Standard Disclaimer
wanderingwidget has, is, and does not plan in the future to make any money on any of the fics here archived. They were written and are provided for pure entertainment purposes.
Author: Wanderingwidget
Rating: NC17
Summary: It's Wilson's Birthday.
A/N: I'm pretty sure that I wrote this for someone's challenge, but I couldn't tell you who or when, just that it's been a while and it wasn't already here, so here it is. Have a nice day (and leave comments!)
Holidays weren't House's thing, Wilson knew, after all the man actually managed to forget his own birthday every damn year. If he could forget his own birthday then what reason would he have for keeping track of anyone else's. Even if they'd known each other for almost twelve years now. Even if they'd spent the last three months screwing like rabbits at every conceivable opportunity. After all, it wasn't like they were a couple, not really. House had never said anything about it anyways and if Wilson chose to take his silence on the subject as a condemnation of any sexual acts perpetrated with anyone who wasn't House-shaped then that was Wilson's choice.
House had never demanded monogamy from him, maybe that was why Wilson was so damned determined to give it to him.
Still, it would have been nice to have a 'happy birthday' from the guy he was regularly (and exclusively) fucking. It wasn't that much to ask, was it? Even Brenda in radiology had managed to wish him one, and he'd never even slept with her. None of that had any bearing on the fact that House would remain House, no matter what, and holidays simply weren't his thing.
So, when Wilson let himself into the townhouse that night (spirits considerably damper than they should have - by rights - been) to find all of the lights out and House nowhere to be seen, he was disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed. He consoled himself by pouring some of House's better scotch into a glass and wandering through the rooms, flicking every light he could find on and off.
By coincidence (or his own sub consciousness’s design) the last room he approached was the bedroom. It was strange that he thought of it as 'the bedroom' and not his bedroom, or at least House's bedroom. It was neither, it was just the bedroom, the same way the walls were the walls and the kitchen sink was the kitchen sink. He reached out with his free hand and found the switch by muscle memory alone. House hated overhead lighting, and so the room was flooded with a warm golden glow from the bedside lamps.
Wilson blinked, took a sip of the scotch, and then blinked again. Obviously something was wrong with his eyes, or his brain. Some kind of organic dementia? What was the differential diagnosis for a hallucination of your lover - with his wrists bound above his head - lying naked in bed with a blue ribbon tied in a neat bow around his cock?
Wilson blinked, took a sip of the scotch, and then blinked again.
House rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"Actually…" He let his voice trail off and let his eyes trail down House's chest to the ribbon. House's cock seemed to like the attention, it twitched in what Wilson could only call a self-satisfied way. He approached the bed slowly, convinced with each step he took that the next one would cause House to mutate into something truly horrendous, like his seventh grade science teacher, Mrs. Mann. The only thing that happened was that he got a closer look at the ribbon, and House.
"Does that ribbon have 'Happy Chanukah' written on it?" He asked.
House's eyebrows shrugged, and his shoulders tried to follow suit but, given the fact that his hands were still tied above his head, the eyebrows got most of the attention. "It was all I had." He said.
Wilson wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or… well, laugh.
"What?" House demanded, he sounded offended.
Wilson shook his head. "Nothing, it's just…" He arched one eyebrow. "Do you even remember what day it is, or is this your idea of an anniversary gift?"
"It is not our anniversary." House said. How a naked man, tied to a bed, with a ribbon around his cock could sound so sure of himself Wilson did not know.
He didn't care either. It was sexy. He arched the other eyebrow, and took another sip of the scotch because - really - it was too good to go to waste. Besides, playing with House was fun.
House sighed a very put-upon sigh. “Did you really think I’d forget?” He said.
“Do you really think I’d believe you remembered?”
House shrugged.
"For all you know it could be my Wedding anniversary."
"I am not getting naked in the same state as your ex-wife."
"She'll be so disappointed."
"Won't she? Now, are you going to open your present or are we going to engage in more scintillating conversation?"
"What if I want more conversation?"
House rolled his eyes. "You've got me naked, in bed, tied up, and you expect me to believe that you want to spend more time talking?" He wriggled against the mattress and really that was No Good for Wilson's self control.
"No." He growled, and set the glass on the table. House's cock definitely liked that tone of voice and Wilson took a brief moment, between loosening his tie and letting it fall to the floor, to wonder exactly how House had managed to get himself into this situation, but then he was staring down at House and his brain stopped functioning on all cylinders as vital resources were rerouted south.
House chuckled and Wilson shut him up with a hard kiss, demanding access and taking what he wanted and House - wonder of wonders - actually gave it to him. "No talking." He said.
A shudder passed through House's body, a roil of tension followed by the kind of sound that could only mean that had been a good suggestion. Wilson smirked and leaned back on his side to survey his present. House wasn’t a hairy man and hadn't been for as long as Wilson had known him. In point of fact he had so little body hair that Wilson had seriously thought that he regularly shaved it off as some odd holdover from a high school swim team (or maybe a past lover's preference). However, living with the man had quickly removed that misconception from him. Alopecia areata (or really any other number of auto immunities) could explain it, but talking to House about his body in anything like a candid manner would only result in yet another freeze out, and Wilson wasn't ready for another one of those yet.
So instead of using his mouth to talk he put it to much more rewarding use.
By the time his lips reached House's navel his breath had started to get ragged, his body shaking and rocking with every touch, and his cock was so hard that it had to be painful but still he stayed quiet. Wilson smirked and slid lower, lips trailing down his length until he was level with the bow tied loosely around its base and House was making those ridiculous moaning noises he made when he was trying to be quiet. He pulled back and House groaned, then sighed as Wilson finally unwrapped his 'gift.'
He wasn’t as good at this as House was, and he never would be. House had no gag reflex - a fact about which he was inordinately proud - and he had no problem telling anyone who cared to know about it either. Still, he'd never received any complaints, so Wilson guessed he had to be doing something right. Obviously he was doing something right because now House was writhing beneath him, the little moans coming even closer together, and Wilson - reluctantly - pulled back.
The glare that earned him was worth it as House tugged on his bonds and then collapsed in defeat. It was Wilson's turn to chuckle, as he crawled back up House's body and leaned over him to pull open the nightstand drawer.
"I'm going to fuck you into the mattress." He whispered, then claimed House’s mouth in a soft kiss before pulling away. House tried to follow him but was - once again - brought short by his bindings. He fell back with a frustrated huff and settled for watching as Wilson popped the lid off of the lube.
The only thing scarier than the prospect of a relationship with House (as far as Wilson had been concerned) had been the prospect of sex with House, for many reasons. Several of those reasons had been centered around his leg, Wilson hadn't been sure of what it would and would not allow in bed, but he had been sure that he couldn't just come out and ask. The leg - surprisingly - seemed quite content as long as he didn't do anything stupid like fall on it. House had even demonstrated a remarkably useful ability to get on his knees when it served his (usually nefarious) purposes. But - the leg notwithstanding - he simply hadn't known what to expect from House in bed. He'd had no problem with the actual mechanics of it, but he knew nothing about House's preferences, and - while that had been one of the most interesting features of his previous relationships - the thought of getting into bed with House blind had been terrifying.
He'd been a little disappointed when it'd turned out so normal. Of course, 'normal' by House's standards was still out in left field by most other people's, but it had still been a bit of an anomaly as far as Wilson had been concerned. Then again, given where they were now, maybe House had just been giving him a grace period, and he couldn't decide if that thought left him scared or exhilarated.
Then his mind shut back down because he was fucking House and with each slow thrust House's breath hitched just that way and there was heat and movement and thrusting and grunting and then House was coming with a strangled sort of cursing sound that sounded better to Wilson than anything else could at that moment and then he was there with him.
A few decades later House grunted beneath him and Wilson - in post-coital auto drive - rolled to the side and reached for the Kleenex. When he was done cleaning them both up he finally noticed that House was staring at him incredulously. It was completely unfair how clear House’s eyes could be after sex, especially since Wilson was usually left a cotton-brained mess.
"What?"
House tugged at his wrists meaningfully, rattling the headboard.
"Oh." Wilson blinked sleepily and fumbled with what turned out to be his yellow spotted tie, the one that House had claimed he‘d ruined in the washer. He frowned when he noticed the redness already darkening into the bruise spectrum around House's wrists, trying to form that observation into the required thought, but in the end he simply balled the tie up and threw it over the side of the bed.
House lowered his arms slowly and stared at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, then he looked up at Wilson and smirked. "You really thought I forgot?" He said.
Wilson shrugged and reached out to kill the light. In the darkness House snorted and wriggled under the sheets.
"Well?" He said.
"Well what?" Wilson asked, he rolled onto his side to stare at the lump of shadow staring at him. He got the distinct impression that House rolled his eyes at him.
"Goodnight." He finally said.
"'Night."
"And Jimmy?" House whispered.
“What?”
"Happy birthday."
THE END
