The tendrils of light seeped in through the window and jabbed at his eyes under the safe cover of his lids. Awareness came slowly as the he fought the inevitable return to consciousness after the best nights sleep he could recall. The only sound he could hear was the faint and steady pound of the heartbeat under his ear. It was enough of a soothing sound to coax him gently back into sleep. In this moment he understood why babies were eased by the sound after birth. He could stay here forever.
His eyes slowly slipped open and he looked straight out the window. His cheek was pressed against a breastbone; he smiled softly, feeling the slight shift of skin on skin. Slipping himself slowly into a sitting position, so that he didn't wake the sleeping man below him, he stretched and yawned. He wasn't ready for morning but morning was ready for him. He couldn't help letting his gaze fall upon the dormant man he was just on top of. A smile creeping slowly to his lips as he ran his fingers gently through the other man's bed matted hair.
Wilson mused as he watched House swift under his touch, but remain in his slumber. The time he had to just watch the older man breathe hypnotically in and out, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he slept, was short. When House woke, Wilson knew the time to just bask in the peaceful morning would be over. House never woke quietly. It was usually dramatic; at least it had been in the nights that they'd started sharing a bed. But James was going to take every second of this moment and relish it as if it were a bath of silk. These moments were too precious to take lightly. The times when House looked free, calm and void of pain were few and far between and never to be taken for granted. Especially not now.
He leaned forward, smoothing back some of his lover's hair, kissing his forehead softly before sitting back and just breathing in the view of House, sleeping, looking innocent and relaxed. Wilson wondered what he dreamt about, if he even did dream. Was House constantly thinking, solving, exploring even in sleep? Or was he peaceful and void like everyone else. He considered asking one morning, when they'd been wrapped in each other's arms, neither wanting to be the first to move. But House had ruined any chance of making the moment romantic or sweet with the declaration of having to poop. No. They'd been on the couch.
They'd been watching Vertigo. House had lost the coin toss and moaned about having to watch it for the millionth time. Bitched about how the suspense is ruined when you know what's going to happen.
"How many times can you watch Kim Novak jump into San Francisco bay before deciding you've seen it one too many times?" He'd questioned.
Wilson hadn't answered, he'd just rolled his eyes and sprawled out, his head resting on House's good thigh. House groaned about it more as he shifted into a comfortable position but was quiet by the time the first line of the film was spoken.
When it was over they'd sat there. The TV was off, and House's fingers were absently shifting through Wilson's hair. Neither of them spoke, neither of them had made the decision to move. They'd been content to stay as they were. Wilson had just opened his mouth to ask House what he dreamt about before being cut off.
"I have to poop." He said, sitting up slightly so Wilson would move his head, or sit up himself.
The deep inhalation of House regaining his own awareness pulled Wilson from his memory. He turned and looked at the older man, who was coming reluctantly out of sleep now and turned his blue eyes to look at his younger partner.
"Hey," Wilson muttered. "Want pancakes."
"You read my mind, Jimmy Boy." Came House's grunted reply.
With a quick peck on the lips, Wilson made his way to the kitchen.