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Under Your Skin	By : RiekaDeVolka Category: G through L > House Views: 3598 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Under Your Skin
- 1
Title: Under
Your Skin.

Fandom: House MD.

Characters: Gregory House, James Wilson.

Story Number: 001.

Prompt Number: 012.

Prompt Word: Allergy.

Rating: NC-17.

Genre: PWP, Humor.

Quote: "Me callo porque es m�s c�modo enga�arse, me callo
porque ha ganado la raz�n al coraz�n; pero pase lo que pase, aunque otro me
acompa�e, en silencio te querr�, en silencio te amar�, en silencio pensar� tan
s�lo en ti." [I keep
quiet because it's more comfortable to just fool one's self, I keep quiet
because reason has won over heart; but happens whatever happens, even if
someone else's going with me, in silence I'll want you, in silence I'll love
you, in silence I'll think only about you.] ~From "Deseos de Cosas
Imposibles" [Desiring Impossible Things] by La Oreja de Van Gogh.

Word Count: +/- 1 760.

Notes: First House story for my unofficial one hundred challenge, wee. I'll
give you something if you pick the reversed reference - it's blatant.
Under
Your Skin.
It was a rash.
Admittedly, it was quite a spectacular
rash, but just a rash in the end, so James Wilson shrugged at his reflection
and distractedly applied a topical lotion before going to bed.
Next morning, the rash was still there.
And now it was itching with a passion.
Wilson frowned, scratched a particularly
evil flare on his chest and got ready for work. It was just a rash, but just in
case, he'd ask House about it. For some reason, the familiar shot of warmth
from his chest to his groin at the thought of the cranky, irritating bastard
didn't occur. Wilson found himself hopeful. Perhaps his chronic arousal when it
came to his best friend had finally fallen away, reason conquering in the end.
By mid morning, he was restraining himself
from scratching publicly like some sort of ape, his smile straining at the
edges as he treated his patients. House was nowhere to be found. Signing a
prescription, Wilson gave his usual dazzling smile, then held back the need to
moan miserably when the itching grew tenfold.
When he couldn't find House at lunch, he
realized something was wrong... and that he had forgotten something.
Gregory House was quite adept at hiding
when he didn't want himself to be found, and considering the horrible fight
they had had on Sunday - he hadn't meant to imply House couldn't take
care of himself, really, he was just worried at the increasing number of
prescriptions he had to sign for him - Wilson understood he was now persona
non grata, a status that would take plenty of coercion to change. He'd have
to bribe House with something.
Slightly dejected, Wilson stalked back to
his office, absently scratching his collarbone through the shirt.
He went through the motions for the rest
of the day mechanically, his mind deeply involved with the plan to make House
speak to him again. There was always the chance to let things as they were and
wait for House to get bored and seek him out; it always went that way when they
fought, but Wilson really didn't want to go to someone else about the
mysterious rash that was hell-bent on driving him insane. The dermatologists
were nice... but they were also incredibly gossipy. If James Wilson ever
hoped to get laid with someone from the hospital, he had to remain away from
the speculative department, or they'd make his life hell until something more
thrilling than him catching something, for lack of better wording, icky
came around.
Every time he thought of House, their
fight or possible peace offerings, the itching grew exponentially.
Wilson gave up finding him when the clock
hit ten and instead stalked towards the locker room, deciding to call it a day.
There was no one in the room, the showers deserted. The night shift had started
over two hours prior, so no one had business being around the lockers for
another six hours or so. Taking off his shirt, Wilson scratched the base of his
spine, wondering what could have possibly caused the disaster.
"You look like shit." Wilson
startled, whirling around to find House leaning against the doorway. The older
man sneered, "That's why you should have stayed married. At least that way
you were more or less sure she was clean."
Three sentences, and Wilson promptly
forgot why he cared about the idiotic asshole in the first place.
Standing stiffly, he narrowed his eyes and
forcefully stopped himself from rubbing against the locker door. House rolled
his eyes dramatically. He entered the room, locking the door behind him and
advancing on Wilson as predatorily as a limping man was allowed to. Feeling
strangely nervous with his current condition - really, his chest looked horrible
- the oncologist flattened himself against the lockers. House stopped at arm's
distance, eyebrows arched as his eyes ran critically over the angry red flesh
before him. Wilson wasn't a particularly vain man, but he was generally content
with his physical appereance. The sudden rash was irritating, though not
life-threatening; it made him self-conscious, though, despite the fact he and
House had seen each other in all possible states of undress during the course
of their eccentric friendship.
House poked him with the tip of his cane.
"Hey!" Holding onto his battered
dignity, Wilson glared, "If you're done with the mocking, leave me
alone."
House ignored him.
"When did it start?" He poked
him again when Wilson refused to answer.
"Will you stop that?" Now
starting to get pissed off, the oncologist caught House's cane with his hand,
eyes narrowed. House merely looked at him, clearly expecting an answer.
"It was there on Sunday," He sighed in defeat, as per usual, when it
came to House, he was simply unable to deny the man, "Before I went to bed."
"Hm."
Wilson wondered if all bugs in the world
felt like he did, when they were roughly placed under a microscope, or if was,
maybe, a side effect of the ungodly want he'd been nursing for the last
three years. After the divorce, it became increasingly easy to start
thinking about his friendship with House in a different light. After all, the
main cause of the divorce - aside the fact he'd caught his wife and their
lawyer closing a deal on their bed - was her insistence that he was
cheating on her. With House.
While he was signing the papers, the
notion had been ludicrous.
Nearly three years worth of one-night
stands later and only House as the constant in his life, Wilson had to wonder.
"Drop the pants." He stared
dumbly at House for a moment, snapped back from his contemplations by the sharp
command. House sneered. "What? You want me to do it for you?"
Biting back a snide retort, Wilson obeyed,
fumbling with his pants as he did so. He had wanted House to check on
him, hadn�t he? Wilson rolled his eyes, then winced when he looked down at
himself. The red rash spread all the way to his thighs, angry and itching.
House hm'ed again.
"Well?" All the oncologist
wanted was to be allowed to go, to spend the night watching TV and ignoring the
hurt that swelled at the snide remarks being shoved his way, without the
smallest consideration.
He also wanted to get away before his
libido could process the fact the situation fit rather snuggly into a familiar
scenario. The last thing Wilson needed was to get a hard-on while House was
watching.
"Interesting," House said with
that wrenched smile of his, "I have a theory."
There was a dramatic pause that only
served to make Wilson a thousand times more itchy and uncomfortable.
�I know, let�s test it,� House announced
with a sadistic edge to his smile.
Wilson would have asked, but just as he
was about to demand House to leave his petty games for another time, the older
man bent over and licked him. It was a very dog-like lick, too, his tongue
pressing flatly over the skin above his collarbone, then sliding upwards to his
chin.
Wilson�s mind crumbled and he sagged
against the locker, moaning lowly.
The skin House had licked was slowly
returning to normal. The nephrologist�s smile turned positively diabolic.
�So� Jimmy,� House sat on one of
the benches between the lockers, looking smug, �How long have you been wanting
to get into my pants?� Wilson paled into a sickly white that was nearly
transparent. House didn�t lose his smile. �Don�t you love the subconscious
mind? I do. People can lie all the want, but their subconscious is always there
to kick their asses and get them to spill the beans.� He made an innocent face,
which wasn�t much, and waved the cane around lightly, �Psychosomatic reaction,
I believe. Did you have a fight with a loved one on Sunday? Tried to suppress a
strong emotion? Had a nervous breakdown?�
Wilson didn�t know what was worse, the
fact House was extracting his sadistic pleasure out of torturing him, or
the fact he was getting aroused by the caustic words.
�Did you purposely insult the man you love
and tried to ignore the guilt chewing at your conscience?�
�Shut up.� His voice was shaky at best, so
he put his best efforts in a glare, �Just shut up.�
House simply rolled his eyes and blocked
his way with the cane when he attempted to move away.
�Come here,� When Wilson stared, he
snorted, �Do you want me to fix you or not?�
Shivering, the younger man walked up to
House, who looked up at him with a risen eyebrow until Wilson was standing
between his legs. When pianist hands reached up to rub at his swollen skin, he
forgot how to breathe.
Fingers kneaded gently, soothing the
itching in ways the savage scratching hadn�t been able to, and slowly, very
slowly, Wilson began to relax. He tried to control his ragged breathing and
tone down the heat raising through his spine and pooling at his groin.
When he thought he could actually manage
to hold off, House leaned in and bit the skin right above his navel, his tongue
lashing out against his tortured flesh.
At some point during the �treatment�,
Wilson lost his underwear, House's fingers grabbed his straining erection and
both began moaning. Fingers threaded through House�s short hair, hands
clenching reflexively when his tongue brushed the swollen head. He began
lapping eagerly, his own fingers digging almost painfully on Wilson�s thighs.
When House took him into his mouth, Wilson
cried out with a shudder.
He didn�t last long, not after he�d wanted
this for about forever. He thrust violently a few times, before he came with a
low whining sound that made House�s own arousal spike considerably. Stumbling
backwards, Wilson somehow ended up on the floor, staring wide eyed and
wondering how and why.
He forgot about it when he caught sight of
House staring down at him, feral and hungry, with a small trail of semen
dripping down the corner of his mouth.
Wilson swore silently, before he reached
out for the erection hiding under denim; he wanted the man close to him, flesh
to flesh, to make it real. He wanted to feel House under, around, above;
to have the privilege of touching and being touched in return.
Sardonically, he noted the rash was gone,
but it didn�t matter � now he had something far worse hiding under his very
skin� something that liked to go around by the name of House.
(A/N)
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Under Your Skin