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The sound of Wilson’s open palm hitting his face is something House is so brutally familiar with, yet it never fails to turn him on just the same.
The second slap comes right after the first, and House would have to grit his teeth to stop himself from moaning, but the hand on his throat does the trick just fine.
“I told you to shut up,” Wilson says sternly, his eyes sharp, piercing, as he looks House up and down, measuring, observing, picking apart. House slides an inch further down, his back against the door- they only made it this far, kissing hungrily, hands busy, until House started to run his mouth about something stupid, something trivial, anything to get the game going, to push Wilson’s buttons, because they weren’t going where he wanted fast enough.
Or that’s what he’d say, if questioned under oath.
Wilson’s knowing look says that he, too, knows this isn’t really about House’s impatience, or him fighting for control.
This is House begging Wilson to take the control away.
Wilson has never failed to rise up to the occasion.
House opens his mouth, to continue being a smartass, and Wilson tuts, tightening his grip on House’s throat so that momentarily, House is unable to breathe. Wilson holds him there, counting the seconds, watching him, before he lets up, and leaves House gasping, shuddering.
His other hand slides into House’s hair, grasping the short strands in between his deft fingers, and pulls his head back like that into an uncomfortable angle. “Either you shut up, and I fuck you like the slut that you are, or I make you shut up, fuck you like the slut that you are and make sure that it’s no fun for you,” he says, holding House’s gaze steadily.
House knows he means it- he has tested the authenticity of that threat before.
Control is all Wilson’s- House feels the tension bleed out of his shoulders.
“Good,” Wilson says, noting the change too, and he brings House in for a rough kiss. House makes an effort to try and gain control of the kiss, just because he can’t play any other way, not until his brain turns off, his hands on Wilson’s hips, thumbs stroking the bare skin just above his belt, but Wilson won’t be so easily fooled- his free hand cups House’s dick and balls through his jeans, and he applies enough pressure to make House keen, his knees buckle, the pain enough to rattle inside his pelvis although he’s had worse, much worse, and maybe it’s the memory of it that makes it so effective.
Wilson bites at his lower lip, and House slumps against the door, eyes closed, and as a reward, Wilson lets his vice grip go, a shudder of relief going through House.
“Look at you,” Wilson murmurs in his ear, his hand still on House’s erection, his fingertips moving in a small circle just over the tip. “So eager for me after I just slapped you in the face. You’re such a nasty little slut for me, aren’t you?”
Something snarky and biting threatens to rise to the surface, but Wilson knows better than to let House’s too-quick-for-his-own-good wit ruin their fun. “On your knees,” he commands, using his grip on House’s hair to pull him down, his other hand pushing House down by the shoulder, and House falls to the floor with little grace, his knees bruising against the hardwood floor.
Wilson’s grin is wicked, when he’s looking down at House like this, still holding onto his hair, and he moves his foot to press against the bulge in House’s pants again, pressing his heel down enough to deliver both delightful friction and painful pressure, and House moans, helplessly torn between the two sensations, squirming in place with nowhere to go.
“One day I’ll keep the door open, so all of our neighbors can see you suck my cock,” Wilson says, as he begins to undo his belt and slacks, moving with tantalizing confidence, taking his time. “Maybe even let them use you as well. Because you love to suck dick, don’t you? It’s like it’s all you were ever meant to be doing. You’re such a dirty whore. Would you like that? Being used by anyone walking by?”
House swallows with difficulty, and when he meets Wilson’s eyes, his expression is answer enough. Wilson’s smile grows only wider, and he reaches into his underwear and pulls his half hard cock out, stroking it leisurely. The sight never fails to make House shiver with want- he can practically imagine the taste and weight of it on his tongue, and he wants it, craves it.
Thankfully, Wilson doesn’t make him wait for it, and uses his hand on House’s head to bring him in. House’s mouth falls open before he can think twice about it and Wilson pushes his rapidly hardening cock past his lips, groaning at the wet velvet heat that envelops his erection as House gets to work eagerly, working his tongue on the sensitive, fat tip because Wilson is keeping his head still.
“Or maybe I should keep you under my desk at work,” Wilson ponders, stroking a thumb across House’s cheek. “You could keep my cock warm all day. I bet you’d like that, sitting in between my legs, my soft cock in your mouth, just holding perfectly still for me- I’d have to tie your hands behind your back, so you wouldn’t touch yourself. Just sitting still, my cock on your tongue, until I decided to take a break and let you suck me off.”
House closes his eyes, imagining it, savoring every detail of it- yes, he’d like that very much, he really would, to do nothing but serve Wilson, please him the best he could, exist only to do as Wilson wants him to. No thoughts, just them, and this same mixture of pleasure and pain.
“You can touch me.”
House is quick to place his hands on Wilson’s thighs, just to steady himself, as Wilson lets go of his hair at last. Wilson is almost fully hard now, and House doesn’t have much room in between Wilson’s body and the door, but he’s all the more excited, swallowing down more of Wilson’s length with practiced ease. He relaxes his throat and takes in as much as he can, the tight suction of his throat making Wilson hiss as he leans against the door with both hands, his hips twitching.
“You really were born to do this, huh,” Wilson coos, and his pleased tone makes House’s own hips buck up, seeking friction and finding only the restrictive material of his jeans. And of course it doesn’t go unnoticed- Wilson laughs, and a hot flush of shame washes over House, heady and overwhelming, as Wilson presses his impeccable dress shoe against House’s cock once more, rubbing up and down, the shift in his weight pushing more of his cock down House’s throat.
House moans, gripping the material of Wilson’s slacks tightly, struggling to relax, struggling to breathe, and at last, his mind is quiet.
Wilson presses one hand on top of House’s head, as he begins to rock his hips back and forth. As he picks up speed, he moves his foot away from House’s crotch, to regain his balance, and House’s head knocks against the wooden door on a particularly sharp thrust.
“Mm,” Wilson hums, moans, and a shiver goes through House- he’s so pleased to know he’s doing a good job, he’s making Wilson feel good, and that’s all that matters. Wilson’s cock bumps into the back of his throat and House blinks away the tears that gather in his eyes, fights to keep his breathing even, fights to keep his hands on Wilson’s eyes because he’s not allowed to touch himself without permission.
He has nowhere to go, can do nothing but take this, as Wilson fucks his mouth with earnest, his head against the door and Wilson’s hand holding him still. “Nothing but a hole to be fucked,” Wilson says with a grunt, and House agrees, and he loves that too, because at least Wilson feels good and that’s everything he wants.
But tonight, Wilson doesn’t want to finish here. He pulls out of House’s mouth suddenly, and a mixture of saliva and precum dribbling down House’s chin, and Wilson chuckles darkly at the sight. With a grip on the base of his cock, he rubs the tip of it across House’s cheeks, his lips, his forehead, slow and deliberate, smearing the mess everywhere.
“Don’t you close your eyes,” he says sharply when House’s eyelids flutter closed with humiliation, and he delivers a third slap on the other cheek this time, and House melts, melts into it, sinks deeper, looking hazily up at Wilson, jaw slack, a pretty flush across his face, his skin tingling and smarting. “Good. Keep looking at me. No point in acting embarrassed when you’re the one begging for my cock.”
Wilson shoves two fingers into House’s mouth, and House obediently sucks them, doesn’t fight it when Wilson presses down on his tongue uncomfortably. Wilson looks pleased.
“Get up,” he says simply, and House hurries to obey, his legs stiff, his knees complaining, but it doesn’t matter. “Go to the bedroom, and get naked.”
House moves without thinking, without seeing, clinging to Wilson’s words like a lifeline. He folds away his clothes neatly because he knows this would turn into a punishment if he failed to do so, and he’s standing by the bed, waiting, when Wilson gets to the bedroom.
Wilson has gotten rid of his shoes, and his jacket and tie, and has rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. “Give me a color,” he says, his voice softer, but the underlying control and power are still there. He looks House in the eye, his dark eyes calm.
“Green,” House replies, easy, simple, and Wilson only acknowledges it with a nod.
The kindness is gone just as fast as it came on. He steps close to House and grants him a bruising kiss, before he pulls away to give House’s ruddy, hard dick a patronizing look. He flicks the leaking tip, sharp enough to make House wince, and Wilson clicks his tongue.
“So pathetic,” he croons, and House’s blush spreads down to his chest. “On the bed, ass up.”
House gets into position pliantly, his body relaxing into the ease of only doing as he’s told. He can hear Wilson rummaging around in their toy box but he can’t see him, and the anticipation is delicious, has all of his senses heightened as he waits with bated breath.
The mattress dips with Wilson’s weight, and soon, there’s the familiar feeling of smooth leather around his ankle, and then, Wilson moving his other leg further out to fit the spreader bar in between, before fastening the cuff around House’s other ankle as well.
“If you can’t keep your hands still, I’m gonna cuff them too,” Wilson warns him, and House nods to show he understands. A hand runs down his spine and dips teasingly in between his asscheeks, before Wilson pulls his hand away- only to deliver a harsh smack across House’s right buttock.
The suddenness of it is enough to make House yelp, but the second slap doesn’t catch him off guard anymore and he just moans, turning his head to get a look at Wilson kneeling by his flank on the bed.
“Hands behind your back,” Wilson says simply, and House does as he’s told, which earns him two more smacks, the pain warm, inviting, and melting into pleasure almost right after, his brain turning into syrup, the world growing quiet around him.
Wilson makes quick work of the warm up with his hand, and once he’s gotten House all pink and hot and squirming, he stops.
The sound of the cap of the lube bottle makes House shiver pleasantly from head to toe, though the cold substance dribbling down his crack makes goosebumps break out all over his skin. Wilson massages his fingers over his hole leisurely, like he’s got all the time in the world to be doing this.
“Now, I’m not gonna do anything more until you beg me for it,” he says calmly, and House blinks his eyes open to look at him. Wilson’s smile is knowing and wicked, his eyes dark. He’s still only rubbing the pads of his fingers over House’s entrance, and it’s quickly driving House mad.
“Beg me to spank you with the paddle,” he says, grinning. House tries to rock back on his fingers, and Wilson’s hand drops down from his ass and is back on his balls again, his grip not yet tight enough to hurt but absolutely promising that, and House wills his muscles to obey, to hold himself still, because he doesn’t want to be punished tonight.
“Please,” he says, his voice hoarse, and he pauses to lick his lips. Wilson’s stare grows more intense as he keeps House pinned with the force of it alone, and House feels so exposed- the humiliation of having to beg for something, because he wants it, he wants the paddle, and he’s so turned on, and so pleased that Wilson knew that that is what he wants, and embarrassed that Wilson knew that.
“Not good enough,” Wilson says, scraping a shar nail down the inside of House’s left inner thigh where the skin is the thinnest, and House shivers and shudders, the pain minimal but his nerves are on fire, multiplying the intensity of the sensation. “That wasn’t begging, that was merely asking nicely.”
“Please, can I… Can sir please spank me with the paddle?” House’s tongue barely obeys him, his words slightly slurred, a blush creeping up his cheeks, ears, and neck, but the smile that Wilson gives him makes him hot all over, a pleasant tingle in the pit of his stomach along with the heavy shame.
“Good boy.” And Wilson gets off the bed, disappearing out of House’s limited field of vision for a moment, though he’s back in a flash. He’s gotten naked now as well, and he has the imposing leather paddle in hand, a beautiful contrast to his lightly tanned skin. “How many?”
House goes to answer, but then Wilson runs the paddle light over his buttocks, and every thought in his brain turns to mush all at once, the sensation so tantalizing in what it promises. House sucks in a shaky breath and of course Wilson knows how affected he is.
“Look at you,” Wilson taunts him even as he repeats the motion with the paddle, and House’s cock throbs painfully with excitement, dripping precum onto the sheets below. “Can’t even think because you’re so horny to be spanked. C’mon, how many?”
House grasps at the first number that floats to the forefront of his mind, too turned on to consider it any further- exactly Wilson’s goal. “Fifteen,” he murmurs, and Wilson grins.
“Count them for me.”
Wilson slides the paddle down along the backs of House’s thighs, and the first blow lands swiftly and with intent over both of his asscheeks. House gasps and rocks forward before resuming position, the fingers of his right hand clutching his left wrist more tightly to keep his hands still. “One,” he rasps, and he barely gets the word out before the second smack lands, this time only hitting the left cheek.
“Two,” House counts dutifully, and now Wilson makes him wait for it, only a second or two but long enough to make him tense, make him anticipate it, and so the pain is sharper and allconsuming as the paddle lands on his right cheek.
Wilson keeps a steady pace after that, only alternating the spot he hits and increasing the strength behind each one, and after ten, House is squirming, panting, moaning, the heady mixture of pain and endorphins having him floating in a headspace where nothing else but this moment matters, nothing else but Wilson matters and if he could, this is where he’d stay forever.
“Ah- fifteen!” he finishes counting, his whole body shaking with relief when he realizes that he did it, and Wilson runs a soothing hand down his spine before massaging his smarting bottom with both hands, just to listen to House whine and watch his muscles flex as he tries to keep still.
“What a good slut,” Wilson murmurs, and House likes the feeling, likes the approval, the meaning of it, the weight of it, wants more of it.
“Give me your hand.” House slowly unfurls his fingers and holds out his right hand to Wilson, who has set the paddle down and has now grabbed the bottle of lube instead. The substance is cold on House’s fingers, when Wilson squirts a generous amount on them.
“Finger yourself open for my cock,” he orders casually, as he moves on the bed, his weight settling behind House to where he can’t see- but he knows how it looks, can picture the scene in his mind, Wilson lounging on the mountain of pillows, all gorgeous lean limbs and soft hair and smooth skin, his cock in his hand and eyes on House’s ass high in the air and held open by the spreader bar connecting his ankles.
Hot shame runs through him, sickening and oh so delicious, and his mouth runs dry, and his cock feels so heavy in between his legs, begging for attention, and Wilson can see it, can see everything, there’s nothing hidden except House’s face, and the lube is dripping down his fingers-
“I said, finger yourself open, or I’ll fuck you without prep and you don’t get to come,” Wilson says quietly, taking care pronouncing each syllable, and House shudders, because that is hot too, but it’s also miserable to be so turned on and not be allowed to come, and he doesn’t want that, he wants to be good, he wants Wilson to say so again.
Licking his lips and sucking in a deep breath, House pushes himself up on his left elbow and moves his right hand back, rubbing his fingertips over his hole before he slips the first one inside, hissing as he does, but as he twists his wrist with the limited range of motion he has, it gets better. He glances behind him and meets Wilson’s heavy gaze, which sends a shiver through him in anticipation.
“I’m not gonna be patient with a slut like you, so hurry up.”
House adds a second finger, and the added stretch has him gasping, the discomfort quickly turning to pleasure. He tries to angle for his prostate but can’t quite hit it, screwing his fingers in and out of his tight body, the wet welch of the lube loud in the otherwise quiet room. House chances another look at Wilson and he was right, Wilson is stroking his cock in time with House fucking himself with his fingers, and House’s mouth waters- he wants more, he wants Wilson, he wants to come.
Hastily, he adds a third finger, a moan punched out of him because it’s too soon for his body but too little at the same time, and he picks up speed, his arm cramping but he needs more, more. House presses his face into the crook of his elbow and moans, rocking back on his fingers, fucking himself open with fervor, losing himself in the feeling.
He could come like this, he could-
“Stop.”
The order is clear, and to the point, and House lets his right hand fall down to the mattress, although he’s unable to suppress the whine that spills from his lips at the loss. Wilson chuckles, the mattress dipping as he moves on the bed, until he’s in between House’s legs.
“It looked like you don’t even need my cock,” he muses, delivering a harsh slap to House’s ass, and House shakes his head vehemently. He gets both of his arms under him, to push his head up, moaning loudly as Wilson spanks him again, and again.
“Want you,” he murmurs, and that earns him Wilson’s hands on his hips, and Wilson’s cock sliding in between his asscheeks, and that makes him tingle all over. “I want you, please…”
“Please what?” Wilson presses a kiss on House’s shoulder blade, and House rocks back against him, chasing his touch. Wilson allows it, both of them strung too far, both of them needing to feel the other one close. Yet, the expectation hovers in between them- House needs to say it.
“Please fuck me, sir,” he rasps, and Wilson purrs, and he slicks himself up with the excess lube on House’s skin, the sound of him fucking his fist enough to make House groan- and Wilson slams into him with no warning, hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his lungs in one smooth thrust, his hipbones slamming against House’s ass and his fat cock the perfect stretch, the perfect assault on House’s neglected prostate.
House drops his head, moaning, and Wilson picks up a relentless pace, hands on his hips to pull him back against him with each thrust in, the sound of his balls slapping against House nothing short of obscene, and House can do nothing but take it, let Wilson have him the way he wants for the second time that night, and it sends him soaring, his mind blank, his heart light, his cock heavy and demanding attention, beads of precum soiling the sheet beneath him.
They can’t last long, and that isn’t the point either. Wilson uses House the way he wants to be used, mercilessly, and House enjoys it, each drag of Wilson’s cock, each bruising thrust, the vice grip on his hips, tight enough to bruise and he loves that, loves the pain perhaps even more than he loves the pleasure.
And when Wilson lets go of his hip to press that hand over House’s throat, it’s over. House keens, unabashed and falling apart, and Wilson kisses and bites along his shoulder, snapping his hips harder, faster still.
“Come for me,” he urges House, his voice gritty and dark, and House is gasping for air, shaking, unraveling, and when Wilson’s other hand reaches under him to brush against his cock, his orgasm consumes him, swallows him whole and sweeps him away, leaving him in a boneless heap beneath Wilson, who chases his own pleasure for one, two, three more thrusts before he spills inside House, riding the high with stuttering rolls of his hips. House moans quietly beneath him, oversensitive and blinking away the delirium, and Wilson’s arms are strong and unwavering when he wraps them around him, his mouth so soft and warm as he traces kisses along House’s neck.
And this is the easy part- House basking in Wilson’s attention, once Wilson gains his strength back enough to push himself up so he can take away the spreader bar and rearrange them both on the pillows. There’s a box of wet tissues on the nightstand and Wilson is quick and efficient in cleaning them up, before he dives back into bed and draws the covers over them both.
He’ll spread ointments and bring ice packs later, but first, cuddles are in order; cuddles that House would reject in any other situation, but can surrender himself in like this, once Wilson has proven to him again that when they’re alone, House isn’t in charge- doesn’t have to be in control, for Wilson will gladly do it for him.
House goes readily, melting against Wilson’s broader body, burrowing in close with a satisfied sigh. Wilson tucks the covers around them the way House likes, and cradles him against his chest with a pleased, relaxed smile- perhaps sometimes, he wishes he could have House this soft without the sex first, but this is good.
Perfect, even.