RATING: R for sexual situations.
WARNINGS: A touch of angst.
SUMMARY: Wilson is guilty about his relationship with House.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House or any of the characters in it.
NOTES: 997 words. This and my other fics can be found in my journal. Also, I had a dream the night after writing the first part that people were yelling at me because House was too out of character. I tried to explain that it wasn't finished yet, but they wouldn't listen. So this almost ended up deleted the next morning, except I wanted to get a fic finished.
House isn't generally a very "cuddly" person. In fact, with the exception of sex or the rare random caress, the nearest he gets to touching is sitting close by Wilson's side. But watching the deep darkness surrounding the other man he knows that physical contact is important tonight. So he leans back gingerly and settles down, his right side pressed to Wilson's chest, head leaning against Wilson's left shoulder, and right arm slipped between the couch and that warm back. It is not, he thinks with a contented sigh, an altogether terrible position. It's actually quite comfortable.
"I shouldn't be here," Wilson murmurs, head falling down until their lips are mere centimeters apart, both breathing in the same warm, breath-dampened air. "I shouldn't be doing this."
"I beg to differ," House replies quietly, brushing their lips together in the softest of kisses and hoping Wilson appreciates this rare display of such deep affection. "I think this is exactly what you should be doing."
"I'm betraying her."
"Julie cheated on you first," House suddenly feels like a child, pointing and insisting that she started it. He wonders if Wilson feels like that, too.
"And how am I any better than her?" Wilson asks, eyes fluttering softly closed to another soft kiss.
"You're better because you're tasty," House replies simply, nipping at soft lips and wondering if sex would be inappropriate given the situation. "And much better to look at."
"I think you're biased," Wilson complains, but there's a tiny smile on his lips.
And then he pulls Wilson into a deep, long kiss. Wilson's mouth tastes sweet from the Coke they're drinking, but House decides that he tastes better without the additives. Their tongues play for several minutes until both of them are out of breath and sleepily content. They migrate to the bedroom, curl up on the bed, and slip into a warm sleep. Neither wakes up even once until the alarm clock goes off.
The next day, House is feeling suitably uncomfortable about having been so soft. To make up for it, he's especially snarky all day long. The ducklings mutter under their breath, but Wilson just smiles knowingly. They know each other too well, but, for some reason, that thought doesn't bother him. Either way, that smile is strangely alluring and he feels the sudden need to lick it. Which is quite frightening, especially after having been so unspeakably sweet the night before.
"Why glare at me? I'm not the one that was mocking you behind your back," Wilson says after the ducklings have gone to check on the current puzzling case.
"Because you're a bad influence on me," House replies, watching closely as Wilson puts his feet up on the table and grabs a cookie from the container someone left.
"How am I a bad influence on you?" Wilson asks, raising an eyebrow and taking a bite of the cookie.
House is too busy watching him lick the crumbs from his lips to answer. He can feel Wilson's eyes on him, waiting patiently. That patience is a turn-on for some inexplicable reason. Actually, everything about Wilson is now a turn-on. He wonders when that happened.
"Cat got your tongue?" Wilson asks, amused, as he finishs the cookie.
"No," House answers, turning his eyes up to focus on Wilson's. "Nothing's got my tongue. Yet."
Wilson flushes slightly at the hidden meaning beneath the words and looks nervously around. Glass walls, but no one around. Somehow the halls are absolutely still and silent. House waits until he's looking back again before limping smoothly forward. He sets his cane aside, rests his hands on either of Wilson's shoulders, and kisses him.
Unnaturally sweet, he realizes with some frustration. He should have began the kiss before the cookie. Too late now, and he doesn't plan on stopping for such a little detail. They twist their tongues together as he lowers himself down onto Wilson's lap. The absence of sex the night before combined with quite a bit of kissing makes for a very enjoyable grind on the plush chair. And he has to admit to himself that the little gasps Wilson is releasing against his lips are quite nice in their own way.
Their pace is frenzied and it doesn't take long. Afterwards, House lets himself sink down against Wilson's warm body, feeling oddly comforted by that heartbeat pounding beside his own. Their breathing is still erratic when House looks up to catch side of wide blue-green eyes peering in at the door. Chase is gaping but, upon being noticed, turns and rushes away, face flushed. House wonders how long he had been there, and decides it had to have been long enough, because the walk from the end of the hallway to the door takes more than enough time. They were also in plain view, which means that Chase had approached knowing what was happening. House can't help a panting laugh at that.
"What?" Wilson asks, trying to regain control of his breathing.
"Chase looked a bit shocked," House's lips twitch into a smile as he grasps tight hold of Wilson to prevent being thrown to the ground as the man shoots up to a stand.
"Chase!" Wilson is gazing wildly around, an adorable sight with his mussy hair and orgasm-blurred eyes.
"Oh, he ran away when I saw him," House waves in the direction the younger doctor had fled, trying to steady himself against Wilson's body. "And if you'll stop moving around, the cripple might be able to stand."
"Sorry," Wilson stands still, but still frowns at the hallways. "What if my wife finds out?"
House rolls his eyes, "What would it really matter?"
There's a vaguely hurt look in Wilson's eyes, much as he tries to hide it.
"You idiot," House says, but his voice is affectionate as he leans in and pressed a meaningful kiss to the other man's pliable lips. He pulls away and whispers against Wilson's lips. "What would it really matter, James?"