Hugh's Meow: Does anyone remember the 'An evening with House' extra on the season 2 DVD where they all sit in a row on a stage and David Shore talks about other medical mystery shows, bashing them slightly and someone says 'meowww!' in a very sexy, sleek voice to indicate how catty David sounds? – it sounded definitely like Hugh! Have that sound in the back of your mind while reading;)

For the talented zer03908 who drew a very sexy cat!House and wanted an accompanying fic!

The Cat's Meow

Wilson took off the oven mittens and admired the delicious fruit of his labor that evening. He leaned forward and inhaled the hot, juicy smell of a rather impressive roasted turkey. He smiled and turned around to set the table and frooze.

There he was again. His big blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the kitchen lamp, looking at Wilson curiously, his soft, furred, delicate ears pointing straight forward, signaling his full attention. The long tail was twitching slightly.

"Where have you been?" Wilson asks, crouching, letting him come to him.

"Out." House purred in his soft, playful voice and crawls over to Wilson, his movements elegant and sleek, setting one hand in front of the other, a little macho-sway in his hips, the limp hardly detectable in his right leg.

Wilson stretches out his left hand, offering it. "Stray." He doesn't move.

House smiles at him slowly, eyes gleaming. He carefully takes another step closer and subtly takes in Wilson's scent. Then he lays his head in Wilson's hand, nuzzling it, lifting one side of his upper lip and rubbing his teeth against Wilson's thumb. Wilson strokes his thumb along the lips and the whiskers, taking in the little smirk. Then he carefully lifts his hand to the top of House's head, stroking his hair, watching him lean into the touch.

He softly brushes along one downy ear. He never saw it coming. He hissed in pain, cradling his hand to his chest, looking at House with a stunned and hurt expression. In a flash House had scratched him, growling low in his throat, ears laid back, eyes fierce. He had retreated a few steps, his tail whipping, showing his nervousness.

Wilson took a look at the scratch. It was a single mark, not deep. It had been just a warning. He looked back up at House who eyed him a little sheepishly. That's when Wilson saw the delicate trail of blood behind his ear. He frowns and moves forward.

A growl and a hiss warned him again. House had ducked slightly, his back arched, tail bushy. Wilson spread his hands, holding them in front of him.

"House. You're bleeding! Cut the crap and let me take a look. I'm not a stranger!" He advances on his friend and this time House lets him. He carefully folds House's ear forward and sees the nasty wound. A little bump has formed and the delicate tissue of the ear is torn slightly where it's connected with the head.

"I'll get some iodine. Don't touch the turkey!"

When he returned, House waited for him in one of the chairs, licking a slender hand carefully and with gusto, then he looks up at Wilson, licking his lips and whiskers, eyes gentle. Wilson narrowed his eyes and swiveled – the turkey seemed to be still untouched. Then he remembered the cream he'd whipped for the strawberries and ice cream. He strode over to the bowl and found it half empty.

"You ate half the cream – that was for dessert! You're such a glutton!"

"I'm a cat. Cats love cream. And you left it sitting there. I couldn't help it. You are the cruel one!" He licks his fingers again, closing his eyes, seemingly reveling in the remaining taste of the cream. Wilson shudders. What else had he possibly been licking with that tongue. He'd never seen House do it. But cats licked themselves, that was a fact.

"Let me see that wound, I'll clean it and then we can eat. How did this happen anyway?" Wilson had taken a piece of mull and poured some iodine over it. He dabbed the wound, carefully cleaning it.

"Some guy. He tried to keep me off his patch." House hissed slightly at the probing.

Wilson finished his ministrations. "What were you doing on his patch? Were you, you know, marking or mating?"

"No! Ew, Wilson, what kind of cat do you think I am? I was just walking by. And he was sniffing my ass, not the other way round! I may have made a rude remark about his crooked tail and that he smelled like he worked in a urine factory. He came after me and tried to mount me, sick old bastard, starting this ear-splitting clamor, bah." House shook himself.

Wilson had listened to him, open-mouth, a slightly shocked and disgusted expression on his face. House looked at him, his eyes widening, brow furrowed.

"What?! Would you let someone sniff your ass only because you accidently stepped on his patch? Would you let him mount you in the name of diplomacy? I doubt it! Stop trying to make this my fault!"

"Are you all right? I mean, did he…?" Wilson trailed off, looking at House with big eyes.

"No! Oh god, no! I kicked him in the 'nads and left his junk yard."

Wilson could hear that House was bragging, he enjoyed his own little story. Wilson smiled at that. "Come on, let's eat!" He stood up and prepared the salad at the counter.

When he felt something soft at his calf he looked down to see House rubbing against his leg, his tail winding around Wilson's thigh, tapping him, House pressing his behind against his calf. He looked up at Wilson with half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly, a warm, trusting glow in them. House's smooth way of mooching some pre-dinner noshes from Wilson. Wilson sighed but reached over to cut off some meat and then fed it to House. House, impatient as ever, kneeled and grabbed Wilson's hand in his, eating the meat from his hand, holding it and licking it clean. Wilson watched him, fascinated by the roughness of his tongue and the thoroughness with which he cleans every last bit of grease.

After dinner Wilson did the dishes and glanced over at House sprawled on the sofa, again licking his hands and whiskers with dedication, long, broad swipes of his tongue. Wilson felt a warm, deep contentment spread in his chest. He felt at home, at rest, he could watch his friend for hours on end and not get tired of it. He loved the sleek movements and the lazy demeanor. He turned back to the sink with a little smile on his face, finishing his chores.

When he entered the living room, House was nowhere to be seen. So he's on his way again. Should have known, not gotten his hopes up. His shoulders slumped and he slowly walked behind the sofa to the window when suddenly his legs were grabbed and he was tackled to the ground. House has pounced him – one of his little crackish activities after dinner to burn some proteins. Wilson stared at him, blinking, rubbing his bruised elbow, watching him crawl towards him again, all slow and sleek, his blue eyes glinting mischievously.

When he's standing over Wilson on all fours, he leaned down sniffing Wilson's neck and nose, carefully nuzzling his face. He began to purr when Wilson reached up and touched the soft, delicate ears until they are flicking back and forth from being tickled and House shook his head. He meowed softly, looking down into Wilson's eyes and sat down on his lap. Wilson could feel his tail curl around his legs. He reached up again and rubbed House's neck deftly, the purring getting louder, and he felt House's hands on his chest, treading rhythmically.

House looked at him, eyes almost closed in bliss. He harshly nuzzled Wilson's neck again, then his mouth. He tentatively licked at the corner of his mouth, then bolder, then broad swipes over his mouth, his cheek, his neck, cleaning him. Cats do that to their family members. Wilson laughed softly, stroking House's neck sides with both hands, down to his tail. He rubbed slow, firm circles into House's back just above the tail, and watched House's eyelids droop, his chin lift and he went completely still, arching his back, leaning into the touch, presenting himself, indulging in the extremely stimulating touch. Wilson felt a surge of happiness at House's trust and shuddered as the rough tongue licked his ear and growled softly.

When Wilson went to bed that night, House followed him, jumping on his bed, treading and purring and curling at his side, his tail around one leg, one hand on his chest. He'd never slept better.