Title: Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 4
Author: hwshipper
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
Beta: the always wonderful triedunture
A/N: Part 4 of a backstory to take place over twenty years, all the way to canon.
Summary: Wilson's wedding #1. House gives Wilson a send-off to remember.
Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 4
Wilson stared into the mirror and marveled at the sight of himself, dressed up in a sharp gray tux with long coat tails and a cravat round his neck. The cravat was a rich burgundy color, which he knew had been made to match the bridesmaid dresses; Cath had picked out everything very carefully, of course, to fit her grand wedding plans. The suits for himself and House, as the best man, had each been made to measure. He could see that his pants legs were a little long still, though. They'd just come in to the shop for a final fitting; he could get that fixed.
He looked at his reflection and saw a model bridegroom, young and looking forward to his approaching marriage and bright future.
He mentally played a potential conversation he'd been dwelling on a lot recently: honey, the wedding's off. Sorry but I just can't go through with this...
But why? Is it another woman?
Um, no actually, I can't seem to stop fooling around with my best man.
Wilson grimaced and watched his nose crinkle up in the mirror. He couldn't do it. Couldn't have that conversation. Couldn't face the anguish, the disappointment, the anger, the revulsion. Couldn't envisage what they'd tell her parents. Or his parents. Or the world, actually. But especially her parents, after the small fortune they'd already spent on this wedding. And never mind the money, the really important thing was the amount of energy and creativity and emotion that Cath had put into planning it all. She so needed this to work out. He couldn't screw that up.
And anyway, there was no point. After all, this stuff with House would end, eventually. There was no way they could keep on finding each other this hot all the time. It was because it was all so new, surely. Wasn't it always that way with someone at first, couldn't keep your hands off each other? It would fade, hopefully amicably, and he wouldn't have ruined his life in the process.
And in the meantime, at least he wasn't cheating on her with other women any more. That actually felt like progress! Hey, she should actually be grateful to House. If she knew...
Wilson fiddled with his cuff links for a moment, unsure if he had them on the right way, then stepped out of the dressing room.
House was standing there in the dressing room, leaning nonchalantly against a wall. Despite being dressed the same as Wilson, House made the clothes look completely different; the stubble and the stance made the tux tails all more casual somehow, more scruffy. He was rough and raw in contrast to Wilson's clean cut.
House saw Wilson and his eyes widened a fraction. "Fuck me, poster boy."
"Maybe later," Wilson deadpanned. He looked up and down at House. House was positively smoldering. "Your suit looks, um, like a good fit." It was currently fitting particularly well around the groin area.
"Snug as a bug in a rug." House tugged at the lapel of his jacket. "How much are these things costing your future in-laws?"
"I have no idea. Too much, probably." Wilson didn't want to think about it. On the one hand, he was a debt-stricken med student who much appreciated that the bride's family wanted to foot the bill for the wedding of their only daughter. But on the other hand, the lack of purchasing power left him feeling that all arrangements were kind of out of his hands.
He stepped towards House, still fiddling with the cuff links. "Are these things supposed to go on this way?"
House reached out and took Wilson's wrist in his hand. Wilson felt warm rough skin and a thudding pulse. House undid the cuff link, turned it around and fastened it up again. Wilson squirmed a little as House's fingernails stroked the inside of his wrist. It felt as if House was stroking somewhere a lot more intimate.
House then reached upwards and straightened Wilson's cravat a little, and Wilson felt another pulse thumping away, this one in his neck. House's hands brushed against his jawline, briefly cupping his chin, then moved to arch inside the cravat.
"Can we wear these things home?" House asked.
"No."
"Shame." House reached out and hooked a finger in one of Wilson's belt loops, tugging Wilson towards him a fraction. "I can just imagine--"
"Excuse me, gentlemen, how is the fit?" Suddenly a shop assistant was right beside them. House let go of Wilson's belt loop and Wilson stepped back a pace, embarrassed.
"Um, these pants need a bit of shortening," Wilson said hastily, and a discussion and measurements as to how much shorter took place. House disappeared into a dressing room to get changed.
The shop assistant left, and Wilson stepped back into his dressing room to get changed himself.
He had barely shrugged the jacket off his shoulders when the curtain was whisked aside, and House stepped inside. The curtain was briskly drawn shut again, and then House was on him. Mouth reaching, hands groping, body pressing up against his own. House was back in his street clothes now, jeans and T-shirt, in contrast to Wilson's smart gray pants and dress shirt, and Wilson's first coherent thought was I can't get these clothes dirty! Followed by what the fuck are we doing? This is a dressing room in a shop for fuck's sake... and then as House stripped him rapidly, coherent thought vanished completely.
House brought him off swiftly with a couple of well-timed jerks, and Wilson just stayed on his feet long enough to return the favor.
House sat at the table and watched Wilson at the bar, getting them drinks. They'd each had several beers and whiskey chasers already that evening, but House wasn't about to stop just yet; he was building up Dutch courage for a conversation he didn't want to have.
Wilson arrived back at the table with two bottles. House grabbed one and drank deeply. Time to take the plunge.
"Wilson," House said, putting the bottle down. It hit the table top with a thud. "If I didn't know you were getting married, I might have thought you'd been diagnosed with a terminal disease."
"What do you mean?" Wilson curled his hand around his own bottle.
House picked up the bottle again and took another swig of beer to fortify himself. "Your wedding is only a month away, but you're not obviously looking forward to it. Every day the plans get more and more elaborate, your fiancée is spending every minute of her free time on it, but you don't seem to have any say in what actually happens."
"So?" Wilson drank from his own bottle of beer.
"So... just at a time when you should be with her, you seem to be spending more and more time with me." House glared at Wilson, annoyed being forced to explain in such detail. "Not that I care. But I'd have thought she might."
House felt he'd coped very well since Wilson had moved out of the shared house. However, he had realized recently this was because Wilson still seemed to be there a lot. This hadn't been the case at first; Wilson had been preoccupied with setting up his new home with Catherine for the first month or so. She was new to New York, rather bewildered by it all, and struggling with a new job, working for an event planning company. She liked the work but didn't like her boss, and it was all very difficult, apparently. House wasn't interested enough to follow the details. What he did grasp was that as things settled down for her, Wilson seemed to have more time to spend with House.
"That's very thoughtful of you," Wilson said sarcastically. "Considering you don't give a damn about her."
House shook his head in exasperation. "I'm just fed up with having to explain to her on the phone that you've drunk too much, crashed out on my couch and won't be coming home that evening." He dropped his voice. "Especially when it's actually true and not even an excuse."
Wilson put the bottle down on the table and leaned forward. "House, she's much better off planning this wedding without me getting in the way. If I'm around, things seem to get screwed up. I have to get away from the stress of it."
House took a deep breath, psyched himself up, and asked the killer question. "Wilson, are you sure you should be getting married in the first place?"
"It's not marriage that's the problem, it's the damn wedding," Wilson answered, much too quickly. "It means so much to her--I just have to let her get on with it and do what she wants to do. Once it's all over, everything will be fine."
He looked at House, and waved an accusing finger. House recognized a change of subject coming up.
"If you really want to be helpful, you could try not pissing her off every time we meet," Wilson said.
House met Wilson's gaze innocently; as far as he was concerned, Wilson's silly fiancée had it coming, with such a stupid job. She had a hard time discerning when House was stringing her along, and worse, she was nervous around him. House could scent the weakness, smell the blood in the air, and couldn't resist going in for the kill. She was very young--couldn't even drink legally yet, for Chrissake--and House played up the older best friend, man of the world thing to the hilt. Wilson (who, fresh-faced and twenty-two, always got carded at bars, to House's continued amusement) could glare all he wanted. Wilson had it coming to him too, anyway. Trying to get the three of them to socialize together--honestly.
"Well, I'm hurt," House protested, wide-eyed. "I thought we got on so well."
"Stop fucking around, House," Wilson's patience was thinner than House had realized. Must be the alcohol. House shrugged and dropped the pretense.
"Oh come on, Wilson, this is ridiculous." He gulped beer. "I don't know why you entertain this fantasy that you and me and her can go out and have a nice time together. She doesn't like me and I don't like her. And what the fuck do you see in her? She's so...wet behind the ears. Drippier than those cheerleaders frolicking in the fountain in that video we saw last night."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "House, get used to it. I'm going to marry her."
"Yeah, and it's going to be the bestest planned wedding ever!"
"I love her."
"Of course you do." House drained his bottle and dropped his voice. "That's why you sleep with other women and fool around with me."
"House!" Wilson hissed furiously.
But House was on a roll now and wouldn't be stopped. He put the bottle down and pointed at Wilson. "Yes, you love her, but for a bunch of crap reasons. You're marrying her because she needs you to help her fulfill her childhood dream wedding that she so desperately wants. And because you want to have that conventional family life with a respectable girl who your parents like. God knows why."
"This is my life, my girlfriend, and you can fuck--right--off." Wilson banged down his own empty bottle and stood up to go to the bar. He swayed heavily on his feet.
House looked at him apprehensively and said as in as light a tone as he could manage, "Wilson, you know you're a lightweight. Another beer and whiskey is a bad fucking idea."
Wilson looked at House in annoyance. "House, do I lecture you when you've been out smoking dope all night?"
"Well, actually you do," House couldn't help saying.
"And what do you tell me to do then?"
House knew the answer was fuck off and mind your own business.
"All right, you drink yourself into oblivion. I'm going home." House stood up, grabbed his jacket, and left the bar. He didn't look back.
Once outside, House hesitated, stopped and breathed in the cold night air. He stood for a minute, letting his head clear, then went back inside.
Wilson was standing at the bar. House didn't approach, but stood looking for a moment across the room, willing Wilson to look up; and then Wilson did look up and saw him. House watched Wilson hesitate, then he walked across the room towards House. House stepped outside, and Wilson joined him.
Wilson looked at House and waited, his arms folded.
House nodded. "Come over and see me tomorrow night. I'll get in some food and we can watch a video."
Wilson's eyebrows raised, recognizing this as tantamount to an apology. House thought Wilson left him hanging in the air for a few more seconds than perhaps was necessary.
"OK," Wilson said, graciously accepting the apology. "Cheerleaders in the fountain part 2?"
House grinned. "Not sure if there is one, but if there is, I'll get it."
Wilson nodded and turned to go. "Night, House."
"Night, Wilson," House called after him.
A week before the wedding, House was lounging at home watching TV when there was a knock at the door. It was Catherine, brandishing a large envelope. House received her with barely concealed suspicion. She'd never visited him before, not on her own.
"So, how's the event planning job going?" House asked with an air of patently fake interest.
"Um, much better, thank-you," Cath said uncertainly.
"Bitch-of-a-boss behaving herself?" House chose to demonstrate amazing powers of recall this time. She looked flummoxed. Understandably so; after all, the last time they'd met he'd called her Caroline and professed not to remember what she did for a living.
She shook her head slightly, and House saw her decide to ignore his remarks and get on with whatever the hell she'd come for.
"I want to give you the details of what you and James are to do in the run-up to the wedding," she explained.
Great. "Shouldn't you be giving this to your husband-to-be?" House demanded.
"James is very stressed about it all right now," she said defensively.
House supposed that as best man he couldn't simply abdicate all responsibility. He groaned. "Oh for God's sake. Gimme."
The wedding was taking place out on the west coast where her family lived. She explained that she was going out a few days in advance to oversee final arrangements, so it was up to House to make sure that he and Wilson caught the plane out the day before. "I fly out Tuesday. Your plane is Friday morning. Wedding is Saturday. It's all booked." She reached into the envelope and handed him a sheet with flight details and a detailed itinerary. "And here's a checklist of everything you need to remember."
House looked at the checklist. It was horribly long. The list of things to bring included the wedding outfits for both himself and Wilson (itemized down to cravats and cuff links), a suitcase of clothes to see Wilson through the honeymoon (also itemized), and the rings. He wondered whether to tell her hey, let him bring his balls along with him.
"That's some list," he restrained himself.
"I hope you'll both be in a suitable state to check it all carefully after the bachelor party." She looked worried.
At that moment House really despised her and her whole wedding which was screwing up Wilson's life, and had never been closer to telling her so. He bit his lip just in time. It would make no difference to get in an argument. She would just get upset, and Wilson would be angry. And nothing would change, anyway.
"Bachelor party is Wednesday, Thursday is recovery day, the whole day, loads of time. We'll be on the plane Friday, no problem." He went for reassuring, but she looked like she just didn't believe him. Perhaps she had more sense than he gave her credit for, or perhaps she was just learning. He switched to flippant. "Unless he ends up getting tarred and feathered, of course; that might take a few days to sort out."
The bachelor party was a huge event. As it was paid for out of the wedding budget, House spared no expense; he booked a club venue, stuck a ton of money behind the bar, splashed out on a live band, and hired strippers. Half the hospital came, and it was universally deemed to be a rip-roaring success.
The fly in the ointment for House was Wilson's brother Jonathan. Jonathan had initially not been sure if he could make it because of work, having to travel up to New York from New Jersey, but he showed on the night. He walked in late and hailed Wilson. "Little bro!"
House hadn't met Wilson's brother before. He'd met Wilson's parents, who'd taken a trip up to New York to see how their son had settled in at med school. They were delighted to find their son had made a friend, and House had made an effort to be halfway pleasant and get to know them a little. Mainly so as to take pleasure in confounding Wilson's expectations (the look on Wilson's face across the room...) but also because it was necessary to start a Wilson Family File in order to better understand what the hell went on in Wilson's head. They'd spoken fondly of Cath, whom they clearly adored, and House immediately started to get a handle on the reasons for Wilson's engagement.
But House hadn't met Wilson's brother, until now. House took one look at him, and promptly found that he disliked Jonathan on sight. Jonathan looked very like Wilson, a bit taller and darker. But House observed an arrogance to his expression that was quite absent in Wilson. Wilson greeted him warmly though, so House thought he would have to make an effort to get on with the guy. Crap.
It turned out that Jonathan had come at such short notice that he hadn't booked a hotel room for the night. Wilson promptly gave him the key to his own apartment and said, "Stay at my place. Cath's not there as she's already flown out, and I'll crash at House's tonight. Oh, you haven't met, have you? House, my brother Jonathan. Jon, this is Greg House, I've told you about him. My best friend and my best man." Wilson beamed.
Wilson had had a few drinks and was apparently oblivious to the fact that Jon was looking at House like he was dirt. House realized that the ill-feeling was mutual.
Later in the evening, House found himself in conversation alone with Jonathan, who by this time had also had a few drinks, and made it quite clear to House that he was pissed about not being best man.
"Glad to see James has found a friend," Jon said, his tone contemptuous. "So how long have you known him? Only since he came to Columbia, right? Less than a year."
House looked at Jonathan through narrowed eyes. Like that was even the slightest bit relevant.
"After all, James was best man at my own wedding," Jonathan brooded. "I always thought... when he got engaged, I would... I had a speech all planned... well, what can you say."
"Best man wins, I suppose," House couldn't resist saying.
Jonathan glared at him. House stared icily back. Jonathan broke eye contact first, and stomped away.
Late that night at the party, there was an unpleasant moment when House and Wilson were standing at the bar and Jonathan appeared next to them with a hooker; a leggy blonde with very red lips and darkly painted eyes.
"This is for you," Jon announced to his brother. "I'll pay, call it a wedding present. It's compulsory for the groom at a bachelor party, anyway."
"No thanks," Wilson said firmly. The hooker pouted a little. "No offense," he added to her.
"Oh, go on." Jonathan pushed him. "Last chance of fun and you pass up the chance to fuck a hot woman like this?"
House said sharply, "He's not interested, leave him alone!"
Jonathan glowered at House, then said, "Okay, forget it." He left with the hooker.
Wilson looked relieved, and House's evening improved considerably from that point on.
Thank God Wilson didn't have any other siblings; they'd probably all be fucked-up jerks.
Next day was hangover recovery day. They had crashed in House's room, House in his own bed and Wilson out on the couch with a bucket at his elbow. House woke not in too bad a shape, having deliberately stayed sober enough to ensure he could get Wilson back in one piece, but Wilson (who had been practically comatose by the end of the evening) woke up only to throw up, and spent the day hiding under the covers with a migraine, emerging periodically only to throw up again. By late afternoon he had recovered enough to go out with House for a greasy spoon breakfast, which helped.
That evening, with Wilson now almost fully functioning, they went to Wilson's apartment to get everything they had to bring on Cath's checklist. They found Jonathan had gone, but left traces of his night there with the hooker, including not one but two empty condom wrappers left prominently in the waste paper basket in the bedroom.
"Classy. Your brother is an asshole," House opined to Wilson. Wilson didn't argue, simply picked up the bin to empty it out. House pretended to help Wilson clean up and pack, while not doing very much at all except wander around and make occasional observations.
"After all," House said brightly, as Wilson dumped a set of sheets in the laundry basket, "we have to leave it all in a decent state, as next time you come back here, you'll be man and wife!"
Wilson suddenly froze on the spot, a look of terror abruptly appearing on his face.
Next day, House continued to assume the responsible best man and best friend role (which he was actually secretly rather enjoying) and made sure they were out promptly and on their flight as scheduled. Wilson got paler and paler the whole journey. They arrived at their hotel, where they were sharing a family suite for the night. House was to have it to himself the following night, as Wilson would be off on his honeymoon.
By the evening the hotel was swarming with friends and family members from both sides. Not including Cath, though; she was staying in a different hotel, the better to follow the custom of not seeing the groom before the wedding. Wilson initially tried to be sociable and make polite chit-chat with people, but House could see him getting more and more anxious, and finding making wedding small-talk more and more difficult.
"Room service and mini-bar?" House eventually suggested, and Wilson was obviously only too glad to go back to their suite.
Once on their own, Wilson continued to fret and fidget, unable to sit down or stand still for more than a minute at a time. House found he had no luck trying to calm Wilson down, and started to wish he had had the foresight to dose Wilson with something, diazepam perhaps (he wanted to restrict Wilson's intake from the mini-bar). In the absence of drugs, House successively suggested going out, staying in, eating, not eating, watching sport on TV, watching mindless movies, and even putting on the hotel subscription porn channel. "Free porn! We can pay for it on your fiancée's family tab! Let's hope they get itemized bills." Wilson was unenthusiastic about everything.
In the end House took a deep breath and said, "Wilson, are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Wilson, who was standing looking out of the window at that moment, turned and looked at House uncertainly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean get married. Is it what you actually want to do? Because if you don't, then for God's sake say so, and we'll just get the hell out of here right now." House caught Wilson's gaze and held it. "And fuck what everyone else thinks. Who gives a crap?"
Wilson laughed a little. "It is what I want to do, I'm just a bit... nervous about it all. But thanks. "
House shrugged: he'd given Wilson an out. He hadn't thought Wilson would take it, but by God House wanted to be able to turn around at a later date and say I fucking told you so.
"So what do you want to do, now, I mean?" House asked, throwing his hands up. "On this, your last night as a free man?"
Wilson was silent for a moment, and then he said quietly but completely seriously, "I want you to fuck me."
House gaped, startled enough that he didn't know quite what to say. Somehow he hadn't quite anticipated this. Not tonight. Not the night before Wilson got married.
Eventually House said, playing for time, "You'll have to get me in the mood."
"So put the hotel porn on," Wilson said, deadpan.
House headed for the mini-bar first, then the TV.
After some necking and half an hour of not terribly hardcore porn, and several whiskey miniatures later, with Wilson squirming on his lap, House was sufficiently hard that fucking now seemed like an excellent idea. As he dropped Wilson's shirt onto the floor and reached for his belt buckle, House temporarily forgot what was to come, and simply basked in the moment. Wilson's skin under his palms, the muscles in his arms, smooth shoulders, hair light and silky as he breathed into Wilson's head. He licked Wilson's throat and watched Wilson shudder.
He stripped off Wilson's pants and then his own, sprawling back naked together on the couch, Wilson on top; House could feel Wilson's cock hard and slick and rubbing against his own.
Then he recalled what Wilson wanted to happen next, and apprehension crept over him. It seemed... so major, somehow. For fuck's sake, Wilson was getting married in the morning.
Wilson felt the hesitation and pulled back to look at him. "House?"
House took a firm metaphorical grip on himself and said blandly, "So, how'd'ya want to do this?"
Wilson closed his eyes, and said, "Face to face, so I can see you."
In all the previous year of increasing physical intimacy, they had not done it like that before. They'd done a lot of fooling around: handjobs, blowjobs, stuff that could be laughed off--not a lot of actual fucking. And when they had, they'd always fucked with one of them behind; hands and knees, horny, aggressive and pumping; or spooning; gentle, slow and almost casual. Never face to face; never seeing the other's expression, the other's eyes.
Suddenly House realized he was deep in Wilson fantasy-land. He couldn't believe it had taken him so long to work it out. And--equally surprising--House realized he was also right in the middle of one of his own fantasies too. And then he really was hard, and for the first time, he really, really wanted to do this.
Wilson had opened his eyes, and was looking at House uncertainly.
"You got it," House muttered in reply.
He saw Wilson's brown eyes liquefy and dissolve with desire; the most beautiful sight House had ever seen. House grasped Wilson's shoulders, and ran his hands over Wilson's back and down to his ass, feeling that perfect ass underneath his fingertips. Then he put a hand on Wilson's arm and tilted his chin, indicating he wanted to switch places: Wilson scrambled off House obediently. House raised himself with his arms and sat back on his knees. He looked down at Wilson, lying naked beneath him, looking appallingly young, wide-eyed and nursing a powerful erection. My God, House thought: if she could see him now...
Fingers first; that was the way to start. God only knows how Wilson came to have lube among the toiletries he was taking off on honeymoon; not for the first time, House failed to imagine Wilson and his fiancée having sex. Yes, Wilson liked the fingers, he loved the fingers, especially when used at the same time as having his cock grasped firmly in a fist and rubbed up and down, gently at first, then harder--oh yeah. Wilson moaning, head rolling from side to side, writhing against the cushions: House himself now breathless and feeling his own cock alert and straining.
House withdrew his fingers, breathed deeply, rolled on a condom, and pressed his own cock up against Wilson's; so close now--Wilson pushed back against him. House grasped Wilson's hips, adjusted the angle and pushed back against Wilson's ass, and then eased his way inside. Wilson let out a strangled sound which House barely heard; his hearing had dulled compared to his sense of sight--he could see Wilson's face, contorted in a grimace that looked one part agony to nine parts searing ecstasy. He could watch Wilson's lips, reddened and parted and gasping; see Wilson's eyes, closed momentarily, but now open and dark and locked on House, on whatever ridiculous expression he himself was wearing. House was overwhelmed by the sight and by the sensation of his cock sliding back and forth inside Wilson's ass, fucking tight as ever. Oh God, he wasn't going to last long like this--but then, Wilson, squirming beneath him, didn't look like he would either.
With a cry of Fucking hell, Christ, Wilson!, House came, and his final thrust brought Wilson to a strangled climax too.
Afterwards, collapsed on the couch, House remarked, "Wilson, you never cease to surprise me."
"That's why you love me," Wilson mumbled.
House dared not reply to that. Instead he thought, with not a little pride, that Wilson's wedding night tomorrow night would have a lot to live up to.
They slept beside each other for a bit, then watched some TV. House found, to his surprise, that Wilson now seemed relaxed about the wedding for the first time in months.
"So that's what it took to calm you down, getting fucked in the ass," House said sleepily. "Have to remember that one."
Next day, the wedding went by in a blur but without a hitch. House remembered almost nothing about it afterwards, except that it seemed totally unreal and had gone smoothly, Cath's event planning having obviously left nothing to chance. He discovered later that Wilson remembered almost nothing about it either. Still, there was a video being filmed of it that he could always watch.
The reception was held at the hotel, and this was completely different: full of bright colors, sounds and sensations that stimulated House's senses and stuck in his head. Lots of people: Wilson the center of attention and House floating around on the periphery. House behaved himself perfectly, swanning around in the tux tails, exchanging a few polite words with Wilson's parents, posing for photographs.
He got bored while the bride and groom were being photographed from every conceivable angle, and wandered outside for some air. There he found one of the bridesmaids, resplendent in burgundy netting stretched far too tightly around her breasts, dragging heavily on a cigarette. She looked at him through nicotine-sated eyes.
"Hey, Greg," she said, and he dimly recognized her as the chief bridesmaid, the maid-of-honor. An old schoolfriend of Cath's.
She offered the pack to him, and House, an occasional smoker, decided a cigarette sounded rather pleasant right now, actually. He plucked one out, not bothering to avert his eyes from her generous bosom just a few inches away, and she held her own cigarette out to him as a light.
He pressed the ends of the two cigarettes together, and felt as he did so as if this was a curiously intimate thing to do. Even though it wasn't, at all.
"I've been gasping for this for the last hour," she said, taking her cigarette back and having another puff. Her voice was a little husky and had a very faint Southern twang to it. "How they doing in there?"
"Still snap-happy." House looked at the cigarette between his fingers and breathed in tar. He should do this more often. He rarely smoked; Wilson hated it, not that that was the only reason... but now Wilson was married (and God that was a strange thing to think), presumably he wouldn't be around so much from now on to nag House about it. Presumably he wouldn't be around as much, period.
He noticed the bridesmaid seemed to be jutting out her chest even more now so than a minute ago. "Careful, you might drop ash down there," he remarked.
She grinned at him, not offended. "They're too tightly squeezed together to lose anything between."
House grinned back, allowing himself a slight leer. "It's a good fit, that dress."
She flicked ash in his direction. "Glad someone appreciates it."
They were interrupted by a cry summonsing the best man and bridesmaids to be photographed. Cigarettes ground out underfoot, they went inside together. House joined the group assembling in front of the camera, standing next to Wilson. He leaned an elbow on Wilson's shoulder.
"Hey, House," Wilson said cheerfully. "Having fun with Eloise?"
Ah, that was her name. "Yup. Or woman with ridiculously large breasts, as I call her."
Wilson looked at him with a wink. "Ellie asked Cath who you were earlier on. Asked who the bum with the beard was."
"Really?" House had shaved that morning, but somehow the stubble still showed through. Story of his life.
"No. She asked who the tall handsome guy with the stubble was. Said you looked dangerous, which I think was supposed to be a good thing. Cath said you were dangerous. I don't think she meant it as a good thing."
"Isn't it part of the duties of the best man to get off with the bridesmaids?" House pondered.
"Yeah. All of them," Wilson said, deadpan. "At the same time."
There were no less than six bridesmaids, clustering around them for the photos. However, five of them were under ten years old.
House snorted in amusement. "I might just get arrested."
"Dang." Wilson smiled for the camera.
After the photos came the food, and then the speeches. House's best man speech was witty, charming, and just a little bit risqué; overall, a model of its kind.
House later marveled that nothing went wrong until after the meal and the cutting of the cake.
It was at this point that House ran into Wilson's brother Jonathan properly for the first time that day. By this time House was quite nicely drunk, and greeted Jon with, "Hope you enjoyed your hooker. Nice touch leaving the condom wrappers in the waste paper basket."
Jonathan's face turned murderous. House realized too late that Jonathan's wife was standing right behind him and had heard every word. Before he could react, Jonathan roared, "You son of a bitch!" and punched House on the nose.
Caught off balance, House stumbled backwards, fell into a table and then onto the floor. People scattered in alarm.
Wilson was across the room in a flash. "House!"
House sat up, suddenly sober, and found his nose was bleeding heavily. Wilson grasped House's head and tilted it forward, and House started to bleed all over Wilson's shirt as well as his own. Wilson didn't seem to notice. Jonathan stormed off, his wife following. Wilson pulled House up on his feet and into an empty side room, where House sat with his head between his knees, clutching a pile of napkins to his nose, still merrily bleeding.
"What the hell happened?" Wilson asked, anxiously checking House's eyes and reflexes. Fortunately no damage had been done apart from the nosebleed.
House explained in a thick voice about his unfortunate remark to Jonathan.
Wilson sighed, and said, "He can be a bit free with his fists after he's had a few drinks."
House mentally filed this information away in the Wilson Family File for future reference.
Wilson's wife (wife, shit, that sounded strange) came in, looking anxious. "James, the car comes for us in fifteen minutes and you're going to have to change your shirt first. They take pictures of us as we leave."
"I'm looking after House," Wilson said shortly. "Call the car, delay it half an hour."
She hesitated. "The schedule--"
"I'm looking after House," Wilson snapped. "It won't make any difference if we're half an hour late!"
She went off without a word. House wondered if he should feel guilty. He didn't.
They sat in silence for a bit as the flow of blood gradually ebbed.
"Well, your speech was excellent and you didn't forget the ring," Wilson said eventually. "So I guess I can forgive you for insulting my brother, bleeding all over my shirt, and delaying the precious schedule by half an hour." He was smiling. House grinned back through a bloody napkin.
Eventually the bleeding stopped, and House felt recovered enough to go with Wilson up to their suite to change shirts. He felt a little faint and Wilson supported him as they walked. It wasn't strictly necessary, but House appreciated feeling Wilson's arm around him and leaned into him possibly a little more than he needed to.
Back in their suite, House took off his bloodstained shirt and, seeing Wilson gazing at his torso, said, "Now, now, don't look at me like that. You're a married man now."
"You're still my fuckbuddy," Wilson said, shrugging off his own shirt, and kissed him.
House was startled by the expression, and not altogether sure he liked it, but returned the kiss. They spent a few moments necking, bare chests pressed up against each other. Eventually Wilson reluctantly decided that the schedule required them to move on.
Wilson went off with his new wife on their honeymoon, sailing off in a big car into the night. House and the rest of the wedding party watched them go.
House then got rid of his hard-on by taking Eloise up to his suite and fucking her into the mattress. She went off afterwards back down to the reception, boasting of her conquest. House didn't care; in fact he figured it would do no harm at all, especially given that he and Wilson had spent the previous night closeted rather conspicuously in their suite.
END OF PART FOUR. TBC.
A/N: Next part: Wilson returns from his honeymoon.