Chapter Text
The sun’s rays beamed into the room through the opened window. The brightness made House turn his face away subconsciously while still asleep, his back against the headboard. Inevitably, his eyes fluttered open, glancing around his unfamiliar surroundings.
His body went rigid as soon as he peered to the side, seeing Wilson lying still. Shirtless and laying on his stomach, with blankets covering his lower body. House’s eyes widened, practically gawking at his apparent bare frame.
Somehow, the last thing House noticed in the bedroom was a shirtless man laying in bed beside him. Specifically, his best friend.
His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down, peeling the comforter down further. Seeing Wilson still had his pants on, his face instantly relaxed in relief as he scoffed at the absurdity of his own assumptions. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption, considering the turn their friendship had taken recently. Given the circumstances of their newfound dependence, House was honestly expecting them to have sex sooner or later.
At the same time as the thought appeared in his head, he was hit with the realization that he had literally used Wilson’s thigh to make himself cum the night before. His eye twitched with visible disbelief, blinking rapidly. He couldn't tell if it was some odd, vivid dream, or if it genuinely happened.
The second his train of thought began going off the rails, the familiar sensation of nerves feeling like they're being torn to shreds snapped him back to reality. His hand snapped over to rub his thigh, a shaky sigh leaving his lips.
He practically started patting himself down, scavenging for his bottle of pills. Once he felt the feeling of plastic through his pant pocket, he sighed in relief. He hastily popped the bottle open and swallowed two of the chalky pills dry. Although the pills took what felt like years to numb the pain in his leg, the action of swallowing them made him feel at ease, both his body and mind.
A low murmur was heard from Wilson, the man sitting up shortly after. His hair was sticking up in directions that gravity shouldn't let happen. He grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, turning his head towards House.
“You actually sat there all night?” He mumbled, stretching his arms.
“I was waiting for you to get up and make breakfast.” House chuckles, his head thudding against the headboard. Groaning, he leaned forward and rubbed the back of his head.
Wilson rolled his eyes, staring at his hands for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he threw the sheets off of himself, walking hastily towards his closet. He’d most likely realized that he was late to work, without any good excuse for missing three hours. As he hurriedly rummaged through his clean shirts, he abruptly stopped.
Since House couldn't see his face, he had no way of predicting what he was about to say. He shifted in discomfort under the weight of the silence stretching between them, gripping the white sheet. The veins under his skin were abnormally visible, his body tense. Noticing this, he rolled his shoulders back as an attempt to calm his nerves, despite being unknowing of why he was so distressed.
“I’m sorry about last night.” Wilson sighed, foraging through his closet at a slower pace. He paused at each shirt, eyeing it for only a few seconds before shoving it to the left.
House scoffed and rolled his eyes. “For what?”
“I didn't mean to drag you into any of this.”
“I dragged myself into this.” House retorted, grabbing his cane off the bedside table. His leg throbbed as he put his weight onto his feet, gritting his teeth.
Wilson’s shoulders were taut, the muscles on his back shifting, complimented by the sun’s rays shining in through the window.
He turned around and swiftly buttoned his shirt, his hands smooth with calculated movements. House watched intently, investigating his delicate but efficient movements. The way Wilson’s fingers gently danced across the buttons was alluring. He couldn't take his eyes off him, no matter how much his brain was yelling at him to look at anything else. Something else he couldn't help was the small amount of blush forming on the tips of his ears.
House watched as Wilson’s hands moved down the cloth, his eyes locking on the freckle underneath his bellybutton. His body seemed to react in drastically different ways, jerking his head away as the blush spread to his cheeks. The skin on the bridge of his nose creased as he furrowed his brows. He’d seen Wilson shirtless multiple times, why was he reacting so heavily to a simple mole he’d never noticed?
God, the vicodin couldn't kick in any sooner.
“That wasn't sex.” The sound of House’s cane thudding against the floor filled the room, stopping as he got close enough to Wilson. His cold eyes were locked onto Wilson’s face, his voice contradicting his own facial expression. He looked awkward, but Wilson was sneering.
‘Huh.” Wilson replied, turning toward his closet again.
House mutters something incoherent under his breath, rolling his eyes.
“No one’s dick went inside anyone,” He continued, Wilson shaking his head in disbelief. “Therefore, not gay.”
Wilson grabbed a striped tie, an amused expression plastered across his face. “Right.” He chuckled, House’s eyebrows furrowing.
“Not gay.” He repeated, waggling his finger.
“Yeah. Grinding on your best friend's thigh shows nothing about a person’s sexual orientation.” House cocked his head, glaring at Wilson. His face contorted as he attempted to find some sort of comeback, thoroughly searching his own brain for an excuse. An excuse on why he did that, some way to twist the blame onto anyone but him.
“Why’d you let it happen?” House blurts. If he was in a cartoon, a lightbulb would’ve appeared above his head as soon as he fit those words together in his head.
He was so satisfied with himself to the point where he didn't even acknowledge the way Wilson’s hands froze, his eyes widening and his dark eyebrows furrowing. His adam’s apple bobbed as he somewhat composed himself, shaking his head.
“Dont deflect.” Wilson said, his tone nervous. His feet scuffed against the floor under them as he walked towards the bedroom door. “I don't know what’s going on in there,” Nudging House’s temple with his finger, he chuckled. “But you better find the answer to your puzzle.”
House’s lips parted in protest, but the only sound in the room was the door clicking shut. His brain seemed to short circuit, unable to comprehend what just happened. The events of the nights before replayed through his head like a slideshow. It was like the secondhand embarrassment everyone gets when the main character does something embarrassing. Except he was said character in this situation, which made it so, so much worse.
He stood still for a moment, his hand gripping his cane like it was his lifeline. Finally, he chuckled and shook his head like he was mocking himself for his own decisions. His cane thudded against the floor in an uneven rhythm as he walked toward the kitchen.
It wasn't long before he found himself standing motionless once again, just with a change of scenery. The cold tiles of the kitchen floor pressing against his feet was the only thing keeping him away from a completely different reality.
Why did Wilson let it happen?
The question swirled around in his head like a cyclone, repeating over and over. He couldn't even conjure up an answer to his own question. His pulse roars in his ears as he thinks back to last night. Wilson’s ragged and heavy breaths, the way he pressed House down onto his thigh, the feeling of ecstasy as his orgasm washed over him, it felt like he was reminiscing on a dream.
If it was a dream, that would've been much better. The feeling of warmth that he had felt the night before was still lingering, but it was mixed with a cold feeling, the feeling that he’d gone too far this time, adjusted something between them that would never go back to normal. The kiss was… something. But this, this was something that would be locked away in his memories forever, constantly echoing every time he thought of Wilson.
Although still in his clothes from yesterday, he limped toward the front door. He shoved his feet into his shoes, threw on a jacket, and practically ran out the door. It was more like a stumble. The only thing he could do to reclaim control over his mind was to run, cloud his thoughts in a drug induced haze. Since that wasn't an option, he physically ran away from any reminder of the night before.
—
It didn't work.
No matter what he tried to distract himself with, it didn't work. He’s tried everything that normally helps. Jokes towards Foreman that would be considered incredibly racist, mocking Cameron and Chase for whatever reason he could find, even clinic duty.
The team was off somewhere treating a patient for something she probably didn't have, so House was left alone in his office. He was fully sunken into his office chair, tapping his cane against the floor below him.
He couldn't stop thinking about Wilson. The feeling of pleasure he felt as he ground himself down onto Wilson’s thigh was still lingering. The thing that frustrated him the most was the fact that it didn't feel wrong. All of the late nights with hookers hardly amounted to what he was feeling.
Rather than feeling empty like all of his one night stands, it felt intimate. Like their bodies fit together perfectly. The worst part was that, every time he thought about it, he got hard. Like, painfully throbbing and pressing against his jeans, type of hard.
When House saw Wilson in the hallways, he noticed he didn't seem slightly bothered by the whole situation. He appeared composed and put together, while House was getting an erection even at the sight of him.
The truth was far from what House assumed. Wilson had been struggling to focus on anything all day, no matter how important it was. He was even late to an appointment with a patient to discuss chemotherapy options, which was the reason why he was slumped over on his desk, his head resting against his hand.
The three cups of coffee did nothing other than keeping his mind buzzing. He had too many unanswered questions that he was asking himself. The words on the patient file seemed to blend together as he zoned out, staring at the table below.
Everything from the night before kept recurring in his head, burying his face further and further into his hands every time it flashed across his mind. It was exhausting. Despite the strain on him mentally and physically, he couldn't help the way his heart sped up every time he circled back to it, warmth spreading through his whole body.
It was difficult to admit, especially to himself, but he wanted it to happen again. Maybe even more. He just wanted to touch him again, feel the warmth of his skin on his fingertips. His nails dug into his scalp as he realized how insane he sounded, his fist suddenly slamming against the desk.
“God…” he sighed as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. His eyes shot open at the sound of his door clicking open, composing himself in seconds.
His brows furrowed as he laid eyes upon Vincent. It wasn't as horrifying as it was when he first saw him in the bar, but it was still a little jarring. The two stared at each other for a few moments before the door clicked shut.
Vincent opened his mouth to speak, to begin the conversation, but Wilson beat him to it.
“How’d you get in here?” Wilson hisses, shrinking back into his chair. He shot Vincent a glare as he sat down in the chair in front of his desk.
“Your security sucks.” He states blankly, studying Wilson’s office. He paused at every small out of place detail, observing it intently. “You haven't changed.”
Wilson huffs and crosses his arms across his chest, “You don't know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think, James.”
Wilson tensed at his words. He couldn't help but feel threatened, hell, the guy was over a hundred years old. Despite his age, he appeared young. His jaw was sharp, his black mullet barely brushing his shoulders. His red eyes pierced everything he looked at. It was like he was designed solely to terrorize and target people.
“What do you want?” Wilson spits, his jaw tightening.
Vincent chuckles deeply at his defensiveness, leaning back in the chair. Silence followed Wilson’s question, the air becoming more suffocating by the second. Head vampires were always unbearable to be around, especially to ones of lower rank like Wilson. He knew Vincent was superior compared to him, he’d been born a vampire. To Vincent, Wilson was just a pawn in a chess game, someone he believed he could bend and manipulate at will.
“What do I want…” He repeats slowly, like he's tasting every syllable as it rolls off his tongue. Wilson’s gaze stays locked onto him, his soft brown eyes now transformed into something inhuman; dark and absent of any form of geniality.
Vincent clicks his tongue, taking in a deep inhale. “I want you to join my group.” He intertwines his fingers, his fingers digging into the top of his hands.
Wilson’s nose scrunches up in pure disgust, as if a pungent smell filled the room. Despite the expression on his face, his voice is smooth and composed.
“Your group?” He almost laughs at its absurdity as the words leave his mouth.
“It's all the vampires I've turned, like you.” Vincent continues, his eyes lidded. “All of us together, we’ll collect an inconceivable amount of blood.”
Wilson scoffs at him, rolling his eyes. A chuckle of pure disbelief and repugnance escapes his throat. “You’re disgusting.” He growls with a newfound confidence, contrasting to the way he hid away from him in the past.
As if he ignored the insult, Vincent kept speaking.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He states, resting his elbows on his thighs. His lanky limbs matched his frame, appearing absurdly tall even while sitting down.
“You never take no as an answer.” Wilson mumbles.
A grin forms on Vincent's face, a low hum rumbling from his throat. “I’ll get you somehow.”
Wilson’s lip twitches, his eyes narrowing as he waves his hand, signaling for him to keep talking. The chair almost flies backward as Vincent pushes it back, standing up with a sigh.
“I’ll deprive myself of blood,” he chuckles, heading toward the door. “You’ll come crawling back to me in a day.”
Before any retort could leave Wilson’s mouth, the door flew open, slamming shut shortly after. All he was left with was the knowledge that Vincent would do anything to bring him into his cult, and there was hardly anything he could do about it.
So, he did the only thing that he could do. There was another vampire in the hospital after all.
Wilson almost tripped on his own feet as he ran down the hallway, jamming himself into the elevator. He tapped his foot restlessly as he waited for the elevator to descend. It felt like it was moving one inch after another, as slow as an elevator could go.
The elevator doors sliding open caused a rush of relief to flood through him, darting through the gap as soon as it was large enough to fit someone through.
The doors to Cuddy’s office flung open as Wilson burst through, making her almost fall out of her seat. Wilson finally sighed as he came to an abrupt stop.
“We have a problem.” He gasps, running his hand down the side of his face.
Cuddy groans, setting down the papers in her hand. “Uh oh.” She raises her eyebrows as she sees his urgent expression. “Did House overdose again?”
Wilson raises his eyebrows as his frantic breaths come to a slow, even pace. “What? No.” Cuddy’s face seems to grow even more suspicious, tilting her head slightly.
“What's up?” Her dark eyes study Wilson’s facial expression, growing slightly concerned.
“Vincent was here.” He sighs, the name feeling like a razor blade sliding across his tongue. Cuddy’s eyes widened in disbelief and concern, springing up from her chair. “He’s asking me to join his group of vampires.” He continues, rubbing his forehead.
“When?” She gasps, stepping around her desk. Her voice is filled with worry, for the hospital and Wilson’s sake. “Was he here?”
“Just five minutes ago.”
“How’d he get in?” She pries.
Wilson sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don't know.”
Cuddy leans against her desk, one hand against her hip with the other on the desk. Her brows furrow as she tries to conjure up some explanation on why he was here. She was familiar with Vincent, due to Wilson being forced to explain his situation to her a few years back.
When he first got attacked by Vincent, he had to tell her what he was almost as soon as he knew what happened. Otherwise, it would be difficult to explain the frequent breaks and why he looked like shit every day. Shortly after he explained his vampirism, expecting to get fired immediately, Cuddy exposed that she was one as well. She figured it would be convenient for him to know, to further express her understanding and compassion.
“Okay, let's backtrack.” She starts, seemingly more composed than earlier. “What happened?”
“He threatened to deprive himself of blood if I didn't join his group.” Wilson began, “Which, obviously, would be worse for me.”
“I see.” Cuddy hummed, tapping her foot against the floor. “That’ll just dehydrate you more, which he hopes will lead you into giving in.” Sighing, she brings her hand up and runs her fingers through her hair.
Wilson nods, crossing his arms across his chest. It was moments like these where he was grateful he didn't keep himself completely closed off, knowing someone related to his unnatural struggles.
“You’ve been drinking from House, correct?” Wilson’s face jerks up immediately, his face flushing slightly. Cuddy scoffs and rolls her eyes, restraining herself from bursting out into laughter.
“You thought I didn't notice?” She chuckles, shaking her head. “Almost half the hospital is betting on something going on between you two.” If by half the hospital, she meant her and Chase, he was technically telling the truth.
“They’ve been doing that for years.” Wilson mumbles, looking anywhere but at Cuddy. She shrugs, pushing herself off her desk. Her heels click against the floor as she heads back to her desk.
“They have evidence this time.” She giggles.
A smile spread across Wilson’s face, favoring the joking banter between them. It felt familiar, distracting him from the large problem he was dealing with.
He watched her fingers begin darting around the keypad before she pressed the receiver to her ear. The phone rang three times before the buzzing stopped, someone picking up the phone on the other line.
“My office. Now.” Cuddy stated, sounding more like the Dean of Medicine than a companion. It was obvious she was talking to House, and it was also clear that he would take his sweet time making his way down. She barely gave him any time to speak before hanging up the phone, leaning back into her chair.
Wilson plopped down on the couch, sighing as he leaned his head back. “You’ve got a plan?” He asks, staring up at the ceiling.
“Mhm.” Cuddy hums in response, tapping her fingers on her desk.
The only sound in the room was Wilson’s heel tapping against the floor as he bounced his leg in anticipation. Minutes felt like hours as a pit formed in his stomach; the gravity of the situation finally hitting him like a brick wall. For however long Vincent decided to strip himself of blood, he would be in constant, never-ending discomfort.
One thing that passably brought him some comfort was his knowledge on vampires. He knew even lead vampires couldn't last long without blood without pouncing on someone. They needed it at least once a day.
He shot up out of his seat as the office door flung open, immediately making eye contact with House as he walked in.
“How many times do I have to tell you guys I'm not on heroin?” He groans, gesturing dramatically. Stopping in front of Cuddy’s desk, he looks between her and Wilson. He raises an eyebrow at their serious expressions.
“House.” Cuddy sighs, “You know about Vincent, right?” House’s face contorts in confusion as he looks back at Wilson, who shrugs at him.
“He came here.” Wilson says, fiddling with one of his buttons on his shirt. “He wants me to join some sort of… Cult thing. He’s willing to do anything to get me in on it.”
House’s eyes oscillated between the two of them. “What does Cuddy have to do with this?” As soon as he finishes his sentence, his eyes light up. He put the pieces together swiftly, and was gawking in disbelief. Pointing at Cuddy, he said no words, his mouth hanging open. “Seriously?” He chuckled.
Wilson stood awkwardly with his hands behind his back, looking at Cuddy as well. She sighed and stood up like an exhausted parent.
“Yes, I'm a vampire too. No, it isn't relevant.” She rubs the bridge of her nose while her other hand rests on her hip. “Vincent’s going to starve himself, which’ll amplify Wilson’s blood drive tremendously. It’ll be worse for Wilson than for Vincent.”
House’s face seems to relax a bit, a spark of worry flashing in his eyes. His grip on his cane tightened marginally, going unnoticed by the other two. Cocking his head to the side slightly, he stared at Cuddy, waiting for her to continue talking.
“If Wilson requests work off, at any time, he’s gonna get it.” She points at Wilson, his eyebrows shooting upward. “For you,” She suddenly points at House, “If he ever needs blood, you’re free to go to his apartment. But, every hour you’re gone during a shift, you have double that in clinic duty.” House clicks his tongue, but doesn't protest. The threat of clinic duty didn't seem to matter much to him in this situation.
“Alright.” He shrugs, tossing his cane back and forth between his hands. “Does this mean you can drink my blood too?” Cuddy groans.
Wilson’s hands tighten behind his back, his fingernails digging into his skin. A remotely audible growl echoes from his throat as his eyes narrow, staring daggers at House. Cuddy chuckles and plops back down into her chair, turning her computer on.
“Go back to work, you two.” She says, typing on her computer. House spins around and limps out of the office, stealing one last glance at Wilson.
Once the office was rid of House, Wilson glanced over at Cuddy. She could feel him staring at her, considering how he was literally fuming. Inevitably, she glances back up at him.
“I’m not gonna take your man.” She chuckles. “I have more important priorities than that.”
Although it was an unsubstantiated bout of jealousy, granted Cuddy wanted nothing to do with House, it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders at her reassurance. He dropped his hands to his sides and nodded at her before rushing out of the office.
A rush of relief rushed through him as he saw House walking into the elevator, almost sprinting toward the closing doors. He slipped through the door at the last moment, although he soon figured he should’ve taken the stairs.
“You got jealous.” House chuckles, a huge grin spread across his face.
“You provoked me.” Wilson retorts, clicking the a button on the panel.
“How?”
Wilson groans, rolling his eyes. “You asked another vampire if they could drink your blood.” He huffed.
House was right, he was jealous. He felt some sort of possession toward him, even the thought of another vampire preying on him made him grit his teeth. His lip twitched in agitation as the concept passed through his brain.
Of course, House noticed. He snickered as he eyed Wilson, taking note of his expressions.
“Is that so bad in the vampire world?” House asks, gesturing with his hands melodramatically. The pure amusement plastered across his face wasn't hiding how he felt about this situation.
“It's like asking someone to have sex with you with your boyfriend right beside you.” Wilson sighs, his eyebrows shooting upward as he realizes exactly what he just said.
House cracks up. “So, I'm your boyfriend now?” He asks in between chuckles.
“You know that isn't what I meant.” Wilson chuckles in an attempt to get rid of the sheepishness he was feeling. His fingers interlinked in front of his crotch to cover the obvious bulge. God, this elevator couldn't go any faster.
In spite of the fact that it was a normal comparison, his heart was thrumming in his ears. House’s laughter was just background noise. This shouldn't bother him so much, but it did, and there was nothing he could do about it besides laugh along.
Advantageously, the elevator doors slid open. Without looking back, Wilson hastily walked out of the elevator. As soon as he stepped out, it felt like a breath of air after being suffocated. His cock was throbbing against his jeans as his face flushed red, practically running down the hallway.
House stayed behind, shrugging off Wilson’s urgent pace. He probably had some random patient to meet with. He chuckled to himself once more as he walked toward his office, silently praying for something interesting to happen.
The events that took place in Cuddy’s office seemed to take House's mind off what had been distracting him all day. Now, the only thing stuck in his mind was the unknown complexity of the situation he and Wilson were in. It was mostly Wilson’s problem, but he did agree to be his personal blood bag, so he didn't exactly have a choice. Even though he contemplated it for a moment, backing out would be cruel. Sure, he was mean, but not that merciless.
The rest of the day at the hospital seemed to fly by with House’s newfound distraction. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the couch with a beer clutched in his hand, unopened. The condensation was dripping from the glass bottle onto his jeans.
The faint sound of the shower running filled the apartment. Wilson had been in there for thirty minutes, and House was on the verge of banging on the door to stop him from racking up the water bill, even though it wasn't even his apartment. Who knew what he was doing in there, anyway.
In his other hand, was his bottle of vicodin. The white pills began rattling around obnoxiously, concealing the sound of the water turning off. As soon as he noticed the water was off, he felt heavy, labored breaths on his shoulder. Then a water droplet.
“House.” Wilson gasped. His lips were inches away from House’s skin, his heart rate spiking immediately.
“What?” House grinned, setting his beer down beside him.
Wilson growled. He could practically taste him, he was so close. Instead of lurching forward and attaching to House’s flesh, he leaned down and ran his tongue up from his shoulder to his neck.
A shiver ran down his spine as he tasted him, warmth immediately spreading throughout his entire body. His eyes were dark, dragging across House’s skin. His mouth opened to say something, and shut again.
House chuckled, slightly tilting his head to the side. “You gonna tell me what you want? Or are you gonna hover over me all night?” Wilson growled and licked his lips.
“You.” He snarled. His hand made its way to House’s upper arm, tightening his grasp and digging his fingernails into his flesh. He was trying to hold himself back. No matter how desperate Wilson got, he swore to himself, he would never drink from someone unprovoked or without them agreeing beforehand.
“Me, or my blood?” House asked, Wilson glaring at him. Without hesitation, he hastily walked around the couch, appearing in front of him.
To his surprise, Wilson had barely any clothes on. He had sweatpants that were a size too big, almost falling off his waist. They weren't tied, like he threw them on as fast as he could. His bare chest was still damp with water, his hair sopping wet.
House’s eyes trailed back down his sculpted body. Wilson’s skin was riddled with goosebumps, trailing up his arms. His eyes traced every curve, moving down from his chest, down to his stomach, finally stopping at the hair trailing down his lower stomach, disappearing behind the cloth of his sweat pants. He almost let out a groan of dissatisfaction, wishing those pants weren't in the way.
Wilson stood there, his chest heaving, waiting for the green light. House’s eyes trailed back up to his face, smirking. He cocked his head to the side, exposing the uncovered bite mark on his neck.
“Bite.” He commanded, the smirk on his lips growing as he saw Wilson’s eyes widen, like a rabid animal.
He lurched forward, his hands landing on House’s shoulders. Burying his nose into his neck, he took in a deep, shaky breath. Wilson growled possessively, the smell of him making his stomach twist into a knot. His sharp teeth glistened with saliva as he opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into House’s thin flesh.
The pain was sharp for only a moment, subsiding into pleasure shortly after. It felt natural, making both of them feel complete. All of their problems slowly mushed together and disappeared, only focused on each other.
House’s blood tasted rich, like chocolate. It was sweet and thick, sliding down his throat with ease. His scent mixed perfectly, taking in a deep breath after every pull from his neck. Small gasps and groans escaped House’s mouth as the bliss overtook his body. The world felt like it shrunk down just to them, nothing else mattered.
“Mmh…” Wilson moaned into his neck, draining the blood from his veins faster than his heart was pumping. Fucking Vincent. This wasn't even the worst it was going to get. It’d only been a few hours since he started depriving himself.
Slowly, House’s mind started to buzz. His limbs felt heavy, and the only thought in his mind was on how good it felt. This was how he felt last time, when he almost passed out. Wilson was still greedily sucking on his neck like he couldn't get enough.
Suddenly, a memory popped into his mind. The only thing he could remember was Wilson’s apologies and his brown eyes glistening, like he was going to cry. He saw guilt.
Then he remembered, that was when he almost passed out. Wilson got too carried away and almost sucked him dry, and he could feel the same thing slowly creeping up on him. His hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as he forced it up in the air, tapping on Wilson’s back with his fingers.
“Wilson —” House muttered, his voice small. “Hold — hold on…” He sounded pathetic. He hated it, but it was all he could force out of his mouth. He raised his hand, pressing his cool palm against Wilson’s bare back.
As soon as House’s hand landed on his back, his fingers pressing against his skin, Wilson seemed to snap out of his daze. He detached his lips from his neck, sliding his fangs out slowly. Both of them were panting, their eyes glazed over. They sat there staring at each other for only a few seconds, but it felt longer. House’s lidded blue eyes locked onto him, only focused on him, made satisfaction course through him.
House was his, he belonged to him, and no one else could touch him besides Wilson. No one else could see him like this, only him.
“Haa… God.” Wilson dropped his head onto House’s shoulder, eyeing the beads of blood forming at the wound.
Gradually, their breathing went back to normal. House’s eyes stayed locked on Wilson for as long as he could. Slowly, Wilson moved himself to sit beside House. Every part of his brain, his instincts were telling him to stay connected with him for as long as possible.
Inevitably, he plopped down onto the cushions and shut his eyes.
“I don't know how I'm gonna manage this.” Wilson admits, his eyes fluttering open.
House chuckles weakly, still recovering from his blood loss.
“I’ll be your blood bag, as long as I can get out of work.” Wilson snickered, his eyes locking back onto House.
The realization made him freeze for a moment, raising his eyebrows. He genuinely couldn't live if he was away from House for more than aday. He resisted the urge to put his face into his hands, but his eyes made their way back to House’s neck.
Blue veins were slightly visible under his skin, slightly pink around the wound. The blood had clotted, but the scent was still filling the room. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, still thirsting for him. It had been 6 hours since Vincent declared he was going to starve himself, and the effects were already hitting him like a wall. Even worse, he was hard. His hands were crossed over his lap, hiding it.
Wilson sighed dramatically as he jumped up off the couch, stretching his legs.
“I need some air.” He said urgently. House’s open wound still reeked of that rich, sweet scent, and it was suffocating. He wouldn't be able to stay in that room without pouncing on him again.
“Mm.” House hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. He obviously noticed Wilson’s eyes darting back and forth from his neck to his face, but he felt too exhausted to care. In fact, he felt like he was going to fall asleep right there.
Before Wilson’s out of the door, House’s eyes drift shut. The sound of his bare feet shuffling against the floor slowly faded away as he drifted off to sleep, his nostrils flaring.
The next few days were going to be intense, may as well catch up on as much of his beauty sleep as possible.
-
The sound of newspaper rustling was a great alarm clock. Big red letters on a clock read the time 10:23 AM. House’s eyes immediately darted over to where the rustling was coming from. Wilson was sitting on the chair with his legs propped up on the coffee table.
As soon as House laid eyes on him, he had a twisting feeling in his gut. Today was going to be far from satisfying. His hair was messy, dark bags were under his eyes, and his hands were trembling. Along with that, his eyes were completely black. Not that light brown color that they typically looked, they were completely dark. Like his pupils stretched so wide, they completely took over his irises.
“You look great.” House mocks him, running his hand up and down his own thigh, the remainder of his muscle already aching.
Wilson shoots him a glare, his dark eyes making House tense up unintentionally. Not noticeably, just enough to surprise himself. A mocking grin still stays plastered on his face, grabbing the bright orange bottle off the coffee table.
“Not going to work today?” He asks, two chalky pills falling into his hand. Quickly, he tosses them into his mouth, the pills sliding down his throat.
Wilson’s lip twitches upward as he flips the page, shaking his head. “If I go to work, I might actually fall apart.” He chuckles, his expression unchanging from neutrality.
“Yeah, because you’re so fragile.” House snickers, grabbing his cane off the couch arm. He hisses in pain as he stands up, jolts of pain ripping through his flesh like a razor blade. Wilson's eyes darted over to him, a spark of concern shining in his eyes. His eyebrow twitches upwards.
“You’re twitchy today.” House comments, stepping closer to him. His eyes run up and down Wilson, analyzing him closely.
Wilson can't deny the low, idiotic churning in his gut. Not from nausea, not deprivation, from the man right in front of him. He breathes slowly through his nose, gripping the newspaper tightly, attempting to hide the way every single part of his body is shaking.
House needed to distance himself. Wilson could practically hear his blood sloshing around inside his body, he could almost taste it. His musky scent wasn't making it any better, it was more prominent than ever due to Vincent’s starvation. Everything was more prominent, especially his urges.
“I wonder why.” He retorts after a few moments of silence, staring, his eyes darting back to his newspaper. “You’re late.”
“You’re holding your breath.” House snarks at Wilson, analyzing his tense behavior. “I don't bite.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, still looking at the newspaper. He wasn't even reading it. “You should be the one worried about biting.”
House doesn't respond. His grip tightens on his cane for a moment, his balance faltering. Cursing under his breath, he limps toward the bathroom. As soon as he enters the room, his eyes dart toward the mirror and lock onto the bite mark.
Each time it happens, it becomes less and less of a shock to see the morning after. He’s noticed it's become more like reminiscing instead of regretting each morning, each time he’s reminded of their intimate acts. It’s become a natural thing that happens between them, the two of them relying on each other physically and mentally to stay sane.
The cold air against him once he strips naked makes him shiver, goosebumps spreading across his frame. He almost recoils at the thought of Wilson’s warm hands touching him. His soft, warm fingertips tracing every single inch of his body, cradling him against his own body. He could already feel heat pooling in his stomach.
His eyebrows flutter as he blinks rapidly, trying to snap out of whatever trance he was in. He slid on his boxers, jeans, and then buttoned up his shirt. Slipping on a black blazer, he grabbed his cane and limped out of the cramped room. First thing in the morning, he gets an erection.
“Dont fall apart without me.” House calls out to Wilson as he shuffles toward the front door, slipping on his shoes. No response. He cocks an eyebrow, but shrugs it off. He swings the door open, maybe too dramatically, before limping into the hallway.
An unidentified noise slips through the molecular cracks of the doorway from Wilson’s apartment, House’s body coming to a halt. He glances back at the door, his chest unusually tight. Maybe he should’ve offered Wilson a bite before he left. Hell, what he was feeling was probably comparable to withdrawal.
Shaking his head, he moves down the hallway as fast as he can.
-
As it was most of the time, work was the same. Pointless, uninteresting diagnoses flew by like birds. The only thing that had caught his attention was the tension between Chase, Cameron, and Foreman.
Chase had been eyeing House closely for the past few days, picking up on every detail that seemed out of the ordinary. He perked up at any mention of House and Wilson. Even worse, he was making it painfully obvious.
The three of them had been bickering back and forth all day, between what illness they believed the patient had, or being pissy over literally anything. Chase seemed to be the main target of the other two. He looked genuinely sad as they sat in the diagnostics office, going over patient files. Chase’s leg bounced anxiously as they discussed the cafeteria's disgusting spaghetti.
House’s eyes dug into Chase's skin, probably the reason for his restless exterior.
“Those meatballs aren't real meat. On my life.” Cameron snickered, tossing a patient file to the side.
Foreman chuckled along, grabbing the file she put aside. “Just bring lunch from home.” He clicks his tongue. “Even better, order something else.” Cameron rolls her eyes, shooting a glare at Chase as he chuckles along with Foreman.
“Count me in on the homemade lunches.” House sneered, his cane thudding against the floor.
Cameron scoffed. “You’re the reason I don't bring food from home.”
“I swear I didn't steal it last time!” House raises his hands in mock surrender. “Or the time before that.” Cameron cocked her eyebrow at him.
“Put laxatives in the peanut butter.” Chase deduces, and Cameron looks like she's genuinely considering it.
Chase’s shoulders seemed to relax, his whole demeanor changing. It was just friendly banter between co-workers, nothing to seem weird about. The only thing that was weird was House. He was still staring at Chase.
As the team began rising out of their seats, finally noticing it was around lunchtime and heading for the cafeteria. As Chase scooted out of his chair, House held up a hand at him.
“Sit.” House points down, Chase complying. Like a dog following its owner's orders. House snickered.
“You need to learn how to hide your gay fantasies better.” House leans back in his chair, eyes still locked on Chase.
He blinks, once, then again. Cocking his head to the side, he furrows his eyebrows.
“...what?” Chase asks.
They lapse into silence, the two staring at each other. Chase looks like he was making up a thousand excuses in his head, and House just wanted him to be honest. No, he neededhim to be honest. He felt obligated to delve into what Chase thought of them, an odd urge, but not much different than how he was normally.
Before House can open his mouth again, Chase snickers.
“Almost the entire hospital is betting on your relationship. Cuddy started it.” He says, still chuckling. House’s eyebrows shoot upward as his heartbeat speeds up slightly. He scoffs, turning his attention away from his quickening heart rate. “Me and her are on the side of you two having something going on, everyone else says otherwise. I’m still truly shocked by that.”
House stares at him for a moment, before grinning and shaking his head. Wilson’s gonna be thrilled.
“Is coma guy in on it too?” House asks jokingly, Chase rolling his eyes and pushing his seat back.
Almost as soon as Chase stands up, House’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. He shooed Chase out the door before grabbing it, flipping it open. His stomach did a flip as he heard who was on the other line. The low, ragged pants picked up by the microphone told him everything he wanted to hear.
“Lunchtime, huh?” House chuckles, his voice low, already grabbing his cane and preparing to get out of the hospital as fast as possible.
“I overestimated myself.” Wilson pants, his voice grating and desperate. House had to hold back a satisfied groan from escaping his throat. He needed him.
House hums, limping out of the office. “Tell me what you want.” He asks, moving toward the elevator as fast as his body would let him.
“I need you. Come home.” Wilson’s voice was strained, desperate, but demanding. If House did not comply, he would probably end up breaking into House’s office.
“Be there in five.” The elevator dings.
“Stay on the phone.” Wilson growls, breathless.
His request wasn't much, but it felt hardly doable. House wanted to see how desperate he would get, the thought of seeing how far Wilson would go too desirable to resist.
He clicked the phone shut.
-
House’s thoughts raced as he sped down the road. He almost felt bad for the guy, having to suffer so much. It was interesting, though. He felt hooked to Wilson’s neediness, reveling in it every time it came around.
The speed limit didn't matter as he flew down streets, his heart thudding in his ears. The paved road stretched in front of him, seeming endless because of his anticipation. It had been four minutes since Wilson called him. He was probably writhing on the couch, desperate for a drop of blood. The thought made House’s pants tighten.
Finally pulling into the parking lot, he wasted no time. The pain in his leg didn't seem to matter as he raced toward the elevator. He felt like an addict finally getting his fix. Well, he was an addict, but he convinced himself it wasn't relevant to the situation. Nothing else mattered besides getting to the apartment.
The elevator ride was uneventful. House checks his phone, expecting a missed call from Wilson, seeing none, then closing the phone. He tapped his cane on the floor like it would make the elevator move quicker.
He groans as the elevator door slides open in slow motion, sliding through the small crack that could barely fit him. His hands were shaking slightly. Not from anxiety, from excitement.
Standing in front of the door, he eyed the doorknob like it was gonna jump out and pull him inside. His heart thudded in his ears. He wasn't one to indulge in witchcraft, but it was surprising how the air around the apartment felt. It was like sludge, as if someone put a curse on the home itself.
With a sigh, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. It was a shock to see Wilson not waiting at the door, instead sitting at the couch.
Their eyes locked onto each other. Wilson looked like a rabid animal. His eyes were wide, somehow widening as he stood up. No words needed to be said. The door clicked shut behind House.
Within a split second, Wilson closed the distance between them. Before House could move, even take a step, he was already being shoved against the wall. Not giving him even a moment to process, Wilson sinks his fangs into House’s neck. The sound of his cane snapping against the wooden floor did nothing to cover up the animalistic cries leaving their throats.
Although finally getting what he wanted, he didn't suck on the wound. Wilson just tightened his jaw, sinking his teeth in as far as they could go. Blood poured from the wound as House writhed under his grip, already making unfaithful noises.
As soon as it clicks in his head, he lets out a low groan. The wound stung more than it usually did, but he was already in his own daze of desire. Wilson was literally marking House as his. The bite was fueled by pure, raw possession. He wanted to fully take what was his, eliminate any possibility of House being bit by another vampire.
The mere thought of House being bitten by another vampire forced Wilson to tighten his grasp on him, like he wanted to keep him there forever. Have him to be locked in his grip, under his body, the only one able to drink from his neck being WIilson.
His blood covered fangs pulled out of the wound, before latching onto the skin an inch to the right. His head spun as he began frantically sucking at the wound, House’s thick blood spilling on his tongue. He growled, pressing his entire body up against the man in front of him.
House rolls his hips against Wilson’s leg, desperate for some sort of friction against his throbbing erection. He lightly brushed against Wilson’s crotch area as well, eliciting a low growl to come from his throat. Wilson was clearly aroused as well, his length bulging through his pants.
Wilson’s eyes were glossed over completely, sweat dripping down his face. He was in a daze of intoxication, not from alcohol, but from House’s fluids. A flood of House’s scent surged through his nostrils every time he inhaled.
There was no hidden gentleness under his grasp, just raw desire and need. Anyone would've assumed WIlson was deprived for days, based on the way he was acting. His fingernails were sending sharp shocks through House’s shoulders every time he tightened his grip. The red liquid dripped from his chin as he sucked greedily, dripping down House’s skin and seeping into the fabric of his shirt.
Every pull of blood was disorganized, chasing his high desperately. Every mouthful of the warm, smooth liquid just fueled his desire to suck House dry.
The feeling of a warm tear sliding down House’s face felt as sudden and unfamiliar as a blade dragging across his cheek. He was crying.
One after another, the tears dripped down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. His mouth gaped open, gasping for air, moaning shamelessly. His head was spinning, his legs feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Wilson wasn't slowing down his relentless pace, the pleasure coursing through his veins intensifying. The constant overstimulation made tears prick at his eyes, constantly running down his face.
House sniffled through his clogged nose, his face contorting in confusion and pleasure as Wilson disconnected his mouth from his neck. He looked down, the two of them making eye contact. Wilson was staring at him, still in a daze, but somewhat mentally present in the situation.
The tears were still dripping down House’s face as Wilson leaned upward, dragging his tongue up his face. The salty tears rested on his tongue, humming as he licked his lips, tasting it thoroughly. It was no different than a predator taking advantage of its prey, taking all of him he could get.
“You’re crying.” Wilson mumbles, his voice gruff and raw. His finger slides across Houses other cheek, wiping away a falling tear. His other hand was still latched onto House’s shoulder.
House couldn't do anything but nod in response, his eyes fluttering shut. The sensation of Wilson’s tongue dragging across the wound on his neck snapped him back, whimpering and grasping at the shirt on his back. As soon as the noise slipped by his lips, he cursed at himself.
“I should've done this as soon as I got my first urge to drink from you.” Wilson mumbled, running his tongue up House’s neck to his jaw. House shudders at the sensation.
“Yeah?” House responds, his voice shaking slightly. “How long have you wanted to do this?” There was no bite in his voice like he’d intended, his genuine curiosity leaking through his facade.
“The night after I realized what I was.” Wilson growled into House’s ear, nipping his earlobe. “I wanted you to be my first victim.”
A low chuckle follows his words, the two of them pressed up against each other. Wilson’s breaths spread across House’s skin, seeping into his flesh and dissolving.
Although he’d just stopped, he could feel the desire for House’s blood growing once again. His breath hitched in his throat as his body instinctively reacted, stopping himself from attaching to House’s neck.
“Fuck, this isnt good. Maybe I should join his stupid cult.” Wilson hisses, no real intent lacing his words.
“I’ll kill you.” House chuckles, releasing his grip on Wilson’s shirt. His cock strained against his pants, although hardly visible, he felt demeaned.
The two of them stayed pressed against each other for as long as they could. They both reveled in the feeling of their bodies compressed together. Eventually, though, Wilson backed up until he was in front of the bathroom door, a caring glint shining in his eye. House noticed it, his lip twitching.
“I’m still alive.” He groaned, cracking his back. Wilson’s body seemed to relax at his backhanded reassurance.
Wilson’s eyes darted to the two wounds on House’s shoulder, a surge of possession surging through him as he laid eyes on the deep, red bite mark on his shoulder. He let out a shaky gasp, licking his lips.
“Dont go all feral animal on me, though.” House snickers, his head still spinning from the blood loss. He could handle it, sure, but he wouldn't be able to take anything else at the moment. Wilson nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. He was still eyeing House for any underlying problems, as if he was going to shatter at any given moment.
Slowly, House bent over to grab his cane. As he looked up, his eyes grazed over the obvious, huge bulge in Wilson’s pants. His breath hitched in his throat as he quickly shot up, the cane thudding against the floor.
If anything was gonna make him break, it would be that. Holy fucking shit.
“Are you gonna be able to go back to work?” Wilson asked, eyeing his every move.
House’s head turned, his eyes darting down to the large splotch of blood staining his white t-shirt. He blinks once, then again, before using one hand to slip the shirt off with a swift movement. The way his arm bent made a shock of pain surge through his entire left side, but he’s felt worse.
Wilson’s eyes stayed locked on him the entire time, a feral look slowly returning to his face. He’d seen House shirtless on many occasions. Though, it felt different this time. He wanted to devour him.
Slowly, House walks over to him, stopping just a foot away from him. Wilson’s breath hitched, trying his best to force his eyes to stay on just House’s face.
“I need to shower.” House smirks. Wilson’s face contorts in confusion until he realizes exactly where he was, almost pressed up against the bathroom door. House’s teasing smirk widens. He knew exactly what he was doing.
House tossed his bloodied shirt at him, stepping obediently to the side after. The sweet, concentrated scent of his blood wafting into Wilson’s nostrils. He tried his best to not pounce back onto him, his lip twitching. The smirk didn't leave House’s face as he limped into the bathroom, his steps stuttering.
Right as the door clicked shut, Wilson buried his face into the shirt, breathing in the scent of the drying blood. A low groan vibrated from his throat at the scent. He felt like he was going crazy.
The water only ran for a few minutes, House briefly rinsing off before changing his clothes. Once he left the bathroom, he was surprised to see Wilson still composed on the couch, the stained shirt right beside him.
“This should hold me over until you get home.” Wilson chuckled, grabbing the shirt and waving it around. House snickered, heading toward the front door.
Wilson’s smile faltered slightly, seeing House actually leaving.
“By the way,” House stops short of the door. “Cuddy and Chase are both betting on us dating. The rest of the hospital thinks we’re just playing a cruel joke.” He snickers, flinging the door open.
The door shuts behind him, leaving Wilson sitting there wide eyed and confused, consumed by desire mixed with dissatisfaction. He buries his face back into the shirt, inhaling deeply though his nose.
Fuck.