Disclaimer: Playing with my House and Wilson dolls.
Beta: The ever vigilant and super fast hwshipper who saves me from myself.
Hope you enjoy!
House is one of the first to file into the auditorium. Not that he's eager to hear Cuddy's announcement, but sitting and staring into space is preferable to clinic duty. He could care less about Atlantic Net. As soon as the first three words leave her mouth, he'll know by the pitch of her voice whether she clinched the deal.
He immediately heads for the cheap seats against the back wall, but the fast-moving weasels in accounting already claimed that row for their department. There are single seats, but he's not going to forfeit a chance to sit next to Wilson. He targets two seats in the next to the last row—almost as good. He can watch more than be watched. As a preventive measure, he props his cane onto the seat to his left, thwarting anyone from getting on his "good" side. He texts Wilson: "The eagle has landed."
Wilson shows up ten minutes later, carrying his lab coat even though he is in full dress regalia—polished loafers, crisp shirt, suit, and tie. House thinks he detects a smug grin breaking through Wilson's unconcerned demeanor. Slumping in his seat affords a better view of Wilson, including his double chin. He squints, and notes the lips are now under control, but there's an unmistakable mischievous glint in Wilson's eye. House relaxes and moves his leg alongside Wilson's. From foot to knee they touch.
The hall is packed to capacity and awash with chatter. A trick of the acoustics, House hears a man's voice whisper in his ear, "A dozen red roses, and write 'Happy Valentine's Day' on the card." House cranes his neck to inspect the crowd. He spots the new clinic nurse, head down, talking into his cell phone.
About to ask Wilson if he heard the hearts and flowers speech, he opens his mouth and forgets what he's about to say. A warm, stockinged foot is running up and down the outside of his leg. Apparently, the amorous foot is attached to a possessive leg. It hooks around House's, and with the unhurried speed of drying paint, his captured left limb is dragged inch by inch toward Wilson where under cover of the lab coat Wilson's hand strays over House's thigh, massages his knee, and travels up again. Waves of indescribable sensations ripple through his groin.
House never stops facing forward. His brows knit together as Cuddy walks to the lectern. Forget how she sounds, she's too composed. She's going to deliver bad news.
Without twisting his neck, his eyes glance toward Wilson to check if he's picking up Cuddy's vibes. No, Wilson's in The Zone. House is sitting beside fucking oblivious choirboy Jimmy hopped up on pheromones. The lab coat completely covers Wilson's lap and spills onto House's knee like a snowy altar cloth. Not inexperienced, but short on time, he runs his hand toward Wilson's crotch. The Boy Scout is prepared. The barn door is open, and the horse is escaping.
The wild animal rears his head. House strokes him reassuringly, then freezes. Wilson's foot accidentally bucks the back of the seat in front of him. Taub swivels and throws them a questioning look. He turns back around after House points a finger to the woman on his right.
House thinks, Whoa there, Jimmy, slow down.
Just as well, lustful urges cool as the room heats up with demanding questions from the audience.
Stud Wilson returns to the safety of his stable with a zip. House releases a forgotten breath, and trails his fingers slowly along Wilson's thigh as he withdraws his hand from under the coat. Wilson's hand catches his and gives it a squeeze before letting go.
Many people are leaving. From the corner of his eye House spots the nurse walking up the aisle to the exit, phone held to his ear. House swears he makes out the words, "Change the order from twelve roses to one red carnation."
"These contract negotiations are buzzkills," Wilson mumbles, his voice tinted with the last dregs of unfulfilled passion.
"Not to mention, everyone in this room will be searching for jobs."
"Come on, House. We go through this every three years when the contract comes up for renewal and runs low on extensions. Cuddy worries herself sick, we grope in the auditorium like teenagers in a movie theater, and then there's an eleventh hour save. By Valentine's Day this will all be forgotten." Wilson cocks an eyebrow. "Seriously, you spoke to Cuddy earlier, are you worried?"
House scans the room and stands up. There are only a dozen people clustered into a handful of groups. "Nope." When he works his way to the main aisle, he turns and faces Wilson. "Want to continue in front of the new flat screen what we began here? We could watch Judge Judy on mute, or Debbie Does Dallas. Your choice."
Wilson's answer tramples upon the heels of House's question. "I'll bring my lab coat."