Much, much thanks to thelettermanv, who not only fixed the horrendous amount of typos due to me typing this in a car driving down a bumpy road with the sun glaring so hard on the screen I couldn't see, but even did this at the very last minute while I partied my ass off instead of making it more legible for him to read before sending it off (although he was tired as hell). What have you learned from this? He's a god amongst men, and I'm pretty selfish.

Ye Merry Gentlemen

For an Atheist who constantly railed against the commercialism and falseness of the entire holiday of Christmas, House didn't hesitate to celebrate it every year.

Then again, for being Jewish, Wilson was rather accommodating.

Jell-O shots were set up in the fridge with orange juice and wine beside them, despite Wilson saying they should've kept it in the freezer with the vodka and ice cream. Ingredients for macadamia nut pancakes were loaded up in the car for breakfast and whipped cream for the cherry pie he'd cooked yesterday at House's insistence.

Now all Wilson had to do was pick some movies from Blockbuster-House seemed to enjoy forcing him to physically choose movies rather than resort to online renting, although again, Wilson honestly didn't mind; he actually preferred sorting through movies tangibly, walking up and down aisles and smiling at anybody who happened to see him and striking up conversations occasionally. It gave him the feeling of actually doing something, more so than browsing idly online. Being as it was Christmas Eve, the store was closing earlier and as he'd gone shopping first he'd worried about missing closing time; luckily for him, though, he'd made it with more than enough time to search, and apparently he wasn't the only one looking for last minute movies.

Mostly parents with young children littered the place, which didn't surprise him. The line was long, filled with chattering children and parents trying to quietly keep control and stop their young kids from running around waving their straight-to-DVD cartoons around, sticky hands ruining the already tattered cases. Some of the older kids, not quite teenagers, rolled their eyes and scoffed openly and arrogantly, reminding themselves that they were so far above their younger siblings and far less annoying; the teenagers forced to come along scowled and muttered to each other about being forced to watch a bunch of idiot kids' shows. It was unexpectedly crowded considering tomorrow was Christmas, but perhaps it wasn't necessarily strange; Wilson didn't normally make a habit of hanging out at video rental stores at Christmastime. Perhaps there was a deal going on; some sort of coupon he'd overlooked or maybe it was normal.

Techno blasted from his phone and parents gasped at him, glaring, while the children either joined in at the staring or giggled to themselves and pointed; the teenagers smirked and laughed openly; some even sang along and busted out a few moves, which didn't seem to please their parents in the slightest.

Of course, it wasn't the electronic techno filling the crowded Blockbuster, somehow loud enough for apparently everyone to hear, but the lyrics that overshadowed even the jarring beat that irritated them.

"Suck my dick, suck my motherfucking dick-"

Cheeks burning, Wilson tried to balance the Blu-Rays in one hand and pull his cell out from his pocket, but he ended up dropping the movies to the floor while childlike, high-pitched giggling and angry, hushed insults surrounded him. He was aware of repeatedly apologizing until he jammed his thumbs against the buttons of his phone frantically; it stopped the text-tone, but the damage was done.

He bent down and picked up the movies, pursing his lips and trying to ignore someone whispering behind him. With the movies tucked under one arm, he opened the text with his left hand.

Change of plans. There's a bouncy castle set up in my apartment.

Huffing, Wilson knew that if he texted back a response House wouldn't hesitate to reply, and he couldn't have that particular song blasting again. He went into the settings and tried to change the tone, but it was password protected. All he needed was four numbers, but he couldn't think of anything. Pursing his lips angrily, he went into the volume control.

"Suck my dick, suck my motherfuck-"

He managed to view the text before it finished the sentence, but everyone was already whispering and staring; laughing and snorting and insulting him quietly.

r u coming or what

Clenching his teeth, he moved to the volume control and-

"Suck my dick, suck my-"

"Goddammit." He shifted awkwardly in line and his cheeks burned even hotter when he saw an employee who had been rearranging movies on shelves walking towards him. "House," he cursed quietly although he was miles away and couldn't hear anything, an ominous glint in the employee's eyes and lips a tight, white line. This wasn't going to end well.

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to turn off your phone."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, my friend-he thinks it's funny, I'm sorry," he hurriedly apologized, just as the text tone went off again. The employee opened his mouth and Wilson thrust the Blu-Rays in his hand. "Never mind, I'll just leave. Don't worry about it." The employee practically ripped the moves out of his hand and Wilson rushed out of the store, the text tone going off the entire time.

Slamming the car door shut, he went into his inbox and read the texts that were so important House couldn't wait five seconds in between to send them. The first two were just reminding him he had a bouncy castle in his apartment so he didn't have to rent any movies. The last text either made Wilson want to laugh or throttle his best friend, he wasn't sure.

im not embarrassing u am i? Maybe u shouldnt leave ur phone unattended in my office

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head and started the ignition.


With bags of ingredients and whipped cream in his arms, he couldn't open the door, so he kicked the bottom of the door a few times to get House's attention. One of House's neighbours walked in, the snow dotting her coat and hair; she looked at him and nodded once in greeting and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. He knew her well enough after years of visiting House and coming in at all hours of the night, depending on when House called him, to know she didn't like House and, through association, him. She was an older lady and very religious. At one point she'd even tried chatting him up about there being a place for "your people" in God's Kingdom if he accepted Jesus into his heart; he wasn't sure if she had mistaken him for House's lover or if she was commenting on the fact he was Jewish, as she'd made snide comments about both. Her daughter had apologized to him afterward for it, but she didn't realize just how antagonizing House could be, nor did she know that House had sent her mother a blank pamphlet to "educate you what I believe in, religiously" or left the door open and made obnoxiously loud sex noises whenever Wilson visited.

That happened to be the time Wilson's phone went off, techno blasting loudly and shouting for him to suck dick. The old woman pursed her lips and shook her head, rushing past him, and Wilson probably should've blushed in embarrassment, but considering that last week she'd seen him in nothing but a towel, dripping wet, pounding on House's door with the hand not keeping the towel secure, it really didn't bother him.

He kicked the bottom of the door again. "House come on, my hands are full."

He heard movement on the other side of the door and rocked on his heels impatiently, a click from House unlocking sounding. The door opened and House stood on the other end, eyebrows raised. The text tone was still blaring, considering it was a full minute long and he didn't have free hands in order to pull it out of his pockets, and Wilson raised his own eyebrows in retaliation before shouldering past House. "You have a key, you know."

"And there were children in Blockbuster."

"So this is payback for me embarrassing you? Hey, you were the one dumb enough to leave your phone in my office."

Wilson stared at what was once House's living room, but now all he saw was a giant inflatable castle, the tier at the top bent over because the ceiling wasn't tall enough; the couch and piano were pushed against the walls, the rest of the floor taken up by the brightly coloured, bulbous toy; netted walls and garish blue and red and yellow glinting in the light from the kitchen.

Blinking once, he just shook his head. "No, I'm carrying groceries, as I'm sure you're astute enough to notice. Opening your door proved difficult. I don't have a third hand."

"True, but according to the nurses on your floor, you do have a third leg."

Wilson snorted and made his way into the kitchen; the castle took up most of the living room and made it difficult to navigate, but House had managed to set it up in a way that made entrance to the kitchen easy. "Speaking of third legs, did you really have to pick that song?"

"How long have you known me?"

"Right, how silly of me to ask." Despite his lecturing tone, he was smiling to himself and he didn't quite know why. House was behind him so he didn't bother hiding his grin. In retrospect, the look on the employee's face was hilarious; the teenagers singing along and the scandalized gasps from the parents made it even better. Loathe as he was to admit it, the song itself was as catchy as it was atrocious.

He dropped the bags on the table and started sifting through them, pulling out milk and eggs first, setting them aside before placing the rest of the ingredients for macadamia nut pancakes near the whipped cream. The rustling of bags and clunking of him putting things down was the only noise and it didn't really occur to him how eerily silent it was until he caught himself humming the text tone and House hadn't made any comments about it.

Furrowing his brows, he grabbed the milk in one hand and the eggs in the other and turned around then stopped short. House was standing right there; less than two feet behind him, completely quiet.

Wilson waited for House to say anything or back away, but he said nothing and continued to stare. Wilson's chest tightened briefly before he brushed past House and moved towards the fridge, and he could hear the step-thump of House following close behind. When he stepped in front of the fridge House moved to the side of him and opened the door. Brows furrowed, Wilson put the eggs and milk in the fridge. House reached in and pulled out one of the trays of Jell-O shots and smirked at Wilson. "Grab the alcohol," he ordered before limping away.

Wilson kept his eyes on House as he plopped the tray on the table and popped off the lid of the whipped cream. He'd walked to the opposite side so that they could look at each other, although he very easily could've stood so that Wilson could only see his back. House sprayed a dollop whipped cream on each bit of Jell-O.

"Are you gonna play?" The can hissed as he continued covering each shot with whipped cream.

"Play?"

"Well duh, I've got a bouncy castle in my living room. What the hell did you think we were gonna do with it? Get out the alcohol, it's time to get wasted." With that, he grabbed the Jell-O, having covered them all sloppily with whipped cream.

Frowning, Wilson went back to the table and started putting away the rest of the ingredients to the macadamia pancakes. House was acting oddly but he couldn't put his finger on why he would be or what, exactly, it was that was strange. He closed a cupboard a bit louder than he'd intended, the snapping crack intrusive in the quiet. The silence of the apartment was strange too; normally music or something on the TV would be quietly playing in the background, but nothing.

He imagined House sitting in the bouncy castle quietly, waiting patiently, and he chuckled to himself. And he'd taken his time putting the rest of the things away, too, and still nothing. It couldn't last much longer. He'd make a ruckus any minute now.

"I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come truuuuuue-"

He answered the phone, cutting the ring tone short. "You changed the ring tone too?"

"How else was I supposed to get your attention? Now come on, you've been taking forever." The phone went silent and Wilson pulled away to make sure House had hung up before assuming.

He made it to the fridge and then paused, then pulled out his phone and called House, which was idiotic of him considering House was sitting in the castle in the living room, but House had called him first so it wasn't like he could mock him for it.

"Relight my fire, your love is my only desire," came the tinny sounds of House's new ring tone from the living room. Wilson furrowed his brows; what was with him and the new ring tones lately?

"You do realize I'm ten feet away? You don't have to call me, moron," House lectured.

Wilson rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Right, well never let anyone ever tell you that you're a hypocrite. What's with the new tones House?"

"Hey, I routinely change my ring tones. You know that."

"What? No you don't. I've been Dancing Queen for years now." He waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. "What's my text tone, then?"

"Sexy Back. Now what'd you want? If you don't hurry I'm gonna scarf all the Jell-O shots then you'll have to be Sober Sally and that's not any fun. How can I take advantage of you if you're more coherent than I am?"

Wilson pursed his lips to prevent a smile. "What did you want? The wine, the vodka . . . ?"

"Both. Oh, and the orange juice. See ya."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Wilson tucked the bottles of wine and vodka under his arm, then held the orange juice against his chest. "Hey House, what about glasses?" he shouted, using his hip to close the fridge.

"The plastic ones should be fine!"

"No, I meant could you-" He cut himself short when the wine started slipping from underneath his arm, but with some awkward bending and twisting he managed to prevent that. "Could you get them? My hands are full."

Awkwardly walking towards the bouncy castle, he saw it shimmying a bit and the sounds of House moving around inside. He inched around it and almost bumped into House who seemed to appear out of nowhere from around the corner. They both tried to step around each other but kept getting in each other's way, so House sighed and grabbed Wilson's arms, stilling him. He didn't move around him immediately, though; held him still and looked over his face, tilted his head and stroked Wilson's shoulder with his thumb before limping around him.

With a final look over his shoulder despite House no longer being in his sight, he kicked aside the tray House had kept the Jell-O shots on and gently tossed the drinks into the castle before crawling in, momentarily unnerved by how it bobbed underneath; the lack of a sturdy, reliable surface made his heart leap into his throat. The bottle of wine rolled towards him and clinked against his leg and the Jell-O shots, stuck in small paper cups, rolled all over the place in erratic lines. He wobbled on all fours, the vodka bottle joining the wine bottle with a clink and Wilson finally flipped over so he could sit cross-legged and really look at his surroundings. The plastic top was flat, pressed against the ceiling and the dark blue surrounding him made him somehow feel closed in yet realize how spacious House's living room was at the same time.

House poked his head in, then frowned. "Hey, no shoes. This shit wasn't cheap." He tossed two plastic cups into the tent, one red and one green. He crawled over to Wilson while he undid his shoes; even House appeared uncomfortable with the instability the castle provided, and Wilson wondered about his thigh while he pulled his first shoe free. "How's your thigh?" he asked, tossing the shoe out of the entrance and doing a victorious arm pump when it slid out perfectly.

"Don't get too ecstatic, Kobe. That was hardly a three-pointer." He plopped beside Wilson, but faced him so that he was staring at his profile; in his peripherals, Wilson could tell House was rubbing his thigh. "My thigh's fine. Besides, the alcohol will numb it."

"You couldn't think of anyone better than Kobe?" He grunted as he tugged on his shoe a little too soon before it was loose enough hand lost his balance for a second before he yanked it free.

"I always kinda pictured you a urophiliac anyway."

Wilson blinked at House, then shook his head. "That's sick." He tossed the shoe and it joined the other, just as perfectly. He did another victory arm pump and ignored House's scoff beside him.

"What? You've never had a good piss?"

"As a robot, I've never actually experienced micturation," Wilson retorted, turning so that they could face each other, like two kids playing patty cake.

House lifted the vodka bottle and threw the green cup to Wilson, who fumbled with it and then raised his eyebrow; it was a typical cup one would buy for a cheap party. "C'mon, everyone gets the pee shakes. Haven't you ever thought 'well gee, that felt pretty nice. Wonder what it'd be like to add that to sex?'"

Wilson shook his head and watched as House poured vodka into his own cup first. "I can certainly say that I haven't," he answered and held his cup still as House poured vodka into it as well.

House capped the bottle, then pulled the orange juice closer to them. He held his cup of vodka between his legs as he took off the lid to the orange juice. "Urine is sterile. It's not like you'll erupt into boils and pus because someone whips it out and drains the main vein all over your love handles."

"The very fact I am listening to you pour orange juice while talking about golden showers is unnerving enough to me. Please don't tell me this is what you wanted for Christmas."

"Christ no. I'm not pissing on anyone until I'm so hammered I can't tell the difference between that hideous sweater and the toilet. Although . . . Well, wouldn't be too hard to make that mistake." He motioned for Wilson to move his cup closer so he could pour orange juice since he'd finished pouring his own.

Wilson did so, then looked down at his sweater; it was a little too big for him and white, but with a Christmas tree on it. "A patient gave it to me."

"And you keep everything your patients give you?" He stared at him incredulously as he pulled back the orange juice and capped it. Wilson shrugged and moved the green cup to his lips. "Ah-ah, not yet. C'mon, what sort of party would this be without a drinking game?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, but it was all for show. He knew House knew that, too, but they always played along with each other. "We're not college frat boys," he reminded, although he refrained from drinking his screwdriver and was sitting barefoot in a bouncy castle.

"Something tells me that even when you were, you didn't do many drinking games. Time to make up for all the lost time."

"I wasn't a saint, House," he informed haughtily with a smirk, and he wasn't lying.

"Of course not. Jews can't be saints," he snorted dismissively, then swirled the screwdriver in his red cup mockingly, and Wilson realized he'd been doing that first. He immediately stopped. "You know how to play I Never?"

Wilson just dropped his chin and glared.

House scoffed. "Fine. I've never participated in a golden shower."

Wilson kept his cup lowered resolutely and flicked aside a cup of Jell-O that had rolled into his thigh, to see House take a drink. "Oh bullshit," Wilson scoffed, shaking his head at him.

"Hey, she asked."

"Who?"

"Can't remember her name. She was just impressed by the large stack of bills I'd paid her a half hour ago. Your turn."


"Hurry up," House demanded with a pronounced slur.

Wilson made a rude-sounding noise because it was all he could really concentrate on doing. They'd run out of orange juice (he knew he should've bought a larger one) and had decided to drink the wine instead.

However, they'd also decided to put the alcohol outside the tent, as jumping around with hard objects flying through the air hadn't seemed like a bright idea and so Wilson was leaning out of the castle, wine bottle in one hand and corkscrew in the other. The floor tilting to the right and resetting itself every few seconds made it a bit difficult to twist the corkscrew properly, especially since his knees were digging into the uneven, wobbly floor of the castle.

"Gonna kick you oooouuut," warned House and Wilson felt something warm brush his ass; slide over a cheek and then back up; move in a circle and then push a bit threateningly.

Wilson opened his eyes, not remembering closing them, and cleared his throat, ignoring the fact House's foot against his ass really ought not to have send shivers up his back. "If you'd stopped pestering me I would've by it done now," he stated, getting the feeling he'd somehow screwed up that sentence, then pulled the cork free and let out a triumphant laugh.

"You're over-pronouncing again."

Wilson pulled himself into the castle and blinked several times, looking directly at House's crotch. Well technically his jeans, but he couldn't get his mind off the fact that his crotch was right behind the fabric; with just a pull of the zipper, he could be staring at House's dick; holding it in his palm, licking the tip-

Red.

For a minute he thought House's pants had changed colour, but then realized that of course House had simply put his cup in front of his face. He poured some wine in, hand unsteady and spilling a bit over the edge of the cup near the end. House pulled it up and licked the side; pink tongue sliding against the red, saliva glinting in the living room light that filtered through the netting; imagined that tongue sliding up his naked chest and that since House was standing and Wilson was kneeling, it was quite obvious he was staring, what with his head craned upward and all.

"Er, whe-where's my cup?" He looked around the immediate area beside him, then saw it tipped over. He grabbed it and poured himself some, then stared between the bottle and the cup. "Um. House, could you hold my cup for a minute?" He lifted it high in the air and House took it, a cup in each hand, swaying back and forth like an impatient child, toes bunching up and stretching out and Wilson sighed half-dreamily; House kinda had nice feet.

He turned around and stuck his head out; plunked the bottle of wine on the floor and stuffed the cork in before pulling himself in and standing up; his head swam a bit and he wind-milled his arms before righting himself and outstretched his hand for the cup.

House handed it to him, their fingers brushing. Wilson kept his fingers over his knuckles, stroking them, staring at them, and hummed a little before taking it from him fully; bringing it to his mouth-

"Hey hey hey." House grabbed his wrist and pulled down; nose and bright eyes only a few inches away. "Your turn," he reminded, then walked awkwardly toward the centre of the castle; long legs overly gentle and exaggerated.

Wilson chuckled to himself. "You look like a grasshopper." House just turned and glared at him and Wilson tried to amble sexily over to him, but the floor bounced and tilted and moved beneath him. "I've never mister-mastur . . . bolt . . .?" He hiccupped and House smirked at him, chin lowered and blue eyes dark and fixed on him with far too much focus. Then House swayed and had to right himself so he broke their gaze and Wilson could think again. "Jerked it in public," he finally finished, and took great delight in watching House bring the cup to his mouth.

Wilson took a large swallow; the sweet wine tainted by lingering vodka and orange and closed his eyes; tipped his head back and thought of House sticking his hands down his pants; looking around the mostly empty parking lot, moonlight shining down, hand working furiously-

House grabbed his wrist again and pulled it down forcefully. "You're such a lush, Wilson."

Although he'd let go of his wrist, they were still standing half a foot from each other and his head swam when House stared blatantly at his mouth. Perhaps a lot of the world jerk-snapping around him and the warmth sliding into his stomach and filling his body with heat was mostly alcohol, but he couldn't deny that some of it had to do with the way House bit down on his own lip and blue eyes ticked back up to Wilson's eyes from his lips.

"Your turn," Wilson rasped, shifting his weight between his feet and finding childish amusement in how the ground moved with him.

"I've never . . ." House began, the trailed off and looked upward, nose crinkling up and mouth twisting awkwardly, then he chuckled once and looked back at Wilson, taking a step back and snorting. "I've never gotten hard watching porn together." The sentence hadn't even been out of his mouth before he was raising the cup to his mouth.

Wilson joined, smiling into the cup which made drinking awkward and wine dribbled over his lip and down his chin before he pulled the cup away; it was cold against his overheated skin.

House was in front of him again, wiping free the line of wine with his thumb; bringing that same thumb into his mouth and sucking on it. Wilson watched that thumb disappear behind House's lips and imagined that pink, wet tongue that had licked up the side of his cup swirling around his thumb, suckling the sweet tang of wine and perhaps Wilson's skin free and maybe deciding he wanted more; nipping at his throat and licking down his chest.

In reality, all that happened was he plopped free his thumb and blinked, lids dragging open heavily as if they'd been glued together and Wilson chuckled at how dopey it made House look.

Wilson knew it was his turn but he was having difficulty thinking of anything. House was much better at coming up with questions than he was. "Oh um . . . Hey, I've nev-never jerked off thinking about-" He cut himself short of saying 'you' and House raised his eyebrows. ". . . each other?" he finished awkwardly, then realized that it wasn't much better than what he'd originally intended.

House shrugged and tipped his head back, chugging his cup and Wilson laughed triumphantly and followed suit; chugging and chugging, wine sloshing over his mouth and down his chin.

The cup emptying, he had to tilt his head back more and more to get the last drops and then House bounced, the floor disappearing underneath Wilson's feet. He yelped and fell, hitting the ground and zooming upward; House's booming laugh surrounded him as he landed on the ground, crushing his cup underneath his back and House remained standing, laughing and leaning over, hands on his knees.

Wilson lay there, staring at the crushed, plastic ceiling, sucking breath after breath while a hummingbird zoomed behind his sternum; tiny wings flapping repeatedly against the bone, building and building until it erupted into a peal of laughter.

It had been decades since he'd jumped on a trampoline; Danny bouncing across from him, the two of them using the other's force to ricochet themselves higher and higher in the sky, and for a few short moments knew what it was like to be suspended in air; flying.

Shakily pulling himself to his feet, catching the spark in House's insanely blue eyes, he jumped and soared; landed beside House who flew upward and Wilson laughed; waited until right as House landed and bounced; flew straight up in the air and practically squealed; tried to imprint the feeling of being suspended in midair in his mind, but the alcohol muddled his thoughts; sped the world around him faster and so he jumped again, House zooming in front of him, nothing more than a blur.

Alcohol tore apart his inhibitions; filled his mind with a haze and he rebounded again, soaring; the world turned and whipped around him, weightless and free for no more than an eternal second. House's laughter chimed in with his perfectly; filled in the spots his noise missed, and the few moments they could see each other he knew their eyes met before the cloud of alcohol dimmed that which jumping couldn't.

He bent his knees and sprung into the air; remembered strapping on his Superman costume decades ago, long before his missing brother and dying patients and divorce. None of that mattered anymore; it didn't numb that pain like alcohol could, or distract him. Everything seemed perfect in the air; it all made sense. Total clarity through a blissful fog of inebriation.

He landed, foot smacking wetly into something slick and he upended; head under heels, flat on his back, and breathless. The ground recoiled, flung him upwards once, twice, and then he settled there, wheezing through his chuckles.

His laughter died down and he half sat, resting on his elbows and tilted his ankle so he could see what he'd slipped on. He registered bright red and saw it stained on his shirt; smeared up his chest and his heart jammed into his throat. Had he cut himself?

Then he remembered the Jell-O and started laughing again; the panic melted quickly and burned his cheeks, his stomach, his chest and he caught House's eyes, who was no longer jumping but still standing. "I stepped in Jell-O!" he exclaimed through his laughter and then sucked in deep breaths to calm his erratic heart; his spinning head.

"Sounds like a plan!" He expertly hopped towards the exit.

Frowning, Wilson dizzily stood; vision fuzzing and then slamming into sharp focus repeatedly. "What're you doing?" he stumbled but caught himself, then let out an embarrassingly loud belch.

"Jell-O shots!"

Wilson hummed when he figured out that House must've misheard him, then chuckled because House poked his head into the castle and waggled his eyebrows, dumping the whole tray out, shots of Jell-O spinning and rolling and bouncing across the ground, joining the rest that he been splattered and tossed about with their frenzied jumping. Smears of red and white whipped cream dotted the place and House leapt in, tripping over his own feet and face-planting.

Wilson snorted so violently it hurt the back of his throat then laughed, leaning over and planting his hands on his knees; heat crept up his neck and burned his face, overheated his chest, the sweater scratching at his skin, and he kept laughing although it felt like doing so was the equivalent of running a mile.

THWACK.

He stopped mid-laugh and stared at House, who was just glaring, but also grinning, at him. He looked down and saw the remaining bits of Jell-O wobbling by his feet. He scooped it up and swayed on his feet, then watched as House slowly got to his feet, grabbing another Jell-O shot and pulling it out of its tiny paper cup.

"I've never had sex with another man," House stated and Wilson didn't know why until House plopped his Jell-O shot in his mouth challengingly.

"You took my turn," Wilson moped, then put the remains of the Jell-O that had hit him in his mouth and swallowed, the gelatinous jiggle cool as it slid down his throat, eyes never leaving House. "And you're gonna ruin this shirt."

"It's already smeared," House, bending down to pick up another bit of Jell-O and pulling free the paper. "But you could always take it off."

Wilson nodded and wobbled over to the door, taking off his shirt as he went and pulling it free, throwing it towards the entrance. He missed and it fluttered to the ground, so he sighed, went over to it, and pushed it out where it draped over the bottle of wine.

He stood back up and turned around, only to have House pelt him with another Jell-O shot. He'd been overheated so it was cool against his skin; sliding down and shivers ran up his arms and spine and House cheekily pulled up another one, carefully pulling free the paper.

It wasn't the first time he'd been shirtless in front of House, not that it really mattered, but had they just both admitted to having sex with men before? WHACK. More Jell-O splat against his chest, tiny bits ricocheting and hitting him in the face. Scoffing, he grabbed the blob that landed on his foot, and chucked it at House, giggling when it got him right in the face.

They both bent down and picked up a new Jell-O shot, circling each other with the floor bending underneath Wilson's bare feet; circling each other and grinning, dropping bits of paper to the ground. House idly tossed the wriggling red block back and forth between his hand and Wilson just let it rest in his palm, cool and wet and really let the weight of it sink into his mind; he was having hard time cataloguing just how it could be so light.

"You never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas." Wilson swallowed a few consonants and knew that he didn't sound half as suave as he wanted to.

"Sure I have. You're the one not listen-" Red splattered against House's cheek; shiny and bright and red like B movie blood squibs, but chunky, and the cool shatter of House's tossed weapon breaking apart easily on his own abdomen felt nice; the chill against his overheated skin sent shivers up his back. "I've given hints," House promised, then slipped and wind milled his arms before catching himself and preventing himself from falling. He picked up another Jell-O shot.

Wilson followed suit. "Nuh uh."

"What are we, five?"

"He says in a bouncy castle filled with Jell-O."

They were circling each other still. His vision was filmy and parts of it twitched; others remained steady. He tripped on his feet a bit and slid a bit on slickness. House cocked back his fist and Wilson chucked it; hit House in the shoulder and in return got a face-full of Jell-O, it sliding across his eye and into his hair.

House charged him and tackled him to the ground, slapping a handful of coagulated bits of red to his cheek; smearing his hands down his chest and Wilson pushed at him; shoved him off and onto his back, then grabbed the first Jell-O he saw-still wrapped in paper-and skidded backwards when House started crawling towards him, black tee soaked and dripping chunks of red, face smeared with crimson, wetness shining in the light that shone through the nets.

House leapt at him like a cat; the image conjured in Wilson's head was so ridiculous he started laughing too hard to fight House off properly, but managed to clumsily throw his Jell-O in the air just as House landed on him; it fell back down and exploded on the back of House's head, raining down on the both of them.

Laughing, Wilson pushed at House's clothed chest, scrunching the dessert into it, whipped cream streaking across the black; yanked at it when House tried to get away and pulled him back so he could rub whipped cream-something he clutched at blindly beside him-into his hair.

House pushed him onto his back and staggered to his feet, hopping away; Wilson struggled to get on his feet and chased after him, pelting him repeatedly while House chucked bits over his shoulder. Wilson tripped and stumbled; House took the time to turn around and point; cackled at him and Wilson growled, head spinning and twisted while he rearranged his posture and grabbed wildly for House; they were only about arms' length from each other. House stepped back, but then Wilson grabbed again and clutched at the shirt; it was too slippery to get a good grip and his hands slid free so House turned around and started running. Wilson hopped after him and grabbed the back of his shirt where it was drier.

Before Wilson could do something with the Jell-O clutched in his hand, House slipped out of his shirt and shouted an insult over his shoulder; Wilson was too drunk to decipher it and stared at the empty, messy shirt in his hand, then over at House, who was now shirtless and gathering up ammo.

Wilson scooped up a nearly intact cup, the whipped cream still slathered all over it, and hurled it at House with all his might; it exploded crimson all over his pectoral, dripping down his pale skin and chest hair; a line of melted white cream slipping beside his navel and Wilson threw another cup, hitting House in the stomach and thought about how it would taste to lick it off his skin; the sweet tang of vodka mixed with the sweetness of cherry and the salt of House's skin.

He pelted cup after cup at House; hitting and staining his blue jeans, marring his skin, dressing him up with sugary sweetness; felt the cool, soft ammo pelt him in the chest and shoulder and stomach as they ran at each other then backed off, bouncing and rebounding, world twisting and swirling around him; heart pulsing in his head and ears, breath like wind as the red, red lines of slippery dessert rained down House's retreating back; laughter pealing and echoing, the castle shaking with their movement, the world vibrating constantly in his peripherals.

He slipped and fell to the covered ground; rolled and staggered to his feet, swaggering more from alcohol than confidence; leering at House when he saw him wipe his hands off on his pants before scooping up a palm of whipped cream on the floor, butt sticking up in the air and facing the opposite direction.

As there were no longer any intact cups and just expelled, shattered ammo left he scooped up as much as he could and charged after House, liquefied Jell-O squishing between his toes and splattering against his ankles, who turned and saw him just in time for his eyes to widen; Wilson stopped and cocked back his fist, but feet kept sliding and sliding; crashed chest-to-chest into House and House clutched at his shoulders; nails dug into his skin but slipped off; they turned in a circle and flipped their arms around; Wilson let out an undignified shriek and then clapped onto House's shoulder; the Jell-O he'd been holding shot between his fingers and a line of it hit him just underneath the eye, the rest of it blasting up the side of House's neck and dangling from his ear.

House slapped his whipped-cream covered hand against Wilson's sternum while they spun; wiping it downward before their knees knocked and House fell backward, pulling Wilson down with him.

He oomphed when their chests smacked wetly, but House spared no time slicking Jell-O through his hair. Wilson grabbed House's wrist and slammed them to the floor and they rebounded once before he managed to still them, knees on either side of House's waist and their abdomens touching, but chests inches apart.

House stopped struggling and Wilson stared at him; shirtless, covered in red and white, looking absolutely tasty . . .

House bucked and Wilson lost his balance before their positions were reversed; Wilson eeped before getting slammed down on his back and bounced up; chests slipping together. House didn't pin his hands though, just lay across him, nestled comfortably between Wilson spread legs.

It was hard to think clearly with those vivid blue eyes shockingly bright in contrast to the red staining his face; a dollop of Jell-O dripped from House's nose and hit Wilson's upper lip. He licked it away and House ran his hand down his cheek. The world jerked to the left and resituated itself repeatedly and the floor beneath him seemed to turn gently as if he'd been strapped to a merry go round, but he still couldn't look away from those eyes.

His hands glided up House's chest and behind his neck, before travelling back down; smudges of red and white trailed wherever his fingers moved.

House's mouth was wet and sweet; tasted like sugar and vodka and saliva, slippery but strong, opening and thrusting his tongue past Wilson's lips. Head spinning and spinning, Wilson wrapped his arms around House's chest and slid his knees up and squeezed; clutched at his back, blunt nails scratching and slipping across his skin while he took elusive sweetness from House's tongue to his own; finally closed his eyes and held on.

The harder he kissed, the faster the world spun and so Wilson clutched harder; House anchored him to earth, as long as he held to him then he wouldn't float away to space and lose himself to the instability and insanity of flinging Jell-O. It was okay as long as House was with him, wasn't it? He breathed through his nose; the scent of whipped cream and cherry and sugar and sweat was overpowering suddenly and he yanked his mouth away so he could gasp in breaths; House relocated his mouth to Wilson's throat and nipped and sucked and groaned, the sound shooting straight to Wilson's stomach and making his heart patter insanely behind his ribcage.

As hard as he tried to grab onto House's back the wetness of the Jell-O made it difficult. House's warm tongue laved and licked his adam's apple, and then towards his chin; nipping at it before attacking his mouth again, clutching at Wilson's shoulders before pulling his lips away and kissing the top of his chest, licking and sucking.

He was laving his navel before Wilson grabbed at his head and ended up slapping his ear accidentally. "Not really a masochist Jimmy," House grunted before fiddling with the button of his pants.

"House," he slurred, dizzy and sucking in breath after breath.

". . . your button's slippery . . ."

The ceiling twirled above him and he chuckled, reaching for House's head again but he ended up sliding his fingers through his thinning hair, chunks of Jell-O sliding across his knuckles. "House," he repeated just as the button slid free and the zzzzzzt of his zipper followed.

"Shh, you're distracting me," he hushed as he tugged his pants haphazardly down his legs. Wilson snorted when House threw them over his shoulder and lost his balance momentarily and swung his arm out to stop himself from falling.

House bent down and started wetly mouthing just under Wilson's navel; his dry legs felt cold when they touched the Jell-O covered floor and the warmth of House's tongue only made it more noticeable. The skin on his legs prickled with goosebumps and a chill went up his spine.

"House." He lifted his head up and stared at the top of House's head; at the bald spot he didn't normally see because House was taller than him.

"What?" he snapped as he pulled away from Wilson; a sucking noise echoing around the castle when he pulled his mouth away from his skin.

Wilson plopped his head back to the ground and bounced. "I can't . . ." He closed his eyes and gestured vaguely. ". . . I had too much to drink."

Even drunk he could still feel the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks; squeezed his eyes shut tighter until little bursts of colour bloomed in the black; bright red fireworks burst when he opened his eyes because of how tightly he'd shut them; they looked like the stains on House's chest.

"Sorry," he muttered when House didn't say anything.

House just laughed and crawled up his body. "S'okay," he slurred, then plundered his mouth again; this, Wilson could do. He massaged House's tongue with his own; it was still too new for him to anticipate the sounds House made; the way his tongue delved and probed; how perfectly he fit against his body and how strong his scent was.

He held House's face and forced him away from his mouth. "You don't mind?"

"Not the only one with whiskey dick in the room, Wilson," he stated before licking his mouth open again; undulating against him so their chests stuck and slipped together. House's jeans were rough against his inner thighs but he didn't mind.

He figured out House was talking about himself a few moments later than he really ought to have and then realized House had been about to give him head without any possible way of receiving.

There was too much tongue and moaning; House moving against him and clutching at random parts of his body, and Wilson's head was spinning, so he pulled House away and gasped. "It's too much, House, my head's spinning."

House moved and put his hands on either side of his head and pushed upward; his hands slipped and he crashed onto Wilson's chest again. Wilson wrapped his arms around him and turned so that they were both on their sides. "Didn't say for you to stop," he murmured, the haze drifting over him like a heavy fog. "Just . . . Slower."

The slip of their mouths opening against each other tingled; sent shivers through his bones and his skin tingled and stuck to House's; he twisted and they unstuck and House pulled away to laugh before leaning in and caressing his mouth again; warm tongue slipping past his teeth and coaxing Wilson's to play.

House wrapped his arms around Wilson too and pulled his lips free and pressed them to his cheek, humming before flicking his tongue against his jaw line and suckling gently at the fleshy part of his throat. Wilson turned his head and nibbled at his ear; licked free some whipped cream and chuckled when House did the same.

He pulled away and stared at Wilson; Wilson stared back. The world still tilted and spun and jerked underneath him, but he was holding onto House and maybe House was holding onto him just as much. Maybe they were the only thing keeping each other anchored.

"House . . . Can we do this when we're sober too?" he couldn't help but ask drearily, eyes drifting closed.

"Iunno, can you?"

Wilson snorted. "Fine. May. May we-"

House cut him off with a brief press of lips. "Shh."

Wilson shut up but gazed at House for a few minutes; met his intense eyes until his eyes shut against his will and he drifted off to black.


When House awoke, he was alone.

He panicked for a moment and didn't know where he was, but knew that someone-namely, Wilson-should've been there beside him but wasn't. He was on his back, arm outstretched as if someone either had been sleeping on it or he was expecting someone to be, and staring at a ceiling of plastic. He knew that it shouldn't have been dark, he'd gone to sleep with the living room lights on, but it was; he had a vague memory of Wilson muttering about it being too bright and wrapping his elbow over his closed eyes, and that he'd agreed so he'd crawled out and turned off the lights before crawling back in to plop beside him.

It was that memory that unlocked everything; image after image slid into focus and he groaned, head buzzing and heavy with alcohol still so that he couldn't stop them although he tried; it was more painful waking up alone knowing what had happened than if he'd just forgotten. It wasn't that he regretted anything and it was possible that when he sobered up the memories would fade, but now they were as clear as day.

Torn between wanting to forget and wanting to hold onto every last minute obsessively, they flashed through his mind again; playing I Never with Wilson, the questions getting more and more personal and finally ending it with admitting he'd had sex with men before and sliding a Jell-O shot into his mouth; bouncing crazily and chucking the Jell-O he'd intended to eat at Wilson, who'd reciprocated; fireworks of red spider-webbing across Wilson's torso and face before he slipped out of his shirt to escape Wilson's clutches and feeling the cool thwack of being assaulted repeatedly.

Chuckles bubbled out at the memories of them hurling bomb after bomb at each other, laughing insanely, mixed in with thoughts of him wanting to lick and suck every last bit of dessert off Wilson's chest, partly out of sexual want but also because he liked Jell-O and he hadintended on eating it. Finally, memories of him attacking Wilson's mouth with his own; kissing and nipping and licking him, so vivid and intense in his mind he knew it couldn't be a dream although the very fact it had happened made him wonder if it could've been.

Wiping at his face and regretting it when his hand stuck to his cheekbone, he cleared his throat and blinked; although he definitely wasn't sober, it was nothing compared to the drunkenness of last night. His throat was a little sore when he swallowed, dry and burning the slightest bit from the vodka, and were it not for the slowed responses and dullness of being drunk, he probably would've been too crushed to function or too angry. Instead, the fact he was upset only niggled in the back of his mind like a conditioned response to a half-forgotten memory, and he kept blinking, waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark but he couldn't.

He remembered Wilson's phone going off in his dream, but couldn't remember if it was real or not; didn't know if he'd invented it out of want for there to be a reason for Wilson to have disappeared or if the hospital had called him in and Wilson had hastily left, which was ridiculous considering that if House was still drunk then Wilson had to have been as well, and getting into a car and performing any sort of job would've been irresponsible.

And maybe Wilson wasn't gone; maybe he'd just rolled away from him. It was stupid to think that, since the floor was sensitive enough that he would've been able to tell if anyone was in the castle with him, but he patted his pockets and pulled the phone from his sticky pants and used it for a light; cast the already-blue castle in a somewhat unearthly glow of white-blue; saw the cluttered, sticky, disgusting mess they'd made and snorted, then settled on the fact Wilson's pants were strewn near the entrance.

He remembered whipping them over his head after fumbling with his button; the way Wilson's breath felt against his cheek and how it had felt to have him moan deep into his mouth, reverberating through his chest and his slick fingers scrabbling for purchase against his back.

Sighing, and deciding that if Wilson wasn't going to sleep beside him then there was no reason for him to be in the castle, he moved to sit up. His back stung when his skin ripped free from being stuck to the floor and he hissed in pain; it was like bare skin on leather on a hot summer day and he wrenched himself upward, figuring it would be like a Band-Aid-the faster, the better.

The sudden and searing pain that ripped through his thigh was worse than his skin pulling free; he cried out and fell to his back, clutching at his scar. He regretted spending last night overtaxing his thigh with running and jumping and tackling Wilson and he couldn't even pretend he hadn't known this would be the result. He'd figured it would all be worth it though; had assumed that even if Wilson didn't get the hint that they should bone extravagantly in a castle, that maybe they'd still have ridiculous amounts of fun and since they both had Christmas off, he could spend the day nursing it with macadamia nut pancakes.

However if Wilson had run off when he woke up, then it wasn't worth any of it.

Then again, Wilson wasn't going anywhere without his pants. (Well, not quite true, he had wandered the streets looking for the apartment he'd just left pants-less, so it wasn't completely out of the question).

His thigh throbbed and stabbed with agony so he began a new text; he was grunting and hissing loudly in pain and didn't want Wilson to hear that, nor return purely out of concern for his thigh. If Wilson came back, it had to be because he wanted to for reasons other than pity.

Please bring me a paper towel asap. I was drinking wine in bed and spilt some on my chest.. and I cautiously guided it into my belly button but now I don't know what to do.

He stared at the text, biting down on his bottom lip partially in thought but partially in pain, and then hit send, dropping it so he could clutch his thigh.

He hissed, squeezed his eyes, and-

"Suck mah dick, suck mah motherfucking dick!"

His eyes snapped open as the techno-beat looped, the outrageously offensive words coming from somewhere in the apartment. The text-tone stopped earlier than it should've, which meant someone-Wilson, obviously-had answered it.

Wilson hadn't left? Then where was he?

Sexy Back blasted by his ear suddenly and he jumped, scrabbling for the phone. He heard Wilson laugh and he knew where it was coming from; the bathroom. House would've smiled if he wasn't in so much pain and read the text.

kk

House snorted then shut the phone, rubbing at his jean-clad thigh.

He could hear movement throughout the apartment; Wilson running into things and he wouldn't deny that if he'd attempted walking he would've run into objects too.

It was too dark to see properly, but Wilson popped into the castle and walked gingerly towards House, the floor dipping and tilting with his movements. Although it was dark, his eyes had adjusted enough for him to see that Wilson was still only wearing boxers and although the smudges looked dark grey instead of red against his skin, he was clearly a mess just as House was.

Wilson knelt beside House, dropping a few things beside the phone. "Heyyy." His greeting was barely above a whisper and he grabbed House's hand from his scar; held it in his own, palms wet with water but sticky at the same time.

Wilson's blurry half-silhouette filled his vision and this time, he smiled through the ache. "Hey," House responded just as quietly.

Wilson pulled his hands free and pushed a bottle of water into his hand before busying himself with House's button to his pants. House popped open the tab to the lid and lifted his head enough to properly suck the cold water out; he hadn't realized how parched he was until its silky, smooth chill slid down his throat and filled each crack with perfection. He sucked and swallowed until his stomach started to protest and he used his chin to push the tab closed, all the while lift his behind and moving his legs to help Wilson, who was delicately removing his pants.

He didn't have any problems until the cuff bunched around the ankle monitor. House closed his eyes and let the world drift and spin and leg throb while Wilson worked it out for himself; his fingers tripped clumsily over themselves across his ankle and feet trying to tug it free without jostling him too much. House simply pushed the heel of his hand against his scar and rubbed, easing the ache.

Finally his pants were free and Wilson tossed them somewhere; the phalpt of it hitting the ground somewhere made House half-chuckle. It was an odd sound.

He opened his eyes and watched Wilson squirt some lotion into the palm of his hand before rubbing his hands together; the slicking suction noises the action made were familiar and he remembered when he refused to let anyone but Wilson near his thigh to massage it; remembered the time he'd clearly gotten an erection and they'd both dutifully ignored it. Wondered if this would be the same.

"How'd you know?" he asked when his cool hands slid across his skin; it was uncomfortable for only a second.

"Like you'd care about spilling wine. Plus, s'total mess already."

House hummed to show he'd heard but did nothing else; just stared at what he could see of Wilson's face, which wasn't much. Too drunk to see properly already, plus it was dark, but he'd take what he could get. Wilson knew where to knead and where to push; how hard and soft and where he needed. The floor rocking beneath him in time with Wilson's ministrations relaxed him; vision teetered rhythmically, too.

"What's with the new tones, House?" House shrugged as he chuckled. "Now c'mon, answered your question. Your turn."

"It's hints," he garbled, muscle twitching and stinging beneath Wilson's palms; he hissed and Wilson shifted his weight.

Wilson pulled his hands away and House whined; Wilson tsked before squirting more lotion to his palm and kneading it into his skin. "For what you want for Christmas?" House didn't say anything because admitting to it was still difficult, even with alcohol coursing through his veins and muddling his brain. Not that it really mattered, as he'd attacked his mouth and tried to suck him off a few hours ago. Wilson made a noise; it was a happy-sounding noise, so House didn't worry too much about it. "It's just like you to want to embarrass me at Blockbuster for a present," he muttered a bit too casually.

"You're over pronouncing again," House chastised. He grunted and clenched his teeth when his scar burned. "Where were you?"

"Mom called to wish me a merry Christmas. Then I peed." He massaged the tense muscles around the scar. "I was only gone for two minutes."

It must've been Wilson leaving that had caused him to wake. Even drunk, Wilson knew that he must've worried if he'd asked and that he really hadn't spilled wine all over his chest. Despite the fact they'd made out covered in Jell-O, he still didn't mind; still came to his side when asked.

The pain had ebbed to a tolerable point but House didn't say anything to let Wilson know he could stop. The fact his fingers danced along the inside of his thighs, rubbing the ends of his boxers, caused a familiar pull in his lower stomach to stir. Wilson's surprisingly rough hands stopped kneading and simply massaged; fingers sneakily pushing the boxers higher and caressing his inner thighs for absolutely no reason.

Wilson cleared his throat and shifted his weight again; the floor moved too and House spread his legs to give him better access if he wanted; he thought of the grunts Wilson had made underneath him and how his lips had tasted; how willingly he'd allowed his tongue entrance and how he'd asked if they could kiss sober.

He was hardening, but not at the point where he would have to do something about it; he could will it down, if he wanted. Wilson would probably notice too, considering his hands were sliding up his thigh and scratching lightly at the sensitive skin there.

House bucked his hips and Wilson pulled his hands out of his boxers and stared at him; his eyes had adjusted enough to see that. He rested his hand lightly on the lower part of House's stomach; stroked his fingers as one would absently pet a cat and let out a huff of air. "House."

"What?"

"Do you . . . Last night. Earlier. Um. Do you . . . remember?"

House put his hand over Wilson's and swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd been plastered enough earlier where he very easily could've forgotten; it was a fifty percent chance at that level of drunkenness that he'd forget. He hadn't, and clearly neither had Wilson. The memories were more like highly-coloured dreams, but he knew they were real; the taste of Wilson and how he'd felt writhing beneath him was too specific to be anything else.

Although he was drunk, his mind was clearer than before; enough that he could understand the implications, even though he cared a hell of a lot less than he normally would have. Instead of answering him, he pushed Wilson's hands into his boxers and swallowed loudly-loud enough he wondered if Wilson had heard-and his fingers curled around House's shaft and pumped.

Wilson moved around on his knees and bent over, pressing his lips to his softly; stroking him lightly and slowly.

He'd only been semi-erect, but with each twist of Wilson's palm more blood rushed southward; his dick hardened more. Wilson's lips were as gentle as his hands had been against his ripped-apart muscle; coaxing his mouth open and flicked his tongue to his bottom lip; brought it in and nibbled, sucked, kissed.

House lifted his hands and planted them above Wilson's ears; pulled him closer and thrust his hips upward again, grunting when Wilson gave him a tentative squeeze.

The mixture of alcohol and kissing Wilson and getting a hand job made it more difficult to think clearly; to feel anything but the dazed rush of dizziness as Wilson sped up the rhythm; pushed his tongue further and shoved his boxers down, enough for his cock to be in the open air.

Wilson turned his head to deepen the kiss and House wrapped his arm around the back of Wilson's neck. He thrust his hips harder into Wilson's palm, who tightened his grip and twisted near the head before pulling his hand away. House voiced his displeasure by grunting and biting Wilson's lip; Wilson simply responded by whisking House's boxers off as quickly as he could (and clumsily, too) then swinging his leg over House's body so that he straddled him; thrust downward to grind their cocks together and House clutched at his shoulders; without the slippery Jell-O he could actually hold onto him. The fabric of Wilson's boxers rubbed against his inner thigh and cock, sending sparks of pleasure through him with each thrust.

Before their kiss had been frantic and demanding and hasty; he'd pounced impulsively without any thought of repercussions and when Wilson had responded, he'd worried that it was the last possible chance he'd ever have. Now though, he let Wilson set the speed; let Wilson take control. It was nice not to have to be the one making all the decisions constantly; nice to know that Wilson wanted it as much as he did; enough to take the reins.

He gripped Wilson's ass and squeezed; forced their pelvises together. Wilson pulled away to breathe, then started kissing down his chest; licking the dried bits of Jell-O and biting at his skin.

If he'd been sober he would've been embarrassed at the noises he was making; Wilson only made it worse by encouraging him with mirrored grunts and moans. He sucked and licked and kissed down his chest, House's cock slipping across Wilson's torso; resting against his collarbone while he rolled the skin beside his pelvis between his teeth; laved it with his tongue and gasped against his wet skin.

He lifted his head up enough to see Wilson grab his cock and start pumping away; lick from shaft to tip and flick the tip; swirl his tongue around the head and stroke the shaft firmly with his hand; tease the underside with little flicks of his tongue.

He stared as Wilson finally enveloped his cock; saw his mouth slide downward and suck back upward; hollow out his cheeks and go back down again, tongue swirling and licking and House dropped his head back to the floor; thrust up and grunted when Wilson didn't resist; kept stroking and sucking and humming; the vibrations zoomed through his cock and into his abdomen; heart thudded against his ribcage like a prisoner banging his way to freedom and he scrabbled at the ground; scratched at the dried bits of Jell-O and kept thrusting his hips upward; wanting to be deeper, feel the hot wetness all over him, surrounding him; faster, harder-

He was vaguely aware of issuing commands; begging; crying out and he lifted his head again to see Wilson's hand stuffed in his boxers, pulling at his own dick in tandem with House's and moaning around his cock; House plopped his head back down against the floor and the waves of it bounced underneath him.

The wet plop pulled House out of his haze of pleasure; whined a bit when Wilson rolled away and instead started jerking himself; felt too good to stop and Wilson's boxers flew; landed on House's shoulder and he pushed them away with his free hand.

Wilson batted away House's hand; replaced it with his own, slicking lotion up and down quickly, the silky smooth feel of it gliding over his cock; shooting heat and shocks up his spine and he hissed and grunted in anticipation when Wilson swung his legs over his waist again.

He steadied himself so he wasn't bucking wildly; bit down on his lip at the image of Wilson above him, panting and grunting and holding House's cock, guiding it into himself.

He pushed past the first ring of muscle and cried out; clenched his hands into a fist and tilted his head back when Wilson sunk all the way down, tight warmth surrounding him. He pulled up again, slowly, drawing it out; muscles contracting until they just surrounded the head before sinking down again. Wilson let out a long cry, the sound of it echoing back at him as he pulled up again, and thrust downward; harder than before and he swore loudly; grabbed himself and started stroking before sliding up and slamming back down.

The floor bounced; forced House upward when Wilson rocked up as well; slamming him deeper than he'd expected when Wilson impaled himself on his cock, harder and harder, and House bucked; clutched at his hips and forced him downward while Wilson kept rocking and sliding up and down; knees pushing at the ground and it rebounding; forcing House up into him, pushing into him; harder and faster into him; nails digging into his hips while he swore and yelled and thrashed his head back and forth.

Wilson's hand was blur on his own cock, letting out a surprised yelp almost every time House was inadvertently pulled deeper into him; shoved harder by the ground beneath him, Wilson's knees squeezing and shoving against the unstable floor; forcing it to bounce them higher.

By thrusting his waist into Wilson he also forced them higher; split seconds of time in air; nothing beneath his back. Flying, freedom, if only for snippets so brief he might not have noticed and could have imagined it.

Harder and faster and louder until he was sure they were airborne just for a moment; Wilson leaned forward a bit, probably for balance, hand speeding up and blurring; House babbled and felt tears in his eyes, fiery heat and pleasure spreading, blooming in his chest; pounding through his heart, swimming through his veins, bursting into an explosion of bright white pleasure; erupting forth, shouting out, and Wilson kept riding; rode out his orgasm, pinpricks of colours and spiky bliss splintering across his skin.

He gulped in breaths, images flashing in front of him; mind connecting small bits of information, as much as he could focus on; Wilson riding him until his penis softened too much for insertion; Wilson lifting himself off of House's cock and squeezing the head of his cock, blurring over the shaft and thrusting into his own palm.

Tiredly, impulsively, drunkenly, House knocked Wilson's hand away and pumped it for him; impossibly hard, wet from pre-ejaculate, he stroked and stroked; watched Wilson's face, eyes closed and mouth open, chest heaving out vowel sounds until he slammed his hands down on the floor on either side of House's head; yelled out and thrust forward, coming all over his chest; spurting across his abdomen in long, thin ropes; grunting and whimpering and sighing.

His elbows gave out and he fell to House's chest; House reached up and stroked his filthy hair with his clean hand, not that it mattered since it was clogged with Jell-O, sticky and dry and clumpy.

Wilson breathed as heavily as House did and their chests pushed together.

Head spinning, a faint grey light filtering in through the net, Wilson pulled away and stared down at him; his pupils were blown and he could see that perfectly. Wilson tilted his head and furrowed his brows, as if he didn't recognize House and maybe he didn't; this was a completely new angle and neither of them were sober enough to really keep up with the new information.

Wilson touched the tips of his shaking fingers to House's brows, then slid them down his face; flicking at his lip and dragging across his cheek. A somehow pleasant ache zoomed through his chest and he couldn't pinpoint why.

Wilson merely smiled and rolled off his chest. He plucked the boxers House had pushed off his shoulder and used it to wipe the semen from their chests and hands before tossing it aside.

Whoever curled up against the other first didn't really matter, because in the end they were so tangled up in each other, naked and smiling and kissing each other lazily, that by the time House felt himself drift off he could hardly remember their names.


This time when he woke up, angry hammers tried to pry their way out from his skull; tore apart and pounded against his brain. His throat ached and burnt as if someone had stuffed flaming balls of cotton forcibly down his throat and then smacked him in the face a few times for good measure.

Stomach roiling, he forced himself into a sitting position. His leg protested and head inflated four times its size before shrinking. Vision slightly blurred, and sun far too bright, he crawled over to the entrance; dribbles of Jell-O and smudges of juice stained every inch of the floor of the castle; his shirt, pants, and boxers were sticky with the Jell-O (and semen as well for the boxers) and whipped cream stuck to various parts of the netting, crimson strings hanging precariously from them.

His skin stung while it pulled away from the castle floor; his body was stained as horribly as the castle itself was and with half-closed eyes, he crawled to the entrance and fell out face first, a bottle of wine clunking along the floor and Wilson's atrocious sweater wrapping itself around his head.

He staggered nakedly to his feet and grunted in pain; the stability of the floor, the reassurance that it was stationary, was somewhat disorienting after spending all night bouncing back and forth every time he moved. Despite being a little strange, though, it was actually comforting, and he stumbled to the bathroom, rubbing his thigh while he peered around at his apartment.

He shoved open the door and pulled himself to the shower; plopped in the shower chair and let the hot, steaming water rain over him; lazily scrubbed every last part of his body, aware of the lingering scent of shampoo that wasn't his and vaguely remembering one towel missing from the rack. Clearly Wilson had showered and that he was glad of; the castle smelled disgusting and he could hardly stand it on himself; Wilson, who was by nature far cleaner, probably had wept uncontrollably in the corner while scrubbing himself down with a Brillo pad.

Despite the fact he very easily could've stayed in there for days, eventually the water ran cold so he turned it off and stepped out, drying himself off with the towel Wilson had left behind and slipping into an old robe.

Using his hand to block out the light that remained although everything was turned off, he followed the sounds of sizzling into the kitchen. Wilson was wearing the other robe, one that House hadn't worn for years because he preferred the blue one, but the white didn't look too bad on Wilson. It didn't fit him quite right, but it was nice to see him in the kitchen, cooking at the stove as casually as he always had; as if they hadn't had mind-blowing, fast sex in a bouncy castle bathed in Jell-O.

Wilson glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Hey," he rasped and blinked sluggishly.

"I hate you," he whined, going over to the table and sitting at it; grabbing a pancake that had been cooked and dropping it on his plate.

Wilson walked over to the table and used the spatula to slide bacon onto House's plate. "And why is that?"

"I've gotta blame someone for this hangover."

Wilson walked over to the sink and put the plate in it. "Right, because I'm the one who forced you to buy all the alcohol and drink it." He was hardly talking louder than a whisper, but was loud enough to be heard. "Besides, I thought we had a good time?" He turned back around and made his way towards House; brows raised questioningly.

House shrugged. "Yeah, it was okay."

Wilson stopped in front of him and ran his hand through his damp hair. "Okay enough to . . . do it more often?"

House smiled. "Maybe. Less alcohol next time."

"Or none at all," Wilson added, sliding his fingers through his hair again; tracing his cheek before leaning down and kissing him; pressing their lips together softly before pulling away and going over to his side of the table.

House watched; couldn't tear his focus from him as he pulled a pancake to his plate and started cutting it with his fork. Although his head and leg ached and eyes burned at the very existence of light, something else bloomed in his chest; something far less painful. Staring at Wilson in a robe that fit him awkwardly, a soft smile on his face and eating pancake he'd made the night after riding him like a stallion, filled him with a sense of something not unlike domestic bliss.

"Hey, you know that ring tone I assigned you?"

Wilson looked at him and finished chewing. "Which one now?"

"The Mariah Carey one. What's the song called again?"

"All I Want For Christmas is You," Wilson answered habitually. House waited for it to click, and was rewarded a second later when Wilson chuckled and blushed; looked down at his plate and poked at his pancakes idly.

House was grinning hard enough for his cheeks to hurt but he didn't mind; it was okay because Wilson wasn't looking anyway.

"Hey Wilson?"

"Hmm?"

House shifted in his seat. "A PlayStation 3 would be nice, too."


This was part of the Texts From Last Night prompt challenge, although I've posted it fashionably late-sorry about that.

Sorry I haven't written any fic for so long, but I figured now was the time to get back on the fic horse. You can follow me on twitter or like me on facebook (just search for vampmissedith) if you want.

The texts were:

"Change of plans. There's a bouncy castle set up in my apartment."

"Please bring me a paper towel asap. I was drinking wine in bed and spilt some on my chest.. and I cautiously guided it into my belly button but now I don't know what to do."

Text/ring tones lyrics were: Suck My Dick by Dickheadz, All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey, and Relight My Fire by Take That.