Chapter Three: March 17th
The fact that his beer was supposed to be green didn't make it any more appealing. It didn't seem to bother House, however, who was well into his third pint; apparently his distaste for all things festive didn't actually extend to alcohol. The bar was as Irish as you could reasonably expect to get in New Jersey, speakers blaring The Chieftains, and the widescreen TV showing a football match that seemed to mostly be rioting fans.
"Soccer is football," Wilson said, wincing as one player met the field face first. "But is football soccer? And you should probably slow down."
"I don't think they have football. And it's not your fucking business."
"It will be if I get stuck carting your drunken ass around."
"You love my drunken ass."
"Yeah, you're such a charming, lovable drunk."
House grinned and crooked his index finger, beckoning Wilson closer, a conspiratorial expression on his features. Wilson rolled his eyes and obligingly leaned in, just glad that House was electing to whisper whatever obscenity or snarky remark he was thinking rather then shouting it over the din of the bar. He stopped when he'd halved the distance between them. House continued beckoning. Wilson leaned in a little closer. And a little closer.
"House, what? People are going to think I'm about to kiss you." That was, of course, the moment House chose to kiss Wilson. For a moment Wilson failed to react, too busy processing the fact that House's lips were on his. He opened his mouth to complain, protest, say something, anything, but House just took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss and then Wilson's tongue had far more interesting things to do than talk. Finally House ended it, sitting back and looking smug while Wilson tried to do some surreptitious clean-up with the back of his hand, praying their little scene hadn't attracted attention.
"Hey, kids, this isn't a gay bar," the barkeep said gruffly. Wilson blushed hotly, so much for going unnoticed.
"Oh, I assure you, it's an extremely gay bar," House said, clearly unruffled. "But I have to say, the green tinsel? So last season."
Wilson grabbed House's elbow and half hauled him off his bar stool and out of the bar before further commentary could be made. House might enjoy an audience, but Wilson did not. The chilly air felt good on his heated cheeks; he took a deep breath to clear his head from the heat and haze of the bar.
"You just kissed me."
"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze," House drawled, looking far more self-possessed than anyone had a right to after a kiss like that.
"Really kissed me," Wilson hissed.
"Oh please, don't look so shocked, princess. You know you wanted it."
Wilson scrubbed his face with his hands in a futile attempt to regain some kind of composure. "House. Is this a joke? Some kind of bizarre test?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" House's tone, though light, held none of its usual mockery.
"I don't know," Wilson confessed. "That's sort of why I'm asking. I swear to God, House, if this is supposed to be funny…"
House pretended to consider. "Well, definitely not in a haha way."
"So, you're serious. About me." Wilson tried to swallow the wad of cotton currently lodged in his throat.
House shrugged dismissively, as if Wilson had just inquired whether or not it was going to rain. "Maybe."
"No, you don't get to say 'maybe' after that. Yes or no." Wilson's voice was a little shriller than he would have liked.
House watched a trio of drunken college boys stagger out of the bar. One of them recognized them and whistled suggestively. House flipped him the bird absently as Wilson blushed anew. He watched the young men retreat down the street only to disappear into another bar on the corner and then turned back to House, who was apparently feeling suddenly taciturn. Well, damned if he was going to beg for an answer. Wilson crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture he hoped conveyed steely frustration and not pissy pique. The standoff continued, only interrupted when they were jostled by the occasional reveler. It was a miserable day for revelry. The sky was a particularly ugly shade of gray and the wind held considerable bite. Wilson had always wondered why they scheduled such a cheerful holiday for such a miserable month. Or maybe that was the point, a bright spot of tasteless good fun in the bleakest stretch of season.
"House." But House seemed wildly interested in passing traffic; he failed to even glance in Wilson's direction. Wilson sighed. "Fine. I'm going. I'll see you tomorrow."
He made it five steps before he heard "Jimmy. Wait." Wilson turned slowly to see House, leaning heavily on his cane, cap pulled down low over his eyes. Grudgingly, he made his way back.
"What?" he didn't bother to hide his irritation, but was surprised when House actually looked chagrined.
"Yes." It took a Wilson a moment to rewind the conversation and figure out what to attach the 'yes' to and by then House was speaking again. "I was serious about the kiss. Unless you don't want me to be, then it was just 'oh, look at that Greg, taking humorous liberties with his best friend. What a card!'"
Wilson gaped, belatedly remembering to shut his mouth. His mind reeled and he suddenly felt dangerously unsteady. House couldn't possibly be saying what Wilson thought he was saying. He opened his mouth to respond, realized he could think of nothing even resembling English to say and closed it again. House looked away, shifting uncomfortably.
"Look, forget it. Apparently green beer is more potent than the non-green variety."
Wilson's reeling brain finally got its gears to work. "No! Er, I mean, if I get a choice, then I think I want you to be serious. If you are serious."
"We sound like teenage girls," House observed.
"Little bit, yeah. So are you serious?"
House took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then released it sharply. "Yeah. I am." He was carefully keeping his attention on anything but Wilson, but kept stealing anxious sidelong glances. Wilson knew the confession had cost his friend dearly. House would rather admit to murder or a highly embarrassing rash than actually having emotions.
"Okay," Wilson said, sidling a little closer. "Now what?" He'd never been in this sort of situation before; with all his wives and girlfriends, he'd been able to coast on charm and good looks. Neither were of particular use to him now.
"Well, how about if I-" House started, but Wilson cut him short, meeting House's lips with his own. He was almost as surprised as he had been the first time, even though he'd initiated. House was so shockingly real. The idle fantasies Wilson had occasionally (or not so occasionally, if he was being honest) entertained always missed the little details: the feel of leather jacket under his finger tips, the scent of House's soap, the rough feel of bristles against his chin… House would have to start shaving if they were going to make a regular thing of this, Wilson decided. After a few moments of tentative exploration, Wilson grew bolder, pulling House hard against him into a full-body contact embrace. House allowed it. Parts of Wilson wondered just how much more House would allow, other parts of him also reminded him that they were currently snogging on a busy sidewalk and that he had an extreme dislike for Inappropriate Public Displays of Affection. Really, he did…
"Get a room!" a passerby yelled, guffawing at their own cleverness.
This time it was Wilson who flipped them off, not bothering to break the kiss. House must be rubbing off on him. At this proximity, it would be hard for him not to.
