Title: Mending Wilson
Chapter: 01
Author: Rippertish
Summary:
Wilson's heart is shattered. House tries every trick short of cardiac surgery to fix it. But when a bottle of scotch, a late-night visit, and one impulsive kiss turn the night on its head, the trio find themselves in a moment none of them saw coming. House. Cuddy. Wilson. And a kiss.
Scene: Wilson's Apartment – Night
House knocked with his cane, ignoring the bell. The door creaked open. It looked like it hadn't been properly shut since a particular someone walked out two days ago.
Wilson looked terrible. Barefoot. Mismatched T-shirt and flannel pants. He held a glass of amber something that was either whisky or despair. Possibly both.
Sam Carr was gone. Again.
Cuddy stepped in behind House, arms folded, her expression unusually soft.
"You look like crap," House said, stepping inside without invitation. "On a scale of one to 'abandoned by a woman you thought was your redemption arc'…', I'd rate you… vodka-with-breakfast."
Wilson slumped onto the sofa. "Whisky," he mumbled, raising his glass. "And it's dinner. Technically."
Cuddy exchanged a glance with House, then sat beside Wilson. She gently slid the bottle from his grip and poured herself a glass.
House followed, flopping into the corner of the couch beside her.
The television was on, volume low. Something dull flickered, a sports documentary, maybe. It filled the quiet with colour.
"I told you Sam was a bad idea," House said flatly.
"Not helping," Cuddy muttered.
"I'm not here to help. I'm here to spectate," he snapped, stealing her drink and pouring her another.
"He turned his divorce into a sequel. Not my fault she dumped him before the opening credits."
Wilson sighed, head tipping forward. "She said I'm still the same. Always putting everyone else first. Especially—" he waved his glass in House's direction "...you."
He let out a soft laugh, more breath than sound, and sank deeper into the couch.
"Thought I could fix it, you know? Thought maybe if I showed her I'd changed, proposed like an idiot, it'd mean something. But no. Same old Wilson. The reliable one. The rescuer. The... doormat with a stethoscope."
He finished with a dry laugh, head lolling back on the cushion.
House paused. His smirk faltered.
Silence settled over the room. Just the faint clink of ice and the low drone of the TV.
Cuddy sipped away while House watched Wilson carefully over the rim of his glass.
Wilson turned his head, looking at her. "You're lucky," he murmured. "You have each other."
She blinked, glass paused mid-air. House tilted his head.
"I mean it," Wilson went on. "You two… you fight like lunatics, sabotage yourselves. But there's something there."
"Shocking, really. I thought attempted murder was a dealbreaker," House drawled.
"Only if it works," Cuddy shot back, lips twitching.
Wilson laughed, short, brittle, and threw back the rest of his drink.
Then, like the film had jumped a frame, he reached and kissed her.
On the lips. Unhesitant. Lingering.
Her eyes widened, caught between shock and paralysis. Her lips didn't move. House's whole body stiffened.
The kiss lingered one… two seconds too long.
Then Wilson pulled back.
"I… shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He swallowed. "That was dumb. Selfish."
His eyes were glassy. Voice thick.
Cuddy sat frozen, lips parted, breath stalled.
House didn't move. But his gaze slid, from Wilson to her.
The air held still. Heavy.
Wilson dropped his gaze, ashamed. "Forget it. I'm drunk. Just—forget it."
He stared straight ahead. Back to the TV. Or maybe through it.
Cuddy turned her head to House.
Their eyes locked.
No words.
Just something clear. Quiet. Mutual.
House's hand drifted down, brushing quickly over his lower leg, soothing. He shifted back on the couch, straightening, creating a fraction of space between them.
His gaze cut across the floor, sharp, calculating, before lifting to meet hers again.
Then he flicked his chin up.
Cuddy placed a soft hand on his leg. Just for a moment.
Then she turned.
Her hand found Wilson's face. Gentle.
He didn't flinch.
She leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek.
He closed his eyes. Exhaled.
Another kiss. Closer to his mouth. Then the corner of it. Then—
His lips.
Wilson tensed.
Then melted beneath it.
He hummed faintly into her mouth, then pulled back a breath, brow furrowing.
"Wait… red wine?" he mumbled, blinking.
Cuddy gave a soft laugh. "We had dinner. Italian place. Just down the road."
Wilson squinted slightly. "Don Vincenzo?"
He turned toward House. "My favourite?" he said, tone pointed, just shy of accusatory.
"No table for three," House muttered, dismissive.
Wilson scoffed. "Rude."
Then he turned back to Cuddy, and kissed her again, deeper this time.
Behind her, House moved. Slow.
His hand slid along her lower back.
Down.
Found the curve of her ass. Claimed it.
Wilson's hand hovered at her waist, uncertain, like he might be dreaming.
She pulled back, just a little, and looked at House.
His expression was unreadable. But his eyes were unwavering. Watching.
He nodded. Once.
Wilson didn't notice. He was moving on instinct now. He leaned further, pressing over her, mouth finding hers again, hungrier. One hand on her waist, gripping tighter with more confidence.
House tipped his head back. A groan slipped out, muffled beneath the arm thrown over his mouth.
Resigned.
That… was not the plan.
Wilson shifted, knee rising awkwardly beside her legs, one hand planted behind her to keep balance. But he overreached. Too drunk. Too eager.
His weight tipped forward, collapsing onto House with a surprised grunt.
House caught him. Barely. Arms tangled. Awkward. Warm.
Wilson laughed, breath hot on House's neck. "House… oh! You really are a lucky son of a bitch," he mumbled, waving a lazy hand in Cuddy's direction. "You're a good friend, though." he added with intoxicated fondness.
House rolled his eyes.
Cuddy chuckled.
Wilson slid lower, down House's chest until he was crumpling at his feet, still laughing, breathless and drunk.
His hand fluttered near House's bad leg, then pulled back with exaggerated caution, like he was navigating a minefield.
His gaze shifted abruptly, the bulge in House's jeans caughting his eye. Prominent. Unmissable.
Wilson blinked, smirk fading. His hand raised, brushing lightly over the hard line along the denim.
House's eyes widened.
Wilson paused. Then shifted, fingers reaching mechanically for the belt buckle.
House sucked in a breath and his head snapped to Cuddy.
His hand shot down, catching Wilson's wrists.
Wilson looked up, eyes glazed. Almost innocent.
Cuddy leaned in, lips brushing House's ear. "C'mon… let him be," she whispered.
House blinked.
He leaned back slightly, catching the lust in her darkened eyes.
It absolutely sucked, being the most sober of the bunch for once.
House swallowed.
Then his shaky hand slid away, landing heavily on the armrest.
Wilson gave a lazy, drunk smirk, and resumed.
Belt undone. Then the button. Fumbling.
House exhaled through pursed lips.
Cuddy shifted, turned towards her boyfriend. One hand to the nape of his neck. The other gripping his bicep.
Grounding.
In steady rhythm, Wilson freed him. Warm skin to skin.
House's grip on the couch tightened.
Then lips wrapped around him.
Hot. Wet. Masculine.
Different.
Then, tongue.
"Jesus…" House gasped, the word ripped from his throat.
He looked down, chest rising fast.
Wilson worked him slowly. Tongue surprisingly confident. Mouth sure.
House's gaze flicked to Cuddy's thighs. Her skirt riding high.
His hand drifted up, brushing her inner thigh. Pushing the fabric higher.
Wilson took him deeper.
"Fuck—" House groaned, chest arching.
House reached for her blouse. Fingers clumsy on the button.
He motioned with his head. A sharp nod. A glance. A twitch of his jaw.
Cuddy complied. One button. Then another.
He nudged the blouse open with his knuckles.
"Ow! My balls, Wilson!"
"Sorry," Wilson chuckled, easing off, then continuing, gentler now.
Cuddy giggled. Warm against his neck. She stroked Wilson's hair, then returned her focus to House.
He gasped as Wilson shifted pace again. Rhythm locked in.
"Is that good, babe?" she murmured.
House clenched his jaw, refusing an answer. His hand cupped her breast through lace. Thumb circling her nipple.
She leaned back, blouse parted, letting him see.
His eyes flared.
"Ah—" he groaned, hips bucking.
Wilson stayed with him. Deep. Smooth. Relentless.
House's hand slid from the couch into Wilson's hair. Hesitant for a slip second. Then tighter. Holding.
Wilson didn't pause. Mouth working. Taking him deeper.
House's breath hitched. His hips jerked once. Head tipped back.
A groan. Low. Pulled from somewhere deep.
His grip in Wilson's hair tightened.
He was going to come.
Fast.
Heat surged down his spine. Pressure sharp and rising.
Cuddy stayed close. Blouse open. One hand at his neck. The other on his chest. Watching them.
He tried to hold on. But couldn't.
His hips moved. Thrusting deep. Groaning between clenched teeth.
Eyes rolling back. Lips parting.
His back arched.
A sharp breath.
Then a long, guttural groan.
He broke, coming hard. Jaw tight. Every muscle locked.
Wilson swallowed around him. Held steady.
Wilson's hair in one fist, Cuddy's waist in the other.
The orgasm came in waves. Violent. Dizzying. Leaving him gasping
Wilson slowed. Then pulled back slightly. Lips red. Hair tousled.
Cuddy leaned in. Breath soft against House's jaw.
House stilled.
Then, without a word, he shoved Wilson back. One firm hand to the shoulder. Zero finesse.
Wilson grunted, landing hard on the floor.
House made quick work of his clothes. Zipper. Button. Belt. Composed.
He grabbed his cane, planted it, and pushed himself up, unsteady for a second then upright.
He walked out. Limping toward the kitchen.
Not a word.
Wilson lay on the floor, blinking at the ceiling. One arm sprawled. Lips still wet.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then laughed.
"Well... shit."
Cuddy turned to him slowly.
She bit back a smile. He grinned, crooked.
Wilson tried to sit up but failed.
Cuddy reached for him.
"Come here."
She pulled him up. Guided him back onto the couch beside her.
End of chapter 1