Notes: Thanks to theletterv for some last-minute betaing. The second drabble I literally wrote like an hour ago and he was kind enough to suffer the injustive uv hvn 2 fix mah ypos. (Note: totes did those ones on purpose).

Twenty Questions

Their first kiss happened because House has the attention span of a child.

Wilson, as per usual, was doing paperwork. His mind wasn't necessarily on the paperwork at hand-he was busy thinking about the fact he and House were recently single, a terminally ill eight year old, Cuddy's dirty looks for the past three days although her and House had broken up more than a month ago, Sam's voicemail demanding to know where her Breakfast at Tiffany's DVD was although that was Wilson's but he was considering giving it to her since he had been thinking about buying a blu-ray player anyway, and trying to gather the courage to ask House to move back in with him.

It wasn't that House needed supervision anymore. Well, maybe he did, but he'd been living on his own in his apartment and he and Cuddy dating hadn't been one of his brighter ideas, and he'd been rubbing his leg a lot more recently . . . Still, when Sam had broken up with Wilson last week House had been in a good mood. Obviously. Despite that, though, Wilson did worry about him, but he wasn't stupid enough to convince himself it was all for House's benefit-Wilson missed living with him and he knew why; he just worried about House figuring it out if he asked.

He heard the familiar taps against his balcony door and sighed, smiling thinly before looking up at the source of the noise. House stood on the other side of the partition, tossing pebbles at his window. Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed heavily just for show, but he knew he was smiling and that House wouldn't believe his exasperation for one second.

He put his pen and paperwork aside and then stepped outside in the early autumn sun, the chill breeze balancing the heat rather nicely. "I'm bored," House greeted. "Entertain me."

"Sure. Just give a me a moment to put on my clown shoes and a fluffy nose, and I'll get right on that."

House grinned and hopped over the partition with an ease that no crippled man should have. Then again, he'd hopped over it enough times for it to become habit, so it didn't really surprise him. House stood beside Wilson and looked towards the horizon, leaning over and resting his forearms against the wall that separated them from a grisly fall. Wilson stared at his relaxed profile wistfully for a second, then turned towards the sky as well and copied House's posture, so the sides of their arms brushed and then relaxed against one another.

Wilson refused to move his hand in fear that if he called attention to it House would stop touching him.

"Give me an animal," House said.

"Hmm, I would, but I don't seem to have any spare ones on me," he replied. House scoffed and then Wilson smiled. "Aardvark," he stated, raising his eyebrows challengingly with a brief glance at House.

"Koala."

"Arachnid."

"Duck," House proclaimed proudly, smirking at him.

"Kangaroo," Wilson said with only a slight hesitation.

"Orangutan."

"Nightingale."

House scoffed loudly and knocked Wilson with his shoulder. "Of course you'd pick that. Elephant."

"Turtle."

"Emu."

Damn, what animal began with the letter U? "Unicorn," Wilson blurted.

"I win!" House exclaimed gleefully.

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "What? You do not."

"Oh, excuse me, I thought that subject was animals, not mythological creatures that don't exist. Winner chooses next game." Wilson sighed and House looked upward in thought. "I choose . . . Twenty questions. Guess what I'm thinking about. Go."

"Hey, maybe you should guess what I'm thinking for once."

"It's either a dying patient or Breakfast at Tiffany's." Wilson gaped at House in offence, mostly because he was right, and then House smirked before looking towards the horizon again.

Wilson stared at House's profile again and then sighed. "All right, fine. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Yes."

So that could mean anything from a whale to House's ego-and yes, he had been thinking of his ego once. Wilson shifted his weight and hummed in thought for a second. "Does it breathe?"

"Yes."

"Can it fly?"

"No."

"Is it a mythological creature?" Wilson asked with a taunting lilt in his voice.

"Nope." House popped the P and turned to look at Wilson, smirking almost evilly.

"Is it . . . native to North America?"

"Yes."

He had fifteen questions left. He used to be horrible at this game but after many renditions with a bored House he'd gotten quite better. Still, that didn't mean it was an easy game. "Would I . . . have to visit a zoo in order to see it?"

House shook his head and plucked at the end of his sleeve. "No."

"Is it a reptile?"

"No."

"Mammal?"

"Yes."

"Can it be domesticated?"

House chuckled and stared at Wilson, the sun glinting off his blue eyes in a way that made them sparkle. "Yes."

"Would you ever domesticate one?"

House tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, then licked his bottom lip slowly, as if in thought. "Yes," he answered slowly and somewhat hesitantly.

Wilson shook the image of House's pink tongue flicking out against the corner of his mouth and cleared his throat. He had ten questions left. "Have I seen one?"

"Yes."

"Within the past . . . oh, week?"

"Yes."

"In the past twenty-four hours?"

"Yes."

"Does it talk?"

"Yes."

Wilson sighed. "Have you been avoiding it?"

"No, and you have five left."

"Female?"

"Nope."

"Is he on your team?"

"No."

Wilson shook his head and smiled a little. "You went through all this trouble just to say you were thinking about me?" he inquired, then turned his head to stare at House, whose face was inches from his own.

House raised an eyebrow. "Well, would I ever just come right out and say it?"

"No, I guess not," Wilson answered with a smile.

Their arms were pressed together and their hands brushed for a second. It wasn't until House sluggishly blinked that Wilson realized they'd been looking at one another for longer than was necessary and, without really meaning to, he glanced down at House's mouth. House's pink tongue flickered out and moistened his bottom lip and Wilson thought about pushing forward and kissing him. He knew he would never have the courage to do it, but he imagined what it would be like anyway; moving forward a few inches, capturing that bottom lip and sucking it into his own; tasting cherry lollipops and coffee on his tongue.

"Bet I can guess what you're thinking in . . . oh, five questions," House said, which tore Wilson out of his reverie and made him realize he'd been staring quite obviously at House's mouth.

"Hmm, what?" he blurted, forcing his eyes away and onto House's. What House had said made it into his brain and that game was a horrible idea; he'd been thinking of kissing him. "No, that's-that's not a game I-no. Five questions? You couldn't guess in five-"

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?" House interrupted, his hand sliding over Wilson's and grabbing his wrist, preventing him from walking away as he had intended.

Wilson thought about jerking away and heading into his office, but that would only prove that what he'd been thinking about was something he wouldn't want House knowing. "No," he answered when he felt House stroke his vein with his thumb briefly.

House released his hand. "Is it an object?"

"No."

"Animal?"

"House, I think-"

"Is it an animal?" he insisted.

Wilson let out a burst of air. No way would he be able to guess in two more questions. "No."

"Does it involve me?"

Wilson blinked a few times. "Yes. One more."

House tilted his head in one direction, then stared straight on, narrowing his eyes in thought. He bit down on his lip, eyed Wilson's face, then hummed. "If I knew what you were thinking, would I be repulsed?"

Wilson opened his mouth to answer, then realized he had no idea. He cleared his throat, looked out into the horizon, then back at House's face. "I don't know," he said with a shrug.

"That's not an answer."

He opened his mouth, then looked out onto the horizon again with a long sigh. "Yeah, probably," he admitted, mostly to himself.

He felt House hand grab his jaw slightly and turned him so that they were facing. Wilson almost pulled his head away instinctually, but didn't when he saw House's expression. "The correct answer to that was 'no,'" he whispered, then leaned forward and kissed him.

Wilson's first reaction, other than to immediately reciprocate of course, was that House didn't taste of coffee and cherry suckers, like he had suspected. He tasted of mint-cool, refreshing mint, and a bit like toothpaste and lip balm. His lips were smooth and slightly moist-either from the lip balm or his tongue from the multiple times he'd moistened it during their game.

House never wore lip balm, and he wasn't really all that fond of mint.

Wilson pulled away. "You planned this," he accused breathily.

House shrugged and kissed him again.

Celebration

Their first kiss happened on National Pancake Day.

"Make me some pancakes," House blurted the moment he walked into Wilson's kitchen.

Wilson, who was washing out a single glass at the sink, jumped a foot in the air and spun around, wind milling his arms as if he were half trying to get into a fighting stance in an artistic kung fu way that would scare off his attackers, and half like he was an epileptic. House internally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

"House-" he began, as if to reprimand him, then he cut off with a sigh and relaxed his posture, shaking his head. "You know, with your inability to knock, one of these days you're going to walk in on something you'd prefer not to see."

House raised an eyebrow as Wilson shook his head, grabbing the dishtowel and rubbing it around his palms. "If you're talking about jacking off, then you're so wrong about me not wanting to see it."

"Very funny," Wilson murmured with an eye-roll. "After the last time, I have absolutely no interest in letting that happen again."

"I only did what every normal guy in that same situation would do."

"You took pictures and posted them on MySpace."

House shrugged. "I'd been planning for weeks." Wilson rolled his eyes and threw the dishtowel back in the sink; it would probably be used later to wash instead of dry. "But back to the reason I decided to visit . . ."

"Yes, why did you bestow upon me the greatest honour known to man?"

"I already told you," House said, stepping in front of Wilson as he tried to walk past. "Make me some pancakes."

Wilson tried to move around House, but he stepped in front of him again. Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. "You came all the way to my loft at . . ." He checked his watch, then sighed again. ". . . nine at night for some pancakes."

"Cuddy told me to get off my ass and make them myself."

"I take it she was not happy with whatever speech you drunkenly spouted off last night, then?"

House cleared his throat and looked around the kitchen, which seemed to be far more interesting than looking at Wilson at the moment. "No," he finally answered.

Wilson finally managed to walk by House, which snapped him out of his half-recalled fuzzy memories of blathering on to Cuddy before falling asleep on her vagina. All right, not his proudest moment, but hey, if they were going to be in a relationship, she had better get used to it; his life was made up of not-his-best-moments.

House followed Wilson. "This doesn't look like the way to the kitchen."

"Spot on," Wilson called over his shoulder.

"But I want pancaaaakes," House whined exaggeratedly.

Wilson stopped, sighed loudly (and it was too overdone to be real) before turning to face House, lips pinched in an attempt to hide his smirk. "And why is that? You haven't given me any reason why I should stop what I'm doing to cook for you."

"It's National Pancake Day."

Wilson rolled his eyes and folded his arms, shifting his weight onto his other foot. He wore nothing but a dark grey tee and some pyjama bottoms. "Yes, clearly. How could I have forgotten this treasure of a national holiday? Forgive my incompetent memory."

"I'm completely serious."

"Today, March 1st, is seriously Pancake Day?" Wilson asked incredulously, lowering his chin slightly.

"Would I lie to you?" Wilson's eyebrows raised slightly. "Okay, but I'm serious. It's a day devoted to celebrating pancakes. So, make me some. Cuddy won't."

"I am at a loss at how someone can refuse such a noble request," Wilson stated before turning around.

House grabbed his arm and forced Wilson to look at him again. Wilson did nothing but gently pull his arm free, but he didn't move away. "Would it help if I said that Cuddy did make some, and they tasted like crap?"

There was a flicker in Wilson's eyes and the beginnings of a smile, but he visibly quashed it, probably assuming he'd gotten away with it. "Really?" he asked, and House couldn't help but hear the genuineness in the question.

"Yeah, which then led into the discussion of her telling me to make them myself. So chop chop, I'm starving."

Wilson opened his mouth, then shook his head. "Go to IHOP," he suggested, before turning around again and starting towards the couch.

House quickly limped into Wilson's path, impeding his journey, and narrowed his eyes. "They don't make them like you do. They're always . . . starchy."

"IHOP is giving pancakes out free today."

"Just one complimentary short stack. It's not the same," House complained, before he fully processed Wilson's sentence. "Wait. You knew it was Pancake Day, didn't you?"

"And I know you didn't really ask Cuddy," Wilson rightly guessed before trying to walk past House again, and House deftly stood in the way. "House, it's nine o' clock," Wilson resigned with a sigh. "It's too late to cook pancakes."

"It's never too late to make pancakes," House insisted, meeting Wilson's eyes and making sure they locked.

Wilson opened his mouth to disagree, but then he froze; House literally saw something click into place behind those eyes, and his shoulders lowered; as if they had been tense and he just relaxed them. He bit onto his lip and looked at the floor; there wasn't much space between them. Wilson looked up and met his eyes again, rubbing the back of his neck. "You've had all day."

"Sometimes it takes awhile to figure out what I want."

"I was waiting for you all day."

House cleared his throat. "Maybe I was waiting for you."

Wilson dropped the hand from his neck and smiled. "Well, I already bought ingredients. It would be a shame to let them go to waste."

House nodded and took a step closer, flecking nonexistent dust off Wilson's shoulder. "And you do know how I like them."

"Are you sure about this? You can't go back to eating Cuddy's," Wilson informed, focusing on House's chest. He slowly reached forward brushed his sternum with the tips of his fingers, brows furrowing and he dropped his hand, but trails of heat remained through House's shirt.

"I threw Cuddy's away. Hers just weren't up to par with my refined cuisine standards," he said quietly, hand reaching forward and holding the side of Wilson's face, stepping even nearer.

Wilson frowned slightly and tilted his head slightly into House's palm. "I thought you didn't really ask her to cook?"

"Since when have we really been talking about pancakes?"

The grin that spread across Wilson's face was contagious, but House was only graced with its presence for a second before their lips descended and caught each other. Without resistance, they both opened their mouths; tongues swirling and savouring the texture. There was an elusive sweetness to Wilson that House couldn't place; perhaps he'd had some sort of dessert a few minutes before House had burst into the loft without preamble; maybe it was just Wilson.

Warmth encompassed him as Wilson's arms slid around his back; pressed them closer together. House entangled his fingers in Wilson's hair; felt the soft strands dance around his skin while Wilson suckled and nibbled slightly at the tip of House tongue.

The warm, soft pressure of their mouths sliding wetly filled him with a warmth; despite the lightness in his chest and head, he still felt anchored; despite the heat radiating between them, it wasn't an all-consuming fire that burned and left nothing but ashes in its wake. It was the perfect temperature; the perfect feel and texture and taste.

The kiss slowed and lessened to nothing more than a few quick licks and pecks and nibbles before they pulled away. Wilson ducked his head to presumably hide the blush on his cheeks, but House had already seen the pink staining his skin and the grin he tried to quell by worrying his lip between his teeth.

Wilson finally lifted his head to look him in the eyes. House smiled, then held his chin, brushing his moist bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

"I really was expecting you to show up earlier, House," Wilson muttered, idly drawing circles on his shirtsleeve with his thumb. House didn't know if he was talking metaphorically or literally, although probably both.

"Well, I didn't think you knew March 1st was Pancake Day."

"It . . . really doesn't need to be a holiday, House. You can have pancakes whenever you want."

"I plan to," House stated and Wilson's smile lit up the room; fluttered in his belly; whatever other cliché crap House didn't want to admit to feeling.

Wilson gave House a brief, yet lingering, kiss. "Good."

House blinked. "But in all seriousness, can we actually have pancakes?"

"Okay," Wilson relented, and laughed.