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Unorderliness
by Mel
NOTE: The title isn't even a real word. o_o;;
There were a few things in life House found great pleasure in: intriguing cases, General Hospital, his GameBoy, fighting with Cuddy... But when it came to certain types of pleasure, messing up Wilson's orderliness definitely came out on top. The man was always so done-up and professional looking. Every button buttoned, his tie tight, every crease well-ironed, not a wrinkle to be seen... Even while wearing scrubs, the man never looked... well... scrubby.
Sure House knew the more casual side of Wilson, more so when he would invite himself over on many occasions and they'd spend hours eating, talking. Wilson's tie never failed to loosen then, or sometimes even be removed completely. The top button of his dress shirt would be undone too, and on more tiring days, so would the second. By now House knew the exact place Wilson would take a seat, and would avoid sitting on that side of the couch, even when he didn't have his friend for company. He was too used to seeing Wilson sprawled out on that cushion now. Yes, Wilson could look laid-back, but only out of work. It was just plain rare to find him looking that comfortable, relaxed, and undone at work.
There had been one incident concerning a patient of Wilson's who'd ruffled him up. He had never explained what happened in full detail, other then something went wrong with the patient in his room and he had to help rush him to the OR. What House knew for certain was what he had seen firsthand: Wilson slowly and absently entering his office, his mind on automatic even with the crimson stains all over his once-pure lab coat that was pulled and slipping from one shoulder- a smear of blood on his cheek. That was the first time House touched his friend's face, in a caring gesture to wipe away the blood. He had quickly made Wilson sit down after, tugging off the bloodied lab coat and bringing him out of his shock.
The patient had died in the OR. House never brought up the topic of the incident again.
Wilson had gone right back to his normal cleanliness right after the fact. He had even bought a new shirt and tie to replace his stained ones, making House even more determined to find ways to mess the orderliness up. Having him come over and feeding him some alcohol was one way, but that was guarded by its sheer levels of comfort and familiarity, and it was also out of work. The other currently known way was to bleed all over Wilson and die, but he highly doubted either of them would appreciate that. Thus trial and error ensued.
This brought on an ever-growing closeness between them, and House eventually theorized that the inevitable was indeed the solution he was searching for. So he tried it, the first time being curious, shy, chaste. Even so, it left Wilson with a look on his face that gave House all the evidence he needed to know he was finally getting somewhere. Therefore the actions were repeated, each time being deeper, longer, and less and less innocent. All the while, House was studying, testing and learning. He found the sensitive spots and memorized what responses he received when paying them individual attention. Lab coats were shrugged off, ties were tugged at, shirts were un-tucked, and buttons were forced open, all to be shyly and perfectly reordered before Wilson left the office.
Then something happened that House had not anticipated. Wilson had become bolder. He started to do the cornering, the initiating, making sure he was not the only one left panting and flustered. He slowly drew the sounds from House that House had learned to draw from him not too long ago. They mimicked and mapped each others' skin, finding new uses of seating and support for the walls, the chairs, the desk. The routine of picking up misplaced objects was added to readjusting their clothes, and House never truly explained to Cuddy how his fax machine crashed onto the floor.
They were still cautious though, breaking apart at the slightest hint of approaching sound. Each encounter made the next less far off and more risky, and some times they began to worry they were being a bit too loud. House knew there was no suspicion toward himself though, everything was the same when he wasn't locked in his office with Wilson. There still were the intriguing cases, General Hospital was still broadcasted, his GameBoy still functioned when Wilson wasn't around, and Cuddy was still upsettingly alive to fight with. It was Wilson who was getting the odd looks, each from any hint of unorderliness. It made House grin. He had got what he wanted... and more.
Then again, it was only kissing and touching, nothing further then that. It was human contact, warm skin, teasing fingers, lips, tongues. It was compassion, deep desire, trust. It was patience. It was longing. It was bliss. Nothing more then that was spoken of, or acted upon. They were both satisfied, not knowing or hoping to find out what would happen or who would take the lead after the satisfaction ran out.
As it began to run dry though, House or Wilson had to interject before their antics quickly turned shameful, before their blood ran too hot and before there was no turning back. There was no turning back anyways. Even if it was slowly, they would get to that point eventually. Each simple, friendly touch and innocent glance further ensured it. To any onlooker, Dr. Wilson was trembling more and Dr. House was becoming more distracted. It had silently become a battle of wits, no matter how much they both wanted it, needed it.
Wilson called the forfeit. He invited himself over to House's in a surprisingly steady voice. House didn't question him. He motioned him to come closer though, grabbing hold of his tie when Wilson had complied, pulling him closer. Wilson gagged a little, bit it was his own fault for keeping his tie so tight, falling silent when House kissed him lightly on the lips. House then held his trembling hands for a moment before sending him off to refill his bottle of Vicodin. The walk helped ease Wilson's anxiety momentarily.
They both left work early that night.
Neither came in on time the following morning.
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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 Fox Television, 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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