Title: Bitch, Please
Summary: His mother used to ask him why he was friends with House.
Notes: Written for ships50
His mother used to ask him why he was friends with House, how he could put up with the other man who seemed so crass and definitely too harsh for her son.
He had only managed to say four words in explanation, even though he himself didn't really know why.
"He makes me laugh."
It was true. House made him laugh more than any other person ever could, he even made him laugh at things he knew weren't supposed to be funny.
Wilson knew that there were other reasons he was friends with House, reasons why he loved House but they weren't anything he would want to tell his mother about.
"What are you thinking about?" House asked him as he sat down across from him in the crowded bar, holding a menu in hand he flipped through it.
"My mom called me today, wanted to make sure I was doing okay and hadn't gotten married or anything again," Wilson responded, ordering a roast beef aus jus and a beer.
"She's given up on asking me about you," he explained, leaning back in the booth he managed to relax a little more and sighed.
"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" House asked evenly, his shoulders squared in the way they did when he was preparing for a fight.
He was almost always preparing for a fight, and he'd given up trying to win over Wilson's mother a long time ago. He hated the look of pity on her face whenever she saw him which he was able to quickly transform into a look of disdain.
He would be more proud of it if it didn't bug Wilson so much.
"I think it's a good thing, it means she's stopped trying to figure out the inner workings of our relationship," Wilson responded easily, watching House fiddle with the menu even though he knew the other man would order a club sandwich on white, toasted with mayo on the side along with gravy for the fries.
He ordered the same thing every time.
"Hi there," one of the trashiest women that Wilson had ever seen in Princeton appeared at their booth, running her red clawed hand up his arm.
"Wanna have some fun?" He resisted the urge to gag when he smelt her awful perfume.
"Bitch please," House responded before he could ever say anything, using his cane to separate her from Wilson.
"Stay away from my man, get your own."
And there was that, Wilson grinned to himself lowering his head as the woman huffed and turned on her heel walking away. But that wasn't something he could tell his mother about, he had a feeling she wouldn't like it too much.
"Oh please, tell me you weren't flattered by that," House said to him harshly.
"Of course not House," Wilson lifted his beer, hiding his smile behind it.
House's harsh nature no longer got to him, the gentle feeling of his hands when they were in bed together made up for it. Always hesitant, like he was waiting for Wilson to run.
Wilson hadn't had that urge since his third marriage.
Maybe that he could tell his mother.