A/N: The Icelandic band mentioned in this chapter is Sigur Ros.

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The curtains in the room were drawn and the only light emanating was from an old brass floor lamp. A large empty pizza box and two beer bottles sat on the coffee table in front of them. The TV had been switched off for some time in favour of music. It was by a band Wilson had never heard of, but according to House they were Icelandic. Wilson didn't care about where they were from; he just enjoyed the serene music floating around them which created a cool, ethereal atmosphere in the room.

Wilson and House were on the couch, their bodies pressed against each other, limbs and fingers intertwined as they kissed tenderly and slowly. This was the other part of their secret language; where words were unnecessary.

As far as House was concerned, the world outside the apartment didn't exist. It was as if they were in a bubble; taking refuge in each other and the only thing that mattered at that moment was himself and Wilson wrapped up so comfortably in each other on the soft, aged, leather couch. He couldn't even hear the music anymore, all he could hear was the sound of their breathing and the occasional low moan even though he wasn't sure if the moans were from himself or Wilson.

Wilson eventually pulled away from House, a little breathless and with flushed skin.

"It's getting late." Wilson's voice was low and quiet.

"Yeah." House replied reluctantly.

"I should go." Wilson added as he made a move to put his shoes on, but House reached out to grab his arm, already missing the feeling of Wilson's warm body against his.

"We're both idiots." House announced. The thought came to him as he suddenly understood the reason why they had settled for tentative, careful kisses. They were both accomplished masters of failed relationships so they had been too busy protecting each other and themselves from getting hurt again. Even after having the courage to take that momentous step to move beyond friendship, they had been afraid of what seemed to be the inevitable break-up. But House realised that he wanted more. He wanted to show Wilson how much he meant to him.

"You shouldn't go. You should stay." House stated, his long fingers still gently curling around Wilson's wrist. House thought that it may have been nice to have a secret language, but now wasn't the time to hide behind guarded, reserved words. He had leave Wilson in no doubt he was telling him the truth.

Wilson froze in surprise, but even in the dim light of the room, he could see the desire in House's eyes. Desire for him, which spurred him into action. No more words were needed. He got up off the couch and offered his hand to House to help him stand up. Once they were both standing, they kissed, but this time it wasn't gentle and languid, it was hungry and passionate. Wilson continued to hold House's hand as he led him into the bedroom.

The End.