Chapter Text
Let it be known that James Wilson does not drug House because he likes it.
He only does it when it’s necessary.
But that doesn’t mean he does not like it.
He’s seen House asleep, of course, and passed out drunk about as often. But that’s different. House manages to look smug even when he’s sleeping, and even when he’s too drunk to walk, he can still run his mouth just fine.
And when he’s asleep or drunk, it’s not Wilson who did that to him.
He remembers the first time he slipped a sedative into his coffee. The exact reason why has been forgotten over the years, and he doesn’t care to recall it. But all other details are sharp in his mind.
The slightest faltering of his hand, his writing turning sloppy. His slight hesitation before standing up. The glassy look in his eyes, the confusion followed by a realization – just before he collapsed against his desk.
Wilson had rushed to support him, and the feeling of House going limp in his arms, his head lolling back, his mouth dropping open…
Somehow, he managed to drop House off in the care of his fellows and get back to his own office without anyone noticing his raging hard-on.
Okay, so he has a thing for drugging his best friend and watching him pass out. He can tell himself it’s just some sort of power trip, that its just a reaction to symbolically and literally subduing the man that torments him daily.
But then why does he offer himself up as a volunteer whenever it needs to be done? And why does he always make sure he’s around to watch it happen whenever someone else has the honor?
Regardless of the justification he chooses to make up for himself this time, people are starting to notice.
There is a knock on his door.
‘’We drugged House to do a liver biopsy on him.’’, Thirteen says without any ado when she opens the door. ‘’Can you keep an eye on him while he sleeps it off? We don’t really wanna be around when he wakes up.’’
Wilson sees Taub and Kutner standing in the hall behind her, with House unconscious in a wheelchair between them. Foreman is at their side, nervously looking over his shoulder.
‘’O…ofcourse, just put him on the couch’’, Wilson says. He adds the stammer to make himself sounds surprised, despite the fact that he knew this was going to happen as soon as he heard mortar and pestle sounds in the diagnostics room just after seeing Taub and Foreman at the coffee machine. He made sure to time his walk past Houses office just right, so he could see his movements slow, his cane stop bouncing against his leg when his arms got heavy, to see his upper body sway slightly forward in his chair just before the lights went out…
Kutner rolls House in and helps Thirteen and Taub to transfer him onto the couch.
The three of them give Wilson an awkward smile as they walk out, while Foreman just nods and hands him Houses cane before closing the door.
And now its just the two of them.
They’ve put him on his side. His forehead is pressed against the headrest, leaving his mouth hanging slightly open. His legs are too long to fit on the couch, so they hang off the side. The pose seems somewhat uncomfortable, which makes it even more obvious that it was not House himself who positioned his body like that.
He looks unnatural.
He looks vulnerable.
Wilson catches himself getting lost in thought and gets up to close the door and shut the blinds. He doesn’t need anyone who might be looking for House to know that he’s here.
He’s still holding Houses cane, and he decides it would be polite to put it within arm’s reach for when he wakes up. Slowly, he walks towards the couch and crouches down to place the cane on the ground quietly.
And now he’s suddenly very close to his unconscious friend. His face is relaxed, almost peaceful, and his breathing is slow and deep, unlike Wilson, who is almost panting by now. Without stopping to think, he glances at the body splayed over his couch. House’s shirt has hiked up a bit, revealing the slightest sliver of his soft stomach.
Wilson feels like he’s going to lose his mind.
It’s not like he and House have never had their… encounters. But they are few and far between, and they are always part of Houses games, with some ulterior motive, a taunt, a dare, a test. But seeing House like this, so helpless, so at rest, he doesn’t get that often. He’d been half hard since he saw House pass out through the window, but now his cock is positively aching in his pants.
It’s easy to imagine what he could do right now, were he another kind of man. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch House.
He would caress his face, run his thumb over his lip, slip it inside, open his mouth without any resistance. He could push a hand under House’s shirt, to run it over his chest, to thumb at his nipples, and then move down again, slip it under his waistband. He imagines he would pull out House’s soft cock and stroke it slowly, coaxing it to hardness. There would be no rush. He would come closer, hesitant at first, but soon he would be rutting against his stomach while he jerked him off. Somewhere inbetween, House would start to wake up with a soft noise of confusion, just in time to be half-conscious as Wilson came on his stomach.
Wilson sees it all so vividly. It’s a well-worn fantasy that’s fuelled countless of his nauseatingly shameful jerk-off sessions. He knows he would never actually touch House when he’s out, not in a million years. Once he gets off in the bathroom, as he’s planning to do as soon as House is out of his office, he knows he will be disgusted with himself for even thinking about all of this.
Even if he does nothing, it's wrong. This is wrong.
And somehow, knowing that makes him even harder.
‘’Are you done salivating over me, or should I pretend to be asleep for a few more minutes?’’
Houses voice breaks through his thoughts.
Willson startles so much he loses his balance and falls on his ass.
‘’I..I wasn’t…’’, he stammers, and tries to get up , but House grabs his shoulder and keeps him in place.
‘’Hmmm, maybe I should, because you clearly get off on it.’’, he says, and looks down. Wilson follows his gaze, and instinctively closes his knees to obscure the tent in his pants.
‘’It’s not what you think’’
House ignores him completely.
‘’Is it the incapacitation, or do you just like gawking at me without repercussions?’’, he continues, and raises an eyebrow.
‘’Please, House, don’t…’’, Wilson starts, but he is interrupted again.
‘’Oh, don’t be a prude now. It’s clearly you who is the creep in this scenario. Least you can do is give me an answer.’’
‘’I…’’, Wilson starts, his face glowing red with embarrassment. And despite everything he’s still hard. ‘’It’s both.’’, he admits. ‘’But I would never touch you without…’’
‘’Of course you wouldn’t. Ever the good boy, aren’t you?’’, House mocks. ‘’Who would have thought, that you of all people would secretly be such a pervert. Look at you, you were salivating like a dog.’’
‘’House, just stop’’, Wilson pleads, and he isn’t even sure he wants him to shut up because he’s so embarrassed, or because he’s scared he might come in his pants if House keeps talking like that.
‘’No’’, House replies simply, and it’s only by then that Wilson understands that he’s doing this on purpose.
‘’I bet you had all sorts of nasty thoughts about how you would violate me.’’, he continues. ‘’What were you thinking about? Maybe you imagined groping me through my jeans while I couldn’t do anything to stop you? Or maybe you wanted to fuck my mouth?’’
‘’No, I…’’
‘’Touch yourself’’, House commands. ‘’Then what was it? Tell me.’’
Wilson doesn’t know how fast he can get himself out of his pants at those words.
‘’I…I slipped a finger in your mouth.’’, he says, and furiously strokes his drooling cock while looking up at House. ‘’And then I pulled your cock out.’’
‘’Like this?’’, House asks, and wraps his lips around his pointer and index finger, while his other hand undoes his belt and shoves his waistband down just enough to free his cock. Through all of this, he’s still looking down at Wilson, staring him directly into the eye.
‘’God, yes’’, Wilson says, ‘’Slowly. And run your thumb over the head.’’
House does exactly that. He roughly thumbs at his swollen glans, up and down, at an agonizing pace. He moans softly around his fingers and tilts his head back. The slow movements make it look like he’s still slightly dazed from the drugs, and god, maybe he is.
Wilson feels like he might pass out.
‘’House…’’, he manages to say, gripping his cock impossibly tighter as he feels his orgasm approach.
House just keeps stroking himself, leisurely, and pulls his fingers out of his mouth to speak again.
‘’You should really do it someday.’’, he says. ‘’Spike my drink. Take me home. Have your way with me. And leave me to wonder what happened when I wake up confused and alone.’’
And that is what does it for him.
‘’Oh fuck’’, Wilson whines, and spills all over his hand. Besides him, he hears House curse under his breath before he comes with a sigh.
Wilson is still barely aware of his surroundings while House is already cleaning himself up with the conveniently placed tissues Wilson keeps on hand for his crying patients. Within no time, he’s back in his pants and grabs his cane to head out of the room, leaving Wilson on the floor.
‘’Consider that my official consent, by the way’’, he says over his shoulder.
And then he’s gone.