So I was listening to Blame It On The Girls - Mika and I thought of House/Wilson.
I got four drabbles from the one song - I'm pretty proud of that fact.
Each drabble is 153 words in length, so read them.
Slightly wrong timing for the second one, but not that big of a deal.
Slashy, don't like, don't read.
He's got looks that books take pages to tell
He's got a face to make you fall on your knees.
He's got money in the bank to thank,
And I guess you could think he's living at ease.
"House!" Wilson stood in his office, hands on hips, frowning at House, who was lying on his couch. "I have a patient coming in in five minutes. Get out!"
"Can't I watch your cancer kiddie cry?" House made his point that he was staying, by closing his eyes and wriggling a little, getting comfy.
"It's a forty-year-old man with prostate cancer coming in for a quick run-through. I don't think it'll be very tear-inducing."
"Man, I'd hateto get prostate cancer. Sex wouldn't be as fun."
"You won't have to worry about that if you don't get out!"
"Okay." House replied, getting up and leaving to the balcony, just as the patient came in.
"Man, you must have it real easy, being a doctor and all." Horace sat down, looking around the office.
Wilson sighed and shook it off, sat down, and got to work.
You could have children and a wife
A perfect little life
But you blew it on a bottle of wine.
"Stacy's gone." It was said quietly, and Wilson couldn't say he was surprised.
"I'm coming over." He hung up, kissed Bonnie on the cheek and left, taking the unopened bottle of wine with him.
He let himself in, to find House on the couch, feet on the coffee table.
Taking his coat off, and stepping out of his shoes, he sighed. This isn't what married men done. Married men had dinner with their wives, and visited their friends later, when it wasn't interrupting anything.
But no, House needed him, and Wilson needed needy.
After they'd sat for hours, after they'd drank the wine, the beer in House's fridge, a bottle of Scotch and even some champagne they fell asleep, or passed out – he wasn't sure which.
And when he arrived at House's door with a suitcase, he told him it was because he'd cheated.
Because that's what best friends done.
Blame it on the girls who know what to do
Blame it on the boys who keep hitting on you
He gasped as he came, eyes closing in ecstasy, using what little energy he had left to keep himself from shouting the wrong name. He kissed her as she slid up beside him, and pretended this was what he wanted.
"Oh my god. You're sleeping with me!" A sudden realisation, and Wilson told him it wasn't true.
"Why use a proxy when you can use me?"
It was said jokingly, with an exaggerated wink.
But he couldn't help his mind from imagining it.
This was all House's fault anyway.
With his stupid jokes and stupid cane and stupid leg and stupid face and stupid blue eyes-
"Wilson! I know you're in love with me and everything, but quit staring. It's creepy."
"I'm not stari- Wait, what?"
"You are in love with me." And with that, he kissed Wilson square on the mouth.
So yeah, maybe it was true.
Blame it on your mother for the things she said
Blame it on your father, but you know he's dead.
He wasn't fucked up.
He was just an anti-social, self-involved, drug-addicted ass.
He didn't make friends; didn't need them.
Didn't have girlfriends; who needs them when you have hookers?
Not for one second, did he blame his mother.
Except from when she'd sit by, watching as he got dragged to yet another ice bath.
His father was dead, and that was that.
In the end, he was glad he went to the funeral – it was a blast.
It got him the DNA results.
Confirmed his suspicions.
Gave him hope. Maybe he wasn't just like his father. Maybe he had a shot at normal.
But then Wilson fell into bed with him, and all thoughts of normal flew out the window, because here he was, this needed-to-be-needed doctor, with the brown eyes and matching hair. The stupid ties and the perfect smiles.
He was fucked up, and wouldn't have it any other way.
Reviews are always appreciated. :D