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James rapped his knuckles on the solid wood of dorm room 302, harried and ready for an evening about forgetting about school and the freshman biology class he was TA’ing for.
There was a dim din of chatter and laughing on the other side of the door and just a moment passed before the door swung open. “JAAAMIIIIEE!” A tipsy red head wobbling in a pair of chunky heels threw her arms around James’ neck, pulled him into a tight hug and burying his face in the thin perfumed scarf around her neck. She planted a kiss on each of his cheeks and stumbled, laughing and pulling him into the room before he could return the gesture.
“Hi Bex, you decent?” James vaguely returned la bise before shaking out his hair.
“As can be! It’s so good to see you Jamie," She was the only one allowed to call him 'Jamie'. "I’m so glad you came darling.” She walked back toward her desk and the great hurricane of makeup scattered around it.
He laughed, “You act like we didn't have a class together this afternoon.” He waved at all their friends sitting around the room rolling bats or drinking at the radio. “Happy Birthday,” he murmured to Ruby, a girl in a royal purple dress and a matching bauble in her teased hair, with a cursory twin kiss. James took a seat beside her and his shoulders began to relax already to see Bex and her friends which were, he supposed, his friends too.
“Well still." Bex went on, "Everything’s been so stressful with CFRM! You know, we’ve gone FM this week and that means everyone can hear us-” James took a seat on the carpet and nodded emphatically at her grievances, swigging greedily from the bottle of gin then the can of coke that was handed to him.
Him and Bex had met two years ago in their first year at McGill–well, they’d met repeatedly, really. Running into each other in the cafeteria, in the library, at parties (often, quite literally) and eventually Bex said that the universe was clearly trying to send a message and they should just be friends, so they were. Although she was an English student and James was on the Medical track, they met for meals and studied together, quizzing each other on topics the other knew nothing about, partying and soaking up the alcohol with steamies or a poutine. Her friends became his friends and it was a blessed reprieve to be free of the medical majors, especially now with all of the rest of his cohort tripping over themselves to “network” at some conference that was happening in the city this weekend. Personally, he planned to put the thing out of his head entirely.
He pulled off his wool overcoat and let it pool on the floor around his waist. It was Ruby's birthday, and they’d be doing a bar crawl to celebrate. He noticed again Bex’s thin scarf–a shimmering polyester number that wasn’t wrapped around her neck like a winter scarf, but rather simply draped, both ends behind her back. She pulled up the top of her matching sleeveless dress with one hand, fixing a stray smudge of lipstick with the other.
“You look deadly in that dress, Bex.” James told her. He turned to Ruby, “Isn’t she a real Betty in that dress, Ruby?”
Bex ruddied, looking at her friends through the mirror’s reflection.
“Oh, yeah, no doubt.” Ruby stammered, and James couldn’t tell if she was blushing or flushed from that gnarly gin that ripped the bottom right out of your esophagus.
Right--Bex also had a super-secret major league crush on Ruby and James was dedicated to sleuthing whether or not he thought that Ruby might also be a homosexual, and he thought she might be, he wasn’t positive yet.
“Oh um, thanks. I was going for like, a Princess Di look.”
“I was gonna say.” Ruby nodded, bobble-headed. “It’s that scarf.”
“Yeah,” Bex exhaled, “exactly ”
–
They pre-gamed the bars while waiting for the rest of the crowd to make it to the dorm (and touch up their make-up, and while their friend Jonah left and hurried back with a red blazer he said James just had to wear out tonight), getting progressively more and more tipsy. When, finally, there was an exodus from the campus to the first bar the group huddled close, tramping through the feather soft snow uninhibited and warm with drink.
They made up a new little game for each bar they drank at and got more and more boisterous, James leading a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ in every one. He was loose lipped and loose limbed and glowing from the inside out, dancing dweebishly at every other moment–often just out of the radius of his friends–with the sleeves of his red blazer rolled up past his elbows and his shirt unbuttoned to just above his belly button, a sheen of sweat shimmering under his dusting of chest chair. They were at their fourth bar, and more friends had come and gone and come again, and attentions were divided and subdivided; some of them were dancing, some sitting at a table with heads close and shouting gossip over the noise, some were smoking outside, and others, like Ruby and Bex, were in the bathroom. James stopped his Byrneian undulating to step up to the bar, breathless and grinning.
“Hi there Mister,” he sat on a stool and leaned toward the bartender. “Would you mind whipping me up a Blue Lagoon? No? You’re a mensch.” James fumbled for his cash in his front pocket, just managing to tug the sweaty notes from his jeans when a hand reached into his line of sight with a tenner.
“Why don’t you let me get that for you?” A deep voice purred.
James’ eyes–-whose lids drooped further as his blood alcohol level increased, so that even a wide eyed glance was heavy and low--rose to meet the owner of the hand and the tenner. It was the hand (and incredibly square nails) of a smirking older man so hot James momentarily lost motor function.
The smirking man chuckled and raised a brow. “What do you say, Flock of Seagulls? ”
James rushed to flatten his omnidirectional hair back down to his head. “Oh, uh, I brought money,” he clarified, holding up his sweaty wad of cash.
The man barked out a genuine laugh. “I see that. Save it, I got this one,” he insisted, voice rumbling low, reverberating down James’ spine, who shuddered and nodded, eyes still wide as they would open.
The man smiled. “House,” and he stuck out his hand like that was a natural way to start a greeting.
“Huh?” James leaned forward, “Did you say something about your house?” He tipped his head closer to catch the man’s answer.
He had clearly tipped forward too, his answer coming clearly into James’ ear. “My name, it’s House.”
When James looked up, their faces were inches apart. “Like…?” He cocked his head and put his hands up like the A in YMCA .
House bit his cheek and gazed down at James with a look that made his stomach flip, nodding.
“Your parents named you House?” James asked incredulously.
“It’s on my birth certificate and everything. Comes after ‘Gregory’ though.”
James squinted and did the mental math on that joke then laughed. “I’m Wilson. Comes after James on my birth certificate.”
“Wilson,” House repeated, as if trying it on.
“Here,” the bartender handed over an aquarium blue drink and Wilson watched as the beautiful man handed over the bill and waved away the change.
“That looks radioactive,” House noted. James thought his eyes rivalled the blue of the drink, but he didn't say it.
“Mmh,” Wilson swallowed the sip he’d immediately slurped up, “but it’s so good! Have you ever had a Blue Lagoon?” He was looking up at House with unadulterated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed energy.
“Can’t say I have,” House settled into the stool beside him, close enough that Wilson felt the gravity of the man’s jacket pressing the air between his own.
“Wanna?” Wilson thrust the drink toward House, whose eyes widened and brows jumped.
He pulled the glass toward himself, wrapping his lips around the straw the boy had just moments ago drunk from, humming in pleasant surprise.
“Good, right?” Wilson took another sip immediately, evidently unphased by sharing the straw with House, but internally doing an entire Olympic Gymnastic routine of jumping and flipping with joy.
“It is.” House nodded. “Have you ever had a Blow Job?” He asked.
Wilson choked and spluttered, blue liquor rerouting from his throat to his nose to the bar top. “Sorry! Sorry?” He sniffed, eyes watering. “Um, I uh-”
“Coffee liqueur and whip cream,” House clarified.
Wilson floundered and sopped up the spill with napkins. “I-uh, no I don’t think so. Sounds really good, though.”
“Yeah? You want one?” House asked in an undertone.
Wilson nodded. “Will you have one too?”
House ordered two Blow Jobs and placed them on the table in front of each himself and the boy beside him, then tapped Wilson’s chest and nodded at his shot glass.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Making sure Wilson’s eyes were on him, he wrapped his lips around the glass and tipped his head back.
Wilson watched as House’s Adam's apple bobbed, arousal following its trajectory and settling in his hips. He shifted in his seat and tried to swallow past the toothpick it felt like he’d swallowed. He fluttered under House’s eyes watching him as he tipped forward and wrapped his own lips around the glass, his eyes rolling back as his head did.
House was easy to talk to and joke with, and Wilson relaxed into his seat after long, shedding the stilted awkwardness he started the interaction with and falling back into his usual cocksure confidence.
Wilson maybe didn’t have the most astute gaydar on the planet, but even he couldn’t deny the vibes that were rolling off of House, even he could acknowledge that that was eye-fucking, plain and simple. And he wanted to fuck this guy desperately. House was in a dark t-shirt and jeans and a leather jacket and boots. He wasn’t old old, but there were a couple early greys shimmering in the dim bar light. He had a five o’clock shadow and these blue eyes that rivaled the Blue Lagoon. Wilson had to adjust the hem of Jonah’s blazer to make sure it covered his belt, because his interest was growing ever clearer. He was staring at House, deaf to the words leaving his mouth, imagining getting down on his knees right here in the crowded bar and just sucking him off.
House who was just talking, looked James up and down, and picked up the dredges of his drink and covertly tipped it onto his own lap. “Shoot ,” House hissed, “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.” He told Wilson significantly.
Wilson looked at the spill on House’s lap and saw his evident arousal and opened his mouth. Was that a pick up line? He was pretty sure he was dropping hairpins, but then again what if it really was just a spill and Wilson followed him in there and got a restraining order to his name? “Is- do you want me to come with you?” He asked stupidly.
House smiled. “Sure, Wilson, just in case I can’t find the right door.”
Wilson got to his feet and followed closely behind House. “It, it’s the red one there.” He pointed over House’s shoulder and he reached up and held his wrist.
“Ohh, okay.” House pulled Wilson through the door and they stood at the sinks feigning primping as a lone man dried his hands and left.
“You wanted me to follow you, right?” James asked in the mirror.
House turned toward him. “I did.”
Wilson turned and strode right into House’s space, grabbing his face and pulling him into a desperate, entirely unself-conscious kiss, sighing in relief as soon as their lips touched. House walked him back against the wall, taking Wilson’s face in his own hands.
“Stall, stall,” Wilson panted, pointing toward the beat up graffitied door and they stumbled through it, not losing contact for even a moment.
House’s hand dipped under the buttons hanging wide open at Wilson’s chest, kneading his pec. “You’re such a fucking tease, dancing with your shirt half off like this. Wanted to walk onto that dance floor and drag you in here.” He dipped his head and kissed down Wilson’s neck to his nipples, drawing out a low moan.
“Please .”
House sucked hickies into Wilson’s chest then took him again by jaw, kissing him hungrily, all teeth and tongue and humid heavy breath. Wilson slid a thigh against House's bulge and pressed forward, dizzy with hardness.
Wilson pulled back. “Can I give you a blow job, House? Please?” He breathed.
“Fuck ,” House dragged his thumb down Wilson’s lips, idling with the pad of his thumb pressed on his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and sucked on it eagerly. House groaned. “How can anyone say no to you?”
Wilson smiled and moved to kneel below him quickly, stumbling just a little bit. House pulled a condom from his pocket with one hand and covered his eyes with the other, taking a deep breath as the buckle of his belt clanged open and the boy pulled him out of his boxers.
“You’re so big, ” Wilson admired, rolling on the condom House had torn open with his teeth and kissing his tip, relishing in the hiss above him. He peppered House’s length with kisses and kitten licks before wrapping his lips around his cock in a mirror of his earlier Blow Job performance. He bobbed his head, more than compensating for his inexperience with his willingness and eagerness. Wilson felt House’s hand on his shoulder twitching toward the crown of his head but not make contact. and groped blindly for his hand, bringing it down to the bird’s nest of his hair. Wilson groaned, eyes rolling back, as House tugged on his hair and he tried to angle his hips for any pressure on his painfully hard dick. He relished in the gasps and sighs and moans he was sucking out of his stranger and swallowed him down, nose buried to hair, staying there until his throat spasmed and he pulled off spluttering.
Wilson placed an affirming hand back on the fingers in his hair. “Use me,” he guided, "Please."
House swore and tightened his grip, letting Wilson take another deep breath before moving him like a rag doll, fucking into his mouth and feeling his moans reverberate into his balls.
“Jesus Christ Wilson,” House hissed. “Your mouth, fuck, your mouth. So good.”
Wilson spasmed and House watched as he came in his jeans--cheeks florid and shimmering with spit, eyes rolling back and crying out. House pulled out and dragged his slick cock across Wilson’s cheek as he caught his breath.
He looked up through tear stained lashes “Cum down my throat,” he demanded, wishing he really could swallow down the handsome stranger.
The sentiment remained just a potent to House, however, who fucked back into Wilson’s mouth, chasing his own orgasm; the wet sounds of their debauchery echoing percussively throughout the bathroom.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes-" House was chanting ecstatically under his breath. "Wilson, fuck I’m - ” he short circuited with the boy’s nose against his pelvis and spilled as Wilson choked and constricted around his cock again.
House panted and pulled out, moving his fingers from holding his hair to caressing Wilson’s cheek, brushing the tears from his cheeks. House gestured to him with a nod, silently beseeching him to stand again.
Wilson wobbled to his feet with the stranger stabilizing him, and smiled placidly. “Thank you,” he croaked.
House laughed and pressed a kiss, feather light, to the corner of Wilson’s mouth. “Thank you .”
It was quiet, save for their breathing, when the bathroom door creaked open and a wave of sound hit them, shaking them back to the present. “I uh, I should get back to my friends. We’re uh, bar hopping. Birthday Party.”
“Oh, happy birthday?”
“Oh, not mine. Ruby. Trying to figure out if she’s a lesbian.”
“Of course.” House reached between them and removed and tied off the condom, tucking himself back into his jeans.
Wilson ran his finger through his hair. “Do you think -? Well, would you maybe give me your telephone number?”
House reached into his back pocket and pulled out a warm ball point pen, holding out a hand for one of Wilson’s. “Just a warning, this will be a long distance call for you.”
“You don’t live around here?”
House shook his head, penning his phone number. “Here for a conference.”
“What kind?” he asked curiously, turning his head and his hand to read the iridescent black numbers on his hand.
“Paleontology.” He pocketed the pen again.
“Really?!” Wilson’s grinned. Danny would think it was a hoot that he met a paleontologist at the bar--not that he’d mention the rest of it.
“Psyche. Doctor, actually.”
Wilson blanched. “Really?” He’d come to schmooze at that same conference all his classmates were talking about? “I’m on the medical track at school here.”
House raised his brows. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
“Here’s to hoping you keep going to conferences.” Wilson grinned, taking House in one last kiss before letting them stumble out of the cramped stall, red coat now held in front of the dark patch of wetness on his jeans. Someone eyed them from the urinal but Wilson ignored him; he hardly ever came to the bar, anyway and likely wouldn’t see that guy again.
As they stepped back into the humidity and noise of the bar, Wilson spotted his friend Jonah nearby, sipping a drink and people watching. “Jonah!” Wilson cried. “House, this is the mensch who lent me this righteous coat.”
“That was very generous of him,” House watched, amused, as Wilson bounded to Jonah who took in his disheveled features with glee.
“Ah! Mon Gars! ” Jonah shouted, taking Wilson by the shoulders then whispering in his ear, “You look like you had fun! Bex told me you went into the bathroom with a fox! They all went to the next bar but I figured I’d wait for you.”
“Thanks.” Wilson blushed. Only those two knew he liked men someone to share his excitement as he emerged, rumpled, from the bathroom.
“Oh darling, you look like you just got ravished in the washroom. God I wish someone would do me like this." He tried to flatten his hair and fix his face, but it was a lost cause.
Wilson looked around again for House to introduce them to each other, but found that he’d slipped away. He frowned and looked back at Jonah. “I got his phone number. He said it’ll be long distance, though.”
“Well I hope he picks up.” Jonah clapped his shoulder and shook his head. “Let’s go to the next bar, Sayeed said the rule for that one is that we have to pretend there’s a tiny invisible man at the edge of our cup that we have to take it off every time we take a drink.”
Wilson smiled and collected his coat from the coat check, body shocked half to sobriety with the bite of the cold. “Thanks Jonah, I think I’m gonna head home though. I think I uh, need a shower.” He blushed, wrapping his overcoat tightly around himself, the cold seeping into the wetness of his jeans.
“Oh, right,” Jonah laughed. “Okay Casanova, be safe, I’ll see you tomorrow. Congratulations.” He winked and turned, jogging down the block.
Wilson began in the opposite direction, his cheeks smarting from the icy wind and grinning so hard all night.