Fic: Faces
Title: Faces
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None, really. House teasing Wilson
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 024. House/Wilson -- During a conference meeting, in which House gets pressed to attend, too, our doctor buddies get bored. Good for them that decades ago, they came up with their own discrete sign language, and even though Wilson acts as if he didn't notice, House knows he likes what he's got to tell him.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: Beta-ed by Cristina, my lovely, wonderfully patient wife. It's also written for her, since I've pretty much decided to write every fic for her :D So, this is for her. Yes. I shut up already.
Dr. House would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love." Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told." Nems likes reviews, they keep him writing lots and lots!
“Dr. House, if you don’t come to these meetings, you will do twenty extra clinic hours a week for a year!” Cuddy snapped at him. “You are a Department Head, which means you have to attend interdepartmental meetings.”
“You know, this is stealing from the time I could be using to treat sick people. I foolishly thought it’s what we did at this hospital. My bad.”
“Most doctors would use their time for that. You, on the other hand, would watch a soap or play GameBoy. And since that is not what we do at this hospital, your time is free enough for you to come to these two hour meetings. That, or twenty extra clinic hours a week.”
***
House had considered all the options, and he’d come to the conclusion that there was no way to avoid this unless he was a masochist.
As he walked into the room, he brightened a little. Wilson would be there too, and House knew Wilson still remembered their secret sign language.
Wilson was already there, drumming his fingers against the glass table impatiently. He looked up in surprise when he heard the familiar step-thump, step-thump that indicated House’s arrival (unless he was trying to be sneaky, and then there was no indication).
House never attended these rotten things if he could help it.
House shut one eye and tilted his head to the right, his ear touching his shoulder. Do you remember this?
Wilson realized with a growing sense of horror that if he answered House’s look, the meeting would be a disaster. He very carefully kept his face blank. But he kept watching House anyway, watched as he took a seat across from Wilson. To not see House at all, he would have to turn around or shut his eyes, and neither was an option. And Wilson was fairly sure House knew he still remembered.
A downward, sidelong glance, a slight snarl, a look of disdain, four medium fast blinks, one full, exaggerated eye roll, and a small shrug. Cuddy threatened twenty extra clinic hours if I didn’t come.
Ah. That explained why House was here. Wilson noticed with amusement that all of the other Department Heads were looking at House with curiosity and suspicion. They seemed to be silently asking themselves what today’s game would be. Wilson thought he knew quite well.
***
The first half-hour was unexciting in the extreme. House didn’t make any faces, didn’t say anything, and didn’t even fall asleep.
He shut his eyes suddenly for a full fifteen seconds (Wilson knew the importance of timing in their language, so he counted carefully), opened them again, opened and shut his mouth slightly a few times, nothing more than a parting of his lips really, and rolled his eyes extravagantly one and a half times. I’m falling asleep, Simpson’s so boring, and there’s still another hour and a half.
Wilson didn’t react.
House’s eyes widened slightly for five seconds, he pressed a finger to his right temple briefly, like he was staving off a headache, he drummed all his fingers, including his thumbs, against the table, looked smug for a moment, gave a stern but kind look that didn’t suit him at all, and screwed his eyes shut for ten seconds. Much more fun thinking of all the ways I could make you come.
That statement brought a whole rush of images to Wilson’s mind. Like this morning, when they’d showered together and House had pressed him into the wet tiles and expertly jerked him off. Or like last night, when he’d come buried balls-deep in House’s ass. Damn the man, he thought uncharitably.
The stern but kind look again, the downward, sidelong glance, a look of indignation, and a slight tilt of his head to the right. Do you think Cuddy would object?
Since Wilson’s mind was currently happily reliving their latest encounter in his office, he wasn’t quite sure what Cuddy would object to. There was no way House could know exactly what he was thinking of. Well. He often thought that, and yet House often managed to prove him wrong.
The stern but kind look again, the downward, sidelong glance, a look of indignation, the smug look, one finger hitting the table once, a brief puckering of his lips, the stern but kind look, and the slight tilt to the right. Do you think Cuddy would object to me kissing you on the table?
Reading the sentences was becoming easier and easier. Wilson was really annoyed by that. At least the sentences couldn’t come any faster, since they relied on timing as well.
God, I want to. I want to kiss you on the table, push you down, see how well I can balance and follow you with my lips.
Oh fuck. The image popped into Wilson’s mind and he couldn’t stop thinking about House standing up, limping over to him, yanking him up by his collar, turning him around forcefully, and smothering him with kisses. Pushing him backwards, leaning heavily on his cane even as he leaned forward and licked at Wilson’s jaw and neck. Simpson would probably still be droning on about OR staffing or something. No, wait, he was doing that. He’d probably stare at them in horror like everyone else in the room if they did that.
I’ve been hard for you all day. I was thinking of the way your body drove into mine, of your hard cock teasing me, bringing me pleasure, of your weight artfully arranged on my back, of the way your hands wrapped around my cock and yanked my orgasm from me…
Wilson met House’s eyes, silently begging him to stop, realizing minutes too late that he could simply answer House in their language (but that would be admitting he knew… wait, silently begging was the same… he really shouldn’t be expected to think when House was provoking these images…)
House’s lip curled into a smirk, one that had no meaning in their language, one that clearly said, Oh, no, I’ve found a game I like. And I promise you’ll like it too.
Oh no.
If not for the leg, and the fact the table was glass, I’d attend this meeting in a very different way. On my knees underneath the table, sucking your cock and listening to you try to make coherent sentences.
Oh hell. Wilson regretted, not for the first time, including so many sexual terms in their language. And then he really really regretted even inventing a sign language with House, who had an eidetic memory and would never ever forget it.
Wouldn’t you like that? My tongue, swirling around the head of your cock, sucking lightly on the tip, just enough to tease you, to make you buck your hips and try to shove your cock down my throat. Wrapping my fingers around the base and squeezing while I lapped at the head like a lollipop. You know how much I like lollipops…
Wilson suddenly hated Cuddy with a passion. Probably with the same passion House hated Cuddy. He cursed her for making House come - er, attend - this meeting. Hadn’t she learned by now that making House do things always rebounded in the worst way possible?
I’d cup your balls while finally sucking properly, hollowing out my cheeks, roll them between my fingers, press them up against your cock, tease your entrance, just enough to make you buck frantically. And then I’d swallow you whole.
Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. House had almost no gag reflex, which was probably how he could dry-swallow just about any pill. It also made him spectacularly good at blow jobs. Wilson tried very, very hard not to think about House’s blow jobs. Hot, smooth wet throat just were he needed, the ripple around the head of his cock as House swallowed, the vibration as House hummed.
I wouldn’t hum, not this time, because no one’s supposed to know I’m under the table and blowing your mind. I doubt the other Department Heads would like that.
No, they definitely wouldn’t. Wilson knew for a fact that at least two of them were homophobes. And far more of them hated House and would hate for him to do anything distracting during a meeting. Like blowing Wilson.
I’d run my hand up your still clothed thigh, pressing firmly. I’d pin your hips with my hands, because I know how much it frustrates you not to be able to move. Slide my lips up and down that hard shaft, tease you until you can’t take it anymore and until my jaw feels like it’s going to drop off, and then I’d swallow you whole again, take my hands off your hips, and let you come.
Wilson swallowed almost audibly. He was achingly hard now and trying not to squirm. He wondered how in the world they’d come up with this many words in their language and wondered why he remembered them all and why House was doing this… The last one was easy to answer. House was bored out of his mind, and a bored House was a dangerous thing. And House really, really liked making Wilson hard. Especially in inappropriate places at inappropriate times.
I know you’re hard under the table, thinking about me blowing you. You’re doing that little squirm you do every time you’re hard and you can’t deal with it. I know your dick is pushing against your pants, demanding your attention… or mine.
And damn House for being able to read him this easily, for knowing exactly what that little squirm was, for being so unaffected by this…
I’m just as hard.
Oh fuck… Wilson became harder just at the thought of House sitting there, teasing him, and trying not to come while providing this provocative, silent discourse.
Think someone would notice if we started jerking off?
Definitely, although if House continued this, Wilson wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t do it anyway.
It’d be an interesting decoration for the glass table. Drying semen on the bottom. Think the janitors would figure it out?
Wilson really, really didn’t want to think of that. For more reasons than just the obvious, ‘that’s kind of disturbing’ one.
I’ve never been an exhibitionist, and definitely not after what happened to my leg.
Ah, yes, they hadn’t come up with a look for infarction yet. A glaring oversight.
So this isn’t really the place to blow you or jerk off, not with the glass table and these horrifically boring and incompetent doctors. Much better to think of you on our bed…
Wilson loved the little thrill that ran down his spine every time House called it ‘their apartment,’ ‘their bed,’ ‘their cars,’ or their anything. That House had opened up again, had been willing to share his space permanently, meant the world to Wilson.
You, on our bed, naked and flushed and very close to becoming sweaty and sticky. Your brown hair, all mussed up, your brown eyes sparkling with lust, reaching for me. Skin on skin, sliding against each other, our lips meeting in a hungry kiss. I want to pleasure you. Trail kisses down your chest, latch onto your nipples and suck, tongue-fuck your navel…
How come they had an expression for tongue-fuck but not one for infarction? Wilson was really curious as to where his mind had been when he’d agreed to make a sign language with House. A ‘secret friendship club’ language, as House had gleefully called it for days.
I want to top this time. I’d coat my fingers and tease you open, slowly, not rushing it, still tongue-fucking your navel, sucking on your nipples, placing little biting kisses on your chest. I’d roll a condom on and flip onto my back, watch as you lower yourself, brace yourself against the wall, and start to move. And we both know that it won’t be slow anymore, ‘cause we’re both horny and desperate by now. I’d wrap my hand around your cock, stroke roughly, just the way you like it, watch as you widen your eyes and moan my name in a tone that turns my balls inside out. You’d come all over me as I buck up into you and come, because you know how much you turn me on…
Oh-fuck-shit-god-fucking-hell-this-wasn’t-happening. Wilson knew that he was flushed and breathing deeply. He knew that he was red as a tomato. And he was really, really hard under the table. And pretty close to desperate. And extremely horny.
House, stop it.
I knew you remembered.
We’re in a meeting.
C’mon, Jimmy, this meeting is as boring as a case of the sniffles.
Ah, yes, trust House to compare a meeting to diagnosing sniffles. Medicine got sports metaphors, and everything else got medical metaphors.
Well, find something else to do besides make me this horny.
No can do. No one else knows this language.
Wilson flushed even redder, this time at the idea of House doing this to someone else.
“Dr. Wilson? Is there a problem?” Cuddy’s voice rang out sharply through the room. Wilson banged his head against the desk. At least this way he didn’t have to see what House was saying.
“No, no problem,” he answered in a strangled voice.
“You’re as red as a beet! Are you sure you aren’t sick?”
“He’s flushed from excitement,” House offered. “Clearly, he thinks Simpson’s speech is fascinating. ”
Wilson raised his head. I am going to kill you for this.
Just a little death, please.
“No, Cuddy, not sick. Just a little warm in here.”
House smirked and communicated, I bet it is.
Shut up, House.
Cuddy cast a doubtful look at Wilson, but continued the meeting.
And, we still have a whole hour.
You are not doing this for a whole hour.
No, Cuddy’ll catch us. Although, maybe that’s a good thing… she’ll bar me from returning to these meetings.
Wilson had time to think, “Oh, no!” before House continued with his discourse.
A/N: This fic actually has a sequel now, called Everybody Lies. It can be found here.
Author: Nemesis (Nems)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None, really. House teasing Wilson
Summary: Written for the get_house_laid prompt 024. House/Wilson -- During a conference meeting, in which House gets pressed to attend, too, our doctor buddies get bored. Good for them that decades ago, they came up with their own discrete sign language, and even though Wilson acts as if he didn't notice, House knows he likes what he's got to tell him.
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone actually bother reading this? Hoping for some amusement, perhaps? The real amusement is beyond the lj-cut. I thought up lovely stuff for you to read beyond there, and you're reading this drivel instead.
A/N: Beta-ed by Cristina, my lovely, wonderfully patient wife. It's also written for her, since I've pretty much decided to write every fic for her :D So, this is for her. Yes. I shut up already.
Dr. House would like to take this time and space to remind you that "puppies shouldn't be kicked, Chase is a whore, and reviews are love." Dr. Wilson would like to add, "Favorite lines are much appreciated, I'm told." Nems likes reviews, they keep him writing lots and lots!
“Dr. House, if you don’t come to these meetings, you will do twenty extra clinic hours a week for a year!” Cuddy snapped at him. “You are a Department Head, which means you have to attend interdepartmental meetings.”
“You know, this is stealing from the time I could be using to treat sick people. I foolishly thought it’s what we did at this hospital. My bad.”
“Most doctors would use their time for that. You, on the other hand, would watch a soap or play GameBoy. And since that is not what we do at this hospital, your time is free enough for you to come to these two hour meetings. That, or twenty extra clinic hours a week.”
***
House had considered all the options, and he’d come to the conclusion that there was no way to avoid this unless he was a masochist.
As he walked into the room, he brightened a little. Wilson would be there too, and House knew Wilson still remembered their secret sign language.
Wilson was already there, drumming his fingers against the glass table impatiently. He looked up in surprise when he heard the familiar step-thump, step-thump that indicated House’s arrival (unless he was trying to be sneaky, and then there was no indication).
House never attended these rotten things if he could help it.
House shut one eye and tilted his head to the right, his ear touching his shoulder. Do you remember this?
Wilson realized with a growing sense of horror that if he answered House’s look, the meeting would be a disaster. He very carefully kept his face blank. But he kept watching House anyway, watched as he took a seat across from Wilson. To not see House at all, he would have to turn around or shut his eyes, and neither was an option. And Wilson was fairly sure House knew he still remembered.
A downward, sidelong glance, a slight snarl, a look of disdain, four medium fast blinks, one full, exaggerated eye roll, and a small shrug. Cuddy threatened twenty extra clinic hours if I didn’t come.
Ah. That explained why House was here. Wilson noticed with amusement that all of the other Department Heads were looking at House with curiosity and suspicion. They seemed to be silently asking themselves what today’s game would be. Wilson thought he knew quite well.
***
The first half-hour was unexciting in the extreme. House didn’t make any faces, didn’t say anything, and didn’t even fall asleep.
He shut his eyes suddenly for a full fifteen seconds (Wilson knew the importance of timing in their language, so he counted carefully), opened them again, opened and shut his mouth slightly a few times, nothing more than a parting of his lips really, and rolled his eyes extravagantly one and a half times. I’m falling asleep, Simpson’s so boring, and there’s still another hour and a half.
Wilson didn’t react.
House’s eyes widened slightly for five seconds, he pressed a finger to his right temple briefly, like he was staving off a headache, he drummed all his fingers, including his thumbs, against the table, looked smug for a moment, gave a stern but kind look that didn’t suit him at all, and screwed his eyes shut for ten seconds. Much more fun thinking of all the ways I could make you come.
That statement brought a whole rush of images to Wilson’s mind. Like this morning, when they’d showered together and House had pressed him into the wet tiles and expertly jerked him off. Or like last night, when he’d come buried balls-deep in House’s ass. Damn the man, he thought uncharitably.
The stern but kind look again, the downward, sidelong glance, a look of indignation, and a slight tilt of his head to the right. Do you think Cuddy would object?
Since Wilson’s mind was currently happily reliving their latest encounter in his office, he wasn’t quite sure what Cuddy would object to. There was no way House could know exactly what he was thinking of. Well. He often thought that, and yet House often managed to prove him wrong.
The stern but kind look again, the downward, sidelong glance, a look of indignation, the smug look, one finger hitting the table once, a brief puckering of his lips, the stern but kind look, and the slight tilt to the right. Do you think Cuddy would object to me kissing you on the table?
Reading the sentences was becoming easier and easier. Wilson was really annoyed by that. At least the sentences couldn’t come any faster, since they relied on timing as well.
God, I want to. I want to kiss you on the table, push you down, see how well I can balance and follow you with my lips.
Oh fuck. The image popped into Wilson’s mind and he couldn’t stop thinking about House standing up, limping over to him, yanking him up by his collar, turning him around forcefully, and smothering him with kisses. Pushing him backwards, leaning heavily on his cane even as he leaned forward and licked at Wilson’s jaw and neck. Simpson would probably still be droning on about OR staffing or something. No, wait, he was doing that. He’d probably stare at them in horror like everyone else in the room if they did that.
I’ve been hard for you all day. I was thinking of the way your body drove into mine, of your hard cock teasing me, bringing me pleasure, of your weight artfully arranged on my back, of the way your hands wrapped around my cock and yanked my orgasm from me…
Wilson met House’s eyes, silently begging him to stop, realizing minutes too late that he could simply answer House in their language (but that would be admitting he knew… wait, silently begging was the same… he really shouldn’t be expected to think when House was provoking these images…)
House’s lip curled into a smirk, one that had no meaning in their language, one that clearly said, Oh, no, I’ve found a game I like. And I promise you’ll like it too.
Oh no.
If not for the leg, and the fact the table was glass, I’d attend this meeting in a very different way. On my knees underneath the table, sucking your cock and listening to you try to make coherent sentences.
Oh hell. Wilson regretted, not for the first time, including so many sexual terms in their language. And then he really really regretted even inventing a sign language with House, who had an eidetic memory and would never ever forget it.
Wouldn’t you like that? My tongue, swirling around the head of your cock, sucking lightly on the tip, just enough to tease you, to make you buck your hips and try to shove your cock down my throat. Wrapping my fingers around the base and squeezing while I lapped at the head like a lollipop. You know how much I like lollipops…
Wilson suddenly hated Cuddy with a passion. Probably with the same passion House hated Cuddy. He cursed her for making House come - er, attend - this meeting. Hadn’t she learned by now that making House do things always rebounded in the worst way possible?
I’d cup your balls while finally sucking properly, hollowing out my cheeks, roll them between my fingers, press them up against your cock, tease your entrance, just enough to make you buck frantically. And then I’d swallow you whole.
Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. House had almost no gag reflex, which was probably how he could dry-swallow just about any pill. It also made him spectacularly good at blow jobs. Wilson tried very, very hard not to think about House’s blow jobs. Hot, smooth wet throat just were he needed, the ripple around the head of his cock as House swallowed, the vibration as House hummed.
I wouldn’t hum, not this time, because no one’s supposed to know I’m under the table and blowing your mind. I doubt the other Department Heads would like that.
No, they definitely wouldn’t. Wilson knew for a fact that at least two of them were homophobes. And far more of them hated House and would hate for him to do anything distracting during a meeting. Like blowing Wilson.
I’d run my hand up your still clothed thigh, pressing firmly. I’d pin your hips with my hands, because I know how much it frustrates you not to be able to move. Slide my lips up and down that hard shaft, tease you until you can’t take it anymore and until my jaw feels like it’s going to drop off, and then I’d swallow you whole again, take my hands off your hips, and let you come.
Wilson swallowed almost audibly. He was achingly hard now and trying not to squirm. He wondered how in the world they’d come up with this many words in their language and wondered why he remembered them all and why House was doing this… The last one was easy to answer. House was bored out of his mind, and a bored House was a dangerous thing. And House really, really liked making Wilson hard. Especially in inappropriate places at inappropriate times.
I know you’re hard under the table, thinking about me blowing you. You’re doing that little squirm you do every time you’re hard and you can’t deal with it. I know your dick is pushing against your pants, demanding your attention… or mine.
And damn House for being able to read him this easily, for knowing exactly what that little squirm was, for being so unaffected by this…
I’m just as hard.
Oh fuck… Wilson became harder just at the thought of House sitting there, teasing him, and trying not to come while providing this provocative, silent discourse.
Think someone would notice if we started jerking off?
Definitely, although if House continued this, Wilson wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t do it anyway.
It’d be an interesting decoration for the glass table. Drying semen on the bottom. Think the janitors would figure it out?
Wilson really, really didn’t want to think of that. For more reasons than just the obvious, ‘that’s kind of disturbing’ one.
I’ve never been an exhibitionist, and definitely not after what happened to my leg.
Ah, yes, they hadn’t come up with a look for infarction yet. A glaring oversight.
So this isn’t really the place to blow you or jerk off, not with the glass table and these horrifically boring and incompetent doctors. Much better to think of you on our bed…
Wilson loved the little thrill that ran down his spine every time House called it ‘their apartment,’ ‘their bed,’ ‘their cars,’ or their anything. That House had opened up again, had been willing to share his space permanently, meant the world to Wilson.
You, on our bed, naked and flushed and very close to becoming sweaty and sticky. Your brown hair, all mussed up, your brown eyes sparkling with lust, reaching for me. Skin on skin, sliding against each other, our lips meeting in a hungry kiss. I want to pleasure you. Trail kisses down your chest, latch onto your nipples and suck, tongue-fuck your navel…
How come they had an expression for tongue-fuck but not one for infarction? Wilson was really curious as to where his mind had been when he’d agreed to make a sign language with House. A ‘secret friendship club’ language, as House had gleefully called it for days.
I want to top this time. I’d coat my fingers and tease you open, slowly, not rushing it, still tongue-fucking your navel, sucking on your nipples, placing little biting kisses on your chest. I’d roll a condom on and flip onto my back, watch as you lower yourself, brace yourself against the wall, and start to move. And we both know that it won’t be slow anymore, ‘cause we’re both horny and desperate by now. I’d wrap my hand around your cock, stroke roughly, just the way you like it, watch as you widen your eyes and moan my name in a tone that turns my balls inside out. You’d come all over me as I buck up into you and come, because you know how much you turn me on…
Oh-fuck-shit-god-fucking-hell-this-wasn’t-happening. Wilson knew that he was flushed and breathing deeply. He knew that he was red as a tomato. And he was really, really hard under the table. And pretty close to desperate. And extremely horny.
House, stop it.
I knew you remembered.
We’re in a meeting.
C’mon, Jimmy, this meeting is as boring as a case of the sniffles.
Ah, yes, trust House to compare a meeting to diagnosing sniffles. Medicine got sports metaphors, and everything else got medical metaphors.
Well, find something else to do besides make me this horny.
No can do. No one else knows this language.
Wilson flushed even redder, this time at the idea of House doing this to someone else.
“Dr. Wilson? Is there a problem?” Cuddy’s voice rang out sharply through the room. Wilson banged his head against the desk. At least this way he didn’t have to see what House was saying.
“No, no problem,” he answered in a strangled voice.
“You’re as red as a beet! Are you sure you aren’t sick?”
“He’s flushed from excitement,” House offered. “Clearly, he thinks Simpson’s speech is fascinating. ”
Wilson raised his head. I am going to kill you for this.
Just a little death, please.
“No, Cuddy, not sick. Just a little warm in here.”
House smirked and communicated, I bet it is.
Shut up, House.
Cuddy cast a doubtful look at Wilson, but continued the meeting.
And, we still have a whole hour.
You are not doing this for a whole hour.
No, Cuddy’ll catch us. Although, maybe that’s a good thing… she’ll bar me from returning to these meetings.
Wilson had time to think, “Oh, no!” before House continued with his discourse.
A/N: This fic actually has a sequel now, called Everybody Lies. It can be found here.