Wilson lies between you and House, shirt riding up just enough to expose the soft swell of his belly. He’s flushed already, eyes fluttering closed as your lips press a sweet kiss just above his waistband.

“Why is this happening to me,” he mumbles, voice caught somewhere between flustered and amused.

“Because you’re adorable,” you whisper, placing another slow kiss. “And you never let us appreciate this part of you.”

House, stretched lazily on Wilson’s other side, smirks. “Yeah, Jimmy. Let us worship the belly.”

Wilson groans, dragging a pillow over his face. “You’re both menaces.”

“Soft, beautiful menace,” you correct, kissing the center of his stomach.

House joins in, fingers tracing slow circles on the other side of Wilson’s waist. “I diagnose acute bashfulness with a side of sexy squish.” He punctuates it with a kiss of his own, right below Wilson’s ribs.

Wilson laughs despite himself, hands helplessly gripping the blanket. “I hate how good this feels.”

“You love how good this feels,” you murmur against his skin, and House adds with a grin, “He’s blushing all the way down to his bellybutton.”

Wilson doesn’t fight anymore. Just sinks back with a sigh, letting you both cover his soft middle in affection, your touches turning reverent, kisses slow and sweet.