The second time they really talked about it, it was House who was drunk. Severely.

It was Wilson's birthday. He had spent it alone because he and House had had vague plans to spend the day together, and then House had gone MIA for all day and most of the evening. It was now 10PM, and Wilson was about ready to give up.

He was already in his pyjamas when the doorbell rang.

"House?" He wanted to kick himself for sounding pathetic.

"Lemme in."

He felt the rush of joy drain out of him. "You're drunk." Nevertheless he opened the door.

"Hi," House said sloppily. "Happy birthday. Can I come in?"

Wilson's hands were on his hips. "Actually, House, I don't know," he began, then raised his voice til even a drunk guy would realize he was upset. "I waited for you all day, which I know in retrospect I'm an idiot for doing, but you could at least have called me to cancel!"

"I'm not canceling – I'm here."

"Yeah – you're here now, at night, already wasted. Probably as an afterthought on your way home from some bar!"

"No." House grinned. "This isn't the afterthought, this is the thought. The bar was a forethought, really." Whatever that meant, it obviously amused him. "Just let me in, okay? I brotcha a present."

Although he was still furious, Wilson had nothing better to do and so he moved away from the door.

House lurched past him and settled in – coat off, bag down, jacket unbuttoned. "So…"

He seemed nervous, and Wilson felt his mood lift a little. If House was nervous it meant he'd picked out something he worried about being mocked for… probably something that had some kind of emotional significance.

Wilson eyed the bag and couldn't see any suspicious bulges. Small, then. His present was something small.

House saw where his eyes were going. "Gold-digger," he accused.

"Well, you said you-"

"It's not something tangible. Well…" House frowned as though thinking. "In a way it's very tangible, but…"

"Quit screwing around. Did you actually get me something?" It was important to him all of a sudden to know whether House had forgotten him completely or not.

"Yeah. Um… you know how a while back there was that thing you said… mm…"

"How could I forget? You've reminded me at least once a week." Wilson heaved a sigh. Now what? A gag gift, a subscription to Playgirl maybe… this is what he'd gotten his hopes up for?

"Yeah, you remember," House chuckled drunkenly. "Anyway, with that in mind, I'm giving you something you might enjoy." Holding perfect eye contact, he hooked his cane over his wrist and brought his hands to his shirt buttons. "Me."

Wilson stood speechless while House fumbled, and didn't find his voice until after House said: "Seems I'm too drunk to undress without help, but I am never too drunk to fuck."

"To…" The word hung on the air for a moment. House was probably just going for the shock value. "You're not serious."

"You said you wanted it."

He sounded almost defensive. Wilson could hardly believe his ears. "Yeah – and you didn't!"

"Right. Because it's fucking weird, and it probably hurts," House explained. "But I'm currently plastered enough not to care about either." He finally finished with his dress shirt, and dropped it to a chair. His cane clattered to the floor and he fished a box of condoms out of his pocket. "I'm serious."

It was the condoms that did it – they were lubricated and smooth, not the ribbed ones he carried around for use with women. He really had gone shopping with this evening in mind. Wow.

Wilson sighed. In a way it was appealing, the idea of getting hold of House with his inhibitions down and doing everything he'd been hesitant to even fantasize about… but he still had morals. "House, you're drunk."

"So?"

"So, while I appreciate the gesture, I can't take you up on it," he explained patiently. "You're so out of your mind it wouldn't be consensual."

House was digging again in his pocket. "I knew you'd go and bust out the r-word," he slurred triumphantly. "Here." He handed over his cell phone, which blinked with a new voicemail. "Password's 3443."

Mystified, Wilson took the phone and called up the message. The cheerful operator's voice informed him that it had been received at 5:47PM.

If you're hearing this, House's voice said, It means I'm standing in front of you blind drunk and you're refusing to sleep with me until I'm sober. Well, I'm sober now, and I think you should go ahead with it. I might like it, you will like it, and I want to give you something you wanted for your birthday. Enjoy. Um… A short pause. Begentlewithmeokay? Okay, bye.

Wilson handed the phone back. "Wow."

"Consent when I'm sober, consent when I'm drunk, how much more consent do you need?" House snorted. "Besides, how can you tell these magnetic eyes no?"

Wilson stepped closer, still somewhat dazed. House slapped a hand up to cup his jaw roughly. "Really," he assured, with a smile that, though boozy, was pure affection.

So, as much to see what would happen as anything else, Wilson put both hands behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.


After just the barest hesitation, House kissed back – drunk as a skunk and with his eyes closed, he didn't exactly remember what was going on or why he'd been apprehensive about it. He opened his mouth and delivered his best: forcing his tongue in deep, sucking fiercely on his partner's bottom lip, stealing the air straight from her lungs. He heard a low moan – not feminine – and definitely not his. He opened his eyes in confusion, then closed them again because he forgot why he'd been confused…

… they were on a bed, him lying on his back, someone tugging his pants off. Sweet! Apparently he was getting some ass tonight. He moaned appreciatively and laced his hands behind his head. Lips on his, some more enthusiastic making out…

… "Hey," he complained thickly when the delicious teasing stopped. There had been a warm hand in his boxers, and now it was…

… "House. House."

His eyes fluttered open but he couldn't make out much. He knew that voice though. " Wilson?" he realized, confused.

"Oh, God. I knew you were too drunk to do this!" Accusing and distressed both. House focused his entire intellect on remembering why. Wilson. Wilson liked him… ah yes. The birthday. That's why he was so drunk in the first place. The disembodied caresses of a few minutes ago suddenly made sense. He and Wilson were about to get it on.

That is… unless Wilson was backing out.

It was difficult, but House managed to sit up. "I am not too drunk," he enunciated as best he could. "I am very drunk, yes. But not too."

"You're only halfway conscious!"

"So? We round up. I'm conscious. Are you gonna tell me you don't want it?" He groped around for Wilson's crotch, and when he finally found it, discovered an erection. "Aha. You'd be lying."

Despite himself Wilson arched into the touch.

House smirked at him loopily. "So now you're the innibitted one, zthat it? Go get yourself a drink."

Thrilled at the plan because it allowed him a second to get away from this weirdness and think things over, Wilson jumped up. "If you pass out before I get back, deal's off."

When he returned, a glass of scotch in one hand and a poptart in the other, House was sprawled out with his eyes closed.

"Not passed out, Jimmy," he anticipated.

Stifling his grin, Wilson sat down on the bed beside him and pressed the poptart into his hand. "Food will help you."

House sat up, with aid. "Thanks."

House was in nothing but boxers, and now that he had permission to stare Wilson was noticing things about his body that he never had before. Like the rock-hard muscles of his right shoulder. "Jesus, House," he breathed, reaching out to touch.

When House only shrugged and didn't object, he scooted around to sit behind him for a massage. "Let me."

Purring with pleasure, occasionally moaning things like oh god and yeah, harder, House seemed to have laid aside his disturbingly forthright seduction plans for the moment. Wilson wondered if this meant there was no nooky in their future. By way of asking, he leaned close and sucked gently on House's neck.

"Mmm," House said, rolling his head to the side to give better access. "Okay."

Wilson came to sit beside him again and kissed him on the mouth. It tasted like booze and poptart, not usually an appealing combination but Wilson wasn't about to complain as House collapsed back against the pillows, pulling him down on top. While they made out, a drunk hand started fumbling its way towards his groin again.

"House- House please," he gasped, breaking the kiss. He fought to think, as House licked at his collarbone. "You know I don't want you to -oh- do anything you don't want to do." He pried House away and held him to the bed, staring down into his eyes. "But if you're going to say no, tell me now. Or it will be torture."

House snickered at the idea, but assured, "I'm not going to say no." He was so wasted he could hardly roll his eyes properly. "Stop worrying. Get condoms."

Wilson got them. And lube, lots of lube. Before he could second-guess himself again, he slicked up his hand, scooted between House's drawn-up knees, and reached up the leg of his boxers.

"Ohboy," House gasped when the first fingertip breached his asshole.

The power was intoxicating. "You sure about this?" Wilson asked, but he was already pressing a second finger in beside the first.

"Yeah- ah!" Wilson didn't stop. House was intimately familiar with pain, he figured, and if he wasn't complaining then this had to be okay. Already his body was relaxing a little, already the vicelike grip around Wilson's fingers was starting to loosen. He pushed himself groggily up to his elbows and threw a pointed look at Wilson's tented underwear. "He's sure about this."

In and out, in and out, Wilson stretched him with just the tips of his fingers. He didn't want to hurt his friend, wouldn't want to make him bleed… but when he buried himself in all the way he wanted House to feel it like he'd never felt anything before in his life.

"I think I'm ready," House said after a bit.

"You sure?" Wilson touched his cheek, his chest. "I don't want to hurt you…"

"Heh, I'm so drunk you couldn't hurt me with a sledgehammer."

That, Wilson knew, was probably true. As House struggled out of his boxers, he rolled on a condom and lubed up. He scooted House's legs up and paused for one more second. As soon as he got a nod, he pressed forward, feeling House spread around him, letting him in.

It was a tight fit – barely comfortable for Wilson and certainly not for his partner. House's hands clutched at the sheets beneath him and his eyes widened. "Oh god oh jeez" he babbled as Wilson pushed steadily in until he could go no further. House's hips were twitching, and the instinctive urge to soothe a boo-boo by touch had his hands migrating to his inner thighs, squeezing convulsively.

Wilson pried him loose one hand at a time. He lavished soft tonguey kisses on the inside of each wrist and then pressed House's arms gently to the mattress.

He leaned forward over him, moving his hips carefully for just a little friction.

House was so tight that the slide in and out was slow, laborious… and completely perfect. "God, House," Wilson breathed as he ground into him. "How are you?"

"I'm-…" House cleared his throat, tried again. "I'm okay." His eyes had stopped their drunken fluttering and were now fixed, wide and dark, on Wilson's. There was more pupil than there ought to be, and Wilson was thrilled to think that his friend was getting a sexual charge out of it… confused and conflicted though it might be. House licked his lips. "Um. Kiss me…?"

"Yeah." Wilson bent low over him, forcing his legs up a little higher, and kissed him. He could thrust with more leverage from here and couldn't resist doing it, not when it made House groan helplessly into his mouth.

House's kiss was hard and desperate and tasted very much like whiskey. He bit Wilson's lip hard, and grabbed hold of him as though looking for support.

Wilson pulled back a little to stroke his hair soothingly, even as his hips drove harder and went deeper. "Still all right? Let me-…"

He struggled to find a way of wedging his hand in between their bodies, wanting to give his partner the hand job of his life, but House stopped him. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "I think it's your turn to be selfish with me for a change, steada the other way round." He pulled Wilson down to kiss him one more time, lifting his hips as best he could.

At the invitation, verbal and physical, Wilson abandoned all thoughts of holding back for his partner's comfort. He pounded in hard, feeling House's body jerk beneath him, and pulled out through the spasming tightness, just to do it again, again, harder.

It felt incredible of course… but more than that, it was House and House was taking it. Wilson lost his head the way he never had with a woman. A wave built inside him amazingly quickly, crested, and he drove forward with all his weight. He made noise. He finished with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed closed, seeing stars as House's body milked him for every drop he had.

When it had finally passed, he looked down. House, too, had his eyes closed, and was breathing hard through grit teeth. Maybe it had hurt some. Hell, it had probably hurt a lot. "Hey." Wilson touched his cheek.

House's eyes flew open and he snarled, "Asshole."

Wilson recoiled, horrified, and yanked free. What had he done? What in God's name had he been thinking to-

"You fucking asshole," House groaned again. He rolled slowly, painfully onto his side, facing away.

Wilson felt sick.

Until House drunkenly mumbled a better birthday present than he could ever have expected: "It was just starting to feel good."


The End, I suppose.

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