Sorry, I've had this for a couple of days and haven't been able to sign in. This is the end for now, but I might come back and add bits depending on what happens in canon.
"I suppose you haven't found an apartment yet, then?" House looked quizzically at Wilson as he pushed through the door and dumped his briefcase on the floor like he was angry with it.
"No." He stalked into the kitchen.
House heard pots and pans clinging and clattering. He tipped his head, the back of the couch against his neck, and dragged his hands across his face. He had two options here – let Wilson get on with it, or go and try to make peace. The second option was made it more likely he would keep his only friend. Of course, there was a third option, but House pretended it hadn't even crossed his mind. "Fuck it" he muttered, heaving out of the chair and padding across the carpet in his socks.
House leant on the kitchen counter. He opened his mouth and closed it again, truly unsure of how this situation was supposed to work. Wilson shot him a glance that could have been fiery, but had weakened to its last embers. "You don't have to move out."
"I shouldn't imagine it's very comfortable for you to have me living here."
"Keep your hands to yourself, and it's all good." House winced at the look that crossed Wilson's features. He took a step closer and laid his hand on his arm, tentatively, "I like having you living here."
Wilson loved that House showed him those little vulnerable moments, and he knew there was no one else he did it to. He hated that House would only show him in order to fix something, and only when it served House himself. He shrugged the hand off. "I don't."
"Then why don't you go to a goddamn hotel?" House went back to his position in the living room.
House didn't think he could take another night like this. He was no stranger to insomnia, but found it was a lot less fun when what was on his mind was so important, when he spent the time lying in bed, blue eyes focused on the ceiling and feeling the pressure build behind them. His throat started itching. Stumbling a little in the dark, not wanting to wake Wilson, House found his way to the kitchen. Dishes lay dirty in the sink. Wanting to avoid whatever it was he had stubbed his toe on walking behind the couch, he went in front this time, praying the coffee table was in a good mood. Wilson's face glittered in the light that shone from the crack opening of his bedroom door.
Blurry from lack of sleep that he sorely needed, House found himself sitting on the edge of the table, level with Wilson's face. A thought flitted through his mind that this made him ever so slightly creepy. There were tear stains on Wilson's cheeks, as well as a smear from leftovers he must have eaten after House had retired to his room. Though there was something haunting about his sleeping image, the peace over him that House had not seen in months, he looked ridiculous. The image was spoiled. House dipped his thumb into his glass of water, then gently wiped the stains from Wilson's face.
His eyes flickered open.
"House?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?"
"You looked ridiculous. Can't you eat like a grown-up?" House's voice was low, warm.
"Can't you act like one?"
House pulled a face. Wilson laughed sleepily. He swung his legs around to sit up, and House took up the space next to him.
"Y'know…if I was gay, I wouldn't hesitate."
"House, I'm not gay."
"So the tongue was just being friendly?"
"This isn't…it's not about sex. It's not because I want to fuck you. It's because I want…to be closer. Closer than we can be as just friends-"
House interrupted. "You sound like a woman."
"If you aren't gonna listen, go back to bed." House didn't move, so Wilson continued. "It's because this isn't enough anymore. Our friendship is…the strongest thing I've ever felt."
"Then why can't it stay that way?"
"Can you keep your mouth shut for two minutes? It's stronger than what I've had in any relationship with a woman, and it's lasted longer. My feelings for you," Wilson bowed his head, waiting for the laughter that would surely follow, "they transcend love. The way I want to express that…I want to be close. Physically close. In you, part of you."
House didn't move.
Wilson looked up. "You can talk now."
House's lips closed on his, soft and warm. He planted soft, small kisses on Wilson's lower lip, gently pulling it back between his own. Wilson slid his hands up House's back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his thin night shirt. Heat filled his mouth, probing into every corner and he kissed back with passion, relief flooding from him. House could taste the peppermint toothpaste in Wilson's mouth. Their bodies pressed together, House marvelled at the warmth, the security and love and Wilson's touch, the feel of his heart beating against his own. The warmth they were sharing. A hand wound its way down House's chest, making him quiver. It reached his groin, and House flinched, tensing in Wilson's arms.
Wilson pulled back and lent his forehead against House's. "Are you ok?"
"I don't think…" House looked down at his pants, and the hand that now hovered over his thigh. "I don't think I can. The Vicodin…" he muttered.
"That's-" Before Wilson had a chance to finish his sentence, House wriggled out of his embrace and limped to the kitchen.
Wilson had been sat on the couch in a daze, for how long he didn't know, before finally snapping back to reality and following House. He pulled two beers from the fridge and settled himself at the table, the chair opposite where House sat.
"The Vicodin wasn't a problem with Stacy."
House lowered his eyes to the table.
"If you weren't interested, what the hell did you do that for?"
"What you said. You were right. About us, about…all of it. I thought…I wanted that." House finished feebly.
"Clearly, you didn't."
"I wanted…to give you what you wanted. To try, for you. For everything you feel. I can't believe you feel all that."
"You don't?" Wilson met his eyes and held them.
"I…yeah, I do, but I'm fairly certain that loving you is easier than loving me."
"I don't care if it's easy or not."
"Well that's the difference. You can fight all the time for some false glimmer of hope, but I can't."
"You're perfectly good at giving the false hope, then pulling the rug out."
"I'm sorry."
Wilson watched House walk back to his room, hand rested on the small of his back for support. His anger dissipated when he realised something.
House had tried, for him. That meant more than anything they could have done together. For the time being at least, it was enough to content Wilson that he could keep his part in the game, that one day House might drop the "defense is the best form of attack" mechanism, and one of Wilson's pieces could make it to the other side.
