-1Famous Last Words
There is a new Scottish woman working in Oncology. Blaine. Dr Blaine was one of those deathly-pale types with the black hair that only served to make them look even more like a ghost; but with a typically endearing bedside manner and a pair of dark, come-to-bed eyes with the cheeky twinkle and the beautiful, charming smile- the type of woman Wilson has never, ever thought about but he is oddly attracted to. She had that perfect soft glow to her skin, her nose was just the right size and shape, her face a gentle heart-shape with high cheekbones, and whilst she's slim, she's not too slim- Blaine has all the right curves in all the right places.
And Wilson thinks she doesn't wear her lab coat nearly as often as she should, because she's got a great butt that is… distracting, to say the least. It was incredibly difficult to focus when Blaine would come into his office with a light grin and say something in her rich (but understandable) Scottish accent along the lines of 'I'm going home now, Dr Wilson. Call me if you need me', then she'd turn away from him, put a few things down, then turn back and place a hot coffee on his desk with a quirky, quiet 'there you go!'- and then she turns around to pick her stuff up, and try as Wilson might, he just can't help but scope out her perfect ass.
But every night, he dreams about her. It's irritating in an odd sort of way.
It's not that much of a dream; it always ends before it goes too far. It usually involves being stood in his office- it's the end of the day, Wilson is filing through paperwork. Blaine steps into his office, and she's wearing a skirt, one of those that sways with every movement- tight on the hips but loosening, flaring out 'til it ended at her knees. It's black, because black and white is her theme, and it looks good on her. She's got a white shirt, but it's tighter than her usual, the two top buttons undone, showing off just the right amount of cleavage. A nice black jacket, nothing special, and if Wilson looks down he can spy thin soft-shine stockings, and high black stilettos. Her hair is long and loose. Wilson knows that in real life she'd never wear that, but it's his dream.
Blaine has a subtle smile on her face. She's got the usual coffee in her hand, but she just stands in front of Wilson's desk, an eyebrow raised, completely silent. Wilson stands up, goes to the other side of the desk, and for a time they share a deep, sensual kiss. Then the dream almost skips a few seconds out, and suddenly Wilson has Blaine against the wall, lips locked, his hand sliding under her skirt and up her thigh- kissing, sucking, biting-
But then, when Wilson wakes up in the morning, he can't remember if anything happens after that. It frustrates him, because he knows the dream doesn't end, he just doesn't remember. It almost angers him. Wilson wants to get this fantasy about his colleague - uh, or as Greg House recently starting calling those who weren't above him or equal to him, "bitches" - out of his head, wants to have the perfect fantasy fuck that is just-so to quench his curiosity about the woman and his lust for her.
Wilson fears that sooner or later he'll end up flirting with Blaine, and either she'll reject him, or she'll flirt back, and then they'll end up doing something like sleeping together, and the free coffees each evening will stop, and what could have been a good friendship would be completely down the drain. Wilson has screwed his life up enough. He doesn't need it made worse, and doesn't want to help destroy someone else's either.
When Wilson wakes up in the morning, he'll take a cold shower whether he needs one or not- just because the hard pellets of water on his skin keep him from dwelling over his night-time fantasy.
---
Unfortunately- or perhaps not- for Wilson, the object of his repressed lust was having a similar sort of dream about Wilson's best friend- of course, Katrina "Kitty" Blaine isn't aware that the gruff, oddly attractive man with the penetrating blue eyes and the limp is Wilson's best friend, nor is she even aware of his name. If she knew his name, she'd have dismissed him immediately- because the one person she was warned about on her first day was the head of Diagnostic Medicine, Gregory House.
The dream starts with Kitty walking into his office, which she imagines to look like the rather attractive office made of glass that is next door to Dr Wilson's office, asking for a consult on one thing or another, and then he stands up and pins her against the wall with his cane before she can speak; harsh kisses and more quickly follow. Unlike Wilson's dream, Kitty is allowed to be as vague or detailed ad she likes, because she doesn't know who the blue-eyed doctor is, so personality doesn't restrain her. She can just feel the raw passion.
When she wakes up in the morning, she'll take a cold shower to wash off the sweat and the smell of want all over her body.
---
And some miles away, that very same old blue-eyes has his brain is working overtime to figure out a particularly taxing patient who his lackeys are currently trying to revive.
Foreman walks into House's office a few moments later and says, 'We lost her.'
House glares at Foreman like it's his fault. Strangely he can't find the energy to make a witty retort or snappy remark about the incompetence of his ducklings. They're in his head but his tongue won't work. But soon enough, Foreman gets bored. He leaves.
When House goes home, he'll have a burning hot shower to startle him into pain to escape not having solved one of his mysteries. Then he'll go to bed. And he won't dream at all.