"I think that if anything this proves that I was right," Wilson groaned as I ran my tongue along the base of his cock. Grinning as best I could, I slid my hands up his chest, tweaking his nipples along the way. "Oh God," he groaned, allowing his head to fall back against the couch. Taking my lips from his erection, I struggled up onto my knees before pulling him into a wet kiss.
"Actually, I'd venture to say that I'm right," I growled against his tonsils. Moaning as I palmed his burning flesh and began to stroke vigorously, Wilson curled his fingers around my shirt, ensuring that I would be making no speedy get-away's.
"You never made a point to be proven right."
"No, but as it is, I'm always looking for the opportunity, so let's just assume I had something going on in my hea..." I trailed off as Wilson unzipped my pants and freed my own erection from its confines. Closing my eyes, I squirmed up against before pushing him level and lying on top of him, my right leg burning in protest, the pain not yet dulled by endorphins.
"Just shut up," he groaned as his hand continued to do obscene things to me.
From that point on, every action is either too pornographic to recount, or too pornographic to let anyone else in on. My Wilson, not yours.
"Go away," I grunted as soon as Wilson pushed through the door. Not looking up, I could already tell that he'd had a bad day: on bad days, you can practically hear his conscience screaming at him.
"Leslie died an hour ago," he said, his voice full of tears. Closing my eyes, sending more than one race car spiraling off the track into oblivion, I breathed deeply, trying to figure out just how I was supposed to handle this.
"Who?" I asked, looking up, not at all surprised to find Wilson with tear stained cheeks and harried exterior.
"One of my baldies. She was seven," he choked, sitting heavily and allowing his head to fall into his hands.
"Bummer," I said, more to myself than anyone else.
"Yeah, House, you could say that. Bet it's a major bummer to her parents, brother, and friends. But don't worry, they'll deal," he spat. Taken aback, I eyed him for a long moment. As hard as a baldy's death hit Wilson, he never got angry or a shorter fuse. He just got... Wilson-y. Maudlin, morose, pain in my ass, however you want to describe it.
"Whoa there, Jimmy..."
"Don't 'whoa' me, House. She was a little girl, a child, you should be furious that she died!"
"Why should I be furious? All it tells me is that you didn't do your job to the fullest. I should be furious with you, you took an oath!" I said, no longer in the mood to satiate his masochist desire to feel pain. "Patients die, Jim, it's half of our job. Patients die, good people die, children die, and it's never fair and it's never right, but it's what happens and too damn bad. We can't save the world if we're constantly trying to save ourselves!"
The silence in the room was deafening.
"I love you," Wilson stated plainly, his voice shaking slightly. Staring, emotionless, I furrowed my brow.
"Did I just miss a big chunk of this conversation?"
"You're right, House. We can't save the world if we're trying to save ourselves. But we also can't save the world without saving ourselves," he said, standing and wiping his cheeks. "I guess I'm just so used to not feeling that the one time I actually cared, it really hit me hard."
"Oh God, now you're delusional."
"What do you mean?"
"'The one time you cared'? Wilson, people thank you when you tell them they're dying! You've cried every time one of your patients died since you graduated med school. Yeah, maybe not physically, but you've outdone even Cameron in the angst department, and that, my friend, is saying something. You chap me for being miserable, and yet, you're the most miserable person in the world! It doesn't make you special, Wilson, it just makes you miserable," I finished, utilizing his own words from years ago.
"You're right," he repeated.
"I'm shocked," I said, picking my PSP back up.
"Is it so hard to believe that someone could love you?" he began.
I stopped paying attention about there.
Turning over painfully onto my side, I was met immediately with a mouthful of hair. Chewing slightly before spitting it out, I propped myself up, confused. Curled up on his stomach was Wilson, naked, and asleep. Squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose, I struggled to recall the evening's events. Flashes of flesh and sex ran through my mind.
"Ah shit," I groaned, flopping onto my back. "Not again."