Through the Window: Chapter 1

            When Wilson decided to break into House’s apartment, becoming stuck in the window was not a consequence he had foreseen. That was inconvenient. What was even less expected was the apartment’s owner greeting him with a sword to the throat. Well, knowing House, maybe Wilson shouldn’t have been so surprised at the diagnostician’s unorthodox measures of home security.

 

            “Hey,” he managed to greet House.

 

            “Stuck? Bummer. Looks painful.” The robed man withdrew the sword from Wilson’s jugular, instead using it to lift up a teakettle.  “Chamomile, or English Breakfast?”

 

            Attempting to regain his composure, Wilson asked, “Would you stop being an ass and pull me out of here?

           

            “You didn’t get my message earlier?” House asked, filling the teakettle.

 

            “Yeah. But as someone once told me, everybody lies.” Wilson eyed House, who was still calmly going about the process of making tea.

 

            “I’m fine. Just staying home, chillaxin’…” The teakettle hit the stove with a clank.

 

            Wilson’s brain locked into the “best friend mode” it always did when he was concerned about House. “Your patient died, you ignore my calls, and you won’t open the door. I don’t think you’re fine. I think you might be throwing away a drug-free year.”

 

            “Or, I’m ignoring you for a different reason.” House’s voice sank to almost a whisper. “Sex with my girlfriend.”

 

            Wilson rolled his eyes “I forgot that you had nicknamed your right hand.” Frustrated, he reached back and tried to open the window further. Giving up, he asked House, “Will you please just… please let me in?”

 

             He didn’t like that glint he saw in House’s eye. “No,” the other man said with a wry smile, and limped away.

 

            “House… HOUSE!” Wilson shouted, unwilling to believe… no, not wanting to believe that his best friend would leave him trapped in the window for long.

 

            Then he heard the front door slam.

 

            Where would House be going? It was unlikely he would be going out and about in his pajamas. Unless he was going to be merciful and open the window, but then why would he not have done that from inside?

 

            The answer came when Wilson heard footsteps behind him and felt a presence at his back. “Just open the damn window, House.”

 

            “No,” House said again, and Wilson could swear that he could actually hear the other man smirk.

 

            And then he felt hands unbuttoning his pants. “Come on House, this is ridiculous, stop being so childish, I look bad enough as it is without you pantsing me.”

 

            “Oh, this isn’t anything childish, Wilson.” House’s voice had taken on an interesting tone, almost a seductive quality.

 

            “House,” Wilson warned, but he was not sure what else to say. He was distracted by a stirring in his groin in response to the other man’s hands being so very close, and he knew that House could feel his growing erection when pulling down the zipper.

 

            “My, Wilson, you never struck me as an exhibitionist,” House teased, his voice growing huskier. He pulled down Wilson’s pants and boxers, and Wilson couldn’t help but whimper as the fabric brushed across sensitive flesh.

 

            Nothing could prepare Wilson for what came next. A cool, strong hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke it slowly.

 

            “What… what are you doing, House? Quit it!” He would have slapped the other man’s hands away, but his own arms were inside of the apartment.

 

            “Oh, stop pretending you don’t want this, Wilson, I know you do. So just be quiet and enjoy it.” Wilson felt cold, wet fingers at the cleft of his ass, and hissed as they made contact with his opening and pressed inside. House must have brought lube out here, prepared for this.

 

            A jolt shot up Wilson’s spine as House rubbed those wet fingers against his prostate, and he almost shot up to a standing position, but the window smashed into his back. “Fuck!”

 

            “Sorry,” House said, and he sounded sincere. He kept stroking Wilson’s cock and teasing him from the inside, making the man beneath him moan.

 

            “We could be arrested for public indecency,” Wilson gasped, a last ditch effort to deny himself what he truly wanted. House’s hands were gone in an instant, and Wilson immediately regretted what he had said.

 

            “This neighborhood’s empty at this time of day, you know that,” House said, and Wilson heard the tearing of a condom wrapper and the snapping shut of a bottle of lube. Wilson waited, excited, nervous, and aroused. In a few moments, Wilson felt House’s cock brush against his entrance and push in slowly.

 

            “Fuck… Greg…” He tried to reposition himself but was confined by the window.

 

            “Stop squirming,” House growled as he started to move inside of Wilson, “this is already hard enough with my leg.”

 

            “Then… stop…” Wilson grunted with difficulty.

 

            The other man smirked. “You know you like it,” and snapped his hips forward, slow thrusts becoming harder and faster.

 

            Wilson rewarded him with a low moan and surrendering to the surges of pleasure rushing through him every time House’s cock rubbed against his prostate. It felt even better when the other man reached around and began pumping Wilson’s cock in time with the thrusts.

 

            A stream of swears escaped House’s throat, and Wilson knew that the other man was getting close already. He couldn’t hold back much longer himself, and let the sensations overwhelm him before coming onto the brick wall of the building with a cry.

 

            A few thrusts later, House grunted as he came. Breathing hard, he leaned against the window, still inside of Wilson. They stood there for a while, coming down from their orgasms.

 

            The moment was broken by the whistling of the teakettle.

 

            Pulling out of Wilson, House took off the condom, tied it off, and stuck it in the pocket of his robe before pulling up his pants. He tucked Wilson’s spent cock back into its owner’s boxers, and redressed the other man.

 

            Despite the hazy post orgasmic pleasure, Wilson was tired of being stuck. “Will you help me now?”

 

            “Fine, fine. Whiner.” House struggled with the window for a moment, and when it was open a few more inches Wilson inelegantly shimmied into the apartment. “Turn off the stove while you’re in there,” House called, already limping his way back to the front door.

 

            Wilson did so, and moved the kettle to an empty burner so that the annoying whistling would cease. He rubbed his temples, trying to make sure it hadn’t all been some bizarre dream brought on by his unresolved feelings for the other man. When he didn’t wake up, he realized that House must feel something for him… unless the other man had just been struck by a wave of horniness and Wilson was there when it happened. His thoughts were broken by House coming back into the apartment. The man’s limp was more pronounced due to his earlier efforts, and Wilson couldn’t help but smirk internally that House’s impulsiveness had come at a cost. Both men leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at each other, the air thick with tension, most of it Wilson’s. He had to ask.

 

            “Why the hell did we just do that?”

 

            “Try not to think about it too much, Wilson,” House said, and surprised the other man with a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

 

            It was so un-Houselike that it felt wrong somehow. To remedy the situation, Wilson grabbed House by the collar of his robe and kissed him hard. It was passionate and raw, everything that the sex had been. House groaned and squeezed Wilson’s ass as their tongues twined together. Wilson released him after a few moments, and they each took a small step back, staring into each other’s eyes with newfound understanding of where their relationship stood. House licked his lips, and looked over at the teakettle before looking back at Wilson with a grin.

 

            “So. Chamomile, or English Breakfast?”