moose_mcmoose

Okay so this started out as attempt, on my part, at writing a smutty drabble but descended downhill into smut/angst territory. And ended up being way over 100 words. Duh.
Seriously, this is the first time I've ever written anything vaguely explicit so it's probably shite. But practice makes perfect I guess.

Title: Awake
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17. Sex and profanity in places. O_O
Words: 813
Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Set post-season 5. The first time he had sex with House was monumental.... (this is a hard one to summarize I must add ;D)

The first time he had sex with House was monumental. The crackling shudders up his spine as House thrust deep inside of him was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The gentle caressing of House's hand through his hair and the delicate thumbing of his nipples had took him so far to edge that he was sure he was about to spontaneously combust, taking House and the whole apartment with him. Wilson took his hand to House's neck, pulling him down to touch lips before pushing him back up to so he could continue his assault on Wilson's senses. He watched on as House squeezed his eyes shut, cursing in silent ecstasy. As House's thrusts became quicker, so did Wilson's breathing, morphing into barely a pant as he finally felt the warmth he'd been striving for cascade onto his stomach.

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The next night they had sex in Wilson's office. Wilson had took charge this time, unzipping House's pants and bending him over the dark wooden desk. He had locked the office door just in case a cleaner happened to be snooping around the fourth floor. He spread a generous helping of lube over his cock before pushing himself into House, aware he had hit the right spot when House grasped the corner of the desk and gasped. He grabbed onto House's cock, timing his jerks with the movement of his own hips. They were careful not to make a mess on their shirts, they would be wearing them home after all, instead utilizing the wealth of tissues Wilson had stacked in his draws normally set aside for patients.

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The third night was on his kitchen table. Amber's kitchen table. He should have felt bad, abusing his dead girlfriend's old stuff like this, but the guilt was this time overwhelmed by the blood pumping in his ears and fuzz in his brain. House was whispering in his ear, telling him to go harder, to go faster, to fuck him like this was the last thing he would ever do. Wilson responded, driving himself between House's thighs and buttocks with force, until the air was heavy and both men lay side by side on the kitchen floor.

"That was good." Wilson palmed away a damp lock of hair that had fused to his forehead.

"Understatement of the year right there Wilson."

"Yeah." A self-satisfied groan escaped his lips as he lay a hand onto House's chest.

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The fourth night they were back in his bedroom, curled up in a crumpled mass of linen and duvet. He was fingering the trail of hair that snaked it's way down House's chest, while House held his head between the crook of his arm.

"You enjoy that?" House gently flicked the top of Wilson's ear to awaken him from his daze.

"Mmmm" He wiggled his head, tucking it further towards House's damp shoulder.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

"Mmmm." He moved his arm around House's waist and pulled him closer.

"Are you just going to groan in response for the rest of the night?"

"Mmmm."

"I'm okay with that." House smiled and pulled Wilson's head towards him so it was resting on his upper chest.

Wilson knew he could stay like this forever if he truly wanted to but he also knew that wasn't possible.

Because he knew he couldn't stay asleep forever.

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On the fifth night Wilson didn't sleep. He stayed awake with a bottle of beer in one hand and out-of-date potato chips in the other. Instead of going to bed, he lay on the sofa and watched the flashing lights of the TV, dampening the arm of the couch with his tears.

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Wilson didn't sleep on the sixth, seventh or eighth night either because he was sick of dreaming. Sick of having the thing he wanted for it only to be ripped away from him the next morning. Sick of seeing House's face every time he closed his eyes and feeling guilty because it wasn't Amber. Sick of being reminded of how lonely he was, padding around a dead woman's apartment like a hollowed out shell of a human being.

It was torture, feeling the warm, pulsing of a body on top of him only to awaken to find a cold space where it should have been.

He wonders why his mind does this to him, why it seems to get a kick out of dangling a carrot in front of him, why it seems to enjoy giving him a taste what he can't have before snatching it back.

He thought could avoid this all -- the dreams, the tricks of the mind, the stupid thoughts that only make things worse -- if he kept his eyes open.

But now his eyes are itchy and his lids are heavy and he knows this isn't going to work.

Because he knows he can't stay awake forever.

Current Mood: disappointed
Current Music: The gentle Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm of a computer