Disclaimer, etc. in the first chapter.

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains implicit sexual content. I think it stays within the T rating since it's mostly suggestion, but please know that there is sexual content and if you dislike sexual content—especially when it occurs between two men—please skip this chapter.

House is still grouchy, but Wilson is beginning to get to him…

Chapter 5: Boys Will Be Boys

House herded Wilson out of the car, up the three steps, and into the hall. Judging by the tension in his body, Wilson was learning to hate stairs too. House had been an absolute sucker while the ortho guy wrapped Wilson's foot and had gone to his office to fetch a pair of sweat pants and sock for Wilson's non-broken foot. Getting his jeans off had been difficult enough when they'd arrived and Wilson couldn't very well leave in his boxers (though House was tempted to make him do just that after he flirted with that nurse). He hadn't expected to find Cameron in the office when he'd arrived, though she seemed to live at work as much as he had in the past.

Not surprisingly, she was catching up on paperwork. Right. Dead patient. Lots of paperwork when they died.

She saw him unlock his door and opened the door separating his office from the conference room.

"Dr. House?"

House pulled his gym bag out of a corner, plopped it on his desk, and began digging for a pair of sweat pants and a clean sock. "Wilson broke his foot," he said.

Cameron winced sympathetically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. "How are you doing?" she asked.

House paused to glare at her and resumed digging, making it clear that he was going to ignore that question.

Cameron rolled her eyes. "We heard you fighting," she said. "Yesterday and the day before and the day before that…"

House glanced up again—he had the sweat pants, but where were the damn socks hiding? "We're fine."

Cameron's posture changed and House could feel the way she was looking at him: yeah, I really believe that.

House struck gold. He triumphantly brandished the sock and tossed the bag back to its corner. "See?" he said rounding the desk to leave, "you didn't really want to date me. All I do is pick fights."

"Dr. Wilson was picking his share, too," she pointed out as he crossed the room.

"Go home, Cameron," House called as the door swung shut behind him.

But House smiled a little at the memory. Cameron had become an unexpected confidant in recent weeks. Not that he considered her a confidant or treated her like one—no, he would never do that. But she was the only one who had the cajones to ask such direct questions. House wouldn't admit that on some level he admired her for being so brazen. Cuddy hinted at the same questions without openly asking and made gay jokes. Foreman did his usual distant, silent, note-taking thing and made the occasional biting observation between gay jokes. Chase just made gay jokes. He hoped they'd start teaching her a few good gay jokes. Gay jokes made everything more fun.

Wilson waited for House to unlock the door. He'd forgotten everything—keys, wallet, phone—and had been saved when the time came to produce his insurance card by House's usual ability to remember almost everything (except his own phone when he went to buy groceries). House pushed the door open and Wilson hobbled toward the couch.

"Nuh-uh," House admonished.

Wilson stopped and turned his head, grateful that the crutches were keeping him balanced.

"Bed," House said.

"It's six o'clock," Wilson protested.

"You fell asleep in the car," House pointed out. "You'll be out as soon as you lie down."

Wilson grumbled about House being a know-it-all and turned himself toward the bedroom.

House went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water, then filled another one for Wilson and limped painfully toward the bedroom. Moving objects from one place to another was going to be a real chore for the next few weeks. But he wasn't going to think about that now. Not when he could almost taste the relief lying down would bring.

Wilson was struggling with the comforter and sheets when House arrived. House rolled his eyes, put the water down on Wilson's night table and flipped the sheets back. He went to the closet for the extra pillows he had for days when he needed them and tossed two on the bed while Wilson carefully sat down and tried to figure out whether the crutches should go on the floor or against the wall. House shook his head and settled down on his side of the bed, straining to take his shoes off. He made a disgusted noise and tried to keep the flakes of dried puke from getting under his fingernails. He wanted to give Wilson a hard time about it, but…eh, he was too tired.

By the time House had worked his pants and socks off—both of which Wilson had hit, thanks, Jimmy—Wilson had arranged the pillows under his foot, pulled the covers up, and was watching House struggle.

"Thanks for the pants," Wilson said sleepily. "Did I say that already? I can't remember."

"You did," House confirmed. "Just don't puke on them."

"Ha. Ha." Wilson rolled his eyes. "That gets funnier every time."

House ignored him, concentrating instead on moving his leg on to the bed and then…oh God, yes. That was what he needed.

Wilson smiled, twisting his body so he could place a hand on House's chest. "Tired?"

"You have no idea," House exhaled, eyes closed, face contorting with relief. Every muscle on his right side had been aching mercilessly for hours. It felt so good to let the bed take his weight. Wilson really had no idea. He concentrated on breathing slowly in and out.

"Better?" Wilson asked with amusement. House's heartbeat under his hand felt good…and he wasn't really sure why he found House's relief amusing, but he did and he couldn't stop himself from smiling stupidly.

"Mmm…"

Wilson watched his face smooth out as he relaxed, breathing deeply. "Are we going to bed?" he asked.

"You are," House murmured.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said. His hand traveled down House's chest and stomach to his boxers, slipping under the hem. "I'm not ready yet."

House groaned and batted Wilson's hand. "Tired," he mumbled.

Wilson watched him, waiting for some indication that he wasn't really tired, but House stayed relaxed. Wilson withdrew his hand and flopped on his back. "You're no fun," he pouted.

House turned his head to squint at Wilson. "You've got to be the only person on earth who reacts to painkillers like this."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," Wilson replied.

"It is when I want to take a nap," House mumbled.

Wilson let out an exasperated sigh. "Can you just get me started?" he asked.

"Go to sleep," House groaned.

"Make me."

House grunted.

When Wilson didn't ask again, House thought the medicine had finally won the battle. He considered reaching over Wilson to turn the lamp off, but…nah, too tired. He settled down, making himself comfortable, and prepared to lie there until he fell asleep when he heard an all-too-familiar sound coming from Wilson's side of the bed. He opened his eyes and—yes, that was what he thought it was.

"Do you have any manners at all?" he grumbled.

"Thought you were tired," Wilson said, eyes closed.

"I am tired," House replied.

"Then go to sleep," Wilson said.

"I can't when you're doing that."

"There's still time if you want in."

"I'm tired."

"Then go to sleep."

House groaned in frustration. "Seriously, that's not okay."

"He's keeping me awake," Wilson responded. "I need to do this."

"Can't you do it in the bathroom?"

"Nope."

House sighed, carefully keeping his eyes closed. As tired and annoyed with Wilson as he was, this situation was doing things to him.

"Have you at least got a kleenex or something?" he asked. "The way today's going, you'll get it on me."

Wilson stopped and sat up to take his shirt off. "There," he said. "Now, do you mind? You're making it hard to concentrate."

"I do mind."

Wilson said nothing, closing his eyes and trying to keep his mind on what was going on inside his head.

"What was with you and that nurse?" House asked.

"You're making this really difficult."

"I know."

"C'mon," Wilson said. "I really need this."

"Were you flirting with her?"

Wilson didn't answer, trying to tune House out.

"Were you?"

…

"Jimmy?"

…

"Were you?"

…

"I think you were."

Wilson made a frustrated noise and let his hands fall by his sides. He couldn't concentrate with House bugging him. "What nurse?" he growled.

"The one who helped those jag offs pop your bone back into place."

"I don't remember a nurse."

"You two looked awfully familiar with each other."

"House. I don't remember." Wilson let out an annoyed sigh. "Besides…why would I flirt with someone else?"

"Instinct?"

Wilson punched him in the shoulder.

House grunted. "Fair enough."

"If you were so tired, why did you come in here?" Wilson grumbled. "Something wrong with the couch?"

"Puke stains."

"They don't bother me. Why did I have to come in here?"

"I thought you'd pass out like you did in the car," House said.

"I told you I wasn't tired."

"You're drugged to the split ends of your hair. If you aren't now, you will be soon."

Wilson grunted. "Just let me do this. I'll sleep better." He glanced down House's form and raised an eyebrow. "So will you. He's not tired."

House shifted around but to no avail. "Yes, he is."

Wilson laughed. "He just winked at me. I don't think he is."

House groaned and turned to his left, propping himself up on an elbow. "All right, all right. You so owe me."

Wilson nearly choked at the quick action of House's hand. House smirked at Wilson's face and the reaction his hand was getting. As soon as Wilson started to get comfortable with what he was doing, he stopped, took his hand back, put three fingers in his mouth, and made Wilson moan despite himself.

Two minutes later Wilson was snoring. House smirked again, cleaned his fingers with Wilson's soiled shirt, and turned the light off before he began putting himself to bed.