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Almost Always Wrong
by Jaryn
"Only you can get me into this kind of situation," Wilson said, looking around the small, ratty motel room with growing apprehension.
"And you love it," House declared, coming into the room behind him. He flicked on the light - the dim, naked bulb doing little to chase away the growing darkness - before knocking the door shut with the end of his cane.
Wilson walked over to the frosty window, bag still on his shoulder, helmet in hand, as if he was sure that they'd be leaving again at any moment. Across from the window sat a single cot, which had probably seen far better days and far too many bodies. Wilson just hoped it hadn't seen any fleas.
House dumped his own bag and helmet unceremoniously on the floor, looking about the room. Not that there was much to look at; besides the cot there was a bedside table adorned with cracking paint and little else. Against another wall was an old, oak wardrobe, the carvings in its wood suggesting it was made with much care. However, many cracks and layers of dirt also suggested it had seen little care since.
"I love it?" Wilson said, as if no time had passed in their conversation. He finally relinquished hold of his bag, letting it slide off his shoulder to the ground and dropping the helmet on top of it. "If I love being dragged away on a spur of the moment, insane road trip, on a motorbike at the start of winter no less, it's news to me."
Wilson gestured in the air to indicate their surroundings, "And let's not leave out ending up at a motel that would work well as a setting for a horror movie. Which, apparently, only has one single room to spare - even though there's a distinct lack of other people around. Oh yes, I love this all right."
House just smirked at him, sitting himself down on the side of the bed. "The other residents are ghosts obviously. We'll probably get to meet them later tonight."
"Oh shut up!" Wilson sniped, but he was smiling. He then looked with strong suspicion at the cot House was sitting on. "Are we seriously expected to share that?"
House bounced the mattress a little, making the thing squeak in protest. "Well, you could always sleep on the floor," he said and tapped the dusty floorboards with his left foot.
"Me?" Wilson said, incredulous.
"I'm a cripple and older than you are. I've also been driving all day."
"Because you wouldn't let me!"
"Because you can't!" House parried back to him, making the bed squeak again. "You barely got the hang of leaning into the corners."
"If you hadn't been gunning the engine like a bat out of hell, I may have been able to accommodate a little better. As it was, I was a little distracted by my life flashing before my eyes."
House laughed, standing up again. "Shall we go see what tasty treats the haunted house serves up?" He asked, making his way back to the door. "Personally I'm hoping for some fried human eyeballs with bloody mustard on top."
"Well, thanks for effectively ridding me of any appetite whatsoever." Wilson said dryly as House opened the door.
"You're welcome," House replied, smiling benignly. He waited until Wilson walked past him out the door before following him out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Wilson's vanishing appetite lasted only until they were in the small dining room, where he ordered a hamburger with the lot from Georgina the owner-slash-waitress-slash-cook. House ordered the same, to make it easy on her - not that he said that was the reason of course. The room was lit warmly by a fire, built into a fireplace that wouldn't look out of place in the nineteenth century.
There were five tables in all, all circular and surrounded with wooden but comfortably padded chairs. There were two other people there, sitting on the table near the large window that looked out towards the highway - a young couple appearing to be tourists. They chatted quietly to each other, sometimes pointing at a map that sat next to their plates.
Wilson rubbed his hands together, glad for the heat from the fire while they waited for their dinner. Though they had both rugged up with thick jackets and gloves it had still been a freezing ride. Though Wilson had to admit, despite his grouching, he'd enjoyed it nonetheless.
There had been a kind of peaceful freedom in watching the landscape go by, just holding onto House with the roar of the engine filling his ears. So much so that Wilson had often found his mind completely devoid of thought; not worrying or particularly concerning himself with any one thing. He could now understand House's attraction to his motorcycle a little better.
Wilson glanced over at his friend, who was staring into the fire, wondering not for the first time if this trip had an ulterior motive. It was often hard to tell if House was troubled by something unless he came right out and said it, since he often appeared to be in a perpetual bad mood. Although House often did confide in Wilson (whether Wilson wanted him to or not), when he didn't Wilson was sometimes left at a loss.
Although this crazy excursion to nowhere - which House had invited him on by ordering Wilson to pack - wasn't all that surprising considering the list of other crazy things House had done, Wilson couldn't help thinking there might be more to it. Of course, Wilson had to wonder how crazy he was for allowing himself to be coerced into coming, when he knew he really should be spending the weekend with his wife. Then again, more and more his wife was becoming `duty', whereas House was...something else.
Wilson rested back in his chair before he decided if there was more going on than met the eye he'd find out soon enough. They didn't speak before their meal arrived, nor during or after, but it was a companionable silence. After eating, Georgina convinced the two men to try her `special' hot cocoa, which they agreed to while exchanging amused looks and raised eyebrows. They soon discovered that what made the cocoa `special' was a liberal addition of alcohol.
"Do you think she's trying to sedate us so she can sell our souls to the devil later on?" House asked Wilson in a stage whisper, after Georgina had walked away.
Wilson laughed, "She'll be disappointed to know you've already sold yours then."
"Oh, you!" House said with a grin.
They sipped the mugs of cocoa, sitting so they both faced the fire. The tourist couple left soon enough, leaving the two men alone. The only things disturbing the silence was the fire cracking and popping, as well as the muted sounds of a TV coming from another room.
By unspoken mutual consent they eventually went back up to their room, taking turns in the small adjoining bathroom to wash up. House of course went first, playing up his `I'm a cripple' card again - not that Wilson really minded.
It was freezing though, compared to the warm dining room, and Wilson found himself shivering uncontrollably during his turn in the bathroom. He walked back into the bedroom to find House already lying in the bed, up against the wall so there was some space left next to him. Wilson looked at him a moment, a small twinge of returning apprehension in his stomach.
It wasn't as if he really felt it was a big deal to share a bed with another man, especially not when circumstances gave them little choice. Particularly not when it was his best friend; so Wilson didn't really know why he felt apprehensive. To distract himself, he walked over to the window, shutting the thick curtains and praying that they wouldn't freeze to death during the night. Neither of them had really changed so much as took off a couple of layers to preserve some of the heat produced by their bodies, while still being comfortable enough to sleep.
With nothing left to do Wilson moved to the bed and awkwardly lay down beside House on his side, pulling up the thankfully clean blankets over his shoulders. Still shivering as he was, House's warm body pressed against his was at least welcome, even in the cramped circumstances. "I better not end up on the floor in the middle of the night," Wilson warned, warming his hands in between his thighs.
House, lying on his back, rolled his head sideways to smirk at Wilson, though in the low light Wilson could barely see him. "Well, if I wake up to a thump I'll at least be assured it's you hitting the floor and not the bogey man come to eat me."
Wilson snorted but didn't comment, still trying to warm himself up. House suddenly rolled to face him and shoved at his shoulder, "Roll over."
"What, why?"
"Because I said so?" Wilson rolled his eyes but turned over anyway. A moment passed before House moved and pressed up against his back, rubbing a hand up and down Wilson' upper arm. "Better?"
Wilson initially tensed but then relaxed, letting his eyes drift shut and making a small sound of acquiescence. House stopped rubbing his arm, instead wrapping his own arm tightly over Wilson's side. Wilson's heart leapt unexpectedly before settling and he frowned, at once feeling nervous, awkward and comfortable all at once. House, of course, seemed completely oblivious.
Slowly the nervous and awkward feelings faded until Wilson was left just feeling warm and content. He smiled, thinking how this was so unexpected from House and yet so fitting. The man was a contradiction in so many ways. Reaching up Wilson gripped House's hand, which was hanging over him next to his chest. House squeezed his fingers briefly in return and then Wilson let go, letting himself relax into sleep.
When Wilson woke the next morning he found himself pressed up against House's side, whom was lying on his back. Under the covers it was warm but the room was frigid with cold. Wilson groaned quietly, pressing his cold face against House's shoulder and burrowing further under the blankets.
House made a small noise, turning a little towards Wilson before tensing. Wilson took that as sign he was awake. "I hate you," Wilson said, his voice muffled by House's shoulder and the blankets.
"Wow, I love waking up to such affectionate remarks," House said around a yawn. "Say, is this what it's like to be married?"
Wilson smacked House lightly and then left his hand to settle on House's stomach, "Shut up," Wilson said, only half-annoyed. "We're not moving until the room is at least a few degrees warmer."
"We're not?"
"If you move you'll let all the cold air in," Wilson replies. House grunted but didn't argue, obviously not at all eager to leave their cocoon either.
Wilson moved his hand down further without thinking, accidentally touching a bit of exposed skin where House's shirt had ridden up on his stomach. House's muscles jumped under his fingers, but House didn't say anything. Inexplicably curious Wilson brushed the pads of his fingers back and forth over the warm skin. The muscles didn't jump again but every now and then they quivered under his touch.
Wilson wanted to look up then at House's face, curious to know what his expression was, but thought better of it. He felt a little light headed as his stomach began to twist with nervousness and his heart pumped faster. Wilson had no words to explain what he was doing or why, only that he wanted to.
Despite his nervousness and fear that House would say something at any second and shatter the moment, Wilson slid his hand further under House's t-shirt. His hand brushed lightly over House's stomach and then down over his abdomen, crossing the soft line of hair that led down to House's groin before moving up again. House still made no movement or sound to stop him, or to even acknowledge anything was happening.
Wilson pulled his face back slightly from House's shoulder, still not looking up at him, and let out a quiet, shaky breath. His hand was resting over House's navel before it travelled up higher, pushing the t-shirt up with it, until Wilson settled his hand on House's chest. House made a slight noise then, something like a sigh while Wilson felt House's heart beat, nearly racing as fast as his own, under his hand.
One part of Wilson's mind was practically screaming at him, demanding to know what the hell he was doing, while the other part of his mind was feeling extremely and strangely calm. But the calmness was slowly winning. This was right in some way Wilson knew he didn't have the words for. Knew that trying to put words to this would only diminish it.
Wilson moved his hand again, exploring House's chest, stroking up to and along his collarbone and then down over a pectoral. While House was quiet, his body spoke for him in small twitches of muscle and rising goose bumps under Wilson's touch. Wilson sucked in another quiet, shaky breath before travelling lower again, zigzagging lazily down House's rib cage. He got more of a reaction along there and Wilson smiled faintly, wondering if House was ticklish.
Wilson continued his exploratory touches, questioning as he did how long it had been since he'd touched someone like this. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd touched his wife in this way. Wilson then wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched House like this.
It was only in a detached way that Wilson realised he was hard and his erection was pressed against House's hip. Of course, it being only a detached realisation probably prevented the chance of him freaking out about it. And if House noticed, and Wilson didn't think he could miss it, he still did and said nothing.
Eventually Wilson let his hand rest again where he'd started - on House's stomach. The tip of his pinkie finger was just barely brushing the waistband of House's cotton boxers and for a long moment nothing happened.
Then House moved, shifting the hand that was furthest away from Wilson to cover his. Wilson thought then, that it could easily go no further than this. They could both get up, head down for some breakfast, and forget this ever happened. Except Wilson highly doubted he could ever forget it. But they could at least never talk about it, he knew that.
Wilson also realised, as House's fingers curled under the palm of his hand, it might just as easily go further, become something more. He knew then that despite the overtones, this wasn't something sexual exactly. It was an expression maybe - again of something Wilson had no words for. Bending his thumb in, Wilson brushed it over the back of House's fingers.
In response House squeezed his hand and Wilson felt the urge to look at his face again. But he understood that would be a mistake. That looking at House's face, meeting his eyes, would make this all too real and unmanageable. Wilson was reminded of some offhand comment House had made a while ago, though he didn't know why it had been stored in his memory in the first place.
`Reality is almost always wrong.' For an offhand, oblique comment, it had some strange kind of truth to it.
When House slowly pressed Wilson's hand back down, even lower on his abdomen, Wilson understood that although they were both silent, they were still very much communicating. After House let go, Wilson swallowed, his heart beating almost painfully fast, and slid his hand lower again. He very quickly encountered House's erection through his boxers and paused, surprised and yet not. House made another small sound, perhaps what could have been a moan, except it stopped before it really started.
Gathering his courage again, Wilson slid his hand down so his palm was resting on the shaft, the heat from it noticeably coming through the cotton and against his skin. Wilson felt his own cock throb against House's hip at the contact before he started to rub his palm slowly up and down.
Unlike most straight men, or at least so Wilson thinks, he's touched another man's penis before. Several in fact. But not when they're erect, and in entirely circumstances to what he's doing now. The experiences couldn't be more different.
House rocked against his hand and even though Wilson couldn't see his face, he imagined that House had his eyes shut tightly, his jaw clenched to stop himself from making any noise. Maybe he was frowning as well.
Wilson lost all but the merest smidge of hesitation. He more than wanted to do this, he needed to. Wilson didn't think of it in terms of touching another man's cock. He thought of it only in an abstract way and maybe that was because he couldn't deal with the truth, and maybe it wasn't.
To Wilson this was about touching the person who meant the most to him, when it came down to it. This was about bringing House pleasure, about connecting with him in the most intimate sense. This was about...this was about everything Wilson couldn't put words to.
Sliding his fingers under the waistband of House's boxers, Wilson pushed them down before wrapping his hand around House's cock. House let out a soft gasp and his body shuddered against Wilson's. From then on things seemed to happen fast, but at the same time felt like they went on forever. Every now and then a moment would freeze, would brighten like a snapshot imprinted into time...into Wilson's memory.
Wilson stroked the hardness in his hand, his grip firm, his other hand sliding out from where it had been trapped between them to find House's shoulder. Wilson pressed his forehead to the back of that hand, increasing the speed of his strokes as House thrust against him.
He wasn't sure how long passed before House turned on his side towards him, pushing Wilson's underwear down and grasping him in turn in a tight fist. Wilson was only sure that it happened and that he'd nearly come just at that one first touch. But then House was stroking him, matching Wilson's rhythm, and Wilson was very glad he hadn't come. Because the feelings then were incredible, as if a fire had been stoked so deep inside Wilson that he felt places come alive he'd never even knew existed.
Wilson pressed his face into the crook of House's shoulder and neck, all but sobbing in between quick snatches of air. Their hands were speeding up as the tension increased, passing between them and growing on itself. And then House suddenly let him go and Wilson really did sob then, but in the next moment House had pushed Wilson's hand away and was thrusting against him.
Wilson let out a choked moan as their cocks slid side by side, thrusting back urgently and gripping House's shoulder hard enough to bruise. His upper leg seemed to lift of its own accord and wrapped over House's hips, bringing them that much harder and closer together. It didn't take long after that. Wilson came first, lips parted against House's neck and panting hot, short breaths against his skin as his spine arched and stiffened.
A moment later and House let out the first real sound he'd made, something between a grunt and a moan, as he reached his own orgasm. His hand clenched into the back of Wilson's shirt as he spilled between them in violent jerks of his body.
For some minutes they both lay where they were just catching their breaths, both sweating despite the chilliness of the room. House was the first to pull away, rolling onto his back. Wilson finally looked at him then, swallowing thickly. House's eyes were closed and he looked relaxed, despite the fact his breathing wasn't yet back to normal.
Wilson reached down and fixed his underwear, as the elastic had started to press uncomfortably into the skin behind his balls. Then he rolled over onto his stomach, half pressing his face into the end of the pillow since House was taking up most of it. Wilson wasn't sure what the tears, which fell so silently and far too easily from his eyes, meant. He knew he didn't want House to know that he was crying though.
Again time passed without any discernable marker before House finally broke the silence. "So...I think the room is warmer now." And Wilson laughed with real humour.
They got up then, once again taking turns in the bathroom to wash and dress. Then they packed their things up and went down for a hearty breakfast, provided generously by Georgina. Neither of them spoke much, making only cursory comments and observations on the food.
They walked together out to House's motorcycle and Wilson stood holding his helmet, looking around at the flat landscape as House tied their bags into place. His breath made small clouds of steam in the air but Wilson didn't feel cold. House slid onto the bike, starting the engine and clipping his cane into place before Wilson joined him. Wilson hesitated only a second before pressing up against House and holding onto this hips. And then they were once more speeding out onto the open road.
Just before the motel was out of sight, Wilson turned his head and looked back at it, wondering if he'd ever see the place again.
Epilogue
They were still an hour and half away from New Jersey when House slowed the motorcycle down until coming to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere, putting his good leg down to support the bike. Wilson put his feet to the road as well and looked around, wondering what the cause of their stop was - because as far as he could see there was nothing and no one. They may as well have been the only two people on the planet.
House cut the engine and the following sudden silence made Wilson feel deaf. House took off his helmet and twisted on the seat, enough so he could see Wilson. Wilson let go of him and took off his own helmet, about to ask what was going on except the look on House's face stopped him.
House smiled at him, a very real, warm smile, the kind of which Wilson only rarely saw. Then he awkwardly twisted around further, reaching up and sliding his hand around the back of Wilson's head before bringing them together in a fervent kiss. Wilson was at first too surprised to do anything. After a moment though he pressed back into the kiss, holding on to House's shoulder with his free hand and sucking House's lower lip between his own.
Smiling against his mouth, House held Wilson tighter, kissing him hard until they were both breathless. Finally they pulled apart and stared at each other. Wilson was still too surprised to think properly. When he did, it was to think that if this wasn't real, that if they went back home, back to just being friends - if Wilson went back to his cold relationship with his wife, and House went back to his solitary existence - then reality...
Reality wasn't almost always wrong, reality was most certainly wrong.
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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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