vanillafluffy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vanillafluffy) wrote2006-05-21 08:00 pm
vanillafluffy) wrote2006-05-21 08:00 pm
Slashing on a Sunday afternoon
Today Kathy gave me the secret of making good corn bread--DON'T stir all the lumps out of it. It's okay to use a beater on the liquid ingredients, but do it before adding them to the corn meal mixture and only use as much liquid is absolutely necessary. It worked! This batch didn't crumble like the other ones. (The ones made with a hand mixer. Ooops.)
I also hatched my first House slash! It'll be cross-posted elsewhere as a song-fic, but here's the bare bones story. It's pretty mild (for me!), but it does display a certain kink of mine.
Scrubbing In
The things House will do to get out of clinic duty are encyclopedic. Sometimes, his evasions are medical in nature. After all, he is a doctor, so if another doctor asks him to scrub in on an operation, who is he to say no? Especially when the other doctor is his best friend. House hates dealing with Wilson's cancer kids when they're awake---they remind him of those tacky pop-art pictures of kids and animals with huge, sad eyes. When they're anethestized, though, and Wilson is outlining the specifics of the procedure as he works, they become interesting, or at least, not pathetic.
Besides, he likes scrubbing up. Wilson schedules his surgeries to miss the morning rush, so they almost always have the locker room and showers to themselves. The shower stalls are spacious, with grab bars, and House enjoys having plenty of room and a feeling of security, unlike his old-fashioned bathroom at home. He could have his place remodeled, but House knows he never will. It would mean chaos and inconvenience and having to deal with contractors and other idiots. Even with the possibility of witnessing a real live accident with power tools, he isn't that tempted.
Scrubbing up is a legitimate excuse to take a long, soapy shower, enjoying the spray of hot water as it pulses against his long, lean body. The coarse texture of the nylon against his skin and the slipperiness of the soap are sensual pleasures. Being thorough is a virtue when it comes to surgical standards of cleanliness, so of course House is going to make sure everything is good and clean. He takes his time, guiding the disposable nylon puff to private places where bacteria might like to linger. Wouldn't want any stray e. coli to jump out and contaminate the operating field...
House isn't really paying attention as Wilson talks about today's case. Wilson thinks of his patients as people, which House avoids even more fiercely than clinic duty. If they're medical puzzles, he can concentrate on their problems; if they're people, well, the number of people he actually gives a rat's ass about adds up to a helluva short list. He's like W.C. Fields---he loves humanity, it's people he can't stand...maybe not. Most days, humanity is even worse than individuals.
James Wilson is yin to his yang. He likes people one-to-one and en masse. Face it, Wilson is just a teddy bear...in more ways than one. Naked, the promise of his full eyebrows is fulfilled with a thick pelt of dark hair which begins at his clavicles. It grows in furry profusion across his pectoralis major, narrowing to a cascade down his rectus abdominis along the line of his linea alba, to resume with wiry vigor at his pubis.
If cross-species breeding was possible, House wagers that his friend would have a few goat genes. It would explain the libido...and the legs. Picturing kind-hearted James Wilson with a pair of cloven hooves and pan-pipes makes House grin. Yeah, it's easy to envision Jimmy as a satyr, fucking everything in sight. Too bad he tends to confine his attentions to those individuals with a double-X chromosome...unless he's really drunk, but that's no fun. By that point, he's always too drunk to do anything...
"What are you thinking about?" inquires Wilson when he catches sight of the smirk on House's face. He pauses in the process of shampooing, his hair going in all directions. House adds a pair of horns to his mental image of the satyr.
"How naked you'd look if you were dunked in a bathtub full of hair-remover," House retorts, and chuckles at the startled expression on his friend's face.
"I did not need to know that," declares Wilson with a shudder, turning his back and giving House a prime view of his gluteus maximus. He has a pair of dimples where they meet the gluetus medius, and nice definition between his gluteus maximus and his biceps femoris. He isn't quite as tall as House, but he's more sturdily built. Lucky bastard has two good legs; strong and shapely.
House makes the best of the opportunity that presents itself, lathering his cock by hand---in the name of conscientious hygiene, naturally. Long practice has enabled him to evoke a fast, self-induced climax. He knows how to be quiet---when it suits him---and this particular exercise in stealth is a not-even-slightly-guilty pleasure. Only he knows that not all the froth whirlpooling down the drain is soapsuds.
When Wilson turns off the water on his side, House waits a few more seconds and stops the spray. He's as clean as he's going to get, at least on the outside.
I also hatched my first House slash! It'll be cross-posted elsewhere as a song-fic, but here's the bare bones story. It's pretty mild (for me!), but it does display a certain kink of mine.
The things House will do to get out of clinic duty are encyclopedic. Sometimes, his evasions are medical in nature. After all, he is a doctor, so if another doctor asks him to scrub in on an operation, who is he to say no? Especially when the other doctor is his best friend. House hates dealing with Wilson's cancer kids when they're awake---they remind him of those tacky pop-art pictures of kids and animals with huge, sad eyes. When they're anethestized, though, and Wilson is outlining the specifics of the procedure as he works, they become interesting, or at least, not pathetic.
Besides, he likes scrubbing up. Wilson schedules his surgeries to miss the morning rush, so they almost always have the locker room and showers to themselves. The shower stalls are spacious, with grab bars, and House enjoys having plenty of room and a feeling of security, unlike his old-fashioned bathroom at home. He could have his place remodeled, but House knows he never will. It would mean chaos and inconvenience and having to deal with contractors and other idiots. Even with the possibility of witnessing a real live accident with power tools, he isn't that tempted.
Scrubbing up is a legitimate excuse to take a long, soapy shower, enjoying the spray of hot water as it pulses against his long, lean body. The coarse texture of the nylon against his skin and the slipperiness of the soap are sensual pleasures. Being thorough is a virtue when it comes to surgical standards of cleanliness, so of course House is going to make sure everything is good and clean. He takes his time, guiding the disposable nylon puff to private places where bacteria might like to linger. Wouldn't want any stray e. coli to jump out and contaminate the operating field...
House isn't really paying attention as Wilson talks about today's case. Wilson thinks of his patients as people, which House avoids even more fiercely than clinic duty. If they're medical puzzles, he can concentrate on their problems; if they're people, well, the number of people he actually gives a rat's ass about adds up to a helluva short list. He's like W.C. Fields---he loves humanity, it's people he can't stand...maybe not. Most days, humanity is even worse than individuals.
James Wilson is yin to his yang. He likes people one-to-one and en masse. Face it, Wilson is just a teddy bear...in more ways than one. Naked, the promise of his full eyebrows is fulfilled with a thick pelt of dark hair which begins at his clavicles. It grows in furry profusion across his pectoralis major, narrowing to a cascade down his rectus abdominis along the line of his linea alba, to resume with wiry vigor at his pubis.
If cross-species breeding was possible, House wagers that his friend would have a few goat genes. It would explain the libido...and the legs. Picturing kind-hearted James Wilson with a pair of cloven hooves and pan-pipes makes House grin. Yeah, it's easy to envision Jimmy as a satyr, fucking everything in sight. Too bad he tends to confine his attentions to those individuals with a double-X chromosome...unless he's really drunk, but that's no fun. By that point, he's always too drunk to do anything...
"What are you thinking about?" inquires Wilson when he catches sight of the smirk on House's face. He pauses in the process of shampooing, his hair going in all directions. House adds a pair of horns to his mental image of the satyr.
"How naked you'd look if you were dunked in a bathtub full of hair-remover," House retorts, and chuckles at the startled expression on his friend's face.
"I did not need to know that," declares Wilson with a shudder, turning his back and giving House a prime view of his gluteus maximus. He has a pair of dimples where they meet the gluetus medius, and nice definition between his gluteus maximus and his biceps femoris. He isn't quite as tall as House, but he's more sturdily built. Lucky bastard has two good legs; strong and shapely.
House makes the best of the opportunity that presents itself, lathering his cock by hand---in the name of conscientious hygiene, naturally. Long practice has enabled him to evoke a fast, self-induced climax. He knows how to be quiet---when it suits him---and this particular exercise in stealth is a not-even-slightly-guilty pleasure. Only he knows that not all the froth whirlpooling down the drain is soapsuds.
When Wilson turns off the water on his side, House waits a few more seconds and stops the spray. He's as clean as he's going to get, at least on the outside.
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And bonus points for Most days, humanity is even worse than individuals.
thanks a lot for a brillant bedtime story:)
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Fic: Scrubbing In
Great picture of them and their kind of screwed up by working relationship.
Oh, House.
So not a kink of mine, but I'll forgive you because of the anatomical terms, and just the idea of House in on Wilson's surgeries.
Even with the possibility of witnessing a real live accident with power tools, he isn't that tempted. Hee!
Re: Fic: Scrubbing In
Being his usual irreverent self, I have no doubt. Wilson puts up with it because at least it keeps House out of trouble--it's better than having him loaf around the clinic with his GameBoy. At least here he's acting like a doctor. And who knows, maybe one of these days he'll even take an interest in the patients as people. (Yeah, right--but Wilson is an optimist.)
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