The Final Stage?

This was it; this was the moment when everything had to be decided. In these few seconds their lives would move forward, or fall apart.

Wilson looked up at House – could he really be sure this was what they both wanted?

The First Stage (Friendship)

Ever since Wilson had hurled a bottle across a room, and House had subsequently bailed him out of jail; the two had become friends

Well friends of a sort.

It worked because Wilson was a giver and House was a taker. This is perhaps not the conventional form of relationships, but since when had House adhered to convention?

As for Wilson? He liked House. Oh he didn't want to – the man was mad, the man was obnoxious and annoying and downright rude. But when House was around the world wasn't so boring.

Maybe Wilson should have blamed himself; a career in oncology was hardly going to be a dance though the park. House made him smile, in a world where he had to remove the smiles from people's faces.

And House thought Wilson was the perfect plaything. He could get a rise out of him so easily. He could wind him up like a spring and then sit back to enjoy the consequences when that spring inevitably and explosively unravelled.

Wilson was one of a kind. This suited House – he was a collector of rare and unusual items.

The Second Stage (Flirting)

Above all else, House liked puzzles. He liked to be given the opportunity to figure things out – and with Wilson he had had plenty of time, and yet he still couldn't quite work out why the man still hung around him.

Wilson was underappreciated, quite often broke, and hurled backwards and forwards from the edges of sanity.

See, the difference was that Wilson knew exactly why House kept him around; because he needed Wilson. He needed someone to torment and torture. He needed someone to be there when nobody else was.

And Wilson needed House, because Wilson needed to be needed.

House nicked Wilson's lunch, as always.

"Oh you bought me lunch! How thoughtful" He commented, over emphasising the word. "Does this mean this is a date?"

"Yes House, I purposefully gave you my lunch because I'm in love with you."

"Well why didn't you say? We could have been screwing years ago!"

"Hold onto that thought, House." Said Wilson, shaking his head and going back up for another round of lunch.

House just sat there, fork halfway to his mouth, wondering what the heck Wilson had meant.

Wilson smiled in the queue. House needed puzzles.

The Third Stage (Crush)

It wasn't like the flirtatious banter had been a new thing. They had been at it for years. And years.

Okay, well, House had been at it for years, he mused throwing his ball at the wall in his office. Wilson didn't usually reciprocate – and if he did it was with defeat, not suggestive eyebrows.

And then before he knew it, he was thinking about all the other times they had joked about being in a 'relationship'. Had Wilson blushed at those times? Did he purposefully walk closer to House, their fingers brushing against each other? Is this why all his marriages kept failing? Did Wilson stay up all night and imagine House was with him...that House was,


He had dropped the ball and it had rolled somewhere under the desk. House leant back in the chair and closed his eyes. What in the world was possessing him to think these things?

"I thought you had a patient?" Shit. That was Wilson. House opened one eye.

"If I can't see him he can't see me." He closed his eye again. A moment passed in which he thought Wilson had turned to leave, and then there was the unmistakeable sound of him plonking himself down in the opposite seat.

"Is the pain bad?" He asked, leaning forward.

"Are you going to prescribe me more Vicodin?"

"Maybe, it depends."

"Then yes, I'm in bloody agony. Now give me pills." He opened his eyes and outstretched his hand, looking up expectantly. Wilson began to lean over the desk, when the diagnostics team opened the door.

"Damn Wilson!" House exclaimed loudly, "Looks like we will have to resume our make-out session later."

Wilson rolled his eyes and left the room.

Foreman started blabbering on about the patient, but House wasn't exactly what you would call focussed.

Wilson had looked so good in that blue shirt. He had smelt so seductive. Fuck, his ass was even cute.

House let his head bang down onto the table.

Maybe Wilson wasn't the problem after all.

The Fourth Stage (Kiss)

Wilson hurried to catch up with House in the elevator, the doors slipped closed behind him.


"Meh" Responded House, behind dark glasses.

"Jesus! How hung-over are you?" Wilson asked, removing the glasses, surprised to then be staring into two very alert blue eyes.

"Actually Wilson" House said, spinning round on his good leg and pinning the oncologist against the wall, "I'm still drunk."

And House kissed him. Not madly, not passionately, not full of heat and lust and a power-struggle; just a gentle kiss on the lips.

"You're not drunk." Wilson commented.

"You're not complaining" Whispered House, as the doors flew open to reveal his team.

"Caught again!" Announced House with a smirk, before hobbling off down the corridor; his ducklings in tow.

The Final Stage (?)

Wilson was sitting behind his desk, pretending to read paperwork. He wasn't very convincing, so he gave up. He rested his head in his hand and tried to think.

"Oh boy."

So House had kissed him, it didn't mean anything – it shouldn't mean anything. The man was winding him up. Waiting for a reaction. And there was no way Wilson was going to satisfy that part of House's ego. He ran his tongue over his lips.

"Still wishing you could taste me?"

Wilson jumped. When had House walked in?

"No, I was just trying to remove all the evidence that you had ever been there."

"Aww, Jimmy! You're hurting my feelings!"

"You don't have any feelings, House" Wilson responded, leaning back in his chair and flinging his arms about. "You wouldn't know a genuine feeling if it was shoved up your ass!"

There was a moment's silence when both men registered exactly what Wilson had just said. The oncologist groaned in despair and fell forward on his hands again.

"Is that an offer?"
"Go away House."

"I'm sorry," House said, leaning on one side on the weight of his cane, feigning stupidity, "Was that a 'no, you are not sexually attractive to me, House' or a 'yes, I want to jump your bones right here and now, House?'"

This was it; this was the moment when everything had to be decided. In these few seconds their lives would move forward, or fall apart.

Wilson looked up at House – could he really be sure this was what they both wanted?

He risked it.

"It was a yes, I think you are positively gorgeous and I am waiting for you to fuck me."

House stumbled backwards, whatever he had been expecting; this clearly wasn't it.

Wilson moved out from behind the desk and stood in front of House, crossing his arms.

"You can't go around kissing people and expect them not to rearrange their whole world."

"B-But you're married!"

Wilson shrugged, "Never stopped me before."

Finally, after what seemed like eons, House smirked and inched forwards.

"Okay, but this time I get to tell her..."

He grinned as Wilson pulled him down towards him.

Nope, he decided, this would not be the final stage. That was for certain.