"House, I was using your laptop earlier, and I noticed your bookmarks-"
"You mean you deliberately snooped through them, right?"
"N-no, I-"
"Wilson, I thought you decided to give up the denial, what with the gay sex and all."
"Look, I just thought I'd bring it up!" Wilson rolled his eyes and grabbed the remote, flipping through to a rerun of Rock of Love. "I mean, I haven't been with a guy for a while, I just thought I'd...see what you liked."
"Seriously?" House asked, eyes widening as he made a futile grab back at the clicker. "Blowjobs are fulfilling enough, as long as you can remember to keep your elbow off my thigh."
"That's not what the browser history would suggest!" said Wilson, the tips of his ears flushing with misplaced indignation.
"Look, it's not like my bookmarks make up a to-do list, or even a to-do-to-you list. It's just porn - internet porn."
"Fine," Wilson sulked, turning his attention back to the blondes currently vying for Bret's attention. "I don't even care, I just wanted to try and make you happy. Please forgive me."
"Only if you beg on bended knee," House snapped, pushing himself off the couch with an unattractive grunt. "I'm going to bed; please don't bring the laptop with you."
Wilson just sighed louder, in order for his tortured put-upon state to be noticed over House's determined, and somehow very loud, silence. When House didn't rise to the bait, and the fight on the television didn't devolve into hair-pulling, he flipped the lights off and went to the bedroom. House was already under the covers, his back partially exposed to the muted glow of the bedside lamp. Suspiciously loud snoring began as soon as Wilson shut the door.
"Godammit, House, I know you don't snore."
"Fine," House muttered, shifting onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
"Look, if you don't want to talk about sex, we don't have to. I just thought...you know, that there might be something you wanted," Wilson said, stripping down to his boxers and getting into bed.
"And I have told you, so many times and in so many ways, I would vastly prefer not talking about any aspect of our relationship, sexual or otherwise. I know that's hard for you to grasp, but not everything in my brain revolves around you and your dick."
"That's not what some of the e-mails I've been getting at work would suggest," Wilson said, poking at House's shoulder.
"God, are you ever gonna leave this alone?"
"Probably not," he said, contemplating. "Some of those websites had some kind of...interesting ideas on them."
"And now we get to the root of the issue," House said, rolling over and glaring at Wilson. "It's always about the sex with you, isn't it?"
"No! Just, maybe sometimes we could try something different," he said hesitantly, avoiding House's eerily unblinking stare.
"Alright, I'll stop at ye olde sex store on the way home from work tomorrow," House said. "Pick up some handcuffs, maybe some candles. I could always raid the closets at work, too. Scalpels, hypodermics, latex gloves-"
"Jesus, ok, fine, I get the point," Wilson said, rolling his eyes as dramatically as he could.
"Are you sure? I'm positive there's something in that medical funhouse I could find to shove up your urethra," House said, apparently warming up to the subject.
"I'm sorry, I will never bring it up again, just stop threatening my orifices," Wilson said, pulling the covers over his head in an attempt to block out House. He waited a minute, breathing in the stuffy recycled air and waiting House's suspicious sudden silence out. When it finally got unbearably hot, he squirmed back up onto the pillow and continued avoiding eye contact.
"Enemas," House said, pronouncing the word with great relish.
"Christ!"
It ended up being a week before they had sex next - although they finally got caught up on House's TiVo.