'Hey,' House eventually replied, his eyes and tone cold.

Wilson looked at him quizzically. House raised his eyebrows in return and Wilson knew that this was his cue to ask what was wrong. He didn't doubt that House had a prepared response, but Wilson wasn't playing. At least, he wasn't playing House's game.

'Where's the food?' Wilson asked.

'The food?' House gaped at him.

'Yeah, you said you'd pick up some take out, you know, the last of your "I'm a big loser and my friend is a big winner" duties. So, where is it?'

House glared at him a moment before slyly smirking. 'The food…oh, I'm sure I got it. Must be here somewhere,' and he began patting his back pockets, pulling out his wallet from one and his hospital ID from another, and throwing both on the table.

'No, not there. Hold on, it must be here somewhere.' He patted his jacket before unzipping it and tugging at something hidden inside. 'Wait…got it.' A blue hospital file was eventually released and Wilson's eyes widened slightly. House looked at it in mock surprise. 'No, that's not it.' He slammed the file on the table and looked back at Wilson. 'Guess I forgot. Other things on my mind.'

And still Wilson would not play. He looked back at the television, ignoring House's drumming on his thighs, an unconscious tell of his increasing annoyance. When House began to click his tongue, Wilson tried not to smirk.

'What are you watching?' House snapped after a few minutes.

'Friends.'

'Ah, that Ross. Never liked him. He's a lying, cheating bastard.'

Wilson took a long blink. 'You want me to change the channel?' he asked.

'No, there'll just be more shows with lying, cheating bastards.'

He waited about twenty seconds before adding, 'Hey Wilson, do you know any lying, cheating bastards?'

Wilson sighed. The show was well on the road. Time to move it along.

'Something on your mind House?' he asked.

'Yeah. Funny you should ask. Herpes. And its diagnosis there of. Take, for example, this generic family doctor file,' and House reached for it and began to thumb through it.

'Belongs to a David Stenson. A patient of mine from sometime last week. A patient that you cured. Three weeks ago he went back to his own doctor with an outbreak of Herpes Simplex. It's all here', and House shook the file in Wilson's face before continuing, 'Mouth, nostrils, scar tissue – all infected. Oh, if only I had had this information last week. Who knows, I might even have diagnosed the encephalitis. But, alas, this file only came into my possession today, even though it was sent to the hospital a week ago. Can you believe that? It took a whole week for it to arrive at my office. Heads are going to roll!' And House shook his own head, as if to demonstrate. 'Lucky you were on hand though, I mean you managed to figure out what was wrong without ever seeing this medical history. Dr James Wilson, All Round Wonder Boy. Or Lying, Cheating Bastard. One of them.'

House sat back, clearly pleased with his improvised speech and smirking smugly when Wilson finally gave a look of concession.

'Didn't Ma Wilson ever teach you that cheaters never win?' House patronised.

Wilson smiled grimly, 'I guess she didn't.'

'You cheated.'

'I improvised.'

'You cheated.'

Wilson realised it was pointless. 'I cheated.'

'You lost'

Wilson shrugged.

'Say it,' demanded House.

'I lost.'

'Yes, you did, thereby making me the winner by default. You. Lying. Cheating. Bastard.'

'Oh, for Chrissake, House, what's with the wounded martyr act? From possibly the world's greatest opportunist? You would have done the same thing to me in a heartbeat…'

'You fucking cheated. And you had me run around after you all week, while you sat on your fat ass…I don't believe you…you…dick. Who the hell do you think you are? For the past week I've been wondering how the hell I missed this…'

'So that's what this is about - your ego,' and now Wilson started to sound exasperated. 'You just couldn't cope with the idea that I might have solved the puzzle before the great Gregory House. I can only imagine how this tormented you over the past week. Well, you know what? Who the hell do you think you are? You really should. Get. Over. Yourself.'

House could only stare at Wilson as though he had never seen him before in his life.

Wilson took a steadying breath and held out his hands in momentary surrender.

'You know what? You're right. I cheated. So…I'm sorry.' Wilson shifted and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, fumbling around in it. 'Here… here's your money.' He held out two bills towards House. 'Go on, take it. It's yours.' He nodded at his hand.

House contemplated the money before looking back at Wilson, and shifting up the sofa.

'I don't think so,' he mused, his eyes gleaming, 'I don't think I want the money anymore.'

House kept on shuffling closer to Wilson, until Wilson was against the very edge of the sofa. With nowhere else to go. He held the notes up, 'Look, just take the money…it's yours.'

'Nah, from what I remember, that wasn't the terms of our deal.'

'Two hundred bucks House. That's what we agreed. I'm not giving you any more…'

'That was the revised deal. The original stake was, I believe, a kiss. Pucker up, Wilson'

Wilson's defensively outstretched arm was now touching House's chest, cutting off both his words and space. He furrowed his brow.

'Oh, you cannot be serious…you cannot be serious!'

'Jeez, John McEnroe, shut your mouth. Or in this case, open it.'

And with that, House's lips were on him.

It should have been a chaste kiss, a harmless kiss, a closed mouthed kiss. It was designed to punish Wilson's outrageous cheating and to teach him that messing with a man sans boundaries had consequences. It was not supposed to last more than five seconds. It was not supposed to jolt either the giver or the receiver. It was not supposed to feel so good when Wilson's mouth opened (maybe in surprise?) and House's mouth responded in kind (maybe to ask Wilson what he was doing?).

You see, that's the problem with playing with fire, and Wilson's tongue was searingly hot when it probed House's frozen one. And he did it again. And again. And again. Until House's tongue relaxed and began to push back.

And they were kissing for real.

Not for a bet, not for revenge, but for real.

House's left hand hovered above Wilson's head before reaching down to tug it through thick hair. Wilson's hands busied themselves by running up and down House's torso and just as things were escalating from the somewhat weird to the downright inappropriate, House broke from him. Both men eyed each other warily, breathing heavily and more than a little stunned by what had just happened between them.

Wilson, who had plenty of clandestine encounters under his belt, recognised this moment for what it was.

We can stop now and deal with everything that that entails.

Or fuck it, we can go on and eventually deal with all that that entails.

And if the 'go on' wasn't tempting enough, the 'eventually' sold it.

Decision made, Wilson latched his mouth back on to House's and upheld his promise of eight days ago. There was wet tongue, nibbling, biting, licking, sucking and groping – all the hallmarks of a heady make-out session. Although, in all the years Wilson had been making-out, the only hard-on he had experienced was his own. The addition of another erection into the gravy was a novel one, and was, Wilson realised, what was missing all this time. And so heralded the re-education James Wilson, who thought he knew everything there was to be known about his best friend. For example, he knew that House's chest was essentially smooth, but he had no idea it would feel so good under his fingers. He knew that House had an oral fixation but he had no idea of its benefits until House sucked on that spot of Wilson's neck. He knew that House could snap, shout, growl and speak tenderly, but he had no idea that he could make that keening sound when Wilson licked at his nipple. He knew that House's fingers were nimble, but dear God, the speed at which he unzipped Wilson was...and House's sudden laughter indicated that he too was learning, having just discovered Wilson's commando status. Wilson almost joined in the laughter but at that very moment House uncovered the hard flesh and pulled on it firmly. The resulting groan from Wilson and the roll of his eyes out an end to House's mirth.
'Not here, bedroom,' he muttered hoarsely.

Wilson abandoned what was left of his 'hard to get' so quickly that he had to take two steps back to help House up. He found House's mouth again, and, together, two men with three limps made it to the bedroom. Wilson fell back on the bed first and House began making his way up Wilson's torso, kissing and biting at every bit of skin he unveiled. All Wilson could do was lie back and give in to twenty years of want.

And when House stilled again, Wilson just couldn't fucking believe this. He opened his eyes to glare at House but was stopped short by the other man's uncertain expression.

'Are you...are you stopping?' House's tone was eerily calm, as though he expected this to happen.

'What? What? No. God. No. Not stopping. No. Just…just enjoying', and Wilson moved quickly, pushing House back onto the bed and working frantically to rid them both of clothing. He stood at the end of the bed, pulling off socks and shoes and throwing them over his shoulders.

'You're like that Swedish Chef from the Muppet Show', House observed with a small smile.

Wilson smiled back at him. 'Bork, Bork, Bork,' he called out while throwing his shirt and House's jeans behind him. And House's smile grew into one that had teeth. Maybe this is why Wilson crawled up him and pulled him up to kiss his cheekbone and his eyebrow and his forehead, before whispering into the shell of his ear, 'Not stopping. No fucking way.'

House groaned and raised a hand to Wilson's face to pull him back for a kiss, a kiss that had Wilson thinking stupid things like 'epic' and 'forever'. These were also the last rational thoughts he had before falling down on the bed and the hot body waiting beneath him. The instantaneous rutting was clumsy, enthusiastic, and almost enough. But not quite. House sighed at the frustrating need for friction and grumbled into Wilson's mouth, 'This is one of the few sexual activities that works better with clothes on'.

'Okay. Wait,' Wilson panted, drawing himself up on his knees and too far away from a whimpering House. 'Just wait,' and he swallowed before taking a breath. He lowered himself back down, aligning his own cock with House's before closing his fingers around them and fisting loosely. He settled into the crook of moaning House's neck, sucking on the salty skin and beginning to move his hand faster and faster until movement was no longer a conscious action. House came first, calling out Wilson's name and Wilson now understood why he always thought that God sounded just like House. He was seconds behind, biting down on House's carotid.

It was that quick.

If either of them had been with women, they'd have been embarrassed.