And on the eighth day, the Lord looked upon his creation, and said; "Behold, whereupon the interwebz does it say thou hast bought House MD?" And Cardio Necrosis spake, "Nowhere doth it proclaim I own House MD."
Author's Note: COCK is another word for rooster. Now that I have your attention, I'm going to tell you that this story is separated by ficlets. Each ficlet is connected and based off of a Whose Line Is It Anyway? game. You do not have to have ever seen the show or played the games in order to understand.
No Chicks or Booze
"This is a really fun game to play at home or a party with no chicks or booze."
--Drew Carey (Whose Line Is It Anyway?)
Objective: the host of the party must guess the attendees' strange personalities.
A problem delayed was a problem denied and apparently House was trying his hardest to make it delayed for as little time as possible. There really was no other explanation for what he was doing, except that he wanted Cuddy to find out they'd moved into the loft. He didn't lower his voice whenever he talked about their new place at work, and complained obnoxiously about unpacking and how rude the movers could be. He talked about their new neighbours and how perfect his new loft was. He never talked about it around Cuddy, but he talked about it around everyone else.
Perhaps his plan was to make sure everybody knew before Cuddy. It was the sort of thing House would enjoy and it would knock her down a few more pegs. It would be like one, big secret; an in-joke everybody understood except the Dean of Medicine. It was just another way of having power over her and getting back at her, and Wilson could appreciate it, but he wasn't all the keen to deal with the consequences. He knew he would eventually, but he wanted it to be later rather than sooner, because it really had been pretty underhanded of him. Cruelty from House was expected, which was part of the reason Cuddy hadn't wanted him finding out, but coming from Wilson--it might hurt her more than expected.
She deserved it, of course. He still firmly believed that, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to the big reveal.
Still, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy when Taub had come up to him and asked; "Are you going to House's house-warming party?"
For one second, Wilson had focused on how odd it had been to hear "House's house-warming" but then he pieced together the implication and groaned. "He's having a house-warming party? Oh, God. Who's coming?"
"Just us, as far as I know. What? You didn't know about it?" He hadn't sounded like he believed Wilson was out-of-the-loop, but he really hadn't known.
"No, I didn't," he'd growled, then glared at House through the glass walls of the diagnostics room. House had smirked at him.
Now, though, it made sense to him, and he wasn't really all that surprised. Of course, House hadn't done a damn thing to get ready--Wilson had been the one to buy the alcohol and cook the food. It had just been finger food and set up on the table as House picked out the music.
"When are they getting here?" Wilson asked, putting a pitcher of iced lemonade on the table next to the plastic cups. Bonnie had been obsessed with parties, but not the kind people actually enjoyed attending. Mostly, they were engagement parties, bridal and baby showers, house-warming parties, or some sort of large gathering around the holidays. There had always been finger food available and drinks, but they had always been tame--House had avoided them on principle, always saying "a gathering of more than ten people does not a party make." Wilson, although he'd never been much of a party-goer, had been inclined to agree. Unlike House, though, he'd been obligated to show.
"In a few minutes," House had answered, leaning his back against the table, his ankles crossed and cane beside him. Wilson was beside him, but he was facing the table.
Wilson looked at House suspiciously for a few seconds before turning and leaning against the table, shoulders pressed together. "I thought you hated these things."
"Then why are you throwing one?"
"I'm trying to do that whole 'change for the better' crap."
"Either that, or this is an elaborate way of getting revenge on Cuddy." House smirked at him, which was basically admitting Wilson was right. Wilson smiled and shook his head. "I've got the feeling this is going to blow up in my face somehow."
"Probably. Good thing you're resilient then, huh?" The doorbell rang once, followed by a quick succession of knocks. House jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Better go get that."
Wilson sighed and went over to the door, calculating how long it would take for Cuddy to overhear one of House's team talking about the new loft they had moved into, and figured by next week, he'd have an angry Cuddy in his office. It had been inevitable, of course; he began mentally figuring how that conversation would go.
When he opened the door, Chase stood there, grinning openly, chin tilted up slightly. "Wilson. Figured you'd be the first here," he said, moving to walk past him. He was holding a large box wrapped in gold with a black bow on top, and it took until after Wilson shut the door what was odd about Chase's sentence.
"I live here," he told him as he walked with him into the living room.
Chase didn't falter, but he did look at Wilson curiously. "Oh? I thought House just moved out of your place. Huh, sorry. So, where are we putting the gifts?"
Wilson gestured at the counter. "Do you want a beer or--" The doorbell rang, but no knock followed. "Hang on; House, could you . . . ?" He gestured vaguely in an attempt to nonverbally tell him to be a good host and offer Chase food, but he figured that it wouldn't happen so he aborted the gesture and turned back towards the door.
Taub stood on the porch, and when he saw Wilson, he shifted his weight onto his other foot. "Oh, so you did come?" he asked, brushing past him, and for some reason he looked completely out-of-place in the loft.
Wilson rolled his eyes. Leave it to House to tell everybody he was moving into a loft and forget to mention Wilson lived there, too. It didn't make sense--he'd fake a gay relationship with him in order to get into someone's pants, but he wouldn't tell his team he'd moved in with Wilson, despite them knowing they'd been staying with each other for the past few months. He wondered if House had consciously left out that information or if his team had just assumed that House moving had meant he was moving away.
"I actually live here with House," he explained patiently, giving House an annoyed glare when he walked into the living room. Chase was wandering around the kitchen, trailing his fingers over the counters, and Taub stopped at the entryway for a few seconds, shifting his weight uncomfortably before placing the gift next to Chase's.
House just shrugged.
"How much did this place cost?" Taub asked, and it was impossible to tell if he was curious or just being polite.
"Oh, just Wilson's first born," House said with an air of nonchalance. The place hadn't been cheap, but he could afford it. Apparently, he could afford it more than Cuddy could--or at least, he was willing to offer more for a bid. Then again, since House was involved, Wilson was willing to offer pretty much anything.
"I didn't know you had children, " Chase said, eyeing the large fridge with an impressed gleam in his eye.
"Pretty clever of you, then," Chase retorted with a small smirk, then went over to the food table, picking up the little sandwiches on the plate Wilson had made. "Oh, Foreman told me to tell you he couldn't make it. Something about having better things to do."
"Oh, but Thirteen is coming, right? I mean, we've got the recently divorced Australian with a daddy complex and a nebbish Jew. We've gotta have the hot bisexual with a death sentence to have a full set." House waggled his eyebrows.
Chase glared at house and Wilson felt a surge of sympathy towards him. He knew what it was like to be divorced and have to listen to House's jibes.
"I'm not that nebbish," Taub said, although it didn't really sound like a defence so much as him just playing along.
There were a few knocks on the door, and Wilson couldn't help but be impressed. They had all showed up within a minute of each other. Apparently, when House told them to be somewhere at a certain time, they did as they were told. Except Foreman, who had 'better things to do.' Wilson sighed, and wished he'd taken a leaf out of Foreman's book.
He opened the door and Thirteen smiled prettily at him, holding a gift bag. "Hey, Wilson," she greeted, and he stepped aside to let her walk by, and she smiled. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"
He shut the door behind her. "Nothing except the sacrificial offering of my first born," he commented dryly.
She didn't seem to think what he'd said was weird; then again, after awhile, people tended to take his sarcasm in stride. "How long have you been here? You're still in your work clothes."
"I came after work," he explained. "I, uh, live here."
Unlike Taub and Foreman, Thirteen actually reacted. She stopped walking and looked at him as if he'd said something in a foreign language. "Wait, you and House moved in together?"
"Yeah," Chase said from the table, still inspecting the tiny sandwiches. "We just found out, too. Sweet pad, though."
"'Sweet pad?'" Thirteen mocked, placing the bag on the counter with the other gifts. Chase blushed and then ate the sandwich as a way of distracting himself, then Thirteen eyed Wilson suspiciously, but didn't say anything else about the two of them sharing a living space.
Despite the fact it was just the five of them, it was more entertaining than he'd expected. House even seemed to be all right with actually interacting with other people, and normally he could care less about being social with his team. Of course, he wasn't friendly by any means, but he wasn't a raging dick, like he had been the time he'd gone to one of Bonnie's parties.
Taub had left a few minutes ago; Wilson didn't blame him. He had a wife he actually cared about at home waiting for him, and he'd seemed a little out-of-place in the loft for some reason. Wilson smiled; he knew Taub had slipped up with someone at his previous job, but he and his wife had managed to work through it. When he looked at Taub, he saw an alternate way his life could've gone. Then again, Taub's best friend wasn't House; he didn't think he could've given up House for any of his relationships the way Taub had given up his job.
Thirteen and Chase had wandered into the kitchen, chatting casually with each other. Wilson assumed they were bonding through the fact they were both recently single. He knew how helpful it could be to have someone nearby who was going through something similar, even if only slightly.
"So, why didn't you tell them we were living together? This all part of your master revenge plan?"
"No, I told you. It's all about me becoming a better person and accepting Jesus Christ into my heart. Or something. There was a step somewhere about a Higher Power." He pretended to be lost in thought for a few seconds, but then he just shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. "I didn't hide it from them. I just didn't say anything. That way if Cuddy figured out I was in her loft, your name wouldn't be brought up."
"But now it will."
"Well I figured us shacking up together will make the rumour spread faster. Maybe she'll get jealous of our hot man-lovin'." He downed the rest of his beer, then handed over the bottle. "Throw that away, will ya?"
"Yes, Master," Wilson muttered, then took the bottle. House made his way over to the food table and poured himself a cup of lemonade. Although House had never been much of an alcoholic, ever since he'd come out of Mayfield he'd watched his alcohol intake. He had a few beers every now and again, but he hadn't been drunk once.
He tossed his empty bottle as well as House's into the bin. When he turned around, Thirteen was standing right there, Chase moving into the main room towards House.
"Why'd you move in with House?" she asked, stuffing her hands in her front pockets of her jeans.
She was being forthright. He had always admired that about her and assumed House had as well. Her eyebrows were high on her forehead expectantly and she tilted her head to the side. "I'm the one who actually bought the loft, so . . ."
"So you two moved in together. Why?"
"Well, I'd already fed him. You know how strays are--you feed 'em once, and they just follow you home." He shrugged and walked passed her, but she fell into step by him.
"Well, I just thought maybe you two--you know."
Wilson closed his eyes. First Nora, and now Thirteen. "Look, I know how this looks, but it's not--we're not gay. We're straight."
She blinked at him in the same Nora had. "Okay," she said brightly, then turned around to go join Chase, who was talking with House.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Thirteen left before Chase, who stayed a few minutes later, but eventually left as well. House sat in his absurd couch and Wilson cleaned up after them all, and for some reason, planned on never telling House what Thirteen has assumed.
Objective: the audience suggests an unlikely superhero and a crisis. Each superhero who joins afterwards is named in succession.
"Come on, hurry up and eat," Wilson ordered, putting his hands on his hips.
House chewed his food even slower just to aggravate him. Wilson continued glaring at him, hands still on his hips and legs spread apart slightly. "What's the rush?"
"I have a patient I need to meet with in forty minutes."
House rolled his eyes. "She dying?"
"We're discussing pain treatments," Wilson answered with an awkward weight shift.
"So, that's a yes. You can't save her life, you know."
"We're doctors. It's what we do, House. Try to save lives."
"Feeling melodramatic today?" House asked innocently, slowly cutting his sausage link in half. "I can see it now--Wonder Boy Oncologist, superhero of PPTH--saving one needy sex kitten at a time. Look, you've even got the pose for it." He gestured at the fact he was standing with his hands on his waist.
Wilson blushed and then shifted his hands from his hips into his pockets. "So if I'm a superhero, what does that make you?"
"Well, I'm certainly not your sidekick," House muttered, stuffing a forkful of sausage in his mouth.
"More like my arch-nemesis, Asshole MD. If I'm late meeting her, it's going to throw my entire day off schedule."
"I'm not a villain. I always somewhat viewed myself as a lone wolf, following nobody's rules but my own. Like an anti-hero. With a crack team of sidekicks who do my bidding. Sort of like the Avengers."
"I was always fond of Justice League," Wilson revealed, sounding almost sheepish. "Speaking of your team, though . . . Last night wasn't too bad. You should hang out with them more often. It might . . . be fun."
"Are you trying to pawn me off on them?" he asked with faux-incredulity, although a part of him wondered if there was an ulterior motive. Actually, he didn't wonder. He knew.
Wilson eyes widened. "Oh, no. No, of course not. I just . . . Sometimes it might be nice for you to make friends other than me."
Now that House had brought it up, it really did somewhat sound like Wilson was trying to push him onto someone else so that he wouldn't be his problem anymore. The idea bothered him. Then again, any time Wilson even so much as half-hinted that he was getting sick of House it hurt. Especially since he had left him once--sure, he'd come back, but once he'd left, all that meant was that it might happen again.
"If you're getting bored of me, just tell me. I wouldn't want to cramp your style or anything," House muttered, pushing his not-quite-empty plate away from him. He suddenly wasn't all that hungry anymore. He tried to make it sound like he was just kidding, and perhaps if Wilson had been anyone else he would've fallen for it.
"That isn't what I'm saying at all, House, and you know it."
House stood away from the table and glanced at Wilson, not really remembering when he'd looked away. Wilson's hands were on his hips again, and House almost chuckled, but didn't. "Or maybe you just wanna hang out with my team. Thirteen's recently single and she's dying--just your type, right?" he teased, although there was a bit more venom in it than he had originally intended, but it didn't matter.
Wilson stepped in front of him. "I didn't mean it like that. House, I'm not trying to pawn you off on them. I just--" He shifted his weight onto his other foot, then shook his head. "Never mind. Come on, let's get to work."
"Got patients to bone, right?" House commented a bit rudely.
"I won't always be around, House," he said quickly, looking at the floor.
House was just about to roll his eyes when something struck him. The worst thought imaginable, and it almost made him nauseous. Wilson continued on without him, heading towards the door, and House quickly caught up with him. "What does that mean? Wilson, what did you mean by that?" he demanded, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking. "You're dying?"
The idea hit him so hard and sudden that he almost felt his eyes burn. They didn't, of course, but it was a scary thought. He had always assumed he would die before Wilson--it made sense. His liver was trashed, he was ten years older, and he had a tendency to do incredibly stupid things that put his life in danger. If Wilson had cancer, it would be ironic, true, but it wouldn't be the funny type of ironic that they could laugh about while drinking beer.
Wilson scoffed, but didn't pull his arm free from House's grasp. "No, of course not."
"Oh, God. It's worse. You're getting married," he groaned, dropping his head forward.
"In what universe is that worse than death? And no, I'm not getting married. It's just a simple observation, House. I can't be around all the time, and--and really, I . . ." He shifted awkward then looked at House's hand, grabbing his upper arm. He furrowed his eyebrows and then looked at House, their eyes meeting.
They locked eyes all the time. House never really had a problem with eye contact, and especially not with Wilson. This time it felt different; he felt a rush that he couldn't explain. A rush he hadn't felt just from touching Wilson ever since they'd first met. Well, and for a small while after Stacy left. In all honesty, House went through phases--phases where every touch and look they shared was imprinted in his memory and he obsessed about it, and times where he didn't really notice.
Perhaps this was the start of another one of those crush-like phases.
"I can't keep you all to myself, House," he muttered. "Thirteen, she--she thought we were--" He sighed, then shook his head. "You think it's fun now, House. We joke about people thinking we're gay, but it might not be as interesting when Cuddy finds out we live together and starts to think the same thing. You'll get tired of it, and tired of me, and it might--you might want to find someone else."
House blinked and almost laughed. "Seriously? You're feeling unsure of yourself?"
Wilson shook his head, then turned back towards the door. "No, it's just--you know, people get bored of others all the time. You might, I don't know . . . Want to spend time with someone else."
House laughed louder. "You're self-conscious! You're worried I'm gonna stop liking you, huh?"
"I'm worried that we're the only people in each other's lives. We're far too dependent on each other, and one day . . . I don't know. Sometimes I feel like . . . I'm holding you back. I'm not allowing you to--you've got potential to make other friends, and you'll never . . . achieve it because I'm . . . God, never mind. Just forget I said anything," he muttered, then pushed his way out of the door.
House's worry quickly melted into amusement as he followed Wilson. Wilson walked faster, but even with his limp, House could keep up with him. "Well isn't this an interesting twist. You're always telling me I'm the dependent one holding you back, and now you're admitting to being just as bad as I am. Well, well, well. Anything else you wanna get off your chest while you're getting all self-reflective and mopey?"
Wilson pinched his lips together and his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink as they continued down the hall. "Look, I'm only saying that it isn't fair that--well, you are an asshole, but . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. "Maybe you're not the only one who needs to learn how to share," he mumbled.
Any other person might have been touched at Wilson's admission, but House just felt a mixture of smugness and amusement. Of course, House had known all along that Wilson was just as obsessed as he was with their friendship, but he'd always been too self-righteous to admit it. All right, maybe not self-righteous, but he was always busy playing psychoanalyst with House's issues, so it was nice when he got around to his own problems. Which, in House's opinion, this problem really wasn't even a problem.
"So we're obsessed with each other. Big deal. Why do you think it was absurdly easy to convince Nora we were closeted homos? I played with a hand I was already dealt. Why is this a problem?" he asked when they passed the post office.
Wilson stopped moving and looked at House, an odd look in his eye. "I told you. I can't keep you all to myself. It isn't fair to you."
"Oh, right, because you're the one making it impossible for Asshole MD to make friends."
House realized how close they were when Wilson looked downwards for a second. They were probably only two feet apart--one step forward, and they could be touching chests. It was the sort of thing House always noticed during one of his phases. He was sure all the pretending-to-be-gay crap had brought it up this time.
"Sometimes, people put the needs of others before their own," he said quietly to his shoes, instead of to House.
House took a half-step forward, so that they were closer, and the sound of his cane ticking against the floor must have garnered Wilson's attention because he looked up at his face. "You're admitting you need me," he pointed out quietly.
Wilson didn't deny it.
House thought over their party last night, and how Thirteen had talked to Wilson by the fridge. House only noticed because her ass had looked rather delectable in the jeans she'd been wearing. He'd thought maybe Wilson was going to put the moves on her, but after Thirteen walked away, Wilson hadn't been very keen to stand by House and had pretty much secluded himself from everyone. House had assumed Wilson was trying to make him become more sociable, but now that he knew Thirteen had assumed they were dating, it must've bothered Wilson. What she had said to him must have gotten him thinking about their relationship, and why it was so easy for them to be mistaken for gay lovers.
House had figured out ages ago that they weren't like other best friends. He'd known for awhile that they were pretty much each other's only friend, and he'd always enjoyed it. It wasn't that House didn't like other people; it was just that he loved Wilson more. Maybe Wilson had just realized it and instead of enjoying it and milking it for what it was worth he'd decided to do something about it. He couldn't be selfish; it made him feel inferior or something. Instead, he tried to save House from something he didn't think he needed saving from.
They'd been staring at each other for a few long seconds, and House noticed their heads had tilted forward slightly.
"Maybe I don't want you to save me," he said, trying to sound glib, but instead he sounded sappy and cliché.
Wilson didn't seem to mind. A flash of pink tongue, and House realized Wilson had licked his bottom lip imperceptibly.
He heard someone clear her throat and he looked over his shoulder to see Nora, whose eyebrows were raised. He couldn't tell if she was being smug or annoyed.
They both turned on their heels and headed towards the exit. "To the Wilson-mobile!" he exclaimed jauntily, and Wilson snickered.
Objective: the performers are given a letter. Every sentence they say must begin with the next letter, and they attempt to cycle the entire alphabet within ninety seconds.
As usual, Wilson was driving with House in the passenger seat. Being his chauffer wasn't all the bad even though he sometimes pretended it was. "Cuddy's not going to think we're gay," House insisted, bringing up one of the points Wilson had mentioned earlier.
"Don't presume," Wilson warned as thoughts of the entire hospital assuming they were gay filled his head. Even though he was sure there were plenty of people who wondered about their relationship, if Thirteen mentioned something to the wrong person, it wouldn't be a half-wondered hypothesis anymore and everyone would assume it was fact. For a hospital filled with adults, PPTH often seemed more like a drama-filled high school.
"God, you worry about everything, don't you? How do you even sleep at night?"
"Just stop worrying about this whole gay thing," House insisted with an eye-roll.
"'Kay, because I'm sure you'll be loving the rumour once Cuddy's assuming you and I are . . ." Lovers, he added silently, and he could tell House knew what word he had omitted by the way he shifted in his seat and how the car filled with uncomfortable silence.
"Maybe we . . ." House began, but then shook his head. "Never mind."
Over the years, Wilson had developed a pretty accurate House decoder ring and he knew that he was obviously distressed by something. Pantera started on the radio, the noise barely audible, and House reached for the knob to up the volume. Quickly, Wilson grabbed his wrist to prevent him from a changing the subject and House, in retaliation, stuck his tongue out at him.
"Real mature, House. So, what was it you were going to say?"
"That maybe we should give the whole gay thing a try. Unless you're too chicken," he answered with a light tone and playful waggle of his eyebrows.
"Very tempting," he replied dryly before his House decoder ring kicked into overdrive. "Wait, were you being serious?"
"Xanadu probably wasn't Olivia Newton-John's best decision, if you ask my opinion," he randomly stated, as if it held great importance, and reached for the volume knob again.
"You're avoiding the issue," Wilson accused and grabbed House's wrist, preventing him from playing with the radio.
"Zealously," he admitted with enthusiasm, and batted Wilson's hand away to turn up the radio.
Actually, Wilson let House turn up the volume. Blaring music filled the car and allowed Wilson to think over what had just transpired between them. Cowboys From Hell blasted around him and although Wilson had never really loved the song, House enjoyed it almost disturbingly so, and did an impressive air guitar riff, as if he hadn't brought up the subject of them actually giving the gay thing a try.
Don't think about it--he was just messing with me, Wilson thought, knowing that House had at least been partially serious. Eventually the topic would become one of those things they just didn't discuss, just like the time they'd joked about being a couple when he'd been dating Amber. For awhile, Wilson just listened to the music pound against the frame of the car, but just as the song was ending he decided he needed to discuss it, and turned the volume down so that they could barely hear it.
"Greg, we need to talk about this," he insisted, and hated himself for using his first name, but it wasn't the first time, and he thought that by using it he could convey the seriousness of the issue.
"Honestly, Jimmy, I don't think it's necessary to pull the first name card. I was just joking, anyway." 'Jimmy' was House's way of mocking him for the first-name usage, but he still had an uneasy tone in his voice that suggested he was anxious.
Kansas City Shuffle began to play, the tinny noises of the familiar song tempting him to avoid the issue some more, but he refrained from doing so. "Look, you're obviously serious about what you said, and I think we need to talk about it. Maybe it is something worth exploring."
"No, we'd drive each other crazy. Oh, and there's the whole straight thing to consider, too. Pretend I didn't say anything."
"Quit it. Really, House, I'm obviously not as straight as I thought I was if I'm actually considering dating you. So, what do we do? Talk to me."
"Usually, one person asks another out and then provides food and entertainment of some kind," House suggested, actually sounding somewhat nervous. Very nervous, actually.
"Well, we could go watch that movie you mentioned earlier. Xanadu, right?" Wilson teased, although it was mostly to cover up his own nervousness.
"You know I hate that movie," House scoffed, then eyed Wilson with a half-smirk. "Zipper's undone," he informed with a vague gesture towards his crotch, and Wilson blushed as he quickly did up his pants.
Objective: the performers must only talk to each other using the titles of songs.
Wilson had managed to avoid consciously thinking about their possible date once he finished his meeting with his patient and started going over his paperwork. Of course, every few minutes he would randomly remember their conversation in the car and he'd feel a rush of anticipation. It was like being in high school again, getting ready for a date with a pretty girl. It was stupid really, considering how long he'd known House and how often they'd hung out, he shouldn't feel nervous to go on a date. If he thought about it a certain way, they'd been dating for years.
He'd never really been with a man before, and the idea of seriously dating his male best friend made his heart skip a beat. Sure, he'd kissed a guy once--but he'd been drunk and in college, and it had been a dare. The alcohol and the dare didn't exactly explain why Wilson found himself thinking about that random make out session for years after, or why he sometimes 'accidentally' clicked on a link to gay porn, watching it with rapt attention but always refusing to take care of his erection until he watched something more socially acceptable.
He'd never considered himself gay, though, because anytime he did catch himself looking at men, it was just a half-formed thought. He found some guys attractive--not a lot, but some. He'd never seriously wanted to be with a man, though. He'd never had feelings for one. He would admit to the fact he had sometimes thought of House romantically, but he'd always told himself it was an objective, emotionless wondering. He caught himself staring wistfully at him sometimes, but had always shoved those thoughts away before they developed. Which of course meant he knew there was room for his feeling to develop into something deeper than just friendship, which meant he had always known that there was a little wiggle room in his sexuality.
Still, he would never consider dating any man other than House. Could he be considered bisexual if it was just one guy?
He shook his head, and returned to the paperwork. Nora had just assumed they were gay and no matter how much he tried to tell her otherwise, she hadn't listened. Thirteen had made the same assumption, and she actually knew them, so it was possible she'd seen something that Wilson hadn't wanted to show. In a much easier world, he could have told himself that they had made him realize it, and that he'd never once considered dating House before then. Of course, the world wasn't easy, and he was forced to think about all the times he'd considered his sexuality and forced it into the back of his mind.
Then again, they hadn't exactly made the date official. They could both back out and pretend their conversation in the car hadn't taken place. Then he could go back to pretending he had never had thoughts about men (more specifically House) and . . .
Well, he knew that option had to be easier, but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to take that route.
When the door opened, he knew who it was, and he was suddenly aware of everything. He was aware of how tall House was and how nimbly he moved with the cane; as if it had always been a part of him. His eyes were a vivid blue that shone almost ridiculously bright when they looked at each other, and Wilson didn't bother trying to convince himself this was the first time his heart had skipped a beat because their eyes had met.
House sat in the chair as he usually did, and he didn't seem like their earlier conversation had bothered him at all. Maybe he was purposefully forgetting it. "I need a new ring tone for you," he announced, pulling out his cell phone.
"Why is that?"
"Because Dancing Queen is so last decade," he said with an overdramatic effeminate gesture. Wilson scoffed as House began moving through his impressive list of ring tones. "Anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of It's Raining Men or Gay Boyfriend."
Wilson blanched. "Wh-what? I mean, why would you--"
"Because you are my gay boyfriend. Aren't we dating now, or did I hallucinate the whole thing in the car?" he asked flippantly. "That song on Avenue Q is tempting, but it's so overdone."
Wilson put his pen down a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. "One date does not a boyfriend make, House. Besides, I--we haven't even discussed exactly what we're doing and when we're doing it, so--"
"Somebody to Love from Queen isn't too sappy, is it? Actually, no. That would be lame. I've already found someone to love, haven't I?" He put one finger to his lip in thought, then returned to his cell phone.
"Exactly why are you changing my ring tone again? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled your phone no longer proclaims me a dancing queen, but--"
"Best friend ring tones are different than boyfriend ring tones," he explained, eyes glued to his phone. "Oh God, I can't believe I actually have Bon Jovi on this thing. How do you feel about Livin' On A Prayer?" Wilson blinked, feeling somehow bombarded with all of these questions. He still didn't know where he and House stood, and here he was, making jokes about ring tones and them being boyfriends. "No, that seems too reminiscent of you and Bonnie, for some reason. The last thing I wanna think about when you call is her ferrety little face."
Wilson went to say something in order to stop House from talking, but then he really looked at him. Something was off; House hadn't looked at him since he mentioned the ring tones, and was very obviously keeping his eyes trained on the phone. "This is important to you," he realized aloud.
"Let's Talk About Sex from Salt 'N' Pepper," House suggested through a snicker, as if Wilson had said anything at all.
"House, what are you trying to say?"
"Anything from Bryan Adams is too damn cliché, so don't even suggest it. Hey, have you ever heard my ring tone for Cuddy?" he asked, keeping his eyes trained on his phone. "It's Sexy, Naughty, Bitchy from Tata Young."
"Really? I always figured you'd have Bitch by Meredith Brooks."
"That song is overused," he retaliated with a one-armed shrug. "Hey, you should change my ring tone too."
"House--" Wilson began, but then House met his eyes briefly. The look in them made Wilson's chest tighten, and he didn't know why, but this was important to him for some reason. He was trying to tell him something, but rather than just come right out and say it, he had to do it the difficult way, as usual.
Sighing, Wilson pulled out his cell phone. House wasn't looking at him anymore, but the mood of the room had shifted somehow. "You know I don't assign ring tones to specific people," he said quietly, if only to break the silence.
"Well, now's a good time to start," House muttered.
Although he'd never seen the point of assigning ring tones to people (there was a reason he had caller ID) House had downloaded an obscene amount to his phone anyway. He started scrolling through the songs, rolling his eyes at some of them, but then considering some of the other ones. "You're So Vain," Wilson suggested with an evil glint in his eyes.
House snorted. "Well, gee, thanks for the compliment. Just for that, I might assign Before He Cheats."
Wilson rolled his eyes and tried not to smile as he returned to the list. It wasn't until he got to Dream On by Aerosmith that he wondered if maybe this was House's version of a first date, and once the thought entered his mind, he couldn't help but grin.
Just as he was considering Wish You Were Here from Pink Floyd, music erupted from House's phone and Wilson almost jumped.
I am everything you want.
I am everything you need.
I am everything inside of you
that you wish you could be.
I say all the right things
at exactly the right time,
but I mean nothing to you
and I don't know why.
Wilson had heard the song before and knew that came towards the end of the song, which meant House had muted it, fast forwarded it to that part, and pressed play. He wanted Wilson to hear that part.
He looked into House's completely open expression; all his walls were down, and he was baring a legitimate fear to him. Of course House would worry about Wilson not caring for him in return; it was a natural fear that everybody faced when starting a new relationship.
Wilson shook his head. "No, I don't think that fits us at all," he said lightly, knowing that if he openly admitted to understand what House was saying that it would only make House uncomfortable.
House smiled--actually smiled--then looked at the phone, as if hiding his expression from Wilson.
It was almost an hour later by the time either of them had picked a song. House finally settled on Gay Boyfriend (not that Wilson was surprised) and Wilson assigned Bad Medicine. After House left, though, Wilson listened to Wish You Were Here with his eyes closed, and contemplated about fishbowls.
Objective: The performers must act out the scene only speaking in questions.
The next time the door opened, it wasn't House but instead Cuddy, whose opening remark was; "Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out?"
"Find out what?" he inquired, mind still going over his date with House, ring tones, and fishbowls. After a second, though, everything clicked, and he blurted; "You know about the loft?"
"Do you know how much I bid for that loft, Wilson?" she asked, standing beside his desk while he put down his pen.
"You think I would've been able to offer a reasonable amount if I hadn't?"
Cuddy sighed and pursed her lips in annoyance, and if Wilson felt a surge of something other than guilt, could he really blame himself? "Is this punishment for not choosing your best friend?"
When Wilson almost corrected her with 'boyfriend' he was shocked, but instead he settled with; "Are you really surprised?"
She sat down with a heavy; "I expected this from House, but from you?"
Wilson knew he should've felt ashamed, so why didn't he? Had she really angered him that much? The fact that he'd gone to such lengths to get revenge on Cuddy over what she had done made his feelings obvious, and he wondered, would Cuddy come to the same conclusion Nora and Thirteen had?
"Why?" she asked, and she sounded more hurt than he would've expected.
Now came the guilt, but he quashed that with the knowledge that she had started this mess with her deceit, and said; "Why didn't you let him know you were seeing Lucas?"
"Would you have?"
"It's a better alternative than lying to him, don't you think?" he pointed out reasonably, and his calm tone belied how he really felt about the situation. "You really think the fact you're dating someone else is what bothers me?"
She shifted in her seat, her ice-blue eyes zeroing in on his face, and then she asked; "Am I wrong in assuming?"
"Why do you continue to hold his feelings for you over his head?"
"Wilson, you really think I'm purposely doing that?"
"Aren't you?" he replied in an even voice, although he could feel irritation bubbling just under the surface.
When she shifted in her seat, he knew he was right in his assumption, and could he be blamed for the anger that rolled in the pit of his stomach? "I know that you care about him, but how can I trust you after this?" she asked, and he wondered if she really was as hurt as she sounded, or if she was just acting the part.
"How can I trust you? You tried to use me against House, and you didn't think that maybe it would come to this? That maybe I would put his needs before yours?"
She reeled slightly at his change of tone then stared at him with a stony expression that usually preceded a lecture or warning, but then she deflated with; "This hasn't been easy for me either, you know?"
"Because you still have feelings for him? And you think punishing him for that is the best course of action?"
"Why do you think I'm punishing him?" she demanded, sounding legitimately angry for the first time since she'd entered.
"Why wouldn't I? He's in pain; can you see that, at least?"
"What did you expect me to do, Wilson? I'm a mother now and I need some sort of stability in my life; you can't expect House to offer me that, can you?"
"Why not? He's not nearly as bad as you think he is, and if you're trying to convince someone of that, did it ever occur to you that I'm the wrong person for it? I've always put him before everything else and yet, you thought that I wouldn't be annoyed at the way you're treating him?"
"You moved in with him, Wilson--you think I don't know what he means to you? Why would I use that to punish him?"
"I don't know, because that would hurt him the most perhaps?" he suggested.
"Wilson, I care about him very much, but do you really think it would work? Eventually, things would fall out between us, and we'd both leave more damaged than we would have been coming in, and what then? Not only would it be difficult for me, but it would be hell on him, and you know better than anyone what it means to put others' needs before your own, don't you?"
"And this is your way of helping him get over you? Is that what this is?" he asked quietly, feeling a stab of something, but he wasn't sure what.
With a downward glance, she muttered; "Would you believe this is my way of getting over him?"
"Are you in love with him?" he asked, feeling a sickening twist in his stomach at the thought, which was new considering all the times he'd tried to push them together. Then again, that had been before he'd come to consciously realize his feelings, hadn't it?
Why did it look like it caused her physical pain to shake her head 'no?' "Are you in love with him?" she countered with a serious glint in her eye.
Silence filled the room as he considered the question before finally answering; "Yes."
Let's Make A Date
Objective: the bachelor(ette) must interview three suitors and attempt to guess each of their personalities.
It had been tempting to take Wilson to a bar for their first official date, but if anything happened, he didn't want it to be blamed on alcohol. No, if the two of them were intimate in any way, he wanted to be sober. He would be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit nervous, because he was. Every time they met each other in the hallway, or talked to one another, the thrill of adrenaline ran through his veins. He was nervous, but at the same time, he couldn't help but grin. He was excited and chipper and nervous, all over a silly little date.
He hummed Gay Boyfriend under his breath throughout the day, and even caught himself singing it loudly, much to the confusion of his team. Except maybe Thirteen, who seemed to have a knowing smirk on her face at all times.
What bothered House more than anything (even more than the fact he was going to be dating a guy) was that it had been so long since he'd had a legitimate date that he worried he'd be a little rusty. Stacy had been years ago, Cameron had been awkward at best, unnerving at worst, and he'd never actually dated Cuddy or Lydia, and besides, what did one do on a date with someone he'd been hanging out with every day for the past fifteen or sixteen years anyway? There wasn't much they could do that they hadn't already done before, and House didn't want this to seem mundane or ordinary by any means. He wanted this to stand out; he wanted Wilson to be able to know, immediately, that it was a date; not just the two of them hanging out and going through life as normal.
Hanging out at the loft with a bunch of rented movies was just as tempting as the bar, but that seemed too ordinary. Taking that into account, House had decided to take Wilson to the movies--and pay. Wilson always paid for everything, so if he put forth one cent, it would be too much like every other day, and House didn't want that. They rarely went to the theatre, if only because the cramped seats were hell on his leg. Even the more expensive theatres with halfway reclining chairs and cushions bothered him--they were always too confined. They only went to the cinema when it was a movie that House had been obsessing over for months and he literally could not wait to see it, and even then, they always went in the early afternoon on their days off, because there were less people.
Catching the late show in the theatre and picking a romantic comedy that House hadn't cared to see beforehand although Wilson had dropped a few hints about wanting to watch had to be different enough for Wilson to understand. Just saying they were going on a date wasn't enough for him--he had to do it. House knew as much as anybody else did that words were just words--it was the actions that really defined what was actually going on with them. Half the time they didn't even talk about what was right in front of them, instead leaving it all to in-jokes and half-spoken phrases and meaningful looks and touches.
They might not be gay, but dammit, they'd been lovers for years, and they hadn't even known. Well, House had always suspected and had used it to his advantage with Nora, but it was different now. And he had to make sure Wilson knew it.
House insisted on buying the candy. Wilson made a remark of some kind but it was muttered and there were too many people talking around them for him to catch it. House didn't actually need to hear it in order to get the gist. Wilson took their jackets and went into the theatre without him. They'd been to the theatre enough times to know where they would be sitting, so House didn't actually need to look for him. He was in the middle row, in the middle seats, and he'd placed jackets on the seats by theirs. Nobody would sit next to House, and nobody would sit next to Wilson. It gave the illusion they were alone if nobody sat directly next to them, and when House handed over Wilson's coke, he smiled at him.
As soon as they sat, they slouched in the seats and moved their heads close together so they could whisper to each other, as they always did in the theatres. Their knees always pressed together, and their noses were always just a few inches apart, whispering so quietly they had to be close enough to feel the words against their faces. They mocked the pre-trailer advertisements and made fun of House's team. House didn't really realize until the movie was ten minutes in that two grown men shouldn't be curling close together in cramped seats like two girls gossiping about which actor was hotter. He'd always noticed, but now it meant something, because now they were dating.
The only thing that was different about their behaviour this time was that when the two main leads had their first sexual tension moment, Wilson's hand found itself on his knee, warm and casual, as if he did that all the time.
The light from the movie flickered on Wilson's face enough to show that his cheeks had a slight tinge of pink on them, and House smirked. He waited a minute before putting his palm on Wilson's thigh, and he saw Wilson grin. They turned to look at each other briefly, and continued talking about the movie as it played. House idly drew on Wilson's thigh, and Wilson circled his thumb on House's knee. It was different, and it gave House a thrill, but it wasn't awkward.
The movie was just like any other romantic comedy, which bored House since it was so damn predictable, but Wilson liked it. He didn't say he did, but House could tell. Unless the dopey grin had nothing to do with the movie and everything to do with the fact they'd practically been cuddling in a theatre full of people, which was actually entirely possible.
Dinner, unlike the movie, hadn't felt like a date, though. Other than the fact House paid. That was different enough. Everything felt like it always did, which frightened House. If Wilson forgot that they were dating, it could very easily never happen again, and House wanted it to happen as much as possible, so when the meal ended and they started walking to the car, House purposely slid his hand into Wilson's and held it. They held hands until they got into the car, where they listened to music, and House hoped he wasn't the only one who felt the air shift around them from something friendly to something that promised more.
They both hummed and sang along to the songs, and House stared out of the window so he could smile and Wilson wouldn't see.
When their door closed behind them and they both stepped into the loft, Wilson smiled at him. House didn't really have much time to think of something to say before Wilson kissed the side of his mouth. It was polite and chaste; it wasn't the kiss House had imagined as their first, but then again, reality was never exactly as he fantasized. Still, considering they'd known each other as long as they had, he'd thought maybe there'd be a bit more fire behind it.
Wilson pulled away, but only a few inches, before gently nudging House's lips again. This time when he pulled away, it was only long enough to tilt his head and press his lips to House's properly, and it occurred to him that Wilson had been testing the waters; making sure House didn't pull away and freak.
For the first time, House closed his eyes and pushed his lips against Wilson in return, more insistently than Wilson was kissing him. He barely felt the flick of Wilson's tongue against his bottom lip before responding. When their tongues touched he felt Wilson grin and chuckle nervously, like a pre-teen kissing the cutest boy in school on a dare, everybody watching with rapt attention, and House pushed his tongue further into Wilson's barely-open mouth.
Considering how slow and gentle the kiss was, House's body thrummed excitedly. A pleasant buzz slid along his skin and burned through his veins, and he was surprised how much effort it took not to just shove Wilson against the nearest wall and devour him hungrily, like he had half-imagined in his office all day.
Wilson pulled away and House followed his mouth for a second. When he opened his eyes, Wilson was already staring into them, pupils huge and a small, lazy smile on his face. It wasn't really until then that House realized that he had just kissed his best friend, with tongue, and he really wasn't freaking out about it at all. And it wasn't until he felt Wilson's moan in his mouth and hands clutching at the sleeves on his arms that he had grabbed Wilson's jaw and kissed him back. Roughly.
In the romantic comedy they'd just watched, the tilt of their heads had been practiced and choreographed. They didn't moan or breathe heavily--it was just open-mouthed, heads slightly tilted, with the woman's arms around the man's neck and the man's arms around her waist. It had looked pretty and sensual, and absolutely nothing like real life. Perhaps that was why House didn't like romantic comedies--life never really was as advertised, but in most cases, it was far more interesting that way.
Kissing Wilson was nothing like he had imagined, and nothing like what they'd promised in whatever easily-forgettable movie they had just seen. Wilson didn't get an erection the size of the Washington monument the moment their tongues touched; they didn't stumble into his bedroom and whip off each other's clothes in a frenzy, pulling out a tube of lubricant that didn't actually exist and have perfect, loving, not-an-ounce-of-pain first-time anal sex, either.
What did happen, though, was that Wilson whimpered, a lot, and his fingers danced up House's arms and across his back and gently tugged at the fabric every now and then, and House breathed heavily through his nose and scraped his nails against the back of Wilson's head, as they kissed frantically and quickly, teeth knocking and lips slipping, as if they would never get the chance again, which was stupid, really. Of course they would. If House had his way, they would kiss every damn day if they had the chance.
He could smell the cologne that Wilson only wore when he was going on a date with someone he really liked; someone he was considering dating for the long haul. He usually didn't break out that certain cologne for a few weeks, and he hadn't worn it since Amber. In fact, until that moment, House had assumed Wilson had thrown it out. Knowing that, it only renewed House's vigour in kissing him, and Wilson grunted in surprise at how terrifyingly or wonderfully fast the kiss was deepening.
Kissing Wilson was not like kissing a woman, and it wasn't just because of the fact House knew he was a man, either. No, very rarely did women kiss like this on the first date, not unless drunk, and if they did, they usually weren't the type of women men actually wanted to date more than once. Of course, they had fifteen years of not-dating to make up for, which meant at least ten years of tension they had ignored, if not more, and so this kiss was just bound to happen. He didn't smell flowery or try to keep his composure--he just attacked House as frantically as House attacked him, smelling of cologne and sweat and popcorn and theatre candy. He smelled like Wilson, something that House had grown accustomed to awhile ago, and was used to smelling. Not quite at this proximity, though.
His lips weren't sticky with lipstick, or glossy with gloss, and he couldn't feel the very fine, thin layer of foundation that no matter how barely-applied was still tangible, either. The small whimpers and barely-audible moans he made were masculine; not cute and practiced, like women could sometimes sound--not that any of those were bad things. No, he had enjoyed them while dating or kissing or having sex with women, but he wasn't now, and the subtle differences weren't worse or better but there and he enjoyed them.
When he pulled away, simply because, well, they couldn't kiss forever, Wilson was staring at him with his pupils blown and mouth swollen, and for a brief, horrible second he worried that the whole day had been a hallucination because it had gone a little too well. But then he remembered that it was real, and he smiled. Actually, genuinely smiled, and stared at Wilson.
The walls were down and he knew Wilson could see everything. He didn't mind.
After a long second which they just searched each other's faces. Wilson cleared his throat. "So, uh, it went well, then?" he stated, voice cracking in the middle and going slightly off pitch. He almost looked drunk, and House realized he probably did too.
"No, it was a total disaster. I thought kissing you would soften the blow of my rejection," House quipped, not sounding like himself for a moment, and he didn't know if it was because his tone sounded gentle and loving, or if because his head was off floating in space and he was detached enough to not recognize his own voice.
Wilson, under normal circumstances, probably would've been able to come up with something sarcastic. Instead he looked at a loss for words, and after a long second gave him a soft, lingering kiss on the mouth, and walked into the living room, leaving House standing there with an idiotic grin on his face.
Then again, maybe that kiss was the rebuttal.
Objective: someone must perform a task without using his hands. Instead, someone else stands behind the first participant, and does the task for him.
The interesting thing about going on a date with someone he'd known for years and has practically done everything with already was that he didn't have to lie, omit things, carefully decide what he should talk about in order to secure himself a second date, or worry that he was going to find out about the impressive porn collection he had stashed somewhere in the loft. He didn't have to wonder if it really was worth going on a second date even though he had some annoying habit he'd noticed sometime during dinner, or if they were exclusive, in an open relationship, or just two lonely people looking for one night of something to tide them over for The One.
Another thing was that he didn't feel like a random womanizing (manizing?) scumbag for necking Wilson throughout the entire episode of Family Guy they hadn't been watching after one date. Not that he would've felt that way because he'd had fast-moving relationships that ended as quickly as it had begun plenty of times--but those usually involved an illegal exchange of money. He figured that for as long as they'd known each other, they were going at a snail's pace for waiting as long as they had.
Not only did House not have to worry about all of his unpleasant sides being revealed, but he didn't have to worry about finding out something about Wilson. They both knew each other better than anybody else knew them. In fact, at this point in time, actually dating one another was like taking a step backwards. He didn't have to worry about Wilson cheating on him, although he assumed most people would--House was the only relationship that had actually lasted. The only one that he hadn't cheated on. And the one time he had left, he'd come back. He didn't have to worry about what would happen between them if they didn't work out together. They'd been through worse and had still stayed friends--if they broke up, after awhile it would just become one of those things--like Tritter, like Vogler, like House's addiction to Vicodin--one day, they would be drinking beer, watching television, and they'd joke about that one time they dated.
Not that House was planning on the relationship failing.
They were already passed the stage of getting to know each other. They were already passed trying to learn to trust one another explicitly. They had blown by the stage about if it was okay to burp or fart or swear in the same room. They were practically married; the only thing that made it so they weren't was a wedding, a ring, and a signed piece of paper. Well, and sex.
Wilson, though, the buzzkill that he was, had decided that they couldn't make out forever, and that he needed to do the dishes. He'd pulled away, breathless, muttered that he eventually had to do chores or they would never get done, and then wandered off to the kitchen, hair a complete mess and shirt untucked. His tie was probably stuffed in the orange cushions somewhere. House's shirt was likewise ruffled, but he didn't have enough hair for it to stick up in tufts, and so it didn't. His pants were comfortably snug, though, and the familiar tingling in his lower abdomen was very telling indeed.
Normally House would've turned the channel to something pointless with explosions, but then he noticed how . . . cute Wilson was doing dishes. He'd noticed before, but now it was okay for him to stare at his backside, and watch as Wilson rolled up his sleeves so they bared his forearms. It was totally okay for him to half-smile when he heard Wilson humming, just loud enough to be heard over the half-muted television.
House, because he had a difficult time paying attention to anything longer than a few seconds, was surprised to find he'd been looking at Wilson for an entire commercial break. Something that didn't randomly explode or have any action or pornographic scenes. Or start seizing or coding. Or need any sort of puzzling.
He pushed off of the couch and left his cane where it lay, limping into the kitchen. He stood right behind Wilson, whose bared arms were diving into the soapy sink-water, scrubbing away at crusted syrup. His humming was loud enough to cover House's footsteps, and House took in a deep breath (inexplicably nervous for some reason, considering his tongue had been in Wilson's mouth a few moments ago) and wrapped his arms around his waist.
Wilson barely flinched, but then continued running a soapy washrag over the plate.
"What're doing?" House asked, and dropped his chin to Wilson's shoulder. And innocent, casual move, but for some reason, he'd been hesitant. He realized he sounded like a child, but didn't really care.
"Doing dishes," he answered, and House could feel his voice vibrate through his body.
"How come?" he asked petulantly, and pressed his chest against Wilson's back more firmly.
"Someone has to," Wilson answered, and because House had his chin on Wilson shoulder, he could see the fact he was smiling thinly.
House held onto him, bodies pressed together, and watched as Wilson slowly wiped the plate clean, then stuck it in the empty basin beside the water-filled one. House supposed it was to rinse off the dishes later. He watched the water glistening up Wilson's arms, his fingers prune-y with little white foamy bubbles trapped on his knuckles while he worked on the next dish.
Randomly helpful, House slid his hands into the water and grabbed Wilson's wrists, feeling the circular motions from his cleaning under the water. Wilson breathed in quietly and stilled the motion, then House smirked. "You're holding the rag in the wrong hand," he whispered as the dish clunked slowly to the bottom of the sink since Wilson had let it go.
"I'm lefty," he explained as House slipped his fingers in between Wilson's and squeezed. "And you're distracting me."
House turned his head, making sure his stubble scraped Wilson's jaw, and whispered; "I'm not distracting you."
Wilson let out an obvious breath and closed his eyes. "Then what are you doing?"
"Helping you with dishes."
"This isn't helping." He squeezed House's hands as if to make a point.
"Fine," House mumbled against Wilson's earlobe, then turned his head to face the sink, and literally pressed Wilson against the counter. Wilson tilted his head back and made an almost-whimpering noise in the back of his throat. House smirked then grabbed the dishrag that Wilson had dropped, and began scrubbing the plate vigorously. "See? Helping."
"Hmm," Wilson replied half-heartedly, head tilted all the way back and House pressed up against him, pinning him against the counter. If House's body was rocking against Wilson's back, well he could always blame it on the fact he was vigorously rubbing dishes and it was purely on accident. It would be a lie, but he could say it anyway.
Okay, so House's original plan hadn't involved housework. He'd just wanted to hold Wilson. As sappy as that sounded. But for some reason, he kept washing that plate. He even plopped it into the rinse basin and then reached in to grab another plate.
He had half-pulled a pan out of the water and was scrubbing it in a circular motion before he realized that he was semi-erect and gently rubbing himself against Wilson's butt.
It was only a second later after he made the realization that Wilson's hands were sliding up House's soapy, slick arms and back down again.
A better idea than doing dishes entered his mind, and he calmly put the pan back at the bottom of the sink. House turned his head and nipped at Wilson's jaw. "You suck at dishes," Wilson breathed.
House thought that was quite a rude thing to say, and as punishment, he bit down on Wilson's ear. Not hard, though. Wilson pressed back against him and he took a step back, leaving room between Wilson's front and the counter, so that he wasn't squished.
House thought that Wilson had nice arms, and so he slid his hands along them, similar to what Wilson had done a few seconds ago. Wilson attempted to do the same, but failed, which made House fail, and they ended up slicking their hands together in the soapy, warm water.
"See if I ever help again," House threatened before sucking on a soft spot of throat just underneath his jaw. The noise Wilson made was quiet, but probably illegal in Utah and possibly Texas as well, and House rutted against him barely.
Wilson was stumped by House's wit, apparently, because he said nothing. He just allowed House to chuckle on his neck and press quick kisses to his cheek.
"You know, I don't normally put out on the first date," Wilson finally rasped.
"Am I moving too fast?" House asked, mouth moving against his flesh. He was curious as to what Wilson thought--if he said yes, then he would pull away. He didn't want to frighten him.
"After fifteen years? God, no," he said, and House smirked against his cheek before flicking his tongue against skin. "Besides, I said normally. I didn't say never."
"Hmm, good point. And anyway, if you don't wanna feel like a slut, we've been dating for at least ten years."
"You make an excellent observation."
He scraped his teeth along the side of Wilson's neck, who gave out an encouraging sigh and tilted his head to give House better access. He tasted like soap and salt.
"Ground rules," House mumbled against his skin, their hands clutching in the sink water still. "I don't share my toys."
"Okay," Wilson agreed.
"My toys aren't embarrassed to be my toys," he added, biting down on the moistened skin. Wilson barely arched his back.
"Anything else?" Wilson asked quietly, and his tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip.
"I like kissing," he admitted, completely dropping the lame metaphor, with an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and this time, Wilson groaned. And House might have ground against him, putting pressure on the bulge of his jeans.
He felt something wet on the side of his face and he pulled away from Wilson's throat to see what it was. It was Wilson's hand, holding his head still. Wilson turned so that he was facing House, and sloppily kissed him on the mouth.
It wasn't frantic like their kiss in the foyer had been, but damn was it ever just as passionate. House would deny making the noises he was making later, but at he moment, he made them without a care in the world. After awhile, though, it must have been uncomfortable for Wilson to turn his head that way, because he pulled his mouth off of House's with a plopping noise and faced forward again, so House had no choice but to start sucking on his neck.
House realized randomly that he'd been clutching the edge of the counter, which was difficult since his hands were wet, and so he decided it would be much more intelligent to put them somewhere else, where they might not slip and cause him to fall. And so, he relocated his right hand so that it was cupping Wilson's bulge in his beige dress-pants. He squeezed and Wilson sucked in a breath and let out a choked noise, licking his bottom lip before turning and attaching his mouth to House's.
Well, that was an encouragement if he'd ever seen one.
He started rubbing, feeling Wilson thrust into his palm slightly every few seconds, as if he was trying to hold back. He was moaning pretty pathetically into House's mouth, but House really didn't have room to mock him since he was doing the same.
The next logical step was to slide the button free and unzip his pants. And House, being a logical guy, did just that.
Holding another man's penis wasn't too strange. Pumping it was a little odd, though. Feeling the skin slide back and forth under his hand and hearing harsh little bursts of air followed by groans was weird, too, since he was used to it being his penis, his breath, and his groans. Weird, yes; unpleasant? Hell no.
When Wilson used a certain son of God's name in vain, House chuckled and murmured; "I thought you were Jewish?" against his jaw, only to have Wilson hold the side of his face again and force their mouths together. Again. And again. And again once more, just for good measure.
After a few long, awesome seconds (yes, awesome. House liked using words like that when horny, apparently) Wilson realized he couldn't multitask in that fashion and pulled his mouth away, jerking into House's palm. House encouraged this behaviour by rutting against his ass.
Encouragement had always been House's greatest qualities, obviously.
Then Wilson was elbowing House backwards. House panicked; had Wilson decided to panic halfway through a handjob? How odd. Most men didn't develop a brain until after the orgasm. Had House moved too quickly? Had Wilson remembered that he was straight although he'd seemed pretty okay with the sudden gayness a few moments before?
Or was he turning around, dropping his pants to his knees, and curling his fingers inside House's belt loops and jerking him so they were chest-to-chest?
Option C it was, then.
Wilson was tackling House's pants expertly; he knew how to undo pants, apparently. And well, too. Although he really didn't know why that should've surprised him, considering Wilson had been undoing his own for years.
And, well. Wasn't that a new experience.
Wilson's hands was slick and warm with water and soap, and he was tugging on House's cock quickly, pressing their foreheads together. Their hot breath kept mingling, dancing in midair, only to be sucked in again. He grasped Wilson's cock as well, having been forced to let go of it when Wilson had spun in his arms, and starting jerking him off competitively.
Wilson thought he could give a better handjob than House, but he would show him.
It was awkward, since it was almost a mirror-image of jerking. Wilson used his left, and House used his right, so their arms kept clashing and the tips of their dicks kept bumping. This was a bit awkward, and so he batted away Wilson's hand and then aligned their cocks together, wrapped his hand around them, and started stroking.
This, too, was awkward, but in a far more pleasant way. Like running face-first into a hot girl's cleavage. Awkward, but pleasantly so. He felt pleasure shooting up his spine, and Wilson's damp hands were clutching at random bits of shirt, whimpering and keening as he jutted against him.
House kissed him hotly. Wilson's mouth was warm and wet and willing; messy and passionate and it probably looked ridiculous if there had been an outsider, but there wasn't, and House thought it felt so far from ridiculous he would have to try it again. As often as possible.
Seeing as House's hands were still wet from the sink water, his grip was slippery. With their unplanned, not choreographed thrusting, their cocks kept slipping free. To make it easier on him, he let go, held Wilson's waist, and just started grinding against him; hard, wet cocks slipping with soap and pre-come and water against one another. He hadn't pulled his pants down, so his zipper was digging uncomfortably to the underside, and so he released Wilson's waist long enough to pull his jeans down a bit more.
To be honest, House had never understood the phrase 'and then the sparks flew' but then again, that might have been because he'd never experienced seriously long bouts of sexual tension before the actual sex. He had loved Stacy, but they had moved quickly. Not exactly enough time to experience sparks. And with Cuddy, well . . . that had always been about sex. Sure, he cared about her, but their kiss had been some weird, warped way of comfort, and the sex they'd had was a hallucination.
Why was he thinking about other people again?
This time, he could literally feel sparks shooting down his spine, across his arm, and through his veins. Electricity seemed to go off in the air around him, crackling like a thunder storm about to explode, and he kept thrusting and grinding.
Wilson pulled his mouth away from House's and House glared at him, as if to ask him what on earth made him think stopping kissing him was a good idea, and then he saw his face. His head was tilted back, exposing his Adam's apple, and his eyes were shuttered closed, mouth open and chest heaving with loud, desperate moans.
House barely had time to memorize that expression before he felt something wet and warm against his cock and abdomen and inner thigh, and Wilson kept jerking forward, little spurts of ejaculate shooting forward with each hip-thrust.
House leant forward to bite and suck Wilson's Adam's apple, and rolled his cock against Wilson's come, using it as lubricant. Wilson was still shuddering with aftershocks, but his penis was softening, and yet House couldn't stop moving against him. He was close, he knew, but not quite there.
He felt Wilson hand sneak between them and grab at him, slicking the come against his shaft, stroking him slowly, but tightly. He keened and pulled away, trying to look at Wilson to tell him something nonverbally--he didn't know what, but he was sure it was pornographically sappy--and Wilson smirked at him.
It wasn't the smirk that made him orgasm suddenly, but it definitely helped. He didn't know if he came with his eyes opened or closed, but he did see flashes of white, spots of different colours that grew and faded, and he babbled incoherently at the ceiling, feeling Wilson's mouth against his throat and a grin against his skin as he stroked him through the orgasm.
When he finally came down from his high, he looked at Wilson, who looked back at him. They were both sweaty and red-faced and breathing heavily. House concluded that mutual handjobs was a good way to spend an evening, and swallowed a lump of dryness in his throat.
He leaned forward, kissing Wilson, and also grabbing the rag from out of the sink. He washed the both of them off, then tossed the washrag into the water.
Wilson did up both of their pants with a contented little grin on his face, smiling at him. "You planned that, didn't you?" he accused.
House furrowed his eyebrows. Had he? "Actually, would you believe I'm just making this up as I go along?"
Wilson turned back towards the sink and House did not kiss the back of his head (except that he did.) "Stranger things have happened," he conceded, and went back to washing the dishes.
A/N--The Questions Only section was a bitch to write, lemme tell you. Also, much thanks to whoever nominated me for the Rock the House awards.