House didn't know if he was more impatient for the day to go by and Wilson to get here or relieved that his best-friend-turned-lover wasn't around to see the ridiculous smile that involuntarily took over his face every time it crossed his mind that his best friend was now his lover.

Packing his stuff took almost no timeā€”half of it was still at Wilson's anyway, and all he really needed were his toiletries and half a suitcase of clothes. He wondered how it was going over at the condo, how Sam had taken the news and how much Wilson had told her. A small part of him worried, though he tried to push it out of his mind, that the manipulative harpy might change Wilson's mind again and the man might arrive tonight only to tell him he was staying with Sam after all.

But he refused to believe this. The way Wilson had kissed him in the car...he knew Wilson loved him. Wilson had to love him. Before Sam had come along, they'd practically been a couple. Taking cooking classes together, House being the one there for him during surgery and recovery, buying a condo sort of together, Wilson buying the organ...the man had even proposed marriage to House, though not seriously, of course. House wondered if deep inside, a part of Wilson had meant it.

Six o'clock couldn't arrive fast enough. Television could only keep him occupied for so long, and it reminded him of Wilson because they so frequently watched it together. Medical journals managed to take his mind off his impatience for a good hour until he inadvertently ran into a piece Wilson himself had written.

It wasn't that he didn't want to think of his best friend, it was just that every time the word 'Wilson' entered his brain he found himself daydreaming like a prepubescent girl. Mrs. Gregory Wilson. Ick!

"About time," he said when the apartment door finally opened at a quarter to six and Wilson entered with a pizza. "You haven't bought me a meal in like nine hours. Do you want me to starve or something?"

"You have my sincerest apologies," Wilson smiled, setting the pizza on the coffee table. "If I'd known you were only in love with me for the food I bring, I would have made sure to stop by with lunch, too."

"You should know these things, Wilson," House reprimanded, shaking a finger at him.

House was hungry, but Wilson sat down on the couch next to him and he was much more interested in tasting the inside of his mouth than the pizza he brought.

Wilson didn't complain when House decided that kissing was more important than eating. So what if the pizza got cold? That's what microwaves were for.

House started the kiss tenderly, like he had the first time, but the gentleness soon gave way to fervent, almost desperate movements of lips and tongue. He had a hand combing through Wilson's hair and another holding his waist, clenching the fabric of his shirt in his fingers. The younger man was no less eager. He had his arms wrapped around House in an embrace and was trying to get his tongue as far inside House's mouth as it would go. Both seemed to be trying to push the other onto his back on the couch, but since they were both resisting, they remained in a sitting position.

House eventually gave in, letting Wilson lie him down on the couch (it was more comfortable for his leg that way, anyway) and holding the younger man's body against his. He grew frustrated, though, when Wilson removed his swollen lips from House's and instead moved to kiss his throat, because he wanted to do that. He bit his lip to keep from groaning when Wilson sucked behind his ear. He manoeuvred his face so his mouth could reach any part of Wilson it could, and kiss him. He slowly moved his hand down Wilson's back until it reached his ass and squeezed. Wilson made a sound that was a half-moan, half-chuckle, against his skin before resuming their kiss.

Eventually Wilson got up, pulling away, much to House's displeasure. "We have to stop," he said, sounding intensely disappointed.

"Why?" House demanded.

Wilson blushed. "I can't do this another minute without it inadvertently turning into sex, and I...don't want my first time with you to be dry humping on the couch."

"So get your ass up and let's get into the bedroom," House said, still not seeing the dilemma.

"It's our first time," Wilson explained, as red as a cherry. "I want it to be...slow. We get in there...I promise you it won't be anything close."

"I don't care," said House bluntly. He sighed. "Wilson, there is a time and a place for slow sex. This is not it. Now get off me so I can get up and drag you to my bed. Now."

Wilson smiled sheepishly and did as he was told. His prediction came true, but at least they managed to remove their clothing first. Though he would never share his feelings with Wilson, House thought it was sort of romantic that their first time had been so desperate and rushed. They loved each other, wanted each other so much that they simply couldn't wait, literally couldn't take their time making love because they needed each other too much. And it certainly hadn't been lacking in passion.

House held onto Wilson, after, panting on the bed. He had a microwave. It didn't matter if he pizza got cold. He wanted to hold onto this, preferably forever.

A/N: Thank you for reading. If you liked it (or not) reviews are a great way to let me know (hint, hint).