rivers_bend

Title: Of Small Spaces and Big Sticks (part 3/?)
Rating: R

Thank you again to karaokegal for the beta and to dontkickmycane

To read part one
Of Small Spaces and Big Sticks by dontkickmycane

To read part two Part two



House remained almost cheerful for the rest of the conference. He was even willing to concede that sober, Wilson was even better the next time. And the next. Then the time came to get on the plane and go home.

Wilson was settled in his seat, reveling in the extra leg room business class had to offer. A definite perk of traveling with House who had insisted on the upgrade. House was trying to fit his case into the over head bin.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Try the one across the aisle?”

House shut the bin with a click. He sat down and buckled his seat belt. “No. I mean us. It isn’t going to work.”

“It isn’t. I see.” Wilson didn’t see at all. Thorough a tremendous effort he managed to clench neither his jaw nor his fists.

House chose not to elaborate on his pronouncement and instead pulled his gameboy out of his pocket. Wilson lost his will power. He had to unclench his jaw to speak.

“That’s it? It won’t work, end of discussion?”

House poked at the buttons for a minute. The stewardess came by and reminded him that he would have to turn it off for take off. She seemed satisfied with the smile she got in response. Wilson figured you had to know House to realize it didn’t mean he would comply.

“House,” Wilson said warningly.

“All right, all right. Jeeze. I’ll turn it off.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know… God! Why do I bother?”

“See? You’re sick of me already. It isn’t going to work.”

Wilson could not believe they were having this discussion on a crowded plane, although he shouldn’t have been surprised, given House’s notorious inability to keep private conversations private.

“How many years have I been putting up with you?”

“This is different.”

Wilson leaned over and put his lips to his friend’s ear. “Yes. Now at least I get mind blowing orgasms to make up for it.”

“True.” House spoke at a normal volume. “But you’re not cut out for this.”

“I thought we’d established that I am cut out for this.” Wilson was whispering furiously, hoping to lead by example, in an effort to make House lower his voice.

“Yeah, but we were in Canada.” There was no change in volume. House turned off his gameboy, returned it to his pocket and pulled the duty free magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him.

Now Wilson was sure House was trying to piss him off. He put a hand on House’s knee. Despite his frustration, the contact gave him a thrill. He willed House to look at him. When he didn’t, Wilson turned his head forcibly, ignoring the pleasurable feeling of stubble under his fingers, and looked House in the eye.

“Why are you doing this Greg?”

House’s eyes glittered with something that Wilson thought for a second might be fear. On impulse Wilson kissed House quickly on the lips.

“That’s why. We can’t wander around the hospital mooning over each other like a couple of teenagers in heat, slipping into the men’s room for a quick grope.”

“Everyone already thinks we moon over each other. We could skip the groping in the men’s room I suppose, but still go back to your place and fuck like bunnies after work. Couldn’t we?” The plane started to push back from the terminal.

House didn’t answer. Wilson was rubbing idle circles on House’s knee with his thumb. He found the motion soothing, even with no response from House.

After a minute or two, about the time the plane reached the runway, House reached down, covering the back of Wilson’s hand with his palm and fitting his fingers between Wilson’s own. Wilson felt the thrill down his spine again at the touch. Maybe House was right. Maybe he would be trying to drag House into the men’s room if they accidentally passed in the corridor. Wilson didn’t care.

“The trouble with your theory is that we can’t not do this. It’s happening.”

House flinched as the plane began to speed up towards take off. If Wilson had not had a hand pressed between House’s fingers and his knee he might not have noticed.

“Do you not like flying either?”

“No.” House sounded petulant as expected. “Elevators and airplanes. Now you know all my secrets. Does that make you feel better?”

Wilson leaned in close, chest pressed against House’s arm, lips once again close to his ear. “Are you going to stop this ridiculous protest and take me home and fuck me senseless when we get back to New Jersey?”

Something about spending the last three days in bed with House had made Wilson rather more straight forward than either man was used to. House blew a slow breath out through pursed lips. “Huh.”

Wilson could feel himself blushing, but he also felt like he might be making some progress in diverting House from his mission of destruction. He moved his hand further up House’s thigh causing House to shift slightly in his seat. Wilson continued to whisper in his ear.

“I want you to take me home with you. I want you to shut the door behind us and press me up against it and kiss me until I can’t breathe. I want to slip my hands under your shirt and feel your skin hot under my fingers.”

House’s breathing was shallow. He continued to look at the magazine in his lap. Wilson moved his hand higher so it was under the magazine. If he stretched it out just a little, his pinkie could brush the bulge growing there.

“I want you to unbutton my shirt and bite me here.” Wilson brushed the fingers of his other hand against his collar bone just under the edge of his shirt collar. He could see House looking out of the corner of his eye. For a fraction of a second he paused to wonder where these words were coming from. Then Wilson looked at House’s profile and let them come.

“I want to feel your teeth as you mark me as yours. I want to know that you are tasting my skin with your tongue. I want to lead you into the bedroom and strip off your clothes and let you watch as I take off mine. I want you to look at the marks you have left on my body, and I want you to see how hard it makes me to have you watch me like that.”

Wilson allowed his fingers to stray upwards and brush against what was now an erection in House’s jeans. House was doing well. Wilson could only tell his breathing was getting ragged because he had an ear nearly pressed to House’s chest. They were airborne now and approaching cruising altitude.

“I want to lie beside you on your bed and run my hands over your body. I want to take you in my hand, feel the weight of you hard in my palm. I want to take you into my mouth and look into your eyes as I taste you.” Wilson pressed upwards more firmly. House’s hands jerked the magazine higher in response.

“I want to…”

“Would either of you gentlemen like a pillow? Or a blanket?”

Wilson started at the voice but recovered quickly. House seemed to have lost his ability to speak. “Yes ma’am we would both like blankets please.” He figured it would be less obvious to leave his hand where it was than to suddenly move it. He reached for the blankets with his other hand and gave the stewardess his most winning smile. “Thank you so much.” She smiled in return and moved quickly on.

Using both hands now Wilson tore into the plastic around the blankets. He held one out to House who just looked at him as Wilson spread it over his lap. House returned the magazine to the seat pocket. Wilson spread the second blanket over himself, slid his hand under the blankets and back to the pertinent part of House’s jeans. He leaned in to continue whispering.

“Wilson. What do you think you are doing?” House had finally modulated his voice. It came out as a hiss.

“Shh. I’m telling you what we are going to do when we get back to your place. Now where was I?”

House sighed and shifted so his hard-on was more in contact with Wilson’s hand. “I believe my cock was in your mouth.” He darted his tongue out to lick behind Wilson’s ear before turning back to align his ear with Wilson’s smile.

“Thank you.” Wilson let all possible meanings bleed into the words. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I had my mouth on you, hot and wanting. I was looking into your eyes, letting you see how excited that makes me.”

House let out a small noise which Wilson devoutly hoped only he could hear. None-the-less he gripped House through his jeans hoping to prompt a repeat. It was not a vain hope.

“Once I’ve made you hard and wet, I want to kiss my way up your body. I want to bite your lips and feel your tongue in my mouth. I want you to wrap those beautiful fingers of yours around my cock and stroke me until I come in your hand. I want to feel those fingers, slick with my desire for you, inside me, claiming me, opening me.”

House was rigid in his seat now. Wilson bit gently at his ear lobe and House squeaked.

“I want you to lay me out, legs spread for you. I want to feel you hot and slick pushing into me. To feel the burn and the pain and the pleasure of you inside me. I want to see in your face how good I feel as you fill me and fuck me and push deeper. I want you to feel me tight and hot and welcoming.”

Wilson had unzipped House’s fly and had his hand around the hard-on he found there. Barely moving he squeezed and pressed and felt House pressing back.

“Can you feel me writhing underneath you as you fuck me? Feel the heat of me?” With a soft ping the seatbelt light went out. Wilson felt House fumbling at his lap belt.

“Follow me,” House choked out. He stood and stumbled into the lavatory behind their seats. Grateful that they had been seated in the last row of their section, Wilson stood and followed. He saw House through the crack in the nearest door and slipped inside. House reached around him to push the lock into place.

House pushed Wilson up against the door. Wilson could feel the lock biting into his back but he could not have cared less. House’s lips were on his, tongue pushing into his mouth. He sucked at it eagerly and ground his hips forwards into the region of House’s still open fly. House was groaning softly into Wilson’s mouth, enough so Wilson knew he was turned on, but not loud enough to alert the crew or other passengers.

“See? What did I tell you? Slipping into the men’s room for a quick…”

“Who said I was going to be quick?” Wilson reached down and undid the button on House’s jeans. He pushed House back a step against the sink, giving himself room to reach around him and make use of the hand cream bolted to the counter top.

Rubbing his hands together Wilson reached for House. House pushed his jeans and boxers down off his hips. Hands palm to palm Wilson teased his fingertips over the sensitive head. Slowly he slid downwards, pulling House’s length into the hollow of his cupped hands. Wilson closed his eyes to better feel the sensation of House slipping past his heart line, his head line, his life line. Wilson felt curls brush his fingertips as the head of House’s cock settled into the grip of the heels of his hands.

He savored the heat of him there. Wilson could feel House’s pulse between his hands. They felt changed, as though they had become a vessel whose purpose was to capture and hold this heat. The sensitive flesh of his palms read the texture of skin against hardness, of the slip of cream between skin and skin, of the reality of this man in his hands.

When Wilson opened his eyes again he was captured by House’s gaze. It burned through him and he was too hot to stay still any longer. He watched House’s face as he moved his hands, cataloging responses, filing them away for later. Wilson was glad of the years of practice reading this man, because his changes in expression were so subtle as to be almost unnoticeable.

Then House pulled him forward into a kiss and bucked into his grip. A few deep breaths and then, “Sorry. I was the quick one I guess.”

“I guess.” Wilson was grinning as he kissed House again. Just a touch of lips. Comfortable. The argument forgotten. He was happy.

* * * * * *

House pulled up his pants and tucked himself back in as he moved around to trade places with Wilson, giving the younger man access to the sink. Wilson was smiling and he wanted to smile with him. Found he couldn’t.

House wanted a whiteboard. Differential diagnosis. Symptoms. Happiness, misery, company. Organs effected. Stomach, genitals. Heart. And the rest.

House allowed himself a moment to picture his team arguing the diagnosis. “Lust. Or maybe sarcoidosis.” Foreman. The man did have an obsession. “Love.” Cameron. The incurable romantic. Even when he took her money. “Well…” Chase. He wouldn’t want to side with one or the other. Not without more information. Wimp. Though he himself had no suggestions for them.

House knew that in the interests of fairness he should return the favor. He used the shuffle of impatient feet outside the door as an excuse however and said, “We better let some of the other lust crazed passengers in here before they kick the door down.”

Wilson finished drying his hands and flushed the toilet. “We wouldn’t want that.” He gestured towards the door.

House opened the door enough to get his head through and looked left and right dramatically. In reality he didn’t care what the people waiting on line thought but it got a chuckle out of Wilson and so was worth the effort. With his limp and grey hair he got the feeling the passengers looked at him and Wilson as cripple and care-giver rather than the newest members of the mile high club anyway.

They settled back into their seats. Wilson seemed happy to get out his book. House took out the gameboy again. He tried to lose himself in the game, but his fingers were tapping away without interference from his brain.

The last time he’d done this was before Stacy. Before the pain and the limp and the cane. Uncomplicated, 48 hours on call, residency stuff. A blow job to pass the time between cases. Enjoyable. Not messy. Well, maybe a little, but in that fun, a shower gets rid of it kind of way. Not messy like this.

Because Cameron, the romantic, might be right. This could be love. And House knew he wasn’t good at love.

“Do you have to turn the pages so loudly?” House ignored the pointed looks Wilson sent towards his beeping gameboy. He pulled the bottle out of his pocket and shook his pills into his hand. From there to tongue was a short and practiced journey.

Wilson snapped the book shut. It was hard to tell if it was a snap to indicate annoyance or just a snap. He used to be able to read Wilson like that book in his hands. Now everything felt complicated. Wilson opened his mouth to speak. Hesitated, then, “I know I never expected you’d say yes, but I’m glad you came with me to the conference.”

“Wouldn’t want you to have missed the chance to get your rocks off.”

Wilson’s lips were flattened into a straight line. So House looked away.

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth about how conferences work. It’s not all about what goes on in the bar. It’s about what goes on in the bedroom.” House tried to glean extra meaning from Wilson’s tone. He sneaked a look at Wilson’s eyes but they were as unreadable.

“And did you network? Forge new relationships? Expand your knowledge of the field of medicine?”

“I’d like to think I learned a little something about anatomy.”

House was starting to feel trapped. Tin tube. Thousands of feet up. No where to go. “Time for a walk I think. A man in my condition can’t afford to sit too long on an airplane you know.”

“Some company?” Wilson was smiling again.

“You’d only slow me down.” House looked pointedly at Wilson’s lap. “That third leg and everything.” He pulled his cane from its resting place behind their seats and stomped off.

* * * * * *

Wilson watched House disappear towards the back of the plane. The stewardess tried to turn him back at the curtain that separated them from the economy seats but she stepped aside when he brandished his cane. Wilson could imagine the glower and acerbic comment that went with it.

Wilson put a hand on himself. The bulge he’d been sporting in the toilet earlier had gone down, but the memory of it was still there, just under the surface.

He was suddenly filled with an urge to do something about it. As House seemed no longer in the mood Wilson headed for the toilets on his own.

Locking the door he leaned against it to feel the pinch of the lock on his back again. The tiny hurt brought to mind House’s teeth and he was growing hard already as he pulled himself out of his pants. Reaching for the lotion he pumped a pool into his hand.

Stopped in the act of warming it by the notion that House would use it cold, Wilson did the same. He drew a sharp breath at the sensation but felt himself grow harder still. He imagined that his hand was House’s hand and that the cock in his fist was House’s cock.

The doubled sensation was an illusion, but an effective one and Wilson managed to complete his business in record time. Maybe it was all the sex in the last few days. Whatever it was he wasn’t complaining.

When Wilson got back House was standing in the aisle. He took one look at Wilson and said, “You didn’t.”

Wilson squeezed past him to take his seat. He waited for House to sit down again. “And what if I did? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

“I think you’re confused about who the goose is in this scenario.”

Wilson could feel himself getting childish again. “Goose. Goose. Goose.” With every repetition of the word he poked a finger into House’s chest. Was it really so impossible to have a normal conversation with the man?

To Wilson’s surprise House caught his finger and brought it to his lips. “You could have waited for me to come back from my walk.” His lips brushed against Wilson’s fingertip with every word. The seatbelt light came on again.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching a weather system that may have us bouncing around a little up here. We are going to try to fly above it, but in the mean time, for your safety if you would please take your seats. The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign.”

House’s fingers tightened their grip on Wilson’s hand. Wilson disengaged himself, as pointing was not the most comfortable way to have your hand gripped, and laced his fingers through his friend’s. It was his turn to bring House’s hand to his lips. Wilson kissed each knuckle in turn. House flinched at first but then pressed his hand into the kiss.

These mixed signals were driving Wilson crazy. Then he remembered. He didn’t want predictable. He wanted House. Something stranger than usual was going on with him, but he intended to get to the bottom of it.