046. Star

Moving Out

House lay on his back on the concrete floor of the balcony outside his office and stared up as the first star appeared in the darkening sky, the cold from the concrete seeping into his body. He knew he would regret this when he finally got up but for now he was content to wallow in the cold and his own sullenness. He should go home but if he did that he'd see Wilson packing and leaving for the new apartment he'd rented. He didn't want to see that and he didn't want to think about why he didn't want to see it.

He was certainly having success on the first part. He was going to lie here until his leg couldn't stand it any more and then hopefully by the time he got home, Wilson would be gone. Unfortunately he wasn't having as much success evading the second part of his plan. All his brain wanted to think about was why he didn't want Wilson to leave.

He tried to tell himself it was the food. He'd just gotten attached to Wilson's cooking and actually having decent food in the fridge instead of his usual leftovers and beer. He even managed to convince himself of that for a grand total of perhaps ten minutes before he snorted and dismissed the idea. He could actually cook for himself, perhaps not quite as well as Wilson, but it was usually his choice to eat crap.

He then tried to convince himself he wouldn't miss Wilson at all. That it would be nice to have his bathroom and his living room all to himself again and not have to put up with Wilson's morning routine. What kind of man blow dries his hair, after all? Unfortunately that didn't work for too long either. He'd liked hearing the sound of Wilson puttering around and he'd enjoyed poking fun at his friend and getting the exasperated responses in return. And he'd taken a certain strange comfort when he woke up in the middle of the night to limp out and find Wilson curled up asleep on the sofa.

He shifted slightly on the uncomfortable concrete as his leg started throb and stared at the stars that were appearing as night fell. He'd always tried not to think about that too much...why he felt comforted by having Wilson there. Why he'd had to stop himself from brushing Wilson's hair away from his face. Why he'd almost brushed his fingers along Wilson's cheek in a gentle caress. Why he'd almost pressed a kiss onto Wilson's cheek while he was sleeping.

House closed his eyes and snorted unhappily as a cold despair wrapped itself around his chest. Who was he kidding? He knew damn well why he didn't want to watch Wilson move out. Because he wanted Wilson to stay. Stay in his apartment...or stay in his bed. Just...stay.

He let out a shuddering breath and slowly, painfully, awkwardly climbed to his feet, wincing at the wave of pain that washed up from his leg. He fumbled for his pill bottle and swallowed a Vicodin. He contemplated another one but decided to wait until he got home. He'd sit on his Wilson-free sofa, take another Vicodin and try and forget everything he'd just been thinking with the aid of the bottle of scotch that was sitting on the sideboard.

That resolution held firm until he got back to his apartment to find Wilson's car still parked outside. He winced as he realised he'd come home too early then he steeled himself, marshalling some truly sarcastic words to throw at the deserting man, and limped up to his front door.

He got his first surprise when he walked in to the apartment. There was no sign of Wilson but all of his things were still in the living room and the room was awash with warmth and light. He took a couple of limping steps forward. In the kitchen he could see a plate wrapped in foil sitting on the table with a note propped against it. He limped warily over to the table and picked up the note. In Wilson's neat writing it said: Eat all of this. You didn't have lunch.

He snorted and tossed the note onto the table. He held a hand over the foil and realised it was still warm so he peeled the foil back and sat down. Wilson had left a knife and fork next to the plate and he slowly, then with more enthusiasm, began to eat the meal Wilson had left. When he was finished, he put the plate and cutlery in the sink and limped back out into the living room and looked around again.

He frowned and shook his head then headed for his bedroom. He came to a sudden halt two steps into the room and his breath caught in his throat. The light on the bedside table was on and it was illuminating the form of Wilson in his bed. The younger man was asleep, curled up on his side facing the door. He also appeared to be naked...or at least naked from the waist up since that was where the blankets were lying. He seemed to sense someone was there and shifted as he woke, his eyes opening slightly.

"House," he murmured sleepily.

"You were moving out," was all House could think of to say in return.

"There is no new apartment," Wilson admitted, waking a little more and stretching a bit. "Didn't think you'd actually let me move out."

House blinked. "What?"

"Was pretty sure I figured out how you felt," Wilson replied, propping his head up on one hand and eyeing House with a lazy smile. "I kind of hoped to prod you into saying something. When you didn't...well, I decided I'd better make things obvious."

"I...didn't know," House said, struggling to believe this was real and he hadn't fallen asleep on the balcony at the hospital.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You know, for such a brilliant diagnostician you can be remarkably dense at times." He paused and chuckled. "Are you planning on standing there all night? Because the bed's nice and warm and very comfortable."

That seemed to jolt House out of his shock and he took the steps required to get him to the side of the bed.

"I know, it's mine after all," he shot back as he leaned his cane against the bedside table then sat down and leaned over to pull his shoes and socks off.

He tossed them over to the side and sat up. He pulled his shirt off and tossed that on the floor as well and was about to deal with his t-shirt when he felt a pair of warm hands slide under the shirt and up his back, rucking the shirt up as they went. The hands slipped around his sides and ran down his chest, brushing his nipples and drawing a shuddering gasp from him.

"Let me help you with that," came Wilson's amused voice in his ear.

He let Wilson pull off the t-shirt, moaning quietly and leaning back into his friend's warm body when he felt the kisses being pressed to his neck and shoulders. Wilson's hands continued to stroke and caress his chest then they slipped down and went to work on the button and zip of his jeans. House let his eyes close and his head drop back onto Wilson's shoulder; this felt too good to be a mere dream. A guttural noise was ripped from his throat when Wilson's hand slid down into jeans and boxers and wrapped around his cock and his hips bucked slightly.

"James," he said in a shaking voice, turning his head so that his lips brushed Wilson's neck.

He felt more than heard the soft sigh from Wilson then he whimpered as the hands that had been causing such havoc disappeared.

"Get them off," Wilson said into his ear, his voice heated and low. "Then get into bed. I want to show you everything else you missed in your uncharacteristic density."

House paused before he pushed his jeans down and manoeuvred them off, twitching slightly as Wilson's warm body moved away.

"That's disturbingly dominant of you," he said with a small grin as he heard Wilson's snort. "And even worse, I find it disturbingly hot."

He shucked off his boxers and slid onto the bed, lying down and eyeing Wilson with arch amusement.

Wilson returned the smile then he leaned forward.

"Let's see what else I can do that's disturbingly hot," he said with a flash of a grin before kissing House.