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bironicTitle: The One in Which Wilson Plays a Mafia Punching Bag so House Can Comfort Him (A Birthday Tribute)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,900
Spoilers: "Mob Rules"
Warnings: Meta and violence and slash, oh my. Specific warnings at the top of each part.
Summary: "Hello," she said, and gave Wilson an earnest smile. "We're going to play with some hurt/comfort today."
Disclaimer: I do not own House, Wilson, the Arnello brothers, Grey Eyes' gang,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nightdog_barks or her simulacrum.
Author's Note: A meta hurt/comfort fic begun onnightdog_barks's birthday back in April, finished many weeks later, and presented now to you with her blessing. While this story stands on its own, as an homage it borrows heavily from Nightdog's work, including plot points, characters, structure/format, objects and phrases. It's sort of a continuous game of Spot The Nightdog Reference, and I invite you to play along!
Wilson knelt on the floor in the dark basement with his back against a rough-hewn wooden post, wearing nothing but his boxers and undershirt. The only light in the room came from a single bare bulb directly above him. He glanced around with wide eyes and breathed hard through his nose. He couldn't do much else; a cloth gag had been stuffed in his mouth, a thin leather strap collared him to the post by his neck, and his wrists and ankles had been lashed together behind him.
"He could feel the splinters of the post prickle through his t-shirt as he struggled to free himself to no avail—yes, that's nice," said the short-haired woman sitting in a chair a few feet away from him. She was typing away at a laptop.
"Hello," she said when she noticed Wilson staring at her, and gave him an earnest smile. "I'mnightdog_barks. We're going to play with some hurt/comfort today. Naturally, you'll be the one hurt—"
Wilson made a distressed sound and yanked at his restraints.
"—and comforted afterwards," she finished. "By House, of course. You'd like some comfort, wouldn't you? You haven't been getting very much support lately, poor baby."
Wilson stared, still twisting and tugging at his bonds, which held fast. He coughed a little against the pressure of the collar.
"I know, it's the 'hurt' part you're concerned about. But don't worry—I'm not going to kill you this time. And there won't be any sexual assault; House would be too afraid to touch you afterwards." She cocked her head like a bird considering a particularly juicy worm. "That is to say, I haven't planned any. One never knows where a story will take you. Sometimes I just can't help myself where you're concerned."
Again, Wilson struggled against his restraints. This time, he winced and tried to look behind him at his wrists, which had begun to redden from all the chafing.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me..." She moved the cursor back and edited the next-to-last sentence. With a few keystrokes, the lengths of tough twine securing Wilson to the post transformed into soft leather cuffs. Wilson blinked, then swiveled his wrists and relaxed a little.
"Yes, that will do. Now, where were we? Right: hurt/comfort. You can't have comfort without the hurt. The pain is the price you have to pay in order for House to show you the love and affection he normally hides. It's a crappy bargain," she allowed, "but you do already have a lot of experience with suffering, being friends with House, and on the bright side, you're fun to hurt."
Wilson looked affronted.
"Well, you are. On your knees, or bent over a table, or hanging from your wrists, or all spread out, tied up, trembling, your hair mussed, your pale skin flushed, those beautifully expressive brown eyes filled with helpless agony as you're beaten or whipped or cut or shocked... and you scream and whimper and plead so prettily..." She sighed.
A pointed throat-clearing from the man on the floor brought her back. "If it helps," she went on when she had recovered herself, "I promise your reward today will be better than anything you've ever gotten from House before. You should be flattered, really. You're the one we love best. We think you deserve better than how House treats you."
Wilson was regarding her now as though she had gone completely insane.
"Now let's see," she muttered to herself. "Who should it be this time? Tritter, Moriarty, or maybe a gang of hired henchmen? A convenience store robber? House on drugs? More drugs than usual, that is. An ancient Germanic chieftain? Or perhaps an evil angel—or giant alien birds..." As she typed and deleted, each of the potential villains in question appeared and vanished before Wilson's increasingly terrified eyes. By the time the huge black anthropomorphic crow loomed over him with its sharp beak clicking menacingly, Wilson was straining at his bonds and shaking his head back and forth despite the tight collar, whimpering softly.
"Ah!"nightdog_barks exclaimed. "It's first season and a slight AU, but it'll work..." She trailed off as she began typing with a speed rivalling House's thumbs on his Gameboy. Wilson shimmered for a moment, and when he solidified once more, he'd lost a few pounds, his cheekbones stood out, the bags under his eyes had faded, and his hair had gone fluffier. "Classic Season One," nightdog_barks murmured approvingly. More typing, and five men appeared around him: two beefy bouncers to his left, two thick-necked thugs to his right, and one shorter, trimmer, dark-haired man in his thirties directly in front of him, dressed in a smart grey suit. Wilson had to crane his neck against the post to see his face.
"Hi, Dr. Wilson," the man said in a soft, slightly nasal voice. He continued with a pronounced Jersey accent: "I see you don't recognize me. I'm an acquaintance of your friend Dr. House. He's supposed to be helping my brother, Joey."
Wilson's eyes widened as he made the connection, wrotenightdog_barks. He was tied up on his knees before Bill Arnello, mafioso, and his no-doubt equally ruthless henchmen. Bill Arnello, whose brother had almost died that morning when House's treatment backfired. He said the name around the gag, and it came out "ih ah eh oh."
"At your service," the man said with a tilt of his head and a ghost of a smirk. "I'm afraid I can't shake your hand. Can't leave any evidence. You understand. You're smart; you're a doctor, like Dr. House.
"Except Dr. House isn't always so smart, is he? He makes these wild guesses, and then he goes ahead and treats people for shit they don't even have, and when that doesn't work, he does it all over again." Arnello dropped to a squat in front of Wilson, his eyes fierce in their intensity, and spoke even more softly. "He almost killed my brother today. I told him if he fucked up with Joey, I'd take away the things he loves one by one. And guess what, Dr. Wilson?" His mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "From what I hear, you're near the top of the list."
Wilson wrenched his gaze away from Arnello and pleaded silently withnightdog_barks over the gangster's shoulder. "Don't look at me," she said, raising her hands palms-out from the computer. "It's him you need to make those adorable eyes at."
"Eyes on me, Dr. Wilson," Arnello snapped, taking Wilson's chin in a vise grip. Wilson obeyed instantly. His throat worked against the strap as he swallowed. Arnello went on in his previous soft tone: "Dr. House loves his job and he needs that medicine he takes, but I can't take those away, because he has to keep working on Joey. His ex-girlfriend is too far away for the time frame I'm working with. So that leaves..." He tapped Wilson on the nose. "You."
He stood then and put his hands on his hips, drawing back his sport jacket to reveal the glint of a handgun at his waist. Wilson jerked back and renewed his struggle, bare biceps and calves defined with the effort. He let out an animal whine low in his throat.
"Aw, relax, I'm not gonna kill you yet," Arnello said. "We're just gonna hurt you. Take some pictures. Send 'em to Dr. House for a little extra incentive to get things right with Joey. If Joey makes it out okay, we'll let you go. If Dr. House screws up..." He shrugged. "I lose the person closest to me, so does he."
Shaking his head and trying to protest through the gag, Wilson looked back and forth betweennightdog_barks and the pair of mafia guys (one from the left, one from the right) who stepped forward at a quick gesture from Arnello. Lefty brandished a stiff rubber truncheon, while Righty caressed the handle of a short, thick whip tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.
nightdog_barks typed. Arnello nodded. The thugs went to work.
Part Two
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,900
Spoilers: "Mob Rules"
Warnings: Meta and violence and slash, oh my. Specific warnings at the top of each part.
Summary: "Hello," she said, and gave Wilson an earnest smile. "We're going to play with some hurt/comfort today."
Disclaimer: I do not own House, Wilson, the Arnello brothers, Grey Eyes' gang,
nightdog_barks or her simulacrum.Author's Note: A meta hurt/comfort fic begun on
nightdog_barks's birthday back in April, finished many weeks later, and presented now to you with her blessing. While this story stands on its own, as an homage it borrows heavily from Nightdog's work, including plot points, characters, structure/format, objects and phrases. It's sort of a continuous game of Spot The Nightdog Reference, and I invite you to play along! Wilson knelt on the floor in the dark basement with his back against a rough-hewn wooden post, wearing nothing but his boxers and undershirt. The only light in the room came from a single bare bulb directly above him. He glanced around with wide eyes and breathed hard through his nose. He couldn't do much else; a cloth gag had been stuffed in his mouth, a thin leather strap collared him to the post by his neck, and his wrists and ankles had been lashed together behind him.
"He could feel the splinters of the post prickle through his t-shirt as he struggled to free himself to no avail—yes, that's nice," said the short-haired woman sitting in a chair a few feet away from him. She was typing away at a laptop.
"Hello," she said when she noticed Wilson staring at her, and gave him an earnest smile. "I'm
nightdog_barks. We're going to play with some hurt/comfort today. Naturally, you'll be the one hurt—"Wilson made a distressed sound and yanked at his restraints.
"—and comforted afterwards," she finished. "By House, of course. You'd like some comfort, wouldn't you? You haven't been getting very much support lately, poor baby."
Wilson stared, still twisting and tugging at his bonds, which held fast. He coughed a little against the pressure of the collar.
"I know, it's the 'hurt' part you're concerned about. But don't worry—I'm not going to kill you this time. And there won't be any sexual assault; House would be too afraid to touch you afterwards." She cocked her head like a bird considering a particularly juicy worm. "That is to say, I haven't planned any. One never knows where a story will take you. Sometimes I just can't help myself where you're concerned."
Again, Wilson struggled against his restraints. This time, he winced and tried to look behind him at his wrists, which had begun to redden from all the chafing.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me..." She moved the cursor back and edited the next-to-last sentence. With a few keystrokes, the lengths of tough twine securing Wilson to the post transformed into soft leather cuffs. Wilson blinked, then swiveled his wrists and relaxed a little.
"Yes, that will do. Now, where were we? Right: hurt/comfort. You can't have comfort without the hurt. The pain is the price you have to pay in order for House to show you the love and affection he normally hides. It's a crappy bargain," she allowed, "but you do already have a lot of experience with suffering, being friends with House, and on the bright side, you're fun to hurt."
Wilson looked affronted.
"Well, you are. On your knees, or bent over a table, or hanging from your wrists, or all spread out, tied up, trembling, your hair mussed, your pale skin flushed, those beautifully expressive brown eyes filled with helpless agony as you're beaten or whipped or cut or shocked... and you scream and whimper and plead so prettily..." She sighed.
A pointed throat-clearing from the man on the floor brought her back. "If it helps," she went on when she had recovered herself, "I promise your reward today will be better than anything you've ever gotten from House before. You should be flattered, really. You're the one we love best. We think you deserve better than how House treats you."
Wilson was regarding her now as though she had gone completely insane.
"Now let's see," she muttered to herself. "Who should it be this time? Tritter, Moriarty, or maybe a gang of hired henchmen? A convenience store robber? House on drugs? More drugs than usual, that is. An ancient Germanic chieftain? Or perhaps an evil angel—or giant alien birds..." As she typed and deleted, each of the potential villains in question appeared and vanished before Wilson's increasingly terrified eyes. By the time the huge black anthropomorphic crow loomed over him with its sharp beak clicking menacingly, Wilson was straining at his bonds and shaking his head back and forth despite the tight collar, whimpering softly.
"Ah!"
nightdog_barks exclaimed. "It's first season and a slight AU, but it'll work..." She trailed off as she began typing with a speed rivalling House's thumbs on his Gameboy. Wilson shimmered for a moment, and when he solidified once more, he'd lost a few pounds, his cheekbones stood out, the bags under his eyes had faded, and his hair had gone fluffier. "Classic Season One," nightdog_barks murmured approvingly. More typing, and five men appeared around him: two beefy bouncers to his left, two thick-necked thugs to his right, and one shorter, trimmer, dark-haired man in his thirties directly in front of him, dressed in a smart grey suit. Wilson had to crane his neck against the post to see his face."Hi, Dr. Wilson," the man said in a soft, slightly nasal voice. He continued with a pronounced Jersey accent: "I see you don't recognize me. I'm an acquaintance of your friend Dr. House. He's supposed to be helping my brother, Joey."
Wilson's eyes widened as he made the connection, wrote
nightdog_barks. He was tied up on his knees before Bill Arnello, mafioso, and his no-doubt equally ruthless henchmen. Bill Arnello, whose brother had almost died that morning when House's treatment backfired. He said the name around the gag, and it came out "ih ah eh oh.""At your service," the man said with a tilt of his head and a ghost of a smirk. "I'm afraid I can't shake your hand. Can't leave any evidence. You understand. You're smart; you're a doctor, like Dr. House.
"Except Dr. House isn't always so smart, is he? He makes these wild guesses, and then he goes ahead and treats people for shit they don't even have, and when that doesn't work, he does it all over again." Arnello dropped to a squat in front of Wilson, his eyes fierce in their intensity, and spoke even more softly. "He almost killed my brother today. I told him if he fucked up with Joey, I'd take away the things he loves one by one. And guess what, Dr. Wilson?" His mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "From what I hear, you're near the top of the list."
Wilson wrenched his gaze away from Arnello and pleaded silently with
nightdog_barks over the gangster's shoulder. "Don't look at me," she said, raising her hands palms-out from the computer. "It's him you need to make those adorable eyes at.""Eyes on me, Dr. Wilson," Arnello snapped, taking Wilson's chin in a vise grip. Wilson obeyed instantly. His throat worked against the strap as he swallowed. Arnello went on in his previous soft tone: "Dr. House loves his job and he needs that medicine he takes, but I can't take those away, because he has to keep working on Joey. His ex-girlfriend is too far away for the time frame I'm working with. So that leaves..." He tapped Wilson on the nose. "You."
He stood then and put his hands on his hips, drawing back his sport jacket to reveal the glint of a handgun at his waist. Wilson jerked back and renewed his struggle, bare biceps and calves defined with the effort. He let out an animal whine low in his throat.
"Aw, relax, I'm not gonna kill you yet," Arnello said. "We're just gonna hurt you. Take some pictures. Send 'em to Dr. House for a little extra incentive to get things right with Joey. If Joey makes it out okay, we'll let you go. If Dr. House screws up..." He shrugged. "I lose the person closest to me, so does he."
Shaking his head and trying to protest through the gag, Wilson looked back and forth between
nightdog_barks and the pair of mafia guys (one from the left, one from the right) who stepped forward at a quick gesture from Arnello. Lefty brandished a stiff rubber truncheon, while Righty caressed the handle of a short, thick whip tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.nightdog_barks typed. Arnello nodded. The thugs went to work.Part Two
no subject
Date: Jul. 26th, 2007 11:49 pm (UTC)And... really strangely hot as hell...
*hurries to read the rest*
no subject
Date: Jul. 27th, 2007 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Jul. 27th, 2007 07:08 am (UTC)My, I think it is getting a bit warm in here...
:D
*runs to next part*
no subject
Date: Jul. 27th, 2007 06:41 pm (UTC)...Sorry, what? :)
no subject
Date: Jul. 27th, 2007 10:07 am (UTC)Wonderful!
*goes to read rest*
no subject
Date: Jul. 27th, 2007 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Oct. 27th, 2007 05:38 pm (UTC)And back to the fic--very creative. I love seeing Wilson get the crap beaten out of him, and you delivered. I also enjoy having them do the hot 'n' nasty, and you came through there, too. Having nightdog_barks orchestrate the whole thing was just so much fun! Kudos!
And you are right. I might have merely found it and *memed* it were it not for finding your "October 1-8" post. There are so many reasons we don't acknowledge authors we have enjoyed reading. I hope this comment isn't seen as coming too late *g*.
no subject
Date: Nov. 1st, 2007 02:13 pm (UTC)So, yes -- this was a very fun (and deliciously evil) fic to write. You might guess that I, too, enjoy a little Wilson-torture now and then, along with some House/Wilson action. And I just love Nightdog's writing, so to get to pay homage to her stories in this way was a treat. I've seen you over at "Aftershocks," I think, yes? -- so it's great to hear that a fellow fan liked this crazy meta piece.
Thanks again! I hope you continue to enjoy it.