048. Writer's Choice - Hands
Little Touches
Wilson loved House's hands. They were long and slender; a surgeon's hands, a pianist's hands. Strong and sure in their movements but capable of the most delicate touch. He loved watching House play the piano; those hands dancing and gliding over the white and black keys. He loved watching House play those stupid computer games of his; watching those fingers and hands clench and work as he tried to destroy whatever electronic critter he was facing this time. He loved watching House's hands touch and caress and stroke him as they lay in House's bed as they were right now.
A gentle touch on his cheek brought him back from his thoughts and he looked over to see House watching him with a small, private smile. A smile that only Wilson got to see. He loved that too.
"You were miles away," House said idly.
Wilson returned the smile. "Just thinking. I love your hands."
House raised his eyebrows and looked down his hands, which were still gently caressing Wilson's chest and stomach.
"They're just hands," he said with quiet curious amusement.
Wilson took House's hands in his own and entwined their fingers. "I love what they do to me," he replied lazily. "I love what you do to me. I love you."
House's eyes dropped down to their entwined hands and he was silent for some time. When he finally looked into Wilson's eyes again, Wilson was surprised and delighted to see the emotions shining in them. Emotions that House usually hid from the world and even sometimes from Wilson. House pulled one hand free and gently cupped Wilson's face.
"I love you."