#house m.d. (ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈)

[theogonize]

wilson didnt exactly plan on sticking around. he'd been going on dates at this point, whatever the internet organized, whenever he felt like releasing some tension. they never culminated in much. they had similar priorities and he was too busy to follow through. this was the routine. till once he saw a pretty girl on his screen. some arts major. young. very young. for him atleast. he should probably have let someone else take you, someone your age. but he's a bit selfish sometimes. he has to remind himself it's not wrong. house definitely tells him its not but house doesnt have morals, right?

but wilson can't help it. youre not like the rest. there's this inexplicable sadness in your eyes sometimes. there's this wretched anguish. this desire to be loved when you look at him. you already look up to him. he doesn't know if he likes it but it makes him curious. curious enough to call you again. curious enough to not fuck on the first date. curious enough to take things slow again. it makes him feel alive again. an adventure.

the more he knows about you, the more needed he feels. its a good feeling to have, if youre wilson. he likes the codependency. he likes to let you sit on his lap while you tell him how fucked you are. he likes to bore those beautiful eyes into yours when you start to choke up. he reassures you, it isnt a chore to him. he feels needed when you call him and tell him to come over because you feel scared and alone in your bed. he cares for you because he sees that you need it. he tells you to "quit hanging around a man twice your age" and "give boys your age a chance" because he wants to hear you say that you like him, you like that he's older and more mature and that you would rather spend your days getting psychoanalyzed by him over ice cream. he smiles. you follow the script. he's happy. he's needed.

and he's wilson. you already love him. you're messed up and he's just psychotically patient. he fucks, too. the sweet middle aged man you go out with really fucks. you're content. he buys you ice cream and cookies after sex. he tucks you in every night. he calls you every day.

somedays he doesn't though. just to see the progress on the codependency. it isn't mean or manipulative. but he likes to see you pout, maybe freak out a bit when he suddenly doesnt call one day or can't make it to your place. but then he returns to reassure you. he isnt leaving, of course, he says. he's just busy. head of oncology or whatever. and when you huff into his chest, his big chest; his soft but larger, stronger frame, saying whatever you just missed him. he lets you fall asleep on him, listening to his heartbeat. he's content. james wilson needs to be needed. you give him that. he's content.

[theogonize]

and he's my scrunkle

truly nothing about house md prepares you for wilson. he's fucking insane. he's been divorced three times. he's the only person who can scheme just as well as house. he gives a patient his own liver bc he felt bad for him - a patient who didn't even know wilson's name. btw. he noticed a patient had depression bc he never mentioned his grandkids. he starred in a porno. he dosed house with antidepressants for several weeks. he allowed his boybestie and his gf to share custody of him and didn't even try to stop it. house told him to buy a piece of furniture that represented who he was, and he bought a $4000+ organ for house. he was gonna torpedo his career to talk abt euthanasia bc one of his patients suffered longer than he had to. he let house move into his 1 bed apartment bc his therapist thought it'd be a good idea. this man would do anything for anybody if they let him. he'd fucking quit his job to save a snail off the sidewalk. bro is not normal in the slightest

[theogonize]

im like... sick and twisted over sugar daddy wilson who's enjoying his pretty young thing more than he ever anticipated. he's paying your tuition, half your rent and anything else, that you could adorn yourself with. every weekend he makes sure to taking you on a shopping spree, something that wasn't in your deal but he just really likes to see you happy. and also he gets one hell of a show each time.

something about basically paying you, more gifts than cash, dissolves his sexual inhibitions. you won't leave. you can't. he can, if he wants to, be less nice to you. he can fuck the way he was always scared to fuck, do the things he was scared to do with his girlfriends. but you're not his girlfriend, you're his sugar baby. there's a difference, no matter how much he listens to you talk incoherently about your interests, no matter how many nights you sleep over. he doesn't have to treat you like an equal. it's oddly emancipating, the idea of doing whatever he wants with you. the freedom to. unrestrained like he never was. a pet dog without his leash who gets to run wild but keeps pawing his neck, the feeling of the leash.

but he's still restrained. he's a gentleman, he's programmed that way. he would never go beyond your limits, never. when he fucks you particularly rough, the kind that makes your legs weak for days and leaves you feeling the ghost of his dick inside you every time you squeeze your legs, he buys you something particularly expensive. he just can't take without giving. you like it, of course you do, even though you tell him you like the way he fucks you too. he shouldn't apologize for prioritizing his pleasure. you're not his girlfriend, you are his sex doll. the one he likes to dress up in skimpy designer clothes he bought with his hard earned oncologist money.

you're starting to feel bad, kind of, because you're growing quite fond of him. it's impossible not to. he's the only man who isnt a pig. but this... this arrangement negates the idea of anything real ever happening. sometimes you both stay awake dwelling on the possibility at the same time, unbeknownst to each other. his heart beats precariously fast as his hand crawls into your palm one night, wanting so desperately to hold it.

he doesn't know how this thing is going to end.

when his analyst furrows his brows at the receipts from hermes and dior and chanel, he just shrugs. he can't help it, you're the most beautiful financial liability in the world.

[theogonize]

1.1k words, cunnilingus, stressed out jimmy

hungry, horned up, stressed wilson can only cope with messy pussy eating. even when he wants to take, he's actually giving. for someone whose an amalgam of neediness and want, he was never good at expressing it, but one day he just breaks down.

"i- i just really need you right now" he basically sighs his words into the emptied glass. a few drops of water trickle down his jaw and chin. the singular kitchen light illuminates his sheer neediness.

"aww baby, of course," you say, as you gesture him to your lap. some semblance of pride swells up in you. you're taking care of wilson. and not the other way round like he always insists. you're proud of him for admitting that he wants you, needs you, for the first time ever.

he rushes near you, opting for the empty spot on the floor beneath your legs rather than the one beside you. he clutches onto your legs like a raft at first. like he's drowning and youre the only thing keeping him afloat. something in your heart sinks seeing him like this. you smooth his soft brown hair, running your hair through his greying streaks. his puppy dog eyes, the gentleness in them.

he whimpers to your touch, nuzzling his face into your lap. shivers run down your back as the sound reverberates in your core. his hands run up and down your calves. you try scratching his back, his neck, his scalp with your nails. his hands start ascending up your legs, now grabbing handfuls of your thighs to knead and grope.

wilson shifts uncomfortably below you. you finally pay attention to his semi. seems a bit painful, honestly. some part of you just wants him to lose control. just this once. fuck whatever it is that bothered him so much into you with whatever energy he may have. god, you want him to use you so bad.

he starts planting wet, desperate kisses onto the inside of your thighs. you instinctively close your thighs around his head, chest heaving with this sudden wave of arousal flowing through you. as he works his way up, a small, almost inaudible "please" escapes his lips amidst the kisses. he's using more teeth now. you slowly stand up and let him undress your lower body. he takes off your shorts and panties in slow tugs and bundles them up to use as padding for his knees. he looks up at you, almost like he worships you, like you're some savior of his. something makes it hard for you to swallow.

wilson tugs you down onto the couch, maybe with a bit more force than he intended, really. his hot breathe makes your joints weak. thoughts of everything he's about to do make it feel like you've lost all control of your muscles.

"wet." he huffs the single syllable between your thighs like a caveman. "so wet."

remarkable observation.

that's all he can mutter out. the sight, the smell, the access; it all made him so hard it ached him. he yanks your cunt closer to his face and gives it a sloppy kiss. you writhe.

his tongue comes next, licking a cold strip on your heat. he buries his face in there, trying to savor your taste on his tongue before going at it again. he taste tests your cunt a couple of times to hear you groan.

but then an unknown devil possesses him. he moves the pace of his tongue from a gentle wine tasting to a rabid feast. god, this man was starved all of a sudden. you yelped in protest, he only moaned into you as a response. every beat resonating through you. he laps you up, tongue reaching front to back and prodding deep inside your hole.

"oh baby, james- i- slower-"

his lips only suckle at your bundle of nerves. your eyes now overflow with tears of burning desire. werent you supposed to help him relax? his nose presses against the hood of your clit, jittering with his exhales that seemed to shake through his jaws too. he was really panting like a dog. all you could do was moan in desperation, your volcanic orgasm burning inside your core, waiting to erupt.

"need it. need you. thank fuck-" he groans into your pussy.

and then he does it. his iron grip on your thigh loosens as he brings his fingers perilously close to your cunt. james- cant- please baby, please rang through you. his sucking, licking and teasing rendered you incapable of putting out any cohesive sentences. you could simply beg. beg for an out, a release to tension building inside of you. his other hand is gone from your thighs too, moved down south to take care of the leaking tent in his office pants.

his little moans leaking out of his pretty lips, coupled with the two fingers inside you and the ever-steady tongue... oh you were about to explode.

"i'm so close, baby, fuckkk- i- i- please keep- ahhh"

a rush flowed through you. you tensed for a moment on his tongue. his fingers. then your spine decompressed. you let go. this felt so good, he felt so good. everything he did.

you tugged on his hair hard. he looked up. what a sight.

his eyes... bit glossy, much like his lips. you could kill him in this moment and he'd thank you, maybe even ask you to do it all over again. his jaw tensed. he looked up at you with an innocence you wouldn't expect from a man who still had two fingers inside you, you slick covering his lips like gloss. he licked them. as much as he hated you for pulling him back to reality in this moment, he could only stare at your flushed face, thanking him for his hard work between your legs with huffs and pants.

a stupid smile tugs at the corners of his glistening mouth. cocky. you like cocky. after all he deserves to feel this way after how he made you feel. he spills his seed in his pants. all after seeing your mouth wide open, cheeks flushed. he did that. he licks your taste off his fingers and wipes his jaw with his forearm. it drives you up the wall.

he gets up to clean you. you look at him with concern in your eyes for a second. is he okay? is this what he needed? certainly what you needed after those long nights being alone. he gets the tissues from the adjacent table.

"i- thank you"

you gape at him. did he just.... thank you?

[theogonize]

intentional voyeurism wilson... nnnghhhhhh (unedited filth)

when house off-handedly jokes about being able to "see everything" through the windows of their neighboring offices, if you and wilson were ever to fuck in his office... something nefarious sets off in his mind. he knew you were into the rushed secret sex thing, him even mentioning it made you giggle and blush. you weren't familiar with just how much house would be able to see through the windows. and you trusted james, you didn't think he'd whore you out to his best friend because it turned him on.

he spent the next few days testing out the angles from the balcony that would display your body the way he wanted.

one day, when you come to visit him, when he purposely forgets his lunch at home so you'd have a reason to, he acts up. he requests to meet you in his office, privately. you smile at house on your way there. he, in turn, eyes you intently. wilson greets you with messy, hungry kisses, already quite turned on by the prospect of house watching. he gropes your ass and pushes you on the desk.

"my my james, you weren't kidding about fucking in the office, were you?" you giggle breathlessly. the rush, the secrecy, this sudden neediness in your ever professional boyfriend; everything in this moment was spurring a mighty rainfall between your thighs.

he shakes his head, yanking your clothes off you as quickly as possible. he was being hasty till this point, he just wanted the fun to begin. it wouldn't until he messaged house: "for god's sake don't interrupt me right now."

fortunately for wilson, house wasn't actually off-handedly joking that time. he meant it. ever since wilson started seeing you, house was desperate to join it seemed. everything about your body and the clothes that hugged it ever so snugly made him extremely... curious.

pressing his teeth into your neck softly, he made his way to your bra, unhooking it with ease. he used both hands to tug down your panties. then he heard it. footsteps. the cane. he was on the verge of losing all control over the sheer excitement coursing through his veins.

he propped you up on his desk in a way where house would be able to see your tits and waist clearly but not your throbbing pussy, as he expertly began fingerfucking you. he teased house with the blurry yet distinct sight of your heaving, flushed chest and descriptive expressions as james drew moan after moan, scream after scream from you.

poor house. whatever wilson was doing, he was doing right. the way your brows furrowed and the way you bit your bottom lip... dear lord. you had left him throbbing and leaking in his pants. it took everything in him to not barge through the door and watch you orgasm on wilson's skilled fingers, spilling your juices all over his thick forearms. that lucky bastard wilson.

james pulled out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptyness. he knew house was watching. he knew he had an audience to impress. you were his little showgirl. his pretty little toy he could show off to his friend. his licked his fingers, covering them with spit. he lightly smacked the side of your thighs. it was time to change positions. of course, wilson wasnt cruel. oh no. he wanted house to get a good view of his whore, his plaything. he bent you over his desk, exposing your bare ass and thighs to your secret voyeur, not so secret to your boyfriend of course.

but somethings are just his to see, like that pretty pussy of yours, and your pretty face pressed up against the desk as your pleads vibrated through the wood. his fingers and palm conveniently covered your hole, again. house was robbed of seeing the flow of pleasure on your face. he was disappointed. and helpless, as much he wanted to, he couldnt jerk off in the balcony. he just had to ache with no release.

the last view house sees is that of wilson licking your cum off his sleek fingers, looking him directly in the eye. he closes the blinds cockily as you pant and try to gather yourself. the eye contact sets off something nasty in him, house can't help but soil his boxers with his release.

that lucky bastard wilson.

[theogonize]

my shayla 💔

actually it’s kind of insane how we all gloss over chase leaving seminary school bc he slept with the groundskeeper’s wife. like haha dumb whore chase strikes again but…

- his mother had just died, he’d just run away from home more or less, leaving australia for england, his mother and sister for something new and isolating and different

- we know 20 years later he’s still fucked up about his mother and sister, this is like. the same year she died, she died in his last year of high school, seminary was right after, he was a mess

- he was 17-18

- groundskeeper’s wife? she was definitely older. it’s unlikely she was younger than 30. this wasn’t a peer. this wasn’t even two adults really. i’m not suggesting he was groomed or she manipulated him but also. he was very young. he was grieving and fucked up. he is a people pleaser. he wants to be liked. even if it was the most mutual and consensual romance in the world. he was 18. she was older and married. best case scenario this is some weird mrs robinson shit. this wasn’t a cute haha slut chase story.

- he gets kicked out of seminary for this. fine. he broke the rules. he ran away from home and tried to do something he wanted for the first time in his life (the only time) and this happened.

- he has never had a single adult in his life who gave a shit about him

- how fucking tragic that the first one he meets is house. who is not equipped for this and does not want this but the bar is so incredibly low chase bonds to him anyway

[theogonize]

youngest intern in the history of ppth's oncology. thats you.

"you're still here?" wilson calls out to the void seemingly. your head peaks out from the crowded shelves of the lab to give him a nod.

oh this is bad.

this is not what you need. you dont need you're hot boss to distract you when you're trying to conduct some tests he asked you to. especially not when you haven't slept in 2 days and have had copious amounts of coffee in your system making you jittery. you dont need him to increase your heart rate to the point where your capillaries explode. oh you're gonna fuck up somehow. you're tell him you like him. because lord knows you do. your boss. you have a silly schoolgirl crush on your pathetically gorgeous boss. the kind that makes you nauseous and unwell because he's just so, so pretty. and you'd end up telling him that you'd risk it all if he just gave you the chance.

but you like this job. you need this job. you can't let it go just because you've got a thing for older men with kind eyes whose soft lips spill praises like...

"you there?"

"mhm" you gulp. somehow your mouth is really fucking dry. good god, james wilson. good fucking god. you just want to rub your face on his chest like a cat. you need him to touch you. to pet you. to run his deft fingers refined from years of surgery and paperwork and everything else through your hair or something... what's wrong with you? there's a pit in your abdomen that needs him. you need him to praise you, like he always does. you need him to look at you, take you in, take advantage of you. just dear lord do something. not just stand there and express concern as your employer. just come closer, please, your mind whimpers to him.

"i really think you should rest. we've made considerable progress thanks to your good work and extra hours. you've really proved yourself."

but you don't want this to stop. he thinks you're good. useful. your boss, the intellectual, witty and beautiful man you work for, the best doctor you've met. the one who puts in the hours and effort to better himself in what he does... thinks you did a good job.

wilson does find you admirable. he likes your work ethic, your thirst to prove yourself. he likes your obsession, he compares it to house's sometimes. he likes the way you talk, not much to him for some reason (maybe it's the "boss" thing or...) but everyone else in the oncology department. he likes that you're young and you hold him in high regard. you're always so attentive when he talks, so perceptive, so willing. among those things he commends, the kind of things he can tell his colleagues about, he also likes the tint in your skin when you stand under the dim lighting in the lab. some of it reflecting off your hair, slightly unkempt but beautiful. he likes you without the lab coat. he likes your keen eyes, your smile, your hands, your face, the swoop of your ass, your...

he lets out a deep sigh. wilson likes you. admires you. maybe overstepping his place as your boss, as your mentor, as whatever that is you're making him in your head, the reflection of which he sees in your eyes sometimes. something desperate. aching. calling out his name, as if to say "come heal me". heaven knows he wants to.

and he knows what it is. it's the same look of admiration he gives you. the murky one. the slightly lustful one. he knows what you are. pretty young thing, final year med student, who'd rather flirt with house than chase or foreman. but he'd rather pretend he didnt. rather kid himself into thinking he doesn't care when chase of all people calls you young. that he doesn't feel guilty for wanting you to want him.

but maybe if he played into it long enough, played dumb long enough, made you feel like this is just how he is. just this sweet. if he made you believe that he had a reason to fold his cuffs to reveal his rather slutty forearms, loosen his tie on a late night, take off his coat complaining about the new jersey weather, gaze into your eyes at every occasion he got, all in pure innocence. this isnt flirting. this isn't an old man's desperation and desire permeating his professionalism.

no. this is okay. all he hopes for is that one day you'll give in. confess your love to him like cameron did to house. fight for him. shed a few tears. maybe then he could wipe then off your pretty cheeks and sigh. he could then reject you. just speak those words of "i'm sorry, it's inappropriate and you're much younger than me" into existence. make them real, if only he could use all the rationality in the world to convince himself that he doesn't want you as despicably and carnally as he does.

he shuts his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. no. this isn't right. he'd be taking advantage of you. even if its what you want. even if it could be his little present to you.

"go home, doctor."

he leaves the door of the lab open on his way out.

[theogonize]

house md characters and my valentine's day headcanons <3

house is definitely going to pretend like he does not care for valentines and will go out of his way to act condescendingly about it. even though it genuinely does irk him to see corporates shove "love" themed merchandise down everyone's throats, he would make a sincere effort to get you flowers and something nice. he wouldnt buy you roses (unless it is your favourite, even then he would go out of his way to get them in a rare color) because he wants to be edgy but also thinks a flower you like/ represents you is a better gift. it's really sweet :')

wilson would be prepared in advance. he'd have a dinner reservations at a place you like, huge bouquet of roses on the dinner table first thing, even teddy bears. but in typical dad fashion will act like he forgot all about it when you mention it. "oh oh my god i have a surgery that day" just to see you pout and then surprise you. he's so stupidly cute (😭)

cuddy would defo go shopping with you if she got the time. she'd defo buy you clothes and shoes and everything you need to get dolled up for her. she wants to match outfits really bad. she'd get flowers delivered to your workplace with an elaborate card and everything. dinner at a nice cozy place followed by wine in the bathtub and head 🗣️

chase isn't too much of a bouquet kinda guy. he would much rather spend the day with you rather than do something too elaborate. of course he would buy you anything you ask but he prefers getting the princess treatment himself. he would be into a (disastrous) cooking date where all he does is nibble the ingredients in a corner and sing corny love songs in his heavy accent. he would be all over you physically tho <33

cameron has a binder. she's been planning valentine's day since february 15 of last year. she likes to try the cute things she sees on pinterest and then jot your response to them like you're a patient 😭 "patient tloml enjoys handmade treats and quality time" she's super into crafting/ handmade things (she's so cute)

foreman is a late night skyline view dinner and wine drunk sex kinda guy to me. he does it by the book most of the time. he really would appreciate you doing something for him but he doesn't have expectations from valentine's day. he's moreso obligated. I think he'd be more involved if it was a personal milestone day like anniversary or your birthday, then he'd go all outttt. but he makes sure you have a good time nonetheless. maybe would gift you some jewellery :>

[theogonize]

autistic house but his oral fixation is just... you? you're his fav chew toy, suck toy and whatever else toy. he comes back home from the hospital and he just starts to kiss you, lick between your cleavage, making his way down your torso to your thighs, it's insides. lapping up at your swollen clit. he's messy with it in a way that can only be practised ease. it always doesn't have to be eating you out or sucking on your tits. (in my head) house just loves to sink his teeth into you at any point and mark you up. he looooves seeing the bruises on you, showing them off. he's territorial like that. he has to resist the urge to sit you on his lap and nibble on every inch of you. he doesn't even compliment you, he will literally bite you. biter autistic house..... this is so serious to me.

[theogonize]

something so visibly scary about watching someone you mentored turn into the worst of you. you can see that house not on empathises but also kind of holds himself responsible in a way, even though it isn't his fault. god i love this show.

still thinking about this scene where house was all commanding to foreman about taking his pills before he finally screams to house about how he didn’t want the pain to come back and house’s eyes soften in understanding.

[theogonize]

finals week would stress out the best students in your class and you weren't one of them. studying hours upon hours was not easy and left you cranky and depressed. fortunately you had something you were sure the others didn't have. your biblically gorgeous boyfriend twice your age who also happened to be the head of oncology at a prestigious teaching hospital here.

not only was wilson insanely smart, he'd been through the motions of giving multiple exams, preparing for the mcat, studying for practicals and the like. you could always rely on him to be there for you, he made sure of that.

despite being super busy with patients, he would call you every few hours to check up on you, never letting you get too freaked out about things and keeping you grounded. he would listen to you ramble for hours about how scared you were or how much work you had remaining. he'd be intently listening and comforting you through your daily breakdowns. ((⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠))

certainly, he had no obligation to be this sweet to you. i mean, any guy, even an year older would think of you as immature and accuse you of blowing things out of proportion. but your 20-something-years older boyfriend is way past childish comparisons of who has it harder... because it's obviously him. but he never lets you feel that way.

sometimes you try to push him away, hating how pathetic you may seem to him. but he tells you he felt the same in med school so he can empathize. what did you do to deserve this man?

wilson would get home and pull you into the bedroom for some quality cuddle time. he'd run his fingers through your hair and lightly massage your scalp to soothe you. he would insist on giving you a back massage after all the hours of sitting you'd done. he would run a bath for both of you to to take together after he returns from his shifts late at night. he'd do everything to help you relax; play some jazz, light up candles, get some of the expensive wine his coworkers gift him. he would even dry your hair as you revised before bed. then put you to sleep whispering praises and softly rubbing circles in your back.

wilson knows just what you like but more importantly what you need. and it's always him.

[theogonize]

when you and doctor wilson, your gorgeous boss, finally have the long anticipated kiss, he pulls away from it a few minutes in. he runs his veiny hands through his hair, he's so fucked. you- you minx. you're 20 years younger than him. he's 20 years older than you! he can only manage out a broken sigh before he dives back in, he doesn't even know why. but it's hungrier, with more lust and want, gathering it on the tip of his tongue and shoving it down your throat. his hands are clawing at your waist, never lower. his breath is staggered as he nearly pins you against his desk. he is so fucked. and you will be too.

[theogonize]

wilson's run to the ground after his fourth divorce. he's becoming more and more like house. he doesn't care for love anymore or so he thinks. but you're exactly what he needs. young, pretty and naive. he likes all of those things about you and you know it. it's different when he calls you naive, he doesn't have the contempt in his voice like house does. he likes it. so naturally you like it. he's got this thing where he could say anything, literally anything, call you a dumb bitch for no reason, but because his smile is so sweet and his eyes are so kind and his lips taste like coffee creamer and he smells like sanitizer and he is so much older and experienced than you, you'd let it slide.

and likewise, he knows you have a thing for him because he's older and he makes you feel safe. he knows you look at him with something clouding your lust, a kind of love he knows you're misplacing. but it makes him feel happier about aging, knowing he can milk your daddy issues for all they're worth. he's perceptive and empathetic, those are two things people love about him. he notices everything. everything you never did about yourself. he knows you don't like talking about your dad. he knows you like it when he's protective over you. when he makes you breakfast in the morning. when he doesnt call you "baby" or "honey" like he usually would with a partner but "princess" and "doll". he knows you like him boasting about his experience. he knows you like him towering over you. he knows he can trap you with reassurance. but he doesnt make you call him daddy because then it would be obvious to you too.

everyday he thanks the man that scarred you. feeling grateful it is him that takes his place.

[theogonize]

ao3 is calling my name rn

THIS IS INCREDIBLY HOT?????

[theogonize]

house and you as pill/smoke buddies is on my brain rn mhmmm...

it probably starts when he catches you on the roof, blunt in hand, sighing into the void. your lab coat is abandoned on the sill. hard day at the hospital, child patient. couldn't save them. you know this is a high stress job, emotionally draining and you've never been good at coping. so there you are. some diazepam you swallowed down thirty minutes prior already in your system. must've kicked in already. house see's you and he's instantly intrigued by the arch of your back and the curve of your hips. perfect in those tight pencil skirts you wear. he doesn't know you but he's dying to figure out.

"i think you've stolen my spot." he clambers up to you. he's surprised you hadn't turned when you heard the cane. were you so deep in thought? you turn to look at him. register him. disheveled looking older man, 5 o'clock shadow, piercing blue eyes... and so you're type. you try to recall who he is. definitely a physician from the absence of a lab coat. is this the infamous...

"dr. house," he states. obviously the speed of your reaction, or lack thereof had intrigued him. your pupils were dilated and your breathing was irregular... though you might attribute that to present company "and you should not be this high while still in the hospital."

you breathe out the smoke you inhaled with a slight smirk. it makes him smirk too. you turn your back to the view and face him and subsequently eye his frame. he returns the favor, a lot less suggestively then you were. but of course he can't hold you to it, the way your eyes flutter is mostly because of the weed. heavy, intoxicating eyes. something tells you he doesn't mind it.

"don't tell. i'll leave in a minute and you can have your space back" you say.

"i said you stole my spot... who says you have to give it back?"

you smile and scoot over, tilting your head slightly gesturing him to join you. he pops two vicodin innocuously but you notice.

"damn, you swallow your pills dry? you're a sociopath" you giggle.

"i thought you as a doctor would be careful throwing around serious medical terms like that" he says, feigning an accusation. there's something about the intensity of eye contact you're holding. you've just met the guy and there's wayyy too much sexual tension in the air.

"not in the psychiatric department so no one can hold me to it," you say, blowing smoke in another direction. some part of house wanted you to blow the smoke right at him, not breaking the mutual eyefucking going on at the moment.

"how else did you get the lorazepam you've taken?" he asks, a sly tone like he has you all figured out. this was just a question to get you to spill the beans about your department. god you made him so curious. rarely had he seen a hot young doctor brazenly smoking after, presumably, taking a little something something. one so open to converse with an old man whose in her business.

you chuckle at his self assuredness.

"wanna take another guess?"

house uses this to shamelessly eye you. you're well put together, great sense of fashion. nice proportions. your body, not the outfits... he'd prefer you without them surely. no tremor. no injury, so no usual pain medication. you let out a heavy sigh and house darts his eyes towards your chest. great rack, he thinks, almost like he's going to put it in this mental patient report he's creating.

"hmmm, haloperidol? you don't strike me as the psychosis type though... i don't see anything indicating you inject yourself with ativan. diazepam?"

"you know your anxiety medication, doc," you smile. he sighs abashedly. god he's hot. something about that rasp in his voice, good god, paired with the vanity radiating off his skin... it does something to you. you finally introduce yourself, partially because you need him to call you by your name in the same raspy, smug tone.

"pediatric pulmonology..." he puts a hand to his chin, scratching his stubble as if contemplating something serious, "it's always the childcare specialists trying to overdose on the hospital terrace. dont blame you, if i had to deal with those parasites i'd want to kill myself too."

you shoot him a look. your sure you dont need to tell him the stakes of the job, the weight on your soul when a child with an obvious chronic and fatal condition comes into intensive care. the cruel hand fate plays on a mere baby. "kids are a product of their environment." you put plainly. you look away into the distance. "and i'm not trying to kill myself. not yet anyway." he stops prodding, obviously he's ticked you in some way.

"are you trying to kill yourself? doctor house?" you stare at him now, and then move your eyes to the almost empty bottle of vicodin.

"oh, i'm an addict. an addict whose due for a refill." he puts the bottle at eye level, as if examining a test tube. you can't help but give a defeated smile at his bluntness. you stare off into space again. a hollow silence follows. you don't dare look at house once.

"you mind if i take a hit"

his question catches you off guard. there's an earnest in his blue eyes. almost as if involuntarily, almost hypnotized, you hand him the joint. your fingers brush as if on purpose. your breath hitches again. and house notices, coloring his eyes a different shade of vain. he puts the blunt to his lips, your eyes follow his every move with heed. the pink of his lips soon emit the familiar smoke. he looks you right in the eyes as he blows it onto your face. you bask in the smoke letting it cloud you. cloud your judgement for a split second as you lean forward. for a kiss? maybe but

house puts the blunt to your lips this time, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. you look up at him through your lashes, eyes blown out wide. he's so tall, even with his cane. he lets you intake the smoke for a second longer than you like, maintaining the intense gaze on you. there's a kick in your stomach. maybe it's something. maybe it's nothing. maybe you're just high. but you swear you've never been wetter.

[theogonize]

we need to desperately talk about robert sean leonard's GUITARIST hands because this is just too much for me to bear on my own

yeah................ and the forearms. oh the forearms. just kill me already.

im sighing so hard my lungs are gonna fall off i need him carnally