Title: Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 9
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 superb triedunture
A/N: Part of a backstory to take place over twenty years, all the way to canon.
Summary: House loses his job and his home. Wilson is there for him.
Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 9
Wilson was ambling through the cafeteria one lunchtime when House appeared beside him and put a large sandwich down on Wilson's tray.
"You're buying today," said House, a casual expression completely failing to conceal obvious delight. "I'm celebrating. Exam results are back. Finally got my board certification. I'm now a nephrology specialist. About fucking time!"
"Congratulations!" said Wilson, genuinely pleased, and headed towards the cashier. House vanished temporarily, then reappeared bearing two large slices of chocolate cake which he added to the tray. Wilson wondered in vague amusement how much of one slice House would allow him.
"So, does that mean you'll be off to Boston soon?" Wilson asked hesitantly as they stood in the queue. "For the Infectious Diseases residency?"
"Probably," House met his eye. "But not for a while. Have to pass interviews with God knows how many people first. Andrea Rusch is doing the paperwork on it, but she said she'd actually prefer to take me on in the fall, as she's going to be away in Europe all summer. It should work out well--Dawlish has asked me to stay on for a few months, just on a short-term contract--one of his fellows has gone off on maternity leave, and their cover can't start until the fall."
Wilson was pleased at this extension of time with House. He paid for their lunches and they headed towards a table. Once they were seated, Wilson said in an undertone, "And I've got a reason to celebrate too... I think I can finally see a way of breaking up with Pearl."
"You're not still seeing her!" House bit into a sandwich with great relish.
"House, that's my sandwich!" Wilson snatched it back. "I haven't been able to figure out how to break up with her gently. I can't just dump her or she's liable to go tell her dad just out of spite." He spread out his hands. "But now--she wants to transfer to another school. She's figured out while she stays at Columbia living with her dad, nothing's gonna change in her life... so she wants to move somewhere on the west coast next semester. That'll be the perfect opportunity to break up with her. She'll want a new start, make new friends, form new relationships out there. In fact, she's already hinted it might be best if we break up before then."
"Will Dawlish let her go?" House was skeptical.
"He's not altogether happy about it, but he's already agreed, apparently; she can twist him around her little finger when she tries." Wilson bit into his sandwich. "I can finally see a light at the end of the tunnel."
Wilson was pleased for another reason too, although not one he wanted to share with House right now: he and Cath had patched things up enough that she was holding fire on the divorce papers. Once Pearl was gone, surely he would be able to spend enough time with his wife to really mend their relationship. Wilson firmly quashed the possibility that having House moving two hundred miles away might also help; he didn't want to think about it in those terms.
As a resident, everything House had done had been signed off by an attending doctor. Seth Dawlish, head of a large and busy department, had rarely been involved himself with House's work. House abruptly found this had changed now he himself could make decisions. He was still closely supervised, his decisions were still scrutinized, and Dawlish now chose to take a personal interest in this young doctor who had unaccountably done extremely well in the residency exams, and yet was now looking to do a second speciality elsewhere.
Unfortunately for House, Dawlish didn't like what he found. House had to endure several lectures on laziness and corner-cutting. And when House found himself summoned to the principal's office for the fourth time in a month, he went with a great sense of foreboding. As he arrived, he spotted Pearl leaving her father's office and going into the small meeting room next door. It could just be a coincidence, but it gave House a definite bad feeling.
In Dawlish's office, he found his boss cold and grim rather than hot and angry, and that too added to House's unease.
"House, what the hell is this?" Dawlish waved a patient chart in the air.
House looked at it. "It's my patient."
"This is an experimental treatment. I did not authorize this! In fact, I have said explicitly more than once that it is not to be used in this hospital." Dawlish looked House in the eye. "I've been looking at your file. You've been warned about this kind of thing before, on numerous occasions."
"It worked, didn't it?" House was indignant. "The patient's improving right now--"
Dawlish leaned back in his chair and regarded House coolly. "You're fired, House. Direct disobedience, contravening my orders. I don't put up with this sort of shit."
House immediately felt sick to the stomach. Fired. Another damn blot on his record. Would Mass Gen still be prepared to take him? Would Andrea Rusch change her mind? He still had interviews to go through--he really needed her personal support--Dawlish could be fucking up his whole future. House remembered Pearl outside the room and suddenly he was sure she'd told her father about Wilson. Anger rose swiftly through this body; Dawlish taking out his petty paternalistic jealousy on House--
"This isn't because of me and that patient," House said furiously. "This is because of your damn daughter, isn't it?"
The look of surprise on Dawlish's face immediately told House he was wrong. House felt his stomach plummet. Damn it all to hell! Wilson hadn't fucked up his job, he'd lost it all by himself. And worse, he'd just alerted Dawlish to the fact that there was something about Pearl--
"What have you got to do with my daughter?" Dawlish said slowly, and with a thundercloud dawning on his face. He stood up and strode over to the door to the adjoining meeting room. Pearl, seated at the table with a pile of books in front of her, looked up in surprise. "Sweetie?--come in here for a second."
House's brain was racing; he'd already lost his job, he was doomed anyway. But Dawlish still didn't know about Wilson and Pearl. And if Dawlish found out, well--Wilson was a student here in this hospital and would be for the next couple of years; Dawlish had enough influence to make life very difficult for him...
Pearl came into her father's office, twisting her hands together, looking very apprehensive. House stared at her, and hoped she had the intelligence to follow what he was about to do.
"Pearl, honey, do you know this man?" Dawlish jerked a thumb in House's direction.
"Um, yes, he's Dr. House." Pearl looked at House, her eyes wide and frightened.
"And how do you know him?" Dawlish probed.
"I made a pass at her," House butted in. Pearl stared at House in surprise. He mentally crossed his fingers that she didn't pipe up to contradict him, and went on, "A couple of months ago. I was drunk in a bar. She told me to get lost, of course."
Thank fuck she was quick witted enough to take her line.
"That's right, Daddy," she said, and her voice rang unexpectedly clear. "I knew he was one of your doctors. I didn't want to upset you by telling you."
"By God, if you'd told me sooner--" Dawlish stopped and swallowed. He then fixed House with a ferocious glare. "I'd have fired you before you ever got your damn certification."
House looked away, taking a second to try and appreciate this silver lining.
"As it is--I've got a reference request for you sitting on my desk from Dr. Andrea Rusch at Mass Gen," Dawlish went on. "I was going to tell her you were a lazy son-of-a-bitch, too keen to take short-cuts and too clever for your own good, and she'd better keep a damn close eye on you. Now--I'm going to tell her you're an irresponsible jackass and she'd be out of her mind if she took you on. Get the hell out of my office."
House blindly turned on his heel and left.
Firings were hot topics on the hospital grapevine, and Wilson heard the news within the hour. He immediately rang home to tell his wife he'd be late, would probably crash at House's, and headed straight to House's room. He wasn't particularly surprised to find House wasn't there, and settled down on House's couch with a book. It had been a long day, and he soon fell asleep.
It was dark when he was woken by House stumbling through the door. Wilson stirred as House shut the door and came inside. House didn't react to finding Wilson on his couch, and Wilson merely peered up at House. House shrugged off his jacket and his shoes, and flopped down on the couch next to Wilson. He smelt of whiskey and tobacco. He put his head in Wilson's lap and his legs up on the couch, and fell asleep within a few minutes. Wilson spent a little while stroking House's head, and soon drifted off again himself.
A few hours later, Wilson woke again, this time by House nuzzling his neck. He felt the rasp of House's stubble rubbing across his jawline, and knew this was House's way of saying Thanks for being here.
Wilson nuzzled him back. You're welcome.
House moved up Wilson's neck and nibbled his earlobe. Wilson closed his eyes again and stayed perfectly still, lest the spell break. A minute later, he felt House's mouth press down on his own, blotting out his breath, covering his airway. They kissed for a long time, nestled next to each other in the quiet and the dark.
After a while, Wilson felt House's cock start to harden and press up against his thigh. He thought House could probably feel the same happening to him. Presently House reached down and undid the buttons on Wilson's jeans; Wilson breathed deeply. House eased Wilson's jeans and boxers down and pulled out Wilson's cock. Then he moved downwards, dipped his head and took it in his mouth. Wilson gasped at the sudden rush of blood to his groin. Now that was a turn-up for the books; House going down on him without being asked. House rolled his mouth back and forth, lapping, licking; Wilson groaned in anticipation as House put his tongue to the tip, cupped his balls in a hand. Then House rammed a finger up his ass, and even though he'd been expecting it, Wilson was still flooded with a sudden, intense, frenzy of emotion; his hips jolted involuntarily and he came.
As Wilson lay gasping, House spat into a handkerchief, then pulled himself upright and swiftly removed his own jeans and boxers. Wilson forced himself not to lapse into unconsciousness and flattened himself down into the sofa cushions, as House moved stealthily up Wilson's body to straddle his face. Wilson took a deep breath, tipped his head back as far as he could, and House thrust directly downwards into his mouth and right down his throat. House let out a strangled cry, and thrust again; Wilson concentrated on not gagging. A few more thrusts later, House pulled out and came all over Wilson's chest, then crashed down on the sofa next to Wilson.
Wilson moved to kiss House on the mouth. Then quiet darkness rolled over them both, and they each lapsed into sticky sleep.
They were woken by a phone call very early the following morning. It was more bad news. House was told by a bureaucrat devoid of any human sympathy that as he was no longer a hospital employee, he would have to move out of the shared hospital house.
"I thought you had a friend in the accommodation office?" Wilson said, his tone dismayed, as he watched House pace the room.
"I used to. She left a while ago. They've given me a week to move out: one fucking week!" House was in real despair. He didn't know what to do. He'd lost his job and his income. He didn't have the money to pay a commercial rent anywhere else; didn't have any spare cash for a deposit; didn't have the time or inclination to start apartment hunting in a city which he didn't intend to be in much longer...
Wilson leaned against the couch, pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and said, "You can come and stay at my place, sleep on the couch."
House was rendered temporarily speechless. When he recovered he said, "Might your wife not have something to say about that?"
Wilson shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Well, yes, maybe. But you can't end up sleeping on the street. I'll talk to her, I'm sure she'll understand. It would only be for a few weeks, until you sort yourself out, right?"
"Right," House agreed. And then figured Wilson owed him, goddamnit; he'd practically fallen on his sword to protect his fucking stupid affair with Pearl, after all.
And that was how House ended up living temporarily on the Wilson family couch.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," had been Cath's initial reaction.
Wilson had known it wouldn't be easy, even after the several hours he had had to spend pacifying her: multiple entreaties, explanations, I love yous, appeals to her natural desire to help others, and bribes of future time they would definitely spend together...
But he still hadn't appreciated how impossible a situation it would be from the start. House had mercifully abandoned the piano with his room (claiming not to care, that it had been a pile of junk), and didn't have any furniture (it had been a furnished room) --but still had a remarkable pile of possessions that ended up stacked all over Wilson's living room. Boxes of books. Journals. Music. Videos. It was a fairly large room, but it also served as Wilson's study and was already cluttered with Wilson's own papers and books. Wilson moved as much as he could into the bedroom, which annoyed Cath, as this was largely her space.
House had barely been there any time at all when Cath discovered he had eaten a large chunk of a lasagna she had intended for dinner that evening. The inconvenience of an extra person using the only bathroom became clear the following morning, and the resulting meltdown ended in House shouting, "You think I want to sleep on your scabby sofa a moment longer than I have to?" and Cath locking herself in the bedroom and refusing to come out. Wilson walked around with a headache all day afterwards, and a dread that Catherine would finally decide to serve those divorce papers.
After that strained and furious first twenty-four hours, House chose to simply make himself scarce, which dashed any ideas Wilson might have had that it would be nice to have House around the home. House fell into a pattern of disappearing for long periods around the mornings and evenings, apparently coming back to crash on the couch for a few hours during the working day and in the middle of the night. This did give the Wilsons at least a corner of their living space back and the opportunity to have meals together in peace, but meant Wilson didn't actually get to see House at all.
He quickly found he missed not having House around the hospital, to lunch with, to nod to across corridors and lecture halls, to gossip about other people with. He couldn't even tell House his big news: that Pearl had come to tell him proudly that she would be transferring to Stanford next term, and it would probably be better if they stopped seeing each other. Wilson had narrowly resisted an air-punch.
The only good thing about the impossibility of the situation at home was that it really did spur House on to find a new job and a new place to live. After a couple of days Wilson found a scrawled note from House to say that he had spoken to Andrea Rusch and she had managed to line up a series of interviews for the residency in Infectious Diseases at Mass Gen he wanted in a week's time.
A week later, a suitcase vanished, along with one of Wilson's ties. Borrowed by House to take to Boston, Wilson could only assume.
The second day House was away, Wilson hoped for a phone call with news, without really expecting one. By the evening of the third day, he resigned himself to not hearing for another day or so. House would reappear when he was ready to reappear, with news, good or bad.
As luck would have it, he and Cath had just started dinner when there came the sound of a key in the lock. Wilson immediately thought House! and jumped up to go out into the hall. Sure enough, it was House, looking tired, carrying Wilson's suitcase and with his backpack over his shoulder. He looked curiously small and uncertain of himself, for House.
"I got the job," he said immediately.
"You heard already? That's fantastic, well done!" Wilson immediately felt conflicted; House would be leaving town. But he was heartfelt in his congratulations, truly pleased for his friend. House merely nodded, he didn't look particularly happy.
"Er--you did accept?" Wilson thought it best to check.
"Yes." House nodded, and peered sideways through the door to see Cath sitting at the table. "You're having dinner."
Wilson hesitated, and said, "Join us? I'm sure there's enough--"
House shook his head firmly, and dropped the case on the floor. "No. I just wanted to leave this, I'll go out, I'll speak to you tomorrow."
"No - give me a second." Wilson made a decision; House wasn't happy, something was wrong, he couldn't let House go walking off into the night like this. He went back in to speak to Cath. She had stopped eating and was sitting waiting for him.
"He got the job. He'll be moving to Boston," Wilson explained quickly, feeling a pang of sadness as he spoke the words. He looked around for his shoes, and walked across the room to put them on.
Cath watched him through wide eyes, and said, "You're not going out. Now?"
"Um, yes. I need to talk to House--"
"We're in the middle of dinner!" Cath sounded incredulous.
"I'm sorry," Wilson said apologetically, tying his shoelaces into hurried knots. "I'll be back soon--"
"No you won't. Not if House needs you." There was a new note of bitterness in her voice.
Wilson, already vaguely upset, felt suddenly angry and said, "I'd have thought you'd be pleased he'll be leaving."
"Oh, I am." Cath's voice was low. "I can't wait." She picked up her fork and speared a piece of meat viciously. "Have a nice time. I won't wait up."
Wilson grabbed his jacket and left the room, shutting the door with unnecessary force. House, waiting in the hall, looked at him with raised eyebrows; Wilson thought he must have heard at least some of that.
"Let's go," Wilson said shortly.
Outside, they bumped shoulders and fell easily into step as usual, walking down the street. By mutual unspoken consent they headed towards a busy local bar where there would be some privacy and anonymity in the flurry of activity. House managed by sheer force of will to get them seats at a small corner table which was being vacated. Wilson struggled his way back from the bar with drinks, sat down, and House immediately pressed his leg close against Wilson's. Nobody could see, under the table, but Wilson was still surprised; they were usually both very careful to guard against any physical closeness in public. He sensed that House was seeking comfort, and pressed back.
"So how was Boston?" Wilson asked, deliberately making the question vague and neutral.
"Well, I thought about sending you a postcard but figured I wasn't really there long enough," House said, deadpan, and Wilson blushed a little, recalling the postcard he'd sent House from his honeymoon. House reached under the table and dug into his backpack. "So instead I brought you something--"
He emerged triumphant with a bundled-up T-shirt that he put on the table. The T-shirt fell aside to reveal it had been wrapped around a beer mug. Wilson picked it up; both the T-shirt and the beer mug were branded with the TV show Cheers logo.
"Um, thanks." Wilson grinned broadly, and said, "You could have gone to the Museum of Fine Arts, but instead--"
"You can't go to Boston and not go to the Cheers bar," House said, as if this was obvious.
"Of course, how stupid of me," Wilson said, and reached into the glass. There was a photograph inside, curled around with the picture side inwards. He retrieved it to find a snapshot of House standing outside the Cheers bar. House, in jeans and a casual shirt, lounging against the window, not exactly smiling, but looking fairly smug. A lock of hair curling over his forehead, blue eyes gleaming, stubble pronounced; Wilson's heart immediately skipped a beat.
"I took a picture for a party of Japanese tourists, they insisted on taking one for me," House said, with studied nonchalance. "I got them to take a few as I wanted to finish the film. Figured I could spare you one."
Wilson understood immediately; that the real present here was not the T-shirt (which House would assuredly walk off with) or the beer mug (which House would probably let Wilson walk off with, but borrow back permanently at some point) but the photograph. He nodded a carefully casual thanks, and slid the photo into his inside left breast pocket.
"You have much time for sightseeing?" Wilson asked, edging towards asking about the interviews.
"Third day." House drank beer, hesitated, then opened up. "They offered on the second day, after the last round of interviews; I said yes, and before I knew it there were contracts and offer letters and medicals underway. I stayed an extra day to get the medical stuff done. I've even got an apartment arranged, I can live at the same place they put me in for the interviews. The previous occupant rented it off my new boss's sister, and she's only too happy to have me take it on."
"Wow. It sounds like everything's sorted?"
"I start a week from Monday." House sounded despondent.
Wilson really, really wanted to reach out, grab House and hold him close. Damn this bar and all the people in it. He restricted himself to pressing his knee harder against House's knee. "So we're celebrating, then," Wilson said, deadpan.
House put his empty glass down with a thud, looked at Wilson intently, then said, "I'm going back to my old room for a while, come with me."
Wilson frowned, not understanding.
"The guy who used to live in the room underneath me moved up to my room, but he's on rotation in the ER and working the night shift at the moment. I've been sneaking back in all week after he's left each evening to play the piano." House grinned a little. "The new guy in the room below is furious about the noise in the middle of the night, and can't understand it."
Wilson laughed incredulously; this was so House. "Of course you kept a key."
"Of course," House said solemnly, and glanced at his watch. "He'll have gone by now. The place'll be empty for the next few hours."
Wilson pushed dinner with Cath firmly from his mind, and nodded.
"I visited Mass Gen's Cancer Center while I was there," House remarked, unlocking the door to his old room. "It's world class... there are worse places you could end up doing a residency. Dr. Rusch's husband works there. Vasilius, he has the best gray beard, real Old Testament prophet beard."
Wilson didn't reply, but stored this information for future reference.
Back in House's old room, everything felt very odd. Sitting on the same old couch, but seeing strange belongings scattered everywhere--as if they'd entered some parallel universe, where House had never lived here after all. The current occupant hadn't yet got round to unpacking everything, and boxes sat around on surfaces.
House mooched around the room for a few minutes, seeming indecisive and nervous. He sat down at the piano and tapped out a few chords. Wilson figured House needed to be left alone for a bit, and tried to give him space. Eventually House sat down on the rug in the middle of his floor. They'd made out on the rug before; Wilson had occasionally wondered in the past if the guy in the room below could hear them--if so he had been too scared of House to say anything.
Wilson watched House for a moment, trying to gauge his mood, then slithered down off the couch to join him on the rug. It was the right thing to do; House reached out and wrapped his arms around him. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just sitting close together on the rug for a while, then House started to kiss Wilson very slowly and deliberately. Mouth to mouth, then mouth to chin, nose, cheeks, forehead.
They were getting on towards getting off very nicely indeed, when House pulled back slightly and said with a visible effort, "Wilson, it's... too fucking fast. A week ago I thought I was here for at least another six months, and now I'm moving to Boston already..." He swallowed. "I once told you everybody leaves... you told me they didn't. Now I feel like I'm the one...fuck it--
His words dried up and he looked away. Frankly Wilson was amazed House had gone on as long as he had.
"Just because you're leaving, doesn't mean you're leaving," Wilson spoke firmly. He hooked an arm around House's neck, took a few seconds to compose his thoughts, then went on. "House--I wanted you to go for this job--it's the right thing for you. I'm glad you've got it. Okay, so we won't be able to do lunch every day--and I won't be able to go out drinking with you in the evenings, and end up crashing on your couch--but you know, we were never going to be able to carry on working in the same place forever anyway." Wilson's voice trembled slightly. "What is it, four hours' drive? There's buses and trains. It's not that far. And hey, you'd better give me a key to your new apartment."
House put a hand up to touch Wilson's hair, and looked into Wilson's eyes. And although House would never say it, never utter the words except in jest or as a distraction or when overloaded with sarcasm and irony, Wilson nonetheless heard it as plain as day: I love you.
Wilson couldn't say it, even less so than House could; was even more afraid of being vulnerable than House. And also Wilson said it too much already, too often, to his wife, to have the least idea how to make it really resonate. But he reached out, stroking House's ear, and tried to convey it through his eyes: I love you too.
Wilson kissed House gently, undid a couple of buttons on House's shirt, and slid his hand inside. He ran his hand across House's chest, fingers plucking at House's chest hair and grazing House's nipples. House closed his eyes and moaned a little through clenched teeth. Wilson ran his other hand over House's crotch, feeling the bulge in House's jeans move slightly under his touch. Wilson felt his own cock harden and move slightly too.
House muttered, "Fuck me. Face to face."
Face to face. The words reminded Wilson vividly of the night before he'd gotten married, when they'd done that, for the first time: watching House's blue eyes blazing and soaring above him in the throes of orgasm. The expression on House's face said that he remembered that too, and Wilson realized there were even parallels with the situation: except this time it was House who was nervous about an upcoming event, and about to go away...
House sat back on the rug, leaning on his hands, and let Wilson unbutton his shirt. Wilson slid it off House's shoulders, and then undid House's fly; House wriggled out of his jeans and his boxers. Wilson watched House's lean, naked body emerge; his muscular thighs flexing, and his hard-on almost fully erect now, tall and red; Wilson reached for it and House gasped, arching into Wilson's hand. A little pre-come oozed onto Wilson's palm and Wilson used it to stroke House's cock, running up and down the shaft until House was goggle eyed and panting, "Wilson, just get on with it and fuck me already."
Wilson stood up to shed his own clothes, feeling his own cock hot and hard in the cool air of the room as he dropped his pants, then his boxers. He picked up his pants and delved into his wallet in the pocket for a condom, asking House jokingly, "Do you think the new occupant here keeps lube in his nightstand?"
House snorted in amusement. "I doubt it. Might be something else slippery around..."
Wilson wandered into the bedroom, quelling his fundamental guilt at being in someone else's room and about to have sex on their rug. The unease was by far outweighed by a searing decadent thrill. He found an open cardboard box sitting on the bedside table, filled with toiletries; suntan lotion, that would do. He headed back to the living room rug with the bottle; House rolled his eyes and said, "Good, I was worried about possible sunburn in here--"
"Carpet burn, maybe." Wilson sat down next to House and kissed him hard on the mouth. House kissed back, leaning into him, and their bare chests pressed up against each other. Wilson reveled in the glory of naked skin against naked skin, of House's goosebumps and body hair and beads of sweat brushing up against his own torso, which felt alive and fairly snapping with electricity. Wilson ran a hand over the strong muscular slope of House's shoulders, felt House's arm around him, holding him close, and shuddered at the touch of House's cock touching and jumping against his own.
Then he pushed gently at House with a palm; lie down. House settled on his back on the rug obediently with a small grunt; Wilson knelt above him and uncapped the bottle of lotion.
"Cold," Wilson warned unnecessarily, and tipped a generous handful of runny lotion over and down House's ass. House wriggled and squirmed and swore, then started to relax as Wilson readied him, probing, stretching, making nonsensical soothing sounds under his breath. Wilson paused briefly to snap on the condom, and then eased his way up inside House, slick and thick and hard.
"Fuck. Fuck," House's face was contorted, the sounds he was making loud and obscene, barely words. Wilson shut his eyes and thrust, then opened his eyes because he wanted to see; House right underneath him, legs splayed, arms spread, blue eyes popping and flying sparks. House's hands scrabbled desperately and balled fistfuls of rug; Wilson reached out to grip House's wrists and used them as leverage to brace himself as he pushed again, deep inside House, deep as he'd ever been, Christ, this was amazing, he could go on like this forever--
Except he couldn't, of course; the intensity built up swiftly and rushed through his body with terrifying speed, overwhelming him with its force. House twitched and clenched, and unable to hold off any more, Wilson came with a shout that must've been heard downstairs, surely. House strained and cried out as Wilson slammed into him and then almost collapsed on top of him. With an effort, House bucked his hips to push his own cock up into Wilson's belly and climaxed himself, practically yelling, "Jesus Christ almighty--"
"Keep the noise down!" came an exasperated shout from downstairs, and there was the thump of a broom handle from the floor right underneath the rug.
Neither House nor Wilson, comatose on the rug, took any notice. They didn't care, because House was moving on, and this was the last time they'd be doing this in this room; this was their farewell sex, and it had been perfect.
They lay there for a while before struggling up and getting dressed, and just made it out of the house before the new occupant of the room got home.
END OF PART 9. TBC.
A/N: Next part: Wilson's marriage finally disintegrates. House gets a hot girlfriend.
A/N: You can read more about House & Wilson's inability to say 'I love you' to each other in Just the Pain Meds Talking.