Author: Oldach's Dream
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Summary: House/Wilson Slash. Established relationship. A movie, some talk, then bed. No emotional roller costar, no out-pouring of affection, no life or death situation. Because sometimes, all you get is what you need. Oneshot.
This House Is My Home
"This is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen." Dr. James Wilson threw up his hands in defeat, rounding his head to get a better look at his friend.
House graced him with a disbelieving glance before shifting his eyes frontward again. "Seriously?" He got out sardonically. "You're a doctor, for God's sake, and this irks you?"
"Yes." Wilson felt very justified in his feelings, and wouldn't let House believe otherwise by going to lengths to defend them.
"People come to our hospital with bones sticking out of their mangled skin, puss coming out of their mouths, hives in their special areas," he said the last bit in an immature voice that Wilson was overly used to, and went on after a slight pause and a handful of popcorn. "And we have to fix them. We have to grope all their puss-filled, hive-covered, muscle dangling owies, and this grosses you out?"
Wilson took his rant in stride. "Yes." He answered simply again, yet there was an air of something else, a conversation about to be had.
House sensed it too, and looked torn; throughout his entire spiel he hadn't so much as glanced away from the TV, now at the thought that he might have to, he seemed overly agitated. Finally though, he sighed and relented. "Why?"
"Are you kidding me?" Surly even his cynical friend could figure this one out.
When House looked at him in a very no-nonsense kind of way, Wilson sighed dramatically. "It's just-" He rubbed his hand over his face, "I mean, there's a thought process that goes into this. It's not the same as what we do at the hospital, it's-"
"It's on TV, it's made-up" House interrupted, throwing back a handful of popcorn like he might one of his precious Vicodin. "And look," he waved toward the screen, mouth full as he spoke, "She's a doctor."
Wilson risked a glance up at the screen, cringing at what was there. "Why is she performing brain surgery?"
"Have you been paying attention at all?" House questioned, annoyed, and not really looking for an answer, as that might distract him from the ever thickening plot of the movie they were watching. Then again, his friend was nothing if not a brilliant multi-tasker.
"No, not really." He admitted.
"Come on," the older man whined. "If you don't wanna watch the gore, fine. But at least pay attention to the plot."
"Why?" The Oncologist barked again, "It's twisted."
"It's brilliant." House rebuffed. "I'm thinking about looking the writers up, asking them a few questions."
"House," Wilson tried to say it warningly, but it came out more like a plea.
"Seriously," he went on, seeing how much it was bugging his friend. "Where do you think they live? What are the chances they need a new doctor?"
"Oh I don't know," Wilson gave up. He just did. "Perhaps if their current care-givers mysteriously go missing..."
He trailed off, but House was scarcely paying attention anymore, his eyes and the majority of his attention back on the movie. He grunted a few times when Wilson attempted further conversation, but gave no other reply. The younger man figured him a goner.
About half an hour later, Wilson felt legitimately queasy, and House was grinning like an idiot, the climax of their entertainment was building on-screen.
"Oh, now you know something big's about to happen." House leaned forward as much as possible to catch every minute detail of the last five or so minutes of the film.
As the final credits rolled, House smirked triumphantly, "Saw that coming." He pulled a vile out of the pocket of his jeans and popped a little white pill in victory.
Wilson swallowed thickly. "Well..." he trailed for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate comment, "At least there won't be a fourth."
"Yeah," House shrugged as if that didn't bother him. "And if there is it'll suck. The best movies always come in trilogies."
"That-" Wilson gestured to the screen in disgust, "Does not count as a good movie."
House just shook his head. "What would you prefer, a romantic comedy?"
"No," James bit, a little too quickly, "We could have settled for a nice action-thriller."
House shook his head. "No plot."
"You watch action movies." The younger man exclaimed.
"Yeah," he admitted. "'Cause I'm a guy. I have to watch a two hour sequence of people getting shot at and beat to death every once in a while, keeps me manly and emotionless."
"Yeah, you need help in that area." Wilson snorted sarcastically.
"But other than their representation of our primal need to fight or die, they're not much in the way of interesting."
"And you like plots that are interesting," Wilson declared, as if just realizing this. "Just like cases, just like people."
"Exactly." Greg nodded, and smiled a rare warm honest smile in his direction.
"Great," James threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "But next time, can it not be Saw?"
"I don't know," the Diagnostician seemed to think hard about it. "You ever see the first two?"
"The first one," Wilson reminded. "Right here." He gestured to his friend's worn out leather couch. "When Julie first kicked me out. You thought it might cheer me up." And just by his tone it was obvious he had failed miserably.
Greg just snorted, "I thought you were too drunk to remember that."
"I remember the screwed up dreams I had that night." He bitched lightly. "I remember waking up and throwing up all over the floor."
"And I remember the smell. I think my neighbors do too."
"Yeah, well," The Oncologist didn't seem overly upset by the thought of stinking up his best friend's entire apartment. "It's your own fault. Beer, recently separated married men and horrifically gory movies don't exactly mix well. You had it coming."
"But it did get your mind off Julie." He couldn't help but remind.
James just smiled his own, 'I'm fed up but there's nothing I can do, you are who you are and I love you anyway' smile at his oldest friend. "She wants the car, by the way."
"The Volvo?" House verified, shrugging when Wilson nodded. "Let her have it."
"My car?" He seemed exasperated. "Why?"
"Why does she want it?" Greg asked instead, still shoveling popcorn into his mouth, not bothering to offer the other man any, knowing after sitting through a movie like Saw III he would decline. "She has her own, doesn't she?"
"It broke down, or died or something." He couldn't care less, and that came out bright and plain in his words. "She wants mine."
"She's getting the house."
"I know." James nodded.
"Any everything else." He ranted on.
"Huh." House gave up his outraged voice as quickly as it had come, and James should have known- "But why does she want the Volvo?" -it was just an excuse to insult his car.
"It's a nice car." He felt the need to defend, despite not having been the one who pick it out.
"Yeah," House mocked. "For a little old lady on her way to Bingo night at church."
"I need a car, House," He exclaimed.
The older man finally settled down and shrugged carelessly. "So take the 'vette."
Wilson reeled back, honestly astounded. "What?"
Greg, who now seemed more interested in picking around the bottom of the popcorn bowl just shrugged again. "Sure. I always ride the bike. It's just sitting there. And that thing is such a babe magnet." He mocked a catcall before using the arm of the sofa to maneuver his way into a standing position.
James sat up straighter, taking his feet off the coffee table and leaning forward slightly, almost instinctually, ready to steady the older man if he needed it, knowing that sitting in the same position for so long always left his bad leg stiff and painful.
Their eyes locked for half a second and Greg acknowledged the motion with a small nod and a warning glance. Yes he was grateful for the gesture, but no he did not need any assistance getting off his own damn couch.
Their conversation picked up as if the moment hadn't occurred as the older man limped - without aid from his cane - to the kitchen, using the wall and door jam for support.
"What about during the winter?" James half-yelled questioningly in the direction his friend had went, debating with himself on whether or not he really wanted to move. The couch had contoured nicely to fit his ass, and all he really wanted was another beer.
"I ride the bike in the winter." House called back.
"Yeah, but you shouldn't." One of their classic debates flared up.
"And you shouldn't disrespect your elders." He heard the refrigerator door open and the clanking of thick glass on thick glass. "But look at you go."
James sighed wearily and leaned back into couch yet again.
"And it's not like we don't live together," House threw in casually. "Hey, you wanna beer?"
And James snickered to himself. They were truly in sync - without the slightly gay boy band affiliation. "Yeah."
Greg returned to the couch a moment later and fell down right where he had been before, settling comfortably next to the younger man and handing him one of the two beers he was holding. It was already open and James drank gratefully.
"You serious?" He had to ask after a moment. "About the car?"
"Do I seem not serious?" Greg asked, in typical fashion, mocking him.
"Well there you go." If there was one thing that truly irked his friend, it was having the same conversation more than was necessary, repeating already established facts when they weren't relevant. Greg was precise and to the point, in all aspects of his life. "Give Julie the Volvo and drive the 'vette. At least until you find another car."
"Alright, I guess." He finally sighed his acceptance. "At least I'm not paying alimony this time."
"Small favors, right?" He agreed, with a slight slur that made James glance at him more thoroughly.
"You're tired." He pointed out, not accusingly, but as a fact.
"Didn't sleep last night." He admitted.
"House-" He began to mother-hen, but this friend cut him off.
"Hey, I solved the case."
"You always solve the case." James sighed. "Did we really have to watch Saw tonight?"
"Hey," His eyelids were drooping, but his voice managed to retain all of its normal petulance. "I thought I deserved a reward for pulling that diagnosis out of my ass."
"I thought it was Chase's diagnosis." James always tired to keep up with House's cases, but with all his own, it was difficult, even if House had considerably less patients than him. Or anyone else in the hospital.
House grunted. "It was actually Chase's and Cameron's combined." He explained, then mocked, "Those two make such beautiful babies."
"What's with that anyway?" James changed the topic again.
"What?" Greg inquired. "Them having sex all over the hospital?"
James nodded, making an affirmative sound and sipped some more of now room-temperature beer.
"I dunno." He didn't seem overly interested either, and the following theory, James knew, wasn't a result of hours of deep contemplation on Greg's part, it was just the way he naturally saw things - in all their truth. "Either Cameron's doing it to make me jealous, to convince herself that she's over me, or... She just wants casual sex with him."
"And Chase?" James knew asking House was the next best thing to getting the truth from the guilty parties themselves, perhaps even more reliable, as Greg was as objective as they come.
"Chase is a male in his mid-twenties. Take a look at Cameron lately?" He paused for affect, his eyes had drifted shut and his head was resting on the back of his couch. "Answered your own question."
"Alright," James' voice held an authoritive air as he reached forward and took Greg's half-full beer bottle out of his loose grasp. "C'mon, bedtime."
"But mom..." he whined for affect but didn't physically protest in the least, allowing James to take his hand and haul him to his feet.
They stood together, close, body heat making the air around them almost electric. It was always like this when they were together, a fusing quality, they completed each other.
"Where's my cane?" House grunted, looking around for said object, right hand resting on James' shoulder as he kept his balance.
"I think you left it in the bathroom," the younger man recalled when he couldn't spot his friend's proverbial third leg either.
"Great," Greg mumbled, sounding despondent and angry, as he began hobbling in that direction.
"Leave it." James stopped him. "Let me help you to bed, then I'll grab it."
Immediately the older man began to protest; even after all this time, all they had shared and the firm foundation of trust they'd formed, he was still so uncomfortable with seeming weak or needy. The Oncologist had learned early on not to take it personally, House had always been independent, more so, amazingly enough, after the infarction.
"Greg," James cut him off swiftly, maneuvering himself so he was right in front of the older man, reaching out and twining his right hand with his lover's left. "Please. Let me help."
Greg's eyes closed for a long moment, his head falling forward, coming to rest lightly on James' forehead, his breathing hitched slightly and he gripped the younger man's shoulder just a little more tightly. Slowly he nodded his consent.
It was in these moments that James was forced to remember how damaged this man truly was, how vulnerable he could be when you stripped all his defenses away. After all, you don't put up that many walls around your heart unless it seriously needed protecting. And that's all James had ever wanted to do. Protect Greg.
Slowly, with care, James and Greg managed to hobble their way to the bedroom, lowering himself gently onto the mattress, the Diagnostician took a moment to stay physically connected to James, before nodding slightly and shifting away.
James took this cue and retreated to the bathroom where Greg had left his cane, taking a few minutes to relieve himself of the beer he'd drank that evening and brush the flavor of popcorn out of his mouth.
Returning to the bedroom, he propped the wooden appendage up against the side of the nightstand and crawled into the bed where Greg already lay under a sheet, clad in boxers and a T-shirt, barely awake.
He mumbled something incoherent and rolled towards James, snaking a long arm up and over his bare torso. The younger man - who slept in naught but boxers - mimicked his lover's movement and wrapped a hand around Greg's shoulders burying his face in the crook if his neck. They laid like that. Quiet and content.
Greg was clingy in bed. It was one of the first things he'd discovered after their relationship had progressed into that of lover's - his subconscious neediness. It wasn't that apparent when they were falling asleep; sure, they'd cuddle lightly, James himself, after three wives who'd been initially very needy, was used to cuddling. It was natural for him, and natural in general after sex, which he and Greg had more often than not.
But when he was asleep - or almost asleep like he was now - Greg clung to him, holding on like he was afraid to let go. They'd wake up like that nearly every morning, and although it was never spoken of, James was accustomed to seeing a flash of fear in his lover's bright blues eyes whenever it seemed like he might bring it up. As if talking about it would make it disappear.
It was just another layer of those defenses, his eternal need to protect himself, to be protected. James embraced this man for all that he was, and all that he wasn't; he knew who he was when he was in his arms, and would do anything for him.
"I love you," he couldn't help but whisper softly into the darkness of the room, his deep and - some might claim- sappy, thoughts pushing him to verbally express what was overloading his heart.
Greg, who should have been deep asleep by then, shifted slightly closer to the younger man and asked in a rough, scratchy voice, "Can we rent Saw II tomorrow night?"
James laughed heartily and kissed the profoundly sensitive area behind his lover's ear, placing a few more chaste kisses up and along his neck until he reached the ear itself, licking and biting ever so slightly. Greg moaned deeply as James pulled back. "Not a chance in hell."
"Yeah," The older man wrapped his arms tighter and snuggled closer.The rest of the world ceased to be. "I love you too."