A/N: No, you're not allowed to hold this piece of.. whatever against me. Went out with my former classmates to celebrate our gradutation (for the fourth time, I might add!), and drank so much I don't even remember what. But I can carry on an entire conversation without anybody noticing I'm totally wasted, so why not write? Grin. And... sorry.
Disclaimer: If I felt like taking them, I would... but I just don't care, because I'm not the one who would be held responsible since I don't own House.
A/N #2: I don't think this makes sense! Feel free to disagree with me though.
Safe
If Wilson was a betting man, he'd wager any amount of money that House has never been one to put safety first without reminder. No, honestly – for a doctor, the guy surely lacks even the smallest ounce of common sense every other human being might possess.
But considering the caution House is showing now, Wilson surely would loose the bet and his well-earned money.
House is seated in the back corner, far away from the bar and every action that might occur. His glass doesn't hold the usual scotch. He barely acknowledges Wilson as he slips into the booth besides him, only giving a tired, lopsided smile.
Wilson doesn't mind silence, but it's unnerving now.
"What are you having?"
"Tea."
"Really?"
"No, jackass. I was only saying that to impress you."
"Were you?"
"No."
Wilson blinks. With House, you can't be completely sure of anything, and he knows that, but James can't help thinking something's amiss.
"You okay?"
His question is met with a ungraceful snort, and Wilson decides it's time to take matters into his own hands. He's tired of sitting around and doing nothing, tired of watching his friend – his best friend – throwing away his life. He's tired of pretending it doesn't hurt him.
With a sigh, he stands up, offering his hand to House.
"Come on. Let's blow this joint."
It takes House only a few seconds to respond.
"You are such a girl."
"Am not."
"Am too!"
"Am not. You want to see the prove of that?"
Finally, House takes Wilson's hand, for everybody to see. He never let's go of it, follows Wilson instead, still holding onto the oncologists warm fingers for dear life. But he doesn't smile.
"Hmm... you weren't having tea," Wilson comes to decide as his tongue tastes the mixture of scotch, vanilla and something else he can't identify on the other man's lips.
It's not beyond House to agree, but he opts for tugging Wilson's shirt up instead, his own tongue teasingly flicking out to swirl around a hardened nipple, his hands continuing their journey downwards to the bulge in Wilson's pants. Wilson moans, the sensation on his chest and the feeling of House' fingers on his length nearly his undoing, but he holds back, not yet ready to give in into sweet surrender.
"House..."
But House doesn't stop. He's now busy with Wilson's pants, slipping them down to his ankles along with his boxers.
And when House' hand is suddenly cupping his erection, Wilson's heart feels like it might explode with happiness ... right there.
Maybe, Wilson decides, maybe following House into bars late at night has some merit after all. It's certainly worth it.