Words: 508
Warning: Slash if you squint.
Okay, Frizz the Eccentric... You asked for it, so here it is.
I... can't really vouch for how good it is, but here it is.
Lemon Curry
Stealing Wilson's lunches was one thing. Coming home and stealing bites of his dinner was... well, technically another, but it was still the same basic idea.
Limping into the apartment after a long day of saving a patient's life and swabbing idiots' crotches to find that Wilson had just flat-out bought him dinner was something else entirely.
"Lemon curry?" Wilson offered, raising his eyebrows.
House stared at him for a minute, then flopped down on the couch and took the proffered plate. "You take all the fun out of tormenting you," he grumbled, and rolled his eyes as Wilson also handed him a plastic takeout fork and napkin.
He took the fork, but tossed the napkin on the coffee table – and frowned in momentary confusion at what it nearly landed on.
"Is that a cheese grater?"
Wilson shrugged and sat down next to him on the couch with his own plate. "Yeah…
"Is there anything in it?"
"Parmesan. Why?"
"You don't put parmesan cheese on curry." House inspected the food, then took a bite. "And I don't own a cheese grater."
"You had un-grated parmesan cheese in your fridge," Wilson pointed out.
"I did? Weird. Must not have been me who bought it."
Wilson shrugged again and reached for the grater, but House grabbed it first.
"Mine now. Why are all the windows open?" he asked, looking around the apartment.
"It was stuffy in here."
"Uh-huh."
House looked from Wilson, to the cheese grater, then back again. Then, abruptly, he leaned over and sniffed the oncologist's hair.
"H— House, what—"
"You," he interrupted smugly, "are serving takeout on plates."
In itself, that wasn't much of a revelation. It was the way he said it that made Wilson uneasy; House had a way of picking up on irrelevant details and worrying them until he got to something interesting.
"But you tried to cook something," House continued. "Your hair smells like smoke because you burned it. What kind of an idiot airs the place out and buys takeout but forgets to hide the rest of the evidence?"
"Well," said Wilson, trying hard not to look embarrassed.
House shook his head, smirking. "'It was stuffy in here,' ha. I should hit you with my cheese for that."
"It's not like I set the kitchen on fire or anything…"
"Obviously." House put the grater back on the table without much care – the handle on the grater fell open and bits of parmesan fell out onto a second season box set of the L Word.
For a moment, he seriously considered pressing the question of why Wilson was putting so much effort into feeding him dinner, or even why he was running a hand slowly through his hair and blushing a little. But it would be far more interesting to save that for later, when Wilson wasn't already half-expecting him to ask. Or, better yet, save it for the next time Wilson attempted to lecture him on the immoralities inherent in stealing a friend's lunch.
So he let it go.
For now.
