Summary: H/W slash, established relationship. One shot IC (to the best of my ability) fluff. Cuddy and Lucas get married, at their wedding reception Wilson wants to dance with House. Just fluff.
Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the characters. If I did, you wouldn't be reading this on fanfiction, you'd be watching it on TV. I don't own the song lyrics I put in italics either, those belong to Billy Joel and his record company.
A Tender Moment
The music was gentle, soft, and relaxed. It wasn't entirely to House's taste, but this wasn't his wedding; it was Cuddy's. Except that that wasn't her name anymore. She was Dr. Lisa Douglas now. That was weird. But she would always be Cuddy to him. She would probably keep her name in the hospital; people knew her as Dr. Cuddy and it would be easier that way. And even if Wilson ever convinced him to discontinue living in sin, he would never have any name other than House. And there would only be one Dr. House. There could only be one Dr. House. The name "House" didn't suit Wilson, anyway, and the name "Wilson" certainly didn't suit House.
Douglas. Maybe not quite as fitting as "Cuddy," but it worked.
They were still dancing. House watched them. His hands cradled her jaw and hers were around his waist. They were smiling at each other; they could have been the only two in the room. It was remarkable how jealous House didn't feel. There had been a time when he deeply and truly wanted her to look at him that way. Maybe not wearing a white dress, that part didn't really matter, but he'd wanted that look in her eyes, directed at him.
Now it didn't matter. She could make goo goo eyes at Lucas all she wanted. And the fact that he made them back, that was a good thing. He was happy for them. He was actually happy for them. Everyone was. Everyone here had a smile on his or her face. The only reason House didn't was because he only smiled when he was amused or self-satisfied or alone with Wilson. He was with Wilson, but they weren't alone. They were in a hotel ballroom with lots of little tables and people in fancy clothes, nibbling cake or sipping champagne or swaying with lovers to the music. It was quieter, now, and peaceful. Families with children had left already, and so had Cuddy's babysitter with Rachel. House's eyes were sweeping the room; he was kind of bored now but Wilson wasn't ready to leave yet. This didn't surprise House, seeing as how much the man loved weddings. That was probably the only reason he'd gotten divorced so many times: he'd just wanted another wedding. It kind of surprised House Wilson hadn't brought the subject up with him yet. It was probably just because he assumed House would mock him for it. Which of course, he would, but that didn't mean he'd say no.
A warm hand enclosed House's, and he looked up at the chocolate brown eyes of its owner.
Yes, mock him for it, but don't say no.
House rolled his eyes blatantly before looking back at Wilson again. "Seriously?"
The fingers around his hand squeezed.
"The day's been mushy enough already. If it gets too bad...I wouldn't want to get regurgitated wedding cake on that six hundred dollar suit of yours."
"It's why you love me."
His eye caught Wilson's, and he bit back a smile. He hadn't meant to say it, it had kind of slipped out, but that didn't make either of them less aware of its truth.
"You're right," Wilson smiled. "I love you and I want to dance with you. Come on." He scooted his chair back and made to stand up, taking House's hand with him.
"Why?" House asked, keeping his butt firmly planted on the lavender cushioned chair.
"Why not?" Wilson countered.
"Because it's gay."
"So are we."
"Speak for yourself. I know I was checking out the ass on that blonde bridesmaid, and even though she's married Cuddy still likes to show as much of her breasts as possible."
Wilson looked at House and then smirked. He leaned down and lowered his voice before asking, "Is it your leg?"
House rolled his eyes. "Come on, Wilson, I'm fi-"
"-No, no," Wilson insisted, letting go of his hand and sitting back down next to him. "No, if you're hurting I don't want you to exert yourself. We can just sit here."
"All right, Wilson, I'll dance-"
"Mm-nnn, not if your leg's bothering you-"
"-It's not." House stood up to prove his point. Wilson looked up at him expectantly. House sighed and rolled his eyes. He held out his hand. "Dance with me?"
Wilson practically jumped out of his chair and took House's hand, smirking at him.
"One song," House clarified as they headed to the dance floor. "And I get to put my hands wherever I want."
"Three songs," Wilson negotiated, "and the hands part goes for me too."
"Two. And I get to put your hands wherever I want."
House thought he saw Wilson nod at someone over his shoulder, but when he turned around he just saw Thirteen's back, and consequently her ass, which wasn't half bad. House decided that the person who invented lab coats as a requirement for doctors didn't have enough appreciation for the female anatomy. Or the male anatomy, for that matter. House couldn't count the number of times he'd tried to check out Wilson from behind at the hospital only to be thwarted by his damn lab coat.
But House was jerked from his reflections on lab coats by the starting notes of an all-too-familiar song and stopped in his tracks. He looked at Wilson, who was trying hard not to smile (and failing), let go of his hand, and started back toward their table. "No. No way."
"Oh, come on," Wilson insisted, letting the smile through and grabbing House's hand to pull him back.
Even though I'm in love...
Sometimes I get so afraid...
"You hate this song."
"If it hadn't been for this song I wouldn't have met you. Now stand still and dance."
"That statement is contradictory."
"You're contradictory. Shut up and dance, House."
Wilson anchored his hands to House's waist to keep him in place, stepped close, and moved his body gently to the music.
House sighed, let himself be defeated, and slipped his hands around Wilson. He pulled their bodies closer together.
But if that's how I feel
Then it's the best feeling I've even known
It's undeniably real
Leave a tender moment alone
"You know, just because I didn't lose my temper doesn't mean I hate this song any less."
"I believe I said something about shutting up and dancing?"
"I am dancing," House grumbled into Wilson's shoulder, squeezing his sides. "This is a shitty song for dancing, anyway. The tempo sucks."
"Get over it."
House sighed and clutched at Wilson. At least dancing was an excuse to touch him. House would never admit it, since he was generally the opposite of touchy-feely, but he couldn't get enough of touching Wilson. Except for spooning at night, Wilson was the only one to initiate touching that didn't result in or hint at sex, but House was secretly pleased whenever he did.
He put his face against Wilson's neck, not kissing but close, and slipped a hand beneath Wilson's suit jacket so when he gripped his waist he would be closer to the actual skin. Wilson stroked his hair and he let out a silent sigh of contentment. He closed his eyes against Wilson's neck and leaned against him more heavily. This was comfortable. Wilson smelled like his special occasion cologne and the dryer sheets that he used to rub down his dry-cleaned clothes. And Wilson. The cologne and dryer sheets were starting to wear off and there was a scent of just Wilson there. House hoped the nerves in Wilson's neck weren't sensitive enough to notice the dilating of his nostrils.
Wilson's hand had disappeared under House's suit jacket, too, and was massaging gentle circles along his spine. His jawline was pressed against House's temple, and House liked the feeling of the warm, smooth skin. He listened to the song even though he wasn't that crazy about it. It was true, what Wilson said. At the time, he'd been just as irritated as everyone else in the bar with the idiot who kept playing the song over and over again. He hadn't lost his temper, like Wilson had, but if he hadn't...they wouldn't be here today. If that guy hadn't been drunk and annoying enough to keep playing one song over and over again, Wilson wouldn't have started a fight and ended up in jail, and House wouldn't have bailed him out.
He was so young then, House remembered. Just out of med school, in denial about his divorce, thinking if he ignored the problem it'd go away. He'd thought him attractive, even then, but he didn't pay as much attention to guys' looks as girls', and he never expected anything to happen between them. Of course, he hadn't expected him to take a job at his hospital and end up his best friend either. He'd had no idea what he was getting into, bailing the young doctor out of jail. He never could have predicted they'd end up like this. He never could have predicted the stranger would turn into...Wilson. Wilson could have been anyone. He could have had no interest in going drinking with House, he could have never taken the Princeton job, or he could have taken a dislike to House just like the rest of the world, but he hadn't. He was Wilson. The one person who understood House most, his strengths and his flaws, and loved him in spite of them.
If House believed in fate, he'd say that's what it was. What are the chances of having the stranger you bail out of jail end up being the only person on the planet who can understand you and love you? But House knew fate wasn't real. It was chance. It was luck. Sometimes House and his team figured out what was wrong with a patient in time and sometimes they didn't. When they did, a lot of times it was luck. House was a very skilled diagnostician, but there were times he only solved the problem because of a lucky chance.
Wilson was his lucky chance. Even though their bodies were already pressed together on the dance floor, House squeezed him tighter. House had never been lucky. He'd had a shitty childhood, he'd barely managed to stay in med school long enough to graduate, and the stupid infarction left him crippled and in pain for life. Good stuff didn't really happen to him.
Except for Wilson.
Wilson evened the score. It was chance that House had to be born to his parents and that no one could figure out what was wrong with his leg until it was too late. But it was chance that he and Wilson met, and that was such a long shot it wouldn't make sense for other lucky things to happen to House. He'd used it up on Wilson. And he wouldn't trade it for anything. Wilson was more to him than...everything else good in his life times ten and squared. Everything. He was Wilson.
House's fingers were squeezing Wilson's skin and his face was pressing into his neck as though he were trying to mold them together. He didn't want to let go. He was all set, he was good. Just like this, he was good. He didn't need to move except for the slight swaying of their bodies and the expansion of his chest when he breathed. He could stay like this forever. It would be fine.
"Hey," Wilson said, his hand migrating to House's jaw and lifting it from his clavicle so he could look into House's eyes. His face looked concerned. "You okay?"
He must have been squeezing too tight. He imagined his knuckles were white under Wilson's suit jacket and he wondered if his forehead was red from prolonged contact with Wilson's neck. But he was fine, he'd never been more fine in his life. He wanted to roll his eyes at Wilson but couldn't because he was staring at him and couldn't look away. He should look away. The cerulean liquid of his eyes never looked at Wilson this way. He was naked. It was raw emotion. He almost never told Wilson he loved him because they were just words and Wilson already knew it. He showed him he loved him by spooning with him and making love to him and doing little romantic things disguised as pranks. But he didn't reveal himself completely. Wilson was all he had. He knew that Wilson loved him, but Wilson couldn't love him the way House loved him. House was more than just in love with him. It was dangerous to show just how much he felt. It might be too much for Wilson. It might overwhelm him and scare him off. Wilson craved neediness, but even for him there had to be a line. What if House crossed it? Was it worth taking the chance?
He shouldn't be looking at Wilson like this. It was too dangerous, too revealing. Why couldn't he look away? He wanted to look away but he didn't. He was paralyzed. He was completely exposed for Wilson to see and he couldn't cover himself. He couldn't stop the look of ridiculous pathetic trust and god forbid adoration that he gave to the man he loved. He felt his chest moving as he breathed and his hands were tight on Wilson's hips where he often placed his own hands, but House was only vaguely aware of the rest of his body. He just knew that his eyes were displaying everything he'd ever felt to Wilson and he just had to trust, he just had to trust him, he just had to trust that Wilson wouldn't care it was uncharacteristic of him, he just had to trust that Wilson didn't mind House loved him that much more than Wilson loved him.
Wilson smiled. His hand hadn't left House's jaw-he'd almost forgotten about it-and his thumb softly stroked House's cheekbone.
"I love you," Wilson said.
Wilson's lips against his. Chaste, gentle. Press and release, repeat. House was frantic but didn't kiss frantically. He let Wilson lead the kiss, standing there clutching him and just remaining conscious of the feeling of Wilson's lips on his. After a moment he couldn't stand it anymore and nudged Wilson's lips with his tongue. Wilson opened his mouth to let him in and House did, gratefully. House's hands slid along Wilson's back until he was holding him completely and his tongue searched Wilson's mouth, tasting wedding cake and champagne. Wilson wrapped his arms around House's neck like a woman and House involuntarily smiled against Wilson's mouth. That didn't last very long because he found it challenging to smile and kiss at the same time and he needed to kiss Wilson right now.
They'd forgotten dancing completely. It didn't matter. They'd forgotten they were in a hotel ballroom with a hundred other people. It didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was every inch of the front of Wilson's body from knees to nose was pressed against House's and he didn't need more than this.
Wilson did pull away eventually, but he kept his face close to House's, breathing on him, and House knew breaking the kiss didn't mean Wilson didn't love him. One more nudge of soft lips, hands through the hair. House rested against Wilson. They were dancing again, if you could call shifting weight simultaneously from one leg to another dancing. He'd reverted to his earlier position, head resting on Wilson's shoulder and face to his neck. Except now only one hand was on his waist, and he used the other to hold the side of Wilson's face. Yes, he was good. House pressed his lips to Wilson's throat. As far as House was concerned they could remain that way until the sun burned up the earth.
You've got to leave a tender moment...
Leave a tender moment alone...