From the time Wilson and House exited PPTH to the time they entered their apartment they were quiet. The air surrounding them filled with slight discomfort. They had made a silent agreement not to speak anymore of the things that had transpired between them over the last few hours but it weighed so heavily on their minds that casual conversation was no longer an option.
House had his legs propped up on the coffee table and had the television turned on as soon as he got home. As he flipped through stations he listened to Wilson's methodical cleaning of the already clean kitchen.
"Wilson, stop cleaning and come sit down." House said loudly to be heard over the loud scrubbing and occasional clatter of pots and pans. After a second and a sigh later Wilson came padding in, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his tie knotted loosely around his neck.
"Wait." House shouted just as Wilson was about to sit down.
"What?" The oncologist jumped and looked at the couch as if he might find something horrible there.
"I need beer." House replied looking up at his companion with large blue eyes.
The oncologist muttered something foul under his breath and threw his friend a glare before stalking off the kitchen. He returned a few seconds later with two beers in hand.
"Thanks." Mumbled House as he took the beer, his fingers lingering on Wilson's a second longer than necessary. His eyes were fixed to the television. It was a boxing match.
"My father made me box when I was eleven." House comment airily after a few moments. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the oncologist turned his head to look at him.
"I guess that makes sense considering he was into the physical…" Wilson's voice trailed off and he cleared his throat as he turned his attention back to the television. "My father made me take art classes." He said quickly.
House snorted and brought the bottle to his lips in a wasted attempt to hide his grin. "No wonder you're such a pansy."
"I am not." Wilson protested indignantly. "I just so happen to like the finer things in life. And, I'll have you know, I even learn how to play piano."
"You?" House asked incredulously with raised eyebrows. "I don't believe it."
"It's true. I even learned to play that one song." The younger doctor snapped his fingers in irritation as he tried to recall the title. "Heart and Soul. Not the long complex version but the simple short one." Done with the senseless violence, he quickly snatched the remote from House's hand, garnering him a surprised expression from the older doctor, and changed the station until he found a romantic comedy.
"I still don't believe you." House tried to take back the remote but Wilson stuck it between his legs slightly under his thigh. "What are you; two?" The diagnostician asked with a roll of his eyes.
"Maybe." Wilson smirked as he watched the other eye his crotch, looking for the best way to get the device back.
"Alright, fine." House dove his hand between Wilson's legs causing him to jump and turned off the TV. "Prove it."
"I can't. It's been over thirty years since I've played."
"So? I'll re-teach you." House leaned close until their noses almost touched. Inhaling slowly he could faintly make out the scent of Wilson's favored shampoo and the smell of his cologne. "Come on." Abandoning his beer, he rose to his feet and limped, sans cane, over to the piano.
Grudgingly, Wilson followed and seated himself beside the other doctor. The small piano bench wasn't large enough to fit both of the comfortably so House sat as close to the edge as he could while Wilson sat with his left leg over the edge. House moved his left shoulder back and draped the arm over Wilson's shoulder to give him a little more room to move over. He watched with slight amusement as the tip's of Wilson's ears turned red when his thumb ran gently over the oncologist's neck.
"I, uh…I kind of, um, remember the, uh…the left hand." Wilson stammered as House brushed the callous pad of his thumb over the smooth cheek.
The diagnostician left off touching Wilson and smirked. "Calm down, I've barely touched you."
"Shut up." The oncologist said quickly, the blush creeping into his cheeks. He focused his attention on the keys in front of him and played a few notes softly and hesitantly. "Like this?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together in concentration.
"Yep." House answered, popping the p. "Then play this." He reached over and rested his right hand lightly on Wilson's to play the same note plus five more.
The younger doctor followed his example and after a few more tries and a few helpful hints he played it exactly the same with House following patiently with the right hand.
"See, I told you." Wilson straightened a little under House's arm, a grin spreading across his face. The triumph was clear in his voice.
The older doctor smiled faintly at his companion. His blue eyes studying the oncologist's face briefly before settling on the loosely knotted tie. "Yeah, you proved me wrong. But…" His voice was quiet, almost gravelly when he spoke. He slowly loosened the tie further with the long fingers of his right hand.
"But what?" Wilson asked in a quiet voice as he fixed his eyes on House's lips. The space around them was quiet but not uncomfortable. It was the type of quiet when things became serious and all you could hear in the silence was the sound of your own heart hammering in your chest.
"I don't think you should be allowed to wear ties. It offends my eyes." The tie fell from his hands onto the floor.
"I could've taken it off myself if it was really that bad."
Head tilted slightly to the side, House responded, "Do you have a problem with me undressing you?"
Wilson didn't answer. For a moment there was only the sound of their light breathing and the steady rhythm of their heartbeats in their ears. Then the younger doctor brought the smooth palm of his hand up to run it over the course stubble. He pressed their lips together roughly, the stubble rough against his own smooth skin and lips.
First he was kissing House's lips then his cheeks, his neck, and his lips again. Soft manicured hands ran under the faded tee and over the broad back. It was House that got them standing. Leaning on Wilson for support he brought them stumbling to the bedroom. All the grief and pain was forgotten in a wave of ecstasy. There was no blame, no self-incriminations, no misery.
This was the hardest chapter to write. I think I wrote five different versions before I just stuck with the one, which I didn't write until one in the morning, but I'm happier with this version than the others (which you would have hated me for) so enjoy...