Notes: Pre-infarction AU-ish.
Credit: Betas! I love my betas jantalaimon, jougetsu, and bironic for their support & suggestions.
Original Story: Oral Fixation by phinnia
Summary: Wilson has decided that House will stop smoking.
House thought he had cigarettes back at home, but he was wrong.
The packs were there. But where there should have been cigarettes were rolled-up drawings of men with Xs for eyes. “Hilarious,” House muttered to himself. He snipped Wilson’s favorite tie in half as punishment and picked himself up a new carton at the all-night drugstore down the street.
He was smoking twice as much as usual, just to spite Wilson’s naive attempts at saving him soul and body, when his would-be rescuer came home. Coughing from the smoke, Wilson frowned at House, who purposefully inhaled one long drag. He exhaled, the smoke coming out in what he considered enticing, dreamy forms. “Look at that,” House said wonderingly, “It’s better than a Picasso. Think we can get the world to recognize smoke-blowing as an art?”
“It’s killing you,” Wilson said, hands on hips.
House took in another drag and let out the smoke again; it dissipated into nothingness. “Funny thing about life is that anything can kill you. I could get done in by a badly aimed clothes hanger tomorrow.”
Wilson grabbed the near-stub from House’s fingers, probably singing himself in the process. “There’s more.” House pointed to the packs and watched, mildly bemused, as Wilson grabbed those as well. “What are you going to do? Take all the cigarettes in the world?”
“You’re stopping,” Wilson swore.
House liked cigarettes. He liked their weight in his mouth, and he liked the way they rolled between his fingers. He liked the taste of Marlboro cigarettes and he liked how they kept his hands and mouth busy as he thought. He liked staring off into the smoke.
House liked cigarettes and he wasn’t one to give up pleasures.
The photos started popping up everywhere: stuck to the remote controller, pinned to the fridge with a magnet, in between the pages of the latest Playboy pin-up. House found them more interesting than repulsive; he wouldn’t be in the medical field if he were grossed out by limbless stumps, dead rats, and blackened lungs.
Despite the photos warning him of his potential future, House kept on smoking.
“I’m a doctor,” House said. “I studied at med school and everything; you’re not telling me anything new. I know how carcinogens work.”
“Then why?” Wilson asked. He sounded tired. And he probably was, chasing after every cigarette House got his hands on. “If you know what it does--”
“I’m invincible,” House said, cheerfully. “Not like everyone else.”
“Sure you’re healthy now,” Wilson argued. “But you could lose that in an instant.”
House knew. He read about it often enough and he saw it happen to people every day. But it was easy enough to pretend he’d forever have pitch-perfect health. And if anything did happen to him, it would be later. Not now. “So I should give up my current pleasure for future happiness? Not my style.”
“So that’s it,” Wilson said, slowly. “You won’t quit because you don’t understand how long-term sacrifices work.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Okay. So if your health in ten, twenty years isn’t enough incentive, how about this? Every day that you smoke, I won’t touch you. Every day you don’t, I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” The way he said that last phrase, it was loaded with promise.
House glared at him. “That’s playing dirty.”
“I’m a dirty kind of guy, House. So which will it be? Fucking or smoking?”
House swore at him.
The first day was easy. It wasn’t as if they fuck all the time.
The second day, House slipped into the shower while Wilson was there and nuzzled the back of his head. “Hey,” he said. Wilson wouldn’t have the strength to keep his threat, House thought.
“You keep that up and I’m kneeing you in the balls,” Wilson said. House slinked away; he didn’t think Wilson would, but he couldn’t be sure and he taking that risk.
On the morning of the third day, House jerked off in bed while Wilson was waking up. It made his point and it got him off, but it wasn’t enough; he had to jerk off again later, after coming back home from work.
The fourth day House seriously considered adultery. The only reason he didn’t take the pediatrician whose name he could never remember for a quick tumble in an empty on-call room was that he figured Wilson would cave in before long.
And there was the being-in-love-with-Wilson thing.
On the morning of the fifth day, he told Wilson: “I’m not smoking today; let’s do it.”
Wilson smiled. “Nice try. We’ll do it after you get through the day without lighting up.” House was calculating how many cigarettes he could secretly get away with when Wilson added, “And if you cheat, I’ll know.” And he would; Wilson was annoyingly canny with that kind of thing.
House went until almost 10 a.m. before he caved.
On the sixth day, he made it to 3 p.m.
On the seventh, House was determined to get laid. And so every time he wanted a smoke, which was approximately every time he took a breath, if not more often, he thought of what he’d do to Wilson that night. He could tie Wilson down and blindfold him. He could spank Wilson, or have Wilson spank him. Maybe both. They could role-play.
House fantasized about things Wilson never let him do.
Back at home, after work, House asked hourly: “Can we do it yet?”
“How about now?”
Towards midnight, Wilson took a shower, which was a very good sign. At twelve sharp, Wilson stepped out of the bathroom, naked. “Okay, now you can ravish me.”
To be honest, he was so miserable from withdrawal that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to even get his dick up, but he’d worked for this, damn it, and he was going to enjoy the benefits.
They fell to the bed kissing and groping and rubbing against each other. “Don’t you want,” Wilson gasped, but mostly because House was massaging the bottom of his spine, one of his most sensitive spots, “Don’t you want to do anything-- special?”
For all that House’s imagination had run rampant that day, now that the time had come, he just wanted something in his mouth. He’d spent all day cigarette-less and he longed to latch onto something and not let go. He wanted to lick and suck and bite.
“Yeah-- today’s special is you sit back and take it.” House dove straight for Wilson’s chest, mouthing along his pecs, skirting a nipple. Even if he couldn’t slate his own lust, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with Wilson.
“Eager beaver,” Wilson teased.
“Doesn’t apply,” House said, his lips brushing against Wilson’s warm skin.
House didn’t add to the banter; his mouth wanted to do other things.
He kissed Wilson in the center of his ribcage and kissed down to his navel. House dipped his tongue into it, lapping at the bottom. Wilson’s hips shoved up, almost throwing House away. “The belly button as an erogenous zone,” House said. “Who knew?”
“And you’ve got an oral fixation-- who knew?” House blew a raspberry against Wilson’s stomach in response. “Sexy,” Wilson laughed, so House blew him another one.
By now Wilson’s dick was up against House’s throat, stiff but not hard. House himself was limp; withdrawal was a bitch. But he was enjoying himself, degusting Wilson. And he wanted to taste more.
He moved downwards, giving Wilson’s dick and balls passing kisses; he knew their flavors well, and though Wilson squirmed encouragingly, he wasn’t going to focus on them.
Instead, he pushed Wilson’s thighs apart and licked his asshole.
“Whoa! What are--?“ Wilson tried to move away, but House held him down and kept on, pressing with the flat of his tongue against the entire area, licking repeatedly, and then Wilson gave a deep groan like House had never heard him make before. He interpreted that as a green light and went further in, licking faster.
It wasn’t-- pleasant, the taste. If it were a meal, he wouldn’t order it regularly at a restaurant. But as a change of pace, as something to satisfy his mouth’s need to be occupied, it certainly worked.
And Wilson was going crazy, which was a plus. He was trying to hide how affected he was, holding back sounds and forcing his body to keep still, but House noticed anyway, especially when Wilson trembled and let out the occasional whimper.
House licked Wilson now with the tip of his tongue, spiraling around his anus until he reached the center, and once there, he probed and pushed. Wilson’s whimpers became more frequent, especially after House started using his fingers to open him up and let his tongue in further.
“House, I--” Wilson gasped, and that was all the warning he gave before coming.
House watched Wilson orgasm, his eyes fluttering and his jaw slack, smug to have made him come from rimming alone. But then he thought about physics and their positions; wiping the top of his head, his fingers came away wet with spunk. “Oh, thanks.”
Wilson smiled in that lazy way he always did after sex. “You were the one who told me to sit back and take it. It’s your own fault.”
“Gimme a kiss to make it all better,” House suggested.
“Oh no you don’t,” Wilson said, pushing House before he could bring his lips anywhere near his own mouth. “First you bleach your mouth!”
“What a prude.”
“Would you kiss me if I did that?”
“Hell no!” House contemplated going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth, but it was cozier to stay in bed.
“See? Although…” Wilson looked at House like he was the craziest man he’d ever met. “You’d rather give me a rim job than smoke? You realize how disgusting that implies cigarettes are?”
The bed seemed suddenly less cozy than it had been five seconds ago. “Shut up.”
“Or is it an oral fixation? As long as something is in your mouth, you’re happy?”
“By ‘shut up’ I meant ‘stop talking,’ by the way.”
“It is the oral fixation, isn’t it.”
“If you don’t stop yapping I’ll orally fixate you.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
The next morning Wilson left early for work and House woke up alone. Half-asleep, he groped about the apartment and, on the kitchen counter, discovered a pack of cigarettes. His first thought was that the sex last night was so mind-blowing that Wilson wasn’t willing to give it up anymore, even if it meant sacrificing House’s health.
He tore the box open, only to discover candy and chewing gum inside. “Enjoy,” a note suggested in Wilson’s loopy cursive.
“I hate him,” House said, and unwrapped a cherry lollipop.
One devastating month later, House was over the nicotine addiction. But he kept a stash of candy: licorice, sour drops, Twizzlers, bite-sized chocolates. “You taste like a candy store,” Wilson complained after kissing him. “I’m going to end up with cavities because of you.”
“Better that than my cadaver.”
Wilson snorted and kissed him again.