Everyone has a breaking point, a moment where their sanity snaps and James just reached it. He doesn't know where his calm went to hide, but he's vibrating with barely reigned anger, and it's like the turmoil is feeding on itself, growing until all he can think is that he won't take it anymore. That's it, finito, game over.
When the bane of his existence smirks as he stalks over, amused, James pushes him hard against the first available vertical surface. It happens to be the fridge and there's a big rattle inside as it rocks with the force of impact. James is plastered against House, an arm across his chest so he doesn't move until he's said everything that needs to be said.
"I've had it. I've had it with you, and your games, and your methodical sabotage of my love life," James all but growls directly in House's face.
For the first time he can recall, House doesn't talk back, no smartass quip, not even a mocking eyebrow. He's still, listening for once, so James barrels on.
"From now on, you mind your own business. Is that clear?" James demands.
"Yes," House says, and his voice is unusually gravelly.
It makes James frown, but then he notices how House's breathing is ragged, short little pants between parted lips. James moves his forearm up against House's throat and it's like the pupils of House's eyes all but eat the blue, blowing wide. The fucker is turned on by this. By him.
"You can't be serious?" Wilson says, but the growing hardness against his hip doesn't lie. House answers by arching against him, wanton, a dare in his eyes.
"'Fraid so," he says, licking his lips. A pink flash of tongue and Wilson follows it with his own, crashing his mouth on House's in a bruising kiss.
James doesn't know why he does it, even as he claims House's mouth as his. Wonders why it never happened before, too, it's just so right. Then James decides that it's going to happen way more often from now when House opens up and surrenders with a whimper.
House, House/Wilson, Dominance and submission (and how the hell did THAT happen? o_o)
When the bane of his existence smirks as he stalks over, amused, James pushes him hard against the first available vertical surface. It happens to be the fridge and there's a big rattle inside as it rocks with the force of impact. James is plastered against House, an arm across his chest so he doesn't move until he's said everything that needs to be said.
"I've had it. I've had it with you, and your games, and your methodical sabotage of my love life," James all but growls directly in House's face.
For the first time he can recall, House doesn't talk back, no smartass quip, not even a mocking eyebrow. He's still, listening for once, so James barrels on.
"From now on, you mind your own business. Is that clear?" James demands.
"Yes," House says, and his voice is unusually gravelly.
It makes James frown, but then he notices how House's breathing is ragged, short little pants between parted lips. James moves his forearm up against House's throat and it's like the pupils of House's eyes all but eat the blue, blowing wide. The fucker is turned on by this. By him.
"You can't be serious?" Wilson says, but the growing hardness against his hip doesn't lie. House answers by arching against him, wanton, a dare in his eyes.
"'Fraid so," he says, licking his lips. A pink flash of tongue and Wilson follows it with his own, crashing his mouth on House's in a bruising kiss.
James doesn't know why he does it, even as he claims House's mouth as his. Wonders why it never happened before, too, it's just so right. Then James decides that it's going to happen way more often from now when House opens up and surrenders with a whimper.