When the bus stopped at the stop a few blocks from Wilson's apartment, it was past midnight. Wilson stretched and stood up, glancing at House, who must have actually fallen asleep. He shook his shoulder, and House was awake and alert disturbingly quick. "We're at our stop," Wilson informed him as he gathered his surroundings. Wilson headed down the isle while House gingerly lifted his bad leg off the seat and onto the floor. Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped after Wilson. He barely made it down the stairs without his leg giving out from under him.
"We're four blocks from your apartment," House noted uneasily. Wilson shrugged it off, House gripped his cane a little tighter. His arm shook from the effort to hold himself standing, and Wilson calmly began walking in the direction of home. House watched him walk as the bus rolled away from the curb, he even entertained the idea of limping to the bench and sleeping there. Wilson suddenly turned around, shaking his head to himself as he came back to House's side.
"I thought I could bring Kyle back again," Wilson said regretfully, looping an arm around House's waste.
"I told you Kyle would ditch me, I like James better." Wilson half walked, half dragged House along beside him, listening to House's uneven breathing.
"Where's your Vicodin?" Before his face with death, Wilson would've never condoned House's addiction. He realized now that he never understood it.
House huffed, "I didn't get more after you so kindly ate the rest of my stash like candy." Wilson didn't answer as they shuffled up the stairs, House's knee giving out on the last one. Wilson followed their routine when this happened, he didn't make a big deal out of it and House struggled not to scream. Wilson found it ironic that he had cancer, and here he was, still taking care of someone else. He almost wanted to let go of House and let him fall back down the stairs. House gripped his shoulder, pulling himself upright. "Good thing you gave up being Kyle." Wilson frowned to himself, disgusted with his own thoughts. He may be dying, but House had been dead for awhile.
After five more minutes of struggling, they were in Wilson's apartment. House panting on the couch, Wilson pouring them liquor. He passed House his and dropped on the couch next to him, putting his feet up on the couch. They watched some old movie about the mob, and Wilson was sure to keep both of their glasses full.
By the end of the movie, both of their glasses were empty, and so was the bottle. "House?" He said lazily, blinking as the room swam. "I'm dying."
House tipped his head back and closed his eyes, "We all are." Wilson stared at him, attempting to read his expression in his drunken haze. He leaned closer to him, balancing himself on the back of the couch behind House's shoulder. House lifted his head with some effort, his breath wafting over Wilson's face.
"Will you miss me?" He meant it as a joke, but his voice broke. House nodded mutely, and next thing he knew his mouth was pressed against House's lips. Emotions swirled in his chest, and instead of crying, he dominated the kiss. Through the years, Wilson had always imagined House would be a rough, controlling kisser, but he was surprised to find that House did nothing to control or deepen the kiss. It only spurred him on more. He forced his tongue into the depth of House's mouth. When he got no rise from his friend, he bit down on House's lip, reaching to grip House's face tightly.
He pulled back, staring into House's unfocused eyes, and he made up his mind. He pulled his friend to his feet, ushering him to his bedroom and pushing him onto his bed. House made no noise, not even a sarcastic wise crack as Wilson stripped off his shirt and climbed onto the bed. Not even when he kissed him forcefully, knocking their teeth together. He wanted to stop and ask House if this was alright, he wanted to gently caress the face of the only person who stayed with him always.
Instead, he sunk his teeth into House's neck. He felt House swallow roughly, tilting his chin to give him better access. Wilson took that as silent agreement, and he bit down harder. Wilson couldn't have stopped now even if he wanted to. Hell, he was dying anyway, might as well finish his bucket list. Fuck House, that'd been on his list. He never actually expected to cross it off, but here he was. He'd be damned if he let the chance escape him now. He undid House's button up shirt, rubbing their bare chests together. House's chest was still very toned, considering he couldn't exercise much anymore.
Still, House was overbearingly silent. He needed to hear him, listen to him. He was a dying man, and he wanted someone else to feel it with him. He never pegged House for being a vocal man, but he would make it happen, he knew he could. Anger and some other irrational emotion bubbled in his chest and he growled in anger. He was dying, and he wanted House to beg him to stop. He went right for the button of House's jeans with one hand, undoing his own with the other. His eyes found Greg's, and he could see exactly what he was thinking. Understanding, uncertainty, and fear. He looked away just as he felt himself start to feel compassion for his friend. If Greg said something, anything, he knew his resolve would melt and he'd lay down and cry, yet the silence carried on.
Both pants came off, and Wilson came back up to be eye level with House's mangled thigh. His fingers brushed the skin, and the destroyed leg jumped. This would be what would get a noise from House, this would break the silence. His pointer finger felt every ridge of the scar. It was ugly, like something out of a horror movie. Red and permanently bruised; he'd never gotten a chance to look at it this close. It really was fascinating, and amazing he could walk at all. His fingers pushed a little, testing the sensitivity of the spot. "Please stop touching it," House's voice was dry, emotional. He was staring at his biggest weakest, and House couldn't trust him not to use it against him.
"It's okay," he reassured, and he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the deepest part of the hole. House couldn't stay still anymore, and his hands gripped Wilson's hair. Wilson couldn't scare him, even if Kyle would, and he kissed up Greg's boxers to the elastic, not hesitating to pull it down bellow his thighs.
"I didn't know you were so kinky, James." House laughed breathlessly, and Wilson kissed his chest again. Wilson had no reaction, except to bite his shoulder. That shut him up again, and he knew James meant business.
House's hand reached between them, gripping Wilson's dick firmly through his boxers, "I can't kneel or anything." It came out so quiet, House wasn't even sure Wilson heard. But he did, and it softened the cold rock in his chest, but he refused to break. He straddled House's chest, lowering his own boxers.
"I can work with it," he said indifferently. House's mouth was opened slightly and Wilson brought his cock closer to his face. He hesitated, giving Greg a chance to protest, but his eyes were focused on his target.
House's mouth was warm and wet, and he reached down to grab his long hair. It was wonderful, but the angle was too much for Greg, and he gagged. Wilson pulled back, sitting back on his heels to brush the tears from House's leaking eyes. "I'm sorry."
Wilson didn't respond, but he maneuvered himself down to settle between House's thighs. His one leg sat, useless, next to his; the other one was bent and resting against his hip. He leaned over to House's night stand, snatching the bottle of lube that he'd seen in there in the past. He coated his fingers like it was natural and eased them into House's tightened body. Eyes huge, House made a noise deep in his chest. He wondered if it felt good, but he bit his lip to keep from asking. It was awkward and tight, but Wilson kept going because House never said to stop. One finger turned to two, and three within five minutes. If it hurt, Greg made no indication of pain. Unsure of what to do next, Wilson coated himself with the gel, and put someone on House too. He jerked him slowly, looking up just in time to watch House's eyes flutter closed. He knelt down and pressed a kiss to the leaking head, and lined himself up at House's tight muscles. "Look at me," he demanded, giving House a moment to force his eyes open. Eyes locked, Wilson pushed into him slowly, watching closely as House's mouth pressed shut and his face screwed up. "Does it hurt too much?" He couldn't control the concern that dripped in his voice.
"It hurts but," House swallowed, "I want this." Wilson couldn't believe he'd said it, and something filled his chest. He kissed House's throat and slowly pulled out and pushed back in. House made a pained noise, and Wilson leaned back to look at him again.
"I can't do this knowing it's hurting you," he admitted.
House shook his head, wincing as he attempted to move his bad leg. "I like it too, just please keep going. Don't go so slow." He couldn't believe he was actually going to listen to the ever self-destructive Greg House, but he pulled back and pushed in suddenly, and House let out a cry. He kept moving than, putting his hand under House's good knee and forcing it up to get a better angle. House's bad leg flopped helplessly against the bed, and House's hand scurried down to hold the stressed limb. Wilson didn't stop though, or slow down.
He pulled out just in time to to cum all over House's stomach, and he reached out to finish his partner. He noticed the blood on House's thighs than, and he felt himself pale. Panting, House rubbed persistently at his leg, his entire body vibrating. "God, I'm so sorry House," he said, snapping back into himself. He got up quickly to get a towel to clean up his friend, thinking twice and getting some pain pills and water for House. He knew he wouldn't be able to get up and get them for himself. He cleaned him up silently while House dry swallowed the pills, ignoring the water.
"Don't be sorry," House replied simply, reaching to pull Wilson down next to him. Neither of them bothered to clean up anymore, and instead he curled an arm around House's chest and pressed a kiss to his ear.
"Please be happy when I'm gone," he whispered.
House jerked, attempting to push Wilson off but he held tighter. "We just fucked and you want to talk about how you think you're dying. You kill my after glow."
"House, I'm dying, please say it."
House rolled his eyes, "Get off of me, Wilson."
"Greg," Wilson begged quietly, holding tighter.
"Fuck you, Wilson. How could you even consider the idea of leaving me here alone? If that happens, I'll be quick behind you."
Wilson's blood ran cold, "Don't talk like that you asshole, God House. You can't make me think you'll do that."
"Than you'll fight this and live, or it'll be both of our lives. Do not expect me to lay here after I let you fuck me and talk about how you're sure you're going to die." The venom in his voice made Wilson's heart break. He knew, they both knew.
"You know House, I love you."
He expected a sarcastic snap, but instead House turned his head to face him. "I think I love you too."