They stumbled through the door, slipping off their shoes. Wilson went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When he walked into the bedroom, House was pulling off his tie. "It won't come off," he growled, pulling ferociously.
Wilson grinned hugely, overcome by this wave of – something. It was giddy and made him want to laugh and hold House and just stay that way forever, ensconced in the warmth and comfort and feeling of contentment. He settled for taking two steps towards House and wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his face in House's shoulder. That same scent, that same elegant, sharp scent filtering through his nose and hitting his brain like a shot of heady whisky. He pulled House closer, enjoying the feeling of something so solid in his arms, not just a dream or a vague wish, not a whispered half-promise, but House. Every good and bad part, every tear, every scream, every memory was here in his arms. Suddenly overwhelmed, Wilson let go slightly.
Don't want to lose you.
He pulled closer.
"So you're not going to help me with this tie? You're just going to cling to my waist and watch me suffocate?" House snapped.
"I thought you were a genius," Wilson murmured into House's neck. The stubble scraped and the warm skin gave. "Work it out yourself."
"I thought you cared about people," House retorted. "Undo my tie."
"Here." Wilson reached over House's shoulder and easily undid the tie, slipping it off and letting it pool to the floor in a silver-diagonaled silk coil. He dragged his hands back, taking off the jacket and flinging it to the floor along with the tie and all his worries. Next went the shirt, tugged free from the belted pants and slowly unbuttoned. It joined the jacket and tie.
"Why, thank you, Wilson. I'd forgotten how to take my clothes off. What would I do without you?" House quipped, then turned around and ripped Wilson's jacket and tie off dexterously. That pile of clothing was growing steadily. House was halfway down Wilson's shirt when a thought occurred to Wilson.
"You took my tie off pretty easily," he remarked evenly, peering at House through the haze of happiness.
"Your skills of observation never fail to amaze me," House said dryly, unbuttoning more slowly.
"Which means…you…hey…you…" Wilson couldn't quite get the words out through the wide smile. This was so utterly House and it was making his toes tingle with the titillating notion that House was his.
"You're not complaining, are you?" House countered, still not meeting Wilson's eyes. Wilson watched him patiently, a hand on House's.
"No, I'm not complaining," Wilson said finally.
"Good. Because if you were, I might have to –" House cut himself off with a slightly startled expression and sat up, withdrawing his hands from their position. He stood up, and turned to gaze out the window and the silent street.
"You might what?" Wilson asked, without thinking.
"Nothing." House's voice was harsh.
Wilson said nothing, but watched the dark silhouette against the wall. The shadow didn't flicker. House drew in a deep breath, moving a hand automatically to his thigh. "Does it hurt? Do you need something?" Wilson jumped in.
"You know, you might try asking me for answers to your questions instead of drugging me every time you get curious," House said coldly, fingers clutching around his leg.
Wilson flinched internally. "Right." They stayed like that; the seconds dipped in a thick sauce of awkwardness, until the dish was far too cold to taste. It froze over in a minute or so. "House, I –"
"Wilson, you understand that if you're…with me…there are things you are never going to hear, no matter how much you drug me," House said, still facing the wall. His voice didn't hold anything that Wilson could've interpreted as weakness, no; it was a plain hard statement of fact.
"House." Wilson rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and sat back. "I know. I wasn't expecting anything." He winced. "Oh, God. That didn't come out right at all. What I meant was…" House's arm shifted a little, sending the shadow aflutter for a second. "That you don't have to…I don't…it's all right." He got off the bed and shuffled over to where House was standing and tentatively reached out a hand, touching it lightly to House's, over his thigh. House stiffened momentarily, then with a tremble, let Wilson stay there. "It's all right."
House looked at him, and something in those blue eyes threw him a curveball and tipped him off-balance. "It's just I…" Wilson sighed. "I understand. I know. Don't worry."
House looked down at where their hands were touching, just a knuckle brushing against another. Then he leaned forward, Wilson picked up his cue and their lips brushed for a second. "Is it enough?" he asked softly.
"House, whatever other people might call…this, it's fine." Wilson had a strange urge to giggle. "People say I'm masochistic, self-destructive –"
"An idiot," House pointed out helpfully.
"Thank you," Wilson said. "It's more than fine. I think it's…perfect."
"How poetic," House said, without venom.
"Come, come," Wilson said, jokingly. "Where does thy heart lie?"
House looked back up at him. In the slanting light, they were illuminated to a brilliant, alive sapphire. "That's one of the things you're never going to hear," he said quietly.
"Unfortunately for you, you're going to hear it from me. All the time," Wilson told him. "My heart doth lie in thy hands, Sir Gregory House."
The corner of House's mouth twitched in amusement. "And what wouldst thou have me do with it?" he inquired, playing along.
"What thou wilt," Wilson answered in complete sincerity.
"Indeed," House said. "And what wouldst thou have me do with other parts of thy anatomy?"
"Attend to them soon, preferably," Wilson said casually.
House's smile spread. "Would this make you a damsel in distress?"
"Much distress," Wilson agreed. "The bed's over there."
"Have a problem with the floor?" House taunted, grinning wickedly.
"No, but your leg might," Wilson said, putting a hand to the infarction.
House rolled his eyes. "Way to kill the mood, Wilson."
"My job," Wilson replied absentmindedly. House stared at him for a while, saying nothing. There was a complete silence. Then he leaned in and kissed Wilson thoroughly, and Wilson's world fell apart and came together all at once, yet again. "You're never going to say it, House," Wilson said, in between soft, gasping kisses.
House's eyes flashed above him for an electric moment before he closed them and sighed, as though bracing himself for something horrible. "I…I…" He rested his forehead against Wilson's. "Love you," he mumbled, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.
Wilson laughed triumphantly. "Ha! I meant about the bed versus the floor. But…this works too." House's mouth was open in surprise, and Wilson took the opportunity to kiss him, deeply and more intensely than he thought possible. Arousal thrilled from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes, making him shudder with want and need and Wilson still didn't know where House had learned to kiss like that, nipping and licking and sucking and tongue and the thought of House's first kiss made him a little jealous, but God, at least House was kissing him now and oh –
"Damsel in more than a little distress," Wilson gulped. A hand slid promisingly down from its position on his neck to his hip.
"If we have sex for an hour," House began. "You'll burn two hundred sixteen calories."
Wilson groaned. "Oh, well, what better reason could you have presented with?"
"I could've lied and said you would burn five hundred calories."
"I knew you'd agree to it someday," House said, sarcastically winsome.
Wilson exhaled in frustration. "What, this whole thing, or just having sex with you?"
"Both. I imagined how you'd look saying 'fuck me' in my bed from that first day, nine years, eleven months, two weeks, a day, fourteen hours, twelve minutes and sex seconds ago," House rattled off sardonically, sliding his other hand down Wilson's back.
"All right with you if I just say that, but we're not in bed?" Wilson grumbled pleadingly, trying to reengage House fully.
"You're touching dangerous ground here, Jimmy," House said in a low voice.
Wilson laughed, "Thought you were always dangerous." But as House sucked his sanity out from his mouth, hands in places that were hardly work-appropriate, Wilson had never felt safer. Time stopped, the world paused and on impulse, Wilson delayed himself a little further, took House's head in his hands and whispered a dashed "I love you" against his lips.
All those problems: the pills, the shots, they were all left behind to fester in their own inanity. In the end, they really didn't matter.
A/N: Well, it's over...the last twenty lines or so took me half an hour to write...I'll probably redo them. :) Thanks so much to all the people who have supported me throughout the writing of this fic. I really apologize for the delay in updates, but I wanted to get everyone in character...TELL ME IF YOU WANT A SEQUEL. :D Thanks again!!