Author's Note: Woah, so I literally just found this and I can't figure out why I never posted it. I wrote it a long time ago, like, a few episodes before Sam dumped Wilson, out of pure wishful thinking. It's been about two months since I've posted anything in the House fandom because I've realized where my true loyalties lie, and, frankly, I'm sick to death of anything to do with it. But I will try my best to finish True Rock because there will be no mention of anyone crashing a car into anything. It just may take a while.
House was going over to Wilson's.
Having put a little bit of thought to the matter, he realized that his buddy and he hadn't spent any time together simply for the sake of spending time together lately. He'd been busy attempting not to bomb his relationship with Cuddy, and Wilson had Sam.
However, it would probably take another round of getting shot down in the differential room in order for him to ever admit that - he missed it. The old times. The times in which the two of them lived together, and bantered on and on about various situations that were always entertaining, and sat on their hideous orange sofa that he loved, just watching television in companiable silence. And the time that rather attractive neighbor of theirs - Nora - had thought they were gay. Yes, that was the most entertainment he'd had in quite a stretch of time.
Cuddy was out. Working late. Rachael was spending the weekend with her grandmother, as mommy had a conference to attend in New Orleans the next day - one that House...couldn't attend with her because he really didn't want to. Surprisingly, she hadn't fought him on it. Perhaps she thought it was best if he stayed away from the very place he didn't want to be. Past experiences and all of that. So, he was going to Wilson's. Time for some fun for a change. Not that Cuddy wasn't fun. But Wilson beat her by a longshot.
The drive was all of about ten minutes from his apartment.
When he reached the familiar building, he grinningly tugged the key he still held from his keychain and pocketed it for quick access. No fumbling around and wasting time when he could be using that time to think up fresh and exciting ways to torture his best friend. He was sick of continuously running to him for nothing but advice the past few weeks. He didn't need advice for their friendship. They both knew exactly how it worked, and what a relief that was.
In no time, he stood before the large, brown double-doors, and stuck the key inside to open them wide. He stepped into the sizable entry room, listening for annoying sounds such as Sam's voice, or a frying pan, which meant that Wilson was cooking some sort of romantic dinner, or any other...slightly more suggestive sounds. He heard none of the above. He shut the doors, then moved into the living room.
It was empty.
In fact, the entire place seemed to have an eerie feeling of still emptiness. None of the lights were on, the exception being a small yellow bulb above the oven located in the kitchen to his left. Damn.
They were probably out, having a grand old time with pointless, boring people. The thought brought upon an odd sensation in his gut as he glanced around. And he was no idiot; he knew he was experiencing the feeling of being left out. Jealousy could be one of the more explanitory terms. It seemed wrong that Wilson would have plans - might have even had them for days or weeks - and House had no idea about them, when he used to be constantly aware of Wilson's wherabouts. He made it his business. But it wasn't his business anymore - or more accurately, it wasn't his business to make it his business. Wilson was free to do whatever he liked.
House was certain that whatever they were doing was stupid. Wilson was having a forcibly cheerful time, and wishing fervently that he could somehow escape, so House came up with his own plans. He would find out where they'd gone and kidnap him. That sounded like fun.
Someone sniffed.
He jumped, whirling around to face the source, and squinted through the dimness of the room.
"Wow," he stated when he recognized the figure and once his heart stopped pounding. "You're good."
The figure raised an arm, covering his eyes.
House frowned. "What are you doing over - ?" He stopped. The oncologist wasn't covering his eyes, he was wiping them.
"Sorry t-to destroy the genius plan you're thinking up over there. N-no doubt it involved some sort of felony."
House stared at him, still frowning. This made him nervous. He wanted to leave, but he could never resist a mystery.
"Can you please - get out." Wilson sniffed.
House's face cleared when he figured it all out in one moment. "Samantha Carr Part Two had just as bad an ending as the first? I warned you not to waste your money."
"No, we're fine. Please leave. I'm saying please."
Wilson was seated atop the wooden bench that accompanied House's organ. Nothing on his person indicated that there was anything wrong with him. In fact, he still wore his jacket and tie, along with his shoes. From this, House easily concluded he had been sitting there since he came home from work, which would have been around an hour or two ago at the least. Well, he supposed that in itself was an indication that something was amiss.
"People who are fine don't come home and sit in the dark for hours. Especially on that old bench. Your tuckas must be on fire."
"Hm," Wilson muttered, his head falling into his hands. "House. Please."
Clearing his throat, House limped over to the light switch and flicked it upward.
"No, don - ugh."
Now that House could see Wilson's face properly, he immediately noticed that it was very pale, but his eyes were rimmed and rimmed with red. And Wilson never used the word "please" so often. What was this about? Though it caused him extreme discomfort, House was determined to figure it out. Even as he stared, a few tears traveled down the length of Wilson's cheeks, his chest moving rapidly as he glared straight back.
This began a silent war. Neither spoke for several moments. After a while, House raised an eyebrow and leaned his cane against the back of the couch. He limped over to where Wilson was having his emotional break down, scanned him quickly, and plucked a set of car keys from his jacket pocket.
"Where's Sam?"
Wilson hadn't even made a swipe for them. "Working late," he sighed in extreme frustration.
"I've got it. She's been screwing Cuddy. Working late is their cover. How cliche is that?"
"Mm."
"I'm prepared to spend the entire night on your couch."
Wilson's jaw clenched, another three tears falling. "I...can't deal with you."
House sighed. "Listen - I'm sorry I foisted that idiot from the clinic off on you. Won't happen again."
Wilson nodded curtly. "What's y-your deal? You run in screaming terror from moments you deam, 'too emotional'."
"I'm bored. Cuddy's gone."
"Okay. This isn't anything that you did, so you can go in peace now."
"I didn't think it was," House said thoughtfully.
If it wasn't Sam, and it wasn't him, then it was a family member or some sort of internal, mental issue. And if that was the case, it had to be something he had been repressing or something that had been discovered recently that was absolutely devastating.
A patient?
No. Wilson had had many patients over the years, and while he may have grieved over a few, House had never known him to cry over them. Sleep with them perhaps.
The only explanation House could see had to do with Wilson's homeless brother.
"Is he dead?"
"Who?" Wilson asked through clenched teeth.
"Your brother."
"No. It's not anything that you'll ever be able to figure out in one night, House. Not even two. Not even weeks or months. So just go away, and leave me the hell alone, alright?"
Hmm. He was growing hostile. This was huge.
Wilson was right. If he kept going the way he was going, he would never get any information out of him. Mentally gulping, House realized he had to use a different tactic. A tactic that was very much outside of his comfort zone. But he thought he could do it. Being in a relationship with Cuddy was good practice for this. All this emotional bull.
There was enough room for a second person on the organ bench.
Before he was able to talk himself out of it, House took a seat. At once, his eyes snapped onto the hardwood floors.
"Wilson."
"What, House?"
"I want to know what's bothering you. Not for the mystery only."
"Oh, well, sure I'll just go ahead and tell you because you want to know."
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"I'm sorry about whatever it is you're going through, and for not leaving. You have to understand that I can't."
"Why? What's changed?"
"I have."
"No, you haven't."
"You've changed."
"No," Wilson said, a sob threatening to burst from his throat, but he managed to repress it for which House was unbelievably grateful. "I haven't," he finished when he got himself under control. "Nothing's changed. Or everything's changed. I can't decide."
"This is about Sam."
Wilson shook his head, sniffing.
There was a pause. After a brief debate, House lightly patted his knee. "Think about this. You can't keep your problems bottled up for long. You know how that works out for you. If you and Sam aren't having issues, you will be soon."
The younger man chuckled mirthlessly. "Just like with Bonnie and Julie."
"Yeah," House agreed slowly, feeling as if he was missing out on an important clue. He licked his lips anxiously. "So this is long-term. What haven't you told me? Are you sick?" That might explain Wilson's escalation of tears at the suggested idea that he'd changed.
"No. I don't think so."
"You're not sure? They've got hospitals for that."
"Not in the way you're thinking."
"You think...you're sick mentally?" That made sense. If one brother was mentally ill, it was very possible for another to travel the same road at some point. House doubted it in this case.
"I - no, I - I don't know. Please stop asking questions."
House frowned and stared at the floor again to come up with a new plan. All his questions were going to do was frustrate Wilson, that was apparent. So he would call it quits, and simply let Wilson know he was there for him. He had a suspicion that something was happening. Something was changing. This wasn't going to go away, whatever it was. He had to find out eventually.
"Okay."
Wilson glanced at him out of the corner of his glistening eye. "Seriously?"
"Yes. As long as you let me stay."
His friend's expression was worse than wary, but he appeared to be mulling it over. That was a good sign.
Finally, he ran a hand over the length of his face and responded, "Fine. Don't ask any more questions and don't be an ass."
House nodded. "Thanks."
Wilson seemed to wilt. "House - what are you doing?" he asked, breathless with exhausted confusion.
"Sitting. You?"
Wilson scrutinized him for a couple of seconds, before sighing. "Listen - this isn't your fault. I'm sorry for snapping at you, and I know how badly you must want to know what's going on if you're willing to put on this 'sweet and caring' act, but I...can't tell you."
House almost grinned at being found out, but couldn't. Because it hadn't worked.
"You don't believe that I care?"
"No, I think you care, but I think you're more concerned with the mystery and suspense."
"You're right. The mystery involves you, involves your life, so, yes, I care very much about it. It being a part of you makes it that much more interesting."
Wilson smiled gently at him, his brown hair standing on end from where he'd run his fingers through it. "If I thought I could tell you, I would. But I...really can't."
"Is it going to change something?"
"Probably, yes."
"If it is that much of an impact, it needs to be said. There's no use in hiding it."
"There is. I don't want it to change anything."
"It's a negative change?"
"I think so."
"So you'll live, never knowing?"
"That's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Can you tell Sam?"
"Hell no."
"It's something that's going to affect everyone you know?"
"Well...possibly. Namely, three people."
"Me and Sam. The other must be Cuddy. Wilson, you said you weren't sick! You're worried that if you die, Sam and I will fall apart, and Cuddy will lose her department head. Or that I would be so distraught, my relationship with Cuddy would suffer, or - "
"You said you weren't going to ask more questions."
"That was before you found out my super evil genius plan. Are. You. Sick?"
"I can promise you that I am not physically ill in any way."
House concentrated on him hard. He just could not figure it out.
"I NEED THE ANSWER!" he yelled without warning, causing Wilson to jump slightly and blink at him in surprise. "I need it, I need it, I need it, I need it, I need it, I nee - "
"Oh, this does wonders for my headache," Wilson groaned loudly, clutching desperately at his head. "Shut up!"
"Tell me and I will. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell - "
"NO!" Wilson shouted, getting up from the bench, and wincing. Well, the idiot had been in the same position for hours. He stalked across the room, snatching up House's cane as he went.
"What, are you gonna hit me with it?"
Wilson threw the cane with force into the entry room. House heard it collide with the little round table. It had to have been the table, because it crashed to the ground deafeningly.
"Get out!"
Without missing a beat, House got up as well and walked right up to him. "You don't scare me. You don't intimidate me. What you do, is interest me to no end, and I am not leaving until I find out why you are so upset. Tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me - "
"House, you are so going to regret - "
" - me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell - "
Wilson emitted a strangled sort of growl, and lunged at him.
Instead of being attacked, or being punched in the gut or across the face, House found that Wilson had furiously pressed their lips together. He felt a tongue swipe across his bottom lip and the tips of teeth graze there as well.
The emotions that were already pumping through House's veins aided in what he did about the situation.
He kissed back, not at all sure that's what it was. It felt more like some bizarre form of a wrestling match. He roughly grabbed Wilson's face in both hands, while Wilson yanked him in by the waist. Their hands didn't stay in those positions for long. They changed constantly, desperately, running up each other's backs, or gripping the backs of heads, or grabbing fistfuls of shirt, until finally, House came to his senses. He shoved Wilson away, since the only way to do it was with force, or they would never part.
They backed away, breathing heavily, cheeks reddened, and never took their eyes off one another.
And as House watched, Wilson's face completely drained of color. "House - I - I did that to make - I didn't think - I - I - you - we - I wasn't - "
"Stop. Take a deep breath, and calm down."
"But - "
"Calm. We've survived worse."
"But we - "
House closed the distance between them again, and placed a hand over his mouth, the other hand moving to the nape of his neck. Their foreheads met, nearly banging.
"I know this is a lot for you to handle. I know what you're thinking. Look at me, it's going to be okay."
Wilson expression was absolutely pained as he closed his eyes and nodded. He didn't seem to be able to look at him.
House let go of his mouth. "No, we can't let it become awkward everytime we see each other. You need to look at me."
It took a minute, but Wilson opened his eyes again. He looked terrified. "Since when do you have a head on your shoulders?" he asked shakily.
"Since the day I realized how important our friendship is to me. That's the second thing in my life you do not screw with."
"Wh-why isn't it the first?"
"My ball."
"What?"
"In my office. My work ball."
"House - I - what are we - I'm - "
"Stop," he murmered softly. "It's going to be okay. I promise."
Wilson was crying again. But House knew they were tears of anger and confusion and didn't blame him in the slightest. In fact, seeing them caused his own throat to close. He drew Wilson into an fierce embrace, most likely to hide the fact that his eyes were beginning to water. Wilson gripped him tightly, his face buried into his shoulder, which was already damp.
House ran his hand over his warm back, having the desire to be as close as possible.
"I've always wanted to kiss you..."
Wilson tensed horribly and began moving his head from side to side.
"You don't believe me?"
"No, I don't believe it."
House smiled thinly. "Do you want it to happen again?"
Wilson still rubbed his forehead vigorously against House's shoulder. "No," he groaned.
"Yes, you do. So do I."
"House..."
"Now that I've figured out the problem, there's an easy solution. I'll dump Cuddy, you dump Sam. Problem solved."
"You can't dump Cuddy."
"But I will. You're more important than she is."
Wilson sniffed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause - I don't - I just want you to be happy. All this is unnecessary, I mean, you're happy with Cuddy. There's no need to mess that up. I told you to leave - "
"I'm happier with you."
"We're not even together."
"Exactly."
Wilson emitted another tiny sob, fingers clenching against the back of House's shirt, and House instictively reached up to stroke his hair.
"Damn it, House. I love you and I hate it. It's horrible, it's devastating, it's - it's hard. I don't know what to do."
"Let me love you back," House told him firmly. "Don't hide from it anymore. I won't hide from it anymore. And while you're not hiding, try not to get distracted by how awfully corny that sounded."
"I - I don't know if - ."
"Yeah, I know, that'd be pretty difficult."
Wilson chuckled. "I just - can't - "
"Why not?"
"What am I supposed to tell Sam?"
House responded by kissing the side of his neck, and moving up to his jaw. In no time, their lips met again, and Wilson couldn't seem to resist or pull away. House allowed his hands to travel down Wilson's heaving chest, around his waist, up his back, through his hair. Everywhere. He even allowed one hand to lightly brush against his backside before it came to rest on his hip.
Wilson groaned into his mouth, apparently not too concerned with hiding what he was feeling. He pulled House closer, one of his own hands stroking the side of his stubbled face.
"Mm..." House mumbled. "Do you know that I want to bend you over this couch and screw you senseless...every time I come over? That's why I don't. Imagine when we both lived here..."
At these words, Wilson swallowed visibly. "N-no - " he said breathlessly. "Just - d - "
"What?"
"Will you j-just - "
House was already taking care of the unspoken request. He kissed Wilson's throat repeatedly while reaching into his pants to untuck his shirt. Once that was done, he snuck his hands up inside to feel the warm, bare skin.
Wilson leaned into him, obviously craving the contact though House's hands were bony and rough and a little bit caloused.
After a moment, House gripped his waist rather tightly and pushed him until his back was met with whatever wall happened to be nearest. A quick peek told him it was the space next to the entry room. He withdrew his hands and placed them on either side of Wilson's head. There was pure fire in his brown eyes that turned them to ashes black.
"House - you'd better be one-hundred percent sure you want this - "
"Shut up," he advised, kissing him. Then he began trailing his lips slowly over Wilson's features. "Now that I know your mysterious secret, am I granted permission to do whatever I want to you?"
He watched Wilson close his eyes, practically trembling. "Within reason."
"I never knew I had an effect on you like this," House said in awe. "You're shaking."
"It's taking every last ounce of my will power not to have a complete breakdown."
Frowning, House wiped away the wet tracks leftover from the tears that had disappeared. "You don't have to feel like that, Wilson. It's just me."
Wilson chuckled dryly. "There's no such thing. When I'm near you, I'm either ready to chuck you off a balcony, or, you know - the complete polar opposite. There's no in-between. There is no just you."
"Well, in order to prevent an oncoming heart attack, I'll warn you ahead of time before I do anything drastic."
"Alright, sure."
House resumed kissing his neck, and stuck his knee in between Wilson's legs, nudging teasingly. Wilson sucked in a sharp breath.
"Actually, I lied. I like the idea of giving you a heart attack."
"I figured as much. This will be just like a game to you, won't it?" Wilson asked through clenched teeth as House rubbed him with his knee.
"Only if I'm really Greg House. But who knows? You might be dreaming."
"Oh, shut up," Wilson snapped. "I'm not a school boy with a crush."
House applied a bit more pressure, and Wilson was forced to rut his hips in that direction.
"Want me to talk dirty?"
"I doubt anything I say is going to make a difference," Wilson gasped, gripping his elbow almost painfully.
"Too bad. Because I'll make you say a lot of things," House promised, kissing along his collarbone now. "Like, 'Please, don't stop!'" he whispered. "And, 'Oh, yes - House, right there...' "
"Never will you hear either of those come out of my mouth," Wilson panted, his face flushing. Probably from a mixture of humiliation and excitement. A wave of affection such as House had never felt before overtook him.
"We'll see," he said in his low, gravely voice. Still kneeing him, House placed his hands on Wilson chest again, this time, his thumbs moving in circles over his nipples.
Wilson bucked against him, biting his lip, his hands pressed flat against the wall.
House had to admit - he might actually be the one to lose control. The feel of Wilson's obvious arousal, and the warmth he put out was so familiar in that this was the man he walked the hallways of Princeton Plainsboro everyday. This was the man - his best friend - whom he had known for twenty years. Loved. Anything he could have ever imagined failed to equal to this.
House moved from his chest to grip his backside, forcing him to create more intense friction over his knee. Wilson groaned, closing his eyes, and rested his forehead on House's shoulder.
"Harder."
House grinned triumphantly, swallowing the lump that arose in his throat at the sound of Wilson's breathless voice. He pressed his knee more firmly into the space between his legs.
"Oh God..."
"Nope, just me."
"Mm..."
House teased him as much as he was able before he knew that they were both getting impatient. He wrapped his arms around Wilson's middle, engaging him in a kiss loaded with pent up want and desperation. Wilson, in turn, wound his arms around his neck.
House couldn't resist touching him. Everywhere. His hands explored the soft brown hair, his back, his backside, his sides, his chest, shoulders, and upper arms, while Wilson participated with the same amount of enthusiasm.
Echoing throughout the condo were the sounds of rustling clothes, the wet sound of lips on lips, and frequent grunts mixed with pleasurable groans.
"House, if I could jump you without sending us both crashing to the floor - I would do it. Physically," Wilson told him between kisses and breaths. "We need to move somewhere else."
House planned on responding to that, but was stopped by someone else's voice. It was of a much higher pitch than either of theirs.
"James?" Samantha Carr called out as they heard the front doors open. "James, I'm sorry I'm a little late, I had to - what the hell happened in here?"
Wilson's eyes widened almost comically as he shoved House an arm's length apart, and struggled to control his breathing without making any noise. He looked for all the world like a lost puppy. House didn't blame him. What a situation they'd gotten themselves into! Here they were, both hard and flushed, and just on the other side of the room in which Wilson's girlfriend was, examining the fallen table, and the - cane that had apparently knocked it over. Well, that was alright. House was allowed to visit now and then.
"James, did House do this? Where are you?"
Her voice got closer, and Wilson hastily shoved House away, and began yanking his shirt straight and attempting to flatten his hair simultaneously.
"Hey," he chirped as Sam entered.
The blonde's blue eyes took in the sight of the two men standing there. If she noticed their red faces, she made no comment. In fact, she chuckled, "What did the table do to you?"
"Sorry," House said shortly. "We had a fight."
Sam appraised him, looking skeptic. "No, you didn't. I don't think you're the type to get violent during a fight."
Wilson stepped forward. "Actually, that was my fault. I got angry and threw the cane hoping maybe he would take the hint, and leave. But - " he gestured toward him as if to say, Here he is. "I'll fix it later."
"Alright," Sam smiled, whirling toward the kitchen. "You guys hungry?"
House frowned. That was too easy. He shared a glance with Wilson, who appeared very distraught and uncomfortable.
"Starving," he announced, brushing the back of his hand when Sam had her back to them to start up the stove. "Funny. I didn't think you were the cooking, cleaning, house-wife type."
Wilson was staring at him curiously, probably wondering what had gotten into him. Here was the second situation of the day that called for sputtering and a high amount of nerves or even losing one's head completely, but he was as calm as ever. As if discovering that his male best friend had feelings for him, nearly having sex with said male best friend, and then said male best friend's girlfriend strolling in at the worst possible moment were the types of things that occured in his everyday life.
House ignored him, and went to have a seat at the kitchen table. Shortly after, and with obvious trepidation, Wilson followed. House kicked his shin impatiently, silently telling him that he'd better get with the program or there was going to be serious trouble. Not that there wouldn't be anyway...
"Funny," Sam shot back, still turned around facing the stove. "I thought James might have told you everything about me."
"Haven't had much time for conversation lately," House told her truthfully, understanding that she was joking. Wilson cleared his throat.
The time it took for Sam to finish preparing dinner (which turned out to include pasta and salad), was somewhat tense. Wilson looked increasingly nervous as Sam set the dishes on the table with a flourish, and continued to shoot him suspicious glances.
"You're not the only one who knows how to cook," she said to House, who grinned.
"Right. Well, we'll see how it tastes, Paula Deen."
Most likely to give himself something to do, Wilson stood and retrieved the eating utensils, then poured the three of them tall glasses of wine. House smirked inconspicuously at his intentions.
Halfway through the dinner, which was admittedly delicious, there became a lull in the conversation. The silence was not altogether uncomfortable, when one viewed it from Sam's perspective, but as House had the weight of the fact that Wilson would rather it be the two of them alone, would rather be sleeping with him, it took on different light. They had to let her know. Better now than never.
But before he had the chance to put his fork down, Wilson, who had been staring at his plate, burst out, "House - !" He stopped, his jaw clenching. House cocked an eyebrow.
Wilson seemed to struggle with himself, casting a wary glance up at Sam, then at House. "I - nothing. I mean, just - don't. Alright?" His eyes pleaded. Sam looked between the two of them, apparently confused.
House was impressed. "Why didn't you ever tell me you could read minds?" He turned to Sam. "Has he always been able - ?"
"House," Wilson hissed through clenched teeth. "Stop being an ass. Stop. I'm not kidding."
"No, James, I'm interested," Sam said, taking a sip of her wine.
"No, believe me, you're not," Wilson argued, glaring at House, who didn't know why he was so certain he was going to say anything in the first place.
Oh, that's right - because he was. It had to be done.
"This is really fantastic," he admitted, gesturing at the dishes. "Nice, good flavor." He sucked in a preparatory breath without waiting for her nod of thanks. "And I'm in love with your boyfriend."
Wilson swore as his head fell into his hands.
Sam glanced at him, frowning, before training her blue eyes on his and grinning bemusedly.
"Is that right? Well, I had suspicions. So overprotective."
House kept their eye contact, determined to prove he was serious. "Bet he didn't tell you he's in love with me too." His foot found Wilson's under the table, and he tapped it a few times. "That's understandable. I only found out today."
Wilson began shaking his head back and forth. House sincerely hoped he wasn't crying again.
Sam wasn't buying it. "That's so sweet. You guys would look cute together. In fact, I think all three of us should go back to the bedroom and - "
"If you're offering - " House shrugged.
Wilson suddenly looked up. His face was contorted with fury. Sam blinked. House watched him with interest.
"Shut up, House."
His voice shook so much that he didn't seem to be able to choke out anything else, but allowed his foot to kick his own sharply away.
"James - "
Wilson's expression softened a little, but not much, as his gaze switched to Sam. She looked cautious. "Is everything okay? Did you have a bad day at work?"
House mentally rolled his eyes, but also felt some comfort at her question. She didn't know Wilson well enough anymore. Not the way he did.
"No. Well - yes."
"What happened?"
Her obvious concern and affection made House feel almost guilty.
"I - " Wilson paused, his anger ebbing away as he attempted to come up with an explanation. After a while, he appeared to deflate. "I miss House," he stated, then added, "living here," as if it needed something further. He swallowed.
Sam said nothing at first, but squinted as if trying to work out a particularly difficult math problem.
"You...see him everyday."
House fought to keep his mouth shut.
"I know...I'm starting to think it was a mistake to kick him out."
"Does that mean that it was a mistake to kick me in?" Sam asked, disbelief etched into her words.
Wilson looked pained. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. A lot has changed since we were first married."
House almost laughed. Almost. Sam was looking mutinous. But a couple of seconds later, she seemed to calm herself, refusing to divert her attention from Wilson.
"I don't believe this. I don't believe this. You don't just suddenly have a sexuality change, James! You don't just invite ex-wives to move in with you, then kick them out again because you decide that you're actually in love with the man that lived there before her!"
"Are we going to be talking in third person for the rest of the night?" House interrupted. "If so, then she needs to realize that he - " he jerked a thumb toward Wilson, who was becoming very pale. " - has been in love with that man for a very long time. And nothing she says is going to change that."
"House..." Wilson groaned in despair. "You're such an idiot. Sam - "
But Sam wasn't interested. She threw her chair back, and stood. "Listen - I don't have a damn problem with gay people. But I know you're not, so I have no idea why you guys are playing this stupid game. A great idea would be to put an end to it right now."
House and Wilson both looked up at her. Wilson, his eyes sad, spoke, "You have a right to be angry - throw things if you want, but I'm not playing. I - I'm so sorry, I - really didn't mean to lead you on like - "
"Lead me on?" Sam nearly yelled. "Lead me on? You sure as hell did more than lead me on, James! I - " She stopped, her chest heaving. "Forget it. I'll be out of your hair in five minutes." And with that, she swept out of the kitchen. The two of them, afraid to look at each other, heard the unmistakable sounds of packing. Plenty of things seemed to be getting thrown around.
A final thump, and Sam reappeared, lugging a suitcase.
"I'll be back for the rest as soon as I can," she promised, not stopping on her way to the front doors.
House said nothing. Wilson sat frozen, seemingly in shock.
Then the sound of doors slamming, and all was breath-takingly silent.
House chanced a glance at Wilson, who now wore a confused expression, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened, or wasn't sure how to comprehend it. He jumped when House broke the silence.
"It had to be done."
"Not like that, it didn't!" Wilson snapped immediately. "I shouldn't even be surprised at your continuous lack of concience. You do realize that her heart is broken? She actually had hope that our relationship would work a second time! This could have been done more tactfully - "
"There is no tactful way to tell your girlfriend - "
"No, but you could have given it some time before - "
"You mean, I could have given you some time? There's been enough time! We can't wait any longer, Wilson. I know it's in your nature to worry, but don't worry about Sam. She'll be fine, you'll be fine. It's over. It's done. Like ripping off a bandaid," he finished, meeting Wilson's angry stare. The food lay long-forgotten on the table.
They sat this way for a good minute before Wilson sighed heavily. "Help me clean this mess up."
House stood, pushing his chair back, and limped to the entry room from which Sam had just exited. Bending, he set the little table upright again (luckily, there hadn't been any breakables), then gathered his cane. With it, he returned to the kitchen, where Wilson was dropping dishes into the sink. He leaned against the counter next to him, peering into his hurt face. He had no intention of helping with the dishes.
"I'm sorry."
Wilson's eyes flitted to him quickly, then away. "I don't believe you." He turned on the faucet, but made no other move.
"Hey."
Wilson turned his head all the way to look at him, his hands splayed against the countertop. His eyes were still sad, and House knew he would be upset with him for a while.
"I love you, sweetie pie."
The tiniest smile ghosted Wilson's expression, causing House's stomach to drop about an inch in pleasant surprise. "Did that one actually work?"
"Hardly."
House reached across him, never breaking eye contact, and turned off the water. Wilson didn't move. The hand that was on the faucet reached up to sweep its palm gently over his cheek. Wilson reached up as well, taking the hand from his face.
"The pathetic part is - nothing you do ever changes anything," he admitted as if continuing a previous conversation. "You're standing there, after mercilessly shredding one of my most important relationships - "
"Past important relationship," House corrected. "You were using her as a distraction this time. Don't deny it."
"Fine," Wilson said, anger apparent once more. "I won't. But you've sent someone I care about running in screaming terror out the door, and I still - " he stopped, seemingly furious with himself.
House said nothing for a moment, frowning.
"Do you regret...?" He wasn't sure how best to phrase what he was thinking.
Wilson met his gaze evenly. "Sometimes I wonder if I ought to. Sometimes I think that maybe my life would be much easier if we had never even met."
House couldn't control the burst of hurt that made his chest contract. He gave a curt nod. "It would."
Wilson shook his head. "But then I see you, and I feel how much you need me, and how much I...love you, and I can't picture my life without you. Not even in a romantic way - but I can't imagine not having your friendship. It's been bittersweet, House. You know that."
House nodded again.
"Will you stay here tonight?"
"Yes."
Wilson leaned forward and pecked his mouth. "Good."
"I - I mean it about Sam."
"It was just you being you, I guess," Wilson sighed. "And you were right...It had to be done."
"All the sudden, you're not angry anymore?"
Wilson leaned forward and kissed him again. "I told you. When I'm near you, I either want to hurt you or kiss you. First part's over with."
"That was fast," House said suspiciously.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Alright. Years of pent up feelings are getting the better of me. You can't stand there and expect me to do nothing when we've admitted - even if you did force me to kick my girlfriend out." He was unbuttoning House's shirt.
"You - you want to - ?" House was very surprised at the sudden turn of events. "After I - ?"
"Yes," Wilson said firmly, pushing the shirt back from his shoulders. The slightly cool air made him hiss. "I do."
Wordlessly, House grabbed his hands before they touched any part of him, and began tugging him down the hall.
When they came to Wilson's master bedroom, they shared a quick glance and House pulled him inside. Wilson shut the door with his foot, and House immediately pressed him up against it, kissing him. He didn't bother taking it slow - he soon had Wilson's shirt unbuttoned as well, but was too impatient to get it off, so kissed down the strip of pale stomach that showed through, until he got to his pants, which he also unbuttoned.
Before he proceeded, he felt with his hand, looking up at him, to see if Wilson was as hard as he had been earlier.
"House - "
He was.
Wilson's hands stopped him before he could go any further. He pulled him to his feet, and gave him a prod in the shoulder to go in the direction of the bed. House obliged, nearly aching with desire.
He pushed Wilson onto the mattress, then onto his back, and followed.
"Your leg - "
"Forget it," House growled, gripping the waistband of his pants once more. "Lift up."
Wilson obeyed, and in no time, the pants and gray boxers that lay underneath had been removed. House unashamedly nudged his legs apart, bent down, and took him into his mouth.
Wilson swore loudly and thrust his hips upward. "Sorry," he gasped when House was forced to hold them down.
House hummed something against him, far too gone to really care. He had Wilson writhing, and that was all that mattered in the world. He had Wilson closing his eyes and gasping and groaning with pleasure.
Of course, his mouth being rather small, he couldn't fit all of Wilson into it, so used his hand to get what he couldn't reach. Another aspect of this was that his teeth grazed Wilson frequently, which seemed to toss him over the edge.
"House - I'm - fuck - !"
Wilson wasn't the type of guy to swear often, and House was determined to elicit this as many times as he possibly could. It was horribly, desperately, and chillingly sexy. His ears were ringing. He doubled his attempts.
Wilson hands shot down to his head, fingers tangling painfully into his short hair. His legs were totally relaxed now. He grunted as House's teeth grazed him again.
House sucked harder.
Wilson's groans increased slightly in volume and seemed to carry more breath. House concentrated the part of his brain that wasn't incredibly turned on (though that side was slim to nothing), to appreciating the raspy tone that could only belong to James Wilson. It was very strange to hear his voice reduced to incoherency this way. A shiver overtook him at the thought that he was causing it. His eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed as he really put everything he had into his task.
"Ah - "
And House knew it was coming, so he moved away quickly and replaced his mouth with his hand to help it along further. He wasn't fond of the idea of swallowing it, even if he would rather it be Wilson's than anyone else's.
Wilson almost literally exploded, white ropes shooting up and over his hand, landing on his own chest. House, transfixed, watched him groan and whimper helplessly, and felt himself grow harder, if possible. Still stroking, House leaned over and kissed him deeply, thrilled that the groans weren't stopping and were simply entering his mouth.
"Wilson," he breathed when they parted and once all was quiet, "I didn't mean to let it go that far just yet..."
Wilson laughed, his breath shaky, but didn't seem to have regained the ability to form sentences.
House grinned affectionately, pressing their foreheads together. He continued to lightly stroke him, simply basking in Wilson's afterglow - it was infectious.
"Mm..." Wilson mumbled, pressing into his hand. "God, House."
"Already?" House asked breathlessly.
Wilson grunted, but answered, "We have so much sexual tension built up, I doubt there will be any pausing tonight's activities. I...want you so badly..."
Swallowing a very prominent lump in his throat, House removed his hand so it could assist him in the task of wiggling out of his jeans and boxers. Once that was taken care of, he found he could not help himself. Leaning right over Wilson, and putting more weight on his good leg, House pressed their lower halves together, rutting against him gently. Wilson's breath caught; House ground more firmly, noticing with extreme pleasure that their movements were rather slick due to moments ago.
It took mere seconds for him to let go. Wilson was right, of course, about the build up of tension. Even he came a second time, admittedly taking a couple of seconds longer, but House didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, he felt that he would rather watch Wilson orgasm than experience one himself. The facial expressions, the sounds, the heavy breathing during and afterward - all of it was enough to get it up again.
"You're not spent yet, are you?" he asked, between breaths.
"Hell no," Wilson gasped. "And if you're feeling like me, we won't be done until tomorrow afternoon."
"Good. I was bursting - I had to top myself off before going back for more."
Wilson pulled his head down and kissed his lips. "Get me up again - hurry."
House groaned, kissing under his chin and around to his ear, where he whispered, "I love you...James." He said his name in a low voice, putting forth his emotions.
"Oh..." Wilson whispered back. "Good one."
Sure enough, House could feel a hardness against his leg, and nearly laughed. "You're a sucker," he teased, pushing back the flaps of the shirt he'd never fully taken off, exposing Wilson's chest to the cool air.
"I believe I get to use that term on you now, actually."
House smirked. "The funny thing about that is, I'll take it as a compliment." He lightly thumbed Wilson's nipples as he had earlier, and got the same reaction - the younger man bit his lip, stifling a groan.
"See? Sucker..."
"Alright, I'm a sucker," Wilson said breathlessly. "C'mon..."
House bent down, trailing barely-there kisses over his face, neck, and chest, their breaths almost perfectly in s'ync. "You want top or bottom?" he asked quietly.
Wilson opened his eyes, a fire in them turning the brown black again. Without responding, he sat up and switched their positions. House stared up at him, his mind going numb for a moment. It hit him once more. This was Wilson.
"Oh my God."
Wilson frowned, his thumb softly tracing House's bottom lip. "Hm?"
"I...can't believe it's you...you're..."
Wilson's frown immediately vanished, leaving a tender expression. "But we've always been more than friends, haven't we?" He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "Always so intimate, and exciting," he murmured. "You always get my heart-rate up, and I try not to get too close to you physically...because something about you is alarmingly sexy..."
"Oh...nothing on you Wilson. Damn it..."
"Mm," Wilson breathed heavily onto his ear. "Ready?"
"What do you think?" House groaned, hyper-aware of his every touch.
Wilson gently kissed his cheek. "Are you sure your leg is okay?"
"It's no worse than usual. I have...some - in the dresser - "
Kissing him quickly again, Wilson leaned over, pulled out the drawer in House's night table and rummaged through it. Once he found what he was looking for, he closed the drawer, and immediately popped open the top. House could barely watch as Wilson slicked a fair amount of the gooey substance onto himself, and then set the tube aside.
Wilson leaned forward, arms on either side of him, and just touched the tip of his cock to House's opening, causing him to inhale sharply. Wilson bent to capture his lips before plunging all the way inside.
House grunted harshly, his body slipping into shock.
It hadn't hurt exactly - but he had felt a burning sensation, and it had been so quick. It was like swallowing an entire ice cube - there was that moment of Oh my God, am I going to die? Oh - wait. Just water. He squeezed his eyes shut as he grew accustomed to the strange, stretched feeling.
"I'm sorry," Wilson breathed, obviously restraining himself from moving. "It had to be quick - like ripping off a bandaid."
"You could've warned me," House managed, his voice hoarse. Then, he realized what had been said. So that had been Wilson's way of punishing him, had it? "Bastard," he growled.
Wilson smirked. "I'll let you do it next time."
And that did it. The fact that there was going to be a next time. House took a deep breath and tried to relax. Eventually, it worked. Of course, Wilson kissing him and stroking his chest, down to his middle, helped that along quite a bit.
"Okay," he muttered. "Move."
Kissing him one last time, Wilson obeyed. It was only slightly uncomfortable the first couple of thrusts. By the fourth of fifth, it was positively incredible. House lifted his hips to match them as best he could with his bad leg, but Wilson held them down, apparently liking being in total control.
House didn't mind. Wilson was in control. Without him, House would be lost.
Their grunts and groans mingled with each other, making his head spin, and making him want more. So much more.
Wilson seemed to read his mind. He thrusted harder, deeper. House knew he was going to come - but he desperately wanted them to reach that point together, so he held it off, his groans growing in volume.
And without warning, Wilson came hard, shooting his load into him, which stimulated his own release. They rode it out as long as possible, reveling in the slickness of it once more. House was completely lost, Wilson's intense groans of pleasure piercing his already flaming groin. At one point, the younger man didn't seem able to support himself any longer; he pulled out, and collapsed on top of him, being careful not to put weight on House's right thigh.
House tangled a hand in his hair, kissing his temple. He ran his free hand down Wilson's bare back.
"House," Wilson said shakily. "Oh...my..."
"Didn't last v-very long, did it?"
"I...I can't move..."
"I don't mind," House murmured. "I don't mind at all...you're a nice blanket." He was hardly aware of what he was saying.
Wilson's only response was to moan breathily. House had never found himself in such an unbelievable situation...He closed his eyes to lose himself completely in it. After a while, Wilson's breathing began to even out, something that he only took notice of when he began to kiss and suckle House's neck. Teeth grazed gently over his sensitive skin, making him tense up wonderfully.
"Hah..." he whispered, staring blissfully at the ceiling. His peripheral vision was clouded by soft, slightly damp brown hair. "S-still pumped, huh?"
"Let me...let me explore you for a minute. You mind?" Wilson asked lazily, kissing his jaw. House shook his head a bit dazedly, his heart thumping. Smiling softly and affectionally at him, Wilson raised himself up, placing a hand on either side of House. "If I'd known that this was the only way to get you speechless, I'd have done it years ago."
"Don't be so full of yourself," House retorted.
Wilson grinned down at him. "I have the right to be, don't you think? Do I need to name all the things I've managed to get you to do in one night? The list is kind of...extensive..." His brown eyes twinkled. House rolled his own but didn't say anything. Wilson seemed pleased by this; he leaned down and began to kiss his neck again, before moving downward. He covered his chest and middle - even his nether regions, but when he started down his right thigh unexpectedly, House froze.
"Hey, hey - don't - don't - "
But Wilson ignored him, and placed a very gentle kiss to his ruined thigh muscle. Tears sprung to House's eyes and he blinked furiously up at the ceiling to prevent them from falling humiliatingly down his face. Cuddy had done the same thing the night he'd almost killed himself. The difference was that, while it had been easy to keep tears from falling that night, it was close to impossible on this night. And Wilson happened to glance up just when they began to slip out.
Without a word, he scrambled to be in a position that made it easy for their lips to meet. Wilson kissed him and stroked his face soothingly, wiping away the wetness, while unconciously adding to it. House licked the roof his mouth hungrily, wanting him more than he had ever wanted him before. This was the best thing that had ever happened. To them. They continued to utterly devour each other for what felt like hours and eventually allowed it to escalate to a fantastic repeat of earlier events.
Afterward, Wilson lay flat on his stomach with House crushing him into the mattress, neither of them having any idea of how they had gotten that way, but both immensely glad that they had.
"You know," Wilson breathed a few moments later, "you still need to break up with Cuddy."
House frowned. "You were thinking about Cuddy while we were having sex?"
"No, it just...bothers me."
House kissed his bare, sweaty shoulder. "I know. I'll do it first thing in the morning, okay?"
Wilson nodded, his eyes closed against the sheets. From his position, House could see the lay of his eyelashes against his flushed cheek and the endearing way his damp hair was sticking up on the side of his head...the way his spent body felt underneath his own. There was nothing else for it; Wilson was incredibly alluring. Sexy. House carefully rolled off of him and listened to the noise of satisfied relief that resulted. He didn't go far, however - Wilson turned his head, his fingers tangled in the bed sheets, and House leaned on his elbow, brushing his hair back out of his face. Wilson closed his eyes again, humming softly.
"Are you finally exhausted?" House teased. "I thought you wanted to go until tomorrow?"
"Wake me in an hour..." Wilson murmured. House chuckled, settling down next to him, and pulled the covers over them both. Slowly, Wilson turned over onto his back until he was comfortably nestled into House's side, his head resting on House's pillow. House brushed the side of his face with his nose, one arm snaking over him, holding onto him loosely.
"Don't be too offended if you end up in the floor tonight," he said.
"This is my bed."
"Yeah, well, since when has an argument like that ever worked?"
Wilson sighed, but House detected no hint of actual exasperation. "Goodnight, House."
House smirked, and ended the most revealing, intriguing, and wonderful night of his life by pressing a kiss to the tip of Wilson's nose before falling asleep.