I am aware that there is a proper way to use the English language (i.e., there's a difference between 'each other' and 'one another' and the various forms of past tense are not interchangeable), I just refuse to acknowledge it.

Disclaimer: You didn't really think I owned House, did you? Because I don't.

It was very simple. They slept together for fun- they never sought solace in one another. There were no feelings involved- or so they told themselves. So what changed?

The first time had been something of an accident. Their first night in the apartment, one of the moving trucks had gotten lost in transit and they had ended up with only one mattress. What with House's leg and Wilson's back, neither was about to make the other take the floor.

It started innocently enough, each hugging his respective edge of the mattress as they fought fitfully for sleep. It wasn't until Wilson woke to House trailing sleepy kisses down the back of his neck that something surged inside of him and he rolled over to meet the other man's lips with his own. They fell asleep in a tangle of sweat and sheets and limbs, and in the morning they said nothing of it. But the night that House finished his latest case found him crawling over Wilson's sheets to burrow next to him, burying his hands in Wilson's hair and other places.

To be honest, they continued the affair because people thought they were having it. There was a perverse pleasure in denying it and having everyone believe them. They were lucky as hell that Lucas hadn't walked in on them while he was setting up his pranks because otherwise he'd have way more than the apartment to hold over their heads.

Well, the flat screen was fine, and they were both elated at that, but of course they were also furious that they had to worry at all. House was finished with his case, but he was also brooding over Cuddy- they both were. All told, there were entirely too many emotions going around for either of them to suggest anything, so they watched the game in silence. If House hadn't slipped on his way back from the bathroom and fallen sprawled across Wilson's lap, and if Wilson hadn't found his so damned adorable in such a compromising position, they would never have stumbled back to Wilson's room, where they had a vicious battle for tops. Maybe if Wilson hadn't lost that fight, or if he hadn't been such a caring bastard and supported House's bad leg throughout the whole thing, or maybe just if they hadn't ended up curled around each other, holding one another almost tenderly, maybe then Wilson wouldn't have forgotten exactly who he was laying next to, wouldn't have murmured those three words half out of sleep.

"I love you."

For a moment he thought he had made a terrible mistake, but then House tightened his arms around him and brought his good leg to rest a little higher on Wilson's thigh. Long after House's breath had evened out into slumber, Wilson wondered whether House had ignored him or even heard him. He wasn't in a million years going to try again, so when he woke up suddenly to find he'd continued his questions in his dreams he said nothing of the matter.

One of the rare times they were both present for the dinner meal found them in a ferocious argument over who was the wife in the relationship. ("You do all the cooking, plus you're a vengeful bitch." "Oh, you're such a woman, Wilson, give it up.")

The culmination of that same argument found House reaching across the table to grab Wilson by the front of the shirt and kiss him violently. They maneuvered around the table distractedly and Wilson took a step towards his room before House stopped him, going the other direction to stumble down the hall and drag them both into his own room. Wilson was apprehensive- House was fiercely protective of anything that was ordained as his, and Wilson was uncomfortable intruding- that is, until House threw him down on the bed and straddled him, pulling at both their clothes with rough hands. Then he didn't care whose bed they were in because "I know we were just fighting, but, Jesus, House-" and House started doing something with his tongue at the hollow of Wilson's throat and, seriously, a bed was a bed, right?

The clock read 3:23 above Wilson's tousled brown hair when House finally worked up the courage to return those three words. He was pretty sure Wilson was asleep and hadn't heard a word, but he told himself happily that he'd seen the corner of Wilson's mouth twitch into a smile.

Damn, if only Lucas was still snooping around.