Exquisite Anguish H/W Slash (part 3)

[triedunture]

Title: Exquisite Anguish (part 3)
Pairing: H/W, slight Chase/Cam (I swear it's cute het.)
Rating: R
Warnings: masturbation, pornography, dirty talk
Summary: It's all coming together.

<><><>

House plowed through the set of double doors and scanned the room with sharp falcon eyes. His target wasn't in his office, the clinic, the oncology ward, the MRI room, the lab, or the men's room. So House had finally tracked him down here: the bustling lunch-hour cafeteria.

Wilson was doing the one-step a minute shuffle in the cafeteria line while carrying a tray loaded with a sandwich and chips. House pushed his way past the other people, ignoring their shouts of protest at being skipped, and finally sidled up to his friend somewhere around the peach cobbler.

"You've been scarce all morning," House growled, bending slightly to speak right into Wilson's ear.

The other doctor reached for a dish of custard and shuffled to the right to keep up with the slow-moving line. He didn't look up at House. Only the burning red tips of his ears gave any indication whatsoever that he had even heard House.

"Don't you want to hear my review of your little film?" House asked. "I may give it three stars. Or two thumbs up. Or five fingers. I haven't decided on a point system yet."

Wilson swapped out the custard for a plastic cup of fruit salad with a domed lid. They shuffled two steps before coming to a halt.

"You know," House drawled, "most western cultures encourage eye contact during a conversation. I think I read it in a book."

"We're not having this conversation," Wilson said in a low voice. He stared straight ahead at the racks of unbaked rolls beyond the food line. "Especially not in a public place."

House leaned far over the assorted bottles of juice on ice, craning his neck to look Wilson in the face. "You're blushing," he said with barely hidden pleasure.

"I'm angry." Wilson's tone wavered in what could have been rage, or maybe just tension. His dark eyes darted away from House's. "If you hadn't goaded me into it, I would have never done a stupid thing like make that video."

"Me?" House held the head of his cane against his chest, his eyes bulging with surprise. "I didn't hold a gun to your head! You shot that video all on your own. And what are you complaining about?" Another choreographed side-step; they were almost to the cashier. "Your video has nearly as many comments as mine, and that's just in one day. Look." House fished around in his blazer's pocket and found a folded piece of paper.

Wilson did a laughably violent double-take at the sight of it. "You printed them out?" he hissed.

"Just a smattering of the better ones." House coughed into his fist and read in a loud voice, "'So cute I just want to eat him with a spoon; I think he just killed me, but it was a good death; I'm divorcing my previous fantasy man so I can marry him instead.'" House peeked over the top of the sheet of paper at Wilson's pink face. "You stole my online fiancee, you backstabber."

"I don't want your online fiancee," Wilson growled, carefully keeping his voice down so the other people in line couldn't hear. "I don't want all the weird e-mails telling me what sick things perfect strangers wish they could do to me. I don't want my face plastered on the internet anymore, and I certainly don't want to hear you laughing at me!"

House couldn't help it. He laughed. "I'm not laughing at you," he said between gasps of dizzy breath.

Wilson, fuming, turned away from him and shoved some bills in the cashier's hand, not even waiting for his change. House pocketed the coins instead and limped off after Wilson, who was weaving deftly through the crowded room.

"I'm really not!" he shouted at Wilson's ramrod back.

Wilson stopped suddenly, causing House to nearly collide with him. Then he spun and thrust his lunch tray into House's free, outstretched hand.

"Here!" He sneered. "You're going to steal it all from me anyway, so why not just save me some time? You win, okay!?"

House stood there, dumbfounded, holding Wilson's tray and watching him storm out of the cafeteria. Then, as if his brain had just caught up with the chain of events, he glanced down at the food he held and rushed to dump it onto a nearby table.

"Hey!" Cameron yelped as the tray squashed her puff pastry.

"Would you hold on a minute?" House bellowed, ignoring her as he followed Wilson out of the room.

Cameron glared at her ruined meal and looked across the table at Chase. "What the hell was that all about?"

Chase shrugged and bit into his sub. "You know House. He pushes all the right buttons." He tore a piece off the end of his sandwich and offered it to her.

"Thanks," she said, accepting it with a thoughtful frown. "I just hope everything's okay."

<><><><>

When Wilson returned home that evening, he had successfully managed to avoid House after the scene in the cafeteria. He was embarrassed by his outburst; House had forced his hand, and now the man knew exactly how off-kilter Wilson felt about this whole thing. He sighed as he slid his room key into the slot, watching the lights flash green. How could he have been so stupid, making what was essentially a video love letter to a man whose greatest thrill in life was to mock any sentimental emotion?

Wilson pushed the door open, resolved to erase the video from the site right away, and then possibly destroy any evidence that it had ever existed. He hoped that House hadn't already e-mailed all the department heads a link. He dropped his briefcase in its normal spot by the door and stopped, sensing something was amiss. He peered into the gloom of the unlit room, squinting at a lump under his bedcovers.

He gave an exasperated sigh. House was asleep in his bed, the covers pulled up to his bare chest. He still had his reading glasses on and a worn paperback held limply in his hand. (Wilson frowned at the title: When the Aliens Came for Our Women! complete with a '50s-style flying saucer dotting the I.) It was all so weirdly spousal that Wilson stood at the foot of the bed and blinked at the sight for a few minutes, wondering if House would suddenly snap open his eyes and yell, "Gotcha!" But instead, House just drooled a bit.

"What universe am I living in?" Wilson asked the ceiling in a quiet prayer. He slipped out of his coat and hung it up in the closet, shutting the mirrored doors with a loud bang. House bolted upright and wiped his mouth on his forearm groggily.

"Go home, House," Wilson said while he toed off his loafers. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

"O...K," House bit out with a large yawn. When it finally passed, he blinked and pushed his reading glasses up to rest in his hair. "Go to bed all you want. But we need to straighten out a few things first."

Wilson gave a humorless chuckle and set to work unbuttoning his cuffs. He glared at the reflection of House in the mirror in front of him while doing so. "I have a cell phone, you know. E-mail. I think the front desk still accepts telegrams. What could possibly be so important that we have to discuss it right now?" He began tugging at his crimson tie.

With a rustle of bedclothes, House swung his legs over the edge of the bed, using his hands to guide his bad thigh. Wilson watched in the mirror curiously, his hands stilling on his tie. The paperback and reading glasses were retired to the nightstand, and House stood up slowly, carefully, without the use of his cane. And Wilson stopped breathing.

House was nude. Wilson could see that much even in the dark. The little bit of light streaming in from the picture window forced shadows to pool in the hollows of his hips, the lines of his arm, the gash on his thigh. He trudged forward, unusually steady on his feet until he was right behind Wilson. Wilson didn't turn away from the mirrored door, from the picture they made inside the frame: House hooking his chin over Wilson's shoulder, his arms coming around Wilson's body, his hands taking over the job of the tie from Wilson's frozen grip.

"I'm not laughing," House said, his voice like gravel, his breath, a little stained with sleep, brushing against Wilson's throat. "I liked how you looked in that video. Why can't you understand that? Christ, Wilson, do you even see yourself?"

His nimble fingers danced away from the undone tie and played across the pearly buttons of Wilson's dress shirt. Wilson stood stock-still, watching House watching him in the mirror, unable to move, like House had worked some spell on him.

"I want to see you that way again," House said, and leaned closer to place his lips on the soft patch of skin where Wilson's jaw met his throat.

And with that soft brush, Wilson finally jerked out of House's grip. He pushed away hard, and House nearly toppled over at the loss of something solid to lean against. Eyes down, Wilson strode the few steps to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

"Hey..." House began, but the lock clicked loudly into place before he could grab the doorknob. He pounded on the door. "Wilson! What is your problem?" He slapped both palms against the wood with a smack. "Do you want the neighbors to call the fire department? Because I am not above smoking you out."

"Go ahead and try!" Wilson's muffled voice shouted back. "You can start with my laptop! It should burn nicely."

House raised an eyebrow at the door. "Why would I burn your laptop?"

"It's what started this whole mess!"

"Mess, huh?" House scratched his forehead with the tip of his thumbnail. "You like watching me get off. I like watching you get off. Off the top of my head, I can think of fifteen more dire situations in the world. To put it in perspective, one is uncooperative cling wrap."

There was a thump and a sliding sound from the bathroom, and when Wilson spoke again, House realized he was now sitting on the floor, probably leaning against the door. "You think it's that simple?" Wilson said. "You think I can just . . . perform for you? And it'll be okay, and we'll still be friends tomorrow, and everything will be normal?" Another thump; Wilson was banging his head against the door in frustration.

House gripped the door jamb with one hand and carefully lowered himself to the carpet; his leg was starting to protest and he needed to give it a rest. He leaned back against the door, envisioning Wilson in the same pose on the other side, but flipped. "You already performed for me plus fifty or so other people," House pointed out.

"Yeah, and I'm dealing with that so well."

House rubbed at his tired eyes. "You're missing the point. I didn't come here to buy tickets for a live taping of James Wilson Orgasms for the Camera."

"Good! Because that show's been canceled."

"Would you shut up a minute and listen to me?!" House twisted his head around to shout over his shoulder through the door. "The way your face looked...I want to...Jesus." He let his head fall back against the door too, banging it gently three times for good measure. "It sounded better when I wrote it down last night."

Nothing but silence from the bathroom. House imagined Wilson patiently waiting without breathing. House sighed heavily through his nose before he finally bit out:

"I want to put that look on your face."

No answer from Wilson. House slumped against the door, his bare shoulders sliding on the glazed wood. He wasn't going to repeat himself. He was not.

"Shit, Wilson, you're right: it's not going to be normal, or easy, or okay. But I'm not wrong about this. You made that video for me, you came for me. And god help me, I did it for you too."

More quiet.

"'Hey, House, I feel the same way!'" House twittered in a mocking voice. "'And even if I don't, as your very bestest friend, I wouldn't just let you stew in silence after a huge confession like that.'"

Still nothing.

House closed his eyes. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. He braced a hand behind him, holding onto the door for balance as he prepared to heave himself to his feet, find his clothes, and limp out of the hotel, mission definitely un-accomplished.

But then the bathroom door swung open and House found himself landing backwards on the tile floor with a loud thud. He blinked up at the bright lights in the white room and groaned.

"Oh god! Are you okay?" Wilson asked, looking down at him. From House's point of view, his worried face appeared upside-down in his swimming vision, thankfully blocking out some of the light.

"Peachy," he croaked, lifting a hand to shade his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Here." Wilson stepped over his prone body and bent to his knees to help him sit up. "I didn't know you were . . . the door, I mean, and, House, I didn't want you to leave before I, before I could..." He seemed suddenly to remember House's nudity, and his eyes flickered down his bare chest and stomach.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," House said, indicating his sharp blue irises with a V of his fingers.

And Wilson's eyes snapped back up and locked there, not even blinking as he surged forward and kissed House, holding the back of his sore head as he did. House allowed himself to be kissed on the bathroom floor, even returning the favor for Wilson, until the tile became warm under his skin.

<><><><>

One week later.

"So what do you want to watch tonight?" Chase asked, flipping through his DVD collection. "Action? Adventure?"

"Actually." Cameron slid her arms around his waist and kissed the back of his neck. "I was thinking 'action,' but not of the Jackie Chan variety."

Chase grinned, a pleased and smug raise of his eyebrow directed over his shoulder at her. "Shall I get my super-secret stash of movies out, then?"

"Well," Cameron slithered past Chase to grab his slim laptop from his desk, "I thought we could try something new. What do you think?"

Chase frowned. He and Cameron had been together long enough to be considered both serious and, if he was honest with himself, a little boring. She had been dropping hints about his S&M past, but so far he'd gently declined her suggestions to get more kinky. He just didn't see Cameron as the type to enjoy pain with her pleasure, and he didn't want to pressure her into anything just to appease him.

Cameron saw his expression and quirked her lips in answer. "Don't worry. It's nothing too weird. It's kind of sweet, in fact." She walked backwards toward the bedroom, laptop under one arm, beckoning Chase with her other hand.

"Sweet?" Chase followed with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. "What sort of porn is 'sweet?'"

"My old roommate sent me a link to it," Cameron explained, throwing herself on the bed and powering the computer on. "She said it was really empowering."

Chase scrunched up his nose. "This isn't your femi-nazi ex-flatmate, is it?"

A roll of the eyes from Cameron. "Anyway," she continued, "it's supposed to be really artsy. People record themselves orgasming, but you can't see anything below the shoulders. I thought it would be fun to watch it together."

Now it was Chase's turn to roll his eyes, but he joined Cameron on the bed anyway, curling up beside her, a proprietary hand on her hip. "Yeah, sounds like fun," he returned with no enthusiasm.

Cameron brushed some blonde hair from her eyes to glare more productively at her bedmate while the web site loaded. "Hey, I sit through your cheesy pornos. It's my turn to pick, don't you think?"

"You think my pornos are cheesy?" Chase asked, looking stricken. Cameron gave him a quick peck on the lips in apology but said, "Yep."

She turned back to the laptop, ignoring Chase's still-dumbstruck look of betrayal. "Oh, look at all the different kinds of people we can choose from," she cooed. The main page had loaded along with a small sample of videos to choose from.

Chase peeked over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Lots of ladies," he noted. Things might be looking up, his hopeful expression said.

Cameron's lips formed a thin line at his tone. "Let's look at some of the men instead," she suggested.

"No way am I watching some bloke whack off. I could see that any day with the help of a reflective surface," Chase protested.

"Well, the same goes for me watching the women."

"Yeah, but women aren't so ugly!" Chase tapped his finger against one thumbnail. "This guy's got so much metal in his face, he'd never get through airport security."

Cameron sighed. "What about the Couples Section?" she asked. "Fair compromise?"

"Sure," Chase agreed. "But if it sucks, I'm watching Battle Star."

Cameron clicked blindly through the site. "I wish you'd give this a shot before you..."

"OH MY GOD."

"What?" Cameron looked back at the web site, scanning through the list of videos featuring couples. Chase pointed a shaking finger at one of the thumbnails. Cameron squinted, her brow furrowing as she studied it. "Is that...?"

"What in God's name are House and Wilson doing on this site?!" Chase cried.

Cameron cocked her head, still looking at the small image. The quality was a little fuzzy, but there was no denying the identity of the two men in the frame. House was seated behind Wilson, his smirk visible over the other man's bare shoulder. It looked like they were leaning back against a headboard. Wilson's hotel room, perhaps? Cameron imagined Wilson sitting between House's spread legs so he could rest against the other man's chest. But of course, only their heads and shoulders were in the frame, so it was just conjecture.

"What are you doing?" Chase asked, startling her out of her thoughts. "Turn it off!" He had a hand clapped over his eyes and was waving at her frantically.

"But I want to watch it." She pouted.

"Absolutely not. There is no way I'm watching my boss--"

"Ex-boss," Cameron corrected.

"Whatever! I'm not watching House's homoerotic home video. You couldn't pay me!"

Cameron shrugged. "I think it would be interesting."

"Yeah, because you still have a thing for House," Chase growled.

"Wilson's looking pretty tasty too." Cameron gave him an impish grin.

"I'm out of here," Chase said, moving to get off the bed.

Cameron grabbed his wrist. "Come on. Indulge me," she said sweetly. "If nothing else, it'll be a good laugh."

Chase didn't look convinced.

"We can watch whatever you want after," Cameron added.

"Fine." Chase slumped back onto the pillows. "But if House starts listing symptoms as part of his dirty talk . . ."

"Shhh. It's starting." And Cameron clicked on the play button.

On the small screen, House and Wilson came to life. House gave the camera a vigorous salute while Wilson offered a small wave of his hand.

"Hello, all you perverted viewers," House's voice boomed. "You'll be sad to know that this will be our last offering to your crazy little den of iniquity."

"Not that there's anything wrong with liking this site," Wilson said, admonishing House with a wag of his finger. "If it wasn't for Exquisite Anguish, we would have never . . ." He made a vague gesture between House and himself.

House rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. So consider this a thank-you." His lips brushed a kiss onto Wilson's shoulder. "Ready?"

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Wilson muttered, his eyes drifting shut. "But yeah. I'm ready."

"Don't forget to keep your eyes open," House directed. "The people at home want to see those baby browns."

"Right," Wilson snorted, but his eyelids rose to half-mast, gazing at the lens with a sort of glazed dreaminess. Cameron wondered if they had been drinking while filming this.

For a long moment, the two men just looked at the camera, breathing steadily and licking their lips. House dropped another kiss onto Wilson's skin, this time on the side of his neck. "I really won the lottery on this one," he said. "You know how many people want to be in my place right now?"

"Sixty-four," Wilson returned, "including five marriage proposals."

House sank his teeth into Wilson's neck, eliciting a yelp. "Don't remind me," he growled.

"You asked...oh." And Wilson's protest turned into a little moan of pleasure. His eyes slid shut again, and he arched back, his head falling onto House's shoulder. House kissed his ear, all while grinning at the camera. Though Cameron couldn't see his hands, she knew that they must be the culprits that had surprised Wilson.

"He's . . ." Chase began, obviously arriving at the same conclusion. Cameron shushed him and turned up the volume.

With the increased sound, she could barely hear Wilson whispering a frantic chant: "Touchmetouchmeyestouchme..."

"Like that?" House asked.

Wilson nodded weakly against his neck, burrowing his red face there.

"Don't hide. Look up," House ordered, grasping Wilson's chin between his thumb and forefinger and directing it towards the lens. Wilson's eyes made contact, and Cameron was shocked at the look of pained bliss there.

Behind her, Chase shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know about this," he said. "It feels wrong to watch."

She fumbled for his hand and drew it to her mouth, kissing the pads of his fingers. "Very wrong," she agreed, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. She felt Chase's breath catch in his chest.

"Tell everyone what you feel," House murmured into Wilson's ear.

"Your cock," Wilson groaned, "pressing into my back."

"What else?"

"Your hand," he gasped, "stroking me."

"And what else?"

An incoherent groan. A shudder of his shoulders.

"What else do you feel, Wilson?" House demanded.

"Your pulse, your skin, your breath, your, your heartbeat . . ." Wilson gulped for air, his eyelids fluttering in the fight to stay open. "I feel all of you."

Now House was no longer following his own advice: his gaze was not locked on the camera, but on Wilson, watching his face, each twist of muscle and shudder of pleasure. "You want to come?" he asked.

Wilson nodded, flushed from his hairline all the way down to where the frame cut him off. He nodded and panted, staring ahead with his mouth open. House must have done something then, some button of Wilson's that only he knew about, because as Cameron watched intently, Wilson suddenly thrashed in House's arms. A caged animal.

House's left arm came up to lock across Wilson's chest, pinning him down. He whispered into Wilson's hair, "Come on. Come for me. That's it, god, you're so good."

Wilson's arms came up now, reaching behind him to twine around House's neck. Wilson turned his head for a sloppy kiss, then biting and licking House's chin, his cheek, his Adam's apple. House returned the favor with a firm nip to Wilson's shoulder, then a lave of his tongue. Wilson's arms fell back to his sides, and he went limp, collapsing against House's chest in a sweat-soaked heap.

Wilson's eyes were closed now, his dark lashes folding down over his cheeks. House allowed the other man to catch his breath, placing a gentler kiss on his temple. Then, with a wicked grin at the camera lens, he lifted his hand, dripping with viscous white fluid. His tongue darted out, lapping at the droplets like they were some sweet treat.

Cameron's eyes widened.

Once his hand was licked clean, House carefully brushed a lock of hair from Wilson's brow. "Say goodnight, Wilson," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Wilson," he said sleepily.

"Smartass." House grinned. He leaned forward, reaching for something beyond the camera's lens, and then the screen went dark.

"Wow," Cameron said.

"Yeah," Chase echoed.

"That was..."

"Yeah."

"I never thought..."

"Right."

"So." Cameron licked her lips. "You wanna . . . ?"

"Yes," Chase said, stripping off his shirt with a laugh.

Cameron allowed herself a smug smile and followed suit. All in all, not a bad evening's entertainment, she thought.


THE END




Here's the podfic!

A huge thank you to hirenkoi who had this saved a a text file and allowed me to repost it. She also have saved the comments! ILU!