Title: Domestic Hazards: The Clear Shower Curtain
Author: FourLeggedFish
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Wilson, friendship only. Could be pre-slash if you're so inclined.
Wordcount: ~1400
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I collected thirty-thousand cereal box tops, but they wouldn't let me redeem them for House MD. Now I have Cheerios coming out of my ears.

Summary: Why it's a bad idea for two cohabitating bachelors to have a clear shower curtain. (According to a scene in ep 6:09, House and Wilson have a clear shower curtain in their bathroom. This is why clear is a bad idea.) Friendship only, but could be pre-slash if you're so inclined. Spoilers for episode 6:09.

Comments are like House and Wilson snogging on the actual TV show; I need these things in order to survive.
Dedication: To lostwiginity for planting the idea in a comment on the House_Wilson comm on LJ, and to theunknownsoul for her hilarious screencaps of episode 6:09, which spawned the comment in the first place. This probably isn't the fic you were hoping for, since it's grievously lacking in smut, but it's what the muse poured into my skull with her spoon-straw. :) I hope you like it!


"Wilson?"

Wilson froze under the spray, then swiped shampoo out of his eyes and tried to squint through the clear plastic curtain to the door. They usually left it open when they showered because the bathroom didn't have any sort of ventilation fan (the building was too old), and Wilson didn't want mold to start growing all over the corners of the ceiling from the trapped moisture. But even House respected that boundary – they stayed away from the bathroom when the other was showering. "Um. Busy in here?"

"I have to pee."

Wilson blinked and brushed a dollop of bubbles off his cheek. "What, now? You have to pee now? House, I'm in the shower!"

Nothing for a few seconds, and then House's voice drifted around the door jamb again from where he must have been hiding in the hall; Wilson couldn't see all that well between the soap, the curtain, and the steam. "It's an emergency." He really did sound upset by this.

Wilson scoffed anyway and threw his hands up even though no one was in there to appreciate his exasperation. "House, you're fifty years old. I know you've learned how to hold it."

A nice, loud, obnoxious sigh coursed through the air. "Look, as much as the thought of screwing with you pleases me, this is not my idea of a fun practical joke. I swear I won't look, okay?"

"How does someone your age even get to the point of – of pee emergency anyway?" Wilson demanded. He should have just shut up and finished; at this rate, he could be done showering before House was done arguing, and the whole point would be moot. But their relationship was not conducive to a cessation of imagined hostilities. "Haven't you ever heard of the two hour rule?"

"That was three hours ago."

Wilson sputtered as much from the water streaming into his mouth as the disbelief. "Then why didn't you pee three hours ago?!"

"Wilson, come on!" From his tone, Wilson could well imagine him prancing out there, cane included, like a gimpy toddler. (Wilson imagined Tiny Tim, and then guffawed on the inside.) Then abruptly, House yelled, "Fine! I didn't want to get up because my leg was cramping, so I thought I'd wait it out, but that took longer than I expected and I can't wait any longer. Wilson, this is the overnight bladder talking here! I have to go."

"Oh, for… Fine." Wilson turned toward the wall and went back to washing, his lathers angry and put-upon and strangely self-conscious now, which at least made for a good froth all over his loofa. When he heard House hesitantly step into the doorway, Wilson snapped, "No peeking!"

"You're not my type," House replied.

The toilet lid squeaked as it went up and Wilson concentrated on his armpits. Loofa-loofa, scrub-a-dub. "I said no peeking."

"I'm not peeking." Petulant, that.

Wilson glanced past his upraised arm and briefly met another set of furtive eyes. "You are too peeking!"

"So are you!" House spun back to his own business, angling himself to block Wilson's view. His balance seemed rather precarious from where Wilson was standing. Then House swore over himself.

"Don't even try it, House. I know you're not shy."

"I can't go."

"What exactly are you trying to prove?" Wilson glanced through the curtain again for good measure, the image of House slightly smeared by imperfect plastic. "That you're an exhibitionist? That I'm not a voyeur?"

"Stop looking!"

Wilson paused in his watching to hook the edge of the curtain with one finger. He pulled it out of the way, hooking it under his chin, blinking streams of water from his eyes. "You're actually upset. House, we pee next to each other all the time."

House threw his head back to groan at the ceiling, and then fumbled to put himself back together. Without peeing.

"House – "

"You can finish your damn shower in peace," House snarled, and then he hobbled out with sharp, angry footsteps. If his leg had been cramping up this morning, he would only make it worse again, walking like that. On his way out, Wilson thought he heard House grumble something about that having been a bad idea anyway, not like they were married, and Wilson has potted plants for emergencies like that.

"Don't pee in my plants! House!" Wilson fumbled to get at the shower controls; he was nearly done anyway. As he turned off the water, he kept shouting after House. "This is not like your apartment – you can't use every semi-convenient container like a litter box. House! You can have the bathroom, okay? I'm getting out."

Nothing; it was like House disappeared.

Wilson wrapped a towel around his hips with hasty motions, still dripping all over the mat, and then stumbled out into the hall. Cold apartment air blasted his exposed chest and legs, sending a shiver to course through him. He found House in the kitchen, pulling out cereal. Planting his hands on his hips, Wilson demanded, "What the hell was that all about?"

House hunched over his bowl and made way too much out of pouring cereal, as if he were scrying for the meaning of life in the slow cascade of Fruity Pebbles.

"House? What, are you sick? Look, it's probably an infection; that would increase the urgency to – "

"We're not talking about this. Ever again." House tapped out a few more cereal flakes and then concentrated on folding the cereal bag back down into the box.

Wilson stared at House's tense back, but he also spared an eye to make sure that House used the clip to clip the cereal bag closed and preserve freshness, plus reduce the attraction for rodents and insects. "Okay," Wilson started, his voice low and stern; House was not getting out of this. "What's going on?"

House slammed the cereal box back down on the counter, then thumped his other fist against the formica as well, leaning forward on both hands, his head hung low between his shoulders. Then he mumbled something incoherent, every intonation screaming of mortification.

Wilson furrowed his brow and took a step closer. "What?"

"I said I got an erection!" House cringed to have that come out so loud, and then he ducked over his cereal to push Fruity Pebbles around the bowl with his finger.

Wilson balked. "Oh. Oh! Okay." Yeah, can't pee with an erection; it just doesn't work. Then Wilson twitched nonspecifically. He twiddled his hands out in front of himself and then wished that he had thought to put on more than a towel before rushing out here like a half-naked loon. "Why didn't you take care of it in your bedroom? Before you barged in on me in the shower?"

"I did!" House snapped, and then he folded inward again to keep poking at his cereal. From the muted crunching, Wilson guessed that he was mashing it into a fine powder. While Wilson studied the set of his shoulders, House mumbled, "Thought I did." Then he grew more animated and affirmed, "It doesn't mean anything. It was a fluke, and we're never bringing it up again."

"Wait, wait, wait." Wilson let out a nervous breath of laughter that ended up sounding like a tiny bellows with a hole in it. "It was me? You got an erection from looking at me?!"

"I just said no talking!" House replied, irate and twitchy, and if he didn't stop poking at his cereal, he would soon reach a point where he'd be able to snort it. "And no. It wasn't you." House tried to laugh to illustrate how ridiculous that thought was. Boy, did it fall flat. And the flush creeping up to stain his neck from shoulders to hairline didn't help either.

Wilson didn't even pretend he might buy that. Instead, he approached the cutting table and watched the muscles in House's back twitch as he clenched up. A shade short of disbelieving, Wilson gently asked, "House, are you attracted to me?"

"No." But the single drawn-out word carried a distinct edge of wariness, until it sounded thin like a reluctant whine. A child forced by its parents to apologize.

Wilson wasn't sure what to make of that, so he fell back on the good old firm affirmation of his heterosexuality. "You know I'm not like that, right?"

"Oh. My. Gawd." House grasped the edges of the counter and glared up at the cupboards. "I said it was nothing. A fluke. Will you stop already?"

What kind of idiot would Wilson have to be to keep pursuing this pointless line of inquiry? House said it was a freak accident of anatomy, Wilson wanted that to be true, so… Why did he feel sad, all of a sudden? "Yeah," he replied. "Sorry. Just took me by surprise."

House gave a curt nod and a gruff, "Good." After a pause, he added, "You're getting the floor wet. Canes and puddles don't exactly mix."

"Right." Wilson pivoted away, glanced back, stuttered on his feet, and then left the kitchen. There was no point in discussing a fluke anyway.

~fin~

(I might post a sequel...don't know....)

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