House was in the hazy area between sleeping and waking when the feel of warm fingertips touched the side of his face. It disappeared, only to come back, tracing along his lips.

House twitched away, burying his face deeper into his pillow. "Stop poking me." His voice was gravelly from sleep, eyelids still too heavy to open.

"I'm not poking you." Wilson sounded amused, and House felt him move a little closer.

House chose to ignore him, willing sleep to creep up on him again, before he felt a hand run over his head. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found Wilson lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, looking up at where his hand was running over the top of House's hair, then down his neck. His scalp thrilled with sensation, ran through him, and made him shiver. Wilson looked at him then, and House caught a glimpse of that indulgent little smile of his; that telltale sign that he was about to become putty in Wilson's hands.

House gave a whiny groan of annoyance as he rolled over onto his back. He'd fight him off for as long as possible, no matter what Wilson said or did. It was too early in the morning for touchy-feely, just as it was too early in the morning for a smug, self-satisfied Wilson.

He felt a hand on his arm then, and then a single finger gliding down his forearm.

"What do you want to do today?"

That tone. House knew it all too well. He could try if he liked, but subtlety was something that Wilson had thrown out the window the day when no second thought was given to cornering someone in a glass-walled office.

"Sleep." House stated, turning his head away from Wilson, another act of defiance.

"You can't sleep all day."

"Just watch me." Though now, he was so self-aware of Wilson beside him that sleep was going to be impossible, and, he had to admit, not particularly favourable. He could hear Wilson shifting around next to him, but he kept his face turned steadfastly to the wall.

He was just considering the actual likelihood of Wilson giving up his persistence when he flinched; a sudden feeling of moisture trailing along his side. Quickly, he looked over at Wilson who was tracing a line with his tongue, up and around, just under his ribcage. Saliva pooled in his mouth, forcing him to swallow thickly as Wilson pushed the covers further down and positioned himself over his body.

"You're not half obvious." House managed to say; arms outstretched to take hold of Wilson's hips. Wilson didn't respond. He would know now that he was just saying things for the sake of it.

Wilson dragged his open mouth up along his rising, falling chest, hot breath against his skin; the low heat of it spreading throughout his body.

And Wilson drew himself up on his hands only to lean in again slowly. House watched, taking in the way Wilson's eyes darted down to his mouth before he kissed him.

Then he focused on that; the first press of lips, gentle, fleeting, disappearing; waiting for the feeling to return. Another quick kiss, and a different angle, before Wilson's mouth moved so languidly against his own, and he was able to really taste; his lips and tongue. It was an indescribable feeling for him every time, only that he really felt desirable. Desirable to Wilson.

He was only vaguely aware of Wilson's hands on the side of his face, of the small sounds of appreciation, and of the fact that in the mornings, Wilson smelt like him.

Wilson broke the kiss with a lick of his lips; his eyes still so close that House had to blink twice to focus on them. Then Wilson leaned back just slightly, and he spoke with underlying intensity, "I like you."

House stared up at him for a moment, looking over his face, and holding his breath for reasons beyond him. He wasn't entirely sure if it was ever Wilson's intention to make the things he said sound so seductive.

Either way, he reached up to the back of Wilson's head, fingers through his hair, inviting him down to his mouth again.

With a complete change of mind, House decided that it was never too early in the morning.

For anything.