Categories > TV > House > I, Who Have Nothing0 Reviews
Wilson's infidelity threatens their delicate relationship. House has a plan to fix it.
“The bed’s this way. See where I’m laying?” he called from the bed.
Wilson grinned and joined his lover in their bed. He peeled his socks off with his toes and wiggled them freely. Wilson sighed contently as his body formed to the bed. After sleeping on the couch a week, he was glad to be back.
“I think I’ll sleep here all day.”
“No. In 2 months and 3 weeks after a weekend of sexacapades, you then can waste a day sleeping.”
Wilson just grinned and leaned over House to kiss him. It was slow and gentle to begin. But it became more fervent manner when House gave an auditable gasp.
“What?” Wilson panted.
“N-nothing,” he replied, repressing a shudder.
“Is that a banana in your pocket, or an erection in your pocket?” Wilson laughed through panting breaths.
House growled and crushed his lips to Wilson. He did really talk too much for his own good. Both of their brains turned to mush as they relied on their primal instinct. Wilson’s instinct was to rip off House’s pants and make him crazy with desire. House, however wanted to take Wilson on his back and make him moan like a wanton whore.
All forms of self control were vanishing when Wilson felt House’s fingers stretching the elastic of Wilson’s boxers.
“House,” he groaned softly.
The comment was ignored, and House continued. Wilson tried a little louder.
“House, please,” he pleaded earnestly.
When House brushed his fingertips across Wilson’s quivering abdomen, his breath hitched and he bowed his head. Surprising both himself and House, he slammed House’s shoulder’s to the bed.
House looked up with glazed eyes.
“Why?” he challenged.
Wilson climbed off and groaned when he landed on his back next to House. House turned on his side to watch Wilson. His better half was staring up at the ceiling, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Wilson saw in his peripheral vision that House was studying him.
“What do you want me to say? If you touched me below the waist right now, I’d come in my boxers.”
A small, evil grin appeared on House’s face.
“I swear to God- House!”
“What?” he asked innocently.
“You were leading me on. You wanted to see if I’d break.” Wilson stopped to process. It then hit him like an epiphany. “You bastard,” he said with disturbing awe.
“I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”
“I don’t believe that. Do you subconsciously want me to fail?”
Obviously wanting to change the subject, House asked, “How often did you masturbate when we were sleeping together?”
“What? Wilson asked, flabbergasted.
“A number. How many times?”
“I don’t know. 2, 3 times a week?”
“What did you think about when you were jerking off?”
“Do you want an honest answer, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to run off to my girlfriends because you’re not pleasuring yourself to me.”
“I don’t think you’ll be running anywhere.”
Pain was etched on House’s face. It vanished as quickly as it came. Wilson mentally slapped himself on the forehead.
“House, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he whispered.
House smiled bitterly. “No you’re not. You feel guilty about it. Now answer the question.”
Wilson sighed, and adjusted himself on the bed. “Sometimes it’s other men, other times it’s of women I’ve been with. Obviously if the sex the night previous was good, I’ll pay tribute. How many times have you… uh, done it?” he countered.
House rolled his eyes. “Masturbate? What, are you twelve? I’ve done it everyday. I do it everyday, until you were put on probation.”
Wilson looked at him in awe, and slight stupefaction. “Why?”
“Wanted to see if it was possible without going insane.”
“Medically or psychologically?”
“When I was in high school, I met a girl in my French class. Everyone wanted to… plow her. She was a total babe,” House’s voice began, sounding like he was reading a fairy tale to a small child.
Wilson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“She was one of those religious fanatics. But I made nice with her. Even got invited to her church. Ironically it was a sermon about abstinence until marriage. Naturally I spoke out against their incredibly flawed logic, and had medical statistics to back it up. After sufficiently flustering the youth preacher, he gave me an ultimatum. I had to give up any sexual deviant behaviors, accept Jesus, or I’d lose out on this fine daughter of God. I stopped choking the life out of my penis for about two weeks, before I realized she wouldn’t put out.”
House took a dramatic breath, and started again. “A week later, I got my first blow job from another girl, and I haven’t looked back since.”
“I was 14,” Wilson replied timidly. “He was the assistant to my soccer coach. He was 17 years old. God,” he murmured to himself. “Sloppy and quick.”
House snorted. “Did you reciprocate?”
“Oh yes,” he smiled fondly. “Perfect practice makes perfect performance. I wanted… more of a relationship with him, but he wouldn’t have any of that. You wanna know what he said to me? ‘I’m not a queer. Boys just give better blowjobs.’ That never made any sense to me.”
“Are we done swapping ‘first time’ stories?” House asked, sufficiently pleased how he was able to manipulate conversation, “I think it’s time for you to make me somethin’ to eat.”
“My dick hurts,” Wilson whined. “You go make something.”
“Since when does blue balls prevent you from making something to eat?”
“Are you willing to risk it?”
House looked at him, then agreed. “Touché. I’ll order something spicy. Something to get some color back to your cojones.”