A/N: For a standard disclaimer see my profile. "Satisfaction" belongs to the Stones, and if you really believe that I'm Mick, you should seriously consider starting to take your meds again. The state of House's apartment, however, intentionally resembles my own place (only my slightly anal brother chased the Sink People away before they had a chance to invent anything), so if you ever decide to come for a visit, don't forget your hazmat suits.
ooooooooooo
House came back from the kitchen with a chipped mug full of fresh coffee.
"You didn't have any mugs that weren't broken?" asked Wilson, turning the hot cup - which looked as if someone tried to hammer in some nails with it - in his hands.
House shrugged. "I did. But there's something green in them. I think it's the soup from Monday."
Wilson tried to imagine what else could be lurking in the depths of House's kitchen and shuddered.
"You could wash the dishes from time to time, you know? I think there may be a new civilization evolving in your sink."
"I'm waiting for them to invent the wheel, pack up and leave by themselves."
Well, convincing House that keeping his apartment clean was a right thing to do was completely pointless. The only thing that you could do was give him a card of a cleaning company once a month and in the meantime hope like hell that nothing that could cause a state-wide epidemic hatched in his apartment.
Wilson swallowed the first, tongue-burning sip and sighed with delight. House knew how to make a good coffee - strong, wonderfully aromatic... Even if the mug sucked.
Wilson nestled down comfortably on the couch and waited for the magic of caffeine to start working. Suddenly a rather worrisome thought came to him.
"House?"
"Hmm?" mumbled House, looking up from some idiotic tabloid from last week.
"There's nothing I should be worried about in this coffee, right?"
"I told you, the mug was clean."
"I didn't mean some green filth growing in your sink, I meant something you might have put there on purpose."
House threw him a hurt look. "Me? You think I could have done something like this to my bestest buddy?"
Wilson looked at him without a word.
"Fine, I probably could. But I didn't! Scout's honor!"
"If you ever joined the Scouts, I'm sure your patrol was dissolved after a month, because instead of tying knots you dragged the boys out to pick up hookers."
"When I was ten? Jimmy, you flatter me, I didn't know you thought so highly of me!"
"Oh shut up, you moron. It wasn't a compliment."
House only smiled and went back to reading - probably a fascinating article about a woman, who gave birth to a wombat, or some other crap like this. Wilson slowly finished his coffee and experimentally sat up. He still felt as if someone stepped on his brain with a dirty work-boot, but at least he no longer saw stars every time he moved. Coffee may make holes in your stomach, but at this point the needs of his tortured head definitely outweighed his fear of ulcers.
Wilson gathered all the courage he could muster this morning and stood up. Hmm, so far so good... Or not.
"House?"
"Hmm?"
"Where are my trousers?"
"Oh, Jimmy, don't tell me you forgot our first night together! How could you?!" cried House, fluttering his eyelashes.
Wilson covered his eyes with his hand. "Jesus Christ, man, I'm not buying this, even if I do have a father of all hangovers."
"You don't think I'm attractive?" House sniffled and stared at his feet.
Wilson looked him over, his gaze moving from the mop of disheveled hair and dark circles under House's eyes, over the horribly crumpled t-shirt with the name of some gas station in Arizona, to gray socks with holes in them. "No" he said emphatically.
"I know several charming young ladies who would disagree with you!"
"Well, maybe if you gave me two hundred bucks I would change my mind."
"Ouch. Nice, really. Thank you so much for crushing my ego."
"House, to crush your ego I'd have to have an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile handy. It's half the size of Texas."
House laughed out loud. "Behind you, on the recliner. Watch it though, you dropped a slice of pizza on your knees, there's ketchup all over them."
Wilson sighed. "Will you give me something to change into?"
"Sure. Go find something" said House, gesturing towards his bedroom. "There should be a mostly clean shirt in the corner, on the left side of the bed."
Right. Many people believed that House's creased clothes were a part of his trademark style. Wilson knew better. It had nothing to do with any kind of style - House looked as if he put on the first thing he found on his floor, simply because he did put on the first thing he found on his floor. Not because he wanted to look charmingly disheveled.
Wilson took one step towards the bedroom and his foot hit an empty bottle, half hidden under the couch. He leaned down and picked it up, looking surprised.
"Vodka? We drank vodka last night?"
For a split-second House looked embarrassed, but he composed himself almost immediately. "It's been lying there since last week. Wild party, believe me. Wine, women and music. Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll."
"Yeah, right." Wilson shrugged and went to the bedroom. "Drugs and wine - or rather vodka - I believe without reservation."
"Unfaithful Wilson."
"All right, I'll admit, rock'n'roll seems plausible as well."
House muttered something to himself, but Wilson was already standing in the bedroom door and didn't hear it. He looked around the darkened room with mild horror. House wasn't kidding. Piles of clothes lay everywhere - on the floor, on the nightstand, at the foot of the unmade bed, under the chair... There was a single sock, hanging limply from the wall lamp over the bed. It looked like it was high time the cleaning company came for a visit.
Wilson once again told himself that the dream of House growing up one day, or at least getting his act together a bit, would never come true. And then he started looking for the least sweaty t-shirt in the pile.
"Wilson, I'm gonna take a leak, I will free up the bathroom in a minute!" yelled House from the living room.
"Too much information!" Wilson yelled back, putting on The Who t-shirt. It had a suspicious yellow stain on the left sleeve, but aside from that it looked mostly fresh.
"I can get no! Satisfaction!" the words of the Stones' song came from the bathroom, sung at the top of House's surprisingly good voice.
"Christ Almighty, House! I'm really not interested in the details of your auto-erotic problems! Skip the live commentary, will you?!"
A short burst of laughter came from the bathroom, followed by the sound of a toilet being flushed. Wilson dug out a pair of faded jeans from the heap next to the door. They were definitely too long, but he could always tuck the legs up.
"Okay, the bathroom is all yours" said House, sticking his head in the bedroom. "Hurry up, I'll go find something to eat."
Wilson spent blissful fifteen minutes in a hot shower, feeling the alcohol evaporate and his muscles, sore from sleeping on a lumpy couch, relax. When he left the bathroom, drying his hair with House's ragged towel, he felt almost fine.
All he needed now was a good meal and...
"House."
"Yup, that's me" confirmed House, his mouth stuffed with potato chips. "But you can call me Greg, after all we've known each other for so long..."
"That's not food. That's some chips, old crackers and a jar of strawberry jelly."
"I'm eating it. Ergo, it's food."
"Small kids will eat sand, if you don't watch them while they play in the sandbox."
House made a surprised face. "You want sand for breakfast? I don't have any. There's some milk in the fridge, but I wouldn't drink it. The color is off."
"You want me to spend the whole weekend here, with nothing but the stale Lays' to eat?"
"Hey, we have a phone. Which means we have pizza, Chinese, nachos and other yummy things. Besides, you can't go out and play, because the truant officer will drag you back to the hospital. I can do whatever I want. For example - go shopping."
"And bring more chips."
House shrugged. "Fresh chips."
Wilson rubbed his eyes with his hand, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling. House was mean, sarcastic, prickly, had the mentality of a ten year old high on LSD and could bring a saint to homicidal rage, but somehow Wilson managed to get used to it, even learn to like it. Being around House could never be boring - definitely a good thing for someone, whose weekly schedule was so meticulously planned, that you could set your watch by it.
Wilson looked around the kitchen, searching for something slightly more nutritious, and after a moment he found a loaf of bread, slightly dry, but still edible.
"This apartment is nearing a critical mass" he said after spending five minutes on a fruitless search for a toaster. "Where's the toaster?"
"On your left. It's hiding behind the frying pan."
"I'd be hiding too, if I were him..." muttered Wilson, using two fingers to push the pan, sticky with old grease, out of the way. He leaned down to reach the toaster and suddenly straightened up again.
"This is my glass. From last night" he said, pointing to a glass in front of him, one third full of now flat Grolsch.
"I know" said House with surprise. "So what?"
"So this beer smells like vodka."
The flash of panic on House's face disappeared almost instantly, replaced by one of his trademark I have no idea what you are talking about expressions, but it was enough to confirm Wilson's suspicions.
"You put vodka in my beer!"
"You're crazy." The epitome of innocence. Of course.
"House, for what insane reason would you want to get me drunk? And don't say anything about my trousers and our night of passion on your couch!" Wilson raised a hand as soon as he noticed a flash in House's eye.
House laughed and if Wilson didn't know him as well as he did, he wouldn't notice that the laughter was tinged with a hint of nervousness.
"Jimmy, you were doing a great job getting yourself drunk, I didn't have to help you!"
"You didn't have to" agreed Wilson. "But you helped anyway. Why?"
For a long minute House stared at him with wide eyes, silent. Then he fixed his eyes on the floor and started fidgeting.
"For God's sake, how old are you? Five?"
"I... um..." Genuinely embarrassed House - a rare sight. Wilson was so surprised that he forgot he was supposed to be mad at him.
"Spit it out finally!"
House glanced at Wilson. "Promise me you won't be mad."
"How am I supposed to promise I won't get mad, if I don't know what insanity you came up with this time?" Wilson put his hands on his hips and fixed House with what he hoped was a stern look.
"Fine" sighed House with resignation. "So..."
ooooooooooo
tbc.
A/N: Yeah, I'm evil. Deal with it. And in case you're allergic to slash and are ready to run for the hills right about now – I have no intention of taking this story in that direction. This is a friendship fic. And besides, I'm utterly incapable of writing a male/male erotic scene, I always imagine my very good gay friend reading it over my shoulder and laughing his butt off. Kinda kills the mood, you know?