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party tricks
Title: Party Tricks
Summary: Snapshots of House showing off for Wilson :]
Rating: The scenarios range from G to PornoTastic!
Words: 1,722
Comments/ConCrit: Always more than welcome!
.One.
I'm eating a late lunch at a hard plastic table in the hospital cafeteria, working my way through a fruit salad I bought to accompany my sandwich, when House falls into the seat across from me. He announces his arrival with a hard kick to my shin.
"Hey!" My comment is muffled by the cherry I'm sucking on, its stem sticking out of my mouth, when House reaches over and plucks the stem off, right from between my teeth. He pops it into his mouth and I chew the rest slowly, scowling.
House doesn't acknowledge my annoyance, instead working the cherry stem in his mouth. When I raise my eyebrows he scrunches his face up in return, crossing his eyes.
"You do realize that you're supposed to eat the other part, right? I know fruit can be tricky, but..." I trail off, waving my fork in the air.
House pulls the stem out of his mouth and pierces the top of my sandwich with it, leaving it standing like a flag. There's a knot tied in the stem, shiny with his spit.
"Impressive." My gaze flicks back up to his mouth.
"Duh." He grabs the other half of my sandwich before disappearing.
.Two.
House is supplying beer and I've brought dinner, fajitas from the taqueria he often disappears to during work. House is in a good mood, rustling through the paper bags I've dropped on the counter and singing "La Bamba."
"Where's your bottle opener?" I'm making my way through his kitchen drawers, digging around in vain.
He shrugs, piling a tortilla with chicken and singing loudly.
"House," I interrupt, drumming my fingers on the counter before snooping through his dishwasher. "Where is it?"
He stops singing. "More importantly, did you only bring one container off salsa? Because if you did, you're not getting any of it," he threatens, rummaging through the takeout bag.
I'm starting to open up cabinets when he gives a sigh to rival one of my own and limps towards me. House grabs the bottle from the counter near us and, in one swift motion, brings it up to his mouth, clamping his molars on one side around the top.
"Don't-" I begin, horrified.
House jerks the bottle down with a snap of the wrist, freeing it of the cap, and holds out the beer to me. I stare stupidly.
"You do realize what a terrible idea that is." It's more of a statement than a question.
House spits the cap at me, hitting me neatly in the chin, then bares his teeth at me.
"Just don't ask me to do it again." He loudly chomps his teeth down twice, takes a swig out of the bottle, and tousles my hair.
.Three.
I turn the shower on too hot, letting the water burn my neck and stream down my sore back. Eighteen hour shifts never get easier, and I only have an hour before the hospital benefit that night.
I start feeling better as I scrub mint shampoo into my hair, scratching and massaging on my scalp. The smell wakes me up, and I roll my shoulders and pop my neck. Steam persists against my skin, and it helps to clear my head.
I start humming absentmindedly, rinsing the shampoo from my hair and stretching my arms up. The locker room is empty, so I let my humming slowly form into words.
"And I think it's gonna be a long long time.. rocket man... rocket ma-an...."
I don't realize how loud my voice has gotten until I hear an audible thump from outside of my stall. I freeze, hands coated in conditioner and buried in my scalp. I don't hear anything else, but I immediately regret hitting some of the high notes in the song.
-
An hour and a half later I'm suited up and feeling good, my hair blowdried and muscles relaxed. Lingering near the open bar I automatically scan the room for House, doubting he'll make an appearance. Everyone is flashing smiles and wearing black, holding glasses and looking past each other.
I notice some movement at the front of the room and my eyes automatically click to it, curious. A murmur rolls through the nearby crowd, and I strain to see through the gelled hair.
The piano starts playing again, and I find myself frozen in place for the second time that day.
"She packed my bags last night pre-flight, zero hour nine a.m...."
Elton John. The pianist is playing Elton John.
The pianist is House.
I shift uncomfortably, then finally give in and push my way through the crowd that has formed around him. House is performing, morphing the song and singing with gusto. People are smiling, exchanging looks and, with good reason, trying to figure out what has gotten into the asshole doctor from Diagnostics. Regardless of his motivation they're getting into it, and I even notice a drunken donor raise his wine glass in salute.
House is suddenly standing, then flips around quickly to face the crowd. He's playing with his hands behind his back, singing obnoxiously and pleasing the buzzed crowd.
Our eyes meet and he gives an exaggerated wink.
"I think it's gonna be a long long time...."
He finishes with a flourish, bowing to the clapping crowd. With one last smirk at me he limps towards the bar and, as always, I follow.
.Four.
"What the hell are these?" I'm not surprised to find House sitting at my desk when I return from making rounds, and I'm too busy to pretend I am.
"Surely not something you took from my desk without my permission," I suggest, squinting at the papers he's waving in his hand.
"They're ridiculous. And don't call me Shirley." House stills his hand slightly, and I cringe internally when I realize what he's found: wedding pictures.
"They're just mementos. People... keep things.To remember nice times." I make a move towards my desk, and House pulls the photos towards his lap.
"It's pathetic that the best adjective you can use to describe your weddings is nice." House chooses one of the pictures and crumbles it into a ball.
"Why should it matter to you? Just..." I trail off, knowing how lame my words sound. There's no point in asking that question of House; there never has been. I watch his hands work over the other two photographs, shaping them evenly.
House stands up, leaning awkwardly to the side in a way that still makes my stomach ache just a little bit.
"Let go, Wilson," his voice is mocking as he tosses two of the balls into the air. "Move on. Become a new man. Find your one true love... again." He juggles the pictures expertly, his tongue barely peeking out of his mouth.
"This would be a lot more symbolic if you were the one with the talent, you know," he points out, hands moving steadily.
"Well, your's truly knows no bounds," I remark dryly.
"The only good part about the existence of the next Ex-Mrs. Wilson is that I'll get to show you how I can do this with four," he decides.
I watch as he lets the crumpled wedding photographs fall, one-two-three, into the trash can.
.Five.
It's finally happening and House is the one who started it; I always needed it to be him.
House is working one of my favorite spots, right below my ear. Tongue, teeth, lips, hot breath, all House's.
"You taste good." House's words, low and observant and amused, spread from his mouth down my neck, and I flush.
I'm on my back and he's half-laying on me, pressing hard against my side. He moves his mouth back to mine while his hands work down my chest, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I'm overly aware of each time his fingers slide against me. His mouth is warm and I can't get enough, sucking on his tongue, pulling at his lips, breathing him in.
When his hands reach my waist they keep moving steadily downwards, undoing my belt and pants. I unthinkingly bite down on House's bottom lip hard, too hard, when his hand brushes my cock, then suck it softly in apology.
House shifts downward, coaxing my shirt off and my pants and boxers down. His hands slide up my undershirt as he kisses my thighs teasingly, watching me carefully.
His tongue starts at my balls, lazy circles interrupted by sucking. I'm breathing frantically, my head tilted up to watch him press his tongue flat against the base of my cock, then run it firmly along to the tip.
Suddenly his mouth is around me and I'm dizzy, waves of heat rolling over my body.
I dig my fingers into the bed on either side of me, grinding my teeth. I can't help but push my hips up, needing more of House, and he lets me thrust a few times before placing his hands firmly on my hips.
He looks up at me, our eyes meeting, and my stomach flips. "Stay." It's an order. I swallow thickly, and do. His palms rest in my hip bones.
He doesn't bother teasing anymore, pushing his mouth down over my cock, deeper than I expect. It's difficult to keep my hips still so I dig my heels roughly into the sheets, my fingernails digging into my palms to create small half-moons. I've moved on to biting the inside of my cheek, and I'm pressing my head harshly back against the pillow while he sucks.
House's mouth is still hot around me when he tongues at the very tip of my cock, and I let out a choked noise. I'm getting close, my legs tensing.
House slides his mouth off of me, giving my dick a final flick of the tongue before crawling back up to me. His hand circles my cock and jerks roughly while he breathes into my ear.
"God, everything about you right now..." he growls, nipping at my earlobe. His voice is what sends me over the edge, my eyes closing automatically as I come, his stubble scraping my neck.
When my breathing starts to level out I open my eyes to see his face hovering near me, a victorious smirk playing on his lips.
"Show-off," I murmur, pushing him over to take my turn.
The smug look is still on his face the next morning, and I'm glad.
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lana_ftw) wrote,
