Tuesday Evening at 8.55...
Wilson was restless. He glanced at his watch, and then chugged the remains of his beer and reached for the Doritos. The bag rustled, and in the corner of the room Steve descended from his wheel and scampered quickly to the side of his cage. There he began to squeak, piteously.
Wilson rolled his eyes and glanced towards the bathroom. There was no sign of House, and so he quickly picked out a Dorito and carried it over to Steve. "Here you go, little fella," he whispered, as he poked the Dorito between the bars. "Now eat that quickly before House comes back, or we'll be both be in trouble." Steve grabbed the snack in both front paws and began to nibble frantically, eyes gleaming and whiskers twitching in mute appreciation. Wilson watched him fondly for a moment, but as he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening he turned quickly and made his way towards the kitchen.
"Wanna beer?" he asked, as he reached into the fridge and extracted a couple of bottles. House grunted his acceptance, and then dropped onto the couch and reached for the pizza.
Wilson returned to the couch and placed both bottles on the table. He sat down next to House, and leaned across for the TV Guide. "So have you read any of the spoilers this week?" he asked, in a casual tone. "What's it called again?" He flicked the guide open, and turned to Tuesday's pages. "Airborne. Sounds interesting! Something about a virus, perhaps? Hmmm…" He then re-read the summary for the 26th time.
"On House and Cuddy's flight from Singapore a passenger gets ill and Cuddy suspects an epidemic. At the hospital, Wilson leads the team as they deal with a middle-aged woman suffering from seizures."
"I just can't work out what you and Cuddy were doing in Singapore without me!" He raised his eyebrows and glanced across at House, but House appeared busy with a journal and made no reply. Wilson sighed, and dropped the TV Guide onto the coffee table. "Where's the remote?" he asked a moment later. "Have you got it?"
Apparently House didn't know. "The remote?" he repeated, in a neutral tone. "I've no idea. Perhaps it's on the table."
Wilson searched the table again but there was still no sign of the gadget, and he began to dig around on the couch. "It's got to be here somewhere," he said, a note of anxiety becoming apparent in his voice. "Come on, House. It's starting in a minute. Help me find it." House didn't respond, though, and a moment later Wilson stopped searching and looked over at House suspiciously. "You must be sitting on it. Get up."
"I'm not sitting on it," said House, but his face remained buried in his journal, and Wilson's suspicions were almost confirmed.
"Get up, House!" he said. "We're going to miss the start!" House didn't move, though, and Wilson glared across at him. "If you don't move, I'm going to get it myself."
House finally looked up from his journal, and raised an eyebrow. "Careful now, Jimmy," he said with a smirk. "You wouldn't want to hurt a defenceless cripple would you?" There was a gleam in his eye, though, and Wilson felt himself grinning back, despite his irritation.
"Shift your butt," he said, as he dug his hands under House's legs and began to feel around. There was nothing to be found, though, and he began to push his hands backwards, towards House's ass. House's ass turned out to be surprisingly firm, and for a moment Wilson almost forgot what he was looking for. He felt House's weight shift suddenly against his hands, and when he looked up he found that House had moved a little closer.
Wilson stared up at House for a moment, his eyes widening and his hands now trapped in front of him. He tugged on his arms, but House just shifted closer again, and his grin grew a little broader. Wilson's head spun slightly, and he felt his heart begin to thump against his ribs. He thought for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "You've got it TiVoed, right?" he enquired, a little hoarsely. House merely grinned, and moved in for the kill.
As House leaned forwards and began to press his lips against Wilson's he couldn't hold back a smile. It was always so easy to wind Wilson up. As he reached across and placed his left hand firmly on Wilson's shoulder, he slipped his right hand into his pocket and slid the remote discreetly onto the floor. He'd read all of the spoilers, and he didn't hold out too much hope for the episode. What the writers didn't see couldn't harm them, though, and it really didn't matter in the end, since he was sure he was going to make a much better job of it himself.
The End
