Time-line: Season 6. Alternate Universe/Vampire life...
Summary: "At last this is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh"...Wilson quoted, adding "And blood of my blood." House would live. Nothing else mattered.
Pairing: House/Wilson. Wilson is a little OC here, but then he's not really himself, is he?
Rating: NC-17 SLASH ADULT. Angst. (You have been warned).
Disclaimer: The blue-eyed babe with the cane - sigh! - is not mine.
*Story idea by graceasaur! Thanks my friend.
*The first quarter of Chapter One co-authored by graceasaur and GeeLady. There-after - GeeLady
Wilson wasn't terribly fond of these kind of nights. Where the shifts were long and the opportunity to get a good meal practically nil.
Of course there was food at home, sitting in the fridge. Boiled dirt-grown tubers and cooked animal flesh gone cold, the slimy grease of it congealed in a grotesque scum. Unappetizing for most anyone. For a vampire? May as well serve him up a plate of hydrogenated pig-fat with a toasted side of compost.
Wilson sighed as he removed his shoes and the other cloth trappings of his "human" life. Not a life he had actively participated in for over a year (except as a fake), because even a creature of the dead had to keep up appearances.
For the job it was a must. Even working in Cuddy's 24 hour Free clinic (night shift of course), afforded him little opportunity to scout out potential mobile snacks. Most of the patients had raging cases of some crotch-rot or other. Vampire's can't get sick, but even we still have standards.
Home was quiet and dark, his favorite noise level and color. Only one sound reached his ears - the gentle human breath of sleep.
James Wilson, still a vampire o' crisp'; still a new-fang-led youth in all things toothy, followed the sweet-air-music to his bedroom.
They shared a bed still. Incredible! As hard as he had discovered it was to resist the smell and taste of human blood, this creature's water of life he had not touched. Not once. Not even yet tempted.
Because he loved this creature (if vampires could love - he honestly wasn't sure), above and beyond even the call of hunger. That hunger raged in him like a howl on the wind. Thankfully he had a few half-pints of blood-sickles stashed at the back of the freezer, hidden beneath the frozen lima beans.
His all-human roomie' wouldn't touch those god - er - devil-awful things, so his mid-day snacks were fairly safe from prying eyes. House would shower and go to work, because other than having a vampire as a room-mate (in an unbeknownst status), his life had not changed much at all. He was still the brilliant doctor, yet the genius, and yet the sexiest form of the flesh Wilson had ever laid his un-dead eyes on, the sweetest smelling body he had ever taken in by the pores (vampire's don't breath either - try keeping that fakery up for a day), and the most delightfully silky surface his vampire nails had ever raked across (accidentally but with underlying intent). Gently but with enough push to extract a cell or two.
Shaking like the wing of a frantic bat, Wilson had put the few tantalizing epithelial's to his tongue, anticipating paradise in the darkest pit of the vampire world. And he was not disappointed. His darling House tasted like sugar and salt. Plus a hint of blood and all other things wonderful.
Wilson watched his marvel rest inside that subdued, paralyzed collapse of human sleep. So vulnerable was his human when he was asleep, it scared him. House's perfect eyes stayed closed against the assault that could come from any quarter. Though, this day, he had been left in peace.
Such fucking beautiful blue eyes, they made his heart ache for their positively perfect human-ness. This was a man he could not bear to curse with the dark blessing. To be cursed with a blessing - yes it was a contradiction, but then he himself lived, if only falsely, because an un-dead man had killed him and given him the gift of eternal dark life.
Wilson stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Soft, artificial light from the hallway fell across a back of long and golden, skin flushed with the warmth of his pumping human heart.
Lovely, lovely skin. Under some lights, he could see every surface vessel. It was like living erotic art. And his softly even in and out breath-fulls, in and out, in, out, in, out...it was almost sexual.
Wilson wanted to wake him and tell him what his small, stony vampire heart had come to understand about the nature of love between creatures that God would curse for it: that it was possible for a vampire to love a human being with all his lack of soul and all his lack of spirit, because he had nothing else to offer but those things he lacked. That lack was the only emotion left to him - and it a living grief - so he held onto it with every last drop of humanity that might be drifting about inside his dried up body.
Wilson the vampire loved this human man - he adored him. He treasured this one and, on the night when he had been created with teeth marks and blood drained to the final drip, had made a promise to the white sunlight of the world that he would never see again to keep his treasure safe and solely for himself forever. Forever.
But only if he asked, only if he asked....
Because forever is a long time to be alone, even for a poor near-virgin vamp' like himself.
Wilson sighed in his discomfort of blood lust and love hunger. He closed the door on the bedroom quietly to let his precious and frail creature sleep.
"Good night House."
House was curled under the blankets. His breathing hitched a little as he woke up and shivered, light drifting through an open door poked at his sleep-lazy mind and cold air coming in through an opening in his closely tucked-in bed sheets caused him to stir. He kept his eyes shut, blindly fixing the disturbance, sighing through his nose before drawing himself closer to maintain his body heat to a more comforting level.
He quickly dozed off again, pleasant images of his roommate crept out of his sub-conscious (or maybe not so 'sub' lately) and filled his dreams. Dark brown eyes against a pale complexion - stunning! Though there was something in them of late. Something unknown. As much as House wanted to search those mysterious eyes for their secret, he would be giving away one of his own for looking so intently at his friend.
House tried to sleep, but couldn't stay asleep with all of this on his mind. He got out of bed and stretched, grabbing his cane and limping out to the living room.
He saw Wilson on the couch and his heart skipped a beat, "What are you still doing up? Do you ever sleep?" He asked, rubbing at his eyes and heading for the kitchen, recalling finding him awake late at night twice last week.
He looked through the cupboards, finding a bag of unopened potato chips near the back and pulling them out, going back into the living room with Wilson and opening them up as he sat down on the couch, not offering any to him as he started to munch on them, watching him closely.
"Of course I sleep, but we're on different shifts."
Apparently satisfied with that, House shrugged and nodded, munching his chips noisily.
"Aren't you going to eat a proper dinner?"
House nodded. "After I finish these."
Morning or evening were their times. In between is when their lives diverged to other, more individualized pursuits.
But this was an evening. Wilson had got up just after sunset and House had arrived home just after trying to cure some sickly human-or-other of his or her frail-human disease.
Frailty in others never used to bother Wilson. On the contrary, frailty had often brought out the nurturer in him, medically and otherwise. But ever since entering the darker side of life (or the lighter side of death - it all depended on one's perspective), Wilson found human weakness nothing more than fodder for mockery. To an consumer of human blood, humans were so helpless as to be laughable. As a vampire, mercy was a state of consciousness tossed out with the rest of the weakling emotions.
Why his form was still drawn unstoppably to House was an on-going puzzle and source of frustration. Vampires weren't drawn, they drew; enticed, coaxed, hypnotized and sent humans into a state of willing lethargy for one purpose only: to bite into the jugular (or better yet an artery) and drink until they were full and the human empty. A simple equation all vampires adopted as a matter of pure, driving, hunger. An instinct both necessary and terrible. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not a thing to give a second thought of worry to. Or even a first.
The sole exception to the vampire rule-book was House. House was as frail in his human life as Wilson was iron hard in his vampire death, but on House the frailty was an adornment rather than a curse. While in life, Wilson knew he had loved this man. Now in death, he treasured him beyond reason or purpose. Perhaps because House was the last link to his own former, living self and the only link in his heartless soul that lead him back to what humans called love. That was, after all, their greatest asset. Possibly the only one.
House caused in him a betrayal. Wilson was now he knew a benedict to his own vampire rites and pure bloody need. All that in him that was evil shrunk before a mere human. Against his well of need for House, his desire for House's life-blood shriveled. At home, he was an ineffectual vampire because he loved a human being more than he loved The Feed.
Wilson sighed. Oh well. What could he do but bend to the unnatural desires of his own poor and shrunken heart?
And House, unable to rest, sat there in his thin pajama bottoms and nondescript tee-shirt, looking all sleepy-eyed and sexy as hell. Human. pink with blood and lush with life.
Wilson had immediately put on his human face (easily done after a year or more of practice. He slipped it on and off now like water on his skin followed by a pat dry) and greeted his love (not yet his lover, but perhaps when the time was right...), whenever House came home or got up.
This evening, prior to his tired slog down the hall to bed, House had spent a moment kicking off his shoes and complaining about "the idiots" with whom he worked and the "especially idiotic moron patient" who refused to listen to his medical advise.
Wilson had cut off the grumbling's with a joke. "Shall I kill them for you?"
It had immediately relaxed his home-partner, House responding with a tiny smile and a half chuckle. "Would you?"
Wilson knew House was joking, and also knew House had no idea Wilson was not joking at all. Still, he would leave them alive as a gift. His loved-one needed work and purpose. Incredibly, and most surprisingly, Wilson had discovered that being a vampire was a purpose unto itself, and a very fulfilling career change. The night clinic job was now simply part of his human costume.
House wandered into the kitchen. House was usually hungry after he woke up and Wilson had taken to ordering whole meals from local restaurants to keep him happy. The rank stink of cooking food nauseated him now, and the taste of it was even worse. Dead, bloodless flesh holds no enticement for a life-eater.
House micro-waved a bowl of pasta and chicken covered in some sort of sauce, and carried it into the living room. Sitting down beside Wilson, he began to eat, switching on the television. Wilson took a brief glance into the bowl of food. The sauce was red. It looked almost eatable.
As House ate and watched his program, Wilson dreamed of who he would eat that night on the way to work, and watched House. This, for him - a vampire breaking the cardinal rule of: Eat People, was almost all he needed. Only one thing would make his un-life perfect - making love to him. Joining him in that state of union only humans enjoyed. It was the one sacrifice a vampire was forced to accept when initiated into the fold of the un-dead: You can no longer love.
Wilson didn't agree with that one. Loving this creature he did without effort. The why's could wait, he supposed, but the hunger for it, the physical expression of it, for that he was starving. One night he would broach it. He did not know how. Scaring House away was unthinkable.
House stopped chewing for a moment and glanced at Wilson sitting to his right. "Hmm?" He asked through a mouth-full of red-coated pasta.
"I want to play a game."
House swallowed and licked his lips, Wilson's eyes fixating on the pink tongue darting out to wipe red sauce out of the corners of his soft mouth. "What game?"
"It's called What If...."
"Sounds lame. What if what? How does it go?"
"I ask you a question about something ridiculous - anything - and you tell me your opinion as to whether it's, I don't know, possible, feasible even."
House nodded. "Yup. Sounds lame."
"Better than three hours of Jeopardy."
House had to give to that. He shrugged, set his empty bowl on the coffee table and leaned back. "Okay. We'll try your lame game. Who goes first?"
Wilson smiled at him just a little. Not too wide, the fangs were set back enough, and hooked enough, that most people noticed nothing unusual when he spoke. A wide smile, though, and a sharper-than-usual-eyed individual, like House, might notice. "Okay. My turn first." He gave House a level, very serious look. "What if I were a creature of the night?"
House frowned. "You mean a hooker?"
Wilson let that vision play around in his head a bit. Teeth-hook-er maybe. Trust House to leap to something sexual right off. He was a blood-firing creature if ever there was one. "No. Not in that sense. A vampire or a werewolf say."
House gave him a sideways tilt of his head. "What are you on?"
"Just answer the question. Explore the possible science behind it if you want."
House sighed and leaned back on the couch. Wilson could see the darker flesh of his gentiles through the slight fabric of his pajama's.
Wilson felt almost faint with desire. That was one attribute vampires possessed above almost all others: the desire for whatever they hungered could sometimes drive them insane.
"Fine." House was saying. "Wilson as a werewolf. Physical manifestations of werewolf-ish-ness: Hairy as a Greek drag-queen, big teeth, eats like a dog, howls at the moon."
House looked him up and down. "You are naturally slim, which is why I loath your guts every time I have to cut back on french fries. You are lacking even the follicles necessary for sprouting hair on your chest. Your teeth have remained unchanged since you were fourteen; white, slightly bucked, but other wise perfect. I haven't seen you eat for...geeze, at least a year, but we're working opposing shifts now so that's no biggie. Howling at the moon?" House screwed up his face. "Unless you've joined a club I don't know about,...no, you're not a werewolf. Besides, if you were spending the nights prowling the streets looking for victims, I'd have noticed."
Wilson felt slightly let down. "Can't you take this seriously?"
"You want me to take a word game seriously? Not possible unless the words are themselves serious, and these aren't." House narrowed his eyes. "Unless you have a joined a club I don't know about, and you are prowling the streets. Or gay. Or a gay street prowler? Am I getting warm?"
"Just barely. So what if I did? If I was?"
House considered it, trying to play the game. "I guess I'd call the dog-pound. Or get you fixed."
"You wouldn't be scared, knowing you were sharing an apartment with a werewolf?"
House took a deep breath, getting into it a little more. Wilson knew House liked to argue, and liked being right even more. "How long would this curse of the beast have been active?"
Wilson pretended to consider it. "How about - let's say a year."
House shrugged. "That's easy. We've been sharing your apartment for six or seven months now, and you haven't bitten me yet. I'd say I'm safe enough."
"Why wouldn't I have bitten you, if I really was a werewolf?"
House now looked a bit wary. "Is this going to disintegrate into declarations of our mutual love and respect, or is this going somewhere that isn't going to make me squirm in my shorts?"
Squirm? Writhe. Moan his name. Wilson tried to focus. "Just play the damn game. Take it where you want to."
"Fine. Why wouldn't you have gnawed on my shinbones yet? Hmm. Maybe because I'm your only friend, and maybe because you're my only friend and that's mutually pathetic enough to over-ride your instincts for people-pops."
"What makes you think you're my only friend?"
"You used to have other friends, but since you started working nights and since I started living with you, I've noticed the grand chasm of the lack of other friends so, yeah, we're the only friends we have. Your old friends probably think we're gay."
Wilson was quietly astonished at how House had arrived at nearly the very position Wilson found himself in. House still had associates at work, if not friends, while he himself had House and that was all. As far as he was concerned, all other beating hearts were take-out.
House looked at him, getting into the game now. "My turn."
Wilson collected himself together and nodded.
House leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, turned his head sideways and stared unblinkingly into the depths of Wilson's eyes.. "What if I knew that you are bi-sexual?"
Wilson sputtered..."How could you poss-"
"You've changed." House answered shortly. "A year ago you gave up oncology for regular night shifts in Cuddy's clinic. You spend an awful lot of time going places after your shift, 'cause you're never home until just before the sun comes up even though your shift starts at seven and ends at three. You must be eating your meals somewhere else because I haven't seen you eat in..." House had to think about it "in forever." House abandoned the chips. "A-n-d I know you watch me sleep. You're either bisexual or a sleep walker, or a bisexual sleep walker, and I know you're not a sleep walker, so...basically you've gotten creepy."
Wilson sat back. "I didn't know all this was bothering you."
"Not so much bother as puzzle the hell out of. It can't be about Amber because you took your shrine down months ago. Wanting to get into a less stressful job at forty-one I can understand, but watching me sleep? Is this just college-buddy curiosity?"
"We were never in college together. Do you really want to know?"
House tensed. "This answer doesn't involve me dressing up like Little Red Riding hood, does it?"
Wilson smiled in spite of himself. "No, I mean do you really want to know? Because giving you either answer will change everything."
House watched him warily, trying to sort his friend out via a search of his friend's opaque irises. "Are we still playing a game?"
House swallowed. "This is creepy, and by this I mean you. How long have you been hiding your taste for man-love?"
"About a year."
House stared. Stunned would have been an over-exaggeration, but surprised didn't quite fit either. "How long have you been resisting your taste for me? Because I happen to know I'm irresistible."
You have no idea. "Almost a year."
House gaped. "I was kidding."
"Okay - that's been clarified. Next question: How in the hell did I fail to notice this drastic change in your underwear preference?"
"You noticed I've been watching you sleep, that wasn't evidence enough?"
"But I thought that was for some Wilson-weird reason, not Wilson wants to get into my pants reason."
"Well, now you know."
House stared down at the bag of chip crumbs. "Yeah." He blew out a lung full of air. "Now I know." After a few seconds, House frowned, cocking his head. "You said either answer..." He trailed off.
The time for a response was now. Keeping his eyes locked on House's, Wilson bared his teeth, readying himself for the reaction most humans had. Some scoffed, then believed. Some believed right away. He had dined on both types. But House was a different creature than any. Wilson turned to his human companion and allowed him the full view of his razor sharp, dog-like fangs, tilting his head back so there would be no mistaking.
However, usually that wasn't enough to convince even those who tended to believe. Even they required additional proof. So Wilson held out his hands, palms down and let House watch as his fingernails grew by a half inch, coming to a lethal looking, dog-like claw.
House scrambled to put distance between himself and Wilson, abandoning his cane and making a limping, stumbling break for the front door. But Wilson was far faster than House now. He used to be faster because the infarction had taken away House's agility. Now he moved faster than House because a vampire had taken away his life, exchanging it for many things, including the power of flight.
Wilson flew so fast that House hadn't time to even take a look over his shoulder before Wilson was upon him, pressing him up against the wall, his cool body fully flushed against the front of House's warm, oh so wonderfully soft and warm, one.
"Don't move." Wilson warned. He hated to have to make it a warning, but he could see the panic in House's eyes, the disbelief mixed with the very real possibilities of blood and death. House wasn't anyone's idiot. But a promise was all he had. "I swear I won't hurt you." Wilson whispered.
He held House still for a moment, feeling the glorious beat of his strong human heart through his own dead cold chest. What a different sort of flight it was. Intoxicating - that movement against his own skin, the vibration of his friend's very being. Wilson found himself panting, imagining the heart below the skin, muscle and bone; a quivering red pump that gave to its human host life and its banquet of love and sex.
Wilson was drunk with touching life. He was mad with the need for more touching, for pressing skin on skin, need against need, for removing every barrier, for the colliding of sex - forever and ever and ever...
"No, I'm not a werewolf - that part was untrue, but the rest isn't." Wilson said the next bit earnestly so House would understand it wasn't his choosing, his un-dead life, though the pervasive, commanding love he felt for House was all him and him alone. A balm of love that soothed his killer soul even now. "This happened to me, I didn't choose it. And you're right on all counts; I work at night for reasons that now should be obvious. I don't eat food at all."
Wilson looked into House's wide blue eyes with his own warm half-lidded brown ones. They were the only things left of him that were still warm, if only metaphorically, but his eyes, undead or living, cold or warm, had nothing but compassion and desire for the human he had pinned against the living room wall, holding him there fast, against his will. That love was a second demon inside him that worked for his good. For his friend whom he loved, but who feared him at this moment like no other. "I guess I don't need to tell you what I do eat."
That made House's eyes widen even further. He was shaking just a little and it broke Wilson's small, stony heart. He held House against the wall with one inhumanly powerful arm, while his other hand very humanely touched House's face and caressed his skin, sliding one sharp nail down his throat to the soft dip of his shoulder, leaving not a scratch to mark its passage.
"You don't ever have to worry about that. I could never hurt you." Wilson let his eyes travel over his friend's face, seeking out the smallest details with a freedom and ease that up to this point had been denied him for fear his love be discovered. "I'd rather be staked than harm one hair on your head or take one drop of blood from your body." Wilson let his lips rest against House's pulsing jugular, still astounded at the revelation that he had no appetite to do violence to this human - who ought to be (to him), like every other human: sustenance.
But this human exuded something intangible and calming that shot through to the deepest parts of his undead spirit. This human, even a simple look, a casual touch of a finger, left him - a vampire - naked and shuddering for him. Trapped in dreams of wanton sexual escapades beneath him. Vulnerable. Weak.
Intolerable to him under any other circumstances but with this one, with House...Wilson felt a connection to the human world through this man. Through the love he still was able to feel for this man. Vampires were not supposed to feel. Vampires were forbidden to love a human. But no hiding anymore. Denial would be more intolerable. Any more of it and he was certain it would kill him.
Wilson brought his lips next to the hot pulse at House's throat. "You played the game well - both answers are true. Only I'm not bi-sexual, I'm you-sexual. Just you." He said as he placed the spread fingers of his free hand over the crown of House's head, his palm coming to rest very gently against his eyes, forcing them to close and hide their blue sparkle. Let him hear it before the lights dim. "And I love you."
Wilson eased his friend to the floor as House collapsed into a deep sleep. Carrying him to the bedroom, he lay him on the bed and covered him, slipping out into the night.
What would happen when in several hours House woke again he had no idea, but the truth no longer slept inside him. It had a home now in House's human mind. Perhaps one day it might reside in his heart as well.
Wilson hurried along. He had two hours before he had to report to the clinic. Just enough time for a good meal and some dark night of the soul-less.
After a meal of drunken bar patron who'd had no better sense than to walk home through an alley, Wilson snatched up a younger, healthy looking specimen to wash away the foul taste of whiskey saturated blood.
He was full, satisfied and could go almost a week now without another kill.
Alone with his thoughts Wilson had no idea he was being watched until he was swooped up from the ground with frightening speed. In seconds he was standing on the roof of the building he had just been walking next to.
He looked at his body-snatcher. "Donald." He said. It was not a greeting of any sort, nor said in anger. Where everything Donald was concerned, he kept his emotions as flat as a dead lake.
"James." Donald was a fellow vampire approximately one hundred years old. Not vintage, now new. Among vampires age carried some weight but what mattered more than age was breeding. Stock. Heritage. The society in which their previous human life had resided. A vampire was more valued for his education and station or, rather, the education and station of the human they had once been.
Donald claimed Norwegian royalty in his blood. No one really believed it, though he did an excellent impersonation of a lithe, white, ginger-haired aristocrat. He was so tall and thin, one of his mock-names among the vampire population was "Spider" in reference to his thin, stick-like legs. Yet Donald moved with the grace of a Mantis, and was unhesitant about getting exactly what he wished from humans or vampires.
Donald was said to be a favorite pet of what some considered to be the vampire "Queen". She had been a hideous woman in life and made an even uglier vampire in death. She, a fellow Norwegian, had set herself up in Copenhagen as the leader of the vampire race. A claim many vampires refuted. Refuted but rarely challenged, as she commanded thousands of loyal vampires who did her bidding only too gladly. Many vampires, as with humans, were adrift in the undeadness of their lives. So many as unhappy in death as they were in life. The queen", Yolanda, was as ruthless and pitiless in her quest for blood and violence as she was repulsive in her form.
"Everyone knows you're keeping a human pet."
James made no claims to denial or acknowledgement. If Donald knew, then everyone did.
Donald circled him from a good distance. "It is forbidden, you know, to keep a human."
"By who's rules? Your "queen"?"
"Yes, and by the ancient code."
The ancient code was an unwritten set of behaviors passed down from the sire vampire to his "offspring". No one had ever seen the code scratched out on yellowed paper or carved in stone by the finger of a devil. It was a set of archaic rules no one took seriously except those in a position of status, or those who served Yolanda.
"I don't adhere to your outdated code." James said. He was always addressed as James out in the dark. At home he was Wilson, the human who had once been. He liked the distinction and wished to keep it.
"I myself don't care if you fraternize with your food, but the queen shall, when she hears of it."
"I'm sure you'll explain it to her."
"She might send someone."
James felt a rush of violence surge inside. "If any one of you so much as touches a hair on his head, I'll kill you all."
Donald scoffed. "You're what, a year old? And still in disguise as a doctor. A run-of-the-mill profession being played by you in the guise of a man who was a run-of-the-mill person."
"But I was made by Judith." Judith was a three hundred year old vampire who had been a prostitute. Almost a non-person which made her, for a long time, almost a non-vampire. But she had been made by an immensely strong, highly educated aristocrat, a true one, from Prague. A vampire so strong that no one had ever defeated him in a fight to the dust. Judith had inherited, as all vampires did, the characteristics of her maker, and the characteristics of the strongest of the maker's feeds - the strengths of the humans (and not just their blood), upon which he had dined.
The old human prostitute, whoever she had been, had been a fighter, a survivor. Breeding didn't mean everything. Judith had happened upon him one night walking home from work, a thing he liked to do back when he was human. She had fed on him, then taken by his looks or something else she did not explain, made him feed on her. "You seem like you might be a more quality human than most. Almost noble, if my eyes are seeing well. So I don't think I ought to leave you all dead." She has whispered in his bloodless, dying ear. "So I'll leave you un-dead instead."
Wilson remembered the taste of metal and salt, the warmth of her blood on his lips, and a strange awakening inside him as her blood entered his body. He felt himself, all at once, die and come to life. Fall into dark death and rise into the darkest night. He was at once a creature struggling to his feet, dazed at what had just occurred, and a dead man left behind on the pavement, though the pavement empty.
Wilson had come into his mind as a vampire, his human memories swiftly gathered up and tucked away in a secret place just revealed to him; the mind-chamber of his old humanity.
He had walked home as though his journey had not been interrupted.
He had been interrupted, though. Yes, for certain.
Donald made great effort to not look impressed. "You watch yourself Teether. Don't go falling in love with a human. Or Yolanda might send someone to re-educate you on the finer things of being a vampire. Or teach him a lesson of a different sort."
Wilson heard the unmistakable threat in Donald's words, and the scorn in his voice. Wilson was upon him in under a second, with his hands around Donald's throat, and his great inherited strength lifting him off the tar-ed rooftop like he weighed no more than a mangy dog. "Touch one hair on his head. Harm the smallest part of his body. Go anywhere near him at all, any of you, and you'll swiftly learn something new as well. Like what it is to be reduced to dust."
Wilson let him go, carelessly thumping him down on the sticky black carpet.
Donald rubbed at his neck. He knew not to push this any further. He knew James was no one to be trifled with any less than he or his queen was.
Wilson saw the older Vampire's carefully controlled fear. Despite his age and breeding and close association with the "queen", Donald was as breakable as James was.
No, breeding wasn't everything. Sometimes it was nothing.
Donald decided to end this confrontation, leaving things as they lay. Now was not the time for him to take the matter up. Not here, not now. "It is forbidden to love, James. Even more so to love a human. This isn't over." He would take it up with his queen. Donald disappeared in a flash of blue vampire haze. A trick many vampires used to appear more powerful and mysterious than they really were. One that hardly ever fooled another vampire, save for those newly born.
Wilson called into work and made his excuses for not appearing, then hurried home. Finding House still asleep was a storm of relief. He crawled into the bed and wrapped his arms around his friend. He would wait for him to awake, and explain things further. He would make House understand. He would love him and House would feel it - know it fully to his human depths.
They would love each other, just as before.
Part II asap