Title: Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 19/20
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: triedunture magnificent again
A/N: Part of a backstory to take place over twenty years, all the way to canon. One more part to come. There are references here to my OMCs Chris and Dan, last seen in this fic back in part 13.
Summary: Wilson falls in love. And gets married, but not to the same person. House launches Operation Chris.
Excerpt: "This is a very, very bad joke, right?" House said slowly.
Twenty Years of Stealing My Food: Part 19
Wilson felt he should have some kind of activity outside work and House, and decided to start an evening class. He chose cookery, as he had always been reasonably good at cooking without ever really having learned about it. He didn't tell House, but of course House noticed his disappearance on the same evening each week so eventually Wilson had to tell him.
"Cooking?" House said with derision. "You've got to be kidding. You're probably the only male there."
"No, there are three of us," Wilson countered, not mentioning that the other two men were there together and obviously a couple.
"Then the other two must be gay," House batted right back. "And I bet every woman there is hitting on you--"
"Actually, the woman I'm working with is married," Wilson said in exasperation. They'd been paired up in class to share a cooker and pots and pans: he'd been put with a small dark haired woman called Julie, who seemed very nice.
"No happily married woman would be at a cooking class," House said simply, and as Wilson had indeed got an inkling that Julie's marriage might not be perfect, he didn't dare reply.
House let it go, though. He had now learned to gauge Vicodin levels and mastered the use of his cane, and was largely occupied with establishing a niche and reputation for the Department of Diagnostics. As time went on and patients were successfully treated, his fame spread and he found himself with more referrals than he could cope with. He started to become much more choosy about the cases he took.
Meanwhile Wilson did learn some cooking skills, and was particularly pleased with the stuffed peppers he managed to make in the third week. He had to stop the evening classes soon afterwards though, as Cuddy rotated him onto Finance Committee which met the same evening. But he kept in touch with Julie. They got on well, she did indeed have problems with a philandering husband for which she clearly needed a sympathetic ear, and it was nice to have a friend other than House to socialize with occasionally.
And things might have bumbled on like that indefinitely, except that one day in the clinic Wilson ran into someone he'd had a brief encounter with ten years ago. A fair-haired gray-eyed man in biking leathers, called Chris. And the sexual chemistry they'd had ten years previously was still there, and as strong and immediate as ever.
It was obvious to House from the start that he was seeing Wilson in love. Wilson was going around the hospital with a goofy grin, a spring in his step, and a sparkle in his eye-- House found it fascinating to observe. He couldn't help but think he hadn't seen Wilson like this with either of his ex-wives. Once House had found out just who Wilson had fallen for, and was sure that Wilson would still be there for him regardless, he chose to be magnanimous and let the relationship take its course.
"Are you really okay with this?" Wilson asked hesitantly over lunch, the day after House had found out.
"Why wouldn't I be?" House said carelessly, plucking a chocolate chip out of Wilson's muffin. "You're both sufficiently screwed up individuals that it's not gonna last very long."
"Humph." Wilson obviously didn't like that comment, but wasn't prepared to argue the point.
House took occasional pleasure in summoning Wilson away from Chris to his side for reasons which were sometimes serious and sometimes trivial, and thus not-so subtly reinforced the message to Chris that he was there on House's sufferance. Chris apparently bore this as the price to pay for seeing Wilson. Wilson, very much having his cake and eating it, continued to bounce around the hospital on cloud nine.
Of course, House had no intention of letting Wilson spend significant amounts of time with anyone without checking them out, and shortly after Chris came on the scene, Operation Chris swung into action.
In stage one of Operation Chris, House followed his tried and tested diagnostic methodology and broke into Chris's home.
Wilson and Chris had swiftly gotten into a routine, Chris dropping by Princeton during the week, Wilson driving down to the Jersey coast on weekends. House waited for a day where he was one hundred percent certain that Chris and Wilson were in Princeton, traveled down to the coast, and spent a happy few hours combing Chris's empty house. There were no smoking guns. Possessions of note included an excellent selection of Scotch whiskeys--House tasted a couple of the open bottles judiciously--and a very decent porn collection (House expected no less from the proprietor of a string of gay bars and clubs), but nothing too outrageous, plus a reassuring number of boxes of condoms close at hand. A large amount of cigarettes were present but stashed slightly out of easy reach (this made sense, House knew Wilson would be putting Chris under pressure to cut down), and there was some pot hidden away but a disappointing lack of hard drugs.
The presence of Edward, Chris's former boyfriend, ran glinting like a silver thread through the house. Edward had died in a motorcycle accident about two years ago (at approximately the same time as House's own infarction, House noted with unease). Edward had worn glasses, but otherwise had borne a strong resemblance to Wilson. There was little on show--just the one picture of him, a large and beautiful photograph in an exquisite hardwood frame, on display in the bedroom. But poking a little below the surface, House found Edward everywhere. He was peppered through old photograph albums, in holiday snapshots, posing and smiling next to buildings. There was a file of legal paperwork at the back of a drawer which showed they had done their best to formalize their relationship: wills in each other's favor, medical proxies, joint taxes... House had no doubt that if the law had allowed, Edward and Chris would have gone down the aisle together a long time ago.
"You know you're just a surrogate for the dead boyfriend," House observed to Wilson in front of the TV the following evening.
Wilson glared at him. "That's not true. But you know what? If it is true, I don't care."
"Fine." House thought Wilson actually believed this, at least at the moment.
But it wasn't fine; House found himself unexpectedly preoccupied with what it was going to be like for Wilson when this relationship ended. Because House knew it wouldn't last, and Wilson was in love, but House was unsure what Chris really felt for Wilson. Beyond raw lust, of course, which House could understand perfectly well.
In stage two of Operation Chris, House sought out an old acquaintance who knew Chris quite well, and Wilson a little.
"You've got some fucking nerve!" was Dan's reaction when he found House waiting as his next customer in the hairdresser's chair. House had been in a relationship with Dan many years ago, and it hadn't so much ended as repeatedly stalled. Their last meeting, not long after the infarction when House had still been coming to terms with the cane, had ended rather abruptly; House had chosen to track Dan down at work rather than home to avoid getting the door slammed in his face.
"I need a haircut. And I need to know about Chris," House stated.
Dan shook his head. "You trust me with a pair of scissors close to your ear?"
"I thought you wouldn't be able to resist telling me how much my hair's thinned since last time," House said brightly. "Even though that's a complete lie, of course..."
House was pretty sure he'd played this one right: he knew Dan had a soft spot for him still. And after a moment's hesitation Dan ran a hand through House's hair and said, "Fine: but this is not on the house. Pun fully intended. And you are still thinning.... The usual?"
House relaxed and enjoyed having his hair cut, while finding out about Dan's latest loser boyfriend. They went for coffee afterwards, where Dan made a point of making House pay for the coffee.
Once settled, Dan said, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you. I saw Chris and Wilson at the club last week, you could've knocked me down with a feather. How long's that been going on?"
"A few weeks." House was impatient: he was there to get information, not to give it out. "Tell me everything you know about Chris."
Dan obliged, but it didn't add greatly to the sum of House's knowledge. As well as his seafront club, which was his main office and place to hang out, Chris owned a number of bars and restaurants in the area, and had done for the last fifteen years or so. He was regarded as a respectable pillar of the local business community and his outlets were the mainstay of the local gay community: Dan wasn't exactly a friend of Chris's but knew him well enough to nod to. Dan confirmed that Edward had been Chris's true love through the ten years they had been together. Chris had come close to self-destruction in the aftermath of his death, but was widely thought to be over it now.
"At least, until he walked in with Wilson last week," Dan concluded. "Everybody who knew Edward can see the resemblance... it must be pretty odd for Wilson."
House drummed his fingers on the table. "What did they do? How did they look together?"
"Close. Chris barely let Wilson out of his sight all evening. Um... Wilson played poker with us, he finished down a few bucks but it was a good game." Dan hesitated. "If I hadn't known about you, I'd have thought... what everyone said. It looks like they've fallen for each other, big time."
House probed a little further, but got little more. He soon deemed it prudent to leave, as Dan started batting his eyelashes. House was fairly sure he could have gotten laid if he'd wanted; but he didn't want. Mainly because he knew the Vicodin he'd taken before he'd walked into the hairdresser were going to keep any erection at bay for hours, and he wasn't going to admit that to Dan.
He managed to depart without having to either blow Dan off or blow him, and left dissatisfied in more ways than one. It was one thing to get someone else's opinion of Wilson and Chris, but House didn't trust it any more than he trusted other doctors' opinions on this patients. He had to see them for himself.
In stage three of Operation Chris, House racked his brains to think how to spy on Wilson and Chris when nobody else was around. It wasn't easy. He could see Wilson any time, of course, but he didn't often see Chris. He didn't like Chris and he knew Chris didn't like him: they tolerated each other's existence. It wasn't as if they were going to all go out drinking together.
Chris never came into the hospital, although House occasionally saw him waiting some way outside for Wilson, usually chain smoking rather surreptitiously. Sometimes House saw them briefly together if Wilson was leaving him to meet Chris, or if Chris dropped Wilson back at House's, and House caught glimpses of affection on both sides. But these were brief encounters and he knew both Wilson and Chris would be guarded around him. House considered bugging either Wilson's apartment or Chris's home, but that would have involved getting some kind of specialist equipment or perhaps hiring a PI, and House drew the line at that--for the moment, anyway.
An alternative idea came to him when he found out via Wilson's private email that Wilson and Chris were planning a barbecue together at Chris's one weekend. They would be outside, and alone: House just had to figure out a way to see them there. House drove down early that afternoon to explore the area. Chris had his own strip of private beach, conveniently bounded on both sides by high rocks. On one side there was some seriously overgrown shrubbery around the rocks. House investigated that side, and found the neighboring property empty with a 'For Rent' sign out on the road. It was late in the year for summer rentals. House had no compunction in breaking a rather feeble padlock to allow himself to drive down the side of the house, and pulled off the driveway into the shrubbery down the end. It gave him a reasonable view of Chris's stretch of beach. House thought it possible they might also be able to glimpse his car, but hoped they wouldn't think anything of it.
He sat for a while, idly watching, and sat up when Chris came outside to set up the barbecue. Wilson arrived soon afterwards: House pulled out binoculars to observe Wilson get out of his car and walk down to the beach. Wilson and Chris greeted each other with a long kiss and an even longer embrace.
"Get a room already," House muttered to himself. He squinted, and saw Wilson put a hand on Chris's ass, Chris hook a finger over Wilson's belt. Suddenly House was uncomfortable: what if they started fucking right there on the beach? He wasn't sure he could cope with seeing that...
Fortunately they stopped necking after a couple of minutes, and started talking and preparing the barbecue instead. House was far too far away to hear anything, but he could see the body language. He could tell they were comfortable with each other. There was a lot of touching; shoulders brushing, hands flicking, elbows nudging; they seemed to be flirting gently almost all the time. So what: House already knew they were hot for each other.
But they also looked very... couple-y. So what: House told himself that if he picked up his cell right now and dialed Wilson, Wilson would up and leave in a heartbeat.
Time passed. Wilson took over the barbecue supervision. Chris wandered in and out of the house with food and wine. House watched burgers start to brown and sausages sizzle, and cursed his lack of forethought in not bringing food with him. He put the binoculars down and sat for a while, listening to jazz on the car radio, wondering if there was any point staying much longer. Then he started rooting through the car, delving into old paper bags; there must be some food around somewhere....
Suddenly there was a tap on the car window: House nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked around to see Wilson standing outside, looking a splendid mix of annoyed and amused. House grinned, slightly abashed to have been caught, but not worried. Wilson walked around the car and got in the passenger side.
"Thought you might be hungry," he said, and to House's delight, handed him a small foil-wrapped package. House unwrapped it to find a small steak and two chicken wings, fresh from the barbecue.
"Wilson, you beauty," House said fervently, and fell on the food as if starving.
"You are a complete ass," Wilson said, watching House eat. "If Chris knew you were spying on us he would go ballistic."
"Where is he?" House said indistinctly, through a mouthful of steak.
"He got a call from his manager at the bar on the high road. There was a fight this evening, the bartender got glassed and ended up in ER. Chris went to visit him, he'll be a while." Wilson laced his fingers together and stretched out his arms. "We spotted your car earlier, Chris thought it was just kids messing around, with this property empty it's a bit of a local lover's lane spot. I wasn't so sure..."
House continued to eat. Wilson gazed out of the window down to the sea.
"House," Wilson said presently. "If me seeing Chris is such a problem, you need to say so."
"It's not a problem." House licked his fingers.
"Then why--" Wilson gestured helplessly around the car, and answered his own question. "You still have to know everything, understand everything."
"That's right." House screwed the empty foil into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder into the back seat. "I give it six months."
"You're an ass," Wilson repeated, his tone exasperated. "Go home."
He got out of the car and walked away. House waited for a minute, then reversed the car back up the drive, and headed home. He decided he'd seen enough; he'd let events take their course.
Some six months later it ended. House got the call while out at off-track betting: he arrived at Wilson's apartment to find Chris chalk-white on his way out of the door, and Wilson huddled away in his bedroom. House called out to Wilson that he was going to drink all the alcohol in the house, then settled himself on Wilson's couch, turned on the TV and started to make good on his promise.
Wilson emerged half an hour later, his face red and blotchy. He sat down next to House and poured himself a liberal measure of whiskey.
"He called me Edward," Wilson muttered, his voice thick with misery, and House guessed this had happened at some screamingly orgasmic moment.
"Fuck him," House said simply, and that was all they said on the matter.
They drank and watched low-brow TV through the night, Wilson speaking little but getting more and more maudlin. Eventually they both fell into an alcoholic stupor. House awoke with a roaring headache to find Wilson asleep with his head on House's lap: House jostled him awake and they struggled into work, although they might as well not have done for all the work either of them actually got done that day.
House kept a sharp eye on Wilson over the next few weeks, but Wilson steered clear of meltdown and gradually sloughed off the obvious broken heart. After a short while he even started dating again, and House was not at all surprised that it was a woman this time. His friend Julie had finally split up with her husband, Wilson commiserated and gave her support, and she soon become more than a friend. House mentally ascribed this as a rebound fuck for both of them, and didn't give it much thought.
Wilson initially kept House and Julie apart, but there came a point where both best friend and girlfriend found this sufficiently odd that they had to meet. Wilson introduced them for the first time briefly at a crowded hospital fundraising event, and House was slightly perturbed to find she was petite and brunette. Wilson had a particular weakness for small vulnerable dark-haired women.
They next met a week or so later in a bar; House and Wilson had gone there after work and Julie arrived to meet Wilson as they were off to the movies. Wilson excused himself to go to the bathroom, and House had a few minutes conversation with her on their own.
"So, you're in the middle of a divorce?" House said, never one to shy away from possibly delicate topics. "What did he do--screw around? Beat you up?"
Julie responded to the direct question. "He had affairs, yes, he always did." She spoke quietly and her face was wan and pinched.
"And you just lived with it?..."
"For years. My friends always told me I was a fool, but I was scared to confront him, and I didn't want to leave the house. We got married out of college, I've never lived on my own, never worked..." Julie paused. "But then I discovered recently he had a second home with his secretary, and they have two kids. That was too much..."
"Jesus." House wasn't going to say he was sorry, but thought that word and his tone acknowledged the crappiness of that situation. Wow, this desperate housewife had neediness overload. No wonder Wilson had been moved to help her. He wondered absently what she was like in bed. House had never been remotely attracted to any of Wilson's wives and girlfriends, but thought this one seemed a little... numb. Frigid, perhaps? Or a dynamo below the quiet surface?
He asked abruptly, "What meds are you on?"
She look surprised, then shrugged. "Valium. Have been for years, on and off."
So Wilson had found himself another druggie, too. House took out his pill bottle and popped a Vicodin absent-mindedly.
"I was in despair about what to do, but James has been an absolute rock," Julie went on, her voice filled with warmth and gratitude.
"Of course he has," House said, putting the bottle back in his pocket. "He can never resist a bird with a broken wing."
And unexpectedly, her eyes dropped to his cane. House mentally kicked himself, and glared at her, daring her to say anything. She didn't, but she did shoot him an amused smile, and he thought maybe there was a little more backbone to her than he'd realized.
But on reflection, House didn't think there was anything to worry about. Julie was queen of the needy right now, but she'd get through this divorce. Wilson would help her find her feet and bring her out of her shell, and as she did she'd lose her attraction for him. House had seen it all before.
With hindsight House realized he'd underestimated her.
One Friday evening Wilson came round to House's apartment clutching a small paper bag and an envelope.
"There'd better be candy in there," House gestured at the bag.
"Indeed." Wilson sat next to House on the couch and handed him the bag. House opened it, and was pleasantly surprised to find fudge. Wilson dipped a hand in and proffered House a large chunk of fudge from his fingertips. House moved his face forward and took the fudge into his mouth; it was a little large to swallow, so he held it between his teeth and bit it. Wilson moved forward too, and slid his own mouth over half the chunk of fudge. They necked like that for a few minutes, the fudge oozing to fill both their cheeks and rapidly melting between their lips.
House was already moving gently from flaccid to semi-hard when he felt Wilson's hand drop into his lap and cup his groin. Semi swiftly became full-blown hard. Sugar crystals lingered on his lips as Wilson undid his pants: House levered himself upwards a notch to allow Wilson to yank them down to his knees.
And then Wilson dropped to his knees, and House closed his eyes and clutched the armrest of the couch as Wilson took him in his mouth.
Damnit, Wilson had always been good at blowjobs. But House had to admit (to himself; never to Wilson) that over those six months with Chris, Wilson had them down to a fine art, that now came pretty well close to perfection. House felt as if his body were a cello, with his spine as its strings, and the strings reverberated with heavenly music as Wilson played him. House sat splayed on the couch in silent, gorgeous ecstasy until the tip of Wilson's tongue right on his slit toppled him over the edge, and he came into Wilson's mouth with a twitch and a gasp.
A minute later, when his senses began to return, he felt paper slide between the fingers of his right hand. He opened his eyes to see the envelope Wilson had brought.
"What the hell?" House mumbled suspiciously. He peered at Wilson's face, resting against his left thigh; it was smeared with semen, but otherwise bland and innocent. House couldn't even begin to guess, so slit the envelope instead. Inside was a first class plane ticket to Las Vegas. "What the hell?"
"Julie and I are going to Vegas tomorrow to get married," Wilson said brightly. "I need you to come along and be a witness."
"This is a very, very bad joke, right?" House said slowly. His senses were still barely functioning; he really thought he must have misheard.
"No. Julie's bringing Larissa to be the other witness. It'll be fun going to Vegas; you can play poker all night."
"We've got Atlantic City just down the road for that," House snapped. His eyes and ears started to clear, and he began to realize that something very major was going on. "What... why? Why now? You've only been going out six months!"
"Because." Wilson spread out his hands. "Her divorce just came through. It's the right thing to do. We love each other."
"Oh please." House delved into his shirt pocket for his pill bottle and swallowed first one Vicodin, then another, figuring that the situation warranted it. The post-orgasmic fog was rapidly departing now. "She's just terrified of being single after all these years as a housewife to that cheating ex-husband of hers. She wants to be married to a handsome successful departmental head doctor, who earns a decent salary and can keep her in the style in which she has become accustomed."
"House, that's not fair. I love her."
"You want to love her. After your last relationship crashed and burned, you've told yourself that kind of thing could never work, and reverted back to your old hankering for a nice little wife and home in the suburbs. You're deceiving yourself. You're hard on the rebound, and you know it. This is a rebound fuck gone to the worst extremes ever." House threw the plane ticket down on the couch. "I'm not coming. I'm not enabling this."
"House, please, I'm begging you." Wilson looked imploringly at him. "After all these years, after all the stuff we've gone through--I'm doing this, and I really need you to be there with me."
"And you come here to ask with a bag of fudge and a blow-job?" House said incredulously, and as he spoke he realized it wasn't as ridiculous as it sounded. It was actually highly symbolic: Wilson conveying that food and sex would still be supplied. And goddamn, Wilson was actually on his knees, between House's legs, his smooth cheek resting against House's bare thigh, one hand resting lightly on House's knee. House could still taste sugar on his lips. He looked into Wilson's brown eyes, and was lost.
"The flight will kill my leg," House mumbled.
Wilson reached out and ran his palm very lightly over House's bad thigh in a tiny, gentle caress.
The plane journey early the next day was a nightmare. House could barely bring himself to be civil to Julie, who was beaming and happy. Worse, Larissa was there, Julie's best friend. House had met her a couple of times, briefly: she was a dumb blonde with a big mouth and an annoying laugh. They had to sit in two pairs of seats on the plane, and as there was no way House could bear to sit next to Larissa for eight hours, the girls sat together and Wilson next to House. Which was just as well, as House's leg seized up two hours in, and left him in agony for the next hour before extra Vicodin started to make any impact.
By the time they arrived in Vegas, House was furious with Wilson, his leg, and the world in general; Wilson was a nervous wreck; and the girls had got drunk together on the plane and kept giggling, which exasperated House even more. They checked into the Wynn, with suites for all of them; House nabbed the biggest set of rooms, and was pleasantly surprised to walk in the door and find a Jacuzzi. He spent the next couple of hours recovering in the Jacuzzi until he started to feel vaguely human again.
The wedding that evening was surreal; it passed in a haze of pink fluffiness and was over in a few moments. Julie wore a party dress with a white bridal headdress, Larissa threw confetti, House took photos on his cameraphone, and Wilson seemed happy in a slightly bemused way throughout. Actually, it was almost fun. House couldn't help but compare it rather favorably to the monstrously overdone family events that Wilson had had the first two times.
Afterwards, the bride and groom vanished up to their suite. House ordered a vodka martini, and hit the poker tables to pretend he was James Bond. The vodka martinis combined with the excess of Vicodin which was swirling heavily inside his system, sent him from table to table in a haze. He won more than he lost though, so he let the momentum carry him along.
After a while he realized through fog that a blonde woman across the table was playing to beat him. He beat her, although it was close, and another drink later, he lost the next game to her. Somewhere in the haze inside his head he realized he knew who she was. The rest of his head couldn't remember and didn't care anyway, not even when they were back in his suite together, taking off their clothes on his king-size bed, and then she was riding him, and he was thrusting up inside her with abandon.
He fell asleep immediately afterwards, and woke half an hour later when his leg started to complain viciously about the stress it had been under. He reached for the Vicodin on the nightstand, and swallowed one. He then noticed the condom box next to the bottle. A box of two, one there intact in the foil, the other a torn and empty wrapper. Suddenly he remembered putting the dollar into the machine in the casino bathroom the evening before, thumping the machine when it wouldn't disgorge the box immediately...
Dread swept over him. He turned over and looked at the woman sleeping beside him. For Christ's sake, it was Larissa.
Somehow he had ended up fucking the maid of honor. Hadn't that happened before? What was it about Wilson's weddings that he always ended up with a sense of déjà vu? And God, wasn't she the most annoying woman in the world?
House couldn't stand the thought of being in bed with her a moment longer, but his leg wouldn't let him move immediately. He fumed in the darkness for ten minutes until he felt able to get up. He went to the bathroom to clean himself up and shower. He was full of disgust and revulsion--at himself, at Larissa, at Wilson for getting him into this whole damn mess to start with.
He sat in front of the TV, channel hopping ceaselessly. Eventually he dozed off.
He woke when a voice said, "Morning, Greg." He opened his eyes, found daylight seeping into the room, and Larissa standing looking at him, wearing a hotel white bathrobe. She looked.... triumphant was the first word that sprang to mind.
Oh God, it wasn't a nightmare after all. It was real and now he had to cope with the aftermath.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up straight. "Larissa." He cleared his throat. "I don't like you and you don't like me. Go back to your suite and we'll pretend this never happened."
She smirked. "I'll go back to my suite with pleasure. But as for pretending this never happened... sorry. I've already texted Julie to tell her."
House couldn't believe it. "You what?"
"To collect. I bet her a hundred dollars on the plane yesterday that I could seduce you. I couldn't resist, I've always thought the cane was a turn-on." She smirked again. House was so outraged he couldn't speak. "Julie thought there was no way you'd go for it, but it was much easier than I thought, actually. You seem like such a grouch, so aloof. But in the end, you're led by your dick just like all men."
"You manipulative bitch." House was furious.
"Thanks," she shot back. "I'll be sure to tell Julie how kinky the bum leg is."
"Get the fuck out of here!" House bellowed, and she left. House sat fuming on the sofa for a few minutes, then got up to put the Jacuzzi on.
After a short while there was a knock at the door which House recognized. He got up, opened the door, and headed straight back for the sofa. Wilson followed him in and shut the door behind him. He glanced round House's suite cautiously.
"She's gone," House said shortly. "You know what happened?"
"I saw the text she sent Julie." Wilson sat down beside House. "God, I'm sorry, House. I had no idea."
"You damn well better had not," House barked.
"If I'd known I would have told you," Wilson said sharply, and House knew that was true. Wilson went on in a pacifying manner, "Julie's sorry too. She says she really didn't think Larissa was serious. Anyway, I thought we could go get some breakfast together."
"Shouldn't you be breakfasting with your brand new wife?" House demanded.
Wilson looked at the floor. "Actually, she's gone off to have breakfast with Larissa. And then they're going shopping. To spend Larissa's hundred dollars... Julie said they'd meet us at the airport. I think they want to talk about us."
"What, compare notes on... our performance?" House shuddered. "I hope you don't want to do the same, because I do not want to hear about your wedding night."
"Good, because I've no intention of telling you," Wilson said dryly, then grinned. "I am kinda curious about Larissa though."
House snorted. "I was already doing my best to forget the whole thing before I even knew about the bet. I'm now working on blotting out what I do remember." He sighed. "My God, Wilson, this must be a record even for you. Your marriage already sucks, and its only the morning after the night before."
"Thanks for that observation," Wilson said, deadpan. "Its gonna be a fun flight home for us all, don't you think?"
House shuddered again, then said carefully, "There's only one thing that would make the flight back with those two idiots sitting giggling about us even slightly bearable. And that would be me sitting there smugly in the knowledge that the best man had just screwed the groom in the Jacuzzi."
House wasn't sure how Wilson would react to this--it was the day after his wedding, after all--but was pleased to see Wilson's eyes darken with sudden interest.
"Never had sex in a Jacuzzi before," Wilson said casually.
"You've gotta be kidding me, after all those months with Chris fucking every which way," House couldn't help but comment. Wilson looked away, and House hurried on. "Anyway, it's right over there, and you know what? I think the buoyancy from the water in there gives my leg a bit more flexibility than usual."
Now Wilson's eyes were hungry, and House knew he had him. Third brand new wife be damned, offer Jimmy Wilson sex in a whirlpool bath and he was anyone's. Well, House's, certainly.
"Give me two secs," said Wilson, and he vanished into the bathroom.
House retrieved the remaining condom from the nightstand, then went over to the Jacuzzi, stripped and settled himself in the water. He positioned himself over a stream of bubbles, letting them pop up around his right thigh. A minute later Wilson was back, stepping carefully down into the water. House felt his cock surge to erection just at the sight: Wilson, naked, looking young and pink, and with a hard-on coming along nicely.
"Fuck! That's hot," Wilson gasped as he lowered himself into the water and sat down.
"Hot? You ain't seen nothing yet." House reached out with a foot, the water billowing splendidly to support it, and nudged Wilson's inner thigh.
"Well, when you put it like that." Wilson leaned back, grasping the wall behind his head, and reached out with his own foot.
House closed his eyes and felt Wilson's toes skimming upwards, and tickling his balls. "Yargh," House said, a trifle indistinct, as the soles of two deft feet came to rest against his cock, one on each side, toes curling round and then moving to roll House up and down. "Wow. Can you write with these feet?"
"Just the left one," Wilson deadpanned.
"Figures, being a southpaw--Goddamnit, stop." House couldn't remember when he'd last been brought so swiftly to the brink of orgasm. Wilson yanked his feet backwards just in time. House sat breathing for a few seconds, then lunged towards Wilson. Wilson met him half way, and they kissed and embraced amid the swirling water.
"If your wife could see you now--" House muttered.
"Shut up and blow me." Wilson wriggled away, and hauled himself out of the water, perching on the edge. House floated across and balancing against the sides with his hands, he took Wilson's cock in his mouth. Bubbles seeped around his face and he couldn't help but splutter a little. It didn't seem to matter: Wilson was groaning and bucking his hips, and a minute later he pulled back with a full-body shudder and came over House's face. House took great pleasure in merely having to duck his head underwater to wash it away; Wilson slithered limply back into the water.
House scooted to the edge and stood up long enough to roll the condom on, then splashed back to Wilson. "Turn around and prepare to be ass-fucked, newlywed."
Wilson turned around, gripping the edge of the bath. House pressed up against him, supporting himself on his good leg and letting water support the bad one. He relished the feel of Wilson's back clammy and squeaking against his chest, Wilson's wet hair tickling his chin. House explored briefly, then eased inside: wet and tight and God, so good. Small waves rocked around their bodies, and Wilson whimpered a little, as House began to thrust with a vengeance. House thought of yesterday's ceremony; so Wilson was married again; so fucking what, if this could happen. Wilson was still his and always would be. House climaxed with a cry, sending watery shockwaves in all directions around them.
The flight home later was indeed bearable. House refused to even try and be civil to either Julie or Larissa, and he and Wilson sat in one corner of first class with the girls at the other. Every time a giggle reached House's ears, he closed his eyes and pictured Wilson sitting naked in the Jacuzzi, looking at House with fuck-me eyes, and the satisfaction was immense.
END OF PART 19
TBC: Next and final part: Wilson tries to make his marriage work and gets offered another job. House employs three new staff in succession, as we reach canon.
A/N: Wilson's relationship with Chris is told in The Story of Chris. House's first meeting with Julie is in When House Met the Wilson Wives. Click on my username for links.