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Irreversible
by Kristina
Eventually
It took Wilson many years to forgive himself.
When he finally did, it was completely anti-climactic. It didn't happen during his semi-frantic attacks of religiosity that first Yom Kippur, nor during any of his other endless acts of atonement.
It happened in the cafeteria two weeks from his forty-sixth birthday. He was tired - from House's physical therapy regimen, his patients, the department budget proposition that was due in three days and that he hadn't quite started - but he was happy.
Somewhere between the beginning and the end of his low fat, sugar free lunch his mind had wandered back its usual stress-induced path. For the first time it had not reached its usual conclusion.
After imagining this moment for many years, he was almost disappointed. There was no overwhelming sense of relief, no rush at the joy of self-acceptance.
Absolution, when it finally came, was unspectacular.
Seven weeks from now
Wilson lifted his eyes from the patient file of a dying six year old and squinted. "Huh?"
"We need to talk." House nodded in the direction of the clock. "Come on. It's almost midnight. The nice councilor said you're supposed to get a good night's sleep, remember?"
"I'm sorry, I just heard the words 'We need to talk' come out of your mouth. Did you swipe drugs from the pharmacy again?"
House tapped his cane against the floor. He suddenly looked very serious.
"Fine." Wilson shut the file and put on his coat.
The night was crisp and chilly. He wrapped the scarf around his neck more tightly.
"So, are you going to stop wallowing in self-pity now?" House cast him a curious look. "Because it really is kind of a drag."
Wilson felt the corners of his mouth twitch. The sensation felt good and unfamiliar. "I haven't been wallowing!"
House gave him a pointed look as he got into the driver's seat. "You could beat Cameron in Miss Martyr USA. But it's over now. Whatever it is you've been obsessing about lately, it's not getting over my doorstep tonight."
Wilson made himself look House in the eyes. "I told you, there's nothing."
The drive was short and uneventful, the streets almost empty. As they pulled over to the curb he could see the faint light of the living room windows.
House fiddled with his iPod. "Wow, that was a thrilling conversation."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Fine, I promise to never wallow in anything ever again. Can we get out of the car now?"
"Very convincing. Also kind of disappointing. Here I thought we were going to live dysfunctionally ever after."
"That's... still the plan."
Neither of them made a move to get out. "I think we're all right." House said finally, almost to himself.
Wilson's hand had reached into his pocket almost on its own. His fingers touched the smooth surface of the fountain pen briefly. "Yeah," he said. "We will be."
Six and a half weeks from now
He came home to find House to his elbows in dish water.
"This is... new."
House shrugged. "You were late." He wiped his hands on the towel. "You've better got a twenty on you, or else the delivery man is going to be very upset."
Wilson rolled up his sleeves. "I got it. What are we having? Chinese? Italian?"
"Indian. Specially mild for you."
"Figures."
The doorbell soon rang and Wilson paid for the food which amounted to thirty dollars including tip. They sat on the couch and used the silverware House had cleaned. When the food was gone they washed it down with beer. Neither of them spoke. It was almost like the old days.
House suddenly set his bottle down. "I know things haven't been great lately..."
Wilson shifted his weight. "There's been a lot going on at work. I've just been very busy."
"I bet that's what you tell all your wives. Look..." House looked pained, as if he was setting himself up for great disappointment. "If there is... if there's someone else, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell me before you've made up your mind."
For a moment, everything seemed to stop. Wilson suddenly found he couldn't keep himself from laughing. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "There's no one for me but you, House."
Six weeks from now
House gripped the edges of the mattress and let out another hiss. "Just fucking do it." Wilson's wrist was hurting from the angle but he shook his head slightly.
"I'm not a fucking school girl." House pushed at his shoulders as if he thought he could provoke Wilson into action. "I can take it."
Wilson tried his best not to flinch. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Look, if you don't get your fingers out of my ass and get to business I'm calling a hooker."
Wilson's fingers ached when he pulled them out. "You sure?"
"Seriously, I have the service on speed dial."
He reached for the lubricant and stroked himself until his erection was sufficient. The voice in his head was telling him that this was wrong, but he forced himself to ignore it. He was used to doing that.
When he slid in, slippery and as slow as he could manage, the familiar sensation hit his nervous system like a ton of bricks.
House breathed harshly, hands clenched tightly against the sheets. Wilson's throat was dry. "We should stop."
House squeezed his eyes shut. "No. Get it over with."
It took a minute to get into a pace House seemed comfortable with. Whatever tension was there soon disappeared as his body became soft and pliant. It was easy to fuck him.
Wilson ran his free hand across House's chest and arm, stroking across the soft skin soothingly. The wet sounds of his thrusts seemed obscenely loud.
Suddenly House clenched around him, and Wilson was ambushed by the pleasure he had been determined to repress. He ejaculated in the condom he had insisted on wearing and reached down to grab House's cock. He jerked him off with rough, steady strokes until it was finished. He pulled out as carefully as he could.
"Are you all right?"
House blinked. He seemed tired. "Sure. It's not the coolest thing I've ever done, but...." He looked off into the distance. "I'm glad it was you."
Wilson felt the cold dread wash over him and smiled warmly. He rubbed House's arm.
"You're welcome."
Five and a half weeks from now
House leaned against the low wall that separated them. "I want you to fuck me," he said quietly.
The folder fell from Wilson's hand. He bent to pick it up. "Uh, no."
"Funny, that's not the kind of answer I had anticipated."
Wilson wet his lips nervously. "You've never wanted to before."
House looked at him thoughtfully. "Maybe it didn't occur to you, but you're not the only one who can change his mind."
The wind picked up, and Wilson forced his eyes to follow the movements of the naked branches. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he said at last.
In the corner of his eye he could see House smile ever so slightly. It looked somehow out of place. "Don't worry, Jimmy, I'm sure you'll like it."
There was a moment of perfect terror when House's scrutinizing gaze seemed fixed on him, but then he shrugged and turned his attention back to the trees.
The folder was damp with Wilson's sweat. He imagined the light weight of the fountain pen in his pocket. "I can't."
House was leaning away from him, looking in a direction that ensured Wilson couldn't see his face. "I love you," he said so quietly it was almost a whisper.
Wilson wanted so badly to reach across the wall and touch his hand but he knew it wouldn't be welcome. He nodded. "All right."
Five weeks from now
Between driving them home and watching TV, there was dinner and a bathroom that needed to be cleaned. Wilson had been putting off cleaning the drain for days since it still functioned sufficiently, despite draining the water far too slowly than he would have liked. Now there was no use in waiting any longer. He pulled on the bright yellow rubber glove and got on his knees gingerly. How two men could generate that much hair was beyond him. As he had finished pulling out the slimy strands from the drain, his eye caught something stuck behind the toilet seat.
It was a black fountain pen, the kind he used at work. He pulled it out with shaking hands, feeling an abyss of despair sucking him in.
That night, he asked House to fuck him harder until his body was screaming and he could feel the pain for days.
Four and a half weeks from now
Dr. Morgan referred him to a councilor who stressed the importance of delegating one's work and getting enough rest. Wilson charmed his way out of follow-up sessions by promising to share some of his workload with other oncologists.
"You're just trying to get attention, you know," House said that night as he wrapped the cover around Wilson more tightly. "It's not going to work."
"Yeah, and that's why you've been force-feeding me anti-acids and have been keeping me off my feet."
"That's because I want you back on your feet in the kitchen."
House's tender care lasted for two days. Wilson knew it was over when House threw a cleaning glove at him and told him there was something stuck in the drain.
Four weeks from now
He doubled over. The pain in his stomach made it feel difficult to breathe, though rationally he knew his airways were clear and open. He waved off the nurse's concern and dove into his desk drawer for anti-acids. Before he could tell her not to, she had run off.
It took only a minute before Cuddy barged into his office, face wrinkled with worry. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," he leaned back in his chair and made himself breathe slowly and evenly. The pain faded into the background. "It's an ulcer. Dr. Morgan diagnosed it."
The wrinkles smoothed out and she leaned towards him over the desk. "James," she said softly. "Is your workload bothering you?"
That was Cuddy for you, always thinking everything was her fault.
He shook his head. "It's not too bad. I've not been sleeping enough, that's all."
"Is everything all right... between you and House?" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, wait.. I mean are things worse than usual?"
He let out the nervous laugh Julie had accused him of using to manipulate her. "He hasn't done anything."
"But you have?"
His gaze wandered to the window facing the balcony. The yellow leaves were clinging desperately to their branches, as if they were reluctant to let go. "Do you believe in karma?"
She smiled softly. "Rabbi Rubenstein wouldn't be too pleased if I said I did."
His throat burned. He yearned desperately for a sip of water. "Do you think there are things you can't make up for? That no matter what you do and how much you try you'll never be able to tip the scales back in your favor."
She was quiet for a while. "I think... you've got to never stop trying."
"But what if it's futile? If you never manage to forgive yourself?"
She bit her lip. "I like you, but you've got to learn how to say no."
Three and a half weeks from now
House stood in his office, leaning on his cane with a displeased look on his face. "Are you screwing someone else?"
The sound of his scribbling was suddenly painfully loud. He swallowed tightly. "Of course not."
"Well, you're doing something behind my back. You're never this nice unless you're feeling guilty."
"That's... not a compliment."
House snorted. "I didn't intend for it to be."
Wilson bit his lip. "It may seem strange to you, but a person can do nice things without any ulterior motives."
Three weeks from now
The piano bar was almost empty. House liked to go there early in the evening, before the crowds started coming in. He also liked sitting at the back where he could see the whole room and no one could see him. Wilson had flirted the waitress into taking away the remaining chairs so they'd be left alone.
She came back to take their drink orders. House usually only drank beer or large quantities of scotch, and Wilson beat him to it by ordering two Heinekens. A drunk House might be easier to deal with, but he knew a hangover on top of the pain would be too much.
They drank their beers and watched a row of amateurs and semi-professionals try their hand at the piano. Wilson didn't know much about music, but he could tell from House's facial expressions which ones where decent. When he was almost sure House would go over there himself a middle aged schoolteacher type managed to make House's frown disappear.
Wilson took a sip from his bottle. "She any good?"
"I haven't liked a woman on stage since Candy went out of business. Plus, this is cheaper."
Wilson fingered the table casually. "Would you do her?"
House raised one eyebrow. "In an alternate universe where your Jewish mother won't cut my balls off, sure."
"We don't have to tell mom." He let a moment pass in silence. "You miss tits."
"I also miss Dawson's Creek. Are you serious?"
Wilson shrugged. "I'll get her. Let me know when you've made up your mind."
Schoolteacher's name turned out to be Linda. Wilson dug into his wallet and bought her a drink and did most of the talking, which was probably smart.
House seemed to warm up after a while, and they took a taxi home. House fiddled with the piano and poured scotch until he and Linda were laughing together on the piano stool. Eventually, they retreated into the bedroom. Wilson handed them the condoms and found out what it felt like to watch your lover fuck someone else into the mattress.
After she was gone, House lay curled into Wilson's side. He sounded giddy and relaxed. "That was oddly generous of you."
Wilson brushed the side of House's arm and tried to remember what it was like to feel so at peace. "Anything for you, House."
Two weeks from now
"You're not sleeping."
Wilson put the glass down in the sink carefully. "How would you know?"
"I have a webcam in the bedroom."
A small nervous laugh escaped him. "Yes, I forgot all about your side business."
House chewed his Cheetos loudly. "See a shrink."
"What?"
House shrugged. "Or a rabbi. If you don't see a shrink you'll end up telling me about what's bothering you, and I'd rather you didn't, because frankly, it bores me. See a shrink."
Wilson willed his shoulders to slump. "Nothing's bothering me." There was an awkward pause, and then he turned from House's look of disbelief to the dishes.
That night, he smoothed the fresh linen sheets over the bed and told himself for the hundredth time that it was time he started over.
Next Tuesday
Wilson waved his shopping bag in front of himself. House reluctantly tore his eyes from the television to look at him suspiciously. "What's this?"
"Season two."
"Why?"
Wilson took a deep breath. "Call it an apology."
House snorted. "Not that! I know why you bring offerings of guilt. But why did you pick that?" he indicated the bag with his head.
Wilson shrugged. "Because you like it."
"I like watching my neighbors fight about the trash too, but I wouldn't pay 30 bucks for it."
"Well I paid for it. Look, House .." he swallowed nervously, tightening his hands around the bag. "I'm really sorry."
For a second he thought they would have a genuine conversation, but House had already yanked the bag out of his hands and was tearing the plastic off impatiently. "I've had worse."
Next Monday
House pushed his head away. "Let's do it the usual way."
Wilson sat back on his heels. "But your back..."
"My back's fine." House was wearing that look of mischief and impatience that Wilson knew so well. He groaned. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the daily blowjobs, but my back's fine and the lack of variation is boring me out of my skull."
He ran his thumb across Wilson's chin slowly. "I want to fuck you."
Almost against his will, Wilson felt his cheeks flush, and he stood up to pull his zipper down. House shook his head. "Not here."
Panic surged in his chest but he forced it down, and they walked towards the bedroom, House swaggering as much as someone walking with a cane could. Wilson got the lube, took his clothes off and lay back against the comforter.
"Let me know if you want to stop."
House took the lubricant and poured a generous amount on his hands and cock. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"
The familiar routine was almost comforting, and Wilson made himself soft and unresisting under House's roaming hands. Soon he was opened and entered and eventually filled completely.
Then House was kissing his ear and stroking his cock and the coupling was sticky and felt just a tad uncomfortable.
"This all right?"
He dug his fingernails into House's back and moaned convincingly.
After a few minutes House finished and reached for Wilson's cock, his other hand slipping between his legs casually. Wilson closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus on the sensations.
House was jerking him off with sure, steady strokes, rubbing against his loosened hole with the other hand. It was good, as usual, and Wilson tried to give into the arousal.
Suddenly, House pulled his fingers out. "This..." He wiped the mess of semen and lubricant on the comforter with a look of disgust. "...is why I don't take it up the ass."
Wilson could feel the moment his erection went limp in House's hand. Suddenly, all he could think about was the feeling of soft linen sheets, this room, this bed...
House frowned and squeezed his cock insistingly. "Fucking someone else, Jimmy boy?"
Wilson froze and tried to squirm away. "What?"
"Is that why you can't keep it up for me?"
Wilson's stomach clamped, and he tried to sound as calm as humanly possible. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not the problem?"
House's mouth opened, and for a moment Wilson wondered if he hadn't gotten in over his head, but then House let the cock slip from his fingers with an annoyed sigh. He rolled on his back. "Fine. Whatever."
The day after tomorrow
Cuddy met them in the lobby. She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest which only made her cleavage look more impressing. Wilson did his best not to look at it.
"How are we feeling today, Dr. House?"
House leaned against his cane with the annoyed look he had perfected over the years. "We are feeling resentful towards our boss for forcing us to take medication that should have been left in the dark ages."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "He's not in pain. The Tetrazepam worked."
"Yeah, and Wilson here has washed and fed me, too. I only got to dress myself because I asked nicely."
She smirked. "Your prescribing physician will be very pleased to hear that."
House groaned.
When they reached Diagnostics, Foreman was already waiting outside the door with a content smile on his face. "Good morning, Dr. House. I hear the treatment was a success."
"Yeah, could you prescribe a naked oil massage for me next time? That would probably feel less like a mind rape. "
Wilson started fidgeting with his watch. "I really should get..."
"Well, we're glad to have you back. Just let me handle the whiteboard for a while. You know, lift the pens, carry them around, all the heavy lifting. We don't want you to throw your back out again."
Wilson didn't walk away quickly enough to avoid hearing House's scathing retorts. Luckily, he did make it to his office before either of them noticed how much he was shaking.
Tomorrow night
"It's funny," House said absent-mindedly when Wilson crouched in front of the DVD player. "I didn't figure you for the closeted calligraphy type."
Wilson put in the next disc and got up gingerly. "What are you talking about?"
House shrugged off the comforter and pulled back the hem of his T-shirt to reveal black ink smudges just below his ribs. "Found this in the shower. Too bad it's too smudged to read what it says. I bet it said something obscene. Did it?"
Wilson stared at the neat, faded scrawling and felt a cold dread creep up on him. He shook his head as casually as he could. "Looks like you ran out of whiteboard." He rummaged in his briefcase frantically until he found a wet wipe. "Seriously, House, what you do to yourself is between you and your sharpies."
House looked like he was going to say something in reply, but his attention was caught by the next episode of The O.C. Wilson used that moment to wipe the ink off effortlessly. "There," he said, pulling the shirt down and spreading the comforter back over House. "All clean."
Tomorrow morning
It was with a muffled groan that Wilson learned that House was finally awake. He wiped off the last bit of flour from the counter with shaky hands and turned on the coffer maker.
Everything looked ready.
The pancakes were stacked on the ceramic plates. There was maple syrup, fried-to-a-crisp bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice in the carafe.
Within a minute he could hear the familiar tap-tap sound of the cane and House came limping slowly into the kitchen, wearing only his T-shirt. Wilson forced himself to avert his eyes. "Let me get your robe."
He went into the bathroom to retrieve it, and let House lean on him for the second it took to help him into it. He felt the other man's body lax and boneless against his, but he could walk and stand without assistance.
Wilson swallowed nervously. "How are you feeling?"
House blinked. He looked awkward and shaken, like a kid lost in the supermarket. The sight was unsettling.
"Like I've been hit by a truck. Repeatedly. Do me a favor, Wilson. Next time I agree to take Tetrazepam I want you to drag me to the chiropractor kicking and, well, gesturing wildly and screaming."
Wilson bit his tongue. "Does it hurt?"
"Everywhere but my back. Hey..."
House looked at the table and let out a soft whistle. "Wow, I had completely forgotten it was Celebrate Your Cripple Day."
Wilson helped him sit in the office chair he had dragged in. "I went to the store. I thought you deserved a decent breakfast. I also got stuff for dinner, season one of The O.C. I know you don't have it so..."
"That's because I'm cheap." House squinted. "What time is it?"
Wilson poured them both a cup of coffee and sat down in his own chair. He turned his cup nervously. "Ten minutes after one. I bought another pack of mozzarella," he said tentatively. "Since we ran out last night."
House looked at him questioningly.
"When we had sandwiches. On the couch."
House looked uncomfortable. "I don't remember. I feel so... hung over."
Wilson felt the rush of relief course through his body. He reached across the table to take House's hand gently. He smiled. "You'll be fine."
Tonight
The sound of the front door closing behind them made him jump. He shrugged off his jacket and placed his shoes on the doormat as House gingerly brushed past him without taking off his sneakers. Wilson sighed and clutched the brown paper bag.
"How are you doing?"
There was a hiss of pain as House tried to slowly seat himself on the couch. From the sound it was obvious he wasn't comfortable. "What the fuck do you think?"
"Maybe you just need to rest a bit. Keep the weight off your feet."
"Yeah, and you can cure breast cancer by chewing mistletoe. " House held out his hand impatiently. "Gimme."
"Not before you eat something."
"I'm not suffering from malnutrition! No amount of eating is going to make me feel better. Gimme the fucking pills."
Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his head. This whole situation was tiring. "It's not Vicodin, House. Tetrazepam is probably going to knock you out, at which point I'd rather like it if you had eaten and gone to bed."
"On the other hand, the noise of me screaming in agony might put a damper on your dinner plans. I took a class in pharmacology once, I'm aware of the side effects."
He knew he was losing the battle without even trying to argue further. "Fine, but you are going to eat something."
"Whatever you say, Master."
When he returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and the bottle of pills, House had turned on the TV and was reclining as comfortably as he could.
"How many Vicodin did you take today?"
"Why? You want any?"
When he hesitated, House held out his hand. "Don't look so glum, Wilson. Worst case scenario I get anterograde amnesia and you get to be a pain in the ass all night without me complaining about it in the morning."
Wilson shook out a pill into House's hand. House looked disturbingly chipper as he knocked it back without touching the water. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson."
He sighed. "I'll get started on dinner."
He didn't really feel up to cooking a big meal and he doubted House would eat it if he did. And even then there was a good chance that House would conk out before it was finished.
Keeping this in mind, Wilson settled for making a couple of grilled sandwiches with mozzarella and cherry tomatoes. He took out two plates and tossed together a quick salad while waiting for the grill to finish. When he came back out, he found House on his feet, pacing around the living room gingerly.
"Wow. That class must have been short and pointless." He set down the plates on the coffee table and fluffed up one of the pillows. "You're supposed to be resting the affected muscle. Rest, I'm told, is most effectively achieved by sitting down."
House stretched and flexed his fingers as if he was working out kinks that had yet to present themselves. "It's not working."
Wilson sighed. "It's not a painkiller. You might actually have to wait longer than a whole five minutes."
House stopped abruptly, tilting his head to the side. "Gimme another one."
Wilson shook his head. "There's no use taking medication if you're not going to follow the instructions."
"Fine." With a growl, House walked over to the couch. He winced as he sank down on the pillow. "I'll eat your stupid dinner."
With a sigh of relief, Wilson seated himself on the other end of the couch. "With your charm it's no small wonder the nurses don't like you."
The cheese was congealing and made that lovely squeaky sound as he chewed it. He made a mental note to buy another pack of mozzarella from the Carnegie center deli.
"So," he said after a while. "Have you thought about it further?
"Thought about what?"
He inhaled sharply. "July."
"Yeah, I'm not so much the outdoor type."
Wilson tried to focus on House's soft chewing sounds. "We wouldn't have to be outdoors. Not all the time. They have muscle cars at the Volo museum. Pretty good exhibit. Been wanting to go for a while."
House remained silent. Wilson rubbed his neck. In his mind he could see the endless row of cars. "I just think it would do us some good."
"No, you don't. You think it would do me some good."
He could hear from the tone in House's voice that he wasn't really paying attention. "Well, yes. When was the last time you had a vacation, House?"
"Took a drug holiday last year. Didn't like it much."
They fell silent.
On the television Summer was kissing Cohen. Wilson felt a sudden desire to be young again.
"You know what your greatest fear is?" House said finally, licking the butter off his fingers with an obscene sucking sound. "That you'll run out of ways to take care of me."
Wilson couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, my life's ambition is to try to fix you. You've got me figured out."
"Oh, no. You're not Cameron. You don't want to fix me. You want to keep me sick."
The kissing sounds from the television drowned out the sound of his heart beat. His jaw fell. "That's an interesting conclusion," he said at last.
"As long as my leg hurts you get to play nursemaid. As long as I know you get off on it, I get to indulge you without feeling guilty." House gave a faint shrug. "It all works out beautifully."
"You don't feel guilty, House."
"But I could, if I wanted to." He picked up the remote as the credits rolled. "Wanna watch the game?"
Wilson stood and collected the plates. He had to get away before he said or did anything he would regret later. "I have some reading to do. And stay off your feet!"
When he had read the same page three times, he shut the latest issue of US Oncology News and sauntered out of the bed room. House was lying back on the couch with a worryingly contented look on his face. When Wilson got closer he saw the whiskey bottle. He groaned.
"Are you actually trying to make yourself sick?"
"No, I'm trying to make you funnier. I figure if I get drunk enough, you'll appear less dull and anal."
"You're not supposed to mix benzodiazepine with alcohol!"
"Well, you're not supposed to get sodomized by your gay lover either, but you don't seem to have any problem with that."
Wilson pressed his lips together. "You really are an asshole, House."
"Well duh!" House took another long swig from his whiskey bottle. He seemed to study Wilson thoughtfully. "Want me to suck you off?"
"What?"
"If you're worried about not getting any tonight, I could help you with that." He let out a loud belch. "Just don't get any spunk on my shirt."
Wilson forced himself to count to five before answering. "I think I'll pass. You're not exactly attractive right now."
"It's your loss." House started drumming his thighs. "So, how about that pill?"
"You already had one."
"Yeah, one that's busy doing nothing." He held out his hand. It looked a bit like a peace gesture. "I need another."
Wilson shook his head. "House... no."
House sat up, swaying a bit as he did so. "Come on..."
"One is recommended. Two would be insane."
"Yeah, and so would being driven mad by your lumbago. Stop fucking around and give me another pill, Jimmy."
The back of Wilson's throat felt dry. He rubbed his hands together. "I'm sorry, but the answer is no."
For a moment, House seemed too surprised to speak, then his jaw clenched tightly. "It's not your fucking decision!"
Wilson had already taken a step forwards. "How about I make you some chamomile tea and we put you to bed? I think you'll feel better in the morning."
In retrospect, stepping forward hadn't been a smart move. Before he had a chance to react, House had grabbed his arm with surprising strength.
"Please, Jimmy. I don't want to have to fight you for it."
He tried to shake him off. "Don't be so dramatic."
House's expression softened, the thin veil of anger slipping away. He looked at Wilson pleadingly.
"I haven't had an MRI, Jimmy. I might have a herniated disc. I'll hurt myself."
"Then don't do it." Wilson was stronger and had the advantage of all his muscles being in one piece. He knew that if push came to shove, he could easily win the fight. But at what cost? House was in excruciating pain from the lumbago, and if he really did have a herniated disc and made any sudden movements...
"Overstepping the recommendation is highly inadvisable."
"I'm willing to take the risk." House had stiffened in his seat, wincing slightly every few seconds. "Look, ah... nothing bad's gonna happen. At most I'll conk out."
He was rubbing Wilson's arm now, long, deft fingers against the fabric of the shirt sleeve. It was enough to make Wilson shiver.
"But if you combine that with the drinking you've done..."
"...I'll conk out five minutes sooner than I would otherwise. Relax, I've been self-medicating for years." House exhaled sharply, without ceasing his caresses. He looked as though every movement hurt. "At least do me the favor of letting me get the first punch in."
The look on House's face was one of pure despair, and Wilson's carefully constructed defense crumbled at the sight of it. He sighed. "Okay, but you'll go straight to bed, and no more drinking."
For a moment, House didn't seem to react, then his body melted into relaxation and his hand fell from Wilson's arm. "Thank you."
Wilson tried hard not to think as he refilled the glass in the kitchen, producing another pill from his pocket. House took the water with the pill this time, sitting back against the cushions with a faint hiss.
He looked up at Wilson from behind heavy lids. "What would I do without you, Jimmy?"
Wilson tugged at his arm. "Come on, you're going to bed."
"When my show is over."
"You have TiVo!"
It took five minutes before Wilson gave up on the battle and another fifteen before The L Word was finally over.
Turning the TV off with a flick of the remote, House stood up and fell back on the couch almost instantly. He was panting harshly by the time Wilson had reached for him. "Woah, it really relaxed all of my muscles."
The sight of House boneless and groggy at the couch caused all of Wilson's anger to come flooding back. "Which you would have known if you had read the warnings!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, spare me the lecture."
Wilson tried to provoke House into standing up by yanking his left arm and then the right. Eventually, he grabbed both hands and shifted his weight on his heels as he pulled the other man up. For a moment he contemplated the terrifying possibility that he might have to carry House to the bedroom, but those fears turned out to be unfounded. Leaning on Wilson's shoulder with his arm around his waist, House was able to walk to the bedroom.
Once there, Wilson deposited him on the edge of the bed where he slumped like a sack of potatoes. "Take your pants off."
House groaned a little but started unbuckling his belt nonetheless. "Wow, this fetish of yours is stronger than I thought."
"Stop being a smart ass, and do as I say."
"You should think about removing that stick from your ass, Wilson. I can refer you to a good surgeon, if you like."
Biting back a bitter reply, Wilson helped House pull his jeans all the way off. House's legs were limp and boneless.
"This is.... This is just typical! You have no sense of responsibility at all!"
"Well duh. Besides, didn't we already establish you've got a thing for that? Come to think of it, this must give you a hard-on. The sicker I get, the more turned on..."
House was interrupted by the loud thud of Wilson's fist connecting to the bed frame. "Shut up!"
He rubbed his knuckles.
House looked almost terrified. "It's my body. It's not your place to make decisions about it."
Wilson bit his tongue. "Sometimes, you're not the best person to be making those decisions."
House studied him pensively for a moment. "Can I go to bed now? Your moral superiority is really tiring."
Wilson folded House's pants and placed them on the chair neatly. He was suddenly feeling very tired of it all.
"You know, you're making it hard for me to love you sometimes."
House snorted softly. He was already lying back against the bedspread, one hand rubbing his head sleepily. "That's what you want."
Wilson started unbuttoning his shirt without really knowing why. He didn't particularly feel like going to sleep next to House tonight. "You have no idea what I want."
House peered at him from between his fingers. "Aww, poor little Wilson not getting enough attention? You should fuck Cameron, she'd make you happy. You could hit on terminal patients together."
Wilson bit his lip. His silence was rewarded with an irritated groan.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," and then House was kissing him, pulling him back on the bed with over-medicated slowness.
If this had been Wilson's night, he would have been able to stop his body from responding. He wouldn't have twitched under House's hands, and he most certainly wouldn't have arched his back and moaned. But right now, he couldn't find it in himself to care.
House let out a small laugh as his hand found Wilson's erect cock. "Yeah, that's it. I knew this would turn you on."
Wilson silenced him with a kiss. House's feet were still on the floor so he pulled back, nudging the other man's knees until he scooted backwards. When they were both fully on the bed he slipped his hand under House's t-shirt. The kissing grew impatient. He was biting House's lips, sucking his tongue with a passion he hadn't felt in weeks. He could feel House's erection with his knee and reached down to squeeze it.
But House swatted his hand away, and just as he opened his mouth to question, Wilson was pushed away.
"I think I've proven my point."
He panted harshly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand. "What are you talking about?"
House stretched out against the covers languidly which caused him to wince as his back muscles worked. "You like me when I'm sick and helpless. Face it, if I wasn't in pain and pumped full of benzodiazepines your dick wouldn't be nearly as hard."
For several harrowing seconds Wilson felt as if all air had been knocked out of him. His body instinctively pulled away. "How can you say that?"
House groaned and rubbed his forehead with one shaking hand. "God, I'm glad I won't be able to remember this tomorrow."
Wilson's body was trembling with anger. He was still achingly hard. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm asking you to apologize. Right now."
House removed his hand to look at him. "We both know that's not going to happen. Just shut up, and let me go to sleep, Wilson. You can bemoan yourself somewhere else."
In that moment it was as if something inside Wilson broke. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached across the bed and started tugging at the hem of House's boxers.
House snorted and tried to squirm away. "What, you think this is a voluntary arrangement now? I only wanted to prove how pathetic you were, Wilson. Now, take your hand the fuck off me."
"Shut up!" Wilson was surprised by the anger in his voice. He deftly pulled House's boxers off and crawled on top of him, feeling the loose body beneath him. He leaned forward and caught the other man's lips in a rough kiss. When he pulled away, House was looking up at him with worried eyes.
"It's a bit late to grow a backbone, don't you think?" It was said in the usual sarcastic tone, but House's voice sounded unsteady.
It was in that moment that Wilson knew what was going to happen. Using his thighs to press House down, he reached into the bedside drawer and found what he needed.
When he pulled the wrapper off the condom, House's eyes widened.
"For fuck's sake, knock it off!" He tried to wiggle away but he was too weak.
"Don't struggle. You'll hurt your back."
Wilson rolled the condom over his erection with shaking fingers. He poured lube on his hands and slicked himself up. His knees were on either side of House and he carefully lifted himself up enough so he could reach between House's legs. He wiped the rest of the lubricant on the other man's tight entrance.
House flinched and pushed at his shoulders with weak hands. "Get the fuck off me!"
Wilson was trembling. He poured more lubricant on his fingers and rubbed soothingly. When he let the first finger slip in, he could feel House's whole body tense.
"You have to relax. You have to relax or else it's gonna hurt."
He slipped in another finger, then a third, telling himself that House's tension was just nerves.
He worked to loosen him slowly.
All the time he knew what he was doing. For something like this there was no excuse. Still, he kept telling himself he needed it, that if he just got do to this he'd be able to love House even more. If he could channel all his anger and hurt into the one place he had coveted for years, he'd be strong enough to be as selfless as he needed to be.
He pulled his fingers out carefully and slid backwards, lifting House's legs up so that his ass was resting against his groin.
House was practically sobbing now, feebly trying to pull backwards. "Jimmy, for fuck's sake!"
"I won't hurt you." Wilson was breathing raggedly. What he was doing was wrong, so wrong, but he stroked House's ass with sweaty hands. "You'll like it. It'll be all right."
If there was one last moment to stop what he was doing, he didn't allow himself to recognize it. He leaned forward and pushed himself in slowly.
He had wanted to do this for years, and the muscles that clenched around him now felt as heavenly as he had imagined. Sweat broke out on his body as he pressed on, House's thighs trembling under his hands.
He paused and let himself catch his breath. House was whimpering softly, head thrown back against the pillows. His hands were still pushing against Wilson's shoulders weakly, cursing and threatening him with every uttered word.
Wilson knew the condom would keep everything nice and clean, but he still needed to be careful not to hurt House. He wouldn't have wanted to hurt him in any case.
When he felt the muscles around him unclenching ever so slightly, he pulled back, and started fucking his lover with slow, shallow strokes.
It only took a few minutes until he felt himself reaching his peak. He whispered endearments and encouragements as if that made it easier to stomach what was happening.
"Oh yeah... Fuck, you feel good."
House's body felt lax enough beneath him for him to dare letting go of one of his thighs, and he grasped the other man's cock. He stroked it roughly, but it remained soft, even as he tried brushing against House's prostate with his thrusts.
His orgasm came crashing over him, causing him to whimper and curse as he spilled himself into the condom. He fell forwards helplessly. House's leg slipped from his grasp. For a moment everything felt perfect.
"Oh God, that was good. Thank you." The body underneath him trembled. He pulled out as carefully as he could and ignored House's wince. He laid down, making sure he wasn't putting any pressure on House's bad leg.
"I take it you enjoyed raping me?"
House was looking angrily at him, the pleading gone from his eyes. The sweaty strands of his hair clung to his forehead. Wilson wanted to brush them away.
"It's all right." He ran one hand across the other man's chest soothingly while trying to get the feeling of nausea out of his head. He had just raped the love of his life. "Just... just relax, House. Just go to sleep."
House stilled in his arms. For a moment he was silent. "I need to go to the bathroom," he said tensely after a few seconds.
Wilson shifted his weight. "Just go to sleep. You're comfortable like this."
House blinked. "I need to take a piss."
Wilson's throat was dry. He didn't move. "It's all right if you wet the bed. I can change the sheets tomorrow."
"Look, I'm not going to call the cops. I just need to piss. Please, Jimmy."
For a moment, Wilson hesitated. Then he eased up slowly. "I'll help you."
House shook his head. "I've had enough humiliation for one night. Just help me stand. I'll be back in a second."
After another moment's hesitation Wilson nodded. "All right."
With hands still messy with lubricant and sweat, he helped House stand and watched as he walked on unsteady feet across the hall to the bathroom. The door fell shut.
He disposed of the condom and used a tissue to wipe himself clean. He pulled back the bedspread and the comforter and crawled in on his usual side. Minutes passed. His nausea returned.
There was the sound of water from the bathroom and he imagined House in there, frantically scrubbing himself clean. Eventually, there was the sound of urination and the toilet flushing.
The door opened and House limped back with a unreadable expression on his face. He was clutching the edge of his t-shirt awkwardly.
"Are you all right?"
"Sure."
Wilson helped House ease onto his back and pulled the comforter over them. They lay for a moment in uncomfortable silence. There were so many things he wanted to ask House; if he was sore, if he wanted a blowjob, if he wanted to hit Wilson over the head with a hammer, but he couldn't muster up enough courage to ask any of them.
"I think the Tetrazepam will work," he said at last. "I doubt you'll be in any pain in the morning."
"Yeah." House sounded slurry, like he had simply spent the night drinking too much. His right arm lay limp and passive next to him. Wilson couldn't help reaching out to touch it. "Is this all right?"
House snorted. "It's a bit late to ask for permission now."
Wilson felt like screaming. "I'm sorry you didn't like it," he said softly.
House stared up into the ceiling. His eyes were drifting shut and he blinked stubbornly. "I trusted you."
Wilson forced himself not to give in to the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him. He spoke the way fifteen years of dealing with dying patients had taught him.
Gently, reassuringly. "You will again."
House shook his head. "I'll never forgive you for this."
Wilson was unable to suppress his shiver. "House... you won't remember."
Instantly, he could feel House tense under his touch. He rubbed the soft skin with his thumb soothingly. "Shhh... It's better this way."
House's jaw tensed tightly, but Wilson could see he was fighting off sleep. He rubbed House's arm slowly. "That's it. Just go to sleep. Tomorrow things will be back to usual."
House laughed softly, his eyes glazy and unfocused. "That's where you're wrong, Jimmy."
Wilson wet his lips nervously. "You won't remember."
House's eyes drifted closed again, and he continued murmuring even as he was falling asleep. "No, Jimmy, but you will."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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