Title: Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 10
Author: hwshipper
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
Beta: triedunture patiently Americanising me as ever
A/N: Part of a backstory to take place over twenty years, all the way to canon. Later parts drafted and emerging slowly.
Summary: Wilson's marriage finally disintegrates. House gets a hot girlfriend.
Excerpt: The next minute House dropped the journals in alarm as she screamed, "Greg! There's a man in your bed!"
Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 10
House unlocked his front door and stood aside to let his girlfriend in first. A leggy brunette wearing a tight blouse with a much-too-short skirt stepped into his living room and looked around. She'd been there before a few times, when House had made a vague effort to tidy up beforehand. This time he hadn't had time, and she turned up her nose a little at the mess.
"You have to get some of that crap off the couch," she declared. "There's nowhere even to sit down."
House had her perfume in his nose and her legs filling his head, her breasts on his brain and a fairly serious hard-on down his left pant leg. He picked up a handful of medical journals off the end of the couch to show willingness, while she walked towards the bedroom to leave her bag.
The next minute House dropped the journals in alarm as she screamed, "Greg! There's a man in your bed!"
"What!" House sped across the room, but he knew who it was before he got there. Only one other person had a key to his apartment.
"It's all right," he said, looking in dismay at Wilson, who was sound asleep and wrapped up in House's duvet like a cocoon. Wilson's head stuck out from one end, his hair mussed up and his mouth slightly open. "He's a friend of mine from Columbia. James Wilson."
"What's he doing here?" the girlfriend demanded.
"I don't know!" House had been living in Boston for a few months now. He racked his brains; Wilson had visited maybe six weeks ago, House was sure they hadn't made any arrangements since then.
They went back into the living room, House closing the door behind them. Right in front of them on a side table was his telephone, with the answering machine blinking red. He pressed the button and they both listened to Wilson's message.
"House, it's me. Listen, I'm on my way to your place, might stay a few days, sorry for the short notice. I left a message for you at work too, hope you find one or the other before I get here. See you."
"I'm going home," the girlfriend said coldly.
Fuck. They'd been going out a few weeks, she'd kept him firmly at arms-length at the start and he'd worked hard on thawing her with charm, wit, and sheer determination. House had triumphantly sealed the deal for the first time a few days ago, and it had been scorching: he was positively aching for a repeat.
He was sufficiently horny not to want to let her go while there was still even the remotest chance of some action. "At least stay for coffee. That's what you came in for, right?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
She looked back at him. "Okay, I'll stay for coffee." Her tone said she was doing him a huge favor.
House realized he was skating on thin ice here. He inwardly cursed Wilson for his crappy timing as he walked into the kitchen and stuck the coffee machine on.
Wilson woke up gradually from his state of exhaustion, roused by faint noise and light When he finally opened his eyes he saw lights on under the door, which meant House was home. Vaguely surprised House hadn't come in the bedroom and shaken him awake, Wilson staggered up, opened the bedroom door and walked out into the living room.
He found himself looking at a pair of extremely long legs sitting on the couch. His eyes followed them upwards past the edge of a high skirt and a generous chest, to the face of an attractive dark haired woman glaring at him.
"Uh. Hi," Wilson mumbled. He was suddenly aware of how scruffy he was. Also he was only wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. (Thank God he hadn't been naked). Who was this?--must be a girlfriend. And he'd been in House's bed--crap. Double crap.
She didn't reply, merely raked him up and down with her dark eyes.
House burst in through the bathroom door. "Wilson! How nice of you to pleasure us with your company." Now Wilson had a set of blue eyes glaring at him too. "A word?"
Wilson lamely followed House into the kitchen. House leaned on the counter and fixed Wilson with a piercing stare.
"You've really fucked up my evening," House said bluntly.
"I can see. I'm sorry." Wilson ran a hand through his already thoroughly mussed up hair, dismay growing by the second. "Look, let me get dressed and I'll go sit in a bar for a few hours or something."
"No. You look dead on your feet." For a second Wilson thought House was actually showing concern, but House carried on, "No point, it's too late, you've already killed the mood. I'll just have to try for another date next week. If I can get into her busy schedule. So, what's so important that you've come running out all the way up to Boston like this?"
"I had to get away for a couple of days." Wilson looked at the floor, and went on quietly, "I'm getting divorced."
House was silent for a moment, then said, "That sucks."
"She served the papers on me last week," Wilson continued. "I've been trying to persuade her not to go through with it ever since... but she's not gonna change her mind. I've been sleeping on the couch at home, and in the staffroom in the hospital, and working really hard to free up this weekend, which means I haven't really slept at all the last few days. Which is why I'm kinda beat."
"Well," House hesitated and said awkwardly, "You can stay long as you need, though your four hour commute to work might be a bit of a bummer."
"Actually," it was Wilson's turn to hesitate, "I've found a room, it's available from Saturday. I'm hoping... you'll come back with me this weekend, and help me move my stuff."
"If I must," House said gruffly.
"Thanks," Wilson said, equally gruffly.
"So what the hell happened?" House demanded. "You tell your wife about Pearl or something?" Wilson grimaced; House shook his head in amazement. "You did? I don't believe it, Wilson, you'd actually gotten away with that! You're an idiot!"
House's girlfriend appeared at the kitchen doorway at that moment and put her empty coffee mug down on the counter, announcing, "Greg, I'm going home."
Wilson smiled apologetically at her, not quite daring to say anything. She didn't deign to look at him.
House took a deep breath. "Hang on, I'll walk you out to your car."
He followed her as she stalked out of the front door, heels ringing out loudly on the sidewalk. As they arrived at her Beemer, House put on the most devastatingly sexy smile he could muster and said, "This wasn't really how I was expecting this evening to end. How about dinner next week, and we can carry on where we left off?"
"All right," she said magnanimously. "But tomorrow night. Dinner at the Locke-Ober. And you're paying."
House blanched at the mention of the oldest, most expensive and exclusive restaurant in town. They tended to split tabs--she earned vastly more money than he did and there were limits to his chivalry--but clearly this was the price of forgiveness.
"We'll never get a table at this short notice," he protested weakly. "Tomorrow? It's a Friday night--it'll have been booked out for weeks."
"I know the head waiter there; they always keep a few tables free on the night, he can get us one. I'll see you there, eight o'clock? Bring your checkbook."
House nodded dumbly. She leaned forward and kissed him: he kissed back. Her hair smelt pleasantly of coconut, and the taste of soft lips and velvety tongue sent a pulse through his groin. As she pulled back, reaching into her bag for her car keys, she added archly, "Bring your friend, if he's still here. He's very cute."
House gaped, and felt a jealous knot suddenly form in his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. She watched his expression, and smiled, mollified by his possessiveness, and got in the car and drove away.
House watched her go, and wondered what she would think if she knew the words he'd bitten back were Hands off him, he's mine.
Back inside, House found Wilson had cleared all the books off the couch so there was finally space for more than one person to sit down. House slumped down next to Wilson and said, "Situation salvaged, she agreed to have dinner tomorrow night. You screwed up my evening, so you get the bill. It's the Locke-Ober, so you'd better bottom out your overdraft before your wife screws you for alimony."
"House, I haven't got any money!" Wilson protested, looking around for the TV remote. "I'm as poor as a church mouse. As poor as a med student about to get divorced, actually. Which is very poor."
"Well, I'm as poor as a hard-working underpaid junior doctor trying to keep up with a girlfriend with expensive tastes. Who came back tonight to find you in my bed." House put as much outrage as he could into his tone. "You gave her the fright of her life, and--"
"All right, all right, I'm sorry, I really am! I'll pay," Wilson caved, and House, triumphant, immediately mentally resolved on champagne and caviar. "Who is she, anyway? Have you been going out long?"
"A few weeks." The exact date wasn't imprinted on House's brain. "She's an investment banker, and her name is Tigris."
"That's... unusual. Isn't it a river?"
"I tell her it's a porn star name." House privately liked her name; he thought that it suited her exotic dark looks very well. "Her douchebag banker colleagues call her Tigger, she doesn't like that. Dating a grungy impecunious doctor is a huge rebellion for her. She finds it very exciting." He raised a suggestive eyebrow.
"She is very hot," Wilson said meekly. "I'm sorry to give such a bad first impression. She must think--well, I have no idea what she must think."
"Actually--" House hesitated, then came out with it--"apparently she thinks you're cute. She even said you should come along for dinner."
"Ha ha," Wilson said, obviously not amused. "You are kidding, right? She thinks I'm cute? I haven't slept in forty-eight hours and I look like shit."
"She likes them rough around the edges," House said. "That's why she's going out with me."
"There's rough--" Wilson raised a hand and gently stroked House's stubbled cheek--"and there's rough." Wilson flicked his other hand through his own sleep-mussed-up hair and rolled his eyes. "You have your posh dinner with her tomorrow night, and I'll make myself scarce if you're gonna, um, bring her back here afterwards. And then we can go back to New York on Saturday?"
"Deal," House agreed magnanimously. He eyed Wilson's sticking-up hair and decided he could see exactly what Tig had meant; Wilson, tired and rumpled, and clad just in T-shirt and boxers, was quite unbelievably cute. "There is one other thing. I was definitely going to get some tonight. You ought to make it up to me."
Wilson looked surprised, then laughed a little. "You've got a hot girlfriend, I'm not sure I can live up to that."
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," House pronounced with an atrocious leer.
Wilson screwed up his face in comical dismay at the expression. "That's just... horrible."
House grinned wolfishly, and reached out to hook a hand round the back of Wilson's neck. Wilson leaned in, and they kissed. House felt the prickle of stubble on stubble, the newly woken Wilson not smooth shaven for once, and tasting slightly of morning breath too, but House didn't care. He'd been horny for the last couple of hours around Tig; and now the feel of Wilson's mouth pushing against his was sending blood rushing to the groin.
"I really thought I was too tired for this tonight," Wilson murmured, and House relished the sight of Wilson now not just rumpled, but flushed and hungry-looking. And with an erection definitely visible through those boxer shorts.
"Go and get back in my bed," House dictated, and Wilson grinned and stood up. House sat on the couch watching Wilson's ass en route to the bedroom, then got up and followed, unbuckling his belt as he walked. He dropped his pants on the bedroom floor, as Wilson pulled the T-shirt off over his head, and House felt his erection pulse at the sight of Wilson's bare chest, smooth and pale in the dim light.
He yanked off his own shirt and pulled Wilson close to him, relishing the touch of Wilson's body against his, Wilson's nipples grazing his own chest hair. Not quite the sensation House had been expecting this evening but God, just as hot in a different way.
Wilson's breathing had increased markedly and his hands were on House's ass, sliding under the waistband of House's boxer shorts. House slid them off, waited for Wilson to do the same, then muttered, "Under the duvet. Like before."
Wilson slid underneath the duvet and pulled it around himself, rolling himself up, his head sticking out but this time with large brown eyes not closed but glowing in House's direction. House gazed back for a few seconds, transfixed momentarily by those eyes and that hair, and couldn't resist jerking at his own cock a couple of times at the sight. He then moved to look in the nightstand, finding condoms close to hand and lube pushed right to the back of the drawer...
Appropriately armed, House lay down next to Wilson in his cocoon, and tweaked at the corner of the quilt; Wilson merely looked back with a glint in his eye. House pulled at it, and Wilson pulled back, and then House tugged hard and sent Wilson rolling in the opposite direction, hair alternately flopping over his eyes and flattened behind. House dived beneath the covers and suddenly his naked flesh touched Wilson's naked flesh, Jesus Christ, and House almost came right away, there and then.
Barely controlling himself, House pushed more duvet aside to climb on top of Wilson, feeling Wilson's body warm and sweating beneath him. House eased in a finger and luxuriated in the tremble that ran through Wilson's body and the sound of Wilson's whimper, loud in the quiet room. He did it again, then decided that was quite enough of that, time for the real thing.
"Fuck, oh fuck," Wilson's eyes were popping and sheens of sweat swathed across his forehead as House thrust with vigor and enthusiasm. Duvet billowed over both their heads and tangled around House's right leg, but he barely noticed, intent on Wilson's ass clenched around his cock and Wilson's hair clutched in his hands and--House came with a small cry and a huge thrust, and felt Wilson's cock jerking in climax against his belly as he slumped down onto Wilson's chest.
Dinner the following evening with Tigris went swimmingly.
House had been living and working in Boston for several months now, but had never eaten at the Locke-Ober before. Tig was clearly an old hand, and they ended up on an excellent table in a quiet corner, well away from the crowds. From the antique furnishings to the black tie waiters, it was terribly formal and old style: not at all House's usual kind of thing, but he had to admit it had class.
He had found he actually got on well with Tig, better than with just about any other previous girlfriend House could recall. She liked hearing life as a doctor stories, he enjoyed being scornful at her stories of idiotic bankers. She was well traveled, like him; kept fit, liked sports and rock music, and didn't take any crap from him. He, conversely, found himself taking crap from her, and secretly rather liked it.
She was wearing a plunging top with just a small hint of black lace peeking out of her cleavage, and House could barely drag his eyes away. They had oysters to start, and House then reveled in watching her eat, the lump forming and moving in her throat before she swallowed each one whole. She had lobster for her main course and House admired the way she delicately dissected the carcass, hooking the meat out from each claw. "You'd make a decent surgeon," he informed her.
There were just two little clouds in the conversation. The first was her passing mention of her ex, a bond salesman who had cheated on her and was obviously a complete bastard. She'd mentioned him before; House had an inkling that they had some unresolved issues.
The second moment was near the end of dinner, over dessert, when they were talking about weekend plans. House told her that he was going back to New York to help Wilson move.
"Oh yes, your cute friend," she said, and slid a spoonful of sorbet into her mouth. "So tell me about him. What does he do? Is he single?"
House looked at her a little suspiciously. "Wilson? He's a med student. Married, and about to get divorced."
"Divorced? You must be kidding!" She put the spoon down into her bowl. "He looks like a teddy bear, surely he's not old enough."
"He's twenty-three. Way too young for you," House said rudely. Tigris was a couple of years older than House and sensitive about having recently turned thirty. He reached over and dug a spoon into her sorbet.
"Maybe I'd like a toy boy. He sure looked adorable in your bed," she retorted, picking up a knife, and she sliced off a segment of his key lime pie with what House felt was unnecessary force. The conversation moved on, but left House with a feeling of vague unease.
Nevertheless, neither of them mentioned Wilson again. The meal ended well with them both very mellow over Irish coffee, where House enjoyed the touch of a stockinged foot placed strategically halfway up his thigh under the table.
"My place?" she said as they left, and House was only too happy to agree. He had banished Wilson for the evening from his own apartment on pain of death, but it was still easiest to avoid.
He draped his jacket over her shoulders as she hailed a cab.
"Excuse me," said a blonde at Wilson's elbow. He looked around, startled: he'd been sunk so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed her approach.
"My friend really likes you," she said, jerking a thumb down the bar towards another blonde who was blushing and shaking her head. "She's just too shy to come up and say hello herself, so I thought I'd do it for her. Would you like to join us?"
"Um, thank-you very much, but no," Wilson said hastily and firmly. "Tell your friend I'm very flattered, but I'm married." And that was even true, for at least the next few days.
"You're not wearing a ring," the blonde said with unnerving speed. Wilson supposed that was the kind of thing she and her friend would have discussed and observed before she'd approached.
"I've always been hopeless at wearing rings," he said, and that was also true. He threw her a smile which was supposed to be charming and apologetic, and it seemed to work; she said sorry and left, without kicking up a fuss or getting upset. She rejoined her friend, who was by this time bright red. Wilson threw another smile in her direction and a slight apologetic shake of the head.
"Are you really married?" a male voice asked, and Wilson looked around to find the bartender looking at him with some amusement.
"Yes, I am, actually." Wilson cradled his beer between his hands. "Although I'm also in the middle of getting divorced right now."
I'm getting divorced. He could have joined those two blondes without the need for any gnawing guilt about his wife at home. Wilson realized abruptly that he hadn't actually uttered those words to anybody except House yet. He still had to tell Mom and Dad, and Jonathan... his head hurt just thinking about it. They'd be shocked; they all loved Cath, it would come right out of the blue. It had been building up for months and months, but he hadn't given them any inkling. He'd been so busy trying to head it all off, stop it happening, he hadn't quite believed this day would come.
"Ah," the bartender nodded. He reached under the counter and produced a bottle, a superior brand of whiskey. "Have one of these on the house."
"Thank-you, that's very kind." Wilson watched the barman pour whiskey. Having slept all day at House's apartment while House was out at work, Wilson was now wide awake and melancholy after a few beers by himself. He figured he was never going to come to this bar again, and felt the need to talk to somebody.
He picked up the glass and said to the bartender, "You know, I'm sitting here wondering whether to tell my best friend that I love her and want to be with her."
Wilson changed House's gender as a reflex action, protecting himself against any reaction, barely even thinking about it.
"Awesome," said the barman, leaning on the counter. "Just do it."
"It's really not that simple," Wilson said despondently. "She's seeing someone else right now." Literally right now; House, out this evening for a special dinner with his girlfriend. Tigris. Strange name, beautiful girl. And Wilson dwelt briefly on the irony that just as he became single, House had started going out with someone else.
"Have you actually discussed it with her?" the bartender asked.
"No." Wilson sighed. He and House discussed so much, understood so much, without words; but not this.
"I don't think it would work anyway," Wilson went on, in full spilling-guts mode now. "I live in New York, she's here in Boston, four hours away..."
"Not an insurmountable distance."
"Maybe, and I might be able to get a job in Boston in a year or so... But even if I did, I don't think we could live together without killing each other within a few days. And then there's our families, they wouldn't approve..."
This last was a powerful factor. Between House's father and Wilson's brother, they'd end up with no family left even between them.
And the other thing, which Wilson wasn't about to share right now, was that they both liked women too much.
Wilson let his gaze rest on the blonde women up the bar, who were standing up to leave. They were both pretty, and it wasn't too late to join them. And yet this really wasn't what he wanted just now. Not with the bitter taste of his disastrous marriage right there like gall in his mouth.
But he did want something... just not this. Wilson looked carefully over at the bartender, who was polishing a glass and watching him with amused dark eyes. He was tall and lean, with short bleached hair. Wilson spotted a diamond stud glittering in his right ear. Maybe he needn't have made that gender switch after all.
"Looks like you've talked yourself out of it," the bartender said.
"I guess I have." Wilson paused, then went on carefully, "I wonder if you could point me towards... a different kind of bar."
The bartender smiled broadly, then glanced at the clock, which said 10.30 PM. "I finish my shift here in half an hour, then I'm going clubbing. You want to hang around, I'll take you somewhere."
"Sounds good," said Wilson, and sipped whiskey.
The following morning Tig forced House to get up far too early for a Saturday because she had a game of squash scheduled with a work colleague at some unearthy hour. House moaned loudly about it, but didn't actually mind, he had to go back to New York today with Wilson after all.
House arrived home, feeling splendidly relaxed and humming cheerfully, to find Wilson in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water.
"Wilson, what do you look like?"
It was rhetorical. Wilson looked like he'd been through a wringer. His hair stuck out in all different directions, his eyes were dark rimmed, bloodshot and hollow. Pale, shaking slightly and moving slowly, he was obviously completely hungover and still semi-stoned despite the hour.
"I'm... fine. I just haven't... really been to bed yet," Wilson mumbled. "Need to sleep."
"Good thing Tig isn't here, she'd jump you looking like that," House growled. "Aren't we supposed to be going to New York this morning? To move your stuff?"
"I'll... sleep on the train... " Wilson stifled a yawn. "Just... need to take a shower..."
House watched Wilson carefully as he headed towards the bathroom, and frowned. He'd seen Wilson do some stupid things after a few drinks; there was that bottle throwing arrest in New Orleans, for a start, but he'd never witnessed Wilson go on an all-night bender like this before. Wilson might not have been arrested this time, but House rather thought this was worse. He couldn't remember seeing Wilson in this kind of state before: jittery, walking stiffly...
Part of him wondered what on earth Wilson had got up to. Another part of him really, really, didn't want to know.
True to his word, Wilson slept virtually every minute of the train journey to New York. He woke up yawning and feeling almost his normal self again. Back home (alas, not to be home any more), they found to his relief that Catherine had deliberately absented herself, leaving everything she deemed to be his in a large pile on the living room floor. Wilson accepted the pile without a second glance.
"Shouldn't you be claiming half of everything?" House asked.
"She can take it all. I don't want it." I don't deserve it, Wilson's didn't say, but thought. He could see House comprehend. "I don't want to cause her any trouble... I want to stay friends with her."
"Of course you do," House said, a trifle wearily.
Catherine had also left the car, with a note saying they could have it in the afternoon but she needed it that evening to go to a class. They loaded it up and shifted boxes without too much trouble. The room Wilson had found was small but nice enough. It was close by and in a large shared house lived in by a mixture of young professionals and students.
"It'll be a drag sharing a kitchen and bathroom again," Wilson said mournfully after the last run, as he put the last box down and closed the door.
"Well, you should have thought of that before you wrecked your marriage," House snapped, obviously not about to let Wilson wallow in self-pity. He flopped down on the bed and put his feet up.
"It'll be strange sleeping in a single bed again, too," Wilson said, sitting down next to House. "How was your dinner last night, by the way? I forgot to ask."
"Your money was well spent." House turned on his side, towards Wilson. "And the sex was even better than the food."
Wilson laughed a little. "Glad to hear it."
House had something on his mind, Wilson could see; blue eyes were flickering, debating whether to say something. Wilson kicked off his shoes and lay down himself, leaving an inch of space between them. This meant he was rather perilously close to the edge of the bed, but as he'd hoped, the proximity encouraged House to speak.
"She took a fancy to you," House said abruptly. Wilson felt House's breath, warm on his cheek and nose. "Next time you come to Boston, watch out, she's liable to make a pass at you."
"You are kidding me," Wilson protested. "I barely met her!"
House shrugged a little; the mattress shifted slightly under his weight. "Maybe it would be good. It could be one hot threesome..."
There was an everso slight query in House's voice at the end, and Wilson sensed this was some kind of test. He thought for a moment, then said carefully and deliberately, "I think a threesome would be an extremely bad idea."
He just caught relief on House's face, then mentally groaned as it was swiftly followed by House's differential-diagnosis look.
"Now why do you think that?" House mused.
Wilson groaned out loud this time, lay back and stared at the ceiling, formulating his thoughts. After a minute he spoke, mainly to avoid House interpreting for him. "I don't know her, but I'd guess she'd be expecting me and you to take turns fucking her. So I'd also guess that she might be, uh, surprised, if instead me and you started fucking each other. Of course if I'm wrong, and you think that would turn her on, and indeed you on, then I'd think about it. But frankly the whole idea creeps me out. And I think you'd rather not... have her, or anyone else, see us together either."
He picked those last few words very carefully.
"I think it would be an extremely bad idea too, " House said gruffly, and they exchanged looks, and he and Wilson both knew they'd agreed on something more than just a joke about threesomes.
"And anyway," Wilson added. "You really like her, don't you? I don't want to... get in the way. Especially as she's already found me in your bed once."
And House moved to eliminate the inch of space between them, and kissed Wilson on the mouth. Wilson felt pleasure and gratitude flowing from House to himself, and kissed back.
The bed was so narrow they then entwined naturally, with barely any movement required. They lay pressed up against each other, necking and fondling, for quite some time. Wilson relished the simple delight of being close to House, stubble grating his chin, long fingers rustling his hair and clasping the back of his head. After a while they wriggled out of clothes and moved easily into a spooning position, bumping and grinding until Wilson came with his groin locked hard up against House's tailbone. He gave House a reach-around with his left hand, pumping and rolling until House buried his face in the pillow and arched his back in climax.
They both slipped into slumber, and much later, Wilson woke up and realized that he hadn't returned the car. Cath would have missed her class. Crap. He decided groggily that she would just have to add it to the long list of grievances where House had delayed and distracted him, thoughtless husband that he was clearly destined to be to the end, and slumped back into sleep.
END OF PART 10. TBC
Next part: House has girlfriend problems. Wilson makes friends with a small brunette coming out of a bad relationship.