Title: A Duck, A Cat and a Misunderstanding

Author: pgrabia

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. and I'm making no profit off of this…which really sucks.

Genre: AU, H/W slash, sick!Wilson, smut.

Characters/Pairings: House, Wilson, Sarah and the Duck/ H/W slash.

Warnings/Spoilers: Coarse language, explicit sex/ Spoilers up to and including episode 7x17 "Fall From Grace".

Author's Notes: Written for the LJ Sick!Wilson Fourth Anniversary Pic Challenge Prompt # 3: rubber duck. A little porn for all us long-suffering Hilsons!

Rating: NC-17 (M)

Word count: ~3300

For the two weeks following House moving back into the loft with him he allowed his best friend to use the bathtub in his ensuite bathroom; soaking in hot water helped ease the pain in the older man's leg. However, when Wilson nearly cracked his head open on the bathtub when he slipped on the water left standing on the bathroom floor (along with the mess left behind) he banned his roommate from using it again. After that Wilson's conscience bothered him—especially when he'd notice his best friend's limp become a little more pronounced, that he was slowing down over the length of a day, or rubbing his thigh absently while watching TV. House was also popping extra Vicodin at the end of a long day at the hospital. Wilson had been watching vigilantly for any sign that these were simply manipulative ploys to make him feel bad but he didn't get that impression even once.

So he decided that he would change his rule about House staying out of his ensuite bathroom and grant him access to the tub whenever his leg was hurting him so long as the diagnostician promised to clean up behind himself afterward. Being a proud man himself, Wilson didn't want to simply concede to House face to face so he decided he would give his friend the message symbolically. The next day at the hospital Wilson waited until the older man was away from his office and snuck in there with his surprise for him. He placed a yellow rubber duck on House's desk where he was sure to see it when he came in. With it he left a handwritten note that said, "Join me for a soak and I'll make you feel much better". House would see the rubber duck, read the note, recognize Wilson's handwriting, and realize that he was being given permission to use the tub.

Pleased with himself Wilson went back to his own office to get some work done.

That evening Wilson drove home from work without his roommate; House's patient was in a bad state and at lunch he told him that he was staying at the hospital to work with his team in finding the correct diagnosis before the patient died. He was a little disappointed that House hadn't said anything to him about the duck and the note but figured that House, being House, wouldn't acknowledge the gesture verbally but would in some act of unusual kindness or backhanded comment let Wilson know that the gesture had been appreciated.

He made himself a sandwich to eat. After, he decided to take a shower and then go to bed early, catch up a little on his reading and then go to sleep. Going to turn on the shower he stopped short, staring at what was sitting in the bottom of the bathtub. Sarah sat there with the yellow rubber duck in her mouth staring at Wilson like the cat that ate the canary—or duck—as the case may be. He wasn't concerned about the tooth punctures in the bath toy so much as stunned to see it there in the first place. The only way it could have made its way back to the loft was…

Wilson nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two arms wrap around his waist and hot breath tickle his neck. To his credit he didn't yelp like a little girl and tried to play it cool—but those arms were too hairy to belong to a woman.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Relax," House whisper in his ear, pulling Wilson closer to him. "I wanted to surprise you like you surprised me. I'd be crazy not to take you up on an invitation like that."

Wilson's eyes opened as wide as dinner plates. Invitation? What invitation? What was going on and why?—oh, oh God, House was nibbling on his earlobe, his bristly face tickling the younger man's skin. This had to be a joke, right? Yes, that's what it was, it was a joke, Wilson told himself. He knew that he should wriggle free and call his friend on the prank but he didn't want to, exactly. Because House had moved from his earlobe to the crook of his neck where the oncologist was most sensitive and it felt so good. He'd had countless erotic dreams of making love with his male best friend over the past few years and had been forced to admit to himself that the feelings he had for House went far deeper than platonic love, but never in a million years had he believed House had the same thoughts and feelings; unless this was an elaborate joke.

House tilted his pelvis so that he rubbed up against Wilson's ass. The hardness of the older man's erection against him convinced Wilson that this was no joke; nor was his own hardening that was taking place. Wilson had pondered what the moment they stepped over the line would be like when it (if it) happened but somehow it had never been like this.

Desire was making it difficult for Wilson to think straight. He turned around in House's arms to face him and noticed for the first time that his friend was nude, ready for a bath with him.

Wilson opened his mouth to say something but House didn't give him the chance. He attacked the oncologist's mouth deeply, passionately and Wilson hungrily kissed back, a small moan escaping him. House's tongue plunged into Wilson's mouth; he tasted like cherry lolly-pop and coffee and something else distinctly him. Wilson's arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they snaked around House's neck. He felt a pianist's hand move to cradle his head and support it in the kiss. He was completely hard now and his cock pressed uncomfortably against the restriction of his trousers, yearning to be freed, to be touched, fondled, caressed.

Giving up any resistance, Wilson's higher cognitive functions took a backseat to his flaming desire. He felt House leading him slowly out of the bathroom and towards his bed, balancing himself against the younger man who gladly bore some of his weight. Obviously the bath was postponed until later.

"You're wearing too many clothes," House told him huskily, and he set to work at disrobing him with frantic fingers working away at the knot in Wilson's tie followed by the buttons on his shirt. "You'll need to start wearing zippers and Velcro!"

Wilson chuckled against House's neck where he was making small little bites and then soothing away the sting with his tongue. He allowed for his shirt to be slipped off of his shoulders and arms until it dropped to the floor. He pulled his own undershirt off over his head while House undid the fly on his pants, stopping to rub Wilson's erection through the wool trousers and cotton boxer-briefs. Wilson's breath caught as sensory pulses coursed through his nerves to his spine and then brain, registering as sheer pleasure. House had his pants and underwear off in no time before pushing Wilson down onto the bed and leaning over him to kiss him again. Wilson scooted himself up towards the head of the bed leaving room for House climb on beside him to his right and then cover the younger man's body with his.

"You're so fucking sexy," House growled as he grinned down into Wilson's hooded brown eyes. There was longing and desire in their crystalline depth but there was more, something more emotional and deeply tender. Wilson realized that he was staring right into House's heart, and what he saw there took his breath away. Wilson rolled House over onto his back, changing positions with him while being careful not to jar his damaged leg.

"It took you long enough to notice," Wilson told him with an impudent smirk.

"Trust me, I've been aware of that for a long time now. You're the one who keeps running away."

Wilson combed his fingers through House's thinning hair. "I'm not running anymore," he whispered before covering his new lover's mouth with his own. House's fingers tickled Wilson's flanks with their feather-light touch. They slowly descended from his sides to his hips and then around to his ass where they continued to stroke languorously, sending shivers through Wilson's body. From there they moved forward and towards his groin, teasingly coming just short of touching his cock. Wilson growled in frustration and ground his erection against House's. The resultant groan that escaped the diagnostician's throat was so hot that Wilson repeated the action hoping to hear it again.

"Oh God, Jimmy," House murmured between leaving wet kisses along Wilson's clavicle. "Is this really happening?"

"Mm hmm," the younger man responded. "At last. I've dreamed of this but…it was never this…good."

House encouraged Wilson to roll over so that they were both on their sides facing each other. He possessed Wilson's mouth again and gently wrapped his long-fingered hands around both of their cocks which forced a keen out of the oncologist that nearly made House come at that moment. There was enough pre-cum between them to provide enough lubrication for House to stroke the both of them at the same time. It was like sparks of pure electric ecstasy coursing through Wilson's body when this occurred. He couldn't hold back the moans and occasional whine or softly-uttered curse. The pressure in his lower abdomen was building as was the intensity of the pleasure. House was grunting and moaning as well which nearly drove Wilson insane with desire. They held each other's gaze, closing their eyes briefly here or there for a moment or two but otherwise maintaining that connection.

Wilson was captivated by his best friend's eyes, losing himself in them. He saw desire and joy but most importantly he saw an openness House rarely showed anyone and in that openness Wilson saw the older man's love for him as clear as day. He would never need to hear House tell him that he loved him because his eyes had already betrayed him. Wilson adored him too, perhaps always had, but had only been aware of his feelings for what they were after Amber had died. That hadn't stopped him from running from those feelings—and House—though. He'd been afraid to acknowledge his love for his male best friend for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the fear that House would never feeling the same way about him. Now all of those justifications seemed so ridiculous in light of what was happening between them now, because they weren't simply having sex for the physical gratification alone; they were silently sharing their hearts with each other. In other words, they were making love.

Wilson knew he was nearly at the edge and couldn't hold out much longer; from House's moaning and other non-verbal cues he knew the same was true for him. He looked like it was taking all of his concentration to keep himself from coming.

Attacking House's mouth was all it took to tip Wilson over the edge and his cry of House's name was swallowed by his lover, who allowed himself to let go a fraction of a second later, shooting warm, sticky jets of cum across Wilson's abdomen and chest just as he had to him. Neither of them noticed because they were out of their minds as they rode the incredible high of their orgasms. House had continued to stroke them until all their seed was spent and then released his hold. They lay there for several minutes, covered in sweat and semen, panting and holding each other. As Wilson recovered his higher cognitive functions he opened his eyes to see the most relaxed and blissful expression on House's face and a single word popped into his head: beautiful. He kissed House's forehead tenderly and was rewarded with a genuine smile and sparkling blue eyes staring back at him.

"Thank you, Jimmy," House whispered barely audibly. Wilson was surprised by the words of gratitude. He was the one who was grateful; he was thankful for House misunderstanding the note he'd left for him and for the courage he'd shown to approach Wilson so openly with his desire for him. If House hadn't made that first move, they would still be living in denial and secret desperation for the other, not lying in the warmth of each other's arms like they were now.

"I love you, House," Wilson answered, bringing a hand up to softly caress his lover's bristly cheek.

"What made you decide to seek this now?" House asked, curiosity animating his eyes. "When I saw your note and that rubber duck I was nearly floored by it."

Wilson wondered if he should be honest and tell him that he hadn't been seeking sex and the advancement of their relationship beyond the platonic, but rather telling him that he'd been rescinding his ban on House's use of the bathtub. He realized that it didn't really matter—they had taken that step and that was all that mattered. Little white lies of omission were such bad things in moderation.

"I've wanted you for a long time," the oncologist answered honestly. "I have to admit I didn't expect that you wanted me too. I'm very happy to have been proven wrong."

"Do you know how I feel about you now?" the diagnostician asked him shyly.

Wilson grinned and nodded, remembering the non-verbal expression of his love in his eyes. He kissed House sweetly and tenderly.

"I think it's time for that bath," House told him, smirking.

"After a quick shower," Wilson agreed with a nod. "I'll go get it started." He kissed House and lingered a moment of two before getting off the bed and heading to the bathroom.

"Make certain there are bubbles," House told him. Wilson turned to face him as he slowly backed into the bathroom.

"I found a bottle of your bubble bath under the sink in the other bathroom after you'd moved out. Good thing I didn't throw it out."

Wilson turned around and took another step. His foot came down on something hard in some spots but with a little give in others that squeaked pathetically under his weight. It was enough to throw his balance off and he went ass over tea kettle, eventually ending up on the floor with a thud. He landed on his back and didn't think to try to protect his head; hence it smacked the tile hard. Everything started to turn a charcoal grey and the last thing he saw before the grey completely blinded him was the image of Sarah looking down at him, licking his nose with her sandpaper tongue once before picking up in her mouth the rubber duck she'd tossed out of the bathtub in play which he then stepped on. With a little mew she pranced away with her trophy.

When Wilson became aware again he opened his eyes to look up into worried blue ones below eyebrows that were meeting above his nose.

"House," he said, trying to sit up when a hand on his shoulder firmly held him down.

"Don't move, you banged your head pretty hard," the diagnostician told him. "I heard it all the way out in the bedroom. You must have tripped over your own feet. You really are one of the clumsiest people I know."

A groan was the younger man's answer to that. His head throbbed angrily as did his shoulder blades, spine, ass, and elbows—but the worst was his head. He blinked, trying to get rid of the blurriness but it wasn't working. House noticed.

"Vision problems?"

"Just a little blurry. And my head hurts badly." the oncologist answered.

"You have a concussion; a fairly severe one I expect. Since I can't haul your ass down to your car to take you to the hospital myself I called an ambulance. It should be here soon. Until then lie still."

"I don't need an ambulance," Wilson insisted, frowning. "I'm fine." He managed to get himself sitting halfway up before House could stop him but he needn't have; the dizziness Wilson experienced was enough for him to lie back down on his own.

"I told you to lie still," House told him crossly while at the same time soothingly brushing a stray strand of hair out of Wilson's eyes. "You're going to the hospital to get an X-ray of your head, just to make certain it's not something serious."

Wilson didn't feel like arguing. "Can you do me a favor then? Find me a wet washcloth so I can clean up a little and then bring me something to wear before they get here."

House smirked in amusement and got up, finding clean wash cloths for both of them and wetting them with very warm water. He set to work cleaning Wilson up gently but quickly, then himself and then went to find them some clothes.

"I think I stepped on the rubber duck and lost my footing," Wilson told him. "Sarah must have tossed it out of the tub while playing with it. How embarrassing, taken down by a lump of yellow rubber. I'm surprised you aren't mocking me about it."

House returned to the bathroom after throwing a t-shirt and jeans on; he carried a loose fitting shirt, underwear, and pajama bottoms for Wilson and then carefully helped him put them on.

"I'll hold off humiliating you until I'm certain you're going to be fine." House told him. "Then I'll be merciless."

They finished dressing Wilson when there was loud knocking on the front door and someone calling out that it was the Princeton fire department-slash-paramedic service.

Wilson was taken to Princeton-Plainsboro's emergency department; House followed the ambulance in Wilson's car so he could drive the oncologist back to the loft later on. After X-rays were taken of his skull and a quick neuro-exam was run on him, the films returned showing no sign of intracranial or subdural bleeding nor any cracks or fractures. He was, however, diagnosed with a grade three concussion (thanks for his minute and a half loss of consciousness), blurred vision that lasted more than twenty minutes before resolving and slight confusion. The ER attending admitted him for the night for observation and a second assessment in the morning; House concurred with his decision.

Once he was in a semi-private room House pulled the curtain around his bed for privacy and then climbed on beside him, pulling the light blanket up over both of them and he held him. Wilson had been given medication for his head and was feeling somewhat better. He relaxed into House and enjoyed the cuddling—something Wilson hadn't expected from his best friend.

"You know," Wilson murmured sleepily with a dopy smile, "people are gonna talk."

"Does that bother you?" House asked and Wilson could hear a little apprehension in the baritone voice.

"No, it doesn't. I thought it might, but now that we're here I couldn't care less what anyone thinks. I love you House."

House kissed the top of his head. "Same here, Jimmy. Now shut up and go to sleep."

He didn't have to tell Wilson twice.