Categories > TV > House0 Reviews
The Art of Making Friends (and Not Hating Them) The first in a series of unrelated oneshots centering around House and Alvie. NC17 (No actual sex, but there is masturbation)
Satisfied, he shifted around until he was comfortable, and pulled the sheet up to his chest, sliding his hand down to the front of his sweat pants. As he wrapped his fingers around his clothed cock, he winced. He gently squeezed the growing erection, grunting in the back of his throat.
Slowly, quietly, he pushed his pants and underwear down halfway, watching with intense eyes as the outline of his cock twitched from under the sheet. He licked his hand and shut his eyes. Reaching under the sheet again, he smeared his saliva over the tip.
He thought of the last woman he had had sex with, tried to recall the swell of her breasts, or the way her perfect, heart shaped ass looked from behind as she squatted over him, guiding him into her.
His breath hitched in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Alvie, who was still fast asleep, his back to him.
Images of Cuddy flooded his mind, images of her and Thirteen in cheap lingerie, on top of his piano, enthusiastically moaning and kissing. House smirked, his face warm. In his fantasies, no one was off limits.
Behind closed lids, he watched Cuddy break the kiss with Thirteen and turn to him suddenly, inviting him to join. Thirteen grinned seductively, leaning in to kiss Cuddy's neck, sliding a hand up her leg.
When he came, picturing both women knelt in front of them with lipstick smeared on their faces as well as his cock, his eyes rolled back into his head. He collapsed into the bed, his breathing heavy and erratic, and reached for a tissue. The mess was gone and his pants were pulled up quickly enough, and he was left staring at the ceiling as his breathing calmed, fingers laced behind his head.
He almost felt himself drifting off to sleep, when he suddenly heard Alvie say, "Oh hell no. Did you just bust a nut?"
House paused, unsure of what to say. He couldn't help but grin wickedly. "Maybe."
Alvie rolled over quickly, nearly tearing his blanket and sheet off the bed.
"That's sick! I don't wanna hear that, man."
"Sorry," House said, feigning embarrassment. "Thought you were asleep."
"I was asleep!" he groaned in disgust. "Look, from now on," he waved his hand in a circle, "you do that stuff in the bathroom like everybody else, kay?"
"But this way's more fun."
Alvie stared at him. "Yo, that's messed up."
Hastily gathering up his sheets and blankets, Alvie began rolling over, trying to form a barricade between him and House.
"Nu uh. Homie don't play that. My last roomy couldn't stand me but at least he didn't spank the monkey when he was layin' two feet from me. I'll tell 'em I want a new room mate, that's what. A lo loco bellaca, man. Ridiculous!"
House snorted quietly; whenever Alvie got riled up, his sentences all fused into one long one. It never failed.
"You are one sick puppy, you know that? Can't believe you. There are plenty of times when I wanna rub one out, but do I? No! I don't! Cuz you're right there!"
"Hey, don't let me stop you."
That stopped the complaints dead in their tracks.
"What? You serious?"
"Only fair. Just try not to think of me while you're doing it."
There was another long silence, until he heard the shift of blankets from the other bed, then a soft, frustrated grunt. "That ain't right. Th-there's somethin' wrong with you."
"Oh, you're so repressed," House said, rolling his eyes.
Alvie responded by pulling his blanket over his head.
A few seconds later, he started to whisper what sounded to House like lyrics. From the clips he could catch, House determined they were nothing short of a treatise on how messed up his roommate was.
Eventually, the whispers drifted off. House lay awake for a long while, listening to Alvie snore next to him, a grin on his face.