Disclaimer: Last I checked, I didn't own House. [checks self in mirror] Nope, still not David Shore.

Disclaimer part deux: Zero, one, two, three, Sesame Street doesn't belong to me. Four, five, six, seven . . . blah blah blah, something and eleven.

Spoilers: None for House, maybe some vagueish ones for Sesame Street . . .

Warnings: Slash, inappropriate discussions involving felt, and the destruction of your childhood.

B Is For Bromance

Getting into an argument with Gregory House was like playing chicken with a train--completely pointless, with only one inevitable result. The best course of action was to drive away and admit defeat, rather than stare headlong into the blaring lights and let the train crush you mercilessly. Even if the train sustained some damage, or perhaps even derailed, the car would most definitely be in worse condition.

House always won arguments. And even if he lost, he refused to admit it, and the other person was more often than not too damaged and upset to realize House had lost, anyway.

Wilson knew it was stupid to engage, and yet, he did anyway. Then again, he was one of the few people who actually could argue with House without running away in a pool of tears. He was one of the few people who could escape the train in time to come back and play chicken another day--and one of the extremely few people who got a perverse pleasure from it in the first place.

They bantered daily (some might even call it bordering on flirting) and argued at least once a week--even if it was more of a game to them than actually arguing. And on the off-chance they did have a screaming match with one another, a slammed door and a few hours later, they would be back on the couch, making fun of horrible actresses in crappy B movies.

Arguments about Vicodin and self-destructiveness were expected; hell, even arguments about Wilson's libido and habit of picking needy women wouldn't be remiss. Wilson often wondered if House's fellows thought their relationship was based solely on discussing only those things--Wilson's romantic interludes, and House's addiction. But House could argue about anything, and start discussions about the most inane topics ever conceived of by man.

Wilson knew all of this when House burst into his office without knocking, strolled over to the chair across from him, sat down and plopped his hands on the top of his cane with an over-exaggerated ease, and said; "Bert and Ernie are lovers."

As far as ridiculous conversations went, that had to be somewhere near the top of the list.

He saw the challenging spark in his blue eyes, and instead of shaking his head and making a dry, derisive agreement in order derail the situation into something less strange, he grinned. "Whatever gives you that idea?"

"The fact I have eyes and something resembling an IQ."

"And you thought about springing this topic on me because we are clearly the only two in the hospital." House just quirked an eyebrow up at him, and Wilson sighed. "Bert and Ernie are puppets," he stated, as if he were imparting some great wisdom onto House.

"Gay puppets."

Wilson finally put his pen down. "They're made of felt. They can't be gay."

"And I'm supposed to be the insensitive one? I wonder what Thirteen would have to say about your opinion on the matter."

"They're not people."

"Now homosexuals aren't people? Taking a trip to Westboro soon or what?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Bert and Ernie aren't people. They're puppets in a children's TV show."

House nodded. "Oh, I see. So children can't be exposed to gays because it'll warp them."

"No, I meant--House, you know what I meant. I doubt any of the puppets on that show even have a sexuality. It's not meant to teach children about romance, but about sharing, counting, their ABC's or what have you. They're not gay any more than they are straight."

"Shows how little you know. Bert and Ernie are clearly sucking on each other's felt penises."

"For a grown man, you seem awfully obsessed with your theories about puppets in a children's show."

"I also have it on good authority that Elmo is snorting coke. But I digress."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been digressing since the moment you set foot in my office?"

House shrugged. "Probably. But come on, you can't honestly tell me you don't think they're hot for each other? They live together, sleep in the same room, ride on a bicycle built for two, and flirt all the time. They're so sickeningly domestic I get cavities from watching. I think even Cameron had to get her stomach pumped after watching it."

"Whereas when I cook and clean for you, it's not domestic at all."

House pointed at him briefly. "Hey. Macadamia pancakes overrule domesticity any day. Besides, last I checked, you didn't crawl onto my lap with a pair of binoculars to 'friend watch' while I was trying to read, either. Or blindly molest my hair and face."

Wilson stared at House incredulously. "The fact you can cite specific examples worries me."

"Only because it means you're losing. Come on. Just admit it. Bert and Ernie are totally gay."

"Is this another one of those pointless caveman/astronaut debates?" Wilson inquired, knowing he was smiling although he tried not to.

House's mouth dropped open. "I'll have you know that the caveman/astronaut debate is way better than that crap about ninjas and pirates or vampires and werewolves."

"And is the result of you having too much free space on your tivo. Have you been recording Sesame Street?"

"It's very informative. Apparently, C is for cookie. Although, if you were to ask Bert, C would probably stand for something else entirely." He gave Wilson an over-exaggerated wink, and Wilson just shook his head.

"House, it's a learning show. Bert and Ernie were created to teach children about sharing--and that, despite the fact two people are completely different, they can still be friends." Which, Wilson admitted, was something that the both of them must have learned a long time ago, if they were able to put up with each other.

Wilson met House's eyes briefly, and then House looked downward, a thin smile the only hint that he'd gotten the message. The moment between them passed as quickly as it showed up, though, but Wilson didn't mind it--he was used to it by now.

"Maybe that's true. And maybe, they're sharing each other's passion in a nightly embrace. Gasping, moaning, crying out each other's names--"

"And with that one sentence, you have completely destroyed my childhood, and made certain to give me nightmares."

"All in a day's work." He grinned evilly, and the devilish gleam in his eye filled Wilson with foreboding. He let out a long moan and started thumping his foot on the ground. "Oh, Ernie! Oh, you hot, sexy, wee little puppet man! Unh! Oh, Ernie, your felt penis is so hard!"

"House! Shut up!" Wilson tried to sound angry, but he sounded more amused than anything. Not to mention he was smiling, despite trying not to. But when House let out a low groan that sounded a bit too realistic, Wilson stopped smiling and felt a stirring in his groin.

House stopped moaning and smirked. "What's the matter? It's not like I was shouting your name." The quirk of his mouth was enough to let Wilson know what he was going to do. "Oh, Wil--"

Wilson somehow leaned across his desk and planted his hand right over House's mouth before any damage could be done. The edge was digging into his lap and his right hand (which was planted on the top) had scattered his papers and his pen a bit. House glared good-naturedly, but after a second the look in his eyes changed, and Wilson felt his heart speed up.

House nipped at the palm of Wilson's hand, and his stomach swooped pleasantly.

He sat back in his chair and tidied up his desk, refusing to look at his best friend for the moment, afraid that his eyes would somehow give him away. His heart leapt into his throat briefly, which actually made it slightly difficult to breathe properly.

"I'm hungry," House aired a few moments later, a petulant whine colouring his tone.

"Perhaps you should've made friends with the cookie monster, then," Wilson retorted, even though he was standing from his chair and making his way around the desk.

House stood up out of the chair, his shoulder bumping against Wilson's. "Nah, I kinda like being friends with Ernie."

"I suppose that makes you Bert, then," he muttered, deciding to play along.

"Yep," House agreed, grabbed Wilson's tie, and crushed his mouth to his.

It took more than a few seconds for Wilson to realize that House was kissing him. In fact, it wasn't until House was pulling away that it hit him. His blue eyes darted around, looking at anything but Wilson's face, and the slight pink tinge to his cheeks might have gone unnoticed had Wilson been anyone else. It was a shame House was moving away, though, seeing as Wilson didn't want him to.

So he grabbed House's jaw and forced their mouths together again, perhaps a bit roughly but he didn't care. Apparently, neither did House, because he responded hungrily, flicking his tongue against Wilson's lip until he opened his mouth, allowing him entrance. And that was it--he didn't have an internal crisis of whether or not things would irrevocably change between them, or whether or not he was gay, or if House would pull away, sputtering, muttering something about them never kissing again. He was old enough and had been friends with House long enough to know that he wasn't entirely straight--he'd had romantic thoughts before, and apparently, so had House. His reluctance to act on his urges had nothing to do with a sexual identity crisis, and everything to do with him just figuring House didn't reciprocate.

He tasted like cherry suckers and coffee, which normally wouldn't have gone well together, but mixed in with a taste that was just undeniably House, it was actually pretty good. His tongue swept into his mouth, exploring, and the next second, he felt the edge of his desk pressed against the small of his back, and he let out a moan that he was nearly embarrassed about, but then House mimicked him by gasping into his mouth.

It was all teeth and tongues and lips; slow, languorous kisses would be saved for later. Apparently, House agreed with Wilson that they'd waited too long to be gentle. House proved Wilson's theory right by biting on his lip briefly as he pulled away (only for a second) in order to breathe, before plundering his mouth again.

House's hands were roaming over Wilson's chest, and he could feel the heat through the fabric, and he found his hands sliding in between House's thinning hair, scratching at his scalp, feeling his lean, yet strong, body pressing into him, both of them whimpering and moaning and tasting each other. And for all it was worth, the scraping of House's unshaven jaw wasn't unpleasant, despite Wilson always assuming otherwise.

Somebody (decidedly male) cleared his throat, and instead of them leaping apart as Wilson would have assumed, House casually pulled away and stepped back, his mouth swollen. Wilson found he was having a hard time keeping his breathing regular, and he turned to see Taub, who was staring between them, his face unreadable.

"Did you need something?" House asked, as if nothing odd had happened at all, and Wilson stood straighter, smoothing his shirt and tie, having a hard time looking at anywhere but his shoes at the moment.

"Uh . . . The tox screen came back clean," Taub revealed. When Wilson glanced up he noticed that Taub's eyes were flicking back and forth between them, but his face remained completely impassive.

"It always is. Anything else?"

Taub shook his head. "No. I'll . . . leave you and Doctor Wilson to your, uh . . ." He gestured vaguely with his hand. ". . . discussion." He nodded once and shut the door behind him, and Wilson wondered if his cheeks were a red as they felt.

House turned his head and their eyes met again, and a jolt went through Wilson's entire body. House bent down and picked up his cane--Wilson didn't even remember him dropping it--and when he was standing properly again, he jerked his chin towards the door. "Come on. Let's go share some food."

Wilson chuckled breathily and shook his head, knowing that the grin on his face was only rivalled by House's. "If by share you mean steal . . ." He trailed off as he opened the door and the started their trek to the elevators, House's arm bumping against his more insistently than usual. "I still don't think Bert and Ernie are gay," he told him as he pressed the call button.

"Hmm," House hummed when the doors dinged open. When they both stepped in, House's eyes gleamed. "We'll see if I can change your mind when the doors close."

A few seconds later, when House practically pounced on him, Wilson realized that there really was a reason for playing chicken with a train, and even when House's mouth was busy with something other than talking, he still managed to put up a very good argument.

A/N--Finally, the plot bunny has released me from its clutches! Those of you who know me are probably aware of the fact I'm usually not one to write oneshots, but I couldn't help it. Anyway, as for the Bert/Ernie (Bernie) discussion, I take Wilson's side of the debate, but to each his own, yeah? I don't know who started the vampires vs werewolves or the ninjas vs pirates thing, but the cavemen vs astronauts was a nod to Angel.

Cavemen win.