1. ORAL SEX
The first time they had oral sex it was because House's leg hurt too badly for their usual attempts at wrestling each other to orgasm. They were lying together on the bed in Wilson's hotel room, pretending to pay attention to North by Northwest - well, House was pretending to watch and massaging his leg pointedly while Wilson stared raptly for the sixtieth time - when House said fuck it, slithered down the scratchy comforter, and started blowing hot air through Wilson's slacks. When the subject of what they usually did came up, House just rolled his eyes, unzipped the fly, and sucked half of the conveniently placed erection into his mouth.
After Wilson panted his way through a mind-blowing orgasm, because it is a commonly-known fact that dry-swallowing pills for years kills the gag reflex, House pulled himself back up the prone body under him and leaned in for a kiss. Wilson opened his mouth when he felt chapped lips on his, and was promptly rewarded with his own come being lazily returned to him. He missed the climax of the movie swearing and brushing his teeth in the tiny bathroom, and House smugly switched from AMC to a rerun of Project Runway in his absence.
2. HANDJOB
Being awkwardly shoved into a supply closet was doing surprisingly little to curb his enthusiasm for the hand creeping its way into his slacks. His protests about being caught were short-lived and mainly for the sake of appearances. Anyway, having firm kisses pressed to his jaw and jugular was preferable to staring at the paperwork for his patients for another hour, especially since the outlook for all of them was grim. Thank god one of his best skills was the ability to compartmentalize.
And if House had accidentally locked them in, well, it was just an opportunity to wait out the refractory period.
3. KISSING
Wilson had only known House well for about a month the first time they kissed. They had been playing tennis together, doubles, with Stacy and Wilson's flavor of the month. In the communal showers of the locker rooms they were alone, and the steam from the water was being disconcertingly uncooperative and refusing to cloak Wilson effectively. This was not normally troublesome, but the way House had been eying his somewhat-worn tennis shorts was speaking volumes about something. He just wasn't sure what that something was yet.
He became sure when he found himself shoved up against the wall, his naked back sliding uncomfortably against the slippery but eroded tile. House's tongue was suddenly in his mouth and while he wasn't quite sure how he felt about this, there was one thing that held constant in Wilson's world view - if someone was kissing you, you kissed back. House's mouth was even hotter then the water around them, and it felt like his stubble was burning a red mark of shame around his lips, but something about the feeling was so intoxicating he didn't want to pull away. Even though water was going up his nose at this angle and all in all it was getting hard to breathe.
"You should really think about investing in a new pair of shorts," House said, suddenly moving back. "You wouldn't want this to happen with a stranger in here, would you?"
Wilson just stood there gaping after him as House sauntered away, lean legs powering across the slick floor - walking away from him, walking away from the towels, walking away from his hard-on.
4. POST-INFARCTION LULZ ANGST
Wilson crept through the partially open door, holding his breath and trying his best not to squeak the tempermental sliding glass with any sort of pressure. House heard him anyway, god only knows how, and raised his sweaty head to glare at him.
"Oh, so now you show up," he rasped, slitted eyes looking at Wilson's Hawaiian shirt with obvious disdain. The glare was rendered much less threatening by the puffiness of the tissue around the lids, and the dark circles ringing the sockets.
"House, I'm sorry, I got back as fast as I could. But you know how they are with those cross-continental flights, just not as tailored to my needs as they used to be."
"Right," House said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Airlines - when will they ever learn it's all about us."
"Well, we are doctors," Wilson ventured, inching closer to the hospital bed.
"You are, you mean. I used to be. I'm completely unconvinced the rest of these creatures ever made it through their undergraduate biology classes, let alone med school," House said, the last bit of the sentence rushed out in a desperate gasp. Wilson could see the knot of muscle stand out in his jaw, and the tensing of the small lines of ligament in his hands, clutching at the bed sheets. His knuckles were turning white with tension.
When no stream of abuse seemed to be forthcoming, Wilson ventured all the way over to the hospital bed, checking the maxed-out flow of morphine before settling into the empty chair beside the IV pump.
"Where's Stacy?"
House didn't say anything, choosing instead to close his eyes and pointedly block Wilson out. Wilson just waited silently, watching the uneven rise and fall of House's chest. When the rhythm settled from ragged into something smoother, Wilson scraped the chair a little closer to the bed, pillowing his head on his arms and resting next to House's hip. House's hand was now loose next to his face, and the irrepressible urge to gently kiss one of the twitching fingers was something that stayed with him for hours.
5. IDK A CLICHE
Wilson was groaning loudly, craning his head around for another shot at the mauve lips hovering right outside of his reach while he thrust his hips in the direction of the unbelievably slick pressure against him.
"No, no, no," he heard someone mutter, the contorted face next to his rising and moving away. "This was a horrible idea, I can't believe we're doing this."
"What?" he gasped out. "This was - god - your idea."
"It was a horrible one!" Sandra snapped at him, pulling her shirt back up around her shoulders and ungracefully tumbling off the bed. "I don't know why you even agreed to this - I don't know what I was thinking!"
He couldn't get off the bed and could only watch as she stumbled out of the room, the drinks they had had at the bar beforehand evident in her awkward run.
"Well, fuck," Wilson said, somehow able to see his first marriage crumbling around him, establishing a pattern that would end up haunting him.
"If this means I don't get to come I'm going to call the cops on you both for public indecency," said a strained voice from the bottom of the bed.
"House, seriously, shut the fuck up," Wilson groaned, rolling his eyes so violently he was almost certain he glimpsed brain matter.
"What?" House echoed innocently. "If one person backs out, there's no reason we can't still have sex."
Probably he would have continued protesting if a warm mouth hadn't covered his, House's tongue driving all thoughts of divorce proceedings and alimony payments out of his mind.
AND ONE TIME THEY DIDN'T
"Jesus Christ, get off of me," House whined, pushing at Wilson's shoulder until he rolled onto the other side of the bed. "You weigh about five hundred pounds and you're crushing my lungs."
Wilson sighed and stared at the ceiling. "You're the one that grabbed my dick in the clinic," he said, resolving not to kill House, if only because Cuddy would definitely not give him that raise if he messily murdered her pet.
"Yeah, and you probably found some nurse to play with it until closing time at the cancer farm," House said. "No, seriously, don't try and kiss me, you smell like pussy."