Dream a Little Dream of Me
N.A: This is a little one-shot (originally, it was even shorter), where Wilson dreams…It was actually a piece I developed in a very boring English class. And it was a crossover between House MD and Sandman. Don't laugh too hard or you'll fall.
Anyway… Please review, and tell me what you think of it! If you think it should become a real and longer romantic fic, please tell me.
Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Dream a Little Dream of Me", which, I think, was created by Louis Armstrong. I also don't own House, M.D. Or a Porche.
WARNINGS: Slash, House/Wilson. If you're not okay with it, click the "Back" button. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Your name is James Wilson, you're a relatively young oncologist, you work in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and your co-workers consider you a boy wonder, even with the fact that you're almost forty.
But still, you think that you are more of a babysitter. A babysitter for House. He is your best friend, the man with a cold heart and eyes to go with it, the man that you just left after a night in a pub, drinking your way out through the death of a patient.
You know you should get used to it. After all, you're the man of the bad news, and even knowing that you do your best, you feel guilty and you never get used to it, never like House does ("Patients lie. Patients die.")
But now, in the back sit of a taxi, since you're too drunk to drive, you're not thinking of the girl who died, you're not thinking of the discussion you'll certainly have with your wife. The only thing in your mind is his eyes when you said it was time to go home, and his body too close to yours, and his scruffy voice in your hear.
"Dream a little dream of me."
And you know that there's something wrong with you for feeling that shiver down your spine when he said that. But you can't exactly recall what; you're too busy trying to hide the goofy smile in your blushed face before you get home.
But you know you're going to dream of him.
Later at night, lying with your back turned to the wife you hate, the smile comes back and you fall asleep.
In your dream, at first, you're completely alone in the nothing. You feel pure and, in a strange way, you feel free, the loneliness of this place doesn't affect you.
But when you sense someone behind you, you find yourself relived. Your turn slowly to him, with eyes well shut. You already know who you're going to see when you open your eyes.
His piercing eyes looking at you, and his warm body next to yours, he's too close, but you find that not only you don't care as you also want him closer. When he leans down and kisses you, softly, passionately, it's the best kiss you ever had, and you want it never to stop.
You only discover that you were dressed when he takes of your clothes and you feel his touch in every single inch of your body, and it's only then you know you're dreaming. It's just too good to be true.
When the orgasm rocks you, he kisses you again and you start doubting that it's a dream. You start hoping that maybe, Heaven exists and all this was real. Even his skin feels perfect under your fingers.
You wake up with your pyjamas wet, and your wife shouting something about the sacred matrimonial bed ruined and about he not having sex with her for a month.
She cries and you leave the house without having breakfast, but nothing of that matters.
You have icy blue eyes in your mind. You have his body in your dreams. And not guilt, not death, not even a divorce can take that away from you.
But you don't know what to do when you find House at work.