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Perfection
by Azita
**PERFECTION**
House opened his eyes. He looked at the clock. 4.30 am. Damn. Too early.
But he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now.
He shifted a little under the covers and stared at his leg. He never slept well, and usually the reason was his leg. But tonight it hadn't hurt so much. It was probably the first time since the pain began that it had been at this low an ebb.
But the physical pain had been replaced with an emotional pain, not the dull background ache kind of emotional pain either; this was raw and fresh and very, very painful.
House sighed and shut his eyes. It was no use. Sleep had fled his body, and the only thing he could do was to keep himself occupied until morning. Out of force of habit he reached for the Vicodin, popping pills even though pain was negligible compared to what he was used to.
He swung himself out of bed and walked, as best as he could, into the living room. He stopped at the doorway. Wilson was lying on the couch asleep, fully clothed, the tv remote still in his hand.
House was still for a few moments. Last night, something had happened. Not an actual event, but a kind of revelation. His leg had been hurting a lot more than usual, and Wilson had refused to hand him the Vicodin. He would have been angry at him, but then Wilson had knelt down and started massaging House's leg. House didn't know where Wilson had learnt to use his hands like that, but he had felt the pain slowly ebb out of him, with palpable relief.
If only it had been just that. A friend helping a friend. But for House it had been a lot more than that. It took him the rest of the evening to admit it to himself, sitting in stony silence until he had eventually gotten up and gone to the bedroom, leaving Wilson to sleep on the couch. But eventually he'd had to realise that the massage had awoken feelings in him, emotions that had lain dormant for a long time, suppressed by a mixture of pain and drugs and general bitterness. Those hands on his bare flesh. House shuddered. If there was anyone more off-limits, it was James Wilson.
True, Wilson was, to all extents and purposes, his only friend. True, Wilson seemed to like him, certainly more than everybody else. And true, House wasn't particularly repulsed by the idea of being gay, he'd just never considered it. In his life things, events had come together to, in a way, repress his sexuality, leaving him with a vague sense of something he never bothered to address. Even when Cameron had come on to him, when she'd professed her attraction, he didn't really even feel anything. Well, not the kind of things he knew he should feel when a pretty girl threw herself at him. He just felt a vague repulsion and disdain.
But last night - suddenly all that repressed sexuality had come flooding back in one go. When Wilson had laid his hands on House's leg...it had been a long time since House had had to hide an erection. Wilson didn't seem to notice, but House had to bite his lip to stop a laugh escaping him as he tilted his head back and thought of baseball.
House was a closed-off, emotionally deficient, jerk of a guy. He wasn't used to letting people in on his emotions. Yes, Wilson was his friend, but House had never really let him get close in the way Wilson wanted to. In the way emotionally healthy people interact with their friends. And maybe it was too late for that. Maybe Wilson had given up on having an emotional connection with House. House didn't even know if he could handle it.
And then there was the small matter of Wilson's lack of romantic interest in House. House snorted. What was the use of thinking about these things, opening up emotional channels, questioning the facade built up over so many years, just to be turned down by a guy who was, in all likelihood, completely straight? Wilson had had many failed relationships, but they had all been with women. House was far from the perfect person, and he was pretty sure turning this twisted friendship into something more was not high on Wilson's to-do list. No, what House was feeling would pass, or he would just endure it like he had to endure all the other sources of pain in his life, and at least the semblance of friendship between Wilson and himself would be preserved.
House winced. Standing in the same position for prolonged periods of time hurt his leg. He shifted a little and hobbled quietly over to the couch. He stood in front of Wilson for a moment, watching his chest move up and down with each breath, his eyes flicker under the lids. Then he knelt down, with some discomfort and difficulty, and carefully undid and removed Wilson's shoes. He struggled up again, taking care not to make a sound, then walked to the bedroom and returned with a blanket. He placed it over the sleeping Wilson, with all the tenderness of a mother caring for her child, and all the longing of a prisoner watching the world outside from his jail cell.
The next morning Wilson drove House to the hospital, both sitting in silence. When Wilson pulled into the car park, House turned to him slightly.
"Thanks," he said quietly. He was out of practice. It wasn't often he was thankful for something.
Wilson looked at him oddly. "I always drive you to work."
House looked down again. "Not that. Last night."
"Right. Well, it was nothing. And thank you for the blanket." Wilson coughed, then took the keys out of the ignition and got out. House followed suit.
They walked in and went their separate ways, devoid of the usual witty banter they partook in before beginning their work, and with an air of awkwardness. House was vaguely sad. Considering this was the only friend he had, he couldn't afford to lose him.
The rest of the morning passed without incident. The case was as uninteresting as ever, the team was as incompetent as ever. Maybe Chase was a little more irritating than usual. And as the morning wore on, the pain gradually came back, until House could barely concentrate and was popping pills every five minutes, not that it helped much.
It was lunchtime, and House was in his office, with jazz music on loud to distract himself from the pain. It was so loud he didn't even hear the knock on the door and was surprised when he opened his eyes to find Wilson standing in front of him.
"Turn it down House."
House feigned deafness. "What?"
"Turn it down House."
House gave a "sorry can't hear you" look and closed his eyes again.
Wilson walked over and turned off the stereo.
"What did you do that for?"
Wilson ignored him. "I saw you."
"You-you what? You saw me? How ever did you manage that? Oh, oh wait, you must have those new-fangled thingymagigs...what are they called? Oh yeah, eyes." Sarcasm came naturally to House.
"I saw you today. Grimacing and popping pills every five seconds. It must be bad today."
House cursed the designer of the hospital, the moron who had thought glass walls were a brilliant idea, consequently leaving him with no privacy whatsoever. "No, actually it doesn't hurt at all. Never had. The limp and the pills are just for fun."
Wilson sighed and shook his head. He took a step closer and put his hands on House's leg. House stiffened.
"What are you doing?"
"What I did last night. To ease the pain. It worked, didn't it?" Wilson applied some pressure.
House jumped up, the action causing him a tremendous amount of pain. He tried not to show it.
"Don't", he said, walking away.
"Why not?"
"Just don't. Go and have lunch. I hear there's a couple of new nurses in today. Easy pickings."
Wilson sighed and walked towards House, but House moved away. Wilson opened his mouth as if to say something, then settled for a sort of frustrated noise. He walked towards the door, then turned round in the doorway, looking at House leaning against the wall, face scrunched up with pain.
"House, you're impossible!"
"Leave then. No-one's forcing you to be my friend."
"I'm your friend? I thought you'd rather die than admit you had friends like us mortals. Although i can see you'd rather die than admit you need help."
House looked away. Wilson walked towards him and held him arm, guiding him to a chair. He knelt down and put his hands on House's leg.
"I won't take no for an answer", he said, with a smile.
But House put his hands over Wilson and stopped them. Wilson looked up for an explanation, but House had none.
"I just...can't." House said quietly. Depending on another person was something very unfamiliar to House, and added to the feelings he was having for Wilson...he couldn't handle it.
There was a moment when everything went still, with Wilson's hands on House's leg, and House's hands on Wilson's leg, and the two men looking into eachother's eyes.
Wilson didn't know what made him do it exactly, maybe it was the rushing return of the feelings he had had last night, maybe it was House's hands on his, or maybe it was the piercing blue of House's eyes, at once comforting and incredibly sexy, but before he knew it he was leaning forward, and his lips were touching House's lips, but House wasn't pushing him away, and his hand was on House's cheek, and his tongue was in House's mouth, and House's tongue was in his mouth. It felt like the floor was spinning, and fireworks were going off, and nothing mattered but that moment.
Eventually Wilson pulled away. There was a trace of awkwardness in the air.
"House..."
House struggled to his feet and stood facing Wilson. Then he put both hands on Wilson's cheeks and kissed him again. And if the first kiss had been perfection, this was beyond perfection. It was tentative yet forceful, exciting like a first kiss yet experienced like the hundredth, equal parts tendernessand raw sexual hunger. It was a kiss of a lifetime.
But, like all good things, it had to end, and Wilson was almost sad to pull his lips away from House's, for House's warm callused hands to leave his cheeks.
"I can't believe it," he said.
"Me neither", said House, with a smile. House put his hands round Wilson's waist cautiously, as if waiting for Wilson to stop him. Wilson savoured House's touch on his waist, then pulled away.
"I have to go back to work. And so do you." He made for the door.
House looked as those he was about to make a remark, then thought better of it. "Okay", he said, walking over and sitting back down in the chair behind his desk. "I'll see you tonight."
Wilson smiled at the thought of it and left House's office. He was walking down the corridor and almost missed his office, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts. It's not often in life that you get something you really want, not often that everything works out just the way you'd imagined in your head, time and time again.
He went into his office and sat down. Just thinking about that kiss...it send shivers down his spine. It was like no kiss he'd ever had before. He leaned back and put his feet up on the desk. He was in no mood to do any work.
House was in a similar state. He was thinking about what had just happened. He would have never thought Wilson to be the forward type...although that was the least of it. Wilson, interested in him! Womanising red-blooded heterosexual Wilson. You think you know somebody...But for all his inexperience with men, Wilson was an amazing kisser. House had never realised somebody could taste so good.
And there they were, both men in their respective offices, their feet on their desks, lost in reverie about the events that had just taken place.
Most people never experience perfection in their lives, but when it comes along, you can't afford to let it slip through your fingers.
**to be continued**
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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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