Here's the next chapter of Shadows of Doubt, hope you enjoy it :)
Title: Shadows of Doubt: A Dark!Wilson House Redux
Episode: 2.9 -- Deception
Disclaimer: House, Wilson, and all other characters/ideas taken from the show are not my own, and I'm making no profit from the writing of this fiction -- just for fun, I promise. :P (Some dialogue this chapter taken directly from the episode.)
Author's Note: In this particular 'verse, I've changed one thing about the canon timeline. At the beginning of the story, when House and Wilson first get together, Wilson is already recently divorced from Julie.
Story Warnings: slash, dark Wilson -- specific warnings for each chapter as necessary
Chapter Warnings: psychological abuse, dom/sub themes, mild BDSM
Story Summary: A darker version of how canon might have gone, if House and Wilson had entered into a relationship from the start -- and if that relationship took a gradually dark, disturbing turn.
Chapter Summary: Wilson thinks House has control issues, and tries to administer an unusual form of therapy -- but it doesn't work out quite like he'd hoped.
House slammed the front door of the apartment as he came in, glaring in response to Wilson’s pleasant greeting – though they both knew it was not Wilson at whom he was angry. He took off his scarf and coat with more force than was necessary, then trudged over to the sofa and sat down beside Wilson, leaning his head on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes.
“Today sucks,” he announced in a petulant tone, reaching into his pocket for his Vicodin, removing the lid one-handed and popping one straight from the bottle.
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Wilson’s voice was patronizingly sympathetic, and only added to House’s irritation – though he had to admit that the feeling of Wilson’s fingers running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, was rather soothing.
“Could you… keep doing that… without the talking part?”
Wilson good-naturedly ignored House’s jibe, sliding closer to his lover and draping his free arm across his torso in an affectionate embrace. “Is it because Foreman’s in charge?” he guessed. “It’s only for a couple of weeks, House. It’ll be over before you know it…”
“It’ll be over before two weeks, if I have anything to do with it,” House countered, raising his head and giving Wilson a grim half-smile. “Foreman doesn’t know who he’s playing with. He might want this job now, but he won’t when I get through with him…”
Wilson made a disapproving sound with his tongue, withdrawing his hand from House’s hair, though his expression of thoughtful amusement didn’t falter. “Really, House, it’s not that big a deal. What did you expect would happen? That the board would just ignore the fact that a patient died…?”
“Happens every day.”
“… as a direct result of malpractice on the part of a member of your team?”
“It wasn’t malpractice; it was a mistake…”
“To the patient’s family, it’s the same thing.” Wilson’s voice took on a slightly sterner note. “There has to be consequences – and you didn’t do it, but you’re his boss. Therefore some of those consequences happen to fall on you. The best thing you can do is just stick it out for the next two weeks, and then enjoy punishing Foreman for those two weeks once things get back to normal.”
House let out a heavy sigh, admitting nearly under his breath, “It’s not Foreman’s fault, either.”
“No. No, it’s not,” Wilson agreed.
“It’s Cuddy’s. She doesn’t have to do this. She could overrule the board. She could always…”
“House…” Wilson let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as he sat up straighter on the couch. “You just have a problem with anyone else having control, that’s all. You just can’t stand the idea of someone else telling you what to do.”
“So what if I do?” House retorted. “I’m his boss. He’s not supposed to get to tell me what to do…”
“You may be brilliant, House,” Wilson continued, his voice softening as he moved in closer to his lover, his hand running slowly up and down his side. “But you’re not the only person capable of handling a little bit of authority or responsibility. Not everyone else is an idiot – and you have to come to a place where you can trust that…”
“Yeah.” House let out a derisive snort, rolling his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see some evidence to prove it. In America, people are innocent until proven guilty and idiots until proven otherwise…”
“What about me? Am I an idiot?”
Wilson’s voice was strangely hushed, and House looked up at him sharply with a momentary sense of alarm – but Wilson’s eyes were dark and hooded with lust, not betraying any trace of anger or irritation. No, Wilson seemed to be in quite a more pleasant mood than the one House had briefly suspected.
In fact, Wilson had been more pleasant and loving with him in the past few weeks than he had been in the entirety of their relationship. He hadn’t gotten angry, hadn’t so much as yelled – let alone struck out at House to hit him or push him. Apparently, he had taken House’s ultimatum seriously, and was determined to get his anger and jealousy issues under control in order to preserve their relationship. House was cautiously allowing himself to be optimistic that things were going to be all right.
Still, he knew better than to push his luck with the type of insult he might have automatically issued in the past.
“No,” he admitted softly, holding Wilson’s gaze with solemn eyes as the younger man cautiously moved to kneel on the couch, straddling his hips. “No, you’re not.”
Wilson’s hands gently cupped his face, drawing him close for a slow, tender kiss, before Wilson drew back to give him a soft, reassuring smile. “I want to try something.”
House frowned, slightly suspicious of the secretive tone in Wilson’s voice. “Try what?”
Wilson looked down thoughtfully, one hand trailing slowly down from House’s shoulder to trace his wrist, before looking up to meet House’s eyes again. “Let’s call it a… an exercise in trust. It might… help you with your… control issues. And who knows?” He leaned in for a second, more sensual kiss before pulling back to whisper into House’s ear. “You just might enjoy it.”
House felt a delicious shiver of mingled intrigue and apprehension trickle down his spine, and he closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back as Wilson gently laved his throat with kisses. While House was distracted by his attentions, Wilson’s hands gripped House’s wrists and pulled them up over his head. He crossed them and held them there with one hand, freeing his other hand to trail slowly up under the hem of House’s t-shirt in a light, ticklish touch against his stomach.
House couldn’t help but wriggle instinctively away from the intensity of Wilson’s touch, though his breath quickened and he drew in a sharp gasp at the pleasurable sensation. The gentle restraint of Wilson’s hand on his wrists intensified his arousal, and he let out a soft moan as Wilson’s hand dipped down past his stomach to run a single finger along the inside of the waist of his jeans.
“Can you give me control, House?” Wilson’s voice was low and enticing, husky with his own desire. “Can you surrender and let me take over… just for tonight?”
House felt his stomach drop at what Wilson was suggesting – and the fact that he wasn’t quite sure what Wilson was suggesting, but it sounded a little unsettling. “What… what do you want me to do?” he asked, looking up through hazy eyes to meet Wilson’s dark, purposeful gaze.
Wilson’s sly smile widened slightly as he responded in a suggestive whisper. “Whatever I say. Can you trust me that much, House?”
House felt a little sick, remembering the last time Wilson had asked for his complete trust in a situation such as this – and remembering how Wilson had placed his belt around his neck and choked him nearly to unconsciousness, claiming afterwards that it had been nothing but a “game”.
In hindsight, House couldn’t help but notice that said game had taken place on the very night that he had taken Cameron out to dinner.
But Wilson loves me… Wilson’s been keeping his promise not to hurt me… and I… I haven’t done anything… there’s no reason for him to be angry with me… I can trust him, I know I can trust him…
Wilson was touching him so gently, so lovingly, expertly drawing his arousal from him until all House could think about was his touch – and in a single, fateful instant, he made the decision to surrender himself completely to Wilson’s control.
“O-okay,” he whispered, eyes closed as Wilson’s hand palmed his swelling erection through his jeans. “Okay… whatever you want…”
“Good.” Wilson abruptly withdrew his hand, eager glee in his voice. “You won’t regret this…” House started to look up at the loss of contact, but Wilson gently placed a hand over his eyes, pushing his head back against the back of the sofa again. “No, don’t… keep your eyes closed.”
House obeyed, and a moment later felt something smooth and soft brush against his face. He recognized the shape and feel of it as one of Wilson’s ties – most likely the one he had just been wearing. Wilson tied it firmly but not too tightly over his eyes, and House started with alarm, trying to sit up, one hand instinctively reaching to take it off.
Wilson caught his wrist and pulled his hand firmly down, using the weight of his body to push House back down onto the sofa. “Don’t, House… trust me,” Wilson urged him softly, running the back of one hand gently across House’s cheek.
House’s entire body was taut with anxious uncertainty, rigid and trembling, but he did not try again to pull away, or to remove the makeshift blindfold. “Wilson,” he whispered, his voice barely over a breath. “I-I’m not sure…”
“It’s okay,” Wilson reassured him, running gentle fingers through his hair as he worked his other hand up under his shirt again. “Don’t worry so much. You’re safe with me.”
A vivid image filled House’s mind unbidden – an explosion of white-hot pain across his face as Wilson’s fist fell and sent him staggering into the wall, murderous fury in his eyes – but he shoved the image to the back of his mind, willing himself to be still and submissive and allow Wilson to take charge.
“Okay,” he whispered a little shakily. “Okay…”
Wilson carefully got up off of him and took his hands, helping him to his feet. “Come on,” he urged him with quiet eagerness. “Let’s go to the bedroom. I’ll guide you…”
“Where… where’s my cane?”
House blindly felt for it, but Wilson took his hand and pulled it away from the spot where he had left it.
“You don’t need it,” Wilson said softly. “I’ll lead you. That’s what this is about, remember? You trusting me?”
House hesitated a moment before nodding in silent acceptance, allowing Wilson to guide him toward the bedroom with an arm around his waist and a hand gently holding his. He was relieved when they reached the bed without incident, and Wilson guided him into a seated position on the edge of it.
See? This is going to be okay. He’s not going to let me get hurt, or… or hurt me. He loves me…
House felt Wilson’s fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and leaned his arms back to help as Wilson slid the garment back over his shoulders, then guided his arms up to pull his t-shirt off over his head. House focused on the soft, pleasant heat of Wilson’s hands as they trailed up his arms to his wrists, then gently pushed him down onto his back on the bed. Wilson kissed his mouth, his throat, as he guided House’s hands over his head and crossed them.
He drew back slightly, running his hand down the side of House’s face as he murmured a soft but firm order.
“Keep them like that. Don’t move your hands. All right?”
House nodded, biting his lower lip, his breath quickening slightly when he felt Wilson’s hands at the fastenings of his jeans, working the button and zipper and then dragging them down around his thighs, bringing his underwear with them. House tensed, his back arching into the touch as Wilson formed a circle around the head of his cock with his thumb and forefinger and dragged it slowly, torturously downward.
“God… Wilson…” House let out a strangled moan, his head falling back against the pillow, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to obey and not move.
Wilson snapped, and House felt his heart lurch in response to the harsh dominance in his tone. He bit his lip, suddenly feeling a cold ache of fear in the pit of his stomach. A moment later, Wilson’s hand was in his hair, soft and affectionate and reassuring.
“It’s just a game. I’m not gonna hurt you; you can trust me.”
House nodded, somewhat relieved – but it was difficult to accept those words at face value when he had last experienced that harsh command in the midst of Wilson’s violent rage. The last time Wilson had told him to ‘shut up’, he had accompanied the words with a vicious slap across his face.
Suddenly, House didn’t want to do this anymore.
Wilson went still for a moment, and when he spoke there was clear annoyance in his voice. “What?” he demanded impatiently.
“I… I don’t want to… can’t we just… do it like we usually do?”
House sat up, tearing the blindfold off with one hand and blinking against the too-bright light of the room. When Wilson’s face came into focus, House’s heart sank at the cold irritation he saw there.
“You can’t trust me?”
“I’m trying, Wilson, but…”
House’s voice trailed off as Wilson rose abruptly and stalked off into the kitchen. He winced at the sound of glass and metal clattering together as Wilson took out his frustrations on the dishes he was putting in the dishwasher. Wilson had inherited a coping mechanism for frustration from his mother – and that was cleaning.
House trusted his instincts and stayed away until the passive aggressive sounds had passed, wanting to make sure that Wilson’s aggression was taken out only on the dishes, and not on him as well. He felt sick as he sat back on the bed, trying to read, but unable to focus long enough to get past the first two lines.
He was relieved that Wilson had backed off when he’d asked him to – but miserable with the knowledge that he had upset Wilson and hurt him, making it obvious that he didn’t fully trust him. A shiver ran through House’s body as he imagined what might happen if he said the wrong thing, or made some small misstep, right now.
At all costs, he wanted to avoid another of Wilson’s violent explosions.
At all costs.
Finally, he ventured out of the bedroom and slipped up behind Wilson, who was sitting on the couch, stone-faced, reading a magazine. He tentatively wrapped an arm around him, giving him a cautious kiss on the side of his neck – to no avail. Wilson deliberately ignored him, turning the page in his magazine as if House wasn’t even there.
“Yeah, so am I.” But Wilson didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded furious.
“I… I freaked out. I didn’t mean to. It just… Wilson… can we try it again? I… I think I’m ready now…”
Wilson finally turned his head, raising a single dubious brow. “You thought you were ready before,” he pointed out.
No, I didn’t… and I don’t now. But if it’ll make you happy… if it’ll calm you down…
“I really am, Wilson. I’ll do it now, I promise. Whatever you want.” House paused, his voice lowered and heavy with self-conscious uncertainty as he added a whispered, “Please.”
Wilson was silent for a moment, tense and unyielding – before finally rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh and setting the magazine aside, reaching a hand up to rest behind House’s head and pull him into a soft kiss.
“Okay,” he relented quietly, a forgiving smile on his lips. “Let’s try this again."