NOTE: For the fic looking its best, go to my Livejournal. The URL is in my profile. This place keeps messing up the layout.
Title: If Love Is Based On Lies (1/1)
Author: Antigone a.k.a. Anty
Fandom: House M.D.
Keywords: Episode Related, Romance, Angst, Sequel.
Spoilers: The instantly classic "You're a miserable jerk" scene from "Fools for Love" (3x05).
Summary: Wilson (not) pondering their big romantic weekend in the Poconos.
Disclaimer & Notes: Sadly, House and Wilson are fictional and belong to Fox; thus, I'll never get to see them fuck. This is the third installment in what I shall pretentiously dub "The Poconos Trilogy" and comes after the rather silly "Getaway Package" and the slightly porny "To Catch Fire"…just as well it contains angst on top of schmoop; I'm all for variety! For this ficlet, I suppose you could imagine that after 3x05, Wilson booked them a suite for New Year's or something… So this could take place after 3x10, "Merry Little Christmas", and before 3x11, "Words and Deeds"…could, doesn't have to. Could be a happier, Tritter-free AU where Wilson only has one chin. Pick your poison. Thanks again to Nom de Plume for the beta.
Is Based On Lies
© Antigone, January 6th, 2007
Wilson was in love.
He was in love with his and House's romantic weekend in the Poconos, he was in love with them enjoying each others' bodies, he was in love with (the idea of) being in love (substituting reality with fantasy had always been a problem of his, but he was too in love to ponder it).
The first evening, they'd actually dressed up and gone down to the hotel's restaurant for dinner (as it was surely going to be less tiring than staying in bed), where House had shamelessly romanced any anxiety Wilson might have left out of him (he'd complimented his shoes, tie, and scent of shampoo). Back upstairs, they'd put on some jazz, settled down on the sofa in front of the fireplace and next to the window, watched the snowflakes outside and shared those long, deep kisses Wilson had so terribly missed (though, as not to "die of schmoop", House had insisted on drinking beer from his wineglass).
After breakfast the next day, Wilson had pretended to not notice when House had taken an extra dose of his pills, and instead concerned himself with straightening his hair over a fluffy headband (earmuffs were for girls…as House didn't tire of pointing out). Once outside, House and the rented snowmobile had instantly made friends, and before Wilson had condemned the other man to the backseat later on in the afternoon (after House had repeatedly refused to have a look at a map), he'd spent many an hour with his arms wrapped firmly around House's middle and his cheek resting softly against a parka-clad shoulder blade, watching gentle slopes and the azure sky sliding by.
That night, Wilson had straddled House in the suite's hot tub, and, though neither of them had been wearing anything, had lost something significant.
Now it was the next morning, yet too early too get up, their room tinted an unreal light shade of grey from the snowy weather outside. They were both awake, lying in the silk sheets and facing each other, and then there was a hand stroking along Wilson's back and the fruit bowl from the nightstand between them, and Wilson let himself be fed on and fed with chocolate-dipped (pitted) cherries and strawberries.
In a couple of hours, when going through the check-out ritual with pleasant hotel's personnel, it would still feel like holidays. Out in the parking lot, Wilson would give their former nest a tender look as House bestowed same on his 'Vette (fresh from the underground garage) and its winter tires, before Wilson would plaster himself against House for an all-consuming goodbye. If he felt particularly cruel, he would, once back in Princeton, lean over to House in the car and share with him a fantastic parting kiss, full of promises that neither of them could keep. Reality would be waiting for them, sincerely. But for now…
Wilson was in love.
"If love's based on lies, does that mean
it's not a real feeling?
Doesn't bring the same pleasure?"
—James Wilson, Spin (2x06)