Chapter Rating: M

There's :-) and :-( and :-P in this chapter. Enjoy!

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Part 8

Eye-deep in Mae West's cleavage, House ignored the sound of Wilson shuffling into his private retreat. As Wilson's assorted sighs and huffs became too annoying to disregard, he placed the magazine down and watched him swirl his hand through the lollipop jar like a hungry bear after honey.

What Wilson did for lab coats, Mae West did for negligees. House's fingers itched to wrestle the coat off the bony shoulders, followed by the tie, the shirt…

"House, don't you have any patients? What are you doing in Kimura's office?"

"An emergency in steerage. A woman went into labor. I'm in charge until he gets back." He concealed his face behind the cover of Garbo's portrait. "Be gone. I vant to be alone."

Unimpressed with his banishment, Wilson put the container of candy on the file cabinet and plunked down on the corner of the desk. "What happened to the red suckers from this morning? There are only green and yellow."

"Beats me." House stuck his head into the slick pages until his nose nearly touched the print. "Listen to this. 'Miss West confided, Men are conveniences to me, nothing more. If they can help me in any way, socially or financially, I can lie nice to 'em.'" House cupped his chin in his hand and released an exaggerated sigh. "That's my kinda dame!"

"Ginger Rogers is more my type, with those long gams." Wilson pulled the magazine from under House's elbow and flipped through it. He dropped it onto a stack of nearby gossip magazines, and flicked an imaginary piece of dust off his white lapel. "I haven't thanked you for backing up the story I told Richard."

"No need. Helping you helped me, not to mention Kimura. I have less work and get to see you more." For the hundredth time he wanted to ask Wilson why he had never practiced medicine since graduating medical school, and for the hundredth time he bit his tongue. If he brought up the subject, Wilson would have first dibs on retaliating with a question of his own. Like why was House returning to the States?

"If you hate to work, why do you hang out here?"

Not about to explain his arrangement with Donahue, House slapped his palm on top of the pile of magazines. "The Japanese are way ahead of the Americans in modern medicine. Nothing here is more than eighteen months old."

Steering the conversation onto safer subjects, House grabbed a blank sheet of paper and cleared his throat. "Where should I take you on our date tonight?" He pretended to read from a list. "Engine room, laundry room, lifeboat, officer's lavatory, pool, women's powder room. The beds are empty in the infirmary."

"Not if there are complication with the baby's birth," Wilson answered.

"Always a party pooper. How about the forward funnel? I hear there's an upper platform inside that's built for two."

Wilson perked up, but shook his head. "What about the climb? Are you up for it?"

House shrugged off the question. "Could I interest you in a deluxe suite?"

"Impossible," Wilson stated flatly. "They're all occupied."

House held up a key with a brass tag attached. "But I know the owner of a no juu hachi senshitsu.If I asked him sweetly, I bet he'd give it to me."

"You, charming? There's no chance in hell." Wilson swiped the key out of his hand and inspected it. "Hey, this is my cabin." His face shone with approval. "It's Richard's." He eyed House suspiciously. "How did you get it?"

"Richard should know better than drink wine sent to his room by a secret admirer."

"He was complaining of a violent headache this morning… " Wilson pressed his palms to his eyes. "You drugged him and broke into his room."

"You betcha! You can thank me tonight." House flopped against the back of his chair. "Can't wait to get you in a real bed." Immediately, he regretted his outburst of glee.

"I thought you dragged me from stem to stern because you liked our Olympics. What was wrong with your cabin all this time?"

House deftly supplied a half-truth. "The walls in second class are paper thin and my crotchety neighbor, Donahue, lives to report so much as a sneeze from any of his neighbors. No one wants to tangle with him. He's a mean bastard and the size of a sumo wrestler but taller."

Wilson's mouth formed an 'O'.

"So we're on for tonight? Your place?"

"Sure," Wilson answered. House could tell the gears behind the dark eyes were churning, making plans for their evening. "After dinner, we'll go down to steerage to watch Kabuki. I'll sneak out at 10:30. You meet me at my stateroom by 11:00."

The sudden shriek of a child startled Wilson off his perch. "Stop playing games and gimme the lollipops. I have a toddler on the verge of a tantrum if I don't deliver on my promise."

House grabbed the issue with Joan Crawford on the cover and flipped it open. "Don't know what you're talking about. Run along. You're interrupting my finishing school education." He pointed to a heading. "Says here Joan's gonna share her secrets on 'Hollywood's rules on making friends.'"

"Well, in that case… " Wilson leaned forward and nibbled on House's ear, whispering, "I better leave you to your studies."

Alone, House stretched his legs onto the desk and dug into his pocket for a cherry sucker but came up with lint. Damn Wilson for his straight face and light fingers. House couldn't stop smiling.

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House didn't understand why a rendezvous in Wilson's stateroom added fresh eroticism to their relationship, but it did. It was his main motivation for stealing the key—that and the luxury of sprawling on a full size bed after expending his last ounce of energy.

One knock on the door with his cane, and Wilson was on him like a grumpy old man shooing him from his precious lawn. Except instead of running him off, Wilson tugged him inside. When the door shut, he quickly let go of the lapels as if they burned his hands.

Casually dressed with his shirt collar undone, sleeves rolled up, and hands shoved into his pockets, Wilson backed away, acting standoffish like when they first met. House inwardly sighed. Sometimes Wilson got that way when he was feeling uncomfortable about something. Resorting to flirtation from the courtship period usually snapped him out of it, but it was late, and House really wanted to keep things simple and go at each other until their brains slid out their ears.

Dropping an unsubtle hint, he stripped off his tie, jacket, and shirt as he walked around the room. It was luxurious. Done in colors of the sea, but a little cramped because of the overstuffed furniture. He pushed back the edge of the curtain to view a private balcony. "Nice," he said, and meant it. He kicked off his shoes and prepared to undo his pants, heading for the doorway that promised a bedroom beyond it. Wilson trailed behind.

House searched the dimly lit room. A cart in the corner held a silver ice bucket with champagne. A frosty bowl dripped with condensation. It contained a black jammy mound—caviar. He was about to reassess who was doing the seducing tonight when he felt Wilson's hot breath upon his neck. A naked chest molded to his back. Sharp hipbones and a slightly softer yet more insistent bone pushed against his ass. He turned and cupped the back of Wilson's neck, about to devour Wilson's mouth, when he saw the bed. Beds. Twins. He applied the tip of his cane to the leg of a footboard to test if it would budge.

"Don't bother." Wilson sighed. "They're bolted."

"Well, if nothing can be done…" House leapt into the bed and spread-eagled his arms. "I'll take a nap."

"Don't you dare. Any size mattress beats a lifeboat or a closet." Wilson's eyes glittered mischievously as he sat beside him. "You must taste the Beluga while it's cold."

House opened wide, expecting a caviar-laden cracker, but the salty treat was delivered on Wilson's fingers. He held onto the wrist until he licked every fish egg from the skin.

A glass of champagne was pressed into his hand. As he drank, Wilson straddled him and undid his pants, flinging them on the floor.

"Now this… " His voice hitched as Wilson sampled the firmness of his nipple. "Is room service."

Attempting to blot any evidence of a smug smile, he lay very still. Wilson was a precocious pupil and did him proud. At times, showing a dogged resolve to turn… (that thing you do with your palm on my abdomen… continue… continue lowwwwerrr…)House into a blithering, drooling idiot.

When fingers fondled his balls… "Oh god yes," he affirmed. Wilson let go (fucking tease)and began to hum in the tone he used when poring over a patient's charts, rubbing his stiff erection against House's.

The steady man-on-man motion had him engorged to the brink of coming when Wilson changed directions like a weather vane caught in a storm. House groaned his disappointment as he was shoved onto his side. A cushion of cool lotion was fastidiously applied to the most sunless region of his anatomy. With Wilson behind him, House had the freedom to smile unnoticed. "I forgive you for being a cocktea—"

Words deserted him at Wilson's first thrust.

House clawed a pillow as Wilson repeatedly struck his sweet spot, winding him tauter than a guitar string. He ached for release, but didn't give in. He wanted to ascend to the top of the mountain with Wilson, climbing until they could go no further.

For a moment he hovered in the air, then he heard a stunted, guttural sound and felt a liquid rush of heat. Nearly in unison he bucked, tumbling off the cliff into oblivion with Wilson by his side.

Returning to consciousness, House shut his mouth, wiping slippery drool away with his thumb. He sensed Wilson cradling him in his arms. Managing a token grunt to explain his satiated state, he felt a kiss on his shoulder before sinking into peaceful sleep.

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When he awoke it was still dark. He was alone. He raised his head from the pillow. Wilson wasn't in the other bed either. He breathed in the toasty aroma of a burning cigarette. Cold, he pulled the blanket around him and limped to the doorway. Tinny music carried from the outer room.

Wilson sat on the couch, staring at some papers. A cigarette parked between his lips. The only illumination came from the glowing orange tip and the moonlight streaming through the open drapes. Wilson's profile was outlined in silver, but it turned dark and unreadable as the new moon when he looked in House's direction. The scraps of paper rustled as they were hidden suddenly from view.

"Did the music wake you?"

House shook his head and joined Wilson. "Where did you get a recording of East of the Sun?"

"It became an overnight sensation after you introduced it. The ship's pianist cut a recording to sell as a souvenir. The gift shop keeps running out of stock."

"Enterprising fella, although he could work on his finger articulation." House plucked the cigarette from Wilson's hand and inhaled. "Thought you weren't impressed with the tune."

"It grew on me."

House balanced the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. Brushing his lips over Wilson's cheek, he pushed him against the cushions. "About your performance… " He locked onto Wilson's mouth and kissed passionately until he had Wilson's full attention, and made a grab for the contents in Wilson's pocket.

"Hey!"

"What have we here?" House stood up and turned on a light. There was a scalloped-edged photograph of the Midnight Lounge and House at the piano. He waved it in the air. "The ship's photographer?"

Wilson nodded.

"And this?" House studied the pamphlet featuring hula dancers in front of a swanky pink hotel. He was getting a bad feeling and considered not pursuing the subject, but with the evidence sitting in his hand, it was impossible to ignore. "The Royal Hawaiian Hotel?"

In the lamplight, Wilson's cheeks were tinted the same color as the structure. "It was going to be a surprise."

"You succeeded. I'm stunned." Shutting off the lamp he returned to the couch.

"Had the whole day planned. A hired car would give us a tour of Waikiki and drive us to the other side of the island. After, we'd spend the balance of the day at the hotel." Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Apparently, it's the only place in the Pacific with double beds."

House picked up the cigarette and puffed. He had miscalculated. Two days away from Hawaii, his arrangements were already in place for his getaway, and Wilson played no part in them. He needed time to think of an explanation for his upcoming disappearance.

"House? Is something wrong? I can cancel."

He groped Wilson's crotch, eliciting a gasp. "If I didn't know better I'd think you knitted those in your home economics class and attached them to your body with ladylike stitches." He flipped the papers onto Wilson's lap. "The champagne, music, fancy hotel... when did you become a romantic? Don't get a crush on me, Wilson," he warned. "I'm bad news. When we get to Hawaii—" He could not go on. Maybe in the light of day he would be able to finish the sentence.

He went back to bed.

His mattress sunk under the additional weight of Wilson's body. The cigarette disappeared from his fingers and returned to the original owner.

"It's too late, you know." Wilson blew a smoke ring that slowly spun into a filmy cloud. "About getting a crush on you. It happened long before the voyage."

He passed the cigarette back to House. "I wouldn't call it love at first sight, but one evening I saw you at the Italian Gardens, and I couldn't stop watching you. My friends would talk about the 21 Club, and I'd lie through my teeth telling them that the Gardenshad better booze. When I saw you at Mischa's…"

Engrossed in Wilson's confession, House snapped, "You didn't see me, I saw you. You acted like we never met."

"Acted. Did I ever mention I was in the college drama club?" Wilson said calmly, taking back the cigarette. It was down to a nub. He inhaled before putting it out. "I recognized you playing the piano while I was inside the card room. There was no reason to believe you remembered me. And if you did…"

The bed trembled. House imagined Wilson shrugging.

"What were the chances my feelings would be returned?" Wilson's fingertip traced House's jaw. "How about we forget about Waikiki and everything that happened here tonight except the sex? I got carried away and overstepped the rules."

"Wilson..."

"Think about it." The bed swayed as Wilson transferred to the neighboring twin.

Long after Wilson's breathing had deepened into rhythmic snoring, House stared at the ceiling. When the faint gray light of day sketched a fuzzy outline of the walls and a topographic map of his crumpled clothes on the floor, he rolled out of bed.

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Slang
Dame = a woman
Gams = legs

References
Hall, G. (1933, August). Mae West's Advice to Young Girls in Love. Movie Classics.

Many thanks to the lj community, little_details, for their kind help in translating "cabin 18A" into Japanese (a no juu hachi senshitsu).