Fic: The Guest Lecture v1.5
Fandoms: Scrubs / House crossover (Set in Sacred Heart Hospital, my money's on Sacramento, CA)
Characters this chapter: Dr. House, Dr. Cox, Jordan, JD, Carla, Turk
Chapter rating:NC-17 for a certain oncologist getting it on with a certain Red Wings fan with a certain ex-wife watching. (I managed to stop blushing for a bit.)
Overall story rating: NC-17 in parts, if I can make myself stop blushing, but relatively plot heavy overall.
Genre: Humor, angst, romantic, smut, I think I hit everything but horror.
Warnings: Bona Fide sex between two men, possibly OOC Wilson, borderline OOC Cox?
Spoilers: Up to Scrubs Season 6, episode 7, "My Musical" and House, M.D., up to "Fools for Love," Season 3, episode 5.
The Guest Lecture 7b and c/??
Chapter Narrator: 7b- JD, 7c- Wilson
Chapter 7b: Salad and Breadsticks
Furslide, "In Over My Head"
I looked weak, my eyes they gave it all away
I don't deny it, I still haven't found it.
"Oh Bambi…" Carla sighed, looking at the bump in my collar where I'd crammed the bell down to hide it. "I don't know how you get into these things."
"Just take it off!" Turk said, snapping a breadstick in his mouth.
"I can't," I moped, fiddling with my napkin-knife-spoon-fork bundle.
"Go kick his ass, baby," Carla said to Turk.
"Can't do it," Turk said. "Jordan's with him."
"Oh, what?" Carla said.
"She's got that crazy pregnancy strength," I murmured, abandoning the napkin bundle and starting to build a fort in front of my place with sugar and artificial sweetener packets. "And Dr. Cox is so cranky about not getting anything close to his way at home with Jordan that he's closer than usual to strangling me."
"Like Jordan would try to stop you from kickin' his ass," Carla said, rolling her eyes.
"Fine, baby, you go kick his ass!" Turk said. Carla shook her head.
"Ah ha ha. Hell no. Jordan's with him," she laughed.
"Woman just tried to throw me to the wolves!" Turk whispered. "Hey, isn't that that Dr. Wilson guy at the bar with Dr. Cox?"
"Oohh, is it that time of the pregnancy again already?" Carla said quietly to Izzy.
"What do you mean?" Turk asked, reaching across me and letting Izzy grab his pinky.
"She got like this when she was pregnant with Jack—doesn't want to have sex with men, just wants men to have sex with each other. About six months in with Jack? She made Dr. Cox have sex with Ben."
"Her brother?!" Turk squeaked, reclaiming his finger. "Whoa!"
"JD, you don't seem surprised," Carla said to me. I didn't say anything, placing the salt and pepper shakers in front of my fort like turrets.
"Oh… my god, you're mad that she didn't make him have sex with you!" Turk said, looking a little disgusted with me. I knocked over my fort.
"No!" I laughed, scowling at the same time. "That's ridiculous!"
"I'll be back in just a sec," I said, getting up and walking over to the table where Jordan and Dr. House were still sitting.
"Jordan, can I talk to you for a sec?" I said.
"Can it wait, DJ, they just brought my salad," she replied.
"Not so much," I answered, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
"All right, Sally, but if you'd better be done before I am and I decide to eat your arm between courses."
"Well… it's sort of private…"
"You can say anything in front of Greg!" Jordan cried. "He's like one of the girls. Isn't that right, Greg?"
"The gospel truth," Dr. House said, smiling at me. "Go on, sit down there Johnny."
"Um… kay…" I said, sitting next to Jordan. "So why haven't you asked me to… with Perry, for you?"
"Why haven't I asked you and Perry to screw for my amusement?"
I suddenly thought of Jordan dressed in a toga with laurel leaves around her head, being fed grapes by nubile interns, also togaed, who all looked like Keith.
"Jordan, Dr. House is right there! And yes."
"Don't mind me," Dr. House said, smiling, rolling his eyes at Jordan's lack of mental censor and winking at me. Jordan put her fork down and turned to me.
"Oh god, don't eat me," I whimpered.
"The answer to your question, DJ, is 'Been there, done you.' I've already seen your moves, and I've already seen Perry's. What can I say? The thought of seeing them together just isn't that inspiring. Sides, he'd never agree to doing it with you. Not in a hundred thousand years."
I opened my mouth to protest when a shadow fell over the table.
"Oh, Olympia," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Dr. Cox looming over me.
"Yes Dr. Cox?"
"What did I say about tonight?"
"I'm not talking to him, I'm talking to Jordan!" I protested.
"Is Jordan on the approved babysitter list?" Dr. Cox asked. I could smell scotch. A lot of scotch for before the soup.
"Are you sure there, Belinda?" Dr. Cox said.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Good. If I see you anywhere tonight that isn't between Carla and Gandhi, I will beat you purple with your own stethoscope."
"Kinky," Dr. Cox muttered, giving me a sort-of sympathetic smile and a wink. Jordan snorted.
"That's kinky to you? Square," she said.
"Oh no, she called me square! We'll have to have a rumble after the sock hop!" Dr. House said. I couldn't help it, the thought of Jordan in a poodle skirt was too funny to resist, and I laughed.
Oh no. I looked up at Perry.
"Go," Perry said.
"But—" I started to protest. Dr. House was funny, I thought him and Jordan sparring would be entertaining, if not extremely dangerous to be around.
"Now," Perry said.
"I was just—"
"JD!" he barked. I went, back at my original table before you could say 'Oh god I think he ruptured my spleen!' Carla sighed, tugging one of her curls out of Izzy's hand.
"So how'd that go?" she asked.
"Jordan said, 'Been there, done you,'" I mumbled.
"And then Dr. Cox yelled at you," Turk said.
"How'd you know?"
"I could hear him over here!" he said. He'd taken my packets and rebuilt them into a bungalow with a path made out of those tiny jelly containers.
"There there, Bambi, maybe some day you'll get to have sex with Dr. Cox," Carla said, patting my arm. I looked at her like she was high.
"I don't wanna have sex with Dr. Cox!" I said.
"You just risked gettin' eaten by pregnant Jordan and gettin' killed by Dr. Cox to complain about it, dude. That's like scientific evidence that you want to get freaky with him!"
"I was complaining about not being asked, Turk," I replied, and really, it was common courtesy.
"So if Jordan had asked you, you wouldn't have said, 'Oh hell yeah, gotta get me some of that?' Bambi, and you wonder why I laugh at you when you're saying you're having a gay day."
"Look, I don't deny that my gay days can last for weeks, sometimes months at a time, but I deny that I'm gay for Dr. Cox!"
"You follow him everywhere!" Turk said.
"Only at work, after work I follow you everywhere!" I countered, poking his arm.
"Bambi, do I need to give you the 'bitch, you best step off my man before I cut you' speech again?" Carla said.
"…that was the whole speech!" I pointed out.
"So then I guess the real question is: Bitch, do I need to cut you?" Carla asked with a horizontal side to side head motion.
"No, Carla, I mean, if I had to pick between having sex with Turk or Dr. Cox, I'd definitely have sex with Dr. Cox, hands down."
"Gay day, huh?" Turk said.
"For about a month, maybe," I said quietly.
"Gonna make things rough with Kim," Carla said, bouncing Isabella on her lap.
"Nah, I'll snap out of it," I said.
We sat around, pausing in eating whenever someone got up to talk about something boring to do with differential diagnosis. Carla went to the ladies room, leaving me with Izzy, and I observed Dr. House shooting me smiles from over by Jordan. I looked over to make sure Dr. Cox had his back turned, and gave Dr. House a little wave back.
"So what'd Dr. Cox yell at you for anyway?" Turk asked after Carla returned.
"I was talking to Dr. House," I answered.
"He tells you who you can and can't talk to?" Carla asked. "And I thought I was a controlling bitch."
"Don't worry, you are," I said, only getting away with it because I was holding Isabella.
"I'll get you back for that later, brat," Carla assured me.
"She's not wrong, dude, that is pretty controlling. Then again, Dr. House is a total asshole," Turk contemplated.
"Does he yell at you if you talk to anyone who isn't an asshole?" Carla asked.
"Not that I've noticed. Though I believe he just said he'd kill me if he ever caught me around Hugh Jackman."
"Well, we have no knowledge of whether Hugh Jackman is an asshole or not, so I guess we can't count it," Turk said seriously.
"Mm," Carla nodded. "Of course, there is still the whole bell thing."
"Guuh," Izzy said.
Chapter 7c: Just Desserts
RENT, "The Tango Maureen"
So you think, might as well dance a tango to hell, at least I'll have tangoed at all.
"So you work with that guy?" Perry asked, staring into his scotch.
"Not most of the time. He's actually… my friend," I said. The bartender was a tired looking blonde woman who could've been twenty five or forty five, but had that specific wisdom to know when to pour more scotch without being asked.
"Dramatic-pause-friend? No offense Jim, no one is friends with Greg House."
He had a point.
"Okay. So Greg treats me like shit during the day," I admitted, leaning back a bit on the bar stool and stretching.
"That's right Jim, the first stage of recovery is admitting you have a problem."
I hunched back over the bar, sipped my own scotch and sighed.
"Of course, every evening when I get to my apartment, his, wherever… I tie him up, torture him for a while, and then fuck him."
"Mm. You have no taste whatsoever," Perry sighed. "But I will sleep better at night knowing that someone beats the shit out of Greg House on a regular basis."
"Oh, me too," I replied. And it did make me feel better, because honestly, if House got away with treating people like that, it would pretty much disprove the existence of god.
"Wanna make him jealous?" Perry asked, staring straight ahead, voice sounding slightly odd because he was speaking directly into his scotch glass. I thought about it. And then I thought about nubile young boy doctors and stethoscope fondling…
"He has been drooling over this one doctor at your hospital."
"Tell me about it, I mean, have you seen how he's been trying to steal my protégé back to New Jersey?"
"Yeah, back to New Jersey," I laughed. Perry looked over at me with a weird expression. "Oh my god you're serious. I honestly don't know whether to find that adorable or terrifying."
"So Greggers isn't trying to make JD one of the Differential Mouseketeers?" he asked, paling as the reality of the situation sunk in.
"Yeah, fondling his stethoscope is a euphemism for fondling his genitals," I said. Perry almost spit out his scotch.
"I get it now! Thank you! Jim!" he said.
"My god I do love the naïve ones," I smiled, getting up. What the hell. I was apparently on a separate vacation after all. "Come on, I'll go back to your place and sexually assault you for your wife."
"I… never mentioned Jordan's little fetish!" Perry muttered suspiciously.
"You make it sound like this is the first time I've had sex with a man for his pregnant wife's amusement," I said. "But I do need a favor."
"State your terms," Perry said, rising from the bar stool and handing the bartender far more than we owed her.
"If I'm going to really bother Greg, I can't be staying in the same room as him," I pointed out carefully.
"Guest room? Easy. Hell, I'm never in that damn apartment anyway," Perry volunteered, taking my hint.
"Excellent," I said. "Thank you."
"Are you kidding?" Perry growled, gazing at House, who'd gone over to pester the human puppy and his friends. "Anything—and I do mean anything—to make that bastard suffer."
Jordan Sullivan wasn't presently at her table, but Greg was, so I followed Perry over to where Nurse Espinosa stood talking to another woman.
"Carla," Perry said, touching her shoulder. "Can you take Krystal home?"
"Where are you going?" she asked suspiciously, glancing back over at their mutual friend, who was bouncing her baby in his lap and giggling with her.
"Just don't let him go home with anyone from New Jersey?" he said quietly. "I don't want him to be eaten by that bastard."
It's funny how quickly "that bastard" stops applying to anyone else and starts applying to House once people have met him. Nurse Espinosa sighed.
"I'll do what I can," she conceded, turning and going back to their table.
"So," I said gently. "All loose ends tied up?" He swung his head around to look at me.
"As tied as I can make them tonight."
"Did you boys make friends?" Perry's ex-wife asked as we arrived near the table where Jordan now sat alone.
"We have reached an understanding, Jordan," Perry answered. "Whenever you're ready."
"What about Sally? Just gonna make her walk home? There are sailors out there, and you know she can't resist a man in uniform."
"Carla's gonna take him home."
"Fine," Jordan said. "Shotgun."
"Jim's got shotgun," he answered sternly.
"Then I'm driving," she said. "I'm not letting you kill us all before I get to enjoy myself."
I followed them out to their very pretty Porche, in which Jordan drove us back to their apartment.
On the way, I felt Perry's fingers stroking the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His ex chattered a bit about what her family did with the board of the hospital, but I wasn't really listening, and I got the impression that she didn't really care. I was trying to get my head around whether or not I'd made a mistake. I was about to have sex with a man I'd just met, then spend a week at his house, effectively cheating on my lover and best friend. On the other hand, my best friend had essentially given me permission to cheat on him by pursuing a younger man.
I liked the way Perry smelled, he was funny, and his fingers were so warm and gentler than I'd anticipating. His hand moved further around, his left hand finding my shoulder. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck through the space between the headrest and the rest of the seat.
I turned to my right, facing away from the ex, and looked back at him. I hadn't noticed while we were drinking, but his eyes were blue. Even though House would've laughed his ass off if he'd heard me think it, I couldn't help but think that they weren't quite the right blue. Perry's eyes had a lot of green in them, like the sea around some island paradise. House's eyes were blue like the sky in the dead of winter on a clear day. Most people would pick the sea shore, but I lived for the sting of the winter air. Dr. James Wilson, emotional masochist.
Still, Perry's warm, dry fingers felt so good along the nape of my neck, and the scotch had warmed me up. Jordan had fallen silent, glancing our way every now and again. The car slowed and parked. I was almost reluctant to leave the gentle foreplay to get out of the car, but Perry slipped out of Jordan's side, so I got out and stood, meeting his stare.
"I could go so far as to describe that look as smoldering, you know," I said to him.
"Come on inside, Jim," he replied quietly. I was loosening my tie, undoing the buttons at my throat and wrists before we even reached the door. I followed Perry into the bedroom, tossing my jacket to the floor, shoving my shoes off my feet. He had ditched his own jacket, reached out and grabbed my face and sucked the breath right out of me. When he gave me a moment to catch it again, he asked,
"Absolutely," I answered.
Jordan was a pro at this. She sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, and she sat silently, like a lion watching gazelle and trying to decide if it was hungry enough to attack. She was also easy to ignore.
Perry tore away and my shirt, as I tried in turn to wrestle his off of him. Belts were flung away—it was odd not to have any reason to keep one handy, either to bind with or discipline with. It was odd to have the opposition's limbs free, to actually have to push for control, to enjoy the tremendous thrill of being pushed back. Perry tackled me onto the bed and struggled to pin me down and yank down the zipper of my slacks while I attempted to tear his undershirt in half, unsuccessfully, but he finally moved his hands so that I could finish the job, then grabbed my shoulders, forcing me up onto my elbows so that he could drag the shirt over my head, trapping my arms behind my back momentarily. I slid backwards away from him and the shirt came free, letting my arms loose so I could grab his hair. I nipped his lip as he kissed me again.
"How do you want this to go?" he panted.
"I haven't bottomed in forever," I replied.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked.
"It's a bad thing," I surprised myself by answering, unable to keep a hungry look off my face. "I hope you don't mind fucking me."
This earned me a growl as he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, sucking hard on the hollow of my throat and shoving his hand down the front of my pants, squeezing me through my boxers.
"Take these off," he hissed through his teeth, sitting back to remove his own. A lot of people forget that sex isn't graceful, at least not when you're doing it right. There's flailing, struggling with clothing, getting tangled in sheets, teeth clicking, panting and stickiness, but why would you want it any other way?
"I want you to leave marks," I found time to demand. Perry didn't concede or object, but he did pause to rake blunt fingernails down my chest, leaving long stripes down my torso.
We dispensed with all remaining clothes and crashed together again, Perry sucking on my tongue as he pressed our cocks together with his left hand, tugging and squeezing. He pulled his mouth away.
"Suck," he ordered. I took the three fingers he offered into my mouth and sucked hard, twisting my tongue around and between them. He pulled them away, let go of my cock and bit his way down my torso as he pushed two fingers up my ass without any teasing or warning, twisting them around, then adding the third and stretching me as I bucked and squirmed under him.
"Enough prep work," I gasped finally. "Come on."
"Might hurt," he answered, now just twitching one finger right over my prostate to be cruel.
"Who says I don't want it to?" I demanded. "Fuck me."
Perry pulled out his fingers and snatched the lube and condoms our helpful voyeur had tossed us at some point. I took them away from him and ripped the condom packet open myself, running my fingers over his cock, stroking him even though he couldn't have been harder if he'd been made of stone, or some other damned cliché, pulling on his balls and drinking in the wince that just screamed 'don't stop hurting me.' I had to eventually, letting go and slipping the condom out of the wrapper and unrolling it down to the reddish-gold curls at the base of his dick. Then I dripped on just enough lube to make things go smoothly but still leave me aching.
The moment I tossed the lube aside he dove down on me, biting the skin of my chest just over my heart as he pushed the head of his cock against me. When he knew he had the right spot, he grabbed my hips and pushed in hard, hilting himself in one thrust.
I let out something between a groan and a whine and arched off the bed.
"You sure you still want this to hurt?" Perry asked, grabbing my cock and tugging me long and slow, just not moving at all inside me as I dug my fingers into the sheets.
"Yes," I gasped. "That's perfect."
And so we fucked, bruising into one another. At one point we twisted around in a maneuver so acrobatic I'm not even sure I could repeat it (still not graceful), so that I was on my hands and knees with him over my back and me seeing god every time he thrust so deep that blood rang in my ears and I saw stars. He yanked on my hair, pulling my head back, nipping where my neck met my shoulder, and growling a name I was sure wasn't mine. I came hard all over the thousand thread count sheets. Perry came shortly after me in thrusts that jarred my bones while he bit down on my shoulder.
It was perfect and brutal, empty and hollow, exactly what I'd hoped for when I said yes.
"Sorry about the sheets," I said to Jordan once we'd managed to recover enough to speak, pulling on my boxers and now rather misshapen undershirt. "I guess I should've taken advantage of that second condom.
"Don't be sorry," she answered, low and husky, looking almost as satisfied as I felt.
"Jim, step away from the dragon before it eats you. I'll show you the guest room," Perry said, also boxered but apparently having written off his t-shirt as a lost cause.
"Kitchen is behind the den, bathroom is across the hall. Spare key is on the Redwings key ring—my shift starts in…" he craned his neck to see the clock on his microwave. "…six hours, so I'll probably be gone when you wake up. Jordan probably has Pilates, or Yoga, or Yolates, or some other inane bullshit in the morning, but lock your door so you don't wake up down a quart of blood."
"Noted," I replied. He nodded and stretched out on the couch and turned on the television. "Shift in six hours and you're settling in for the Daily Show? Shouldn't you get some sleep?"
"This happens to be where I sleep, Jim," he said wearily, flipping the remote in midair and catching it again. "Go get some sleep. Wouldn't want to nap through any of those fascinating panels."
I thought about making further inquiries, but one night stands aren't supposed to pry. I heard ESPN giving the scores of various games as I stepped away and headed to bed.