http://flywoman.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
flywoman.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2012-03-06 10:22 pm
flywoman.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-03-06 10:22 pm
Measured violence and tenderness by Emilys_List (NC-17)
Fandom: HOUSE M.D.
Pairing: House/Cuddy, House/Wilson
Length: 5871 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emilys_list
Author Website: Author's Fic on AO3
Why this must be read:
This author has produced just a handful of fics for the House fandom, but I still had trouble deciding which one to share. I chose "Measured violence and tenderness" in part because the very title captures one of the common threads that draw me toemilys_list 's fic: the complex, sometimes even contradictory motives and emotions that drive the interactions between House, Wilson, and Cuddy - the cruelty of one moment highlighting the unlooked-for kindness of the next. It's funny and sad and screwed-up and in-character and incredibly hot.
"I missed your laugh," House says in his best beatific voice, and Wilson can't stop his smile in response.
Why it's this that breaks him down is hard to say. He turns to House and grabs the collar of his t-shirt with one hand, stroking the ribbed material with his thumb. "Stay still and don't say anything," he whispers. His hand stays put, so does House himself, and Wilson leans in, finally, agonizingly slow. At first it's too wet, and awkward, but there's a fragment of relief in giving in. He leans on that relief and his other hand fumbles to the back of House's neck, stroking the hairline and skin he finds there. He sighs, content, and slips his tongue into House's mouth. He hears and feels House emit a little moan, and Wilson is surprised for the first time that evening.
When they finally pull apart, House is wild eyed, aroused, while still trying to arrange this Rubik's Cube into correct formation. "You kissed me," he accuses. Wilson's hand is still on House's shirt, now resting roughly over his heart. He presses his hand in firmly and kisses the side of House's neck. He gives him access, more access, craning his head to the other side.
"Right," Wilson rasps against his skin. House tastes salty, he thinks, as he runs his tongue from mastoid process to clavicle. The hand over House's heart crawls down his front, to the hem, and here it pauses. It could head back north, underneath the soft cotton, feeling his muscles, scars, and the expansive stretch of skin waiting under the radar. Or, he could unbutton and unzip House's pants and stroke his cock. Decisions, decisions.
Before he gets the chance to venture forth, House lays a hand over his. "I can't do this."
It's now that embarrassment floods Wilson's cheeks with blush, bravado all but gone. (Erection still intact, though, to be clear.) He pulls away and folds his arms across his chest. "Right, right, I know, right."
House is shifting, rearranging, and it's clear he has something intact, too. "I'm not gay."
"I'm not gay," Wilson quickly responds. He bites his lip, his hand finding the back of his neck in his worst nervous tick. He's perspiring, just a little, in what he hopes is not an unattractive amount. Against what he thinks he should do, he goes with the truth instead. "I think I may be... gay for you. Only."
House's face warms, fading into a smile. But he packs it away. "I'm. I can't be kissing other people. It's not something I do."
"And by that you're implying it's something I do, right?" Wilson moves off the couch, away, to the kitchen for another beer. He uncaps one for each of them and hands a bottle to House, their fingertips brushing.
"I don't have to imply anything, it's a truth universally acknowledged that you're a whore."
Measured violence and tenderness
Pairing: House/Cuddy, House/Wilson
Length: 5871 words
Author on LJ:
emilys_listAuthor Website: Author's Fic on AO3
Why this must be read:
This author has produced just a handful of fics for the House fandom, but I still had trouble deciding which one to share. I chose "Measured violence and tenderness" in part because the very title captures one of the common threads that draw me to
emilys_list 's fic: the complex, sometimes even contradictory motives and emotions that drive the interactions between House, Wilson, and Cuddy - the cruelty of one moment highlighting the unlooked-for kindness of the next. It's funny and sad and screwed-up and in-character and incredibly hot."I missed your laugh," House says in his best beatific voice, and Wilson can't stop his smile in response.
Why it's this that breaks him down is hard to say. He turns to House and grabs the collar of his t-shirt with one hand, stroking the ribbed material with his thumb. "Stay still and don't say anything," he whispers. His hand stays put, so does House himself, and Wilson leans in, finally, agonizingly slow. At first it's too wet, and awkward, but there's a fragment of relief in giving in. He leans on that relief and his other hand fumbles to the back of House's neck, stroking the hairline and skin he finds there. He sighs, content, and slips his tongue into House's mouth. He hears and feels House emit a little moan, and Wilson is surprised for the first time that evening.
When they finally pull apart, House is wild eyed, aroused, while still trying to arrange this Rubik's Cube into correct formation. "You kissed me," he accuses. Wilson's hand is still on House's shirt, now resting roughly over his heart. He presses his hand in firmly and kisses the side of House's neck. He gives him access, more access, craning his head to the other side.
"Right," Wilson rasps against his skin. House tastes salty, he thinks, as he runs his tongue from mastoid process to clavicle. The hand over House's heart crawls down his front, to the hem, and here it pauses. It could head back north, underneath the soft cotton, feeling his muscles, scars, and the expansive stretch of skin waiting under the radar. Or, he could unbutton and unzip House's pants and stroke his cock. Decisions, decisions.
Before he gets the chance to venture forth, House lays a hand over his. "I can't do this."
It's now that embarrassment floods Wilson's cheeks with blush, bravado all but gone. (Erection still intact, though, to be clear.) He pulls away and folds his arms across his chest. "Right, right, I know, right."
House is shifting, rearranging, and it's clear he has something intact, too. "I'm not gay."
"I'm not gay," Wilson quickly responds. He bites his lip, his hand finding the back of his neck in his worst nervous tick. He's perspiring, just a little, in what he hopes is not an unattractive amount. Against what he thinks he should do, he goes with the truth instead. "I think I may be... gay for you. Only."
House's face warms, fading into a smile. But he packs it away. "I'm. I can't be kissing other people. It's not something I do."
"And by that you're implying it's something I do, right?" Wilson moves off the couch, away, to the kitchen for another beer. He uncaps one for each of them and hands a bottle to House, their fingertips brushing.
"I don't have to imply anything, it's a truth universally acknowledged that you're a whore."
Measured violence and tenderness