House

"My leg hurts," House grumbled. He'd been sitting in the front seat of Wilson's Volvo for what felt like days. Time might have gone by faster if Wilson would at least talk to him, but he was too busy being self-righteously indignant to even cast a glance in House's direction. To make matters worse, he'd turned off the radio and batted House's hand away when he tried to get the CD player on.

"We're almost there," Wilson said. House waited for some more words to follow, but there were none. He tried again.

"I have to pee."

Wilson rolled his eyes and leveled his gaze back onto the highway.

"Okay. It's your upholstery." House flipped the top off his Big Gulp and proceeded to unzip his fly. "I hope you don't hit any potholes."

Wilson sighed. "What if I pull over? You can go pee in the bushes or something."

"I'd rather piss in a toilet like a respectable human being," House said. He wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought respectable human beings peed in plastic cups in other people's cars. I'm pulling over. Get out."

"The bushes are too far off the road. I don't want to have to walk that far. You see, I've got this leg..."

Wilson gritted his teeth and attempted to count to one hundred. He got to 12 when his salvation appeared on the side of the road.

"There's a truck stop at the next exit."

House grinned.

--

Wilson swung the car into a handicapped parking spot, and House produced his mirror tag.

"Wouldn't want you getting a ticket, now would we?" he said sarcastically. Wilson rolled down the window, shut the car off, and refused to make eye contact with House.

"Hurry up."

--

House limped into the men's room and was dismayed to see no available urinals. All the stall doors were closed, and feet were clearly visable. Suddenly, the Big Gulp cup was looking more and more appealing.

A few seconds later, a burly trucker type finished his business and stepped away from the urinal, adjusting himself. House breathed a sigh of relief and made his way towards the urinal. But the trucker didn't move.

"Excuse me," House said. Something more acerbic (and infinitely more witty) came to mind, but the guy had biceps the size of sequoias. He settled on polite.

"You're excused," the trucker said. He stepped aside, but he didn't leave. He watched as House unzipped his pants and took his dick in his hands.

To say House was uncomfortable would be an understatement. He tried to pee as fast as he could, but fear was slowing things down.

"Do you mind? I'm a little pee shy."

"Nope." The trucker didn't move, and now another one had come up on House's other side. Deciding not to say another word, House zipped himself up. It was time to go. But he was boxed in now.

"Uh, fellas, I don't know what's going on he-"

The first trucker slammed House into the wall and kicked his cane away. House tasted blood on his lip, and then he saw a fist coming right at his face.

--

Wilson checked his watch for the millionth time. Either House was taking a dump, or he was hiding in the toilet in a desperate attempt to miss the funeral. At this rate, he was going to succeed.

Wilson exited the car and went to find House.

--

Wilson breezed into the men's room expecting to see House either sitting on the counter or blocking off a stall. What he saw instead was baffling.

A group of men were clustered around the handicapped stall; some had even formed a line reaching almost back to the door. No one noticed his entrance, but his ears pricked up immediately at some muffled grunts and a choked string of expletives coming from the stall adjacent to the handicapped one. He looked around and saw a cane lying underneath the urinals, and his blood ran cold.

That's when a trucker spotted him.

"Hey, this one's younger."

"House?" Wilson called.

"He can't talk right now," another trucker said. There were maybe 15 truckers in the bathroom, but Wilson couldn't see this one. He must have been in the stall. "Your gimp friend's got my dick in his mouth."

The other truckers laughed, but Wilson was almost in a panic. He could hear House struggling and gagging and kicking the sides of stall. The thought of House being pinned down and...

Wilson tried to back out of the door, but the trucker who'd spotted him was too quick. Wilson was on his knees gasping for breath before he even knew he'd been kneed in the stomach. The trucker pushed him all the way to the floor and dug his knee in Wilson's back. He pulled out a knife and cut a slit down the back of Wilson's pants. He struggled as best he could, but he was no match for the 350 behemoth pinning him down.

"Wilson!" House yelled. "Wilson, g-"

Wilson heard something like a sack of meat hitting the floor, and he started kicking when the trucker picked him up and shoved him towards the stall. He felt cool air on his bare ass.

"Oh, God."

--

House had two truckers pinning him down on the toilet in the stall. He'd heard Wilson calling his name, and he prayed to whatever deity that probably didn't exist that Wilson would make it out. But House knew better. Wilson's good-looks weren't lost him, and he frequently took pleasure in flirting with his best friend. But even though they were on the outs, he didn't want to see this happen to Wilson. Nothing Wilson could have ever done would merit this. He cringed when he heard Wilson cry out in the stall next to him.

--

Wilson scrabbled around at the walls trying to find a handhold and maybe a way out, but the trucker had him held tight around the waist.

"Please, please, please, don't do this!" he pleaded. But he yelled just the same when the trucker shoved his hard, dry penis into Wilson's virgin asshole. The trucker pumped back and forth, and Wilson felt as though his ass had been submerged in lava.

"HOUSE!" he screamed. He didn't know why he'd done it, but he wanted to hear House's voice. Maybe he could get through it if he...

"Sorry. He's got another dick in his mouth," a trucker said dryly. Wilson gasped and screamed, the tears freely running down his face.

--

House didn't say a word or utter a sound as the stream of pee ran down his leg. He'd stopped struggling. He kept his mind on Wilson, though, and he was disheartened to hear only thrusting coming from the stall. He ignored the smelly pubes in his face and the throbbing cock in his mouth. At least the guy had the foresight to put on a condom.

This was all his fault, House thought. If he had just peed in the bushes like Wilson had wanted...

--

An hour later, the last man finished reaming Wilson's now bloodied ass. He didn't know it, though. He was unconscious.

House crawled out of the stall when he was sure the coast was clear, the overwhelming stench of sweat and cum invading his nostrils.

"Wilson?" He felt Wilson's neck and found the pulse strong but erratic. He didn't want to do it, but he looked back and inspected Wilson's ass. He almost puked.

"HELP!" House yelled. "HELP! SOMEONE!" He ran his fingers through Wilson's hair and choked back a sob. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE! HELP!"

Security showed up a few seconds later. They'd watched the whole thing on tape.

House and Wilson were late to the funeral.

THE END.

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