Seated on Wilson's office couch, House was beginning to feel ignored when he dramatically flourished his left arm to look at his watch. The time staring back at him justified his un-ignorable sigh of impatience. 1:12 was way past his lunchtime.
"You can go without me, you know." Wilson said this without looking up from the paperwork which was apparently of greater importance than the sustenance of his best friend.
"Yeah, but then I'd actually have to pay for my lunch."
Without glancing away from the engrossing file in front of him, Wilson reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, liberated a $20 bill from the folded leather and held it out to the grumpy man whose tangible impatience was making it difficult to concentrate.
"But if I go by myself, I won't get to steal food off your plate."
"Tell you what," Wilson retorted, finally looking up at his irritating friend, "why don't you go get us both lunch and bring it back here. Then you can steal to your heart's delight."
"Excuse me, have you forgotten I'm a gimp? I can't carry two full meals with only one free hand."
"So page one of your team to do it. I'm sure whoever you chose will be relieved to be freed from whatever quasi-illegal thing you've asked them to do today."
"Brilliant" House commented and rose to pick up Wilson's office phone, dialing Thirteen's pager number as he did so.
Fifteen minutes later, Thirteen flung open the office door with slightly more force than necessary, carrying two white lunch bags and two drink cups.
"Ruben sandwich with fries and extra ketchup packets and a coke," she recited while setting one of her two handfuls down in front of House. "And club sandwich with a packet of Lays chips and a Sprite," she concluded, unloading the other half of her burden on Wilson's desk.
"Now am I done being your waitress? Can I get back to doing that thing I went to school for several years to learn how to do?"
"Yes. If we need anything, we'll page you." House said, as if he were talking to a waitress.
"Oh, I'm sure you will," Thirteen replied caustically as she turned to leave, closing the office door behind her.
House began unpacking his lunch and looked over at Wilson, expecting to see him finally put down those blasted papers and pay some attention to him. Wilson, however, seemed determined to go through his entire lunch hour working. Deciding his Ruben would taste better when he wasn't being ignored, House stood up and with lightening speed pulled the file of paperwork from Wilson's grasp.
"Hey!" Wilson exclaimed in protest but it was too late. House had already flung the file on to the couch and plopped himself directly down on top of it.
"You're precious paperwork can wait half an hour," House said, his attention once again fixed on unwrapping his sandwich.
"You know," Wilson said contemplatively as he stood up and gathered up his lunch.
Before he could finish his thought, House interjected, "No, but I bet you're going to tell me."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous of my attentions."
House stared with exaggerated mockery at the man who was moving to sit down next to him, a smug knowing smile on his face.
"No, it's just easier to annoy you when you're paying attention."
"Liar," Wilson said right before taking a big bite of the quartered sandwich now laid out in front of him.
House then reached across Wilson intending to grab the bag of chips Wilson was hording on the far side of the table. But before he could, Wilson reached out and picked up the bag first, holding it out as far as he could from House.
"What's the magic word?" Wilson asked, as if he were talking to a small child.
"Blow-job" House said, in his best imitation of a 15 year old boy.
"That's an awful lot to offer for a bag of chips," Wilson responded with light surprise, tossing the bag to his friend while raising one eyebrow.
"Well I wasn't so much offering as I was warning you that's what you'll have to give me now if you ever want your file back."
House expected any number of responses to his joking ransom threat, but the one he got what not among them.
"Well, I can think of worse things."
Wilson said it casually, and evenly, his face merely thoughtful as he took another bite of his sandwich.
Unbidden, and to his utter shock, House was suddenly struck by the image of Wilson kneeling in front of him as he sat open legged and unzipped on the very couch he currently occupied. Before he could stop it, his brain conjured up the feeling of someone's warm, wet, soft mouth sucking, moving up and down, hungry for him.
Panicked, House forcibly removed those thoughts from his brain, knowing if he didn't do so quickly they would begin to show through his jeans. He also knew he needed to say something that both changed the subject and did not expose how he'd been affected by the subject.
"On second thought, you're not my type," House said as he reached under his rear end to retrieve Wilson's file.
"Too bad," Wilson said again, in that maddeningly casual tone. House knew Wilson did not mean what he was saying; that he was only doing it to rile him up. So why was he getting so riled up?
Usually, when someone tried to play him like this, he was smart enough and detached enough not to fall for it. Usually, far from being embarrassed, he was able to retort with the perfect come back, the one response that would leave the other person feeling twice as flustered or embarrassed as he was meant to feel. What was wrong with him?
Lost in this contemplative quandary, it took a moment for House to notice that Wilson was staring at him.
"What?!" House asked, far more aggressively than was appropriate.
"Um, are you okay?" Wilson asked him, looking bemusedly concerned.
"I'm fine, just eat your stupid club sandwich before I stuff it down the back of your shirt."
"Geez, you're in a mood today," Wilson said, reaching across House to grab a few of his fries.
As Wilson's body stretched out in front of him, so terribly close and warm, House felt the blood begin to collect in his lower abdomen and that sharp jolt of pleasure that always signaled arousal. Fearing he wouldn't be able to control it this time, House acted out pure fear instinct. He needed to get out now.
Barely retaining enough sense to pick up his sandwich, House rose and marched swiftly to the door, not saying a word, not looking back to see how Wilson was responding to his abrupt departure.
Not that House leaving Wilson abruptly was anything new but House had the distinct impression Wilson would know it was not for the usual reason this time. He would have to answer for this sooner or later. But for the moment, later was better than sooner.
***
Later turned out to be 4:53 pm. Wilson stood outside the glass door of House's office, his briefcase in his hand, his trench coat draping him in that ugly light brown color. House was already in his own leather riding jacket, zipping up his backpack. Clearly there was no pretending his case was urgent and he needed to stay. So House walked toward the glass door with no small amount of trepidation, cautious to let Wilson make the first move.
"You're patient must be doing better if you're leaving at five," Wilson stated, clear that it was more of a question than an actual statement.
"The antibiotics have brought her fever under control. I still think there is an underlying condition that made her susceptible to the infection in the first place. But whatever it is she not going to die from it tonight."
"Wanna get a drink?"
"Addictive and mood altering substances are bad for you," House reprimanded in mock seriousness.
"Come on, I'm buying."
"Oh well in that case," House said smiling, as if he had earnestly been won over.
As they walked toward Wilson's car, House was feeling completely comfortable again. Clearly whatever had transpired in Wilson's office earlier was just some kind of strange anomaly. He really needed to not go so long without having sex, he concluded; it was doing weird things to him.
Two hours later, he and Wilson were seated across from each other in a sports bar, on high chair stools, with a small round table that could accommodate no more than two people between them. A platter that had once held a grand assortment of deep fried appetizers sat smack in the middle of the table still sporting only one cheese stick and a few onion rings. Their waiter had been remarkably attentive and good thing too, or empty beer glasses would have left no room on the table for them to perch their elbows. They were each on their fourth pint.
"I need to pee," Wilson announced as he set down his glass and slid ungracefully off his stool, in the direction of the bathroom. He was gone less than a minute and returned with an annoyed look on his face.
"There was a line and I didn't feel like standing in it."
Perching himself back on his stool, Wilson scooted towards the table and suddenly, House felt Wilson bang him with one of his knees.
"Sorry," Wilson said, but his leg remained close enough that House could feel the other man's body heat. If he moved his leg one millimeter to the right, their knees would be touching. Feeling uncomfortable by the proximity, yet not wanting to move his own leg out of touching range, House moved that one millimeter, expecting Wilson to feel them touch, and automatically move his own leg out of the way.
When their legs made contact, however, Wilson merely glanced at House over the sip of beer he was taking, and didn't move his body at all. They remained touching under the table, the outside of House's right knee up against Wilson's left inner thigh. It was like some weird game of chicken. Who would break their contact first?
House was uncomfortable touching Wilson like this. There was something undeniably sexual about it. But he sensed that moving would be like confessing he was uncomfortable, like confessing he found it sexual. And that would make things more uncomfortable.
That old saying about the rock and the hard place suddenly popped into House's mind and, despite his discomfort, he couldn't help smiling to himself at the obvious pun.
"What's funny?" Wilson asked, his words slightly slurred.
House waved his hand and shook his head in an obvious gesture of dismissal. For a moment it looked like Wilson was going to press the question but then their server conveniently interrupted.
"Can I get you two anything else?" he asked.
"I think we're done for the evening," House responded confidently.
"Okay, I'll get you your check."
"Thanks."
Wilson remained silent and impassive throughout the exchange, but when the waiter left, he looked at House inquiringly. Usually they drank more than this before calling it quits of an evening.
"It is still a school night," House chided.
"Why the sudden urge to be responsible?"
House's only recourse was to shrug and avoid looking Wilson in the eye. He couldn't tell him the truth and he couldn't think up a convincing lie. And just when Wilson seemed ready to make another piercing inquiry the waiter returned with the check, placing the black folder upright on the table between them. Wilson picked it up and without looking at the total, slid one of his credit cards into the plastic slot at the top. He then set it back down on the table and slid off his chair, back in the direction of the bathroom.
While Wilson was gone, the waiter came back, retrieved the folder with Wilson's credit card, ran the card and returned the whole package for Wilson's signature.
"Thanks very much," said the waiter as he put the folder back down on their table again and took the appetizers platter and their now empty glasses away.
House stood up to put on his coat while Wilson, having returned from the bathroom, added tip to the bill, signed the restaurant copy and stuffed his credit card and the receipt in his wallet.
"You good to drive?" House asked.
"Yeah I'll be fine."
"My place or yours?" Housed asked. On nights like this, they usually both stayed at one of their two apartments, since Wilson would need to give House a ride to the hospital the next day anyway.
"Mine," Wilson said with conviction.
Ten minutes later Wilson was fumbling with his keys outside his apartment door. House waited for the familiar click of the lock, and soon enough it arrived. Following Wilson into the familiar apartment, House slide off his coat and flung it over the back of Wilson's couch, an act which Wilson immediately countered by hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. House then removed his shoes and sauntered around to the front of the couch, plopping himself down on it unceremoniously.
"Brandy?" Wilson offered.
"Yeah," House replied.
House then turned on the TV as Wilson disappeared presumably to pour their drinks. Soon enough, the younger man returned to the living room, two brandies in hand, wearing just his work pants and the short sleeved white shirt he wore under his button down and no shoes. He handed one glass to House, which House accepted, and then sat down on the other side of the man, staring unseeingly at the screen. The two men drank in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, the TV all but forgotten by both of them.
Then Wilson asked, "Why did you walk out of my office this afternoon?"
House had expected the question, but not at that moment and he was caught off guard. None of the lies that were running through his head seemed plausible enough to try so he just shrugged with deliberate nonchalance, hoping a good enough lie would occur to him before Wilson really started in on him.
"It was a little weird," Wilson prompted, after a rather long and painful moment of silence.
"What do you want me to say?" House asked.
"I want you to tell me the truth," Wilson replied, earnestly.
"Why does this matter to you?" House countered rather aggressively. "What do you think you're going to find out?"
"I don't know," Wilson replied cautiously.
"Yeah, you do," House responded a little scathingly. There was a moment of silence following this authoritative pronouncement. Then Wilson turned off the TV and twisted around on the couch to face his friend.
"Fine. If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"
"Depends on what you end up telling me."
Wilson seemed to deliberate over that for a moment and then conceded.
"Fine. I got the impression you were uncomfortable regarding what I said…about the blow-job thing."
Wilson's bizarre combination of excessive formality and juvenile terminology made House smile, despite himself. Wilson waited patiently, just staring at House, the other half of their bargain still left to be fulfilled. House decided to go with an edited version of the truth.
"You're right, it did make me uncomfortable," he conceded. The particular manner in which it made him uncomfortable was not something House felt it was necessary to share. Hoping that was the end of the inquisition for the evening, however sensing implicitly that it wasn't, House moved to pick up the remote next to Wilson's right thigh. As he had somewhat predicted, Wilson grabbed the remote from his hand and tossed it with surprising force across the room, never taking his eyes off House.
"So does that mean we're not done talking?" House asked, clear that it was more a statement than an actual question.
"No. Why did it make you uncomfortable? We've said things like that to each other before, and it wasn't weird. Why all of a sudden did it make such a difference?"
Though his words were pitched in a very rational, even tone, House couldn't help but hear the urgency behind them. There really was something else going on here.
"Again, why does this matter so much to you?" House asked.
"Because it does," Wilson replied in a childishly irritated way. "Now stop deflecting onto me. We're talking about you."
House was all too aware of that fact. To cover his immense awkwardness at being so thoroughly exposed, he took a few more sips out of his almost empty glass, trying to figure out what he could say to make Wilson leave him alone.
In his drunken state, House's brain did not work quite as fast as it usually did when sousing out people's motives. But he knew Wilson had a theory that he was looking for confirmation on. (Or believable denial on) And House had the distinct feeling, Wilson had the right theory. So the only question was, was he looking for confirmation or denial?
Setting down his empty glass on Wilson's coffee table, House decided it was best just to ask Wilson which answer he was hoping to hear, especially since Wilson seemed so intent on telling the truth this evening.
"I know what you think this is about, and I know you're looking for me to either confirm or deny it. The only thing I don't know is, which answer are you looking for?"
As he let his question hang in the air, House became acutely aware of the intense intimacy of their current situation. The two of them alone, in the dark, at night, both drunk sitting so terribly close on Wilson's wonderfully comfortable sofa. The alcohol was making his body warm and languid, and his brain fuzzy yet strangely calm, as he waited for Wilson to respond to his challenge.
Wilson continued to stare at him for a lengthy bout of time and House raised his eyebrow as a prompting. House could see the moment, only a split second later, when Wilson made his decision. The younger man's face locked into an expression of absolute determination.
House knew what was coming then, though he told himself he didn't. He could have stopped it, though he told himself he could not have. He could have said no and he told himself he wanted to, that the alcohol was making him confused, and that he could not bare to face rejecting Wilson, but it was lies, all lies.
So House watched the other mans arm reach out and grab him behind the head, watched Wilson's face move towards his own, felt their bodies shift closer to each other on the couch, and did nothing to stop it. Wilson's mouth pressed up against his and he did not even pretend to hesitate; he wanted this too badly.
And when he opened his mouth and pushed up his tongue to meet Wilson's, House thought he just might die from it, the flood of pleasure was so great. Desire hammered through his body with a kind of violence, unchecked by the hesitance of sobriety. He was hard in a matter of seconds. Wilson's mouth moved against his so urgently, so openly, so hungrily. Being hungered for like that - there was no drug, no high like it and House would know.
Two things became of tantamount importance then: breathing and getting closer. House's right hand was tangled in Wilson's thick silky hair, holding them tightly against one another. He was terrified if he let go, the pleasure would vanish, the hunger would vanish, Wilson would vanish.
Wilson slowed their frantic kiss to a stop, then, and pulled his mouth away a fraction of an inch, just enough to breathe against his friend's mouth, "Relax, I'm not going to disappear."
House smiled at Wilson's words, pleased that his friend understood his irrational fear. Wilson then gave him another quick kiss before leaning back slightly to pull his shirt quickly over his head. House just watched as what seemed like a great expanse of flesh was exposed. There was so much to touch, he was sort of in awe of it. But before he could reach out, Wilson was tugging up on the shirt that still remained to be removed from his person. House let Wilson's hands slide up his torso, taking the barrier of fabric with it, until they were both top-naked.
They reached out for each other then, desperate to embrace; those seven seconds had felt like an eternity of separation. Mouths met mouths once again, and bare arms and chests tangled with one another, friction and heat and smooth skin, a moving mosaic of visceral ecstasy. It was too much and there was no getting enough of it.
Both were at the point where their erections we becoming painful. Wilson pushed House firmly against the couch so he was lying down, Wilson on all fours on top of him. He then slowly lowered himself down on top of the other man, so their bodies were aligned, more or less, from head to toe. Gravity gave weight to their pressing desires, but not enough. Wilson moved his mouth down to House's right ear, taking the soft flesh of the lobe up with his tongue and biting it delicately. At the same moment, he pressed his pelvis against the erection of the man underneath him, and heard him gasp as he flung his left arm up to grasp the back of Wilson's neck.
A stuttering "Uh-mn" soon followed the gasp as, a moment later, Wilson applied another round of pelvic pressure and moved his mouth down to suck on the flesh connecting House's neck with shoulder. At this point both men were visibly shaking from their desires, and Wilson thought he better move along before one of them came in their pants, which to his enormous shock, actually seemed like a possibility for both of them.
Moving his arms between their two bodies, Wilson began the task of fumbling with House's button and zipper, never taking his mouth off the other man neck. When the button finally released and zipper gave way, Wilson plunged his hands into House's boxers and pulled both the pants and boxers down around his knees.
Wilson then moved back up to put his mouth against House's once again. A split second later he took the other man's freed erection in his hand gave it a gentle squeeze.
House let out a hissing noise as if he were being burned. Wilson smiled against House's mouth, pleased that he had so much power over him, that he could give that much pleasure to him. After one more wet, fierce open-mouthed kiss, Wilson slide himself down the other man's body, until his head was level with his hips. He looked for a moment at the erection in front of him. It looked almost as if it were detached from the rest of House's body, as if it were an entity unto itself. Wilson knew perfectly well it never felt detached, but that's how it looked from the outside. Fleetingly he wondered if that's how his body had looked to the many women he'd had sex with over the years.
Then, without any more hesitation, Wilson took House's cock fully into his mouth and sucked. And House thought, for the second time that evening, that he just might die of excruciating pleasure. He could not stop the grunting "Ah" that escaped his lips when his fantasy from earlier that day became realized. Wilson's tongue laved the underside of his penis, and the warm wet softness made every beautiful nerve ending there oscillate with frenzied glee.
A rhythm arose, an up and down that sent so many different pleasure signals to his brain, House was positive some were getting crowded out, because surely no human mind could endure that much ecstasy all at once. And indeed, when Wilson's teeth lightly scraped the underside of his cock, House could not contain all the sensations assaulting his sensitive arousal, and his whole body seemed to pull itself down through his penis, pushing towards this person so intent on pleasuring him, an explosion so violent he wondered how he'd survive it.
House did not want to open his eyes. He just wanted to lay here warm and breathing and painless forever. However when Wilson began to shift his weight around, clearly trying to levy himself into a more comfortable position, House could not continue floating in his post-coital abyss. After all, this was only post-coital for him. Opening his eyes, House scooted to his right a bit, so Wilson could lay himself on House's left side, against the back of the couch.
"Hey," Wilson said softly, "go to sleep." He turned then to retrieve the folded blanket that was draped over the top of the couch and flung it over the two of them. House was sorely tempted to do as Wilson suggested but he felt guilty being the only one allowed to come.
"What about you?" House asked. Wilson then smiled the most enduring self-conscious smile and House couldn't help but find it cute.
"What?" he asked Wilson, desperate to know what could make him smile like that, so that he might be able to make it happen again in the future.
"I, um, well….I kinda came in my pants." Wilson was clearly both embarrassed and pleased about this.
Against his will, House's eyebrows rose in shock. That happening to a man in his forties was incredibly rare.
"Seriously?" House asked, unable to contain how impressed he was by this.
Wilson laughed and said "Yeah. It was all those noises you were making. I really did try to control it but, I didn't quite manage." He laughed again, then, to himself, shaking his head a bit as he did so.
"How old were you the last time that happened?" House asked.
"Seventeen," Wilson replied.
"Wow," House said.
"Yeah," was all Wilson could say in return.
Wilson then scooted himself down a bit so his head was level with House's shoulder. He moved his left arm to rest across House's stomach, and laid his head just bellow House's left clavicle, obviously moving into a sleep position. House could feel Wilson's left leg shift between his two legs. He was now clear headed enough to register that they had both been completely de-pantsed.
House laid there feeling sleepy and intensely content, about to doze off when Wilson said abruptly, "Thank you."
"For what?" House asked.
"Making me feel that way again." He paused for a moment and then continued, "You miss it…or at least I've missed it."
"Yeah, I've missed it too," House confessed.
Wilson propped himself up slightly again and looked House in the eye. House looked back, feeling calm and at ease. After a moment, Wilson leaned up and kissed him. House closed his eyes and marveled at how quickly this had come to feel so natural, so right.
Wilson broke the kiss off just before it started to get too passionate and said, "I love you."
Though House had known this all along, he was struck by how good it felt to actually hear the words said out loud. And he smiled as all he could think to say in reply was, "I know," in that smug manner of his that was so familiar to Wilson.
Wilson wouldn't have had it any other way.