Sorry for the delay, but some ectic months coupled with my muse going to other stories (that is my A new start series) had prevented me from writing this story properly. I'm going to finish it, although it can take me a lot of time. Well, this leads me to my other concern. I'm not sure what to do with the next chapter, we can have the story progressing or we can have another smut chapter, but that's up to you. That means that if you want it, you'll have to review and tell me so. If not, chapter 7 was all the smut you'll get in this story.

As always, I thank my beta TrenchcoatsAreSexy for her great help and support. And any remaining mistakes are my fault, not hers.

Chapter 8

Wilson woke up to the sound of the organ being played in the living room. He kept quiet for a minute, listening to the song. It was a beautiful, but sad piece.

God, he loved when House played. He enjoyed looking at his long fingers, deftly touching the keys to produce wonderful songs... Memories of the past night flooded back to him: how those same fingers had caressed him, how they had made him moan and writhe.

At those thoughts, he felt the beginning of arousal that was immediately dampened when he realized that this could be the last time he saw him playing music.

He got up from the bed and quietly went to the living room.

When he got there, House had started to play another song, and Wilson was startled when he heard his friend singing quietly. House playing was not unusual, but him singing was a rarity.

Wilson smiled upon hearing the first verses of the song. It fit his friend so well, the verse where he sang 'talk don't bother me'. Of course not. House had never seemed bothered by what people could think or say about him.

However, his mood got somber when he heard the part that said 'I'm gonna keep on loving you till the day that I die'. Honestly, he would have preferred a song where death was not mentioned. He kept listening, though, and, then again, he smiled at some other verses. He couldn't stop a big smile from flickering across his lips when he heard that one about gossip. It reminded him what his friend had said the day before, about the Hospital being full of gossipers.

House kept playing and singing oblivious to his friend's presence. Wilson wondered if House was thinking about them while singing that song. He hoped he was, for it made his heart swell up with love for this man.

House ended that song and when, after a few silent seconds, Wilson thought his friend was done with playing the organ and singing, House started anew.

After hearing the beginning of the song, Wilson's mood became darker. House was singing about someone leaving him, someone whom he had long loved. The oncologist realized that his friend couldn't be talking about him, could he? Because he had never left House; they had just started their relationship. So, to the oncologist, it was obvious who his friend was thinking about: Cuddy. That hurt. A lot. He felt jealousy washing over him.

Although Wilson understood that, because of his illness, House could be compelled to reassess his life, he felt that the diagnostician should have left the assessment of that specific period of time for any other moment. After what had transpired between them a few hours before, shouldn't House be thinking about them, not about Cuddy?

Wilson realized he had been holding his breath and couldn't help but exhaling sharply the air in his lungs. The resultant noise halted the organ being played by House.

After an awkward silence in which neither of them moved or said anything, House shifted in the bench. He was annoyed at being caught in an emotional state, even if the person in question was his lover.

"Don't you know it's rude to spy on other people?" House said in a tight voice, without looking at the younger man.

"If you didn't sing at four in the morning, maybe I wouldn't be up here," Wilson snapped.

House turned around to look at Wilson with surprise in his voice and on his face. "You had long stopped complaining about me playing in the middle of the night."

Wilson wanted to shout at him that, those other times he hadn't complained, House hadn't started to sing thinking about a former girlfriend just after they had made love. Wilson restrained himself. Perhaps, House was confused about what had happened between them that night, as much as that thought could hurt the oncologist. Or, perhaps, he needed to say goodbye to Cuddy before… No, the ending of that thought hurt even more than the previous one. Wilson sighed.

"I can call her. I'm sure she would come when I told her about your illness," he said, bitterness clearly drawn in his voice.

House looked at Wilson bewildered for a few seconds and, then, his jaw tensed.

"I didn't want her pity before. Sure as hell that I don't want it now," House said angrily.

"Her pity?" It was Wilson's turn to be bewildered. "I'm sure that whatever she could feel for you right now is not pity. Not after what you did to her home."

"Her home…? Shit… you were talking about Cuddy, not Stacy." House looked at Wilson as if he had grown two heads. "What made you think about me wanting to see Cuddy? However, it wouldn't matter. Even if I wanted to see her again, she wouldn't. In fact, I'm quite sure she won't come to my funeral, either. I know I wouldn't if I was her." He couldn't avoid the sadness that imbued his words. He could be in love with Wilson, but he still loved Cuddy as a very good friend, and he regretted that his actions had cost him her friendship.

"So, you weren't thinking about Cuddy when singing, but Stacy?" Wilson felt even worse than before, because things with Cuddy were irreparably broken, but, with Stacy, it could still be hope for House. Even if she was still married.

"What the hell…? Are you mad? Of course I wasn't thinking about Cuddy. And, even less, I was thinking about Stacy… Why…?" House stopped talking and stared at his friend intently. He saw the emotions playing clearly in his face: love, hurt, jealousy and pain. So, Wilson had thought he had been thinking about his past lovers and had felt betrayed. That was why Wilson had snapped at him before. He saw that his friend was going to talk again and cut him off before he could start. "And, if you, even remotely, suggest that I could have been thinking about Cameron, I'll castrate you." His voice, however, lacked of any threat, and he was smiling.

"But… but… who, then?" Wilson was so astonished that he couldn't think or talk properly.

"You're being annoyingly dense tonight, aren't you?" House tried to show annoyance, but failed completely.

He was amused instead. But, above everything else, he had felt loved when he had witnessed the jealousy his actual lover had displayed at the thought of him thinking about past lovers. He suddenly felt the urge to kiss Wilson. To dissolve with that kiss any doubt his friend could have about the owner of his affection. He restrained himself. Wilson could take the kissing as a distraction, as a way to avoid discussing this, instead of as a way to prove him who he was in love with. He wasn't going to allow any other misinterpretation of his actions, especially, not tonight.

"Take a chair and sit right here next to me," House said, with a smile shining in his face.

When Wilson did as he had been told, House started playing and singing again without moving his gaze from Wilson's.

"Just let them talk, if they want to. Talk don't bother me, I'm gonna keep on, I'm gonna keep on loving you, till the day…" House couldn't keep singing because there were lips over his own and a tongue was in his mouth, claiming it.

The song forgotten, House's hands clasped on Wilson's hair and neck. Wilson's arms were circling his waist and they kissed passionately till they had to part breathless. They were both reluctant to lose the contact, so they kept embracing each other while their foreheads were pressed together.

"But I… I don't understand it…" Wilson whispered breathless. "The other song… you talk about someone leaving you… we've just started this relationship… so, I haven't left you." House backed a little without breaking the embrace, so he could look at his friend's eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Wilson. The fact that we have just had sex doesn't mean that I haven't been interested in you for a long time before. And yes, you left me once. In fact, twice if we count the time I was in prison and you didn't visit me," House explained softly, without any blame in his voice, just a statement of facts.

"That other time… do you refer to Mayfield? I didn't visit you there because you asked me not to." Wilson said half-puzzled. Even while he was speaking, he knew that his friend was not talking about that. However, he didn't allow himself to think about a past too painful that made the present even more terrible.

"Definitely dense tonight, Jimmy." House looked a bit exasperated now. "I'm not talking about that. I know as well as you do that it was my decision about you not visiting me in there. I'm…" he faltered.

It had never been easy to talk to Wilson about Amber, but these days it was hard to talk about it without feeling guilty for making his friend going through the same road again, even if the culprit here was the cancer, not him. House's eyes were full of past hurt and his voice was above a whisper as if that could make more bearable to hurt his friend with his next words.

"I'm talking about a year before Mayfield. We were supposed to be best friends, but after I risked my life and my mind just because you asked me to, you told me that we weren't friends anymore... that you weren't sure we had ever been. Then you left the Hospital and… and me…" House had looked away while uttering those last two words, knowing too well that his eyes were giving away all the heartbreaking he had felt when Wilson had left him.

"I... I'm sorry, House." The oncologist felt so much guilt that he couldn't even look at his friend anymore. "I can't say that I didn't want to hurt you. That would be a lie and you know it. I was so lost, then. I wanted to blame someone, to make someone hurt as much as I was. And I targeted the person I loved the most, although I was in deep denial then. It was wrong for me saying those words. I'm sorry. I... I don't know what I can do to make it up for..." He shook his head. He had never realized how much pain he had caused to House until now, and he was at a loss about what he should do.

"You've made up for it, tonight," he answered with a sly smile, while looking again at his friend. Wilson's head leapt up on hearing those words and a small smile graced his lips. It faded as soon as he heard his lover's next quiet question. "Do you still blame me?"

The oncologist forced himself to keep his gaze locked with House's and answered with total honesty.

"I do." He could see the hurt that those two simple words had elicited in his friend. He tenderly took one of House's hands and said softly. "I blame you as much as I blame myself or Amber." He saw the surprise in House's eyes. "I blame Amber for not calling me after you called, for going to the bar herself or for going after you and getting into the bus. I blame myself for denying both of us our mutual feelings, for neglecting you and distancing myself from you when it was obvious that it was taking a toll on you." He gently kissed House's lips and when they parted he looked at his lover apologetically. "But most of all I blame myself for asking you to do the DBS and becoming estranged from you, afterwards. I... I'm not sure I would ever be able to forgive myself for asking you to risk your life -and your mind- like that."

"Forget it, Wilson. It was my decision to do it," House said, utterly serious. "I knew what I was getting into, what the risks were. I'm a doctor myself, remember?" he added with a smirk.

"But-" A mouth on his own prevented Wilson to keep talking.

"Don't, Wilson. It was my choice. I could have said no," House said sternly, after breaking the kiss.

"I should have never made you feel so guilty so you felt the need to risk your life like that." Wilson wouldn't let his lover give him areprieve for his sins.

"It wasn't guilt, Wilson," House stated firmly. Even if he had felt guilty about Amber's demise, it hadn't been that feeling what had driven him to accept the DBS. "Not even the puzzle."

"Why, then?" Wilson asked, puzzled. He didn't know what other reason the older doctor could have had for undergoing such a risky procedure.

House shrugged.

"You loved her. I wanted you to be happy," he simply explained.

Wilson looked surprised at his friend-turned-lover. Nobody would ever believe him if he told them that such a selfish creature could be, at the same time, so selfless. That House had been willing to risk not just his life, but his most valuable possession, his own mind, for his friend's happiness spoke volumes about the true nature of the man that lay below House's thick protective shields.

"At the time, I couldn't forgive you for surviving her," Wilson said, feeling that House's honest answer deserved an equally honest response. "Had you died while saving her, I wouldn't have been able to forgive her for surviving you. Nor me. Ever." Wilson's gaze was drawn to his hands in his lap, refusing to look at his lover.

House, however, was staring intensely at Wilson. He wasn't going to allow the oncologist to wallowing in self-loathing. He put his hand under Wilson's chin and softly, gently, he nudged him to force him to rise his gaze. House leaned towards the oncologist and featherly touched Wilson's lips with his own and, then, moved to caress Wilson's neck with his lips.

"Stop it, Wilson," House said, his lips forming the words almost on his lover's neck. "It... was... my... decision..." House remarked every word with a soft bite on the skin over the pulsating arteries of his neck. A moan escaped Wilson's throat. He tilted his head to give House better access. The diagnostician licked and sucked eagerly the neck that had been offered.

A low growl escaped Wilson's throat. He scooted closer to the other man, wanting to feel every possible inch of House's body against him. He moved from the chair to the stool, their bodies impossibly close. House kept sucking on that delectable neck.

"Harder, House," Wilson said with a rough voice. "Mark me."

"You sure?" House parted slightly, surprised at the request. Had he been asked, he would have answered that being marked with a hickey was something that his friend would never allow. But, here he was, begging him for just that.

Wilson kept their gazes locked while taking one of House's hands and dragging it to his hardened groin. The contact elicited a sharp intake of air by the younger man and an unidentified sound by his friend.

"You bet," Wilson answered with an even rougher voice.

House drew his gaze from Wilson's eyes to his neck and swallowed, suddenly, strangely overwhelmed by the request. To blemish such a beautiful skin with his mouth... He had had a sudden thought of not being the one worthy doing it.

He raised his hand and softly traced one finger on the spot he had been licking and sucking. A choked moan from the other man made him look at his friend's eyes again. The lust and raw desire he was seeing in those hazelnut eyes sent an energy jolt down his groin, and House felt himself hardening at once. All his doubts were erased instantly, and House found himself sucking hard on that perfect skin.

Then, it hit him: he was branding Wilson, marking him as his. Now, his lover would carry the proof for everybody to see it. It didn't matter to House that nobody would knew that he had been the one to do it, or that everybody thought that the culprit had been some woman. To him, it was enough that he and Wilson knew the truth. He would be willing to offer Wilson reciprocity if he asked for it. Although he didn't need to be branded. Everybody had known for a long time who he belonged to.

His desire for that man spiked, and he sucked even harder on his lover's neck, till he would have sworn that he had felt the blood vessels breaking. Wilson produced a small sound, half-hiss and half-grunt, a mix of pain and pleasure. Then, House eased the suction and gave a few soothing kisses to the sensitized skin. He ended his ministrations and searched for Wilson's mouth for a brief but passionate kiss, their mutual hunger for each other plainly evident.

"Oh, god, House," Wilson gasped when they parted the kiss.

Wanting, needing even more contact with his lover, Wilson stood up and straddled House, sitting on his lap but carefully avoiding to put any pressure on House's bad leg. As soon as he sat in House's lap, he realised what he wanted more than anything. He wanted to experience what House had a few hours before. He found that he didn't mind the initial pain, he wanted to feel House inside him, filling him, completing him. He fiercely kissed his lover, thrusting his hips against House and swallowing the groan the diagnostician made at such display of passion. When the oncologist parted the kiss, he looked intently at House with a fierce determination drawn in his blazing eyes.

"I want you to fuck me, House."

The response he got had nothing to do with what he had expected. House stilled and looked away, shaking his head.

"House?" Wilson was bewildered. What the hell had happened? What wrong thing had he said?

"I'm sorry Wilson. I don't think I could," House answered in a deflated whisper, still not meeting Wilson's eyes.