Incompatible

Part IV

By GeeLady

Time-line: Post-Mayfield.

Summary: Angst, Relationships, solving a case, a tropical Island. Episodic

Pairing: House/Wilson, PRE-SLASH & SLASH. PLUS: Chase/Cameron, Thirteen and Cuddy (NOT paired)

Rating: ADULT MATURE Some swearing.

Disclaimer: The man with the delectable a$$, magnificent legs and cane doesn't belong to me...yadda, yadda...

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For a moment House stared at his friend like he had grown extra limbs. But instead of sputtering out why's, wiping his mouth or shouting, House, with a growing smile of mirth, simply said "I knew it!"

Then with one eye on Wilson and the other on where he was going, he hitched around the room aimlessly, every-so-often scrutinizing his friend with perplexed eyes as though he had just dug up a new species of dinosaur. House stopped his wandering and came back to stand stock still before Wilson, looking him over.

Wilson, hands on hips, stared back, waiting - getting impatient. "Are you done examining me as though I were the missing link?"

House said "I thought I'd imagined it. I thought I had to be reading you wrong, but-"

"- no, you weren't. And it's been killing me for months."

House had made no move toward him or hinted as to a like response.

"I guess the spit's hit the fan now, huh?" Wilson wondered if he'd just blown the whole friendship to hell. "Look, try not to freak out about this-"

"-My best friend of fifteen years just planted one on my lips, you have to expect a little bit of a freak-out."

"How much freak out?"

"Not enough to clip my wings, but enough to ruffle my feathers." He quipped. "And enough to need a good belt or two." House wandered over to the side bar.

"Pour me one, too."

House looked back questioningly.

Wilson walked over and up-turned two fresh glasses. "I just kissed my best friend of fifteen years on the mouth." He added. "Make mine a double."

House poured them both each a half glass of the expensive Scotch. Dropping his cane, he limped toward the fire-place chairs, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. "Come one, take a load off - your lips must be exhausted."

Wilson plopped down next to House. All that lay between them was the booze table. That could be a good or a bad thing. "Actually," Wilson answered, "they were just warming up."

House downed half the tumbler in one gulp. "So? What was that, exactly?"

"Exactly? A kiss."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured that out for myself." House said testily. "I mean - what now? Are you going to slip into something more gay? Invite me into your bed? Propose?"

"I was thinking we'd start with, best friends - as always - but now with benefits."

House hadn't expected it to be put so plainly. He wasn't completely comfortable with a stark raving, hot-for-his-body Wilson. A few more jokes parleyed back and forth would have suited his palate better. House drained his glass. "You know I like Cuddy, right?"

Wilson nodded, his heart shaking in his chest. House had always liked Cuddy. Cuddy had always liked House. And that's the way it had always been. Wilson nodded. "Yes, for years and years...and years and years." He paused, giving House a pointed stare. "And years."

"I'm pacing myself."

"Agreed, only you've been walking backwards."

House up-ended the Scotch bottle and chugged an other ounce or two. The liquor had nudged his comfort level up a notch, and his spinning head had finally caught up to Wilson's fast-forward life moment. "So now the question is...are you...?"

"In love?" Wilson sighed. "Pretty much. Sort of hopelessly I think." But not without hope, I hope.

House took a deep breath. He suddenly sounded very depressed. "Ah Wilson, Wilson....why did you have to go and do that?" As if his life wasn't already mixed up, sad and depressing.

-

-

Thirteen joined Cuddy in the spacious Great Hearth room. It was her first time in a home so massive that it contained a special room specifically for housing an enormous, two-sided volcanic glass hearth that filled the entire center of the room. A blazing soft wood fire suspended all with in a glorious soaking heat. Surrounding the fantastic fireplace were a dozen tall, wing-back chairs, arranged in cozy pairs, each with its own footstool and drink table between. Krampat understood and catered to not only luxury, but his guests every comfort.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked the Dean, and took a seat, putting up her feet to cook the chill out of her toes. Open-toed shoes had not been a good idea. She had failed to pack a single pair of proper footwear. At least she had remembered a pair or two of summer socks.

Cuddy fingered the page in her book, offering a perfunctory welcoming smile. "How's the case? What's House doing?"

Thirteen shrugged. "He's thinking...in Wilson's room."

Cuddy thought it a somewhat odd answer. "Why isn't he doing his thinking in Krampat's room."

"Because Wilson isn't in Krampat's room?" Let the big boss digest that one. Thirteen was enjoying this little round-about game of Guess Who's Doing Who. It was a nice change someone's sex life besides her won was on the gossip menu.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "Looking for an epiphany, huh?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

Cuddy thrust her book aside. "What's going on? Is House on pills again? If Wilson so much as writes him a prescription for a single Vicodin, I'll-"

"-House isn't on pills. Believe me, he's miserable enough to prove he's pill-free."

Cuddy looked a bit guilty. "Oh. How much pain is he in?"

Thirteen stretched, interlinking her fingers and raising her arms high above her head. "I don't know, but I'm sure Wilson's got House in hand." Yes, this was fun.

Cuddy confessed. "I used to think that would be me. Taking on House, but in a nice way, though. Me and House, not that he's nice but -" Cuddy shrugged.

Thirteen mused it over. That's the Cuddy was about House. It all came down to a shrug. Thirteen suspected as much. Cuddy had been playing House's heart strings for a long time. Her own tune to her own beat. She was a great boss, but as a potential partner-for-life, she struck Thirteen as rather fickle.

Cuddy might possibly be happy with House in her life, if she felt she could control him - or change him - enough, but Thirteen strongly believed that House would ultimately not find real happiness with Cuddy.

Thirteen had worked for House for almost three years and she believed she had come to recognize that House was a man who required only three things in life: A mystery to solve, someone to love and care for him, and someone to allow him the freedom to do exactly as he pleased or needed to solve the mystery while being loved and cared for.

House needed a person who adored him despite, besides and no-matter about his creative genius, his miserable pain-filled days, his slightly cracked mental state, his crude-talking ways, and his daily dose of concentrated emotionally and physically demanding neediness.

House needed Wilson. And since he and Wilson were already together in almost every way but one...

Thirteen heard the wistfulness in Cuddy's voice. Wistful as one might be about an old friend they had bumped into whom they had at once time been very fond of. Was Cuddy fond of House? Yes. Did she love him, the kind of layered strength a person would need to love a man like House? Unlikely.

Cuddy manufactured and micro-managed her life, an impossible state for a man like House to live under. He would be feel stifled. It would be like trying to collar an old, cantankerous lion - it would choke the life out of him.

The things Cuddy wanted to love she collected, like her friends and her new daughter. House was a beast far too wild for most people to gather to their breast without getting scratched. House might be made of sturdy enough material to make a good, lasting friend-plus-sex-lover, but a doting father and attentive husband?...

Wilson understood all that. "So?" Thirteen asked. "What happened between you and House? Or didn't happen?"

Cuddy shrugged. "House is insane and an ass. Loveable but impossible. One thing happened a long time ago. Since then, nothing's happened. Nothing will happen."

Cuddy had sounded very sure about it. "Is that because you're seeing that other guy?"

Cuddy bit her lip. "Don't tell House, okay? I care about House - I love him, but I don't love him. Maybe I never did, I don't know. And it wouldn't work anyway. I'll find some way to tell him when I'm ready. I really don't want to hurt him if I don't have to."

Maybe you ought not to have dragged it out for a dozen years then. Thirteen nodded. "No, of course I won't say anything."

Secretly she was pleased. Wilson had a clear field and he didn't even know it, and House's choices had been removed from the game and yet he had no idea of that. Thirteen didn't think this next chapter would play out easily for either of them. Poor Wilson. Poor House.

God, she missed Foreman. All the topsy-turvy relationships swirling around her made her grateful for the simple but pleasing rapport she had with him. When she got home, she was going to jump his bones from here to Christmas.

Thirteen was suddenly deeply grateful that when it came to matters of love, right now she had it easy. Thirteen hadn't said as much to Foreman for a long time. Thirteen excused her self and went to look for a phone. Did Krampat allow his guests to make personal calls to the U.S.?

-

-

"Why did you have to go and do that?" House asked again.

That hurt. "I thought it was a pretty nice kiss."

House stood, back on his feet and moving around the room as though it might assist his mind in working out this brand new problem. "I didn't say it sucked."

"Then what..?" Wilson stood up and followed.

"This is a new complication I don't need in my life. Are you sure you're gay? Maybe you're sick."

"I'm not sick and I'm not actually gay either I don't think. I just..." Wilson struggled to find the right word..."fell in love." Wilson thrust open palms toward his newest love-interest to emphasize his position. "It happens."

House looked out to the over-cast day. Rain-laden clouds hung low over the island, keeping out the sun and holding in the miserably damp chill. Just the way he felt. "I don't know what to do about this."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you don't need to do anything about it, except explore it a little?" Wilson walked over to him and to put his hand on House's left shoulder, the muscles of which bunched up immediately. House stepped away.

Wilson felt crushed. "You don't feel a thing? After fifteen years? Fifteen years of gay references and jokes I might add."

"Yes, jokes." House underlined the second word.

"Every one of them?" Wilson followed House's slow retreat around the room, keeping just a pace or two behind his erratic, gimping course. Two schooner's in passive engagement. "You didn't experience, in fifteen years, one second of curiosity over what it might be like for you and me -?"

"-No." House said, though his expression seemed more cornered than convinced.

In fact, he hadn't sounded very sure at all. Wilson had to make an in-road, a crack, wedge himself in somehow so House could see and maybe even feel that them together would not be a bad thing. "You don't love me at all?"

House looked at him, a tiny angry pinch between his brows, then looked away. "Of course I love you. I just never loved you that way."

"What way, then?"

House seemed even more depressed than before, and now the cornered expression was replaced by alarm. "I have to pack up, and go treat my patient."

Wilson knew it was House's way of distracting himself from what he saw as an enormous problem, and to escape the oppressive emotions he often found so difficult to shoulder. With a heavy heart, Wilson let him go.

-

-

"No change." Thirteen said, handing him the results of the latest lab. Numbers on paper. Normal but not.

Cameron was packing, as was Cuddy and the rest of the team. Only Thirteen stayed by the patient. She had packed the night before, anxious to get home and see Foreman.

House nodded, fingering the paper in his hand, not really looking at it. Thirteen could see the tension in the face, the extra degree of slant to his usually lop-sided three-legged stance. "Wilson told you, didn't he?" She said.

House was shaken from his reverie, staring at her for a few seconds. "How did you know-?"

"House, you've been dancing around each other for years. It was just a matter of time."

"A biased observation, since you've tangoed in both corners all your life."

"Everyone see's it, it's not just me. God, the janitor see's it." Thirteen felt sorry for him, but mostly for Wilson. "You make all these sexual references about each other, you obsesses over each other's outside relationships-"

"-That's just me. Wilson doesn't care what I do. And I only care because he dates air-headed idiots, and then marries them - and then divorces them with a big, fat check then mopes for a year."

"Give me a break." Thirteen dismissed his protest. "You both obsess, just differently. Wilson worries about you all the time - you call it interference. You follow him around on dates so you can get the lay of the land about his sex-life. Real straight guys don't do that, House. Straight guys cheer each other on when they're getting some. You freak-out."

House was looking everywhere but at her. Suddenly he turned and limped away as quickly as he could, which was not too quickly with his leg the way it was.

Much to his annoyance, Thirteen simply matched his pace and kept talking, though House wasn't listening or was at least trying not to. She didn't care. "I also think when Wilson finally took up with Amber and it seemed to not only be working but healthy - you were stunned. On top of that you recognized that her personality, intelligence, attitude, aggressiveness were dead-on matches for your own; that Wilson was actually dating you by proxy."

"You're forgetting one thing. Amber also hated me. I don't hate me. And when Amber died, Wilson hated me."

"We both know you're not that blind. Wilson also came back and we both know why. Because he thought you might be next. Look at how he reacted when his girlfriend of four months died? He fell apart. He's known and loved you for over a decade. He ran because your death terrifies him."

"He built a shrine to her in his office. He worships at the Amber altar every night."

"That's guilt and stop deflecting, I'm right and you damn well know it. You make way too many gay zingers to not be just a little curious."

"Shut up. I've already had my psych evaluation with Nolan. He knows me pretty well, and he's not in love with me either."

"You're an idiot. Wilson is perfect for you. He loves you even though you're a son-of-a-bitch."

"His loss."

"Your loss, you idiot."

House stopped in the middle of the mansion's front foyer. He turned to her and yelled. "I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH WILSON!"

The words echoed around the room, coming back to their ears. Even the echoes' sounded desperately put across, like they were trying to convince the walls. House was frantic with denial.

Several of Krampat's staff working on the main level had dropped what they were doing and wandered to the front of the house when they heard the two physicians yelling at each other.

House looked around. They had attracted an audience.

"You could be." Thirteen said as it a woman who had experienced such a state personally. "You're just too much of a pussy to try."

House did not react to the insult, which told Thirteen that she had guessed right, and though it was a little cruel to underline it - "Cuddy is seeing someone." Despite House's sudden lost expression, it needed to be said. "So if you're waiting around trying to figure out how to figure yourself into her life, you're wasting your time."

House narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you know she seeing someone?"

In for a penny, in for a dismissal. "Because she told me." Let House put a tail on his boss to find out who. Lucas ought to get a kick out of it.

Thirteen glanced around at the uncomfortable faces all looking on in the large hall. Marguerite, Eduardo and several of the servants were there. This was a scene even a well trained servant couldn't politely ignore.

Now Krampat's house staff knew everything as well. Only House was still in denial. "You love Wilson. Admit it."

House threw her his best scowl as a warning not to follow and ambled quickly away, the rubber tip of his cane making rapid, regular taps on the polished marble floor. This time she didn't follow. She had pointed out to him what he had been refusing to even look at. Now it was up to House. She wished Wilson all the luck in the world. The poor, hopeless bugger was going to need it.

-

-

House returned to Wilson's bedroom, passed through it without saying a word and entered his own. The room was chilly since the fireplace here had not been lit except the first night. Most nights, House had fallen asleep on Wilson's couch. It had just seemed easier (after the movie or the beer or the discussions about the case or life or whatever had wound them down), for him to crash in Wilson's room than to shuffle off to his own cold room and crawl under icy sheets.

Wilson followed House through the elaborate wash room and watched him from the open door for a moment. House was throwing things into his duffle bag.

"I rented a Cessna."

House turned around, trying to sort through what he had said. "You rented a plane? Why?

Wilson capitulated with a small sideways nod of his head. "Well, the hospital's paying for it, but yes. Since the sea hurts your stomach, I figured..."

House suddenly understood. He turned back to his duffle bag, his mind a storm of emotions and memories he couldn't put in rank and file anymore. He hated confusion. He hated a mystery. He hated this. But he didn't hate Wilson, not even a molecules worth.

"Thanks." He said to the duffel bag. He didn't want Wilson to leave yet. "You finished packing?"

"Almost."

Wilson recognized House's lame but endearing attempts to keep him in the room. House hardly ever admitted it, but he hated being alone all the time. Wilson understood that since he didn't really want to wait in his room alone either. May as well stay and go for broke. "House, we're compatible in every way."

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we are. You're crazy, I must like crazy, I've liked it for years and now I love it."

"So as long as I'm insane, we'll be happy?"

Wilson thought about it. It made about as much sense as anything else in his life ever had. "Y-y-y-es."

"Then you're crazy."

"Probably."

When House didn't extend the discussion further, Wilson figured he'd taken his shot and now it was up to House. "Thirsty?" Wilson asked. "One last drink before we leave this warm, tropical island in the sun?"

House smiled to himself. He nodded. "Sure."

Wilson poured him a third of a tumbler of Scotch, one for himself and handed one of the glasses to House. House held it up but not drinking, observing the refreshing ice cubes floating in Wilson's drink but the lack of same in his own. "What, no ice cubes for me?"

"You never drink hard stuff with ice."

"Ice waters down the alcohol."

"Ice makes the alcohol taste refreshing, but it can still melt that cold, cold heart if you let it."

House stared down into the glass. Something, a tiny, wee matchstick of a thought came to life in his mind. House looked up at Wilson. "People can change." He said quietly. Then - "What did you say before?"

"When?"

"About the sea?"

"That it hurts your stomach?"

House stared at Wilson for a second, his eyes wide, the spark in them unmistakable. "That's it." He thrust his drink out, forcing Wilson to grab onto it with his free hand, grabbed the younger's mans face between his wide, calloused hands and kissed him hard on the mouth.

When House released him, both men stood there for a few more seconds, stunned. Wilson because House had just kissed him.

And House. - "Un-pack."

Wilson looked even more confused now. "Why? We're flying out tomorrow."

House shook his head. "No we're not."

Wilson blinked. "You've figured it out, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"How? What's wrong with the guy?"

"Never mind. Just un-pack, Romeo. I've got an idiot patient to cure, expensive booze to drink and a Wilson to molest." House turned and left the room, hobbling as fast as his legs would carry him.

-

House entered the staff kitchen, where staff meals were prepared and eaten. Ignoring the disapproving faces of the rotund cook, he opened refrigerators, checking the ice trays. "Full." He muttered.

The large man who bore the title of Second Chef stood there in his cook's puffy hat, profoundly annoyed. He tried to be courteous to the master's special guest, but his kitchen was in a state of being violated. "Excuse me, sir. But I must ask you to leave."

House ignored him, checking out the contents of all three refrigerators. In two of them, the ice trays were stacked very neatly and full. The third fridge had an built-in ice maker. House pushed the buttons to no effect.

"That is broken, Doctor House. No Maytag repairmen willing to fly out. Now would you kindly leave and allow me to get back to my work."

House muttered "Sorry" on his way out the door.

The master kitchen, where all of Krampat's and his guest's meals were prepared, had four refrigerators and two upright freezers. House checked the ice-box's of both fridges and the freezers as well. House pulled out tray after tray, letting them dump on the floor. They were all empty.

He turned to the kitchen maid who had appeared at the door, demanding "Why are there no ice cubes in these trays? The staff ice cube trays are full but these are all empty."

The diminutive gray-haired maid stared up at the tall, angry looking man. Her English was poor. "Master no use these ice cube."

House tried to sort that out. "So he uses the staff ice cubes?"

"No. Master like special ice cube."

"Special? As in imported?"

"Brought in, yes. On boat. Master pay much money, get good health."

House handed her the empty tray in his hand. "Too bad the two don't always get along."

"'Scuse?"

House said "Never mind."

-

-

Thirteen met House in Krampat's bedroom. A large pitcher of ice-water sat on his bedside table. It had always sat there since the day he'd arrived, re-filled every few hours with fresh water and -

"Glacier ice." House said to Krampat. "You pay to have glacier ice chopped into these." House stuck his hand in the pitcher and pulled out a shapeless chunk of ice. Even out of the water, it's color was as blue as the ocean on a sunny day. "Glacier ice. Am I right?"

Krampat nodded as though everyone knew that. "Yes. My therapy recommends condensed, pure ice from the south seas."

"Your therapy is a waste of money and, to add insult to injury, it's poisoning you."

Krampat looked up at his valet as though seeking confirmation or comfort.

"Don't look at him." House said. "Who's the doctor here?"

Krampat turned his attention back to House, suitably chastised. "Why would pure ice poison me?"

"Because if it was "pure ice" - of which there is no such thing by the way - from a glacier, it probably wouldn't have done you any harm. Only it's not."

Krampat appeared thoroughly puzzled now. "But I pay for them to -"

"-Yes, I know. Evidently, you don't pay them enough. Do you know how hard, and dangerous, it is to moor a boat to an iceberg? I'm betting your supplier decided not to risk it."

House held the offending, freezing thing up to Krampat's face, the water dripping through his fingers onto the expensive quilts. "This ice is from ice-berg flows. Ice-berg packs; broken up ice-bergs. Easier to scoop up, little danger to the vessel or the crew. Cheaper, more profit for them - plus they figured you wouldn't know the difference.

"Trouble is, ice-berg flows mix in with the regular seasonal ice packs. These guys know what to look for color and density-wise, he only thing they wouldn't be able to see is the tributyltin in the ice itself."

"Tribula-?"

"Tributyltin." House repeated for him. "A compound manufactures add to the paint used on ocean-going vessels, especially ice-breakers, to prevent mollusks and other sea creatures adhering to the hull. Problem is, as the vessels move through the ice, the paint gets scraped off in tiny microscopic pieces that end up as part of the ice itself; in the regular flow packs, and the ice-berg flows that get mixed in. These guys were bringing you ice-berg ice all right, but they were getting it from a contaminated source. Cheaper for them so more profit. Expensive for you but less healthy."

House took a deep, satisfied breath. "The bad news is you've been ingesting this stuff for years, and tributyltin is rapidly absorbed into the body tissues, but principally the liver, kidney, spleen, fat, lungs, muscle and brain - so pretty much everywhere. It's also detrimental to the immune system, so not only have you picked up every little cold that's come your way, your immunities are over-reacting, trying to get rid of the toxin. No wonder you're not feeling well.

"The good news is, no one has ever been reported to have died from ingesting it. So it looks like you're going to live, Mister Krampat, though I recommend firing your supplier."

House said to Thirteen. "Get a sample of those ice cubes, and biopsy samples from Krampat's liver, kidney, fat and muscle to confirm. I'd ask for a brain sample, but somehow I don't think my patient would agree."

"No." Krampat said nervously. "What do I do, Doctor House?"

"There is no treatment except not ingesting any more. Your doses were regular but very small. Over time, you should recover. Your so-called therapy was slowly poisoning you. No expense spared doesn't guarantee good health. And in this case, they were incompatible."

-

-

House returned to the room. Wilson had unpacked and set on the small table between the fireplace chairs a lit candle, two drinks and a snack he';d ordered from the kitchen of smoked oysters, cheese, crackers, pickles and a delicate mayonnaise based dressing.

House limped over and sniffed.

"Trust me, it's delicious." Wilson assured him.

House eased his weight off his foot with a grimace.

Wilson noted it. "You need a good, hot soak."

"I need a new leg."

"I love your leg."

House watched Wilson as he glided over to his chair. Wilson made no bones about it and leaned down, stealing a kiss. no hesitation now, the kiss was obvious and intimate. There was no doubt as to its intent.

House looked up at him. "You offering to help me with that?"

Wilson smiled wickedly. "Oh, yeah." And poured them drinks. House had been indulging too much. "One more just to celebrate." Wilson said. "Then you're back on the wagon." House loved him for it. Always had.

And now he always would.

-

-

House sucked in a breath when Wilson grabbed at his crotch not a minute after the drinks were done. House shifted in the chair. "Maybe we ought to move to the bed."

Wilson kissed him on the lips, then moved to his neck. "Thought you wanted a bath?"

"Maybe later."

Wilson helped him up, but House paused. "Door locked?"

Wilson walked over, turned the dead-bolt and returned to House, his hands never stopping their exploration. He pushed House onto the bed by his shoulders. House sat down and let Wilson take the lead.

Wilson was only too glad to do so, and efficiently unbuttoned House's over-shirt while his lips kept the diagnostician otherwise occupied. He pulled the tee-shirt over his head and tossed it aside but when he moved to unzip House's jeans, House held his hand. "Um, you know I'm not a Kosher cut, right?"

Wilson smiled. Trust House to worry about that at this point in the game. "Don't care." He didn't. "That just makes you all the more exotic to me." It did. "You're like some wild, untamed animal no one could ever get a rope around, and you think I want you tamed now? House. I like you the way you are. You're..." Wilson looked him up and down, trying to think of the word that fit best, and House actually blushed under the scrutiny. Wilson found the word. "...raw."

Talking was over, and Wilson conveyed the message when he pulled at House's jeans and boxers at the same time, bunching them up around his ankles. House simply had to kick them off.

The first thing Wilson wanted to do is show House how much he liked him as he was, and took his shielded cock on his mouth in one great swallow, keeping it to himself until he felt it grow and expand to its full length and girth. He loved it when House let out a voluntary moan and fell back on the bed. He was giving Wilson full sway over whatever happened next.

Wilson rolled the delicate head around in his mouth, tonguing the slit and licking up pre-cum until House was shaking. He was exotic.

House moaned, tangling his fingers in Wilson's hair and doing his best not to buck up into his mouth, to encourage him to take him in deeper. Wilson obeyed and did his best to swallow House to the hilt. He had to back off at a small gag, but then sucked in hard, not so deep but with everything he could give, until House cried out and bucked off the mattress, shooting into his mouth. Wilson swallowed a little, then let the rest drain out his lip. Semen wasn't an especially delicious fluid to say the least, but House's moans were music to his ears. As long as he could make House make that sound, the unpleasant taste was worth it.

When House had collapsed back on the mattress, limp as a rag, Wilson crawled up his body, careful to avoid his bad thigh, and lay on him, taking his mouth again for a few more moments. "I'm going to do that to you as often as possible." He said and kissed his eyelid, making him blink. "And other things, too, 'course."

House wondered why he had worried that this would be a bad thing. He was curious. "Do you really love me? I mean, love me, not the casual pal-around type."

Wilson leaned on one elbow but he didn't move off House's stomach, unwilling to give up the intimate moment. He was laying on his best friend's warm abdomen, they were both butt naked, the case was over, he had just taken House to the moon with a pretty fair blow job, and now he had House's complete attention. This was a life-altering fantastic first. "Yes. I'm in love. Probably for the first time in my life."

House blinked, frowned a little. "Better be the last time, too."

Wilson understood. Running one appreciative hand over House's shoulder muscles, he kissed him on the lips again, memorizing the taste. "Who on this planet could possible follow you?"

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