House/Wilson smutty ficlet

[triedunture]

Title: Off Track
Author: triedunture
Pairing: House/Wilson established relationship
Rating: NC17
Words: 1770
Warnings: Slight roughness. A bit of a filthy oral thing...oh, okay. I can't hide it behind pretty phrasing. Come on face, okay!? That might squick you, so just be aware.

<><><>

"Helmet." House reached a hand out, flapping it open and closed in Wilson's face. "Gimme."

Wilson did not look up from his thick novel. He curled deeper into the couch, if anything, and tucked his socked feet under himself. "Hm?"

"My helmet's not on the chair where I left it," House growled. "Where did you put it?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." A tissue-thin page turned slowly under Wilson's licked thumb. "Maybe you lost it. Seems more likely, doesn't it?"

"No, it seems more likely that someone," House said, "doesn't like his boyfriend riding around on a bitchin' bike, and passive-aggressively hid his helmet to keep him from going to the OTB."

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence," Wilson sighed. "First of all, I wouldn't call it a bitchin' bike; I'd call it a high-end death machine."

House snorted. How could he explain it to Wilson? How the wind felt. How the road looked. How right it was to have the world going by so fast without anything caging in limbs. Plus, the jacket was extra-bonus cool.

"Care to correct me on the 'boyfriend' thing?" House asked, shrugging on said jacket and zipping it up.

"It's in a precarious position. Depends on what happens in the next five seconds." Wilson finally tore his eyes away from the book to frown at House's donning of the bike jacket. "You're going?"

"You didn't hide my keys," House pointed out.

The book hit the carpet with a thump. "Unbelievable!" Wilson threw his hands up in the air. "Here I am, trying to prove a point to you, and you, you, you..."

"I, I, I need to place a bet on Stuttering Idiot to win. He's got good legs." House limped over to the nearby stand and grabbed a cane. "Toodles."

But suddenly, there was a Wall of Wilson between House and the front door. The arms-crossed, brow-furrowed, "I'm very disappointed in you" kind of Wilson.

"You are not taking the bike without a helmet. You'd get pulled over by the cops in a minute, and then you'd piss them off and get thrown in jail and then I'd have to come bail you out. Again."

House licked his lips and studied Wilson's impassive face. "Cops, huh?"

"You attract them," Wilson said.

House quirked a look at that choice of words and stepped one foot closer into Wilson's personal space. No give. Interesting.

"The fine for violating the helmet law in New Jersey," he breathed into Wilson's ear, "is about twenty-five bucks, I think."

"With assaulting an officer and resisting arrest, I'm sure you'd get that bumped up to a couple grand." Wilson's voice hitched on the last word, though, as House pressed his lips over the carotid artery.

"Arresting me on what grounds, officer?" House's voice rumbled against the delicate skin. "Was I going too fast?"

"Cop fantasy. How wonderfully cliched," Wilson huffed. He pushed against House's leather-clad chest, but House didn't budge.

"Come on. I've got another ten puns just waiting to let loose." A lick to the arch of Wilson's clavicle where it peeked out from the collar of his faded tee. "Are you gonna have to use the nightstick?"

Wilson groaned; not a sexy groan, but a pained, "that was terrible" one. "Stop trying to sidetrack me," he said.

"Actually, I think I'm the one being sidetracked." House mouthed at the hollow of Wilson's throat, pleased to finally feel a shudder go through the other man's frame. "Fair deal, as far as I'm concerned."

"You mean you won't go gambling if I put out? Oh yeah, fair deal. I think it's also called prostitution." But Wilson, despite his protests, was already leaning back against the door with his eyes shut tight against the assault on his throat.

"I thought we were doing a cop fantasy, not a hooker fantasy," House murmured with a grin while nibbling at an earlobe. "Come on, Officer Wilson. Are you going to write me a ticket, or are you going to let me off?"

"I'm not talking dirty-cop talk."

"Indulge me." And he palmed the bulge in Wilson's jeans with a leer.

A gasp: "God!" Wilson grabbed House by the shoulders and spun them around so swiftly, House's cane fell from his right hand with a clatter. Didn't matter for long; Wilson firmly pushed House back into an armchair.

House eyed the crotch directly in front of his face. "Hello there."

"With your record, you can't afford another brush with the law," Wilson said in his rough "I'm playing along with you, damn it" voice. He pressed his hands down on House's leather-covered shoulders, keeping him in place in the chair.

"Maybe you could just give me a slap on the wrist." House's teeth gleamed in the low light.

Left hand going for the fly now. "You could use a good slap; don't tempt me."

"You wouldn't."

Wilson paused, his pants not quite unzipped. Instead of dealing with that, he reached forward and lowered the zipper of House's jacket. A low metallic buzz.

Wilson grinned. "What would you do? Call the police?" And in one quick motion, he twisted the jacket off House's shoulders, trapping his arms inside the tangled sleeves. "I am the police."

House had the feeling that his smile was far too wide for a restrained man, so he tried to tone it down. The dial went from "outright glee" to "smug & pleased" fairly quick. "Whatever you say, Officer."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, hesitating, looking very unsure about House's demeanor. House tipped his head to the side. Analyzed what that look meant. Sure, they had played little games before, but House hadn't ever given up the pretense of control, not even in jest. New territory for Wilson, then. Guess you can teach an old dog after all, House mused. He jutted his chin towards Wilson's pants.

"Maybe I can do you a favor, and we'll call it even," he said, a light suggestion in the direction they both wanted.

That was all it took to snap Wilson into action. Fly down, one hand into the slit of his boxers, the other cupping the back of House's head (gently, too gently). House tipped his head back and nipped at Wilson's fingertips; hint taken: those fingers dug into the peppered curls and tugged.

"Suck," he ordered, and House did.

Leaned slightly forward and nuzzled first, his nose and lips nudging at the erection in front of him. A deep inhale, scenting Wilson (every person has their own smell; a scientific fact; this one smelled the best). Then a lick, a kiss, a dip of the head to take it all in. House knew that, yes, he was good at this. His eyes rolled upwards to watch Wilson, and Wilson was staring back, watching him.

He sucked lazily, knowing what would come next.

"Fuck." Wilson's fingers tightened in his hair. Not enough to pull, but very close.

House stopped moving, his arms still pinned to his sides in the jacket. Just held Wilson in his mouth; not a breath, not a flicker of tongue.

Stayed that way until Wilson pulled ever-so-softly at his hair. "Come on."

The stretch of lips in a sort of grotesque smile against Wilson's skin.

"House," Wilson admonished.

He pulled back with a slurp. "How do you know my name?" A mock-gasp. "I haven't given you my driver's license yet."

Wilson's eye-roll was nothing short of epic. "You want to play this game? Fine." And he twisted his hand in House's soft hair and yanked him forward, using his free hand to guide his cock to the waiting lips. "Finish me off. Now."

House hummed "that's more like it" in his throat, which Wilson couldn't have possibly deciphered. Too much groaning from that corner. And nails digging into the thin skin of House's neck. And now cursing.

Difficult to do, House found, without hands. Had to juggle all the movements with his tongue and mouth, craning his neck awkwardly to follow the motions of Wilson's hips. He felt like a hypnosis patient following a swinging watch. But, well. That's talent.

And there, proof of that talent: the small tremor in Wilson's knees that always, always signaled his impending orgasm. House applied himself thoroughly, ready for it. But Wilson, the bastard, pulled away, pulled his cock right out of House's mouth, leaving a thin trail of saliva linking the tip to House's bottom lip.

House actually whined. He had been looking forward to winning the "I bet Jimmy does have a mean-spirited bone in his body, and he'll get rough if you push him the right way" internal betting pool.

But one glance up at Wilson and it was clear: the race was not called yet. Wilson stood there, fisting his own erection, panting. "Where do you want it? On your face?"

Eyebrows shot up. Not only could the old dog learn new tricks, he could invent a few for good measure.

House tipped his head back a few degrees. No words, just a silent offering. Arms still trapped, going numb from the position. Eyes wide open in a clear dare.

"I'll do it," Wilson warned.

To which House merely opened his mouth and proffered his pink tongue. An easy target.

Wilson nearly collapsed, caught himself with a hand on House's shoulder. Came with a loud growl. A snarl, a noise that House was going to file away for later.

Instinct: to close one's eyes when something is about to hit one's face. House couldn't help it, the rapid blinks between bursts of fluid. The first hit him on the cheek. The second, somewhere around his hairline, dribbling into his left eyebrow. Then two steady drips onto his gray tee shirt, splattering against his chest.

House was watching Wilson's clenched expression closely. Soon his dark eyes drifted open again, and the look he gave House was just priceless: complete shock.

"Holy shit." He lifted a shaking thumb to House's eyelid, wiping away a drop of sticky fluid. "I, I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize," House said. His tongue darted out to catch a strand of come. "You were just doing your job, Officer."

And Wilson laughed. Helped him struggle out of his jacket, and fetched a damp paper towel to do the clean-up. And when he was done, and House was out of police jokes, Wilson got on his knees in front of the armchair.

"It's the least I could do," he said from between House's legs.

House allowed himself a pleased smile, all thoughts of the OTB forgotten.


fin.

Comments

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Well, there you go, you *did* write it, it's all sorts of wrong and hot, and ironically presages that ep where it's Wilson being pulled over, if the trailers are anything to go by....=D

[bewitchingbella.livejournal.com]

Wow. Amazing. I love the idea of the role play, and there is just something about dom!Wilson in his many guises that makes me so happy...

Thanks for writing!

~Bella

[snowy-eyed.livejournal.com]

Awesome, there needs to be more role playing stories! Very well done, loved the 'where do you want it?' line.