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alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2007-08-06 07:31 am
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-08-06 07:31 am
Entry tags:
challange fic 2 constipation!wilson
in my comment on vfdj42's hitbydrunktrucker!wilson fic (which i regretably forgot the name of) i said that i was going to take the line "everything that can be done to wilson, has been done to wilson" as a challange.
so this is the first short response fic, with the subject of "constipation" which has not been done in sick!wilson.
(the opposite has been done in sick!house, however.)
Title: challange fic 2 constipated!wilson
Pairing: House / Wilson
Summary: wilson gets constipated. self explanitory.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reveiws and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) yes, I know I said I wasn't going to have time to update again before going camping. I wrote this last night and I got up early. yes, i wrote a story about constipation. woot.
here's the link to the first chalange fic:
seizures!wilson
and here's the new one:
so this is the first short response fic, with the subject of "constipation" which has not been done in sick!wilson.
(the opposite has been done in sick!house, however.)
Title: challange fic 2 constipated!wilson
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author: ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG 13 (mild lime, no lemons)alanwolfmoonSummary: wilson gets constipated. self explanitory.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Reveiws and flames alike are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast) yes, I know I said I wasn't going to have time to update again before going camping. I wrote this last night and I got up early. yes, i wrote a story about constipation. woot.
here's the link to the first chalange fic:
seizures!wilson
and here's the new one:
“Wilson. Wilson? Hey, are you home?”
“Nnhhhhnnnn.”
“Uh....you know, if you wanted to do that it would have been easier to just wait till I got home.”
“Owww....I’m not doing....that....it hurts....”
“You sound like a whining puppy.”
Wilson looked up at House, his expression bearing a distinct resemblance to House’s description of his tone.
“What? It’s so bad you can’t talk properly?” asked House, amused and totally unaffected by Wilson’s obvious discomfort.
“Dammit! You at least got to put a catheter in! I can’t give myself an enema!”
House looked at Wilson, badly suppressing his laughter at the thought.
Wilson was sitting on the toilet, clutching his lower stomach.
“You want me to give you one?”
Wilson glared at House.
“Seriously, if you want I can probably even make it fun.”
Wilson rolled his eyes at House’s idea of fun.
“House, I’m not letting you anywhere near my ass until after this is over. It’s full enough as it is.”
House snorted, but did tilt his head a little to the side, noticing the dried toothpaste on Wilson’s toothbrush, and the entire stock of magazines and medical journals that were usually kept in a semi-neat stack on the back of the toilet, scattered around the base of Wilson’s porcelain throne.
“How long have you been on there?” he asked, eyeing the completely empty toilet bowl as Wilson blushed at the angle of House’s gaze.
“Three hours...” moaned Wilson, leaning his head on the toilet paper dispenser, the closest thing to a pillow he could find nearby.
“Why didn’t you get up? It’ll come eventually and straining like that’ll only give you hemorrhoids.”
“It hurts...” said Wilson, pitifully.
House burst out laughing.
“You are such an idiot. Get up, go sit on the couch, not straight backed, watch a movie, and by the time it’s over you’ll be able to go. Sheesh, like you’ve never been constipated before.”
“Not this bad!” said Wilson, indignantly.
House continued to chuckle, obviously waiting for Wilson to get up.
Wilson sighed, and stood, starting to zip his fly.
As he reached a fully straight position, he suddenly put his hand to his belly and sat back down.
House raised and eyebrow.
“It hurts...” said Wilson, miserably.
House snorted.
Wilson continued to hunch over his stomach.
House watched this with mild interest for a while, before finally getting bored and deciding to do something about it.
“Take you’re clothes off.”
“What?! Didn’t you hear me before? And now, moaning?”
“Yeah, it’s annoying the socks off me. Get naked. Unless you want to get into the shower with your clothes on.”
“The shower?! This is not the time, House!”
“Wilson, unless you think I want to try and *balance* in the shower while being distracted to that degree, you should realize that I’m not acting out of horniness.
Wilson glared weakly up at House, but didn’t resist when House started unbuttoning Wilson’s shirt in a very professional manner.
“Come on, I’m not undoing your pants for you while you’re in this condition.”
Wilson snorted, and obliged.
House divested himself similarly, although he left his boxers on in an attempt to remind Wilson that this was in no way anything other than medical.
“Now stay there while I get the water going.” said House, briskly.
“Like I’m going anywhere.” commented Wilson, dare I say it, dryly.
House turned the knob until the water was slightly too hot to stand in, then turned back to Wilson, who had resumed leaning on the paper towel dispenser.
“You really are pathetic.” commented House, pulling Wilson up by the armpits when he just groaned and turned his head at House’s beckoning.
“You’re the cripple.” said Wilson, irritably.
“Not tonight.” said House, as cheerful as Wilson was miserable, steering Wilson towards the steaming cubical.
“Ouch! That’s hot!” said Wilson as he leaned against the white plastic side of the shower, out of the path of the hot spray.
“Duh, that’s because it’s still gotta be warm when it hits the floor.”
Wilson edged out of the shower, glaring at House.
“You said you didn’t want to try and balance. Is sitting down some sort of trick?”
“No. Unless you count trying to trick your body into thinking that the warm and wet is inside you as well as outside and getting it to relax. Plus if you sit in the right position it’ll help line stuff up better for exiting.”
Wilson gazed at House, surprised by the helpfulness of his idea.
“What? I’m on Vicodin, ergo: I get constipated a *lot.* You tend to learn these things after a while.”
Wilson finally caved, the pain in his stomach getting the better of any lingering mistrustful thoughts he had as to House’s sudden helpfulness.
House showed him how to sit in the corner, back mostly against one side, but allowing his feet to brace against the lip of the drain in the center of the floor.
“Spread your knees a bit. No, don’t give me that look, I told you, I don’t do shower sex. Now stay there till you feel it actually coming out, don’t get out just because you feel like you need to go.”
Wilson nodded, and House shut the rippled glass door, starting to dry himself off.
It was only about fifteen minutes later when Wilson burst out of the shower, dripping, and sat down on the toilet, an utterly relieved look on his face.
House, sitting on the edge of the sink, grinned.
“Told you it’d work.”
Wilson grinned back, feeling like he had never felt this good before in his life.
House chuckled, handing Wilson a towel.
“Now...after shower sex....that I can do....” he said, mischievously.
Wilson, still riding high on the endorphins from the sudden lack of pain, had only one condition: that it not occur in his rectum.
House laughed, and proceeded to oblige Wilson with a large variety of techniques that did not involve Wilson’s rectum.
“Nnhhhhnnnn.”
“Uh....you know, if you wanted to do that it would have been easier to just wait till I got home.”
“Owww....I’m not doing....that....it hurts....”
“You sound like a whining puppy.”
Wilson looked up at House, his expression bearing a distinct resemblance to House’s description of his tone.
“What? It’s so bad you can’t talk properly?” asked House, amused and totally unaffected by Wilson’s obvious discomfort.
“Dammit! You at least got to put a catheter in! I can’t give myself an enema!”
House looked at Wilson, badly suppressing his laughter at the thought.
Wilson was sitting on the toilet, clutching his lower stomach.
“You want me to give you one?”
Wilson glared at House.
“Seriously, if you want I can probably even make it fun.”
Wilson rolled his eyes at House’s idea of fun.
“House, I’m not letting you anywhere near my ass until after this is over. It’s full enough as it is.”
House snorted, but did tilt his head a little to the side, noticing the dried toothpaste on Wilson’s toothbrush, and the entire stock of magazines and medical journals that were usually kept in a semi-neat stack on the back of the toilet, scattered around the base of Wilson’s porcelain throne.
“How long have you been on there?” he asked, eyeing the completely empty toilet bowl as Wilson blushed at the angle of House’s gaze.
“Three hours...” moaned Wilson, leaning his head on the toilet paper dispenser, the closest thing to a pillow he could find nearby.
“Why didn’t you get up? It’ll come eventually and straining like that’ll only give you hemorrhoids.”
“It hurts...” said Wilson, pitifully.
House burst out laughing.
“You are such an idiot. Get up, go sit on the couch, not straight backed, watch a movie, and by the time it’s over you’ll be able to go. Sheesh, like you’ve never been constipated before.”
“Not this bad!” said Wilson, indignantly.
House continued to chuckle, obviously waiting for Wilson to get up.
Wilson sighed, and stood, starting to zip his fly.
As he reached a fully straight position, he suddenly put his hand to his belly and sat back down.
House raised and eyebrow.
“It hurts...” said Wilson, miserably.
House snorted.
Wilson continued to hunch over his stomach.
House watched this with mild interest for a while, before finally getting bored and deciding to do something about it.
“Take you’re clothes off.”
“What?! Didn’t you hear me before? And now, moaning?”
“Yeah, it’s annoying the socks off me. Get naked. Unless you want to get into the shower with your clothes on.”
“The shower?! This is not the time, House!”
“Wilson, unless you think I want to try and *balance* in the shower while being distracted to that degree, you should realize that I’m not acting out of horniness.
Wilson glared weakly up at House, but didn’t resist when House started unbuttoning Wilson’s shirt in a very professional manner.
“Come on, I’m not undoing your pants for you while you’re in this condition.”
Wilson snorted, and obliged.
House divested himself similarly, although he left his boxers on in an attempt to remind Wilson that this was in no way anything other than medical.
“Now stay there while I get the water going.” said House, briskly.
“Like I’m going anywhere.” commented Wilson, dare I say it, dryly.
House turned the knob until the water was slightly too hot to stand in, then turned back to Wilson, who had resumed leaning on the paper towel dispenser.
“You really are pathetic.” commented House, pulling Wilson up by the armpits when he just groaned and turned his head at House’s beckoning.
“You’re the cripple.” said Wilson, irritably.
“Not tonight.” said House, as cheerful as Wilson was miserable, steering Wilson towards the steaming cubical.
“Ouch! That’s hot!” said Wilson as he leaned against the white plastic side of the shower, out of the path of the hot spray.
“Duh, that’s because it’s still gotta be warm when it hits the floor.”
Wilson edged out of the shower, glaring at House.
“You said you didn’t want to try and balance. Is sitting down some sort of trick?”
“No. Unless you count trying to trick your body into thinking that the warm and wet is inside you as well as outside and getting it to relax. Plus if you sit in the right position it’ll help line stuff up better for exiting.”
Wilson gazed at House, surprised by the helpfulness of his idea.
“What? I’m on Vicodin, ergo: I get constipated a *lot.* You tend to learn these things after a while.”
Wilson finally caved, the pain in his stomach getting the better of any lingering mistrustful thoughts he had as to House’s sudden helpfulness.
House showed him how to sit in the corner, back mostly against one side, but allowing his feet to brace against the lip of the drain in the center of the floor.
“Spread your knees a bit. No, don’t give me that look, I told you, I don’t do shower sex. Now stay there till you feel it actually coming out, don’t get out just because you feel like you need to go.”
Wilson nodded, and House shut the rippled glass door, starting to dry himself off.
It was only about fifteen minutes later when Wilson burst out of the shower, dripping, and sat down on the toilet, an utterly relieved look on his face.
House, sitting on the edge of the sink, grinned.
“Told you it’d work.”
Wilson grinned back, feeling like he had never felt this good before in his life.
House chuckled, handing Wilson a towel.
“Now...after shower sex....that I can do....” he said, mischievously.
Wilson, still riding high on the endorphins from the sudden lack of pain, had only one condition: that it not occur in his rectum.
House laughed, and proceeded to oblige Wilson with a large variety of techniques that did not involve Wilson’s rectum.