Romancing Dr. House
Much to House's relief, Wilson didn't immediately begin plying him with poetry and roses once he'd stumbled onto House's deepest, darkest secret. In fact, the first romantic gesture was so subtle that it took him a full week to notice it and then another few days to confirm his theory and decide on a course of action. So when his favorite oncologist walked into the office at 5:30 on the dot for the tenth time in a row, House was ready for him.
"Picking me up from work, Dr. Wilson? I do believe you're trying to woo me." House said slyly before pretending to swoon back into his black leather chair. After a moment's consideration he began fanning himself with one hand for good measure.
Wilson watched the antics impassively. When House showed no sign of getting up, he came further into the room. "If you're going to be at this awhile, I'm just gonna get some work done," he informed his melodramatic friend. "You don't mind, do you?" Not waiting for a response, Wilson dropped into House's desk chair and pulled out a patient file.
"Of course I mind. You're supposed to be romancing me; working in my office isn't romantic." Wilson flipped open a file in response. House frowned and poked at the other man with his cane. "Come on; show me some of that panty peeler charm."
Wilson glanced up quizzically. "Why? Are you wearing panties?"
House felt a smile flicker across his face, but quashed it before Wilson could call him on it. "No, I'm going commando. Which you'd know if you didn't rush out of the house at 6:15 every morning." Wilson ignored the mild jibe in favor of inspecting every inch of House's body, his gaze turning heated as it slowly rose toward House's face. "See something you like?" House asked.
"Yes," Wilson answered. His voice went low and husky in a way House had only ever dreamed of hearing in the hospital. Kutner must have turned up the thermostat again, because House could feel his face heating up. Wilson smirked knowingly and turned his attention back to his files.
House stared at the top of Wilson's ridiculously poofy head in silence, uncertain if he wanted Wilson to elaborate or drop it. When the silence stretched to five minutes, he opened his mouth, thought better of it and shut it again. At the ten minute mark he considered throwing something just to get Wilson's attention back where it belonged. Finally he gave in; he never liked the quiet game anyway. "What?" he asked.
Wilson looked up with a confused frown. "What, what?"
"What do you see that you like?" House asked.
Wilson capped his pen, carefully put the file back in order and closed it. Then he put everything neatly away in his briefcase and came around the desk to perch on the edge closest to House. "Everything."
Oh, yeah, he was definitely going to have to talk to Kutner about the thermostat. The heat from his face was slowly creeping down his chest. Wilson's smile was smug, but oddly tender, as he continued softly, "But let's start with your eyes, they're really the most remarkable color."
"Yes," House said, rolling the feature in question in a move that involved his whole head, "Blue. Just like 10% of the American population."
House hadn't even realized that Wilson had leaned in until he swayed back to scowl at him. "Shut up, you're the one who said he wanted romance."
Now it was House's turn to scowl. "I never said that."
"You didn't deny it either."
"I asked for a divorce," House pointed out.
"Which implies you want to get married, an inherently romantic concept."
"Only so the threat of divorce carries more weight."
For the first time, Wilson started to look a little irritated. "Hey, you're the one fishing for compliments. The least you could do is shut up and take them."
House frowned. "I'm not," he cut himself off when Wilson stood up and turned back toward his briefcase. "Okay, fine. Please tell me how lucky you are to have me," House said with a resigned air.
Wilson grinned brightly. "Oh, I ask God daily what I've done to deserve you," he assured his friend.
"Tortured nuns in another life, no doubt," House observed.
"At the very least," Wilson agreed. "Can we postpone the mocking portion of the evening until later?"
House looked positively scandalized. "You don't know me at all, do you?"
Wilson shook his head in amusement. "Let's get back to the hearts and flowers bullshit."
"And they say romance is dead."
"Yes it is. I think you've killed the mood."
"Nonsense. My eyes are like shimmering pools of liquid sapphire. Go on."
"Shimmering pools of liquid sapphire? That doesn't even make sense," Wilson held up a hand to forestall House's retort. "Anyway, I never said that. Sapphires aren't the right color. I don't think anything is quite the color of your eyes; that was my point. They're hot and cold and brilliant and beautiful," Wilson hesitated ever so slightly before continuing, but his voice remained steady and his tone frank as he added, "just like the rest of you."
House's could feel his earlier flush returning but pretended not to notice as Wilson leaned closer to rub a thumb over his slightly chapped lips. He couldn't help smiling at the feel of it.
"And your smile," Wilson continued, "Not that 'I know everything smirk' you're so fond of, although that's pretty hot too, but your real smile. I love that expression. Not just because it's alarmingly attractive, but because only I get to put it there. It's all for me."
It would be pretty much impossible not to smile while Wilson was being possessive with such dopey sincerity, so House didn't try too hard to fight it. Wilson grinned back at him. "And there," Wilson said, sliding his index finger up House's check. "Right there, these absurdly adorable dimples, that's another reason to love your smile."
Now he really couldn't deny that the heat-induced flush he'd been fighting was quite possibly a blush, but House fully intended to try if anyone called him on it. Wilson leaned even closer and replaced the thumb tracing his lips with his mouth in a sweet kiss, the kind House usually only allowed when he was too blissed out on sex, drugs and/or rock and roll to protest.
Wilson sat back triumphantly. "And now I've gotten you all flushed and flustered. I like it; it's a good look for you."
House glared at Wilson's cat-that-got-the-canary smirk before smiling sweetly, making sure his dimples came out in full force, and fluttering his eyelashes outrageously. "You know what else would get me flushed and flustered? A blowjob in the supply closet."
Wilson leaned away, eyes wide with alarm. "Never, ever make that face again. Or I won't even blow you in our closet."
House valiantly resisted the obvious joke, and pulled himself to his feet. "Fine, we'll be boring and have sex at home. But don't think I won't be mocking you for that 'marriage is an inherently romantic concept' later on tonight."
"A mock-free night? I wouldn't dream of it."
Wilson gathered his stuff and fell into step on House's left. Neither man spoke as they made their way to the elevators, the awkward gait of House's limp brushing the backs of their hands together with every step toward home.