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  No Pain 
 by bironic  

 The apartment was dark and quiet when Wilson let himself in. He squinted
into the dimness and called, "House?"

Nothing--then a faint thump from further inside. "House?" he called again,
making his way cautiously towards the bedroom. "Are you okay? I've been
calling all night."

A soft moan this time. Wilson broke into a run, grabbing the door jamb to
swing himself into the room. The bed was empty; it took a few seconds to
locate the shadowy figure curled up on the floor in the corner, his face
to the wall.

"Jesus," Wilson said, dropping to his knees next to him. House was
shaking. "How bad? Where's your Vicodin?"

"No," House said hoarsely. "No pain."

Wilson squinted. "No...pain?"

"No pain," House agreed. "No pain ever again." A shudder went through him.

Ever...? "House. House, what did you do?" Wilson reached out to grab his
arms, ready to shake him into coherence. He'd hardly moved before
something cool clamped around his wrists, holding him still. He grunted at
the pressure. "What--?"

"Had a patient today," House rasped. "In the clinic. Strangest symptoms.
Strangest story." He took a deep, gasping breath. Wilson strained to see
his face in the darkness. "Followed the trail. Not the nicest part of
town. Met some--people. Made a deal."

Incredulity overrode his apprehension. "You--You're on drugs? Of all the
stupid stunts you've pulled--"

House gave a ragged laugh. "Don't need drugs. I'm cured. God, you smell
so--" He jerked Wilson closer; Wilson tried to catch himself, but House
held firm, and Wilson ended up sprawled half on top of him, his heart
pounding. House felt cold; too cold.

Wilson willed himself to stay calm. "House," he said carefully, dimly
aware that he was repeating his name as if he were trying to calm a feral
animal. "What are you saying?"

House turned to him for the first time since he'd come in, and Wilson
stared, uncomprehending, unwilling to comprehend. House's face gleamed
corpse-pale; his eyes glittered with unnatural, mesmerizing intensity;
when he pulled his lips back, sharp fangs curved down from where his
canines had been.

"House?" Wilson whispered.

Another shiver, shaking the both of them. House growled, "Hungry."

That broke the spell; Wilson struggled to pull free, half of him still
disbelieving, the other screaming for him to get away. He quickly
discovered that he was no match for House's strength; he gained some
distance, but the grip on his wrists remained implacable.

"So warm," House murmured, and drew Wilson inexorably back towards him.
"Wilson."

"No," Wilson said, but he couldn't look away.

"Won't take too much," House promised. "Just enough. God, I need--" He
took another shaky breath, his pupils wide. "Need you."

Wilson faltered. His breath came fast and shallow.

"You'll do it," House said. They were inches apart now, Wilson straddling
House awkwardly. House let go of one wrist, and Wilson grabbed his
shoulder for balance. House stroked Wilson's jaw; Wilson's lips parted.
"You'll do it because you need to spare the innocents at your own
expense." Their mouths brushed. "Because you're used to giving everything
up for me." He scraped his cheek against Wilson's and whispered in his
ear: "Because you want it."

Wilson's pulse leapt when House pressed his face into his neck, nuzzling
at the thin skin over his artery. He breathed out hard. House needed this.
House would be pain-free and strong and safe, and he needed this.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

House groaned, opened his mouth wide--Wilson had a fleeting impression of
teeth dragging at his throat--and bit down. Electricity arced down
Wilson's spine and he cried out with shock and arousal. House's arms
encircled him, pressing them tightly together as he sucked. His body
pulsing with each pull, Wilson moaned and rocked against House's hip;
House moved one hand down to Wilson's ass to help him along. Wilson
twisted with helpless pleasure, relentless suction at his throat and
urgent pressure in his groin, and he pushed and pushed for relief,
clutching fistfuls of House's shirt. House's tongue traced patterns on his
throat as he continued to feed, and it was enough, it was too much, it was
everything--Wilson squeezed his eyes shut and came, surrounded by the
strength and heat of this new House.

House drew back with a satisfied moan of his own, suckling briefly at the
wound before pulling away. Shaken and giddy, Wilson touched his
neck--nothing but two small punctures, already scabbing over--and watched
House lick blood from his lips.

House looked at him, a question in his startling, luminous eyes.

Wilson nodded. "No pain?"

"No pain," House agreed, and he grinned, his fangs glinting.  
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the
ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House
(and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property
of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I
am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive
no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement
nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the
show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.