"Yeah," House mumbls, staring at his lap.
"Yeah?" Wilson asks incredulously, bringing his hands to his face. "What was that, House? What are you trying to pull?"
"Nice choice of words," Amber says, stroking Wilson's cheek with the tip of her finger. He doesn't flinch, doesn't suspect anything. House's gaze is locked onto Amber's hand, following it like a rapt pupil.
"Staring helps," Wilson says, wiping at his cheek unconsciously. "What is wrong with you? You're acting insane." House brings his attention back to Wilson's eyes, the expression there changing from anger to concern.
"Careful," Amber says, almost purring. "Don't want him to start thinking you're crazy."
"Just get out, Wilson." House says flatly. Wilson examines him for a moment, probes with those dark eyes, before nodding curtly. Just as his hand grasps the doorknob he turns back, looks at House once more.
"I'm going to find out what's going on," he says, and the door shuts quietly behind him.
"Thank God he's gone," Amber says, turning toward him, satisfaction playing at the corners of her lips. She moves toward him again, takes his head in her hands and brings her face close, but as she tries to open House's mouth with her own, he stops her, pushes her back, off, away from his body.
"God," Amber says, settling back into the couch next to him. "No would have worked too."
"You don't usually do 'no,'" House says.
"Something you're also unfamiliar with," She replies, reaching toward the pizza box. She lifts a slice slowly, carefully, letting the connected cheese turn into thin ropes that try, unsuccessfully, to keep the pie whole.
She sits back, one hand under the pizza, and takes a bite. "Ouch," she mutters. "It's really hot."
"As things often are when they come out of ovens." House gets up, walks toward his bedroom. "You'd better be gone by morning."
"Treat all your houseguests like this?" Amber calls back, her mouth still full.
"Only the ones that don't exist."
House shut the door behind him and sat on the bead heavily before laying on his back. He feels something in his hand; when he raises the limb he sees his fingers wrapped around a crust.
His mouth is burnt.
******
House sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning even after drugging himself to the gills with Vicodin. But the morning brings nothing other than the sun; no Amber in sight. He breathes out, relaxes for a moment before he remembers: He kissed Wilson.
He. Kissed. Wilson. With tongue. He did the same with Amber, but as she was a hallucination, he doubted there would be too many repercussions to that lip lock.
House replays the situation in his mind; the feel of Wilson's five o'clock shadow under his fingers (the itch that he can still feel now), the firmness of the other man's kiss, the lips that met his with an equal passion. The entire encounter plays back like a movie, and he is but an observer, unattached to the actual situation.
And yet, when he thinks of the softness, of the willingness of Wilson's mouth…
House's slept-in jeans become uncomfortably tight, but he ignores it, instead getting up as quickly as his stiff leg will allow, stripping off the t-shirt that clings to his sleep-warmed body, and pulling on a wrinkled button-down.
He grabs a piece of pizza on the way out.
****
The cold concrete ledge digs into House's hands as he tries to crane his neck as far as possible so as to see into Wilson's office. He's there…and so is Cuddy. He watches as Wilson says something with a serious expression on his face; Cuddy raises an arm…the angle of her elbow hints that she's covering her mouth.
She turns, then, and leaves Wilson's office.
House backs away from the edge into his office. His thoughts whirl; Wilson must have told Cuddy. Must have.
He walks into the hall, passes his boss, who only nods and says his name normally.
She's acting, He thinks, and opens Wilson's door without knocking.
"You told her?" His voice is loud, demanding. He wants information like a child wants candy, and he wants it now.
"No, House," Wilson says. His words sound like an eye roll. "I didn't. Why would I?"
"Don't all girls kiss and tell?"
This time Wilson actually rolls his eyes. He leans forward on the desk, perches on his elbows. His eyes meet House's, the expression unreadable.
"So I'm the girl in the relationship?"
"You've got the hair for it." House paces in front of Wilson's desk, keeps his eyes roaming so they don't meet Wilson's.
"House, grow up. You kissed me. I kissed you back. Stop pushing me because I'm not going to push back. It happened." Wilson leans back in his chair, folds his hands over his chest.
"Why are you so calm about this?" House says, his voice rising.
"Because you're either screwing with me, or actually wanted to kiss me."
"And you're ok with that?"
"Did I not tell you he had an 'experience' in college?" Another voice pipes up. Horrified, House turns to see Amber leaning against the glass doors to Wilson's balcony.
"Guess not." She says, laughing.
Wilson watches as House looks sharply to the right.
"House," he says, his brows knitting together.
"House!" This time, the older man's gaze snaps back to his.
Amber sidles to the desk and sits on the edge. She crosses her legs, allowing the skirt that barely covers her ass to do its job.
"House," Wilson asks slowly, watching as the other man's eyes trace something nonexistent, or, at least invisible to him, "What exactly is going on?"
Amber leans back across the wood, displacing nothing. Her face is inches away from Wilson's, and she examines him for a moment before looking back at House.
"Wouldn't he like to know."