House/Wilson, slashy, no like, no read!
I own nothing but my never-ending essays.
House held up an MRI sheet as soon as Wilson stumbled into the Conference Room.
"Biopsy or no biopsy?"
Wilson stopped in his tracks, blinked, and squinted. "Er…looks inconclusive… have you tried any other diagnoses? …I'm assuming that face is a yes – then yes, biopsy to confirm."
He looked up to see Chase standing by the table, glancing at House uncertainly. There was a slight, rather worried pause, after which the only man sitting raised a sarcastic eyebrow.
"Well? He too, is House, you know."
Chase seemed slightly nonplussed, and House made a mental note to mock the Aussie's classical education later. Wilson, however, managed to look affronted.
House was not amused. "I was referring to my medical intelligence, so you should consider it an honour."
"Oh, well, so long as we are clear about that," said Wilson, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Here I thought you were handing me the cane – I mean, the crown."
House immediately got down on his knee (the bad leg draping behind looking rather ridiculous), and held up his cane like a sacred offering. Wilson got his 'wtf?' look back and stared.
"Is the Aussie still here?" said House in a stage-whisper.
There was the sound of a door closing and footsteps disappearing hurriedly down the hallway. Wilson crunched his eyebrows together,
"I think you may have gone too far and actually traumatised him."
"Chase? Never. He's damaged enough as it is. That's why Cameron married him, you know."
Wilson let out a long suffering sigh. "You don't give up power, House, and your cane is your power."
House made an innocently bewildered face. "Is it? I thought it was just an extension of my masculinity. And by masculinity I mean my little Greg." He gave an exaggerated wink, and was pleased to see Wilson look pained.
"I – am going to go back to my office," When everything else fails, change the subject by stating something obvious – only House knew it too well. He rolled his eyes.
"You are pathetic, Wilson. There's nothing wrong with talking about sex – or does Daddy need to tell you how babies are made?" he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"There's plenty wrong talking about sex mid-afternoon in your office," Wilson half-heartedly countered, "or so Cuddy would think."
"Cuddy wouldn't care if we had sex mid-afternoon in my office as long as I solve this case without getting another lawsuit."
House's voice was so casual that Wilson almost, almost missed the subtle avoidance of eye-contact first half of the sentence. He pondered. House narrowed his eyes.
"Oh God, please get that image out of your head. It's three in the afternoon, Jimmy! The sun is still shining in the sky!"
Wilson gave an odd twitch of the lips. "No… just imagining Cuddy's face."
"After finding out we've been having sex on my office desk?" House sounded suspicious, but his expression relaxed soon enough into a smirk. "Hmmm."
"No," Wilson's eyes flooded with horror, "whatever you are thinking, No."
House looked offended. "Oh come on, Jimmy. It's not like everyone doesn't think we are anything less of a gay couple already."
Wilson's lethargic mid-afternoon-without-coffee brain took a few moments to process the triple – no, double – negative and a faint blush crept to his cheeks. House was studying him with undisguised interest.
"What, no cutting remarks? House-wife?"
Wilson groaned. "There is a huge difference between things that goes on in other people's minds and things that actually go on, you know."
He braced himself for another clever comeback, and was surprised when House only sniggered and did not push the matter further. Wilson looked at his friend, a little bleary-eyed, and was even more surprised when House handed him a cup of freshly brewed Diagnostics coffee.
"Are you planning on to drug me again?" To be fair, it was the logical response. At least in House-land.
House did not reply straight away but stood there, leaning on his cane, staring at Wilson with a half-smile on his lips, until Wilson absent-mindedly took a gulp under the intensity of his gaze. The smile grew bigger.
"The brain," House declared suddenly, making Wilson jump, "is like a muscle."
Wilson took another sip of the coffee and decided a response was not immediately required of him.
"You need to exercise it often for it to be in its best shape." House continued. "The fact that you came over voluntarily to my office at three in the afternoon and did not give me a lecture on anything, means you haven't been exercising as much as you should in the day."
Wilson looked up from his cup with a wonderfully 'wut' expression. "I've lost you after the lecture part. Was I supposed to tell you off on something? Did you make another condom-balloon-animal for the kids in Oncology again?"
"You came here looking for coffee." said House matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Wilson's part of the conversation. "I offered you something better."
The 'wut' expression was bordering on slightly horrified. "Sex?"
House rolled his eyes, "No, a random but interesting conversation. Intriguing. Like jumping on a train without knowing where it takes you, but it's going too fast and the scenery too good and the cakes in the food cart too tempting for you to jump off again. That and sex."
Wilson blinked. Twice. "You are offering me sex?"
House's lips twitched in an ill-concealed smirk. "Oh Jimmy. All those words fly by and your mind register nothing but sex. I'm so proud of you it's disgusting."
Wilson finally raised his hands in surrender, "House! Stop messing with my head."
"That was kind of the point." Satisfied, House sat down across him. "How are you feeling? Brain still whizzing in motion?"
"Keep it up and my brain will short-circuit," said Wilson gloomily. "How did you know I came looking for coffee?"
House made a 'that's-an-idiotic-question' face. "You nearly stumbled when you came into my office, and it took two seconds for you to realise that the sound of my voice actually came from next door in the conference room. Well, that and the fact that the night nurses said you were in here in the wee hours comforting a scared, crying patient." He sounded exasperated, but not unkind. "And your schedule said you had an early board meeting which lasted, by my keen observation, well past noon. You didn't so much want but needed coffee. Now drink up, it's a double express shot, it's going to kick in soon."
"Are you really so tired that you can only come up with a single syllable?" House sounded incredulous. Wilson couldn't help but smile.
"Is it really necessary for you to know every last detail of my day, to keep track of my every move?" The question sounded much less accusing when asked in a sleepy voice.
"If I said yes, would you find enough energy to argue?" House narrowed his eyes again.
Wilson just shook his head amiably, and took another sip. Caffeine took 20 minutes to take effect, both House and Wilson was well aware of the fact that only ten has passed and anything less provocative than the routine friendly banter would result in Wilson relaxing and slipping into slumber. Wilson didn't mind the idea; House, however, did not usually find sleeping people to be interesting.
"Sex," House barked.
Wilson's eye twitched. "Keep it down or the nurses in paediatrics will come running," he said, "or run the other way, depending who's on offer."
House took no offence in this whatsoever. "My goal is to keep you awake for the next ten minutes, which should entertain me for ten minutes. We are game."
At the sound of a drawer opening and closing, Wilson lifted his head. His eyes widened in horror almost immediately. "Get that syringe out of my face, right now, House."
"Ancient scholars in China used to stick needles into their legs just to keep them awake so they can study longer," said House with a hint of malicious glee. "Studious type, the Chinese."
Wilson tried to scrape back his chair, but found House looming over him instead. "House! I swear to God if you stick his needle in me I will – I will – can't you beat me with your cane or something? I –"
House burst out laughing. Wilson flushed a deep shade of crimson and covered his face. "I'm not gonna hear the end of this, am I?"
The smirk was enough to confirm his answer. House tossed the syringe – unopened – back onto the table and said triumphantly, "Sticking a needle in your leg is indeed a good way to keep you awake, but so is putting the fear of me in your heart."
Wilson let out a long suffering groan and refused to face House's glee. "Now I wish you drugged me," he said dejectedly. "I'm too tired for this. Can't you –" A brilliant comeback just seemed to flash into his brain, so casual it was wearing House-brand sneakers, "Can't we just have sex and be done with it?"
There was a moment of glorious silence in which House seemed completely lost for words. Then the sarcasm came back – invisible wall and all – and House asked,
"Are you going to forget this in the morning?" Mocking face, mocking voice, mocking gesture. But Wilson knew to look past all those and straight into the eye. A touch of fear, maybe hope. Maybe he's dreaming up the hope. Maybe it's just his hope.
"No," he smiled, a little ruefully. "With luck my moment of clarity will come in five minutes and you will beat me out of your office with your cane."
House was quiet. The intense blue gaze never faltered, but he also saw something stir. Maybe a mischievous glimmer. Maybe something else. Wilson blinked, and suddenly House was looming over him again. Only this time House's face was looming too close.
"Uhhh…" Wilson began, but immediately decided against it as his unsteady voice betrayed more than what he would have liked. He clamped his mouth shut.
"Surprise," said House in a soft, almost hypnotising whisper, "works almost as good as fear."
Wilson made a point of comprehension, or the lack thereof, of blinking again. House dipped another inch closer, and now he could feel warm breath against his cheek.
"Do you feel your heart pumping extra hard?" Wilson gathered all his willpower to focus on House's tie. Except he wasn't wearing any and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Oh God. "It's making the caffeine travelling through your system quicker. Maybe you will notice the effect sooner." What was House saying? It's too difficult not to peek at the protruding collarbone and think whatever that might lead. No, no, bad mental image. Push it away. No, stack it away for later. Oh God, that sounded wrong.
Wilson gulped. "House…get off of me." That sounded more like a plea than he had intended.
House didn't move for a few seconds, and he could feel the other man's eyes were fixed on his left temple. Wilson wondered what was so interesting there – a throbbing vein? A droplet of sweat? He dared not turn and meet his gaze, and it seemed a bad idea to talk again since his heart was thumping right against his Adam's apple. He made a move to grab House's shirt, push him away, anything – but he was locked into place, locked in between the small space confined by House's arms. A tiny part of brain wondered if his expression had gone from a perpetual 'wtf?' to a perpetual 'omg!', and then fizzed and went into a puddle.
"You look…" suddenly the pressure was off his chest and House was within acceptable distance again, and Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. House's lip was twitching. "You look like you are about to have a seizure."
Wilson made an instinctive move to cover his face with his palm again, and gave a yelp when House suddenly made another dive and brushed his forehead with – he must have short-circuited his brain into hallucinating – lips. Forehead. Lips. Kiss. A feather light touch, but a kiss nonetheless.
House studied him for another five seconds, in which Wilson was all too aware of his own deer-in-headlight expression but could not break out of it no matter how hard he tried, and finally the other man said, "Hm."
Wilson scrunched up his face. "Hm?!"
"You didn't have a seizure after all."
Wilson let out a cry that was half torn between agony and frustration. "I'm awake! I'm awake. I'm outta here. Sorry I came in the first place."
"Oh, don't be." House gave his best kicked-puppy performance, "I was – and always am – happy to see you."
The glass door was pushed open as the ducklings filed back.
"Patient started showing another symptom," Foreman said. "The classic one we were hoping for the diagnosis. Biopsy is no longer needed. Looks like you are right again."
House didn't even bother to put on the 'I-told-you-so' face. "There is still one puzzle left for you guys though."
"The case is solved –"
"No, not the case, just a puzzle." House made a pointed smirk at Wilson's direction, who was trying to creep out of the room as quietly as possible. "Exhaustion. Difficulty concentrating. Tachycardia. Aphasia. Flushing. Momentary paralysis. Go."
Chase blinked at Wilson, who waved two hands in front of his suspiciously tomato-coloured face while speeding out of the room. "Er…Hyperthyroidism can cause tachycardia and mood swings, which can cause exhaustion and – "
"Wouldn't explain the aphasia and paralysis," Foreman cut in. "It's gotta be something neurological."
Cameron shook her head, "That's too wide an array of symptoms – could be autoimmune."
The three of them then stopped, and stared at their boss awaiting judgement. House merely looked triumphant.
"Nope, all wrong. He's just a tired man aroused."
If you got a smile out of this, can I get a review too? -hopeful-