Title: Misdemeanours and Motorbikes
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
Ratings: PG
Disclaimers: I'm not really sure who owns House M.D., but I know it's not me.
Spoilers/Continuity: S2
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summary: A Drabble and a Ficlet. These two have a special relationship with each other.
Completed: February 28, 2007
Notes: a Belated Birthday fic for earlwyn. This is what happens when I try to catch and cage my muse. Not pretty.
Misdemeanours
It was true. He never paid parking tickets – at least never with his own money. He'd close the elevator door on your face without a second thought. (No reason for him to slow down his day for you). Those little things just weren't important.
Didn't hold enough meaning.
There were never any boundaries the moment you went under his scrutiny – medically or personally – you became fair game. Something to rip to shreds. Playing nice just wasn't his rules.
And there was always his Vicodin.
But even he knew, among his many misdemeanours, pushing away Wilson was too big a crime.
And Motorbikes
"No," he pouted like a child, his hands on his hips as if ready for a tantrum.
House had to fight the smile from spreading across his face, "Get on the bike Jimmy." He tossed the helmet to his friend.
"Wouldn't you rather protect your big, genius brain than my puny, oncologist's one?" a challenge sat in the arch of Wilson's eyebrow as he looked over the helmet.
House pretended to toss the idea around his head, "…but you've got better hair."
"All the more reason to take a taxi; Protect your brain and my hair," Wilson let the little boy plea colour his tone, holding the helmet limply at his side.
The wicked, dangerous smirk appeared; "What's the matter? Are you chicken?"
The other man's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
"Aww, is that is? Is little Jimmy too scared to sit on the back of my bike?" House pouted back at him.
"Anyone without a death-wish would be." Came the deadpan reply.
House nodded, crossing his arms over his chest; "You're just not man enough, huh?" There was no playful banter in his voice, just a hostile accusation. The right way to push his friend into doing something against his will. "Cameron did it."
Wilson closed his eyes and sighed; he was close to breaking - as if there was ever any doubt that he would.
"Remember You asked Me for a ride home," House revved the engine to punctuate his statement.
"I didn't know you had the bike today," Wilson began to protest.
"—So, let's get moving before it's tomorrow," he continued, talking over the other man. Dismissing him and his excuses.
Shaking his head, Wilson plunked the helmet down on his skull. He looked far too much like a child forced to wear his school uniform for House to contain his amusement at his friend's dismay.
Wilson pouted, "I'm not climbing on there if you're just going to laugh at me."
"Just get on the Bike!"
Wilson took one last sweeping look around the parking lot before settling himself on the bike behind House. The seat's less than affectionate nickname – Bitch Seat – ran through his head. He sighed again before folding his arms around his friend's middle, safely clinging to him.
"The lengths I have to reach for to get you to touch me like you used too," House teased, speeding off before any reply could cut down the moment.
end.