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Something for the Pain
by Laura Smith
When Wilson thinks about House, he thinks of him as Greg, even though he rarely calls him that. It's a line that he only crosses when he's pushed, but when he says it, House knows he means it. They've got a relationship that's most easily described as complex and most commonly called impossible to understand. But he understands Greg and Greg understands him and, somewhere in the middle, it all seems to work.
Except it's not working any more.
There's a distance that's between them, and he knows what it is, even though Greg refuses to admit it. He knows that he's endangering everyone around him, which is why he no longer spars with Cuddy and why, if he can avoid an oncology consult, he does so at all costs. He's already losing one of his pets, and for as much as he pretends it doesn't bother him, Greg doesn't want to lose any more.
"I brought beer."
"I'm already three glasses into something harder." Greg makes his way slowly back to the couch. "Did you see her leave?"
"Yeah."
"Did you happen to see Vogler's smile?"
"I did notice."
"You know what he said to me?"
Wilson sat on the piano bench and looked at Greg. "What?"
"He looked at you and said, 'who do you think should be next?'." He sighed. "Am I really so irritating, do you think, that it's worth all this trouble?"
"He doesn't like to lose. And he doesn't like to look like a fool. You seem to have made both of those things something of a goal." Wilson shrugged. "What are you going to do about Cameron?"
"Cameron's gone." House drained another glass as Wilson cracked open a beer. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought beer."
"Little woman refusing to let you get liquored up at home?"
"I thought you might need company."
Greg sighed and filled his glass again. "You thought I might be drinking myself into a stupor and, like the good friend you purport yourself to be, you came over here to save me from myself."
"You looked like you could use a friend."
"You think I'm an ass." Greg smiled knowingly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You were actually impressed that I was going to do the right thing and then, when I fucked it up, you didn't know what to think. But you were disappointed."
"Not disappointed."
"Liar." House leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter. He got what he wanted in the end."
"But you made him look like an idiot. You made his company look like..."
"Every doctor in the room knows the way things work, Wilson. Every one of them. Make a drug a little bit shinier and milk the populace for the extra polish. Inundate them with ads that don't tell them a single thing about what the drug does, but make sure they're scared to death their life would be empty and hopeless without it." He lifted the drink to his lips without opening his eyes. "I didn't tell them anything they didn't know."
"You told them what no one admits to."
"That's what I do, right?" The loathing was thick in his voice. "I'm the voice of truth, the voice of reason. I'll call it leprosy if it's leprosy. If they're dying, I'll tell them they're dying. I won't sugarcoat it and I won't care."
"You do care."
Greg opened one eye. "She kicked you out, didn't she?"
"She knows there's a good chance I'll be fired thanks to, as she puts it, 'my affiliation with that goblin of a man', and she told me to come back when I kicked you out of my life." He got off the piano bench and moved to the couch, sitting beside House. "You pull back the rocks and watch the bugs scatter." He reached over and rested his hand on Greg's leg, rubbing it softly. "And then you step on them before they run away."
"And is that what you are?" Greg's voice was soft and bitter. "Another bug for me to step on?"
Wilson's hand rubbed the length of Greg's thigh, slow easy motions that smoothed over his jeans. "You obviously think I think highly of myself."
Greg sighed and let his head fall back into the cushion, his breath escaping in a shaky exhale. "You may not have noticed this, but there are very few things in my life that I actually take pleasure in."
Wilson's hand moved, his fingers and palm edging across the inner thigh, Greg's body relaxing slightly to allow him more access. "You hide it so well."
House smirked. "Master of disguise."
Wilson let his hand slide up, curving over the slight arch of Greg's erection, turning his body so he faced him. He rested his elbow on the back of the couch, his hand resting on his own hair. "Greg..."
House's smirk faltered and he opened one eye. "Don't do this James."
"Because you don't want it?" Wilson murmured softly, moving in closer. "Or because you do?"
"Because you're the one friend I have left, which I can only attribute to your masochism, and I don't want to lose you."
"Because you want it?" Wilson asked with a slow smile. "Or because you don't?" House's mouth opened to respond and Wilson leaned in, licking the parted lips. "Say no, and I'll stop."
"Have I ever said no?" Greg asked softly.
"You're afraid to." Wilson unhooked Greg's belt and jeans and slid the zipper down, snaking his hand past the denim. "Makes you human."
"Makes me weak."
"Is that so bad?" Wilson licked Greg's lips again, his voice rumbling. "So terrible?"
House nodded as he let himself be pulled into Wilson's kiss. "Yeah. It is."
**
House let himself be led into the bedroom, resisting long enough to curl his hand around his cane. It is his anchor, his constant. The vicodin alleviates the pain; the cane keeps it as his companion. He followed Wilson silently because he knew if he didn't, hurt would shine in those eyes and House has had his fill. He can handle his own pain, and he can handle the pain of strangers. It's the pain of those he cares about - however few they might be - that destroys him.
They've done this a few times over the years, but never like this. Normally it's post divorce or post break up or one of those long, lonely nights of the soul that neither of them like to admit come around more often as the years move on. Normally it's House that pushes it, knowing it's what Wilson wants or needs at the time, but sometimes he's not the one in control, which means he doesn't have to be right.
Even though he still always is.
They undressed themselves because it's never about romance, though it is about need. Wilson watched him as he stripped his clothes away, his eyes straying over House's body with a sly smile that reminded House of other nights and always provoked a response. He was hard by the time he stepped out of his jeans and boxers, and the bed was cold as they slid onto the comforter. Wilson grabbed House and stroked his skin with fingers that burned against the cool air of the room.
They moved like old lovers and even older friends, the rhythm slightly stilted - Wilson always stumbled over the sharp notes - as Wilson angled House beneath him, the bulk of one pillow supporting House's hips, the other cradling his leg. The cool air gave way to cold, slick gel then the firm thrust of Wilson's fingers. House bit his lip and thrust his hips and his eyes slid shut.
Fingers gave way to the cool pressure of a condom then the hard heat of Wilson's cock. House moaned softly, the sound buried against his bed and he snaked a hand between the sheet and his body, finding his cock against the pillow as Wilson pushed deeper. Wilson fucks like he talks - soft and determined and earnest. House bent his head, resting the top of it on the bed as Wilson's body collapsed against his, the weight sudden and unexpected and painful, which snapped House out of his head and back into the moment.
"Was she pretty?"
House laughed softly, "You're balls deep in my ass and you think I'm thinking about someone else?"
"You're always thinking of something else, why not someone?" Wilson huffed a soft laugh. "It's going to get harder before it's over, Greg."
House stiffened at the sound of his name and Wilson moaned a little sigh of regret. "And I thought I was the master of the double entendre."
Wilson laughed, the sound muted by the curve of House's back. "I'm going to get back to the business of fucking you."
House thrust back against him, the movement causing him a thick jolt of pain. "Business, eh?" House's breath shortened and Wilson pushed deeper. "Need some venture capital?"
"I've got enough," Wilson thrust again provoking a hard groan from House, "interest."
"Banking puns in the middle of sex," House panted. "Remember the good old days when they were actually porn related?"
"We've matured." Wilson reached around House and curled his hand around House's. They moved them in unison over House's cock. "Progressed beyond the bawdy titillation..."
"Can't...fuck," House moaned as Wilson coupled the stroke of his cock with the swipe of his thumb across the head of House's erection, "can't use titillation if there aren't any tits present."
Wilson licked the line of House's spine. "Shut the fuck up, Greg."
"Me?" House braced his hands hard against the bed and thrust his entire body back against Wilson's. "You think I'm physically capable of shutting up?"
Wilson's pace changed, the steady even thrusting giving way to hard, fast, burning motion, relentless against the curve of House's body. All further attempts at conversation melted into the rough, hungry sound of sex, body and against body and skin on skin. Wilson stilled for a moment then thrust even harder and House inhaled, his body bracing itself for the thick, heady rush of his orgasm. His back arched away from Wilson then thrust up against him, the resulting crash of flesh echoed Wilson's moan, his body shaking as he came.
**
House hissed beneath his breath as Wilson eased off of him, falling carefully to the other side of the bed. "What now?"
"There is still beer."
Greg laughed. "Have you ever had a bad day?"
"You expected me to be all mopey and depressed after that?"
"I usually am." He turned onto his back slowly then let his head fall to the side to look at Wilson. "I asked Cameron out."
"You didn't."
"Hell, I figured I had nothing left to lose."
"Self-respect? Dignity?"
"She said yes."
"Oh." He snapped his mouth closed. "Well then."
"Are you mad? Angry? Upset?"
"Would I show you any one of those emotions if I were?"
House reached over and brushed his fingers lightly across the hair on Wilson's chest. "I appreciate that you think I have dignity and self-respect."
"You've got nothing but." He turned on his side and looked at him carefully. "She's going to grind you to dust, Greg."
"Probably." House smiled. "Better her than me though, don't you think?"
Wilson swallowed and shrugged, carefully looking away. He groped behind him for the remote to the TV and turned it on, the loud roar of motors revving filling the room. House lifted his head at the massive wheel crushed down on the hood of a car. Wilson laughed and got off the bed. "You want a beer?"
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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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