By GeeLady /GeeLady

Summary: Love rages...This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... ("The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that come to an end, they are split up. Jeff Martin was, IMHO the genius behind the band. A musical prodigy (musician, writer, singer, & total babe!!) who's rock music I miss terribly!)

Pairings: Wilson/House & House/Cuddy (Cuddy-lite) Wilson/Amber (Amber-lite).

Rating: Slash. Good looking Male on Good looking Male. NC-17. Adult!

Based on the Song: Fire in the Head (The Edges of Twilight) By The Tea Party.



You. Stay.




The sweat that broke out on the palms of his hands turned the steering wheel slippery and hard to grip.

Good thing he wasn't driving.

Torrential rain flooded the windshield, it's shifting liquid patterns altering the appearances of all things outside. The square brick building across the street warped into a living thing, twitching in the semi-darkness. A half moon tried and failed to glow brightly enough through the thick ground-level fog to dispel the feeling of gloom.

Despite the downpour Wilson had not worn a hat. He had, once, gotten rid of his umbrella and bought himself a nice Fedora style gentleman's hat. He'd sported it once on a day like today, to the race track with House, who commented that it made him look like Dick Tracy.

No more hat.

Amber, his girlfriend of three months and the woman he loved, thought he was working late. He wasn't but he told her that every four or five days or so. Two late nights a week away from home, without her, was believable for a busy oncologist. Any more and she'd raise suspicious eyes and question him. Any less and he felt...


Here is where he came on those nights he lied to Amber. To see the man he craved.

Wilson put the transmission in Park and climbed out into the wetness that was New Jersey in springtime. He stood, thinking, getting wetter. He thought about the insanity of it all. About the heady, undeniable thrill. And the satisfaction that thundered through his loins just imagining House under him, writhing, grabbing, sucking...

He felt himself already slaking his lust in his cell-fired need to touch his best friend in all the right places. It was a need neither of them really discussed. Or denied.

Wilson thought about the rightness of it when everything else in his life felt wrong.

His life with Amber was satisfying, after a fact. She felt safe and was good for him. He liked coming home to calmness and curves. Dinner together and jokes. Why the hell couldn't that feelright?

Right was vulnerable when wrong was holding all the cards.


Silent, knowing, always, in time...




Wilson used his key. Invitations had stopped being necessary a while ago. Permission had ceased to matter. That he came. Always, that he came,...did.

Tonight he was tormented by it, but entered the apartment all the same and, without a word, shook the rain from his coat and hung it up on a hook. He wiped the water from his face with one cold hand and slipped off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of the couch. Wilson loosened his tie. Only then did he allow himself to look up and actually see where in the apartment House was.

"Didn't think you'd show tonight." Said House from behind his piano and began to plunk-plunk out a string of notes, a nameless tune that Wilson did not recognize.

"Why wouldn't I come?" Wilson answered/asked, wandering closer to the Baby Grand and the man protecting himself with it's heavy presence. "Just because you were an ass and said things you didn't mean?"

House still did not look up but just kept playing the same tune over and over. "Just because I didn't mean them doesn't mean they're meaningless."

Wilson wandered back to the couch and sat down. "You'll have to explain that one to me. How does one mis-interpret "You're a fool and a coward to stay with a woman who's so much like me! She'll ruin you, you idiot!"?" Wilson spread his hands. "Was that some kind of code that really means: "My blessing, Wilson. Be happy."?"

House, as he so often did, offered no further explanation. His silence made the room smaller and suffocating. Wilson sighed. Wilson and House is company. Wilson and House and House's cold shoulder - a stifling crowd.

House stood and limped passed Wilson as fast as he was able, spitting out on his way to the bedroom, "Not tonight, Wilson. Go home."

But Wilson was too fast for him. He sprang to his feet and caught up to House in about three steps. Just in time to prevent House from slamming and latching the bedroom door. (After he'd been shot a bit of paranoia had set in and House'd had all the locks on his place doubled and sliding latches installed on all his inner doors).

"You are not going to lock me out! You are going to talk to me."

"Fuck you!"

Wilson shoved House against a wall and snarled in his face, "You do not get to shut me out whenever it gets uncomfortable."

House shoved back but he was rendered off balance when Wilson snatched away his cane and flung it across the room. House was forced to lean on the wall to stay upright."Get out! I don't want you here tonight!"

Wilson grabbed House's right hand from where he was using it to steady himself against the wall and held it in a vise-like grip, pulling it up and over his head. He did the same with the other hand until House was immobilized. House was red-faced furious at Wilson's manhandling. And equally ashamed of his helplessness. "Hey -- fucking let go!!"

But Wilson would hear none of it. Two sets of angry, determine hands fought for dominance until one achieved victory. Wilson smiled smugly, pressing his hips into House's, carefully avoiding jostling his bad leg until House quit squirming.

"I'm not leaving." Wilson whispered.


See how this love stays divine...



Wilson pressed his mouth over House's, kissing him savagely, swirling his tongue around House's bourbon flavored one. He ground his teeth against House's and hungrily devoured his lips, leaving pinkish bruising and getting red beard burn in return.

He held House's hands over his head, making House go on kissing him. Wilson's heart pounded in his chest and thrummed in his ears. His cock hardening and twitching at the excitement; at what lay ahead.

Oh, yeah, this is how it is with House. This is how it needed to be between them. Demanding, taking, each angrily forcing the other give in to what they both knew they eventually would anyway. It was masculine and unforgiving. Violent and exciting.

God -- it was exciting! Wilson began to snatch and tear at House's shirt, the buttons flying off when he gave up on his frustratingly slow progression of undoing them one by one. Then in one motion, he pulled House's T-shirt up over his head and let it rest, gathered and tight across the back of his neck. Wilson sucked and bit at House's exposed chest, taking tiny bites at his nipples and licking his skin.

House had stopped cursing and was kissing Wilson back now with equal rage and desire. His angry curses turned to groans of pleasure and need. "Oh, fuck, Wilson..."

"You want me?"Wilson whispered in his ear while simultaneously slowing his command, grasping hands until he was moving them over House's body like a sculpture checking for blemishes in the marble; loving fingers reading his fleshy surface by braille. "You want me, House?"

House lolled his head back against the wall, surrendering his throat to Wilson's famished mouth. "You, kn-know I d-"

Wilson didn't let him finish but ripped House's t-shirt off the rest of the way, releasing House's trapped hands. Wilson then ruthlessly attacked his belt, jerking it open, and hurriedly unhooking the waist button. Again he slowed down, giving time for House to get harder before lowering the fly. House was already hard against the confining material of his jeans.

Wilson paused and step-walked House to his bed, slipping his jeans off. Quickly shed his own clothing, he lay down on top of House, leaving the bedside lamp on.

Wilson resumed his demanding kisses, caressing and massaging his hands up and down House's sides, causing goose bumps to raise and House to inhale at the titillation. When Wilson sensed House was ready to burst, he expertly lubed up both their cocks and slid them back and forth, up and down between their abdomens until he heard the sound that always without fail made him orgasm obscenely - House's surrendering moan of pleasure. Every time House tried to stifle it, as though ashamed that someone had taken such control of him. Wilson brought him pleasure, and House feared that power.

Sleep. Here. Hoping, knowing, always, in time...




Wilson lay on top of him for a few more warm minutes before easing his weight off, rolling over to lie beside him and let the last twitching aches of orgasm recede into memory.

After a few moments of unusual quiet from House, "Stay the night?" He asked.

Wilson tensed. In their past sessions of love-making, he had seen the question in House's eyes once or twice but House had never said the words aloud until now. "You know I can't."

He could sense rather than see House's tiny answering nod. House struggled to get up. He retrieved his cane from the floor and hitched his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Wilson knew it was House's polite but gonna be rude about it way of telling him to get the hell out.

He dressed quickly, hoping the smell of sex wasn't too noticeable over the cologne he dabbed on. He kept a bottle of the brand Amber had given him for their two month anniversary at House's. On hand for afterward. House understood but had said he hated the smell of it. Wilson had given Amber a gold necklace and they'd had a great evening of dining, dancing and drinking until they stumbled to the bedroom, already naked and anxious to screw.

He'd avoided House that week out of guilt. Both ways. Both directions. Wilson's fucked up love. Small wonder he couldn't keep a marriage together.

Amber was expecting him. House was angry and hurt but wouldn't let him see it. And Wilson? He loved two people who loved him. "Loved" them. Like he loved a lot of things. He "loved" his job. He "loved" barbecued steak. He "loved" his dog and his new black suite too. He loved House. He loved Amber.

Neither of them really understood the raw deal they were getting.

and I'm waiting..

When House heard the apartment door close, he left the bathroom and walked to the living room, wearing only pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt. He poured a tumbler of whiskey and watched out the window as Wilson's car drove away in the rain. House sat down and drank the entire two inches at once. Then poured another.

Wilson could have his Cut-throat-bitch. House drank half the bottle because he didn't care a lick what Wilson did. He went to bed drunk and in pain because Wilson could go fuck himself! Go home to your safe, domestic me!

And don't come back.


when I return to her I find...




Amber was in bed but not asleep when Wilson entered their bedroom in his sock feet.

"I know you don't go to the hospital on these nights when you're late."

Wilson sighed and switched on a dim lamp. She sat up and stared at him. She was wearing a thin white cotton tee-shirt. Amber had nice firm little breasts. "Why bother lying? You go over to House's."

"Because I know you don't like him at all." Wilson sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks and pants. Tossing them across a few feet of empty space to a lined laundry basket, adding his shirt and underwear. He crawled in beside her naked. "But he's my best friend. That's not going to change." That's not going to change... It was a safe enough lie. But a lie.



flowers of evil in my mind...



"House -- I love Amber!"

"She's me! She's your safe, trouble-free, smells like flowers model of me!"

"No she isn't. She does, in case you need reminding, have her own ideas, personality and tastes. Tastes which do not run to drugs, alcoholism and being an ass to everybody."

"You like those things about her?"


"Then why the hell do you keep coming over here? And I mean that both ways."

Amber felt soft in his arms. She was small and warm and gushy. All of her was soft. Not like House. Not muscles and anger, cursing and clutching hands pulling him closer and closer, hungry mouth swallowing his own. Stubble burn and moans and mouth open for more tongue and blue, god-oh-so-fucking-blue eyes rolled back in his head in helpless wanting for Wilson. No one but Wilson...




and i'm waiting...

End Part One (there will only be 2 parts to this)



you stay silent, knowing, always in time
see how this love stays divine
see how this love stays divine

sleep here
hoping, knowing, always in time
see how the love stays divine
see how the love stays divine
this is the way

step inside

and i'm waiting
when I return to her I find
and i'm waiting
flowers of evil in my mind
and i'm waiting