He sits on the counter, has just completed the call, that little smirk still on his face. He's gorgeous, all dressed up, fresh haircut, everything feels crisp and young and new. This is his triumph; he feels a deep satisfaction, not a trace of guilt or remorse. He looks at House still standing opposite him in front of their fireplace, in their new home, which he provided. House is looking back at him, smiling faintly, his "baby steps" still reverberating in both their minds. House is right, he thinks yet again. He doesn't want to be a doormat. Even all those years ago when he stayed with House for a few days, House tried to provoke a rise out of him for a reason. He tried to teach him something. It felt good to get mad sometimes and act on it. It changes things, and this was a good change. He can feel it, this is the right thing to do for him… and for his friend. He smiles wider as he thinks about the other decision he's made. He had outbid Cuddy on the loft. But that was certainly not the jackpot. The jackpot is standing right there, has been there all along, helping him through, again and again. The memories slide by in front of his inner eye like the little icons on a slot machine wheel. And they stop at a little icon of House, and another, and another. He's hit it, the jackpot, and he deserves it, too.
He leans back on his hands, spreading his legs further, fixing House with his gaze. House ever so slightly lifts his chin and narrows his eyes, the little smile never leaving his face, when Wilson holds out his left hand and beckons him closer with his fingers.
"I want to show you something. But you have to come closer. It's small but well worth coming over here." House considers it, exaggeratedly letting his eyes wander to the ceiling, then he freezes and his eyes widen.
"Oh my god, you're not referring to your manliness, are you?" Wilson lifts his head, lowering his eyelids, his lips parting, twitching in a smile.
"Ohoa! No." He waits patiently, watching House.
"Pfff, could be anything." House looks out one of the tall windows. He's clearly curious but uncomfortable with trusting Wilson's directions.
"I didn't ask you to guess, I asked you to come closer. Trust me, it's completely harmless." Wilson says coolly.
"OK, now I'm bored." He stares at Wilson, irritated. Wilson rolls his eyes.
"Right. It's harmless, but it's exciting. And that's the last clue. Now, come hither, let yourself be… surprised," he says in a snobbish voice, exhales noisily, crosses his arms and waits.
House glances at the front door, shifts his weight and takes the first step toward Wilson sitting on the counter. He slowly crosses the room, closing the distance, until he comes to a halt directly in front of Wilson, stepping up to his dangling legs, straightening to his full height, letting his chin fall to his chest and looking into Wilson's eyes from under lowered lashes. He spreads his arms to his sides, palms up in a 'here I am'-gesture.
"So. What now?" Wilson regards him, still smiling that damn smile.
"Close your eyes. Please." House's expression turns into bewilderment. "I promise, no harm."
To Wilson's amazement House sighs, looks down at the small space between them and brings his head back up, eyes sliding closed. Wilson feels himself shudder with joy. He feels so lucky, again, this is his day. This is exactly where he wanted House. It was like taming a beautiful, wild creature.
Wilson reaches into his coat pocket and gets out the envelope. He looks at House, silently waiting. He thinks of House sitting next to his bed, being there when he woke up after the surgery, sitting by him every day during his early recovery, making him laugh until his stitches impended to burst. He loves to see House laugh. He loves looking at him doing anything. He loves looking at him right now, patiently and obediently waiting for Wilson. Wilson decides he's waited long enough. He places the envelope in the middle of House's chest, holding it there and says, "You can open them now."
House immediately looks down at his chest, hooks his cane on the counter and takes the envelope. As their hands brush Wilson inhales sharply. House glances at him, then turns the envelope to open the flap and looks inside. His mouth drops and his eyes widen, breathing quickening. His eyes snap up to Wilson's, and he smiles slowly, until he's grinning, his tongue showing in one corner. Wilson smiles back, self-satisfied, taking in House's reaction.
"Those must have cost a fortune," House says a little breathlessly.
"You should know that."
"Yeah." House looks in amazement at the two backstage passes for the big monster truck jam in Rochester, New York the coming weekend.
Wilson takes the passes from House and looks at him, eyes shining, face flushed, "I'm still sorry I didn't go with you five years ago when I had the chance; sorry I hurt you." He smiles, "You know, I wanted to get you tickets to a play to make a point, initially, but I wanted you to have fun, too, so…"
"Why would you even think about tickets for a play? You only take people to plays you want to… see… naked." Wilson watches House process his own words.
"I know." They stare at each other, mere inches between them. Now it was out in the open, no turning back.
He let's his eyes glide over House's chest, his open collar, his neck, up to his face again, taking him in, smelling soap, smelling coffee, smelling House. House doesn't move, looking into Wilson's eyes, bewildered. Wilson slowly brings his hand to House's waist, pushing aside coat and jacket, placing it over his heart, feeling the heat of his skin under the shirt and the steady beat underneath. He feels House's breath hitch and he sees his eyes close briefly, overwhelmed, swallowing thickly, licking his lips. It sends a jolt down to his groin and he feels himself swell. He slides his hand down and around House's waist, feeling his soft side. He gently pulls House in, making him take the last half step between his spread legs, feeling his hips brush the insides of his thighs, House's groin touching the edge of the counter.
He looks up at House's chest, his other hand finding the buttons of House's shirt, opening them one by one, then parting the shirt to let himself look, look at his smooth skin, at the dips and swells of his muscles, the slight dusting of hair, his soft nipples. He feels both their pulse rates shoot up, making them breath faster, heavier, beginning to pant, needing the oxygen.
He feels House's hands on his thighs, warm palms, thumbs stroking. Their eyes meet again. What he sees in House's eyes makes him giddy with joy. The need, the careful hope, the amazement, the desire, the want, the love. Wilson sees their kiss before it happens. They both lean in at the same moment, lips touching in a lingering kiss, both taking in the other's feel and scent and first taste. They pull back, looking between eyes and lips, dipping in again, now with fervor, passion aflame with the first touch of tongues. Wilson hears himself moan helplessly, the sound forced from his mouth by the almost painful, sudden arousal. He grabs House's face in both hands and deepens their kiss while sliding closer to bring their groins together, wanting House to feel his need for him. They groan and House slides his hands to Wilson's butt, to press him closer, to knead there. House grinds against him, breaking the kiss, throwing his head back, his mouth forming a perfect o, exhaling long and shakily. Wilson takes advantage of the exposed neck, mouthing along it, breathing harshly, then licking in short swipes down House's chest, tasting all of him, licking a nipple, nuzzling his chest, smelling, all the while letting House thrust against him, meeting him. Waves of pleasure run through him every time their clothed erections press together. He wants to touch House there, wants to see him, smell him, put his face between his legs, those long legs, wants to fuck him, wants to put his cock inside him, wants them to be together, nothing in between.
They tear at each other's clothes, kissing messily, making needy, impatient sounds, panting, laughing breathily. They end up on the counter, completely naked, except for Wilson's tie, Wilson thrusting into House, both wantonly shouting with each snap of hips, Wilson looking down at House's beautiful moaning face, watching the impact of his thrusts, every now and then diving in to ravish his mouth. It's rampant and quick and almost too much to bear. When Wilson comes, the shock and almost painful convulsions make him cry out, his balls and muscles contracting, making his cock twitch violently, coming volcano-like inside House's slick heat. He drowsily wraps deft fingers around House and brings him off in a few quick jerks, nuzzling his nose and lips and cheeks and neck, listening to House moan pitifully, making his own aftershocks so much sweeter. He wants to stay there forever with House in his arms, his cock inside him. He doesn't need anyone else.
House stirs after a while and kisses the top of Wilson's head; he wriggles out from under him, regrettably closing his thighs, reaching for Wilson's immaculate white shirt to wipe himself off.
"So, how long have you been wanting to see me naked? Are we talking days, weeks?" House's tone is low and playful; Wilson recognizes his wooing-voice, all soft and running the whole gamut from high to low and back. He smiles at that, feeling gleeful.
"I have been thinking about you in all your naked glory for a while now. On a very peripheral basis for years maybe. On a more conscious level since the morning I walked in on you in the living room. And seeing you every day in a tight shirt and see-through pajamas. Can't blame me!"
House smiles at him, looking away and takes a deep breath, "You know, I've been wanting to kiss you ever since you played food taster…"
"Good. I'm glad you woke me up and shoved that spoon in my face, if that was the actual outcome. Really."
They get dressed quickly and when they leave their new loft, thoroughly debauched, still smelling of sex, flushed and actually giggly, a good looking tall, blonde woman in an elegant black dress and a coat passes them in the hallway, greeting them with a creepy, knowing smile.
House turns to him, glaring, finding Wilson glaring back at him. They talk over each other.
"She must have heard you…" "Did you just flirt with this… after we…NO, she must have heard YOU…" "NO, I don't flirt with every skirt in radio range, that's you!" "Shut up, House!" They step into the elevator in synch.
"Great first impression on the new neighbors."
"Guess so. I'll make it up to you when we get home."
"Absolutely." They smile at the old clockwork that points out the floors.