Hi Hilsons!
Beginning with this chapter, the rating will be inching up from PG-13+/R- to M. Please enjoy!
Thanks for the lovely reviews!
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Part 5
Becalmed on the Sea of Flirtation, House thought morosely, swallowing the last of his cold coffee. Days had gone by and Wilson had showed no sign of reciprocating House's interest.
"Poker?" Wilson asked, pushing away from the table.
"Nope. Poker is about bluffing, and you have that 'Two-ladies-flirted-with-me-today-I'm-all-powerful' look in your eyes." House threw down his napkin, and followed Wilson out to the promenade deck. Between his less frequent stints in the infirmary and his time spent with Wilson, he all but slept in first class. "Gin?"
"No thanks, 'Mr. Knock-on-the-first-discard,'" Wilson said dryly, pointing an accusing finger. "Which incidentally, isn't legal unless you have valid combinations. How about pinochle?"
"Which, incidentally, you never complained about when the winnings went into your pocket. You're not gonna bring up bridge?"
"No. Never again after the Chandler sisters." Wilson stopped walking. "And if I were you, I wouldn't stand so close to any rails. There's a rumor going around that the women devised a lottery with you as the prize. The winner gets to throw you overboard."
In spite of the warning, House leaned against the rail and mocked, "You girls! You gotta stop hanging out at the beauty salon."
Having nothing to do in paradise should have been… paradise. Except watching women constantly bombard Wilson with flirtatious nonsense irritated House like extra starch in his collars. It wasn't easy standing quietly by. He would squeeze the handle on his cane until his knuckles turned white, waiting to see if the latest giggling damsel would be successful and snag his prize. So far, Wilson had conducted himself like a perfect gentleman, polite but aloof. Sadly, in spite of House being on his best behavior and dropping broad hints, Wilson acted the same way around him too, cool and pure as a mountain spring.
Whenever House was alone he toyed with the thought of an easier challenge—possessing the opposite of Wilson, a curvaceous female with a fiery personality. However, his yearning to feel Wilson's chest (smooth and hairless or was there a trail leading down to his stomach? Or something in between?) and his body locked in a masculine leg vice never permitted other possibilities to come close to reality. The thought left him weak and insane.
House shoved off the rail and headed toward the stern. "I need to fire a gun."
"I'm only kidding about the women," Wilson said, sounding alarmed as he caught up.
"I'm not. I'm going trapshooting."
"In that case, I'll join you."
They were choosing shotguns when a man came bounding up, gasping for breath and waving a telegram. "House, I've been looking all over the ship for you."
House swiped the wire from the man's hand.
SPOKE TO MUTUAL FRIEND STOP MEET YOU AT HONOLULU DOCK WITH COUSIN LOUISE STOP
"Thanks, pally. I owe you one," House said, coming close to sounding sincere.
Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Who's your friend, House? We haven't been introduced."
"Wilson meet pally. Pally, Wilson. Excuse me while I make the world safe from menacing disks of clay." He nodded in dismissal, and pushed past the stranger to the first station. "Hope you're hungry, Wilson. Prepare to eat a brace of mud for dinner."
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By dinnertime, House's unflagging appetite had lost its edge. Propping his back against his headboard, he massaged his thigh. Trapshooting had proved to be a bad idea. Compensating for the movement of the ship in combination with the kick from the shotgun had taken a toll on his diminished muscles. His leg was on fire from his hip to his toes. He needed one of his pills, but they were in the cabinet on the far side of the room.
There was a knock on the door. "House?"
Wilson's voice. How had he tracked him down? House had never given him his cabin number. Wilson discovering he bunked in second class didn't bother him, but he wanted to keep the odds of Donahue and Wilson meeting a long shot.
"Are you in there?"
He chewed on his lip, willing Wilson away. But muffled voices could be heard from the hall and a key rattled in the lock.
"House, are you all right?" Wilson, dressed to the nines in his spanking white dinner jacket, rushed in followed by a uniformed member of the ship's staff holding a jangling ring of keys. "You missed the first course."
"Am I that predictable?" House forced a smile as he kneaded his thigh.
Wilson seemed to size up the situation, tipped the man and thanked him while he walked him to the door. When he returned, House noted Wilson's brow was furrowed in concern. It removed some of the painful bite from his leg.
"I asked the porter to bring a hot water bottle."
House pointed toward the wall of storage cabinets. "I don't need it. Get me the pills on the upper left shelf."
Before handing the vial to House, Wilson shook a tablet out, flaked off a chip with his thumbnail, and tasted it. His eyebrows skyrocketed to his hairline.
"That makes five stunned expressions, and still counting. Too bad silent pictures are dead. Now give me one of those pills," House snapped impatiently. He put out his hand and waited. Wilson scowled, but dropped it in his palm.
He tossed it in his mouth, swallowing without the assistance of water. He closed his eyes, and waited for the magical effect to take hold. Within minutes his eyelids felt heavy and he was on the brink of sleep when there was a knock on the door—the porter with the hot water bottle. Wilson was walking away from his side. He wasn't sure if he thought or mumbled, "Don't go."
When he awoke, the room was faintly illuminated. Light streamed through a thin opening in the bathroom door. A chair creaked beside him. Wilson's face was close enough for him to smell sweet hair tonic.
"How are you feeling?"
"Starving." House squinted at the bedside clock as a lamp clicked to life. He struggled to sit up. It was past midnight.
Wilson waved a dish in front of him. "I ordered sandwiches."
The plate containing a neatly quartered club sandwich on toast, landed in his lap. He swooped up a wedge and devoured a third of it with one bite.
Wilson returned to his chair, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and lit a cigarette. Other than the hushed draw and exhale of smoke, he was as silent as the Sphinx. On the dresser behind Wilson, lay an empty dish. Next to it was Wilson's bow tie and carefully folded dinner jacket.
While House continued to reduce the sandwich to a smudge of mayonnaise and runny tomato, he puzzled over what Wilson's silence meant. Was he angry about the pills or was this his standard bedside manner? For whatever reason, it gave House the heebie-jeebies.
He pounced on the first subject that came into his head to test whether Wilson was giving him the silent treatment. "How did you find my cabin?"
Wilson took his time answering, blowing out a long puff of smoke before crushing his cigarette. "I asked around. Did you know you're a man of mystery? I tracked down your… good pal, Pally. He was no help. Admitted you seemed to know him better than he remembered you. Do you even know his real name?"
"Bill… or Bob."
"It's Biff." Wilson crossed his arms over his chest. "How did the two of you meet?" he asked, his eyes narrowed into twin slits of skepticism.
"I needed someone to do me a favor." House shrugged. "There was a group gathered around the bulletin board, I leaned heavily on my cane, looked soulful, and shouted, "Hey is that you, Bill? Bob? There's always someone in a crowd with those names. Biff needs his ears checked."
"And that favor was…?"
"Send a message to a pa- an acquaintance of mine." He rubbed his leg. "The communication room is up a long flight of stairs."
"You could have asked me."
"At the time, I didn't know you were on the ship. Who gave you my cabin number?"
"Kimura."
Stalling while he fit all the pieces together, House stuffed the garnish in his mouth, chewing slowly until he hit upon his best guess. "You're lying."
Wilson froze. "What?"
House pushed off the bed, testing his leg. Turning the tables on Wilson deserved to be done while standing. "You're jealous."
Wilson rose and squared his shoulders. "Me? Of who?"
"You got jealous as soon as I called Biffy Bob, pally. The same way I did with you at Mischa's. There was no need to seek him out. Anyone with a half a brain would start with Kimura. He sits at the Captain's table. Biffsteak boy would be hard to find, lost among the herd." House took a breath before making his final stab at Wilson's bluff. "You had me fooled, acting cool and indifferent when you thought there was no one else but you."
"I-I thought…" Wilson rubbed the back of his neck as if it were a magic lamp that would get him out of the jam he created.
"You thought what, ice princess?" House moved closer, forcing Wilson to look up at him. "I preferred brassieres to double-breasted suits? Didn't I make it plain enough that I was attracted to you whether you wore either one?"
"See? There you go. Everything is a joke to you." Wilson accused, his finger a deadly pointer. "When those two baby grands showed up at the Italian Gardens threatening to turn you into Swiss cheese, you couldn't be bothered to give a straight answer."
"You want serious? Maybe you'll understand this." House placed his hand on the back of Wilson's his head, pulling him into a kiss. A needy mewl escaped Wilson's throat as his mouth opened under the onslaught of House's prying tongue…
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Slang
Heebie-Jeebies = nervous
Baby grands = mobsters
