rivers_bend

Title: Reservoir Docs (thank you to skyblue_reverie for the title)
Author: River
Rating: NC-17 gun!kink
For the August/September Challenge at the_smut_couch, Grindhouse Cinema.
Thank you to karaokegal for beta and skyblue_reverie for conversation about words


Wilson and House were on their way back to the house after a long shift. The radio was on quietly in the background, words lost under the sound of the engine. Neither man had much to say to the other. Wilson was driving, concentrating on the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw House reach under the seat.

“What the… House? What are you doing?” The car swerved a little as Wilson felt something cold and hard jab him in the waist.

“I bet you knew from your first week in the Academy that something like this would happen some day. You probably thought it would be your first partner. They always give the bug-shit crazy cops to the rookies. No one else will work with them. You got lucky. Your first partner was a great cop. So was your second. The fates were just waiting until you got promoted to detective to saddle you with a whack-job.” House was grinning. He sounded cheerful. Conversational. Evil.

“Is that a… That’s not what I think it is? Christ. House --”

“Just keep driving, detective.” House moved his gun higher, poking his new partner in the ribs with the barrel.

Wilson tried not to cringe away from the press of steel. They trained cops for things like this. Though he was pretty sure the training didn’t anticipate a man’s partner holding the weapon. “House, I’ll drive wherever you want, you don’t need to hold me at gunpoint.”

“That’s not how this works. Turn left at the next corner.”

Wilson slowed and made the turn. The road dead-ended into a parking lot between two derelict looking warehouses. “Anywhere special you want me to park?” His attempted insouciance was betrayed by the quiver in his voice as the gun stabbed harder into his side.

“Behind the one on the right.”

Wilson did as he was told. When he turned off the engine he became aware of how loud his breathing was in the enclosed space.

“Hold out your hand.” House’s words brooked no argument. He dropped a ring of keys into Wilson’s palm. “The door on the side there. Open it. Remember I’ve got good aim. And a gun pointed at your back. No funny stuff.”

The keys were already slippery with sweat when Wilson closed his fingers around them. He opened the door slowly, walked around the car, and somehow fumbled a key into the lock. The first two he tried didn’t work, but the third turned smoothly. He sighed with relief. House was clearly capable of anything, and he didn’t want to look like he was stalling. He opened the door carefully. The warehouse was a single empty space apart from a corner which was partitioned off with half-height walls. Sunlight streamed in through windows set under the eaves. He heard a car door slam behind him.

“Don’t turn around.” Footsteps shuffled closer through the gravel of the lot. Wilson kept his back to the sound. He felt the other man behind him, and there was a brief pause while he wondered what was going to happen. Then fingers closed on his hipbone as chilled metal Had House been holding it in front of the air conditioning vent? edged down his spine. “I bet your cock’s as hard as this piece I’ve got in my hand, detective Wilson.” Only House could sneer a whisper like that.

Wilson knew that a verbal answer would be redundant. House could tell he was right by the handful of hard-on he was cupping, rubbing, gripping tightly. He used his grip to jerk Wilson backwards, trapping the gun between them, rubbing the evidence of his own arousal against Wilson’s ass. With a final, painful, squeeze, he let Wilson go and pushed him toward the room in the corner using the gun for emphasis.

The door had a deadbolt as well as the lock on the handle. Wilson wondered why, when all it would take was a ten foot ladder and anyone could be over the wall. Then he felt the gun caress his neck and his focus was back on House. Wilson still had the keys in his hand. He missed the keyhole completely when House’s tongue followed the path of the steel. “You taste good, detective. Scared.”

Once he’d swallowed the golf ball that seemed to be stuck in his throat, Wilson managed to get the right key in the lock and turn it. He lost track of which was more distracting, the length of House threatening him from behind or the tickle of warming gunmetal along his jaw. The door handle rattled, making him realize he was shaking. With fear? With lust? He wasn’t sure any more.

Finally the door burst open despite his fumblings. The room was about twelve feet square. The only thing in it was a desk. A huge, mahogany desk. Totally out of place in a warehouse, it belonged in the corner office of a Madison Avenue ad agency or a DC law firm. On closer inspection, the desk was old. The wood scarred and pitted, the finish dull. In seconds, Wilson’s vantage point was very close indeed.

“I thought you should see how the other half live. What it’s like to be a desk jockey instead of a cop. Riding a desk all day… Or should I say being ridden on a desk all day.” House’s hand was on the back of Wilson’s neck, flattening him face down on the table-top. The gun was tracing idle circles in the hair at the back of his head. The smell of sun-warmed wood was intoxicating. “Pull down your pants. I want you bare-assed.”

“What?” Wilson wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

The hand on Wilson’s neck squeezed more tightly and the gun slipped down to the hollow behind his ear. “Did I stutter?” House spoke with menacing deliberation. Wilson’s hands were on his belt before the last syllable faded.

When House put the gun down, Wilson was eye to eye with it. The words looking down the barrel of a gun had a lot more weight when you were actually doing it. These thoughts distracted him long enough for House to snap a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. “Wanna play good cop/bad cop? You’ve gotta promise to be good though. Bad cop/bad cop just isn’t the same.”

House leaned down so he could look Wilson in the eye. Wilson nodded. “I’ll be good.”

House chuckled. “I thought so.”

Wilson heard the sound of House pulling things out of his pocket, the zipper on his jeans, the swish of clothes. He fidgeted in anticipation, cock hard against his belly, shirt tail tickling its head. House’s fingers were cold and wet in the crack of his ass and then House was pressing forwards, filling him, stretching him, cock slippery with the shocking chill of lube, as Wilson struggled to open for him. Wilson gasped as House pulled him roughly backwards, and with a final thrust, was hot, slick hardness, so deep inside that Wilson felt hollowed out.

With his hands trapped behind him, Wilson had no choice but to fuck at House’s pace. Hard, fast, breath-taking. He felt the buttons on his shirt adding gouges to the finish on the desk-top as he was jerked forwards and back across its surface. The bruising grip on his hips eased, and warm fingers still slick with lube closed around his cock. Wilson’s moans echoed through the mahogany into his ear, amplifying not only sound but all other sensation as well. Exquisite friction - burning, cocks thrusting into slick heat, into flesh.

House collapsed onto Wilson’s back, digging the edges of the handcuffs into his sacrum. His hand relaxed and dropped away, leaving Wilson teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Pinned beneath the older man, Wilson was helpless. House gave no indication that he was going to move or even touch Wilson again, which filled him with utter desperation. He began to beg. “Please – I need – oh god – please…” He felt House shifting, the pinch of cuffs eased, his cock was sliding out, but instead of taking Wilson in his hand again he moved away completely. A click of metal on metal and he’d freed Wilson’s hands.

“Up on the desk. On your back.” Wilson stood on shaking legs. He turned and House looked appreciatively at his cock where it jutted out between his shirt tails. “Get naked first.”

Wilson undid buttons with trembling fingers, stepping out of his shoes and the tangle of fabric at his feet. It was all he could do not to touch himself, fuck his fist until he came under House’s steady gaze. Instead, he continued to obey orders, hoisting himself onto the desk and sliding back until he was lying in its center. His hip bumped the gun on its way past.

House came over and picked it up. Tucked it between Wilson’s legs, teasing at his balls. “Jerk yourself off.” Wilson didn’t wait for a second invitation.

Four strokes, maybe five and he was back on the edge. He jerked against the steel pressed to his perineum, glad for the remote location as he shouted House’s name.

* * * * * *

House somehow had a handkerchief did the man think of everything? and was cleaning Wilson’s chest. When they caught each other’s eye they both grinned. Wilson spoke first. “Did you tell him what it was for when you asked to borrow your dad’s service pistol?”

House laughed aloud. “No. Didn’t think he needed to know.”

“What about the rest of this? Where did this all come from?” Wilson’s gesture encompassed the room, the desk, the warehouse. He couldn’t imagine how House had managed to fulfil so many of the details of this fantasy.

“You remember Mr. Arnello? He –“

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Wilson thought the less he knew about any dealings House still had with the Arnellos the better. He didn’t even really want to know about the Corvette.

House threw Wilson his clothes. The glint in his eye sent a nervous thrill through Wilson’s stomach. “Don’t forget, next time we’re doing my fantasy.”