A Man of Letters Chapter 4, a house, m.d. fanfic

Title: A Man of Letters

Chapter 4: The Little Pink Book … OF HOUSE!!!

House looked like he was on the south side of a three day bender. To be fair, he had perfected the look through years of hard work and practice. He was so accomplished at it he was able to achieve it just by spending an evening not sleeping on Wilson's couch and then sleeping all too briefly on his own. After being up all the night before writing murder fantasies he should have gone home and gone to bed. Instead he sat up on the sofa expecting Wilson to come over. He thought Wilson would read House's additions to his House Murder Diary, overanalyze them, and rush to House's apartment to make sure he was safe and not any more self-destructive than usual.

He dozed off at some point and woke up in the kind of pain only his sofa or a very expensive professional specializing in the Marquis de Sade style could create. Normally he would pop an extra pill and crawl into bed until Cuddy sent somebody to drag him into work or Wilson stopped by to see if he was dead. House wouldn't deny a certain appeal to a Wilson safety check, but since Wilson hadn't shown up last night he probably wouldn't be the first one to try to wake the bear. He would go to his office and wait for Wilson to get there. He worried what people would think if they saw him coming in early two days in a row, but he'd make up for it by loudly leaving early. He'd go in, set up surveillance, and wait for Wilson. Operation Anne Frank was still in effect! He would have to use his eagle eyes and wits to find a watching perch where he could have line of sight while keeping perfectly camouflaged. Game. On.

Wilson wasn't sure what he was going to say to House, but he was not going to be "standing in his office with my arms akimbo waiting for him to apologize." First of all, he did not stand with his arms akimbo. Ok, he thought, besides how I'm standing right now I don't stand with my arms akimbo. Second, Wilson didn't want an apology. He wished House could learn how to respect other people's privacy the way he guarded his own, but Wilson was more than a little amused by what House had written. Wilson was mainly relieved that House had discovered a mystery and solved it. House had found his secret journal, The Little Black Book of Death, and then ferreted out Wilson's covert secret journal, The Big Black Book of Death. Wilson would be mortified if House ever found his undercover, super secret journal and that was never going to happen because Wilson was never letting it out of his sight. Ever. House had already solved the mystery so he would be pleased for a while. Hopefully he'd even let the whole topic of the books fade away. He spent most of the drive to PPTH playing out in his mind what he would do. Unfortunately his mind kept leading him to things he was definitely not going to do in real life. He really needed to talk to his shrink about this whole journaling thing.

Wilson noticed House's jacket hanging in the corner before he reached House's office. He alternated between hating and loving the glass walls in the hospital. He always thought it was strange that House's office had the most transparency while his had the least. He was sure there was some kind of subconscious metaphor at work there, but at the moment he was too busy trying to peek through the glass without being seen to think about it. Wilson stood on the balls of his feet and tried to look through the glass conference room into House's office. He couldn't tell if House was in his office or not. He walked closer, hunched down, and cautiously peeked at the office. He still couldn't tell if House was at his desk. He squatted down and tried to get a better angle. He wondered if House knew how difficult it was to see in without being seen in the process. He would bet his favorite omelet pan he did.

"What ya looking at," asked a voice close behind him. Wilson tried to turn and stand up at the same time and only succeeded in falling over. Kutner quickly jumped to his aid and helped Wilson up.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Kutner apologized. Wilson struggled not to die from the adrenalin and embarrassment cocktail.

"Not a problem," Wilson huffed unconsciously grabbing his chest. "I was just trying to, um…" Suddenly Wilson felt ridiculous. "…you see, House…" Each way he thought to explain himself sounded worse. Why was he explaining anything to Kutner anyway?

"Oh, I get it! You wanted to see if he's in there! Are you pulling a joke on him?" Kutner's face lit up. Wilson smiled.

"Not exactly. It's in the planning phase. Could you take a look and tell me if he's in there?" Kutner jogged to House's door and then back to Wilson. Wilson had always thought of Kutner as being a happy person, but seeing how thrilled he was just to look in an office he realized he had underestimated his general enthusiasm.

"He's in there, but he's asleep at his desk. What are we going to do?" A dozen different ideas ran through Wilson's brain none of which were Kutner appropriate.

"I haven't worked the details out, but I can depend on you when the time comes, right?" If there were a way to harness Kutner's beaming the energy crisis would be solved.

"Absolutely! I'm your man!" Wilson smiled at his infectious excitement. That must drive House crazy, he thought. Wilson nodded and held a finger up to his lips.

"Just between us," he said.

"On the QT and very hush-hush," Kutner said before bouncing towards the elevators.

Now Wilson felt obligated to come up with a Kutner-friendly prank. He wondered when he had time to be a doctor anymore. He walked past House's office and stopped briefly to look at House sleeping in his chair. How could somebody so suspicious of everyone and everything fall asleep in public? Not that Wilson was complaining. He liked being able to look at him without having those laser eyes examining him back. He could look at his mouth without House questioning his motives. He could stare at his neck…and imagine him killing House. Damn him for writing that in his journal! Now instead of imagining a tongue tasting House's exposed neck he was thinking about somebody jabbing a needle in it with a syringe of morphine.

Wilson quietly entered House's office and went to his desk. He stooped down until he was roughly at eye level with House. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do until he did it. Wilson's left hand reached out and ghosted along House's beard. House jostled slightly and his head turned slightly more to his left. Wilson leaned in closer and poised his hand next to House's neck. He held his breath, smiled, held back a chortle, and flicked his neck with his middle finger. House jolted awake and grabbed the desk to keep from toppling him and his chair over. Wilson began laughing which made House give him one of his iciest stabbing stares. Anyone else would have cowered and ran, but Wilson laughed harder.

"Are you trying to scare me to death? You'd like that wouldn't you," House griped roughly. Wilson stopped laughing as his worries from the night before resurfaced. Did House really think he wanted him dead?

"No. No! I wasn't trying to scare you to death. I was trying to kill you with an overdose of morphine. I wasn't really trying to kill you, but you wrote that in my book and then I saw you here asleep…" Wilson was struggling now and wished he'd not given in to the impulse. House glowered at him and then smiled.

"I wasn't asleep! I was in deep thought, very deep. So, did you like the bomb? I tried to give you a happy ending. Well, I tried to get Cameron to give you a happy ending." House smirked.

"Thanks for that mental image, by the way. I'm sending you the bill for my brain bleaching."

"What about Stacy killing us both?" House seemed eager for Wilson's approval. Wilson wasn't sure how to take that. Did he want a pat on the head or praise for his suicidal writings? Wilson wished he could make himself stop thinking like that.

"Very imaginative! I hope you don't have plans for a murder/suicide pact." House smiled and shook his head.

"Nah. That's too high school for me. Then again, if you really did kill me we both know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself."

"Oh really, and what about you? You couldn't bring yourself to kill me so you had to write Stacy doing it." House started objecting immediately.

"No. You have one book about killing other people and another about killing me. I couldn't very well write about your death in my death book. That wouldn't make any sense." Wilson had to admire House's logic.

"I could buy you your own journal and you could do away with me on your own terms." Wilson smiled fondly at his curmudgeon. He had to have a long talk with himself one day about thinking of House so possessively. He was everybody's curmudgeon. Mine. Wilson was sure his thoughts were written all over his face and he was glad House was too distracted to notice.

"Why would I need my own journal when I can read your diary?" House saw a quick cascade of emotions cross over Wilson's face. He wasn't good at reading Wilson. He could tell when there was something, but he couldn't quite figure out the something. It made Wilson fascinating and a constant mystery. "Beside, I'm not a good enough writer to kill you. It was all I could do to write Stacy doing it." Did that sound like a reassuring friend? Was that what Wilson wanted to hear? He should have kept his mouth shut.

"You did a pretty good job killing yourself." Wilson groaned internally. He really needed to stop using the words "killing" and "yourself" in the same sentence around House. He could feel his ulcer growing every time. Wilson groaned to himself again when he replayed what House had said.

"It wasn't easy killing you either, House…" He was cut off by House's grim chuckle.

"Yes it was. It is. I'm an ass. I'm just glad you haven't tried it in real life." House gave Wilson a very serious look. "You haven't, right? I'm not here today only because you couldn't get your hands on enough C-4, am I?" House broke into another smile. Not for the first time Wilson wished he had hidden a camera in House's office.

"I'm not done torturing you yet," Wilson said resisting the urge to wink.

"That's good." House made an exaggerated pensive look. "Come to think of it, you haven't even tied me up yet." House gave him a wicked smile. Wilson's face turned red and House wished, not for the first time, that he had a hidden camera in his office.

Wilson tried to find a way of not asking House if he'd like him to tie him up, but was thankfully interrupted by 13 who couldn't wait to tell House that he was wrong about their last patient. Wilson raised his eyebrows and gave House a sympathetic look before making a swift exit and finally getting to his office.

Wilson tried to concentrate on the budget. He felt like he was trying a lot lately and not getting anything accomplished. He looked at the spreadsheet. He needed coffee if he was going to get through this. Wilson turned back to his desk looking for Dr. Hunyen's numbers. He picked up everything twice looking for the piece of paper Hunyen couldn't simply email him. Hunyen was going to be a Little Black Book victim very soon. He opened his briefcase and found Hunyen's numbers under his journal - his super-secret-House-must-never-see journal.

"You haven't tied me up yet," Wilson mimicked. That's why he couldn't concentrate. Fucking House! Well, Wilson added, there's a phrase that lends itself to many different intonations and meanings. He bet House had heard that a few times. He looked at the journal and thought about writing that down before remembering he had promised himself not to write in this journal here. Last time House had spotted it and he promised to never write at work again. Besides, it would just add to the distraction House already caused. Then again, he rationalized, hadn't his therapist said to write down his feelings and fantasies, get them out of his mind and onto the paper? It was too early for a coffee break, but that just meant he'd have the cafeteria to himself. His fingers caressed the book's black cover. So he'd break the promise he made to himself again. He'd have a long discussion with House about the importance of keeping promises. Discussion, lecture; toma'to, tomato'.

Wilson was in his own little world in no time. His ten minute "quick coffee break" had expanded to 20. He wouldn't have noticed the time if House hadn't dropped into the booth across from him.

Panic alert! Deja freaking vu. Wilson slammed the book close and tried to compose an innocent expression. The problem with this, of course, is really innocent people look like ordinary people. They don't realize there is a question of guilt. Wilson looked like he had broken his grandmother's heirloom vase and was hoping to hide it until he had time to glue it back together. This did not go unnoticed by House.

"Somebody's jumpy," House said intently observing Wilson's reaction.

"I was just, uh, well, you know…" Wilson stammered before House broke into a smile.

"Oh relax! I recognize the book. What are you doing to me?" Wilson felt like his tongue was swelling up and his airway was closing. He knew he wasn't lucky enough to have a severe allergic reaction to embarrassing questions, but at times like this it would have come in handy to end a conversation. Then again, with House around he'd have to spend the rest of his life with an EpiPen in his pocket.

"I'm, ah, not doing anything," Wilson said innocently, further heightening House's suspicions.

"Wilson, seriously, it's okay. I'm fine with you killing me. There is no reason to hide it. Let me see," he said reaching for the journal.

"No!" Wilson placed a protective talon like death grip on the book. House's suspicion looked down on the hospital as it soared into the stratosphere.

"It's not done," Wilson said slowly. House nodded just as slowly.

"Then I'll wait until you're done to read it." Wilson sucked on the inside of his lips in a reverse pout.

"Sure. I have to go. I'm running late. Busy doctor stuff," Wilson babbled even as he wondered if he could put any more unnecessary, inarticulate words together before going. He decided he couldn't and turned to leave.

"Wilson," House called after he'd taken all of five steps.

All Wilson needed now was a way to turn invisible. Since he didn't have any secret mutant super powers, he turned around and with an affectation he hoped sounded casual asked, "Yeah, House?"

"You forgot your coffee." Wilson hesitated, but walked back to the table.

This was why writing in this journal at work was banned, he scolded himself. He picked up the cup and made a toasting gesture at House before slowly turning and walking away at what he hoped wasn't a rushed pace. He left the cafeteria secure in the knowledge he had played that perfectly so House couldn't possibly suspect anything.

House suspected something was up, but he wasn't sure what or who Wilson was hiding. Then Wilson returned for the cup and House found a big clue in the form of a red silk place holder sticking out of the journal. So Wilson was keeping another secret journal, he thought. Interesting. Based on the super slow motion walk Wilson took out of the cafeteria it must be really bad or really good. He began plotting the next phase of Operation: Anne Frank codenamed "Pepys".

Step 1: Surveillance

"10:07, Friday morning, overcast skies with an 80% chance of showers. The subject has yet to release the MacGuffin. I think it must be of even greater importance than I had previously believed. I must retrieve the item at any cost."

House hit the stop then rewind buttons on the pocket mini cassette recorder. It had taken him 90 minutes to find it, then 10 more to find a mini cassette. It took another 30 for him to diagnose the reason it wasn't working involved a lack of batteries. He decided Cuddy should buy him a new digital one, but since this was the first time in three years he'd used it, and he was House, he needed it now. He told Kutner to fill out the requisition form and take care of it. He knew Kutner would either fill out the form or buy him one and claim he got it through the proper channels. Either way he'd get a new toy.

House hit play and listened to his voice critically. It was too nasally. He was glad he didn't really sound like that at least to himself. He was disappointed the last line didn't sound more like Sidney Greenstreet. He tried it again and on the fourth try was pleased he'd gone that extra mile.

*click*

"10:42 - Hasn't started raining. My leg says it will within the hour. I told it to shut up. Subject is in his office with the object. Thinking about using neurotoxin. Also thinking about lunch."

*click*

"10:53 - Taub is standing at my desk with a Butterfingers candy bar. I told him I wanted 3 Musketeers."

"Actually you just said "candy now". What's with the recorder?"

"Quiet. Now I'll have to edit that out. Go! Correct candy, now!"

*click*

"11:15 - Supplies are exhausted. I'm afraid the expedition is a failure. Crew has gone native. I'm…not sure if I can go on. I have a tough decision to make - Jew or Hindu - which to kill and cannibalize first?"

*click*

"11:16 - It's raining. Subject is still in his office. I am less concerned with the MacGuffin and more concerned with my need for protein.

*click*

"11:28 - I'm going to interact with the subject, try to gain his trust. And his lunch."

*click*

"2...something - Subject continued acting weird at lunch. Note: Subject always acts weird, but this was a different flavor of weird. Not that he tastes funny. Not that I've…hell."

*click*

*whirl*

*click*

"2:12 - No new intell achieved by directly interacting with the subject. He is keeping the item with him. I've come up with several cunning plans to separate him from it, but none that will give me enough quality, alone time with it without involving other parties."

*click*

"2:30ish - Finally caught a break. Patient's surgery moved up and Wil…the subject… is scrubbing in to assist/watch/worry. He can't take the MacGuffin into the O.R."

*click*

House stood outside Wilson's office. He didn't like this part of his plan, but he wanted Wilson to feel comfortable leaving the journal in his office. House knew he could probably fake it, but with Wilson being all weird and skittish he didn't want to risk it. He'd done so much worse to himself with barely a thought, House didn't think at all as he whacked his cane against his bad leg. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Limping heavily he entered Wilson's office.

"House, I don't have time. They moved Mr. Timpkins surgery up." Wilson looked up and immediately catalogued House's pained, blanched face. "Are you okay," he asked jumping up from the desk and rushing to House to take his pulse.

"Pain…bad today. I'm going home."

"I can see that. You were fine at lunch. Come over here and sit down." House damned Wilson for his caring. He was supposed to make a quick exit so Wilson could go to the surgery.

"No, I'm going home. I called for a cab." Wilson looked at him suspiciously. Thinking quickly he added, "I need 20 bucks for the fare." He held out his hand. Wilson smiled wearily and took a bill out of his wallet. He started to hand it to House before he pulled it away.

"Why didn't you ask me to drive you home?" House buckled his knees as a stalling tactic. Wilson grabbed him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him standing, or at least Wilson thought he was keeping him standing.

"Sorry," House panted unnecessarily. "I don't like people seeing me like this. Not even you." House looked into Wilson's eyes, but quickly looked away. The only thing I hate more, he thought, is telling you that.

Wilson loved little moments like this, moments when House lowered his shields enough to let him see the vulnerable, scared, lonely man he knew was in there afraid of getting out. He only wished House would do it when he wasn't in pain. As much as Wilson didn't like House being in pain, he loved looking into his eyes, his soul really, with his arms around him. He probably could let House go now. He probably should. Yes, he should let go and take two steps away. Going to do it. Better do it soon before this gets awkward. Reluctantly, Wilson listened to himself and let go of House. He didn't take the recommended two steps away though. He called it a compromise.

"Okay, here's some money, but I'm going to come by later. It's probably just from the weather." House nodded and avoided looking at Wilson's face. Wilson fought the urge to rub circles on his back and kiss his temple. Maybe coming over to visit him later was a bad idea. House mumbled his thanks and limped towards the elevators.

As the elevator doors closed, House would have jumped up and clicked his heels if he had been able. It had gone perfectly. He wished he had come up with the weather excuse, he'd been whining about it all day after all, but having Wilson draw that conclusion made the whole thing click. He had $20, a promise of a Wilson bought dinner, and a mystery to solve. Life was good.

House hid out for a half hour before heading back upstairs. He ignored his team as he walked past them and onto the balcony. He took two steps before he remembered the damnable rain. Pivoting over the low wall, he soaked the seat of his pants. He was quickly too cold and wet to hum the "Mission Impossible" theme and was angry to find Wilson's door locked. Struggling with the Dyno Kwick Pick, it quickly went from being a challenge to a nuisance. Just as he was considering calling Foreman over or breaking the glass, House felt the lock click. He didn't waste any more time going straight to Wilson's desk. He dropped, shook, and wiped rain water on every surface within a foot radius. He plopped onto Wilson's chair and began searching the drawers of the desk. He didn't expect to find anything new, but Wilson was known to throw a curve ball now and then so he didn't take anything for granted. House didn't find anything, but he did manage to make a wet, papery mess that made him glad it wasn't his desk. He even felt a moment of guilt that Wilson didn't have a team to clean up the mess he was making. To accentuate his point he turned Wilson's pen cup over dumping the pens, rubber bands, paperclips, and strange dusty pink plastic clip onto the floor. That was completely unnecessary, House thought as he kicked at the pens.

House picked up Wilson's briefcase. Of course it's not locked, House thought, sighing. Now that he wasn't standing in the rain and had time to get in the Watergate break-in spirit Wilson had to spoil his fun by not throwing up an obstacle – typical. Under papers and in an expandable folder labeled "Budget" House found his quarry. As a bonus he also found a packet of peanut butter cheddar crackers that he unconsciously opened and began eating.

He spent so much effort planning on getting the book he hadn't put a lot of thought into speculating about the contents of the journal. He thought it might be a real diary or maybe another book of death this time focusing on killing patients. He suspected it would be about Amber. He hoped it didn't include odes and sonnets. Then again, he instinctively knew it was about him. Or, he admitted, his ego assumed it was about him. He made himself comfy and opened the book. House went directly to the last entry.

"You haven't even tied me up yet." Oh how I love it when he teases me like that!

Tease? Wait. Wasn't that what he said this morning?

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Maybe this time I'll let you tie me up."

He probably wasn't writing about me. He couldn't be. Could he? No, no way.

Before I could get his response that annoying woman that works for him burst in and started yakking about their patient.

House's eyes threatened to bulge out of his skull.

I gave him a wink and left. If we'd been alone I'm sure he would have growled and leapt on me right there.

House growled. He might not be able to leap, but he did have the sound effects down.

I went to my office and tried to concentrate on the budget. There wasn't much point. I couldn't stop thinking about House's smoldering eyes, the way his pink tongue peeks out and teases his lip, the curve of his hip when he leans against his cane knowing he's got nothing prove…

House felt his heart crash back down into his chest as he slammed the book close and shoved it across the desk. For a moment he thought Wilson was writing about being attracted to him. "…curve of his hip…" Was this Wilson Big Black Book of Mocking House? He wasn't surprised Wilson realized House wanted him. Wilson knew him better than anyone and that included his theories of attraction. And everybody wanted Wilson and he fell into the general category of "everybody". But he never crossed the line. He invaded Wilson's personal space and made flirty innuendo that might be construed by some as more than a friendly gesture. So what if he had desires? He didn't deserve to be lampooned for it. He no sooner thought that than decided that he did deserve it. He should be ashamed at not being ashamed of himself.

He scoffed at himself. Tomorrow there would be an entry about how House swooned and Wilson had to catch him before dropping everything to drive him home and take care of him. Pathetic.

House reached for the book. He might as well see what else Wilson had to write. He'd gone through all the trouble to break in. He flipped to the middle of the entries and steadied himself for another slap in the face.

I pushed House into the conference room and asked him if he knew what O'Shea had told me.

Oh god. Was that well never going to run dry?

He pretended not to know what I was talking about. I told him he didn't need to lie. We hadn't been speaking at the time. He was looking for someone to comfort him. I understand. I just wanted to get it out in the open.

Keep it in the closet, Wilson.

He finally admitted offering to have sex with O'Shea. It was only sex. I hate it when he says that. "I'm not gay. It's only sex." I want to yell at him that if he enjoys sucking me off, and he's certainly never complained, that means he's at least a little gay. But I didn't want to have that argument.

Good 'cause neither do I.

I asked him if he was attracted to him. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. I slapped him to get his attention.

Finally a little violence against the cripple!

He looked stunned. That's when I realized he didn't know just how mad I was.

Mad like a hatter in a blender.

I shoved him into one of the conference room chairs. He knew I was serious. I asked him again if he found O'Shea attractive. He shook his head and I told him to stop lying.

I said, "You wouldn't have offered if you weren't interested." He nodded. I sat on the conference table and told him how important it was to me that he be honest with me. He nodded again. I wanted to slap him, but I didn't. I kept reminding myself that I didn't have any reason to be jealous. House would never cheat on me.

I wouldn't place a bet on that.

But the idea of O'Shea kissing him, putting his hands on him…

Lucas was right. O'Shea isn't right for me. I can't see him doing any fun stuff with me.

…making him moan in ecstasy…

Definitely can't imagine that.

…was driving me crazy. I asked to tell me what he found appealing about him. He shrugged. I cupped his cheek and ran my thumb along his stubble. He looked so sad. He always looks that way when I try to talk about anything that happened when I was away.

Why does everybody think I look sad? And he makes it sound like he was on vacation. I wonder how he'd like it if I picked up and left. No, he'd probably be relieved.

I asked him if he wanted O'Shea to touch him like this and he shook his head no. I asked him if he was going to say anything or just keep nodding. He shrugged again. As much as I hate seeing him sad and uncharacteristically quiet, his passivity was hot.

Hot? Sounds like I was bored.

I leaned back and unfastened my belt.

Not bored.

I said he'd have to prove to me he wanted me more than O'Shea. He looked up and smiled at me. He was about to say something when I put a finger against his lips. I told him he had missed his opportunity to talk. He looked almost grateful that he didn't have to explain any more. I took his hands and put them on my thighs. "Since we aren't going to talk about it, show me what else you can do with your mouth."

Wouldn't I like to show you!

He didn't need any other instructions. He deftly undid my slacks…

Deftly? If Wilson ever said that word it wasn't in any situation I've seen. Who's he trying to impress? Roget?

…and had his fingers in my boxers before I had time to rethink the conference room. No one has ever got me so hard so fast as House. I can't be in the same room as him without getting a semi.

I so wish that was true!

House has the most beautiful fingers. They are long and elegant and soft, but masculine. They make it look like he's playing the piano when he's typing at the computer.

House smiled as he remembered the clinic patient who told him that and him telling Wilson about it. He liked the image and he liked Wilson remembering it. That didn't seem like a mocking thing to bring up.

And he knows how to use them.

Damn right.

He was squeezing me a little tighter than I normally like, which he knew, and stroking me roughly. It was good, but it wasn't what I wanted. I put my hands on his head and kissed him. His tongue begged me to follow it home.

That's a weird way of saying you Frenched me.

I asked him if that was how he wanted O'Shea to kiss him. He started to answer so I kissed him again. I broke the kiss and pulled back. He moved forward and I stopped him. I said O'Shea had missed his big chance and I meant it. For one thing, he's never going to know how good his mouth feels. I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

Me too.

I pulled his head towards my crotch. I didn't have to say anything before he had his lips on me. I wish I could describe how amazing he is at this. House's head is the best! It's something about his technique mixed with his arrogant, obsessive attention.

It's good to know my arrogance, obsessions, and skills are good for something other than medicine.

He'd never let a lover be less than astounded and satisfied. As selfish as he can be he won't settle for being second best. This time was no different. He licked and sucked and moaned when he took me all the way down his throat before making a quiet gagging sound. He grabbed my hips and held me in place as he moved faster up and down my length.

Length? Come on, Wilson! You mean your cock, dick, John Thomas, rod, prick, throbbing member.

I love watching his head bob up and down while he sucks me. He looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and I told him I was close. He sucked me harder and I climaxed. The feeling of him swallowing my ejaculate – oh god, it's great every time. This time he didn't want to relinquish me and I felt my face twitch along with half my muscles. After that final spasm he let me go. He gave me his cheeky smile and said "Do you think that's how O'Shea would like it?" If I had any strength left in my body I would have hit him.

House could take a little mocking if it was hot. Then again, Wilson had kept this journal secret. Maybe…no, House wasn't going to jump to conclusions. If he thought he had a chance of fucking Wilson that would mean there was a chance of Wilson killing him. He knew the odds of a dirt nap were better. Still, it didn't hurt to read a little more.

House never forgets anything.

That sounded familiar.

I should say he never forgets anything trivial or meaningless.

Come on, Wilson! At least make the effort not to plagiarize yourself!

Does he remember my birthday? No. Does he remember I wear the brown Crockett & Jones on Tuesdays? Yes. Can he just let it go if I wear them on a Monday? No. Mondays are usually Bexleys or maybe even Kenneth Coles, but never the C&Js. Does he think I'm so predictable that wearing different shoes means I'm up to something?

We've been over this! You were up to something! I was right!

And when I don't give him a good enough reason why I'm wearing them on a Monday he assumes I'm hiding something and lying to him about it. Sometimes his jealousy is more than I can stand.

Jealousy? Of your shoe collection? Your loafers have nothing on my sneakers!

He thinks I'm the predictable one, but I know exactly how to manipulate him.

You manipulate me? House couldn't get too upset since he knew it was true, but it still burned that Wilson knew it was true, too.

I told him to meet me in patient room 5206 by elevator C at 7 so we could talk privately.

I've got to check that room out some time.

I gave his arm a little squeeze. To the casual observer, House doesn't like to be touched. Having studied him very closely for years, I can tell you that isn't true.

Yes it is. Don't touch me.

He just isn't used to it and his surprise that anyone would touch him is often mistaken for anger.

No, my anger is usually mistaken for irritation.

He loves being touched. I knew he would show up out of curiosity. That little squeeze guaranteed me he'd be prompt.

And this little story guarantees I'll never be on time for anything with you again.

I got there early to get ready. I wasn't anxious per se, but I was eager.

You not anxious? Clearly fiction.

House opened the door at exactly 7. I think he was loitering in the hallway for a few minutes to make sure he wasn't, heaven forbid, early.

Hrmmpf.

I told him I had something to tell him that I thought would be difficult for him to hear. He was fidgeting with his cane nervously so I used it to my advantage and told him he was making me nervous so he needed to sit down. He made some smart ass comment and sat down on the bed. I started pacing like I was fretting over how to say something. After turning around twice I sat next to him and used his needle neck jab move to knock him out.

You must have some kind of needle neck fetish. At least in this version you aren't trying to manhandle me onto the bed.

I didn't have much time. I took off his jacket, sports coat, wrinkled shirt, and t-shirt. I think he wears layers like that so people will want to undress him. Looking at him half naked, I had a flash of guilt and wondered if he was trying to hide how much weight he's lost.

You, guilt, and weight – that seems like one of those theme things. And shouldn't you feel guilty for ambushing and drugging your best friend? That doesn't seem to bother you.

I fastened the restraints around his waist and finally relaxed a little. At least if he woke up he wouldn't be able to hit me. Kick maybe, hit no.

Part of why I decided to do this was to teach him a lesson about being jealous and obsessive about how I spend my time. I felt like he was on constant alert for signs of my next girl friend or new friend. It was exhausting.

You're exhausted? Do you think it's easy keeping vigil for the next ex-Mrs. Wilson?

Another reason was my lust, not just for his body, but for the illusion of controlling him. That in itself was a turn on. I'll admit I also wanted a little revenge. Mainly I wanted to get his attention and show him how much I wanted him without hearing any caustic replies. I wanted to get his attention and make him listen. Sometimes with House, action is the only thing that speaks while words go mute and scurry away.

If I'm so horrible why would you "want" me?

Before I put the gag on him, I couldn't resist leaning down and lightly kissing his delicate, thin lips.

House ran his fingers over his mouth. He didn't think his lips were that thin.

I gagged him and moved down to his jeans.

You romantic devil, you!

Shoes, jeans, underwear, socks – and he was naked. He groaned so I quickly fastened the leg restraints around his ankles. They didn't look very strong, but if they held down PCP crazed ax murderers I figured they'd work for House. I barely had the last one fastened when he began moving. He was waking up sooner than I thought, but I was ready.

Always prepared like a twisted BDSM boy scout.

I ran my fingers through his hair, what there is of it…

Below the belt!

...while he was waking up. For a moment he was awake and looked peaceful. It was only a brief moment before he realized he was tied down and gagged. He panicked, but he couldn't do anything so I let him thrash helplessly for a few minutes. When he finally had to concede that helplessness, I had his attention.

"House," I said…

Who else would have said? Did you invite friends over?

…,"I'm not going to hurt you."

No, just strip me of my human rights, dignity, and clothing. No damage done.

I placed my hand on his stomach. I wanted to say so much. I wanted to tell him to let his guilt and grief go because I have. I wanted to tell him to stop worrying I'd leave again. I wanted to tell him I couldn't stand to go on without him. I wanted to tell him I love him. Even having it planned out in my head, now I couldn't speak. I didn't have the words.

Yes, because words seem to be such a problem for you.

I kissed his forehead then planted brief kisses down to his neck. I told him I was sorry I had to drug him, but it was for his own good. I kissed and licked the needle mark. I'd fixated on his neck for so long I became overly enthusiastic about it and left a mark of my own.

Oh great! And you said I looked weird in my turtleneck. How am I supposed to hide that? Neckerchief? I don't think wearing an ascot would be questioned at all!

I let my hands wander all over his shoulders and chest. His skin was so warm and soft it seemed almost like some sumptuous and expensive fabric. My tongue followed my hands and his soft moans told me he was putty in my hands.

I'm thinking of a harder sculptor's medium.

His penis, on the other hand, was nearly erect and soon in my other hand.

If wishes were horses…

I didn't even think about it before my mouth was around him. I wanted him so completely, realizing my longings was almost an unconscious act.

House groaned and almost put the book down. It was almost painful to read.

I looked up and caught his eye. I've never seen eyes as beautiful as his.

I wish you really believed that. House made the effort to once again set aside any thoughts of disappointment and concentrate on the image of being at Wilson's mercy. Mercy!

I stood up and ran my fingertips up his side. I found a ticklish spot just above his waist and his reaction set me on fire. I tore my clothes off like some kind of wild man…

I'm guessing he means he didn't stop to fold.

…and climbed on top of him. I wanted as much of his skin touching as much of mine as possible. My loins were on fire…

Heehee, loins…

…when our erections met. He moaned and it sent shivers down my spine. I thrust against him and lost myself in the sensation. When I looked down into his eyes it was too much for me and I came almost painfully against him. I sat back and pumped his erection until his very essence was covering my chest.

My essence? I suppose that's better than 'my ejaculate'.

House flipped through the book and found more corny clichés and purple prose.

Waking with out limbs entwined…his beautiful eyes…a hopeless yearning causing an endless hollow cavern in his soul…

Well, House understood that sentiment intimately. He closed the journal and tucked it back in the briefcase. As usual, he berated himself, he had played too long and the game stopped being fun. He imagined Wilson laughing over the pages. He felt his own hollow cavern growing. Suddenly going home sick seemed like a necessity. Then again, he could imagine Wilson blushing over the pages. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't go straight home.

When Wilson made it back to his office his thoughts were on dinner. Maybe he'd stop and get some groceries on his way to House's and make them a home cooked meal. If it wasn't for him he was sure House would have a fridge filled only with condiments and suspicious Styrofoam takeout containers.

Then he saw the state of his office.

All the tell tale signs of House brand chaos littered, literally, the room. His irritation quickly turned to panic when he remembered the super double secret journal. He leaped to the briefcase and immediately knew from the wet hand prints it had been violated. Wilson dropped to his knees and opened the case at eye level. Under the soggy budget paperwork and just above a slightly damp medical journal was the book. THE Book. Most of the fingerprints had dried causing ripples on some of the pages, but it was enough proof that he couldn't pretend House hadn't read it. Wilson's flop sweat added to the rain drops and with shaky hands he closed the briefcase.

He made an effort to build up his righteous indignation on the drive. It wasn't difficult. How dare House go through his private papers! Was it asking so much for him to mind his own business? No, it wasn't. Just let House try to hold this over him! He could find a new best friend, but House! Wasn't he the only person to always, well almost always, well the person who most often, stood by House?

He pounded on the door with all the fury he had mustered. There wasn't any answer. Did House think he would just turn around and leave? Ha! He fished along his key ring for the right one. He was going to show House once and for all he wasn't some kind of door mat. He was going to burst in and …

"It's open and I'm not getting up!"

He couldn't even leave me that one little victory! Ugh!

Wilson threw the door open then slammed it behind him. House didn't do anything. He was on the couch with his back against the arm and his leg propped up on pillows. Wilson damned the man for wearing his reading glasses. Wilson didn't need that kind of distraction from his anger. Wilson was further distracted by House's complete nonchalance. Was the man going to pretend he hadn't read THE Book? It would be just like him to avoid an uncomfortable situation and not talk about this.

He'll probably make me drag a confession from him so he can get defensive and…

"After reading your diary I decided to keep a journal of my own." Wilson was stunned. That was completely unexpected. He moved closer and saw a book sitting in House's lap. It looked like a teenage girl's diary complete with 10 cent lock.

"Is that 'Hello Kitty'?" Wilson temporarily forgot how angry he was.

"They were out of Badtz Maru, but they ordered one for me. The girls at the Sanrio store thought I was buying a present for my granddaughter! Do I really look like a grandfather? Do I need to have Taub give me a consult on a skin peel or something?"

"You look fine." Wilson's anger turned confusion turned solidly into annoyance.

"Meh. So what are you going to buy me for dinner?"

"What, in that insane, diseased mind of yours, makes you think I'm going to buy you dinner? You," Wilson struggled to find the words, "you read my private thoughts."

House took off his glasses with exaggerated care.

"I have to empty my bladder for this conversation." House swung his leg painfully off the pillows and started slowly down the hall.

"I'm not going to let this go, House, no matter how miserable you look." Wilson could already feel sympathy pains building in his leg as he stepped aside for House. Sitting down on the couch, his eyes were drawn to the garish diary House had been holding. He saw House had written "Keep Out" in lightning bolt letters and almost laughed. It was in his hands before he even thought about it.

House had added an eye patch and bloody sword to Hello Kitty's pink ensemble. The "Property of Greg" sticker on the back was clearly another purchase from the Sanrio store with a penguin playing a guitar.

He barely touched the lock as he turned it back over and it flipped open. Wilson wasn't sure if he'd broken the cheap lock or if House simply hadn't locked it. Without, again, consciously deciding to, Wilson opened the book.

I need to stop making negative assumptions.

Gee, that's a real revelation!

I need to stop being a jerk.

I could have told you that, too.

I need to stop pretending I don't care.

Like you really do!

I need to stop thinking about things I can't have like friends, lovers, and pain free days.

Wilson didn't want to read any more of House's self-indulgent, self-pitying woes. That didn't stop him from skipping to the next page.

This is what I want.

Wilson already knew what House wanted. Or at least he thought he did.

Today was a long day. I know I make not doing my job look easy, but it's more work than my actual job. I was achy because of the rain, but then I hit my leg – whole other story there – and I had to go home. I took an extra Vicodin and stretched out on the couch. It wasn't long before Wilson came home.

I must have lost track of time or he left work early. I hoped he wasn't worried about my leaving early, but he's always worrying about something and luckily for him I'm around to give him an endless supply of reasons to. He looked like he'd had a bad day, too.

Wilson couldn't help but marvel at House's gall to equate his bad day to Wilson's.

He sat down on the end of the couch and loosened his tie. I pulled the pillow out from under my leg and propped my feet in his lap instead. He absent mindedly rubbed an ankle. His eyes were closed. He looked like he had a headache.

A headache was exactly what Wilson had.

I asked him if he wanted me to order a pizza and he nodded. I sat up to reach the phone and called. I hate calling in orders. I actually hate calling period. Alexander Graham Bell was the real anti-Christ. Don't fall for imitators!

Wilson snickered in spite of himself.

I rubbed his shoulders and he mad a little mmpfh kind of sound. He let me move him around until I had my back against the arm of the couch and he had his back against my front. There isn't much I can do for Wilson. Virtually nothing, really, but I can give one heck of a shoulder rub/neck massage!

Wilson had heard that before. He could imagine the kind of good those fingers could do.

It didn't take long for him to relax into me. He rubbed the outside of my legs. He hit the spot I'd hit earlier and I jerked. He apologized and I told him to shut up and stop ruining the moment. He leaned back again and I wrapped my arms and legs around him. He laughed.

"I love you, Wilson," I whispered into his ear. He grabbed my hand.

"I love you, too, House," he whispered kissing the palm of my hand before placing it on his chest.

We stayed like that until the pizza arrived.

I know that sounds boring and doesn't involve amazing sex or convoluted scenarios, but being close to Wilson is what I think about when I think about what I really want.

Of course, amazing sex is always on the menu. Think of it as the House Special (I write winking luridly).

Wilson laughed and tried not to let his emotions get the better of him. He closed the book.

"Do you want me to order a pizza?" Wilson hadn't heard House return. House was looking sheepishly at the ceiling as if he was suddenly inspecting the molding.

"Sure, sounds like a plan." Wilson made a show of loosening his tie until House finally met his eyes. He smiled at him and patted a sofa cushion.

House suddenly had a new found appreciation for fiction.