Wilson could feel it - feel it in his bones, in his cock, in his heart. Tonight was going to be the night. He and House had been exchanging more-meaningful-than-usual glances at each other over sandwiches in the cafeteria the past week. Today, when ice-blue eyes had met his chocolate orbs over his, as House has pointed out, pretty gay fruit salad, he could sense the impending romance. When House invited him over for Chinese and perhaps a spot of piano playing tonight he knew he should stop at the drugstore beforehand.

It was now rolling on to eight p.m. and he was sitting in his Volvo, staring up at House's window. Technically he was staring pretty horizontally, but when he saw the cold blue light of the television flooding through the curtains, he could feel an answering glow warming him.

Fumbling in his glovebox, he pulled out the small bag from CVS and a mix CD. He had first made it years ago, although back then it was technically a mix tape. As soon as he had laid eyes on his gruff office neighbor though, he had known that someday, some wonderful day, they would be together. And he needed the perfect tunes for that moment.

He glanced down at the jewel case, the symbol of his dreams and his lust. It was a pretty bitching mix, he thought to himself. The soundtrack from High Fidelity with a different version of "Wonderwall" between each track - he had even downloaded some of the live performances off Youtube. It was perfect, right down to the big sharpie'd heart decorating it.

He was going to be the one that saved House from himself, he could feel it. Even if it meant doing all the dishes and giving up the nurses, he would be there for House. And tonight was just the beginning.

Pulling himself together, he rolled out of his car and locked the doors, venturing up the stairs to House's place. Sucking his gut in, he knocked on the door, only to be greeted with "use your key!" shouted from behind 221B.

Fumbling with the lock, he swung the door open. The sight of the lanky diagnostician, his tall frame swathed in sweatpants and a tattered concert t-shirt, greeted him.

"Is that the Chinese food?"

"No, House, it's...something I picked up at the drugstore," Wilson murmured, unable to tear his eyes off the older doctor.

"What the fuck? I thought we were having Chinese food. I even TiVo'ed Kung-Fu Hustle!"

"I just...there was a change in plans," Wilson said, moving closer to the couch and peering down at his beloved's head, trying to ignore the emerging bald spot that only reminded him of House's impending liver failure.

"Like what?"

"I thought we could, you know, spend some quality time together, without the lo mein between us."

House twisted around and fixed a beady eye on him.

"Are you suggesting handjobs or something here? Because I'm down with the gay, but I don't bottom."

"I was actually hoping you would top, House. I've been dreaming of this night ever since my eyes first saw your tall body, your tight jeans, your sassy walk. I even bought lube, because I want this to be perfect."

House rolled his eyes and launched himself off the couch with a grunt, hobbling down the hallway to his bedroom. He turned around and motioned to Wilson.

"If we're not having dinner then you better not back out now."

"Just one second, House," Wilson said, watching his friend and soon-to-be lover disappear into the bedroom, thinking of how soon House's cock would be stretching his hole and how they would both be screaming in delight.

"I just have to put on this CD."