The hospital Christmas party was all House had expected it to be; Boring. Completely and utterly boring. Loud too. He couldn't hardly stand it. He only agreed to go because a certain dean had told him he'd get three days out of clinic duty. Like he was one to pass an offer like that one up. All he had to do was show up, stand around and get free food and drinks. And here he was, sitting around doing nothing and dressed up nice. A black tux, black tie, and Nikes. He discreetly palmed a Vicodin into his mouth, swallowing it with a swig of champange from his glass and glanced around the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He spotted Cuddy off in the corner chatting up some other rich doctor, he snorted as she ran a hand down and over her collarbone; she was so obviously flirtin with the the guy. Boring. She did this almost on a daily basis.

He scanned the room again, his eyes falling on Foreman who was talking with Chase non-chalantly; a hand in his pocket and the other on a wine glass, saying something even he seemed to have no interest in as he stared off into the distance. House figured the guy was more like him than he'd care to admit; they both didn't seem to care for events like this. Chase, stood, nodding in agreement with whatever Foreman was saying, both hands in his pockets. He looked as if he were scouting the room for a good-looking girl -- or guy -- to take home for the night.

And where was his third -- Ah, there she was, by the punch bowl, busy trying to brush off a girl that had seemingly wanted to annoy her with mindless drivel. Possibly something to do with hair and nails. House could completely understand; if anything, it was one of the things he did like about Cameron, the fact that the woman wanted something more out of life than to sit around and file her nails, primping her hair.

Speaking of hair primping, where was the 'Boy-Wonder Oncologist'?

Skimming the room once more, he saw him across the room, chatting up a lovely little number, wine glass in hand and he was smiling broadly; laughing. House inwardly frowned; and in all honesty he didn't know why. He was about to head over and get a refil of his drink when he noticed what was almost too perfect to be true; Mistletoe above his friends head. He grinned genuienly, and took the last swig of his drink, watching the other man carefully. He wondered if he could get away with it...

It wasn't the first time he had ever thought of kissing him, he just never had a good excuse. As he had thought before; this was too perfect. He couldn't give up this chance even if he wanted to; which if he did, he'd be beating himself over the head with his own cane.

"Sir," a voice broke him from his train of thought and he looked up, annoyed, at the person who dare speak to him when he was thinking on such important matters. It was a waiter, carrying a tray of glasses filled with wine and champange, "Would you care for another glass?"

"No." He said simply and the tone brooked no room for argument as he took his own empty glass and shoved it into the waiters unexpecting hand. He limped off as fast and as best as he could toward Wilson. "Dr. Wilson!" He called, and the brown-haired man, as well as the woman he was talking to look up and in his direction, "That rash is back! I need you to take a look at it for me!"

Wilson visibly reddened, and the woman excused her self, from him as House approached, standing next to him, quickly replacing the spot the woman had been in. His friend was looking at him, expectantly, anger hiding in his eyes, "House!"

House smirked, "Oh, Wilson. Did I interrupt something? This rash is really getting bothersome."

"Come off it." He ran a hand through his hair as he peered past House momentarily, possibly contemplating his chances of starting another conversation with the woman he had been talking to, weighing his loss. Sighing in what sounded like defeat, his eyes refocused and settled on House, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to come by and say Merry Christmas, can't a guy do that anymore?" House asked, his brows raised in mock exasperation.

"Yeah, right. Of course you did." Wilson peered up at House, "What are you up to?"

"Nothing." House said quickly, dismissing further investigation, "Why are you here? Aren't you Jewish?"

"Well, yes... But, Cuddy asked me to come."

"I see." He waved his hand, "So what did she promise you?"

Wilson laughed, "I don't need to be bribed into doing favours for friends."

Ouch. That almost stung, "Oh, when was the last time you had to bribe me to do anything for you?"

"This morning."

House's eyes widened and he sputtered, "What? Oh -- No, that doesn't count."

"You wouldn't have taken the case if I hand't bribed you with me buying you lunch for the next week."

"But you would've done that anyway!"

"Yes, but that ensured it!" Wilson then began to rant about how House always needed bribing of some sort for him to do anything, etc., etc.

While he talked, House couldn't help smile softly. The man really did mean a lot to him. Even if he never wanted to admit it. He began to wonder if he should do it. It could ruin a lot of years of friendship, or it could turn out to be something much better. Hell, he could always write it off as a joke anyway, he was standing under Mistletoe, after all. It would be like House to pull a stunt like that. He licked his lips, watching Wilson's in return.

It was sudden, so swift and quick that House almost surprised himself. His lips captured the younger man's with his, Wilson's lips were soft, warm and wet from the wine he had been drinking just moments earlier; the touch of his own lips against his friends was dizzying and he -- just for a moment -- forgot that Wilson may not like it in return, and just enjoyed himself. He leaned on his cane, using his good hand to find its way down to the small of his friends back, pulling him slightly closer to him, he then felt Wilson quickly stiffen under him. The younger man's warmth washed over him and he inwardly bit back a moan that threatened to escape his lips. He continued to kiss him, hoping that the other man would return it.

Only, he did not.

And that's when he heard the wine glass from Wilson's hand shatter upon inpact of the floor.

House faultered, and he pulled away slowly, setting a comfortable distance between them, the weight of guilt mixed with rejection beginning to settle down on his chest as he looked down to see a horrified Wilson who apparently was too stunned to say much of anything.

He waited a few seconds, letting Wilson digest the moment, "Wil -- "

"What the hell was that, House?!" The younger man cried, glaring up at his friend his expressions shifting quickly to surprise, confused and then to anger; it was clear in his eyes.

House's eyes flickered momentarily, showing a quick flash of hurt and shame as he watched the other man, his hands resting on his cane before him, staring into Wilson's eyes. He almost visibly sagged, his gaze shifting upwards and glancing at the Mistletoe; it seemed to be mocking him, laughing at him because he dared try to show what he felt.

Fool. It seemed to call to him, Idiot.

Wilson had followed his gaze, and saw it hanging above before his gaze came back to House, who only shrugged and stared at him, deadpanned, "Mistletoe." He muttered, not as loudly as he would've liked, his hands still clenching his cane.

"I -- I see. Very funny." Wilson said, not sure if he were still angry or not.

For a second, House wanted to tell him that it wasn't a joke and that he meant it. His mouth opened and then closed as he stared into the normally warm-brown eyes of the other man. No. He'd seen all he had needed to see tonight. Wilson was not going to have it.

He broke out in the fakest laugh, hoping it would go by on Wilson, unnoticed. He slapped his friend's back, a large smile on his lips as he stared at him, "It's mistletoe. You kiss people under it!" He shook his head, his eyes straining to stay focused on Wilson, "I forgot, you're Jewish! Well, it's normally reserved as a Christmas tradition."

With that, he squeezed Wilson's shoulder and turned as best he could, on his heel, and walked away and he could feel his friend's eyes on his back, watching him, burning into him even after he left the room, into the hallway; trying to take it in stride.

"Wilson!" Cuddy called from beside him, and he turned to her, she was handing him some paper towels. He took them, finally noticing he had dropped his wine glass, "I'll go get some more, start on this."

"R - Right..." He said and quickly knelt down as she dashed off.

He began to wipe the floor, and he licked his lips, suddenly reminded of what happened just moments earlier. He briefly wondered if anyone had even saw them. It was so quick... His brows furrowed in thought.

House had said it was a joke; he had played it off as one too. But the look of hurt in his friend's eyes; the expression of hope; the fake laugh he had emitted earlier, told him everything. Wilson had noticed; he noticed the fakeness of his act afterwards, and that the kiss was genuine. He scraped up the glass with his towels gently; carefully, and sighed.

House was so soft with him, and so gentle. It was clear House had meant every second, every touch. He almost wished he could return the feeling; so he didn't have to see the pain that flickered across his friends eyes; but he hadn't felt anything.

Wilson pursed his lips. He hadn't felt a goddamned thing.


Ooooh. This one was a biter. Mmm. Slashy/Non-slashy goodness. Another burst of writing. I've really got to stop writing these things at 6am! But they're so fuuuuun! In anycase, I was inspired by a song! I don't know the name of it... But I thought of this as I was trying to sleep and I heard it. So I woke up and wrote this. I hope you enjoy! If I find the name and lyrics of the song, I'll... I might make it a songfic instead. Have fun with this for now. And you know the drill, no grammar or spell checks so early in the morning. xx