Origin
James Wilson wasn't a naive man. When House told him that he didn't want to know, Wilson knew not to question it, unless of course he wanted to be disgusted for the rest of the week, but enough of that. Since his little bout of impulsive Spring Cleaning took place, he had forgotten about it, for a good week.
So, when the man abruptly awoke, shirt sticking to his sweat-soaked back, his heart pulsing with increasing intensity and breathing harsh, he was surprised that the stain was the first thought that came to his head. The man didn't remember the details of his (Nightmare? He wasn't feeling the gnawing fear in his mind...) dream, but his mind wandered to the minuscule peculiarity that he had forgotten for some reason.
Over his calming breaths, he could hear a small rustling sound from the other room. Thinking House was tossing in his sleep, Wilson tore himself from his cocoon of blankets and shuffled to the room, moving faster when he heard harsh breathing from its interior.
His hand on the doorknob, Wilson froze when he heard a groan from the man inside.
As an oncologist, Wilson had helped hundreds of people through chemotherapy, and has been there when the pain became too much. He's been friends with House long enough to distinguish his emotions, his facial features, his behavioral patterns. Consequently, he knew the difference between pleasure and pain, as well as the natural reaction to each. What House was experiencing in that room right now was not pain.
His feet were frozen to the spot. He wanted to go back to sleep, climb back into the warmth of the uncomfortable couch, but his legs were declaring inertia, and not following directions at all. This is wrong, so wrong to be standing outside the door of his best friend as he's jerking off, but he was tired, his subconscious had taken control, and he was unable to move.
The breaths were harsher, the groans more intense, and then House uttered the first bit of coherent speech since Wilson had arrived. Wilson jumped, his eyes widening, and as quietly as he could, made his way back to the couch and forced his eyes shut, wishing could forget what just happened and his reaction to it...
As soon as House shut the door to the bathroom, Wilson lifted his head from the plate of breakfast he was currently indulging in. Placing his plate on the coffee table, he stood and listened for the shower spray, making his way to House's room as soon as he heard it.
Looking at the side of the bed, he was able to easily distinguish the area of darker wood, and confirmed that last night's happenings weren't a dream. Wilson wished he could have the fortune of dismissing it all as some strange trance, going back to the blissful ignorance that was there before.
As he stared at the stain, he could hear only too clear the name spoken last night, part of him wishing his memory wasn't so clear.
"Wilson..."
Another part of him wished he could hear it again.