Archive of Our Own

The basement jazz club was crowded and smoky. House was playing the piano in the corner, thumping out some blues with one eye on the keyboard and the other on Wilson. Wilson was sitting relaxed and chatting in a booth with Cuddy and Henry. Wilson had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, though he was still wearing his tie. His hair was smoothed awkwardly over to one side where he'd slicked it down against the wind earlier. House had tugged his own tie off hours before, though it was folded quite neatly, for House, and resting safely in his pocket.

House had rarely felt so content; doing something he loved in a place that he liked, the taste of good quality single malt whisky in his mouth and cigar smoke on his breath. The few people he really knew were his friends were nearby, and among them his new husband.

A thrill shot though House at the thought, and he glanced down at his left hand, at the heavy gold ring on his finger. Un-fucking-believable. After all these years, they'd finally gone and done it. And he had the civil union certificate in his pocket to prove it. James Wilson really was finally his; legally, in front of the world. Well, in front of Cuddy and Henry, anyway. They'd kept it quiet from just about everybody else. Just for now. News would slide out gradually next week that they weren't just away on vacation; they were on their honeymoon.

They weren't due to go away until Monday though; tonight it was back to their apartment (their apartment; House savored the fact; he still occasionally caught himself thinking of it as his, and had to correct himself) for their wedding night. And House was very much looking forward to that.

He switched to play a more soulful tune. Wilson looked up, and the two of them locked eyes. House held Wilson's gaze; looked into those enormous brown eyes, full of affection, pleasure and desire, and decided it was time to go home. He finished the piece with a flourish, stood up to scattered applause, and made his way back to the booth.

Wilson was already pulling on his jacket as House approached. House heard him say to Cuddy and Henry, "--time to go."

"It certainly is," House said briskly, arriving at Wilson's side. He threw an arm around Wilson's waist, and was delighted when Wilson smiled, put a hand on his shoulder and moved towards him for a kiss. Their lips met briefly but tenderly. To have reached this point, of open, loving intimacy, after all this time--it just couldn't get any better than this.

"Well, have a wonderful evening," Cuddy said, sipping from her glass. "And have a great time on your honeymoon next week. Congratulations, both of you!"

"Congratulations!" Henry echoed. House picked up his own jacket from a chair. "Remind us where you're going again?"

"Ha, nice try, Scooter," House responded immediately. He and Wilson had kept their destination very close to their chests. "It's sunny and sandy and it's a long way from here, and that's all you need to know. Call us a cab, will you?"

They rolled into their apartment, a little drunk, rather tired, but high on excitement and adrenalin. House was moving rather stiffly; it had been a long day and his leg had behaved admirably, but it was bothering him a little. Wilson knew, of course.

"Thirsty," House declared as they came in, and Wilson led the way into the kitchen. He poured them both tall glasses of water, while House sat down at the kitchen table, yanked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out his leg. He then finished the glass in a few gulps. Wilson sat down next to him, and sipped more slowly.

They sat there for a minute in comfortable silence. House looked at Wilson's left hand, resting on the tabletop, curled round the glass of water. The thick antique gold ring gleamed on his finger. House felt a surge of pleasure at this visible sign of what they'd done today. He reached across the table with his own left hand, and gently clinked his own ring against Wilson's. Wilson clinked back, then turned over his hand to interlace his fingers with House's. Wilson's fingers were cold where they'd been touching the glass; House warmed them with his own.

"It's nice seeing you in a suit for once," Wilson remarked.

"Suits you, sir," House responded, and reached up to tug Wilson's lapel. Wilson was wearing a new light-colored suit that flattered him extremely well, but House was thinking it had done its work now and could be dispensed. He slid a hand under the jacket onto Wilson's shoulder, feeling smooth cotton shirt under his palm. He pressed with his fingertips slightly, and Wilson closed his eyes momentarily. House reached out with his other hand and did the same to Wilson's other shoulder; still with his eyes closed, Wilson shrugged off the jacket.

House ran a finger under Wilson's collar, tracing over the curve of Wilson's neck. Wilson was still wearing his tie. House pulled gently at the expensive blue silk; Wilson reached out and unknotted it. House slid the tie away, dropping it on the kitchen table, then started to undo shirt buttons, deftly, with one hand; the other tracing its way down Wilson's chest.

"Wargh," Wilson said, at least that was what House heard. House finished the buttons, and moved to the shirt cuffs. Wilson, like House, was wearing cufflinks borrowed from Henry (who apparently had a large collection).

"You think Henry wants these back?" House said, admiring the smart gold bars.

"Um, yes. I don't think they were supposed to be wedding presents, if that's what you mean." Wilson twisted the bars and palmed the cuff links. "Here, let me take yours."

"Don't trust me not to walk off with them?" House said, a little smugly, but let Wilson undo them. Wilson ran a finger across the inside each of House's wrists as he did so. House felt the touch as a hotline down veins and arteries straight to his groin. He undid his own shirt buttons as Wilson turned to put the cuff links down, and pulled off his shirt.

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable," Wilson said, standing up.

Tonight was for a long, slow, comfortable fuck, and therefore best done in bed. "I suppose we have the rest of our lives to have hot impulsive sex in the kitchen," House remarked, following Wilson towards the bedroom.

"Absolutely," Wilson grinned.

In the bedroom, House reached out and hooked a finger through one of Wilson's belt loops. Wilson stayed still for a second, amused. "Want me on a leash?"

House tugged slightly. "Some other night, perhaps." God, he loved the feel of this. Wilson, all his... He pulled Wilson towards him and slid a hand under the waistband of Wilson's pants, feeling a jutting hip and then the curve of a buttock.

"Can't fuck you through all these clothes," House muttered.

"Undress me, then," Wilson murmured, and House felt his cock stir again at Wilson's words and gentle, loving tone.

He undid Wilson's belt, and let the pants fall to the floor. Wilson stepped out of them and pulled off his socks. House could see Wilson's cock pushing up inside his boxer shorts. House hastened to remove the rest of his own clothes.

He was reaching out to strip away Wilson's boxer shorts, when there was a knock at the front door. Both House and Wilson ignored it, until a few seconds later there came the terrifying sound of a key scraping in the lock.

"You didn't leave that key above the door frame still--" Wilson exclaimed.

And then a thin female voice piping through the air: "House? It's Cameron!"

"Sweet Jesus Christ, Joseph and Mary Mother of God," House groaned heavily. He clambered off the bed and pulled on his bathrobe, a long robe that covered his leg. "I'll be right back. If you hear screams, I'm disemboweling her. Don't come to the rescue."

He walked into the living room without his cane, grasping furniture along the way, to find Cameron just entering through the door. Even in the dim light he could see enormous black rings around her eyes; mascara, bleeding in all directions. She was wearing a party dress that looked distinctly disheveled, and had a run in her stocking. She was also hobbling; she'd broken a heel off one of her shoes.

"House!" she said dramatically, and staggered a few paces towards him.

He put on his most menacing stare and stepped towards her, putting a hand on the back of the couch to support his weight. She stank of cheap white wine and he noticed her pupils were somewhat dilated.

"Cameron. You're pissed out of your skull and stoned."

"Cuddy said you got married today! I had to come and ask you--is it true?" Her voice went up to a squeak at the end.

"Yes, it's true," House said, exasperated. "Which means you're interrupting my wedding night. So you can fuck--right--off and go home now."

Cameron visibly wilted, and House thought for a second she was going to cry, but she blinked furiously a few times instead.

"House, I'm so sorry," said a new voice, and House turned to see Chase lurking in the doorway. Rather incongruously, he was holding a small black diamanté purse--Cameron's, House charitably assumed.

"We bumped into Cuddy and Henry in a bar--they told us," Chase continued in a tone of apology. "Cameron had already had a few drinks and she didn't take the news very well..."

"You're not fucking kidding me." House eyed Cameron warily. "She on the meth again?"

"I don't think so," Chase didn't sound very certain. "Allison, let's go."

"House--" Cameron started to say, but stopped abruptly, looking over House's shoulder towards the bedroom. House looked round, and his jaw dropped.

Wilson was standing in the doorway, and he hadn't bothered putting on any clothes for the sake of company. He was naked except for a small towel, and the towel wasn't even wrapped around him; he was simply holding it in front of him. It barely covered his crotch, and the entire left side of his body was exposed from head to foot; the street light outside leaked from the window and glinted down on his naked hip and thigh. He shifted slightly on his feet, exposing a slight curve of buttock. From the angle he was holding the towel, it didn't look like he'd lost his hard-on either.

"Everything okay, House?" he asked in a casual tone that House envied greatly.

"Yeah, they're just leaving." House heard his own voice had gone distinctly husky, much to his annoyance. He looked round to see that Chase had advanced into the room and was looking at Wilson with wide eyes; Cameron, apparently unable to bear the sight, had turned away and buried her face in Chase's shoulder.

"Get her out of here," House addressed Chase. When Chase continued to stare, House put some sharpness into his voice and added, "And hands off, dingo breath. He's mine and I've got a certificate to prove it."

Chase shook his head, apparently coming out of a trance, muttered an apology, and ushered Cameron out of the door. House waited for the door to close, and for the sound of them leaving the building, then turned back towards Wilson.

"Lose the towel," House said nonchalantly.

Wilson grinned, and dropped the towel; and House felt himself go weak at the knees. Wilson, stark bollock naked, with the most tremendous erection. Long and hard and red and engorged; even from several feet away House could see the tip glistening with pre-come.

Then Wilson turned around and headed back into the bedroom, and that sight was almost as good--Wilson's ass, gleaming pale in the light, cute and tight as ever, with a slight swagger. House hastened to follow, shrugging his bathrobe off his shoulders as he walked and dropping it on the floor.

In the bedroom, Wilson paused by the bed. House came up behind him, put his arms around and grasped Wilson's cock in both hands. Wilson leaned back into him.

"What do you think you're doing, showing yourself off like that?" House hissed with mock rage.

"It got rid of Cameron, didn't it?" Wilson said innocently, and rubbed his ass back against House's cock.

"Yeah, but Chase couldn't keep his eyes off you. I thought we were going to have to throw him out." House kissed the top of Wilson's head. Wilson's hair felt soft and silky against his chin.

"Ha, ha." Wilson's breathing was rapid. "House, I want to fuck you."

Until a few minutes ago House would have argued that he wanted to top tonight, but the sight of Wilson's erection in the living room had changed his mind; House wanted to feel that enormous, glorious cock inside him. "Fucking right you do."

Wilson nodded towards the bed. "Spoons."

"Jimmy, you sentimental old romantic you," House exclaimed, and although his tone was gruff he knew Wilson had seen the smile flicker across his face. When they'd first met and gotten together, more than twenty years ago, Wilson, a new med student at the bottom of the accommodation pile, had only had a single bed. They'd found it impossible to sleep together in it except like spoons, both on their sides, one with his chest pressed into the other's back. Their first tentative (and not terribly successful) attempts at penetrative sex had grown out of this.

They'd gotten better at it, of course...

House lay down on his side, resting on his bad leg, and Wilson nestled behind him, nibbling at his neck, nuzzling at his shoulder. And then House felt the cold ooze of lube, and the finger probing, easing the way ahead. House raised his good leg a little, moaned and pushed his face into a pillow. He remembered being finger-fucked for the first time by the twenty-one year old James Wilson, not altogether expertly (though not that inexpertly either). And how Wilson had been butting his cock up against House's tailbone and his cock had slipped on the lube, pushing up towards House's ass instead--

Wilson's hard-on drove up inside him in a smooth, practiced movement. "Hurgh," House let out an exclamation and arched his back. He then forced himself to relax, and the initial rawness was replaced almost immediately by an ecstatic stroking sensation; Wilson's cock, bare and thrusting. They'd abandoned condoms when they'd finally moved in together and committed to each other (and after a flurry of extensive STD tests), and House could still be surprised by the extra sensation this provided sometimes. "Wilson, Christ--yes--"

"House," Wilson murmured into the back of his neck. He bit House's ear very gently, then drove in again. House took him easily, this time, all the way. Wilson reached around to wrap a hand around House's cock. The sheer intensity of feeling Wilson's body up against him from both in front and behind temporarily blew House's mind; rendering him unable to think, unaware of anything except being locked between Wilson's bucking groin and Wilson's clenched fist. House was nothing but a shuddering sexual pleasure receptor; completely under Wilson's power, caught between Wilson's cock, thrusting and rocking, and Wilson's fingers, grasping and rolling. Back and forth, slowly, really slowly, again and again, for what seemed like forever; and it would, House thought dimly, be forever.

Eventually Wilson increased his bucking movement and the pressure of his fingers; only slightly, but the change had the desired effect; House squeezed his eyes shut and came with a sharp cry, and the brief spasm brought Wilson over the edge too, in an almost simultaneous orgasm.

They both lay panting, still joined although loosely now, and House thought it had been one of the longest drawn-out fucks they'd ever had.

After a few minutes House pulled away slightly, heedless of the sticky mess around them, and turned over to kiss Wilson, who was lying apparently comatose. He encircled Wilson's sweaty body with an arm, and held him tight; Wilson nestled into House's chest. House felt Wilson's nose rub against his nipple.

"I have conjugal rights to all this?" House murmured in Wilson's ear.

"You do. But then, you always did," Wilson mumbled back.

They slept away the rest of their wedding night like that, entwined and comfortable.

END