of his mouth -
Wilson was, often literally, a complete sucker in these situations.
Clearly House was in for an evening of pure indulgence, courtesy of Wilson's massive guilt complex. He arranged himself at a three-quarter angle on the bed, half on his stomach while Wilson's mouth dragged along his shoulders, while his fingertips teased delicately along the waistband of House's shorts. A brief loss of contact, and then he watched Wilson's shirt drop to the bedpost, felt those thick arms slip around him, felt Wilson's chest soft and warm against his back.
He smiled to himself as Wilson nibbled insistently around his earlobe, his hand cupping House's hip. “Mmm,” he sighed, dragging his lips against the upturned corner of House's mouth, “what's so funny?”
“You.” He had to stop talking at this point to accommodate Wilson's tongue. “You are nothing if not predictable,” he said several seconds later, an edge of breathlessness to his voice.
At precisely the expected moment, Wilson kissed House's neck and shoved a hand down the front of his pants. “Happy to amuse you, as always.”
House lay back and relaxed while Wilson's hand slowly stroked him, his arms twisted securely around House's torso, his mouth suckling gently at House's skin. He was touching House's cock as if it were something that might shatter if handled too roughly, a delicate operation involving just the smooth pads of his fingers - tightening just under his tip, trickling back and forth to his balls. It would have been annoying, being treated like glass, being softly teased like one of Wilson's blond, leggy charity cases -
That was, if it wasn't ridiculously hot.
Wilson was warm and soft and overwhelming at House's back, crooning nonsense into his ear, very indulgently jerking him off. It wasn't House's fault that his body reacted automatically - his neck arching up against Wilson's mouth, his spine aligning itself perfectly with Wilson's torso, his hand reaching back for Wilson's hip -
Lying there with his cock in Wilson's hand and his ass pressed up against Wilson's crotch was enough for about 0.3 seconds, after which time it just became inconvenient. Rather than risk any vocalization, House took the dignified approach of shoving his hand down the back of Wilson's pants and squeezing what he could reach of Wilson's ass.
This moved paid off in the form of a pleased little note in his ear, a sudden firm tug on his cock and a cascade of kisses trickling down quite low on his back. Wilson's face was buried in the small of House's back as he gathered the soft material of House's pants in his fists, tugging them softly downwards...
The feeling of Wilson's finally naked form settling on top of him was enough to quelch any knee-jerk indignation House might have felt at his own wordless submission. There just wasn't a whole lot to complain about with Wilson's hands sweeping up his sides, Wilson's lips pushing through his hair, Wilson's cock bumping up against his hip. He lay on his side next to House, one leg tangling in with House's calves, one hand possessively cupping the back of his head, reclaiming House's mouth in a soft, tantalizing, guilt-drenched kiss.
God, he loved arguing with Wilson.
He stretched leisurely against the mattress as Wilson leaned over towards the nightstand, burrowing noisily in the drawer. He was mouthing his way across House's shoulders a second later, slick fingers creeping up the back of House's thigh, hot breath licking over his skin. House arched his back very slightly once those fingers reached a point quite high on his inner thigh, a dull, anticipatory heat roiling in his abdomen, his eyes slipping shut to allow him to properly envision his own very ambitious plans for the evening -
Plans which would go nowhere if Wilson didn't get on with it.
He was seemingly fascinated with a patch of skin annoyingly too far south of the Promised Land; House was seconds away from making a Jew-related joke based on his poor sense of direction when Wilson smeared a generous handful of lubricant over House's cock.
It was, at least, forward motion, so House swallowed a stream of insults (and a couple inconvenient sounds). Wilson resumed his lazy exploration of House's cock, warming the thick liquid against his skin, dipping all-too-occasionally down to House's balls.
He sort of hated when Wilson got like this. Granted, there was probably a really good payoff on the way, but this kind of slow, indulgent, Lifetime-movie sex - what could only be described (with an appropriate amount of bile in one's throat) as lovemaking - made Wilson completely unbearable, more prone to his outbursts of sentimentality, more likely to blurt out ridiculous questions like “Does that feel good?”
Judging from the way Wilson's mouth and hands and cock were sliding over House's skin, this question was apparently supposed to be erotic. Sort of just came off as nerdy. House was preparing a litany of complaints, starting with Wilson's chronically sub-par sex dialogue and ending with his disturbing fondness for the new cologne he'd been wearing...
Unfortunately, thanks to Wilson's poor timing, all that came out was a choked moan.
It sounded more like a cough, really, and only happened because Wilson chose that precise moment to actually handle his cock like a man. Still, Wilson was clearly going to use it as ammo, pushing a short little note of smugness into House's ear, drawing his fingers back, apparently revisiting the lube before very slowly trailing two fingers down the base of House's spine.
Being forcibly kissed while Wilson's fingers moved in slick little circles around his hole was just enough to keep House quiet for the next several seconds, long enough for Wilson to press the very tip of one finger into him, a barely-detectable millimeter of action which, for some bizarre reason, made House's entire body jerk sharply upwards on the mattress -
“Shh,” Wilson breathed across the back of his neck, ludicrously smug. His mouth latched onto House's earlobe and a second finger slipped inside him with an intriguing tinge of pain, successfully placating him. He grunted and pushed his hips back and rearranged his limbs on the mattress, guy code for 'stop screwing around and fuck me already,' but then, Wilson had always been suspiciously bad at the translation. He felt the head of Wilson's cock rubbing against him precisely everywhere except where he wanted it - the small of his back, his hip, in between his thighs, leaving a trail of chills and warm fluid in its wake. Meanwhile, Wilson's breath was trickling hotly across his skin, Wilson's mouth laying gentle kisses along his neck and shoulders, Wilson's fingers dipping into him at a deliciously crooked angle. By the time Wilson was settling fully on top of him, House had inadvertently clawed his way up the mattress, sweat beading along his temples, open and slick and eager enough to fully accommodate tonight's main course -
Wilson, however, seemed to be filling up on the appetizers.
“Oh,” he said, just as the wet tip of his cock breached that very important first ring of tight, slick muscle, sending a tidal wave of confused nerve signals up House's spine. “Oh.”
He could feel Wilson shaking. Could feel the choked little moans in Wilson's chest vibrating against his back. Could feel the head of his cock throbbing with the rhythm of his heartbeat, pushing into House by degrees. Any normal, healthy, sane adult male would have, at this point, fulfilled his biological imperative with primal, exuberant vigor, but Wilson had to once again demonstrate his deviant nature.
He was fucking House like it was some kind of hobby.
House had to glance over his shoulder to ensure Wilson wasn't a reading a book while he was doing it. He moved with lackadaisical slowness, carefully rocking his hips, barely pushing in enough to keep House awake. He made a sound like “hohGod” in House's ear and pulled completely out of him, shifting his weight and exhaling a sigh and nibbling wetly along House's jaw before - very slowly - slipping back into him.
The burn of a second penetration sent an electric jolt through his nerves, culminating in an involuntary vibration of his larynx which, coincidentally, left his body as a low groan.
These mysterious reactions continued as Wilson very slowly and deliberately ground his hips against House's ass, apparently having finally remembered how this sex thing was supposed to go. His calm, circular movements rocked House's whole body against the mattress, a gratifying, comforting sort of rhythm that was turning House's muscles into liquid. He felt the points of Wilson's hipbones digging into his ass, Wilson's arms slipping firmly around his chest, Wilson's mouth latching onto his neck. House was just getting into it, closing his eyes and setting up a good counter-movement - when Wilson suddenly decided to stop and pull completely out of him again.
He continued the process more times than House had the presence of mind to count, fucking him in long, organized stages, taking occasional breaks to re-coat himself with lube, giving House just barely enough to keep the homicidal urges at bay. The repeated re-entries were successfully driving House insane with pleasure; he could feel it welling up in his stomach, burning in his blood, sizzling through his nerve endings. He had little choice but to bury his face in the sheets to muffle the noises, one arm pinned behind him to grab at Wilson's hip, his cock grinding wetly against his own abdomen. Whatever was lacking in Wilson's timing, he was thoroughly making up for it in execution; House was a few good strokes away from one hell of an orgasm, one that would more than expunge Wilson's earlier bad behavior from House's memory. It was so sweet, always being able to come out 'on top,' as it were - to once again re-establish his inimitable dominance -
“Ah!”
Wilson suddenly pushed into him with such unexpected, earth-shattering force that it took all of House's willpower to avoid coming on the spot. He paused there, his cock thick and hot and buried up against House's prostate, and pushed himself up, his palms to the mattress. House squirmed and whined and pulled at Wilson's hair, but he was immovable. “Wilson, holy fuck - ”
“We'll get back to that,” Wilson said, with sudden and surprising diction. “First, there are a few issues we need to clarify.”
He pressed in impossibly further and House suddenly lost the ability to breathe.
“One: you don't invade my bathroom without my prior, expressed permission. Deal?”
“Nrg.” No way he was giving up without a fight -
Wilson clucked his tongue. “You sure? Okay,” he said with a showy, resigned sigh, pulling out a few inches -
“Alright, alright!” He was going to castrate Wilson later, after the orgasmic haze wore off.
“Good,” Wilson practically purred, rocking into him, a hand braced on House's shoulder to steepen the angle. “Second: my objection to seeing your spit, hair, and dirty clothing all over my bathroom has nothing to with distance, emotions, or how I feel about you. Agreed?”
“Blarg,” House mumbled sullenly, and was rewarded by a firm roll of Wilson's hips.
“That's right.” His voice was disgustingly smug and pleased but hot damn, his cock - “Thirdly, we're not going to need to have this particular conversation again for some time, am I right?”
House would sooner go through this torture again than...okay, than not go through this torture again. “Anything you want, just - ”
These were, apparently, the magic words this evening.
Wilson worked a hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking him manically while truly fucking him for the first time all night - sweat and skin and bone-rattling rhythm...
Then House may have blacked out for a while.
He was aware only of his suddenly inability to see, move, or stop babbling, of Wilson's heat spilling into him, Wilson's hands sliding down his sweat-soaked skin, Wilson's mouth kissing lazily along his shoulders. He was quite numb to the heavy warmth of Wilson settling against him, even more so to the way his hands wound up tangling in Wilson's hair, how Wilson's head ended up on his shoulder. Really, if they were on the subject of personal space, House was the one who should be complaining - being forced to practically cuddle in his own bed, to deal with Wilson's soft touches and quiet, content little hums and immense, unbearable ego -
It was something House would have to think about while he was cleaning toothpaste out of Wilson's sink in the morning.