Cheating: House MD: Fanfic: but you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning light

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Title: but you're gonna hate yourself in the morning light
Fandom: House MD
Rating: 16+
Length: 0.7k
Content notes: Cheating, of course.
Author notes: Also for elasticella's a softer ficathon. A self-fill. Title from The "I" In Lie by Patrick Stump.
Summary: Wilson is married again. This doesn't deter House.

"House," Wilson starts heavily, grabbing at his hip as he pulls him closer. His face is twisting with guilt, a motion that makes him almost sure that he hasn't slept with someone other than his wife before this. But oh, he knows Wilson's tricks, he knows it's all a facade. "I'm married now. We shouldn't be doing this."

 

If anything, Wilson getting married *again* is only a bigger incentive for what he's doing. They fucked like tomorrow wouldn't come for the months upon months Wilson was blissfully single and House had just started to grow used to missing a muscle in his leg. It was a lot of experimentation, a lot of him attempting to top even while his leg complained, but they had found their rhythm.

 

And now Wilson decides to throw it all away. Julie's not even particularly kind or pretty or *damaged*, she's nowhere needy enough to fill Wilson's quota for too long. That's why House is the best match for Wilson, because he won't ever stop needing him to exercise his Messiah complex. He'll spend the rest of eternity writing down his prescriptions, brushing their fingers together and trying to pretend that there is nothing to be found among their little trysts.

 

"Yeah, you're married now," he starts, grabbing him. Wilson doesn't complain. "That doesn't stop you from wanting to fuck one of the secretaries, one of the accountants, one of all those women. Why not me?"

 

"There's a difference between wanting and doing," Wilson protests, face screwed up in distaste.

 

"There is," he agrees happily. "And you're going to cross that difference and get right to *doing*."

 

Wilson shakes his head, steps back from him.  House's room has always been a disaster, his unmade bed, clothes strewn across the carpet floor, chairs and his various instruments somewhere or the other. Wilson nearly trips against a bedpost.

 

"Getting married is when our *thing* finishes, House. And this time it's for real."

 

"You had no issue sleeping with me when you were *dating* Julie," he points out. "Now she has a ring on her finger! Big deal." He pauses. "One you don't, for that matter. Never have seen you with it, actually."

 

Wilson falls silent for several seconds and catches interest on the leather jacket on the floor. "I don't like rings," he falls onto.

 

"Oh, bullshit. A serial monogamist doesn't like rings?" he exclaims, limping towards him. There's a little manic glint to his eye, but he can't really blame himself. Wilson posing a slight mystery, a slight puzzle is always alluring. "Even if you didn't, you'd wear them for your oh-so-beloved wife. You just don't have it on because you're too busy screwing half the damn hospi—"

 

Wilson cuts him off. The kiss is abrupt, so House doesn't respond for a few seconds before he's replying, eager and hungry. He groans into Wilson's open mouth, digs into him, lets their tongues meet as he grunts. They're chest-to-chest now, Wilson's hands on House's hips,  digging deep into the crease of the bone.

 

When they pull away, House is smiling from ear to ear. "I knew you weren't above adultery," he says.

 

Truth be told, he knows Wilson is above very few things. And he loves sounding smug, so he'll go ahead and say it— he could tempt Wilson into anything; just existing is very much enough to make him go ahead and break his moral compass for him.

 

Wilson clicks his tongue, looks away. "I'm not, apparently."

 

"It's hot," he says without thinking twice.

 

He blinks at him. "What? What's hot?"

 

"The way you'll do anything for me," House says, leaning in to kiss him again. "Your moral bankruptcy when it comes to me. It's delicious."

 

Wilson's face twists, but he's a little hot under the collar too. He can tell. "I'm not morally bankrupt—"

 

House laughs and kisses him. He kisses back; of course he does, teeth and tongue, furious against his own. "Come on, fuck me already. You can even pretend I'm your wife."

 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but he doesn't protest. He doesn't even deny that he'll do that. All he does is push House onto the bed, onto his back, before starting to pull down his pants.