Chapter 4

Wilson didn't say anything else about his appointment, no matter what House asked. He didn't give him any more hints as to what it was about, and was diligent in clearing his Internet history every time he used his computer so House wouldn't know what those long hours of research were about.

But, true to his promise, as soon as he got back, they started planning Vegas. There was just so much. So many hotels to choose from, so much to see and do.

"We need to go big, Wilson," House said. "We need to get the best room at the best hotel. And we need to do everything."

"All the hotels are nice," Wilson said, his fingers tapping on the keyboard as he clicked link after link. Each place was fancier than the last, rooms with more square footage than Wilson's condo and House's apartment put together. They planned a ten-day stay, booking tickets for more popular events toward the end and deciding ahead of time on certain restaurants, bars, and casinos they absolutely had to go to. It was a ten-hour drive from San Francisco, so they hung around the city for the rest of the day and left first thing in the morning.

Even though it was another long day of driving, the atmosphere was much more to House's liking. This time they were going somewhere House wanted to go, and he knew exactly where they were going and why. The next ten days would be filled with all of House's favorite things: drinking, good food, good sex, gambling, Wilson, live entertainment, relaxation, and no work. Even though curiosity about Wilson's mysterious plans would probably bug him, House decided he'd try to forget about what Wilson wanted in San Francisco. Wilson said it would be a couple of weeks before he found anything out, and if he hadn't told him anything yet, he probably wasn't going to. Unless House got him very drunk. But House wasn't even sure he wanted to do that. In the past, getting Wilson very drunk had caused him problems in the bedroom (so House had heard), and during the ten days of their vacation, House planned on having sex with Wilson at least 20 times. Maybe 25. He didn't want to jeopardize any of them.

They arrived at the hotel right on schedule, just before dinner time. They were staying at Mandalay Bay, three golden towers connected in a Y-shape, and although they weren't able to book the best room the hotel offered, they were doling out a decent amount of cash on the largest and nicest hotel suite either of them had ever stayed in. There was an amazing view of the strip from every room, and lights twinkled for miles. There was a beautiful granite bar, an elegant dinette set they wouldn't use, comfortable couches around an enormous plasma TV, and of course a king-size bed and a luxury bathroom with a giant jetted tub.

"Wow, House," Wilson murmured as they entered, taking in the expensive furnishings and the view from all sides.

House smiled, leaning over to kiss Wilson on the cheek. "I have awesome taste."

"You have expensive taste," Wilson said, walking from the living room to the bedroom to put the suitcases on the bed.

"What difference does it make anyway?" House asked, following him in. He sat down on the bed beside the suitcase and tested the springiness. They were going to have some fun here. "What are you saving for?"

Wilson didn't answer; he kept walking and checked out the fancy bathroom. House got up and followed him, eyeing the tub. They were going to have some fun there, too. "Double vanity," Wilson commented. "How considerate, we won't get in each other's way."

"Unless we want to," House said. He blocked the doorway with his body so that Wilson couldn't get back into the bedroom, and encircled his waist with his arms when he tried. Wilson gave him a flirty smile and held him back, then kissed him softly. House held him tighter and kissed back, bringing it deeper and more intense.

"Mmm," Wilson murmured, pulling back but still holding him. "I thought we were going to eat first."

"I'm not hungry," House lied. He was actually starving, but what was right in front of him looked much more appetizing right now than anything Vegas had to offer.

"Hmm, I am," Wilson said after another kiss. House ignored him, kissing him again and again. Wilson pulled away again, laughing. "Let's at least order room service first," he suggested. He squeezed House's ass and moved past him into the bedroom. "Then while we're waiting, we can fool around. How does that sound?"

House decided it was a fair enough compromise, especially considering that he was hungry. He pulled Wilson onto the giant bed as soon as he'd hung up the phone, and this time Wilson was one hundred percent compliant. The bed was not only decorated much more tastefully than any of the other hotels; it was also very comfortable and perfect for sex. The gorgeous view—even though neither man was looking at anything but the other—did help set the atmosphere. That and the fact that they were both pumped for the week ahead and, after a long day of driving, ready to get out of the car and have fun.

House leaned Wilson against the fluffy pillows and the headboard, and straddled him to continue their kiss. Their hands explored each other's bodies: chests, backs, necks, hair. It was all still so new and exciting, even though they'd been doing it almost every day for over a week now. House wanted as much Wilson as he could get, and Wilson, somehow, felt the same about him.

They weren't kissing for long before clothes started coming off—neither of them had the patience to wait too long, especially after the long day. First their sweaty t-shirts, and socks, jeans, and boxers soon followed. Once they were naked, they wrestled on the bed, each man trying to get on top of the other. House won out, holding Wilson's wrists as he laid him flat on the bed. He caught his breath for a moment, staring down at Wilson and watching the beautiful brown eyes look right back at him. He kissed Wilson again because he had to. First his lips—he spent a long moment there—then down his neck to his collarbone and chest. He ran his hands up and down Wilson's sides as he moved down his body. As he got lower, he stuck both his hands under Wilson's ass cheeks to squeeze and massage the tender flesh.

"House," Wilson, his fingers gripping House's arm tightly.

"You want me?" House asked, close enough to Wilson's erection that his breath hit it as he spoke.

"Yes!" Wilson said breathlessly, arching his back and pressing the back of his head into the bedspread.

House was more than happy to oblige. He took Wilson into his mouth and proceeded to pleasure him, moving one of his hands between Wilson's legs to play with his balls while his mouth worked at his penis.

House used every technique he knew on Wilson, and listening to his uncensored cries was just as fun as the act itself. He wasn't going to lie and say he'd never thought about making love with his best friend—he'd though about it quite frequently, in fact—but when he did, he'd thought things might be awkward or uncomfortable, especially at first. He'd thought they might be reserved with each other and wouldn't show their true feelings out of fear of what the other man would think. Maybe it was the cancer, maybe it was the fact that Wilson had less than four months to live, but that wasn't at all how things had actually been with them. It wasn't that they held each other every night declaring their love (they actually hadn't even said the words I love you since this had started), but when they expressed it physically, it was surprisingly intimate. Though House never referred to it as such out loud, what they were doing was making love more than just having sex, and they both knew it. Wilson's desire to try something new sexually had just been a ruse, really, an excuse to get the two of them naked in bed together so they no longer had to pretend that their feelings for each other were strictly platonic. Why they had never just approached the subject like normal people House would never know, but none of that mattered now. They were together now, and that was the only thing that mattered.

"House," Wilson breathed. The fingers of his left hand combed through House's hair repeatedly. "House, faster, more. Please!"

House was more than happy to oblige his lover's request. It was so sexy to see him like this, giving himself freely, letting House see him lose control. Wilson held nothing back, and neither did House. He went at him like there was no tomorrow (knowing full well that, one day soon, there wouldn't be). He took everything in his mouth that he could, almost gagging. His hands worked other sensitive parts of Wilson's body while his constantly moving tongue worked the most sensitive part. Wilson writhed and panted, squeezed whatever parts of House he was holding, and at last erupted into House's mouth before slowly lying still on the bed.

For a second, House just watched his lover. Wilson was beautiful like this, fully naked, eyes closed, relaxed and high and perfect.

But he only watched him for a second. Then he crawled over and poked him in the side. Not with his finger.

"Wilson," he murmured. "Wilson, I'm glad you had fun, but I'm desperate here."

Wilson opened his eyes and laughed. "I would have been happy to oblige you," he said in a teasing voice, "But you insisted on doing me first."

"I want you even more now than I did before," House said. "Come on, Wilson. Do you have any idea how tempted I am to finish myself right now?"

"I won't allow it," Wilson said with authority. "Move over, get against the pillows over there."

It would have been very comfortable if House hadn't been so aroused and in such desperate need of release. But Wilson was soon sucking him off and it was more than worth the wait. It was almost worth the 20-year wait. Almost.

One hand combed through Wilson's hair while the other touched the side of his face. He watched Wilson work—or tried to. Keeping his eyes open was difficult. He was so close already; performing the act on Wilson had been almost as arousing for him as it had been for Wilson. He wasn't tempted to hold back the sounds his body wanted to make. The time for games and hiding what he felt was past. He let loose completely, let his mind go blank as his body experienced waves and waves of pleasure and Wilson. Just when he thought he couldn't get any higher, he did. He gripped one of Wilson's hands in his—Wilson's other hand was occupied. He knew it would be now, it had to be now. He was there, he could feel it. Why did Wilson keep changing things up on him? To torture him? Or maybe just to keep him higher for longer.

"Wilson," House breathed. "Come on." His head rolled back against the pillows. He felt his heart racing, he felt every nerve in his body, particularly the ones Wilson was touching, he felt them all conspiring, building...this had to be it, it had to be.

It was. With a cry, he was there. He felt it, felt it everywhere and never wanted it to end. He slumped against the pillows, and felt his heartbeat slowly decelerate as satisfaction began to replace bliss.

Wilson hadn't moved much. He'd let go of House's penis with his hand and mouth, but his head was still in House's lap. He lay on the bed, head resting against the inside of House's left thigh. One of House's hands remained in Wilson's hair, the other holding one of Wilson's. They sat like that a moment—neither saw any reason to move—until House's consciousness returned to him fully.

He looked down at Wilson and ran his fingers through the disheveled hair while Wilson kissed the palm of the hand he was holding.

"I'm glad you didn't lose your hair with chemo," House murmured absentmindedly as he stroked it. "Though I would have been willing to sacrifice it to keep you longer."

Wilson smiled. House couldn't see his lips—they were still obstructed by the hand Wilson had been kissing—but he saw it in his eyes. "I know." He shifted in House's lap to get more comfortable, laying on his back. He didn't let go of his hand, but continued to hold it against his mouth and kiss the palm. House did not cease stroking Wilson's hair.

"Why didn't we do this sooner?" Wilson asked wistfully.

"Because we're idiots."

Wilson nodded. He kissed House's wrist. "It's my biggest regret, you know," he murmured. "I mean, I know I've lived cautiously, all the Kyle Calloway bullshit...but that's just who I am. I don't regret being who I am. If I...if I could only do one thing differently...it would be you."

House nodded, even though Wilson couldn't see him. They sat in silence for a moment, and House mused that he couldn't remember the last time he felt this at peace.

The peace was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

"Room service!" a voice called into the room.

"Dinner!" Wilson said, scrambling out of the bed. "I forgot! Where are my pants?"

House hadn't forgotten, but Wilson's alarm amused him. "Here," he said, handing Wilson a pair of boxers.

"These are yours," Wilson said distractedly.

"Does it matter?"

Wilson smiled and pulled them on. "Coming!" he called to the door. He grabbed a shirt—also House's—off the floor and pulled it over his head as he walked to the door.

—

House and Wilson slept in late the next morning, but House was excited to get down to the casino.

"Hurry up, Wilson," he said as Wilson stalled at the ATM. He looked around the room while he waited, wondering what he wanted to play first. He knew they would have plenty of time for everything—ten nights was a long stay, even if they weren't hitting the casino every day—but today was their first full day there and he was anxious to get started.

"All right, coming," Wilson said, tucking his debit card back into his wallet and smiling at House's enthusiasm. "Here," he said, handing House five hundreds. "This is your budget for this afternoon, so don't lose it all in the first hour."

House stared at the bills in his hand. "Five?" he said, weighing the bills in his hand and looking at Wilson. "Seems a little light, don't you think?"

"I don't think so," Wilson disagreed. "That's a thousand between us, and we're here until next Thursday. The hotel suite you picked isn't exactly cheap either, not to mention dining out every night and all these shows we're going to."

"So what?" House asked. "What are you saving up for? Just put aside enough to last us another few months."

"House, I don't want to spend all my savings."

"Why the hell not?" House demanded. Spending a ton of money was one of the things House had been looking forward to about this trip.

"We might need it for something."

"Like what?"

Wilson looked at the floor and didn't answer.

"Like what, Wilson?" House repeated. He took a step closer. "Wilson. Answer me. Does this have anything to do with what you're planning in San Francisco?"

"I told you, I'll tell you when I'm ready," Wilson said, his voice cool. "It's my money, House, and I want to save it."

"No, half of it's mine," House argued. "I left everything to you, you have all my savings, all my assets, all my 401(k)."

"You're legally dead," Wilson reminded him. "It went to me, so it's legally mine. House, please," Wilson said. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We're here to have fun. We can have fun without blowing ten thousand dollars a night."

"But we won't be able to play at the high tables," House complained.

"What does it matter? We're here, aren't we?"

"What aren't you telling me, Wilson? What are you saving money for?"

"Drop it, House," Wilson said, and this time his voice was stern. He looked serious, and his tone warned that another word would get him angry. He hadn't spoken to House like this since they'd left Princeton, he realized. They'd had arguments now and then, but they hadn't really fought. They had to put up with each other all the time, and they knew they only had a limited time together, so fighting was counterproductive.

"Fine," House sighed. He also tried to smile. "Can you blame me for wanting to know, Wilson?"

"I guess not," Wilson murmured. He gave House a real smile, then a quick kiss. "Now let's go. We're here to have fun, remember?"

House remembered. And he loved fun, and he didn't want to let the budget get in the way. They started with Texas Hold'em, at one of the cheaper tables so they wouldn't lose everything right away. And it was fun. House would have preferred to be laying down black chips rather than red ones, but the game was still the same. And Wilson wasn't at all bothered by it. He seemed to be having the time of his life. It was probably a good thing they were at the cheap table—Wilson had no poker face. Or maybe a wide smile that easily became a laugh was his poker face. House knew him well enough to read him easily, and not even the shittiest hand dampened his mood or his expression.

Each of them won a few hands—House more than Wilson—though the meager award from winning a hand didn't make up for what they were losing. Their budget half-spent, they left the Texas Hold'em area for blackjack, and then blew the last of it at the roulette table.

"We were off by one," House complained as they walked to their car. They'd placed all of their chips on 11, and the little ball had landed in 12. "I think it's rigged."

Wilson laughed and squeezed House's hand. "We knew there was no way. We needed to leave anyway, we have a 7:00 reservation."

Their reservation was at one of the most expensive and prestigious steakhouses in the city, and after that delicious meal, tickets to a comedy show. It was late when they finally got back to their hotel, though the city was still very much alive, bright lights of every color sparkling everywhere the eye could see.

House and Wilson had started drinking around five, and though they'd eaten and taken breaks throughout the evening, they were both feeling tipsy despite their high tolerance levels. This being the case, neither man had been able to keep his hands off the other for the last hour. The fact that they were in public meant nothing, but they were still thrilled when they finally got to their hotel room, because that meant that clothes could finally come off. As the two of them fell onto the bed, tangled in each other's arms, House decided that nothing: not their budget, not Wilson's agenda in California, not House's future or even Wilson's cancer, mattered in this moment together.