Conversations
Aug. 9th, 2005 10:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterliveSo I was talking with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lumenara the other day about House/Wilson. We both ship, but she's the one who really reads the fic that's out there. I'm very shy about it, because I have a reaaaaaally specific way I see that relationship being possible, and anything else just kind of makes me turn up my nose. I'm such a snob, it's a bad thing. *ducks head*
But the good side of this was that Loom made me tell her how I thought it would go. So here's a little House/Wilson for you guys - Conversation.
me: but it's House/Wilson phone sex.
me: no, no
me: *rubs face*
loom: fine. you tell it.
loom: *pouts*
me: awwwww, *heart*
loom: *sits at your feet and waits for a story*
me: I think it's...
Wilson would call him, after the 'date' with Cameron. He'd fake a reason to call, but he'd expect House to see through it. Of course, House would, and Wilson's care for House would be exposed and House would get the little thrill of calling somebody on something, which Wilson knows he loves.
House would insist that he was fine and then refuse to talk about it. From his tone and the words he uses, Wilson will know exactly what happened. House had to do something he didn't like, but he felt honor-bound to and he'd do it again.
They'd still be talking and then Wilson would get into bed, and House would hear, and he'd be in the middle of a sentence and he'd go: "Are you in bed?"
Wilson'd be like, "Is that a problem?" Challenging.
House would crack wise off it, but he'd totally be doing tie-loosening. And they'd talk about nothing for a while while House stripped down and crawled into bed, and when there was a creak, Wilson would say something, like a piece of advice about how to hold the phone so his arm didn't go to sleep.
House would say something about how now that they're off their feet, they're on even footing - a self-conscious crack about his limp.
Wilson would say something too, a similar self-mocking-in-a-kind-way thing; maybe something about the fact that they're on the phone, and he can barely get a word in edgewise when they're face-to-face, so why should the footing make a difference.
There'd be this sort of quiet, amiable silence, then Wilson would say something about what he'd been doing recently that made him think about House. (Wilson can always think of something like that - he never doesn't think about House now and again.)
House says in this quiet, smiling voice "Do you always think of me when you do that?"
And Wilson's hand would slide down under the covers silently as he said, also smilingly, "It was just a coincidence."
And House would pause, and sneak a hand under the covers too, and say "When isn't it a coincidence?"
Wilson would stutter a bit, and smile, everything quiet, and rub his belly softly. Wilson wears pajama bottoms but no shirt to bed. No woman in the bed, we don't care. And he'd answer then: "Whenever someone pisses me off." But when he says it, he might as well be saying "whenever someone touches me," because that's what it means in that tone.
House loves the stutter. He loves the thought that he gets to Wilson enough to make him lose all those elocution lessons. They often pretend this, that Wilson's angry at whatever House is saying, and even though they both know that's a ruse, it's a comfortable one. House, lightly massaging his thigh like it's a fucking physio move instead of the foreplay it is. His voice is sex. "I pissed you off again? God, you're so touchy." Pun intended.
Wilson lets his hand rest on his stomach, the tips of his fingers just touching the soft flannel waist of the pajamas. He's pleasantly hard, knows what he's flirting with. "God, you're such a dick." There's laughter in his voice as he says it, he can hardly keep the smile off his face.
House totally laughs. That low, sexy, sleepy laugh, raspy around the edges and soft, and he says, "Do you want me to stop?"
He could ostensibly be talking about pissing Wilson off, but Wilson knows that that's not what he means. He laughs and riffs off it: "You couldn't stop if you tried."
They're talking about two things at once, and House is at once pleased because Wilson's helpless to resist House's anger-making tendancies, but also a teeny bit thrilled, just in case that was the sexy-confident thing it could have been. (It was.) House never finds Wilson hotter than when Wilson is confident about something. Usually that's doctoring, but sometimes not.
"You love it," House ripostes, and again with the gravelly, sex soaked voice. Wilson's fingertips slip under his pajama bottoms.
"Shyeah," he says, and though he tries for mocking and silly, he winds up with half-that, and half weak-kneed and shaking. "Like I love listening to Lisa talk about money," he follows, and that's a little more solid. Everyone hates listening to Cuddy talk about hospital funding, especially House.
But the jibe falls short, because that little slip of Wilson's control cost House dearly. His hand is sliding up his hip, fingertips dancing over the delicate skin there, making him shiver. "I'll never get used to that," he says, idly.
"What?" Wilson asks, managing to not sound breathless as he moves his fingers down over his hip, matching House even though he doesn't know it.
"Hearing you refer to a woman with fondness," House explains, not a little bitter.
Wilson knows exactly - exactly - what to do with this. "Of course," he says, in the drawling tone that's code for 'joke' between them. "Since you'll never accept my hand in marriage, no matter how often I ask, I'm forced into the arms of the enemy." It's wry, it's the offer, extended. House can take it, and they can go where this promises it could - or House could decline. Wilson's seduced as much as he can, and now it's up to House. In the end, it always is.
There's a long silence. Both hands are still.
Finally: "If you stop asking, I'll start to think you don't love me anymore."
Mocking. Of course. But there's something else in it, and Wilson will never, ever stop to think about it, not even for a second.
When Wilson's fingers make a light fist, his voice is smooth and even, low to the ground, flying under the radar, sex and promise - or light. Witty. "Can't have that. Will you marry me, House?"
House smiles, and his voice has the same mocking in it - something that can never be, even if you could do that kind of thing, not them, too broken - "Mrs. Wilson the... what? Sixth? Come on, Jimmy, not even a ring? I'm disappointed in you."
Wilson laughs too, but the way his fingers pass over his heated flesh strangles it. Choked laughter, that vulnerability, House could guess if he wanted. Wilson blushes, because he knows House guessed.
House's hand slides off his leg and skims lightly over his own hardness. He enjoys thinking that it's for Wilson, but that Wilson will never know. He honestly thinks Wilson never guesses.
Really, House. "I could get you a ring," Wilson offers, drawing out the vowels just a little because he can't help it. He makes a ring with his fingers, tight.
House hears the pull of the sheets. Half of him pretends that Wilson shifted his leg, because he doesn't want to think about what the other half wants. It's too risky. But, then again: "You better know my size, mister."
Wilson laughs. It's not much of a laugh, just a little thing. He, too, doesn't want to think right now. "I could guess... but it'd be better if you told me."
"Nine. Nine and a half." House smiles into the phone, measuring with his own fingers. A little generous, but Wilson couldn't know that.
"Wow." Wilson permits himself - just for a second - to imagine that. Imagine himself splayed out on this bed, with House. Imagines that House is lying right here beside him, naked, and that he can reach over and check that surely-exaggerated factoid out. Look into House's eyes and smile, toss off a flip comment while his hand is right where it wants to be. See what he does with that.
House can almost feel the lust pouring out of the phone and down his neck. Can smell it, practically, like the timbre of Wilson's voice has changed the air in his bedroom. He has to be, by now. Sometimes, during these late-night conversations, they don't get around to it, but with a 'wow' like that... he has to be. Has to. "Will you still love my beefy hands when we're married?" If it weren't true that they'd never, ever be able to think about anything like that, the question might even be serious. It's this point in the conversation, this one right here, that House is the most vulnerable. Because his hand is curling around his cock, and he's squeezing softly, and if Wilson said something cutting right now, it would destroy him.
Wilson's voice is shaking when he answers. Hearing House make that sound - the little high note he turns every time he says the L-word - has him right on the verge, it always does. "It would probably depend what you did with your hands..."
"Why, Doctor Wilson," House demurs, a touch of naughty in the way his breath strokes in when he slides his hand up. "I believe you're trying to seduce me."
The voice that echoes across the phone is just laughter, simple laughter. It's clear and good and there's joy in it. House can see Wilson's smile in his mind's eye, the one he can't not do when he's laughing.
The joke wasn't that funny.
Wilson's sweating when he comes back to earth. His breathing is ragged; he's forgotten that he's supposed to control it. "House?"
Wilson's only indication is that House takes one long, deep breath in. He holds it, a long moment, and then lets it out ragged and shaking, like the air he took into his body was bruised and beaten there. Wilson smiles softly, and waits about sixty seconds.
"You okay? I thought I heard a sound." Pediatrics teaches one to develop this voice. It's not a coddling one, because that pisses some kids off, but rather a low, soothing thing, like you'd use with an animal.
"Just a yawn," comes the expected reply. "Charming as our banter always is, it's time for good boys to be in bed."
"I thought we covered that."
"Good night, Jimmy." Pointed delivery, amused and wary at the same time.
"Good night, House." House thumbs his phone off and sets it on the bedside stand, still savoring the smile in Wilson's voice. The not-a-smile that was in it a few seconds ago. He grabs a tissue from the box and cleans up, smiling just a little.
It's blessedly silent.
lumenara the other day about House/Wilson. We both ship, but she's the one who really reads the fic that's out there. I'm very shy about it, because I have a reaaaaaally specific way I see that relationship being possible, and anything else just kind of makes me turn up my nose. I'm such a snob, it's a bad thing. *ducks head*But the good side of this was that Loom made me tell her how I thought it would go. So here's a little House/Wilson for you guys - Conversation.
me: but it's House/Wilson phone sex.
me: no, no
me: *rubs face*
loom: fine. you tell it.
loom: *pouts*
me: awwwww, *heart*
loom: *sits at your feet and waits for a story*
me: I think it's...
Wilson would call him, after the 'date' with Cameron. He'd fake a reason to call, but he'd expect House to see through it. Of course, House would, and Wilson's care for House would be exposed and House would get the little thrill of calling somebody on something, which Wilson knows he loves.
House would insist that he was fine and then refuse to talk about it. From his tone and the words he uses, Wilson will know exactly what happened. House had to do something he didn't like, but he felt honor-bound to and he'd do it again.
They'd still be talking and then Wilson would get into bed, and House would hear, and he'd be in the middle of a sentence and he'd go: "Are you in bed?"
Wilson'd be like, "Is that a problem?" Challenging.
House would crack wise off it, but he'd totally be doing tie-loosening. And they'd talk about nothing for a while while House stripped down and crawled into bed, and when there was a creak, Wilson would say something, like a piece of advice about how to hold the phone so his arm didn't go to sleep.
House would say something about how now that they're off their feet, they're on even footing - a self-conscious crack about his limp.
Wilson would say something too, a similar self-mocking-in-a-kind-way thing; maybe something about the fact that they're on the phone, and he can barely get a word in edgewise when they're face-to-face, so why should the footing make a difference.
There'd be this sort of quiet, amiable silence, then Wilson would say something about what he'd been doing recently that made him think about House. (Wilson can always think of something like that - he never doesn't think about House now and again.)
House says in this quiet, smiling voice "Do you always think of me when you do that?"
And Wilson's hand would slide down under the covers silently as he said, also smilingly, "It was just a coincidence."
And House would pause, and sneak a hand under the covers too, and say "When isn't it a coincidence?"
Wilson would stutter a bit, and smile, everything quiet, and rub his belly softly. Wilson wears pajama bottoms but no shirt to bed. No woman in the bed, we don't care. And he'd answer then: "Whenever someone pisses me off." But when he says it, he might as well be saying "whenever someone touches me," because that's what it means in that tone.
House loves the stutter. He loves the thought that he gets to Wilson enough to make him lose all those elocution lessons. They often pretend this, that Wilson's angry at whatever House is saying, and even though they both know that's a ruse, it's a comfortable one. House, lightly massaging his thigh like it's a fucking physio move instead of the foreplay it is. His voice is sex. "I pissed you off again? God, you're so touchy." Pun intended.
Wilson lets his hand rest on his stomach, the tips of his fingers just touching the soft flannel waist of the pajamas. He's pleasantly hard, knows what he's flirting with. "God, you're such a dick." There's laughter in his voice as he says it, he can hardly keep the smile off his face.
House totally laughs. That low, sexy, sleepy laugh, raspy around the edges and soft, and he says, "Do you want me to stop?"
He could ostensibly be talking about pissing Wilson off, but Wilson knows that that's not what he means. He laughs and riffs off it: "You couldn't stop if you tried."
They're talking about two things at once, and House is at once pleased because Wilson's helpless to resist House's anger-making tendancies, but also a teeny bit thrilled, just in case that was the sexy-confident thing it could have been. (It was.) House never finds Wilson hotter than when Wilson is confident about something. Usually that's doctoring, but sometimes not.
"You love it," House ripostes, and again with the gravelly, sex soaked voice. Wilson's fingertips slip under his pajama bottoms.
"Shyeah," he says, and though he tries for mocking and silly, he winds up with half-that, and half weak-kneed and shaking. "Like I love listening to Lisa talk about money," he follows, and that's a little more solid. Everyone hates listening to Cuddy talk about hospital funding, especially House.
But the jibe falls short, because that little slip of Wilson's control cost House dearly. His hand is sliding up his hip, fingertips dancing over the delicate skin there, making him shiver. "I'll never get used to that," he says, idly.
"What?" Wilson asks, managing to not sound breathless as he moves his fingers down over his hip, matching House even though he doesn't know it.
"Hearing you refer to a woman with fondness," House explains, not a little bitter.
Wilson knows exactly - exactly - what to do with this. "Of course," he says, in the drawling tone that's code for 'joke' between them. "Since you'll never accept my hand in marriage, no matter how often I ask, I'm forced into the arms of the enemy." It's wry, it's the offer, extended. House can take it, and they can go where this promises it could - or House could decline. Wilson's seduced as much as he can, and now it's up to House. In the end, it always is.
There's a long silence. Both hands are still.
Finally: "If you stop asking, I'll start to think you don't love me anymore."
Mocking. Of course. But there's something else in it, and Wilson will never, ever stop to think about it, not even for a second.
When Wilson's fingers make a light fist, his voice is smooth and even, low to the ground, flying under the radar, sex and promise - or light. Witty. "Can't have that. Will you marry me, House?"
House smiles, and his voice has the same mocking in it - something that can never be, even if you could do that kind of thing, not them, too broken - "Mrs. Wilson the... what? Sixth? Come on, Jimmy, not even a ring? I'm disappointed in you."
Wilson laughs too, but the way his fingers pass over his heated flesh strangles it. Choked laughter, that vulnerability, House could guess if he wanted. Wilson blushes, because he knows House guessed.
House's hand slides off his leg and skims lightly over his own hardness. He enjoys thinking that it's for Wilson, but that Wilson will never know. He honestly thinks Wilson never guesses.
Really, House. "I could get you a ring," Wilson offers, drawing out the vowels just a little because he can't help it. He makes a ring with his fingers, tight.
House hears the pull of the sheets. Half of him pretends that Wilson shifted his leg, because he doesn't want to think about what the other half wants. It's too risky. But, then again: "You better know my size, mister."
Wilson laughs. It's not much of a laugh, just a little thing. He, too, doesn't want to think right now. "I could guess... but it'd be better if you told me."
"Nine. Nine and a half." House smiles into the phone, measuring with his own fingers. A little generous, but Wilson couldn't know that.
"Wow." Wilson permits himself - just for a second - to imagine that. Imagine himself splayed out on this bed, with House. Imagines that House is lying right here beside him, naked, and that he can reach over and check that surely-exaggerated factoid out. Look into House's eyes and smile, toss off a flip comment while his hand is right where it wants to be. See what he does with that.
House can almost feel the lust pouring out of the phone and down his neck. Can smell it, practically, like the timbre of Wilson's voice has changed the air in his bedroom. He has to be, by now. Sometimes, during these late-night conversations, they don't get around to it, but with a 'wow' like that... he has to be. Has to. "Will you still love my beefy hands when we're married?" If it weren't true that they'd never, ever be able to think about anything like that, the question might even be serious. It's this point in the conversation, this one right here, that House is the most vulnerable. Because his hand is curling around his cock, and he's squeezing softly, and if Wilson said something cutting right now, it would destroy him.
Wilson's voice is shaking when he answers. Hearing House make that sound - the little high note he turns every time he says the L-word - has him right on the verge, it always does. "It would probably depend what you did with your hands..."
"Why, Doctor Wilson," House demurs, a touch of naughty in the way his breath strokes in when he slides his hand up. "I believe you're trying to seduce me."
The voice that echoes across the phone is just laughter, simple laughter. It's clear and good and there's joy in it. House can see Wilson's smile in his mind's eye, the one he can't not do when he's laughing.
The joke wasn't that funny.
Wilson's sweating when he comes back to earth. His breathing is ragged; he's forgotten that he's supposed to control it. "House?"
Wilson's only indication is that House takes one long, deep breath in. He holds it, a long moment, and then lets it out ragged and shaking, like the air he took into his body was bruised and beaten there. Wilson smiles softly, and waits about sixty seconds.
"You okay? I thought I heard a sound." Pediatrics teaches one to develop this voice. It's not a coddling one, because that pisses some kids off, but rather a low, soothing thing, like you'd use with an animal.
"Just a yawn," comes the expected reply. "Charming as our banter always is, it's time for good boys to be in bed."
"I thought we covered that."
"Good night, Jimmy." Pointed delivery, amused and wary at the same time.
"Good night, House." House thumbs his phone off and sets it on the bedside stand, still savoring the smile in Wilson's voice. The not-a-smile that was in it a few seconds ago. He grabs a tissue from the box and cleans up, smiling just a little.
It's blessedly silent.
