By the end of the day House felt like a downright tool.
Treat him like a lady
It was the first time House had tried looking for Wilson's new apartment— address courtesy of the pretty nurse/aide/secretary-- and he got lost for half an hour. It was on some unheard-of street, one that curved and twisted around another tiny avenue. He didn't believe in asking for directions, and maps were for long-distance traveling, not going across the city. After circling many, many, many times over, he finally found the damn place.
Wilson had been right. The neighborhood wasn't as bad as hearsay painted it. Still wasn't anything to boast about, either. He must have been desperate, to snap up the first apartment that was available.
He lived on the third floor—bastard—but the elevator worked. Creaked, but worked.
Wilson looked surprised when he saw House. What was it about Wilson, that he could never predict anything, that everything caught him unprepared? House had tried to teach him how to think ahead. It was the only way to keep life from catching you with your pants down. So to speak.
Wilson asked, "What're you doing here?"
House chewed at his cheek, tried to think of how to put it in the least embarrassing way possible. "I freaked out too."
Wilson moved away from the doorway, opening the way into his apartment. "No kidding." The room was bare, no furniture, nothing on the walls. There were only the curtains, leftover from the previous owner. They might have been beige once, now they were just dirty. Once inside, Wilson looked at him expectantly, perhaps waiting for a set of magical words to spill out of House's mouth.
He had to start somewhere. First he cleared his throat. "I've got a theory."
"Do tell."
"We're actually dancing-- you take a step back, I take one forward. I move back—well, in this case I'm the one moving forward, though most dance routines would have you follow. You've missed a step, but don't worry, I'll let you catch up."
"House." Wilson pinched the top of his nose. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but—are you hitting on me? Again?"
House hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, purposefully making a loud smacking sound. "Dammit! My Flirting for Dummies book told me to play it cool—now that you know, my game is totally given away!"
Wilson did this thing that House could only describe as sputter. "You… try to seduce me, run away like the demons of hell themselves were after you, and now you're trying again?"
"What can I say, I don't know what I want."
"Aside from lots and lots of pain," Wilson remarked dryly.
"Well, duh, I wouldn't be here but for the prospect of hurt, despair, and depression."
"That's what I'm here for."
His tone was so disapproving that the conversation died right then and there, and though House was used to that (it happened to him a little more often than constantly), it'd been a while since it'd happened with Wilson. He suddenly wished there was some distraction available—something to sit in, something to spill, something to make him feel less like a shooting target for Wilson's resentment. Instead they were just standing around like a couple of morons. "Well, this is just as awkward as I thought it was going to be."
"Hard to be any worse." Wilson nodded, folding his arms.
"It could be a lot worse. I mean, if you were angry, this would be even less fun."
"What makes you think I'm not angry!"
House leaned in, as if to whisper a secret. "I notice a distinct lack of ass kicking."
"Maybe I'm waiting to hear what you have to say before I get to that."
"Maybe I have nothing to say."
"Then maybe I'll skip the violence and just rant your ear off."
House was horrified. "You'd do that."
"What can I say? The women get all the credit, but scorned men are no laughing matter either."
Frankly, House wasn't going to put up with this. He'd come here all nicely, to offer the man exactly what he'd wanted, and now not only was he still angry, he was threatening him with lectures. "Thanks, but no th—"
Wilson grabbed his arm. "Just say it, House."
The thought that he could end this all, right now and here, ran through his mind. He could shake off Wilson, leave, and they'd probably continue being buddies, because that's how they were. But this particular path would be closed to him, and he'd never be able to explore it further. And as much as Wilson could drive him crazy, he still wanted to know what it was like to have him. "I freaked out."
Wilson's grip on his arm relaxed. "So you said."
"I'm not so freaked out now." House took a deep breath. "Look, we're not going to go so quickly this time. And there's never going to be anal sex, unless there's a lot, and I mean a lot, of booze, enough to make me forget who I am. It's not that I'm old, I'm just too fussy and set in my ways to pick up new tricks."
For the first time since he'd moved out, Wilson smiled at him and it was embarrassing how much of a relief it was to see it. He shouldn't be so worried on what he thought of him- then again, if he didn't, he probably wouldn't be here in the first place. He'd be at home, safe and far away from this insanity. "Don't worry, this dog is feeling the weight of his years, too."
"Okay. Good. Good. …Anything else we ought to get off our chests, to avoid further freak outs?"
"I think this is a mistake."
That was not, exactly, what House wanted to hear. "Way to step with your right foot forward, Wilson!"
"I mean it. We're already in each other's hair more than we can really stand to be, and now we're going to add this?"
"That's fear I hear talking."
"I call it realism, you call it fear. Let's call the whole thing off."
"Are you always this much of a wimp? How did you ever bag that many women? I've gotten this far because of you, and you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to let you go this easy. Now, come on. What do two gay men do when there's no ass fucking?"
Wilson paused, and for a moment House thought that he really was, after all the trouble he'd gone through, planning to chicken out on him. The moment passed. "I hear that, like with heterosexual pairs, kissing is a common start."
"How extraordinary. The things one learns! Well?"
"You want me to make the first move."
"This is your apartment. It's your duty as my host to make me feel as welcome as possible. Besides, I'm new to this gay thing. You need to drive me around the town, show me the local attraction points. Get me acquainted."
"The only man I've done anything with is you. I'm as new to this as you are."
"Wimp," House said in a sing-song voice.
"You think—"
"Wiiiimp"
"You're so-" Rolling his eyes, he took House's hand, the one without the cane, and led him towards what had to be the bedroom. "If we're going to be slow about this, we might as well get a comfortable place."
"Lead the way!"
