“House you can’t be serious.” Wilson muttered, rubbing his hands together in a futile bid to warm them against the frigid chill of the evening. A delicate flush of colour had begun to stain at his cheeks and House had an inkling that Wilson’s blushing had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with their current situation.
House finished signing both their names with a flourish, handing fifteen dollars a piece towards the scantily dressed woman at the door before grinning over at Wilson with a perversely delighted look in his eyes. His face was lit by the various gaudy signs flashing about this particular side of town; signs flashing their advertisements of ‘Live’, ‘Exotic’, ‘Dancing’, ‘Sexy’ and perhaps more importantly- ‘Girls’.
“Trust me, Wilson.” Was all House said by way of answer, grabbing his arm and steering him into ‘The Shala’.
They took the stairs down to the basement level with House almost giddy at the prospect of seeing just how live, sexy, exotic, dancing and girls The Shala could really be. Wilson followed with far less enthusiasm, wondering how on earth he’d managed to let House rope him into visiting a strip joint. Sure he’d been surprised, even a little intrigued when House had told him he’d just found out that Chase worked as a part-time dancer earlier that day, but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to watch him. Not really.
‘Oh?’ Wilson remembered commenting with raised eyebrows as House divulged the details behind his sudden good humour. He tried to imagine Chase in any sort of dancing getup but succeeded only in filling his mind with images of the young Australian in a garishly pink tutu, of all things.
The look on House’s face however told Wilson that whatever kind of dancing Chase did, it was far more visually pleasing than any image of Chase in tights could ever be.
‘An exotic dancer.’ House elaborated with a leer and Wilson had to take a moment to process the exact meaning of ‘exotic’ before turning a disbelieving stare upon the older man.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Wilson replied sceptically. He slanted his gaze to look into the consultation room where said Australian was lazing at the table with Foreman, struggling over another one of his crossword puzzles with that damned pencil sliding in and out of his mouth in a completely inappropriate manner.
Wilson found himself trying to picture Chase with some provocative outfit on, undulating to the garbled soundtrack of something that had once been recognisable as a song for the sole purpose of playing eye candy for pensioners and perverts.
‘No way.’ Wilson said, turning back to House. ‘There is no way he’s an exotic dancer, he’s… he’s too posh for that!’
House laughed aloud, leaning over towards Wilson again. ‘It’s true, and I’ll prove it to you. Tonight.’
House stood and prepared to enter the conference room, stilling only when Wilson’s hand snapped out to grab at his wrist.
‘House, if this were true I’d have heard about it. I know you, you can’t keep something like this quiet; it’d be half-way around the hospital by now.’
House grinned with a strange light in his eyes. ‘Ah but Jimmy,’ He replied, ‘It’s going to be so much more fun this way.’
And with that said, he’d sauntered into the other room and roused his team into action.
Jolting himself back to the present, Wilson could only shake his head in disbelief over the whole matter. There was just no way. This could only be some elaborate plan of House’s design intended to drag him, half-willingly, to a strip club he’d otherwise never have stepped foot in, no matter how much of a wandering bastard he could be at times.
House could have picked a better club though, Wilson noted, scrunching his nose up as they entered the main floor. It was all low ceilings and dimmed lighting; the stifling clouds of cigarette smoke and fake mist did nothing to hide the underlying stink and it was clear the management had long ago decided that turning the lights down was a cheap alternative to cleaning the place.
Wilson shot House an incredulous look but found the other man looking elsewhere; elsewhere being an empty, questionably stained booth with an unfortunately good view of the stage. A stage where a couple of glassy-eyed girls bounced along to something loud- music, perhaps?- their partially naked bodies writhing over the stage with slow, lazy movements.
Another scantily dressed woman stopped by their table to take a drinks order for them, looking past both House and Wilson as if neither of them were really there. Hell, she looked as if she wasn’t even really there herself and despite not having been in the club for more than five minutes, Wilson knew he’d rather be wherever she was zoned off to.
House gave the woman his order and turned to Wilson, giving him the opportunity to order his own beverage. In a moment of daring he found himself asking the woman for some of whatever she’d had and ignored the delightedly surprised look House threw his way.
As it was, the woman really hadn’t been all there, Wilson noted with disappointment as she set a snifter of what looked to be whiskey before him. Either that or she’d assumed he’d been speaking to House who also appeared to have the same amber liquid in his glass.
“Better luck next time.” House grinned, lifting his glass and toasting Wilson.
“House-,” Wilson began, wanting to tell House in a progressively pointed tone how there would never be a next time and that he was still trying to work out how the hell he’d been roped into the first time.
Just as he’d gotten House’s name out however, the music changed to something a little more recognisable as music and the glassy-eyed girls left the stage. Something else had changed too; the general atmosphere of the place seemed to pick up with an expectation that got even Wilson sitting a little straighter. An almost-hush descended on the place as the music changed to something that sounded familiarly like the Bee Gees of all things and then, out a puff of misty cloud stepped…-
“Oh my god.”
- Doctor Robert Chase, looking nothing like the respectable doctor he was supposed to be and entirely like a corner-street hooker. A male hooker, Wilson had to remind himself, as the Australian stepped onto the stage with legs to his ears and a figure most women would kill for.
“I told you!” House jeered triumphantly at him, but Wilson wasn’t listening, too busy taking in those killer, fishnet-clad legs of Chase’s with their knee-high riding boots a subtle alternative to heels- and Wilson found himself wondering if Chase had ever worn heels, because with legs like that…
The music began to speed up and a cheer ran through the patrons, a liveliness coming over the club as Chase began undulating to the music, a coy little smile tugging at his red painted lips. His eyes were heavy-lidded, smudged softly with colour and he looked for all the world as if he were lost within his own mind, dancing for no one other than himself.
Wilson watched, enraptured, as Chase reached out towards the pole in the centre of the stage, wrapping one of those long legs of his around it and sinking all the way down to the ground and then back up with flawless ease; the short shorts he wore curved so deliciously over his backside that Wilson found himself shifting awkwardly, his mouth drying up with the sudden rush of desire that assaulted him.
Chase’s dancing got more and more provocative, more daring and wild and so uncharacteristic of the softly spoken young man Wilson knew from the hospital that it was all Wilson could do to keep himself from turning into one of the many howling, drooling men that crowded round the stage, causing a ruckus and throwing their dollar bills as if they were candy.
Wilson gazed with longing as Chase tipped his head back, his pretty mouth pouting suggestively as he arched his back and ran a slow hand up over his chest, stroking slowly at his breast, and for the first time since he’d stepped onto the stage, Wilson’s eyes were torn from Chase’s legs to stare in astonishment at the pair of breasts Chase seemed to be sporting. Actual breasts. Wilson could only gape as Chase delicately fondled one of them through the fabric of his shirt, all the while eyeing the crowd with that lazy little gaze of his and suddenly Wilson understood just how girls The Shala really was.
When the music finally died down to a finish that found Chase rubbing his crotch into the pole as if he had every intention of getting himself off then and there, Wilson could only stare dumfounded. He watched with avid distress as Chase pulled away just short of any rubbing-induced orgasm, and throwing a wink at the clientele he strutted his way off the stage, leaving behind a hoard of dissatisfied but cheering men in his wake.
Only once Chase had fully disappeared from view could Wilson turn to look at House. House who looked just as turned on and dumbfounded as Wilson himself was.
Wilson reached for his untouched drink, chugging it back in one go and cringing at the fiery burn that laced its way down his throat.
“Jesus.” House finally breathed as if he couldn’t quite believe in the sight he’d seen; Wilson nodded in silent agreement. The music changed once again to something loud and thumping and a new set of glassy-eyed girls came out on the stage to a more muted but no less encouraging roar from the crowd.
Wilson shifted again, his pants feeling two sizes too small after Chase’s performance. His head was reeling, unable to comprehend- to believe- in what he’d just witnessed. Sliding himself round to House’s side of the booth, Wilson slipped his hand over the other man’s thigh, reaching to grab at the matching bulge in House’s pants without any pretence at subtlety.
House’s legs parted willingly as Wilson undid the fastenings of his trousers and slipped his hand within the heated confines of his pants, taking hold of his cock with a sureness that never failed to surprised him. Wilson immediately began pumping his hand along the length and House let out a little groan of appreciation, turning his head to face Wilson and finding the other man staring intently at him, his cheeks aflame with desire and his eyes darkened with lust.
“Did you- did you see…?” Wilson panted between strokes.
House merely nodded, reaching to grab at Wilson. He slid his hand around the back of Wilson's neck and wrenched the other man’s mouth over for a deep and heady kiss that was both frantic and bruising for its duration before Wilson was pulling away with small gasping breaths, removing his hand from House’s cock and reaching for his own fastenings.
Instead of merely parting the fabric of his pants however, House watched with a growing hunger as Wilson shoved the material as far down his hips as he was able before lifting himself up and slipping himself onto House’s lap with nary a care as to who could be watching this little display. Wilson pressed himself too close to House as he arched his back away from the edge of the table, rubbing himself enticingly against House’s groin, their cocks brushing deliciously with each roll of his hips.
“Why, Doctor Wilson,” House breathed against Wilson’s cheek. “I’d never have taken you as one for public displays.”
Wilson bit roughly at his earlobe, rubbing himself in a rotating up-down motion against House’s groin.
“No one’s watching.” Wilson laved his tongue down the curve of House’s ear, suckling at the lobe before giving it another playful nip; his body arching as House slipped a hand beneath his shirt, dragging his fingers in an enticing scratch up his back.
House moaned appreciatively, finding Wilson’s mouth again and kissing him forcefully. He knew that not only were they not being watched with any great deal of interest, but also that there were other pleasure-seeking couples like them too otherwise preoccupied in their own booths to give a damn that not only was Wilson a man but that he too was only a condom away from riding House like some horny little back-street slut
It was a sleazy dump for sure, House mused as he swept his eyes across the room and saw that several booths contained writhing bodies. The sight served only to heighten his arousal and he turned his head back to Wilson, biting at his lips and enjoying the appreciative moan the oncologist voiced at both the sharpness of the nip and at the hand House squeezed between their bodies to take hold of their cocks, pumping them together in graceless unison; sweat and pre-come lubricating his grip enough to make the action more pleasurable than not.
It wasn’t long before they were both spilling themselves over House’s hand with low, guttural moans, slumping shakily as they waited for the haze to clear their heads enough to allow Wilson to slide sideways off of House’s lap.
The same woman who’d brought their drinks walked past without so much as a glance, wordlessly placing a handful of paper towels upon the table as she did so. House grabbed them up and grinned at Wilson, handing the oncologist a couple before making to clean himself up.
“So… what now?” Wilson asked with a tiredly sated look upon his face, his clothes fixed back into place.
“Now?” House repeated. “Now we wait.”
Wilson frowned at him, raising House’s half-finished glass to his lips and draining the contents.
House made a show of checking his watch. “Thursday night,” He muttered more to himself that to Wilson. “Our dear little wombat only does one show tonight,” House said triumphantly. “So I reckon that in about the next fifteen minutes, half-an-hour tops, Chase should be walking through that door, right… there-,” He pointed to a door hidden away beside the bar.
“And we, my dear, Wilson, will be there waiting to ambush him.”
Wilson shook his head at House’s sadistically pleased look, finding himself unable to keep from grinning back, as he turned his gaze upon the ‘stage door’ and set in for the wait. He didn’t bother asking what House planned to do with Chase once they’d cornered him, as he knew whatever House attempted would be thwarted by Chase’s aversion and humiliation at seeing them both in the club in the first place.
- - -