House-fic. NC-17
Title: DON’T
Author: murzum
Pairing/rating: Hilson/NC-17
Warnings: dark!Wilson, bottom!House, dub-con, I guess.
Disclaimer: I wish I had ‘em to myself...
A/N: It’s my first attempt in writing in English as it’s not my mother-tongue. Hope I managed to do it properly...:) Feel free to express your opinion:) Concrit is very welcomed.
“Don’t.”
He's tied up and helpless. And naked from the waist up. Those agile fingers are currently making quick work of his fly. And he can’t help reacting as the aphrodisiac in his system is growing more insistent. So do those fingers. They grope and stroke and squeeze him tightly and he can’t help but gasp and shiver and arch into the touch. So wrong. All this is so wrong on so many levels.
“Wilson, please, don’t.”
He looks up and smiles at him sweetly. Those brown eyes of his are so dark right now. Dark and dangerous. It’s just the beginning, they promise.
“Don’t what?”
He’s suddenly leaning over him, their faces inches away, and suddenly House isn’t so sure. But still he utters the words that were already on the tip of his tongue.
“Don’t do this.”
Those bottomless eyes glitter in the dark. There’s something sharp and steel-cold in them. Something House’s never seen before. Some edge, like a rock cliff made to fall off of. Like the balcony reels he’d jumped off of. Except that that wasn’t so scary.
“Why? You were asking for this for so long.”
“I was not...”
He has to gasp as Wilson’s hand cups his balls and squeezes them not so gently.
“Oh yes you were. Someone has to stop you before it’s too late.”
When he opens his eyes again, Wilson’s face is gone. He looks down his body. Wilson is standing at the foot of the king-size hotel bed, soaking wet jeans in his hand. He drops them to the floor and smiles at House predatory. Then climbs on the bed again and settles between House’s legs.
He’s not doing anything - yet - and the motionlessness is somehow unnerving. House is suddenly hot though he doubts there was any change in temperature. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his brow and temples, and his skin is starting to feel weird. Oversensitive. Every movement of air prickles his chest and abdomen and shoulders. He thinks he can distinguish Wilson’s breath from the rest of the air in the room. Which is simply ridiculous.
Then Wilson leans in and bites his nipple. Hard.
“Ah!”
He licks. His tongue is like metal bulb wrapped in silk, it’s pushing and pressing and worrying the tiny nub continuously, until it hurts, but even the pain is welcomed. Wilson’s shirt - light blue, neatly tucked into his pants - rubs his stomach lightly, and House finds himself arching into the sensation involuntarily, his body begging for more.
“So you like this after all, don’t you?”
His tone is light and mocking. His hand is resting casually on House’s chest, fingers playing with the sparse grey hair there. House tries to come to his senses.
“No, I don’t.”
He’s nothing if not stubborn.
“I don’t like being raped.”
But Wilson is nothing if not omniscient.
“Right. You enjoy being the rapist yourself. But you know what they say? Deep down every sadist is a masochist himself.”
Both hands on the insides of his thighs now, pressing pleasurably, sliding upupup, but slowly, oh so fucking slowly, forefingers in the creases of his legs, thumbs on both sides of his balls not quiet touching, and his cock twitches helplessly begging for being touched, a lonely drop of fluid leaking from the tip.
“And I’m not raping you. Yet.”
The hands are gone, and House can’t help whining in distress. The sound is so loud and embarrassing that he turns his head trying to hide his face in his arm.
“Oh, aren’t you cute like that.”
He sounds utterly amused, and House turns his head again to glare at Wilson, but then a hand is wrapped around his cock and a tongue is licking the drop of fluid from the very tip of him, and he has no choice but to arch his hips and dig the back of his head into the pillow squeezing his eyes tightly shut and moan loudly, this time not finding any strength to be embarrassed about that.
“Still want me to stop?”
House keeps silent, not opening his eyes, ignoring Wilson altogether, concentrating on breathing. It’s just the aphrodisiac that turns him on. Not the situation and definitely not Wilson.
“You drugged me.”
Wilson just smiles mysteriously at him and says nothing. So House continues.
“You drugged me and tied me up. Why on earth did you do that?”
“I already told you. Someone has to stop you before it’s too late. I care about you. I want to help you.”
“By raping me?!”
“By taking you under control. Because you obviously can’t do it yourself.”
He looks so sad. And House wants to do something - to apologize maybe - but then Wilson goes on.
“When I saw you fall I thought my heart would stop beating the very second you meet the ground. But then you landed into the pool and... I realized you were just playing with me again. All of it was just another stupid joke of yours...”
“It was not.”
Wilson looks up at him sharply.
“Oh really? Isn’t it what you’ve been doing all the time since we met - trying to give me a heart attack with your endless jokes?”
He grabs House’s cock again and starts stroking it roughly. House wonders if he’s trying to shut him up. He gasps and moans and arches his back, his nerves endings singing under Wilson’s ministrations all over again. But he has to think straight. He has to make Wilson understand.
“I... ah!.. was not... joking... I just wanted to get the... mmmnnghhh... sen... sation of... of free fall... Haaahh, Wilson, please... stop!..”
To his surprise Wilson stills his hand and when House looks at him through the blur of pleasure his expression is dark and angry. Wilson lets go of his cock and digs into his pants pocket to pull out the small tube. He makes a show of opening it and squeezing some liquid on his fingers while he speaks, knowing that House is watching him intently, trying not to think of what is to happen next.
“The sensation, huh?” His voice is dark and bitter. “You wanted the sensation. Well, House. I’ll give you what you wanted. I’ll give you that sensation.”
With that Wilson unceremoniously pushes his legs wider apart and then two slick fingers enter him fast and rough, deliberately trying to hurt him. They withdraw - almost all the way out - and return with even more force and anger.
“Aaahhhh!!”
House bits his lip until he tastes blood on his tongue and squeezes his eyes shut against the pain that is trying to rip him in two from the inside and arches his hips to escape from it. But Wilson takes a firm hold of his left thigh, pushing it up, opening House even more for the brutal rapid thrusts of his fingers.
“Does it feel good, House? Is this sensation enough for your damn curiosity?? Or do you need more? Just tell me, House. I’m sure I can provide it if you need one.”
House doesn’t answer. Tears of pain are streaming down his temples into the graying hair, soft moans are leaking from his chest and he can’t find strength to care. The pain is unbearable but he can feel it somehow melting into pleasure - sharp and hurtful, almost agonizing pleasure of being at someone else’s mercy. He doesn’t know if it’s an aphrodisiac or Wilson or his own fucked up psychics, but he’s starting to enjoy being fucked by Wilson’s fingers and finds himself spreading his thighs wantonly and arching towards the thrusts and asking, begging for more - first mentally and then aloud. And those tears - he hears them in his own voice.
“Ah!.. haaahh... Wilson... please... mnnngh... ohmygodpleaseWilson...”
He feels the rhythm slowing down, becoming almost gentle, and now it’s another circle of hell for House. Before he can think about it he finds himself trying to make the fingers move faster by bucking his hips, and whines loudly when they suddenly vanish. By now such notion as humiliation has stopped existing altogether.
“Wilson, don’t!.. Ohhhmygod, please, don’t...”
There’s a sound - short and familiar. He doesn’t recognize it at first though, and only when he manages to open his eyes and look at Wilson does he understand that it was a buzz of a zipper. Wilson squeezes a dollop of lube onto his own cock and rubs it along his length - slowly, teasingly. When he looks up, House suddenly realizes that it’s too late for backing away. There will be no turning back ever.
“Don’t what, House?” Wilson smiles at him sweetly, like he now knows a secret. “What do you want? Tell me.”
House feels his mouth go dry. He swallows thickly and licks his lips. He whispers.
“Don’t... stop...”
Wilson just grins smugly and doesn’t move.
“Sorry, can’t hear you.”
There’s laugh in his sing-song voice, and House would tell him to fuck off if he were just slightly less desperate. Instead he swallows his pride - or what’s left of it - and repeats hoarsely.
“Please, Wilson... don’t stop... don’t you dare fucking stop now...”
Wilson's grin becomes wider and he stokes himself lazily. House feels his cock twitch at the sight in a silent plea but refuses to keep begging. Instead he swallows again and shuts his eyes briefly. When he opens them, Wilson is hovering above him panting slightly himself. He leans even closer and for a second House thinks he’s going to kiss him, but then his face angles to the right and there’s a hot whisper in his ear, words mingled with puffs of air.
“And you call me a slut. Look at yourself, House. All hot and longing for a cock up your ass so desperately. Getting off on pain and humiliation. I guess that theory about sadists is true after all. Is it what you wanted all the while? Because it’s exactly what I wanted.”
House feels the very tip of Wilson’s cock press against his entrance, distracting him, and he gasps and arches his hips to make it breach at least the outer ring of muscles, but all his squirming leads to nothing. He tries to think through the haze of arousal.
“W... Wilson... what are you... talking about?..”
Wilson bits his earlobe gently and laughs softly - the hot breath making House shiver.
“If I knew you needed leather cuffs and a collar I would have done this years ago.”
He presses a little bit harder with his hips, and just the half of the head goes in, stretching the muscles but not giving any pleasure, and even the pain of being stretched is somehow not enough. It’s like being frozen in the middle of a jump, when the air is still and there’s no movement at all, and the brain just can’t process all of the stillness waiting for the motion to continue. The only movement that remains is Wilson’s hot breath reaching his ear making every hair on House’s body stand on end.
“If only you told me - just once - that you wanted this, House. If you just gave me one tiny fucking clue...”
He pushes again - and finally the head is all inside, but still it’s not enough, not even close. House can only tremble under Wilson’s weight, having no leverage to buck upwards with his legs so wide apart, the left one caught in the crease of Wilson’s elbow. His hands start to go numb, his wrists hurt and he tugs at the tie restricting him to refresh the feeling of being helpless. Nevertheless...
“I don’t... want this. Never did. It’s just your fucking drugs...”
Wilson smirks; House can feel his lips moving against his ear. And then he whispers lowly, and House’s eyes open wide, his mouth falls open in shock and he gasps loudly feeling his lungs burn with lack of oxygen all of a sudden, and a violent shiver runs along his spine like a lightning followed by the forceful thrust which brings Wilson’s cock all the way in, stretching, ripping House’s body with pain and pleasure, breaking him from inside, turning his soul inside out with the power of realization.
“House. There never was an aphrodisiac at all.”
END
Author: murzum
Pairing/rating: Hilson/NC-17
Warnings: dark!Wilson, bottom!House, dub-con, I guess.
Disclaimer: I wish I had ‘em to myself...
A/N: It’s my first attempt in writing in English as it’s not my mother-tongue. Hope I managed to do it properly...:) Feel free to express your opinion:) Concrit is very welcomed.
“Don’t.”
He's tied up and helpless. And naked from the waist up. Those agile fingers are currently making quick work of his fly. And he can’t help reacting as the aphrodisiac in his system is growing more insistent. So do those fingers. They grope and stroke and squeeze him tightly and he can’t help but gasp and shiver and arch into the touch. So wrong. All this is so wrong on so many levels.
“Wilson, please, don’t.”
He looks up and smiles at him sweetly. Those brown eyes of his are so dark right now. Dark and dangerous. It’s just the beginning, they promise.
“Don’t what?”
He’s suddenly leaning over him, their faces inches away, and suddenly House isn’t so sure. But still he utters the words that were already on the tip of his tongue.
“Don’t do this.”
Those bottomless eyes glitter in the dark. There’s something sharp and steel-cold in them. Something House’s never seen before. Some edge, like a rock cliff made to fall off of. Like the balcony reels he’d jumped off of. Except that that wasn’t so scary.
“Why? You were asking for this for so long.”
“I was not...”
He has to gasp as Wilson’s hand cups his balls and squeezes them not so gently.
“Oh yes you were. Someone has to stop you before it’s too late.”
When he opens his eyes again, Wilson’s face is gone. He looks down his body. Wilson is standing at the foot of the king-size hotel bed, soaking wet jeans in his hand. He drops them to the floor and smiles at House predatory. Then climbs on the bed again and settles between House’s legs.
He’s not doing anything - yet - and the motionlessness is somehow unnerving. House is suddenly hot though he doubts there was any change in temperature. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his brow and temples, and his skin is starting to feel weird. Oversensitive. Every movement of air prickles his chest and abdomen and shoulders. He thinks he can distinguish Wilson’s breath from the rest of the air in the room. Which is simply ridiculous.
Then Wilson leans in and bites his nipple. Hard.
“Ah!”
He licks. His tongue is like metal bulb wrapped in silk, it’s pushing and pressing and worrying the tiny nub continuously, until it hurts, but even the pain is welcomed. Wilson’s shirt - light blue, neatly tucked into his pants - rubs his stomach lightly, and House finds himself arching into the sensation involuntarily, his body begging for more.
“So you like this after all, don’t you?”
His tone is light and mocking. His hand is resting casually on House’s chest, fingers playing with the sparse grey hair there. House tries to come to his senses.
“No, I don’t.”
He’s nothing if not stubborn.
“I don’t like being raped.”
But Wilson is nothing if not omniscient.
“Right. You enjoy being the rapist yourself. But you know what they say? Deep down every sadist is a masochist himself.”
Both hands on the insides of his thighs now, pressing pleasurably, sliding upupup, but slowly, oh so fucking slowly, forefingers in the creases of his legs, thumbs on both sides of his balls not quiet touching, and his cock twitches helplessly begging for being touched, a lonely drop of fluid leaking from the tip.
“And I’m not raping you. Yet.”
The hands are gone, and House can’t help whining in distress. The sound is so loud and embarrassing that he turns his head trying to hide his face in his arm.
“Oh, aren’t you cute like that.”
He sounds utterly amused, and House turns his head again to glare at Wilson, but then a hand is wrapped around his cock and a tongue is licking the drop of fluid from the very tip of him, and he has no choice but to arch his hips and dig the back of his head into the pillow squeezing his eyes tightly shut and moan loudly, this time not finding any strength to be embarrassed about that.
“Still want me to stop?”
House keeps silent, not opening his eyes, ignoring Wilson altogether, concentrating on breathing. It’s just the aphrodisiac that turns him on. Not the situation and definitely not Wilson.
“You drugged me.”
Wilson just smiles mysteriously at him and says nothing. So House continues.
“You drugged me and tied me up. Why on earth did you do that?”
“I already told you. Someone has to stop you before it’s too late. I care about you. I want to help you.”
“By raping me?!”
“By taking you under control. Because you obviously can’t do it yourself.”
He looks so sad. And House wants to do something - to apologize maybe - but then Wilson goes on.
“When I saw you fall I thought my heart would stop beating the very second you meet the ground. But then you landed into the pool and... I realized you were just playing with me again. All of it was just another stupid joke of yours...”
“It was not.”
Wilson looks up at him sharply.
“Oh really? Isn’t it what you’ve been doing all the time since we met - trying to give me a heart attack with your endless jokes?”
He grabs House’s cock again and starts stroking it roughly. House wonders if he’s trying to shut him up. He gasps and moans and arches his back, his nerves endings singing under Wilson’s ministrations all over again. But he has to think straight. He has to make Wilson understand.
“I... ah!.. was not... joking... I just wanted to get the... mmmnnghhh... sen... sation of... of free fall... Haaahh, Wilson, please... stop!..”
To his surprise Wilson stills his hand and when House looks at him through the blur of pleasure his expression is dark and angry. Wilson lets go of his cock and digs into his pants pocket to pull out the small tube. He makes a show of opening it and squeezing some liquid on his fingers while he speaks, knowing that House is watching him intently, trying not to think of what is to happen next.
“The sensation, huh?” His voice is dark and bitter. “You wanted the sensation. Well, House. I’ll give you what you wanted. I’ll give you that sensation.”
With that Wilson unceremoniously pushes his legs wider apart and then two slick fingers enter him fast and rough, deliberately trying to hurt him. They withdraw - almost all the way out - and return with even more force and anger.
“Aaahhhh!!”
House bits his lip until he tastes blood on his tongue and squeezes his eyes shut against the pain that is trying to rip him in two from the inside and arches his hips to escape from it. But Wilson takes a firm hold of his left thigh, pushing it up, opening House even more for the brutal rapid thrusts of his fingers.
“Does it feel good, House? Is this sensation enough for your damn curiosity?? Or do you need more? Just tell me, House. I’m sure I can provide it if you need one.”
House doesn’t answer. Tears of pain are streaming down his temples into the graying hair, soft moans are leaking from his chest and he can’t find strength to care. The pain is unbearable but he can feel it somehow melting into pleasure - sharp and hurtful, almost agonizing pleasure of being at someone else’s mercy. He doesn’t know if it’s an aphrodisiac or Wilson or his own fucked up psychics, but he’s starting to enjoy being fucked by Wilson’s fingers and finds himself spreading his thighs wantonly and arching towards the thrusts and asking, begging for more - first mentally and then aloud. And those tears - he hears them in his own voice.
“Ah!.. haaahh... Wilson... please... mnnngh... ohmygodpleaseWilson...”
He feels the rhythm slowing down, becoming almost gentle, and now it’s another circle of hell for House. Before he can think about it he finds himself trying to make the fingers move faster by bucking his hips, and whines loudly when they suddenly vanish. By now such notion as humiliation has stopped existing altogether.
“Wilson, don’t!.. Ohhhmygod, please, don’t...”
There’s a sound - short and familiar. He doesn’t recognize it at first though, and only when he manages to open his eyes and look at Wilson does he understand that it was a buzz of a zipper. Wilson squeezes a dollop of lube onto his own cock and rubs it along his length - slowly, teasingly. When he looks up, House suddenly realizes that it’s too late for backing away. There will be no turning back ever.
“Don’t what, House?” Wilson smiles at him sweetly, like he now knows a secret. “What do you want? Tell me.”
House feels his mouth go dry. He swallows thickly and licks his lips. He whispers.
“Don’t... stop...”
Wilson just grins smugly and doesn’t move.
“Sorry, can’t hear you.”
There’s laugh in his sing-song voice, and House would tell him to fuck off if he were just slightly less desperate. Instead he swallows his pride - or what’s left of it - and repeats hoarsely.
“Please, Wilson... don’t stop... don’t you dare fucking stop now...”
Wilson's grin becomes wider and he stokes himself lazily. House feels his cock twitch at the sight in a silent plea but refuses to keep begging. Instead he swallows again and shuts his eyes briefly. When he opens them, Wilson is hovering above him panting slightly himself. He leans even closer and for a second House thinks he’s going to kiss him, but then his face angles to the right and there’s a hot whisper in his ear, words mingled with puffs of air.
“And you call me a slut. Look at yourself, House. All hot and longing for a cock up your ass so desperately. Getting off on pain and humiliation. I guess that theory about sadists is true after all. Is it what you wanted all the while? Because it’s exactly what I wanted.”
House feels the very tip of Wilson’s cock press against his entrance, distracting him, and he gasps and arches his hips to make it breach at least the outer ring of muscles, but all his squirming leads to nothing. He tries to think through the haze of arousal.
“W... Wilson... what are you... talking about?..”
Wilson bits his earlobe gently and laughs softly - the hot breath making House shiver.
“If I knew you needed leather cuffs and a collar I would have done this years ago.”
He presses a little bit harder with his hips, and just the half of the head goes in, stretching the muscles but not giving any pleasure, and even the pain of being stretched is somehow not enough. It’s like being frozen in the middle of a jump, when the air is still and there’s no movement at all, and the brain just can’t process all of the stillness waiting for the motion to continue. The only movement that remains is Wilson’s hot breath reaching his ear making every hair on House’s body stand on end.
“If only you told me - just once - that you wanted this, House. If you just gave me one tiny fucking clue...”
He pushes again - and finally the head is all inside, but still it’s not enough, not even close. House can only tremble under Wilson’s weight, having no leverage to buck upwards with his legs so wide apart, the left one caught in the crease of Wilson’s elbow. His hands start to go numb, his wrists hurt and he tugs at the tie restricting him to refresh the feeling of being helpless. Nevertheless...
“I don’t... want this. Never did. It’s just your fucking drugs...”
Wilson smirks; House can feel his lips moving against his ear. And then he whispers lowly, and House’s eyes open wide, his mouth falls open in shock and he gasps loudly feeling his lungs burn with lack of oxygen all of a sudden, and a violent shiver runs along his spine like a lightning followed by the forceful thrust which brings Wilson’s cock all the way in, stretching, ripping House’s body with pain and pleasure, breaking him from inside, turning his soul inside out with the power of realization.
“House. There never was an aphrodisiac at all.”
END