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Broken Rules
by Jaryn
Unwritten Rules
The thing with living alone for so many years, is that when you do have a guest you're prone to forget about them. To forget that there are rules in co-habituation; many of them unwritten but no less important.
House thinks this when he walks into his bathroom to find Wilson standing in front of the sink, jerking himself off. House finds himself frozen in the doorway, oddly transfixed by the sight before him. And on second thought, maybe he's not the one breaking any rules.
Wilson is completely naked, his clothes in a pile on the floor as if he was planning to have a shower, and his eyes are closed. One hand is gripping the edge of the vanity, while his other hand is curled tightly around his cock, gliding smoothly up and down its length.
While Wilson has his back to him, House can also see his front perfectly well in the mirror. So well that House can see the clenching and releasing of Wilson's stomach and arm muscles, the way his face and neck are flushed and even the bead of pre-ejaculate at the tip of his cock.
House wonders if Wilson is sexually frustrated because of his recent divorce. He supposes that depends on how long ago Wilson stopped having sex with Julie. House is betting it was a while ago - so that doesn't explain why Wilson is completely naked and jerking off in his bathroom, with the door not only unlocked but left slightly ajar.
Unless...
No, House thinks, he's definitely not the one breaking any rules here. Or at the very least, he's not the only one.
Just as House is about to take a step back and leave, Wilson opens his eyes. A gasp escapes his mouth when he sees House reflected in the mirror, his hand freezing in mid stroke. House mentally gives him a nine-point-seven out of ten for acting, unless that really is surprise.
House realises he's standing on one of those distinct lines you only perceive every once in a while in life. The lines that mark two completely different outcomes, the choices of which are entirely left to you. House's lips quirk up at one corner of his mouth and his hand tightens on his cane before he walks further into the room, right up to Wilson. Wilson, who is still staring at him in the mirror.
"What...?" Wilson chokes, "House-."
Propping his cane against the nearby cabinet, House wraps both hands around Wilson's biceps, leaning close until his lips are nearly touching Wilson's ear. "This'll be more fun if you don't speak," House says, with an arrogance and confidence he doesn't really feel. Mainly, he just really doesn't want Wilson to say anything.
Wilson's eyes widen and his body shudders, something House both clearly feels from how close they are. Reaching down, House pushes Wilson's hand away from his unwavering erection and takes a hold of it, squeezing gently.
A strangled sound comes from Wilson's throat and his eyes flutter but don't close entirely. House watches Wilson's face in the mirror as he gives Wilson's dick an experimental stroke from tip to root and back again. Wilson shudders again, eyes now closing tightly as he leans back against House's chest. House can feel his warmth there even through his shirt.
Using the pad of his thumb, House rubs over the tip of Wilson's cock, spreading the pre-ejaculate over the head and Wilson lets out a shaky breath at the touch. House continues to watch Wilson's face as he begins stroking again, faster and more firmly, much the same way he would jerk himself off. No teasing, just a full ahead charge towards release.
Wilson's lips part a little, one hand still clenched tightly on the vanity while the other reaches back and grips House's hip, pulling him in closer. House goes with the movement while rubbing his free hand over Wilson's chest, brushing fingers over his nipples before sliding down and cupping Wilson's balls. Wilson's breath hitches before coming out in harsh pants, his head falling back against House's shoulder as small movements of his hips slide his cock into House's fist.
House strokes Wilson even faster as his other hand rolls and tugs lightly on Wilson's scrotum, fingering the sensitive line of skin that separates his balls. He can actually feel that Wilson is close; his body tensing like a coiled spring about to break free. Without thinking about what he's doing, House turns his head, stubble brushing over Wilson's skin on his neck, and takes the lobe of Wilson's ear into his mouth. He sucks hard, scraping with his teeth.
Wilson freezes, makes an `oh' sound crossed with a gasp, and then he's coming, his body jerking in wild spasms.
House watches in the mirror as Wilson's semen spills over his hand while he continues to pump up and down slowly until Wilson sags back against him. Then House has to use both hands just to keep Wilson from falling to the floor.
"Greg," Wilson mutters quietly, eyes still closed and House stops looking at the mirror, turning his head to look straight at Wilson's face. Something like panic twists in House's stomach, and he thinks this is the moment you realise exactly what the choice you've made means. This is when, no matter which path you took, you're always going to think you should have taken the other one.
House steps back suddenly, causing Wilson to stumble before managing to catch himself. "When you're done in here I need to pee," House says, and never mind that he's so hard he's not going to be able to do so for a while yet.
Without waiting for a reply, House grabs his cane and leaves the room, feeling Wilson's eyes searing into his back and he knows the shocked silence says more than words ever could.
Broken Rules
Wilson's not talking to him.
That's the other thing about living alone for so long, House reflects. You can quickly get addicted to the sound of another person talking. He's gotten used to Wilson's voice filling up the empty silence that is usually an entrenched part of his home. And now that it's gone again the silence is even worse.
Sometimes Wilson will look at him and House is sure he's about to say something. To accuse, demand, question...whatever it might be. But then Wilson just walks away, usually to the spare bedroom where he spends most of his time when they're both home.
Three days it's been since the bathroom incident and they've barely said a word to each other outside of work. And when at work they've spoken only when completely necessary, accompanied with a tense, painful awkwardness that you could probably spot a mile away. It was no wonder then, that people were giving them confused, speculative looks.
House has tried watching TV and playing the piano, but the sounds from both somehow only serve to accentuate the silence. So he's taken to just sitting on the couch, listening to nothing. Just as he's doing now. Three days and House can feel himself reaching some sort of breaking point.
Gripping his cane, House levers himself to his feet with a grunt. The days are starting to get cold as winter approaches, which doesn't help his leg. He figures a hot shower might at least ease his tight muscles before bed. Light is spilling out from under the guest bedroom door almost like a beacon, but House resolutely ignores it as he walks past.
In the bathroom House looks at himself in the mirror, standing in the exact same position where Wilson was jerking off - where he jerked Wilson off. The memory of that encounter seems so strange as to be a dream, but House knows it was real. If he thinks about it he can still feel Wilson in his hand and Wilson's hard body pressing back against his chest. He can still hear Wilson murmuring his name, his first name, after he came.
Realising he's getting hard, House forces himself to think instead about foul things only a doctor can think of to put a lid on the arousal. He strips methodically out of his clothes and limps over to the shower, wincing when his leg twinges. It's this kind of circumstance that House is thankful he got over his pride enough to put in the wall-mounted shower seat.
After starting the water running, House steps into the shower cubicle and sinks down onto the padded seat, resting his head back against the tiled wall. The hot water hits his thighs with a just-shy-of-painful tingling. If he was going to wash he'd use the handheld showerhead, but right now he just wants to sit under the water, letting the heat seep into his skin.
House's eyes close and he tries not to think about anything for a while.
A noise gives House a jolt a couple of minutes later and his eyes snap open just as Wilson, who is completely naked, pushes the shower door open and steps inside. House can only stare at him in disbelief.
"Desperate for a shower?" House finally asks, not at all achieving the sarcasm he was intending.
"Not exactly," Wilson replies, outwardly calm, but there's nothing hiding the random quivering of his muscles from House's eyes. Wilson steps forward into the path of water, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as the water runs over his face and down his body. Every drop feels like it's tempting House to follow it with his eyes and he only barely resists them. Reaching up with both hands to push his now wet hair back from his face, Wilson looks down at House, seemingly daring him to do something.
House grips the sides of the seat, wanting to yell at Wilson for walking in on him like this, but knows that would be hypocrisy even beyond him. Wilson like this is a Wilson he's never encountered before and he feels on edge because of it. Before he can do anything though, Wilson lowers himself slowly to his knees, hands running slowly up House's thighs as he forces himself between them.
"Wilson," House says, intending it to be a warning, but his voice is shaky and he doubts Wilson is listening anyway. Most of the hot water is now beating down on Wilson's back, stopping it from reaching House and he shivers in the sudden lack of heat. Or, at least, that's why he tells himself he's shivering.
Wilson's hands reach House's hips, gripping and pulling him slightly forward on the seat so his crotch is a hairsbreadth away from touching Wilson's chest. House can feel his cock start to react and he's suddenly desperate to get away, thoughts of rules and broken things crossing his mind. His hands move to Wilson's shoulders at the same time Wilson leans in and kisses his chest, lips soft and warm against his skin.
House freezes, breath faltering. His cock is now pressed firmly against Wilson's chest, the sensation added with Wilson's lips on his chest making House completely forget about his plan to push the other man away. His blood floods south and his hands tighten their grip as Wilson's lips drag lightly across his chest. They latch onto House's left nipple and his tongue swirls softly around the hard bud. House shudders and his head thumps back against the shower wall. Without being fully aware of what he's doing, House slips one of his hands to the back of Wilson's head, fingers tangling in his hair.
One of Wilson's hands leaves House's hips and moves to massage House's cock with his palm, holding it against his chest. House's eyes squeeze closed as he breathes in some suddenly much needed air. Wilson's mouth moves across to his other nipple as his fingers curl around House's erection, stroking him slowly but deliberately, effectively disabling the last of House's active brain cells.
Leaving House's nipple feeling swollen and tight from his mouth, Wilson sits back as he continues stroking too damn lightly and too damn slowly, brushing his thumb teasingly over the wet tip. House groans in frustration, moving his hand to wrap over Wilson's, forcing Wilson to grip him more tightly. "Harder," House tells him in a low voice, opening his eyes to look down at their joined hands.
Their hands glide up and down his cock a few more times, and House can sense Wilson's eyes on his face but refuses to meet the look. Then House lets go. Wilson maintains the rhythm and strength House showed him, dropping his gaze back down House's body. The hot water is creating clouds of steam, making the shower cubicle feel like a small sauna.
House's eyes begin to close but are suddenly wide open again when he feels a tentative tongue brush against the head of his cock. A shock of pleasure flows up his spine, sending nerves into overdrive. House's free hand grips onto the edge of the seat as Wilson takes him into his mouth, sucking and rubbing the underside with his tongue. House makes a choked noise, dropping his hand down from Wilson's hair to grip the back of his neck.
House looks down as Wilson breathes out through his nose and then sucks again, his hand still stroking what he can't fit into his mouth. House wonders vaguely if Wilson has ever done this before; he doesn't think so and doesn't know what to make of Wilson doing this so willingly for him.
Wilson's other hand leaves House's hip to drop down to his own lap, stroking his cock, and House's dick twitches, actually getting harder in response to the sight. He watches for a moment before clenching his eyes shut when his balls tighten. House makes a warning sound and Wilson pulls his mouth away after one last suck, stroking his hand faster.
House opens his eyes and finds Wilson looking at him; their gazes lock in the moment just before House starts to come with an almost violent shudder of his whole body.
"Oh God," Wilson gasps quietly as he too reaches completion with a few pulls of his hand later. After he's spent completely, Wilson sags against House, cheek pressed against his shoulder and breathing hard. House's hand on his neck relaxes his grip, settling down onto Wilson's back in between his shoulder blades.
House feels confused, irritated, bewildered, relaxed beyond belief and an assortment of other emotions. So much for having rules in the first place, he thinks - because they are well and truly broken now.
New Rules
Things have slowly settled into some kind of regularity - though House is well aware that it's far from any kind of normality.
How could things be considered normal when the other night, four days after Wilson walked in on him in the shower, they'd been watching a baseball game and ended up having sex during half time? Wilson sucking him off again, jerking Wilson off afterwards - those things weren't normal. Not even close.
They haven't said a word about the sex to each other. That's the new unspoken rule, as if by not talking about it, it isn't actually happening. Yet, while House has lived in worlds of denial before, this is a little beyond even him. If there's a way to pretend to yourself that you aren't suddenly having gay sex with your best friend, House hasn't discovered it.
With his need to categorise and name things, and for lack of a better description, House decides that they're `fuck buddies'. It doesn't quite fit though, as much as he might want it to. The name doesn't explain why he and Wilson now sit closer together on the couch while watching TV. It doesn't explain why, when they don't even kiss on the lips, they sometimes touch like lovers.
Like when House puts his arm along the back of the couch and plays with the soft hair at the nape of Wilson's neck. How, in the corner of his eyes, he can see a ghost of a smile stretching Wilson's lips. The term `fuck buddies' doesn't explain Wilson resting his hand on House's thigh, not as an initiation for sex, and that House doesn't push him away.
Of course, then there's the sexuality thing, which is a whole other can of worms House can't even look at, let alone open. He's noticed men before, he can admit that, but he has never seriously thought about having sex with a man. Not until Wilson. And he didn't actually think about that beforehand, it had happened so fast.
House tries not to think too much about any of it, really. Not if he can help it. That's another new rule he's made for himself. At work and around other people they're just the same old buddies, nothing's changed there at least.
"House?"
"What?" House flips a page in the music book, searching for something that might present a challenge to play. He knows Wilson has been standing in the kitchen doorway for a few minutes already, but has ignored him until now. When Wilson doesn't reply, House turns and frowns at him. Wilson isn't looking at him though; he's staring across the room, obviously lost in thought. "Earth to Jimmy, Newton's all upset at you for defying gravity."
Wilson turns his head and blinks at him, "What?"
"Floating off into space like that, how could you?" House pulls an exaggeratedly appalled expression before hunting around in his jacket, which is lying on top of the piano. Finding his Vicodin in one of the inside pockets, House pulls it out and pops the lid off.
"Well, he's dead, I can't imagine he cares that much," Wilson says dryly. It's the kind of true Wilson-style comment that always makes House smile on the inside; not that he'd ever, ever admit that. "I was just wondering if...if you want chilli or non-chilli sauce with the pasta."
Swallowing a pill, House narrows his eyes at Wilson suspiciously. "That's why you were standing there for a good five minutes? Because you want to know if I want chilli sauce?"
"I was not...." Wilson sighs and waves a hand at him vaguely, "forget it," he says and disappears back into the kitchen. House considers going after him, but only for a second, before turning back to the piano. He chooses one of Tchaikovsky's hardest pieces and starts to play, staring at the music in fierce concentration.
Later, they eat dinner while watching The OC, sitting close enough that their thighs are pressed together. House snatches sideways glances at Wilson every now and then but doesn't say anything.
"Is that girl even speaking English?" Wilson scoffs when the episode is nearing the end, putting his empty bowl on the coffee table.
"Like duh," House says and they share an amused look. A scene break later and Wilson's hand shifts to rest on his thigh. House pauses in his eating for a second to glance down at it before resuming chewing. When he's finished the pasta, House shifts forward to put his bowl next to Wilson's.
The movement causes Wilson's hand to slide up to his crotch and House freezes, breathing through a sudden flood of lust, and slowly lets go of the bowl. He turns just as slowly to find Wilson looking back at him, expressionless. The look in his eyes more than makes up for his blank face however. Shifting closer to him, Wilson exchanges his left hand for his right on House's crotch and massages him gently while nuzzling into the side of his neck.
House squeezes his eyes closed and breathes out shakily when Wilson presses barely-there kisses up to his ear. He's hard and throbbing under Wilson's hand in what seems like no time at all, aching for more touch. Somehow managing to be both firm and gentle, Wilson grips the front of House's shirt and pushes him to lie back on the couch before settling in between his legs.
While Wilson bends over him and hurriedly unbuttons his shirt, House has time to wonder why he always lets Wilson take the lead now, since after the first time. The thoughts quickly vanish, however, when Wilson's hands and mouth meet his bare chest. House lets out a quiet groan when Wilson takes one of his nipples into his mouth and sucks on it, deftly opening his belt at the same time.
Keeping his eyes closed, House wraps his hand around the back of Wilson's neck, kneading it in a silent urge for speed. Seemingly understanding what he wants, or maybe wanting the same thing, Wilson sits back to kneel between House's legs and opens the fly of his jeans before tugging them down. House feels his heart start to thump rapidly in anticipation when his erection is released. Wilson's hands leave his body then though and House snaps his eyes open, not understanding what the sudden pause is.
It appears it isn't a pause though, because Wilson is busy attacking the buttons of his own shirt almost frantically. Deciding that helping will get the clothes gone faster, House half sits up and puts his hands on Wilson's belt, snapping it open and freeing him from his pants and underwear. Wilson makes a small choked sound when House's hand wraps around his cock, and he freezes in place for a split second before shrugging out of his shirt and pushing House back down onto the couch.
They're not even half out of their clothes, but House doesn't care. And from the way Wilson buries his face into House's neck, nipping lightly at his skin while thrusting against him, it seems he's not the only one. The thrusts are almost painful, with no lube and the clash of clothing, but thrilling all the same. Then Wilson does something that makes them fit perfectly together before stroking them both in a tight fist. The sensations then, combined with the unfamiliar intimacy of their cocks pressed together, has House moaning deeply and bucking his hips up, both hands clamping tightly to Wilson's waist.
House is not sure he can come from doing this, but he's more than willing to give it a try. Except for the harsh breathing, they're quiet from then on; House thinks it's because to make any sound requires air and he can't seem to get enough, not when Wilson strokes them harder and faster, intermingled with small movements of his hips. House rocks up into him slowly, slipping his hands down under the waistband of Wilson's pants and underwear, which are still hanging on his hips, and gripping his arse.
When Wilson comes, he gasps something that might have been a word, or a few words, against House's neck but House is far from being in a state to wonder about it, because he reaches his own orgasm a moment later, air catching in his throat at the intensity of it.
It takes a long time for House to come back to himself and when he does he realises he's been unconsciously stroking Wilson's back. Quickly pulling his hand away, House awkwardly holds it in the air, realising there's no other place but Wilson's body to put it. A moment passes before he grips Wilson's shoulder, giving him a slight push.
Wilson levers himself up and meets his eyes, a slight frown knitting his eyebrows. House quickly breaks the eye contact though and pushes again until Wilson sits back onto his knees, pulling his underwear and pants up. House does the same but doesn't bother buttoning his shirt back up; it'd be a bad idea anyway, considering the sticky mess on his stomach. He feels Wilson's eyes on him again before he's done zipping his fly but doesn't look up. The silence is tense, as it always is at this time before they can get away from each other for a while.
Getting off the couch, Wilson wipes himself off with his shirt, his face back to being expressionless, before picking up the bowls and taking them into the kitchen. House watches him go before getting to his feet, grabbing his cane, and walking down to the bathroom to take a shower.
"Dr. House?"
House looks up from the lab results he's been staring at for who-knows-how-long. One of the nurses he's seen around, but has never bothered to learn the name of, is at the door to his office, looking conflicted. "What?" House demands impatiently.
"Uh, I-I was wondering..." the woman stutters.
"Spit it out, Christmas is coming. Actually, Christmas is coming isn't it?" House puts on a horrified expression, but inwardly he is actually a little unsettled to realise what the date is. Ever since the whole thing with Wilson started, ten days ago now - though it feels a lot longer than that - he's been so absorbed in his own little bubble that he barely notices what day of the week it is.
The nurse appears to find a back bone lurking in some dusty place and straightens a little. "I was wondering if you would come and see a patient for me. I'm concerned that his doctor is ignoring some recent symptoms."
"Who's the doctor?"
"Dr. Wilson."
House scoffs, "You're kidding right?"
"I know you and he are friends. I just thought he might listen to you if-."
"Stop right there. Dr. Wilson is one of the best damn doctors in the country, whatever you're thinking be assured that you're wrong. Now shoo." House picks up a file and jots some notes down with a pen, trying to look busy. After half a minute House senses the nurse finally leave and he goes back to staring at nothing.
The day passes uneventfully and despite his rebuttal the nurse's words niggle at the back of House's mind. Eventually he can't take it any more and leaves Chase mid-conversation - he wasn't paying attention to it anyway - to find her. Some time later, after some hunting around, House finally tracks her down in the oncology tea-room.
"Where's the patient?" House demands grudgingly, standing in the doorway.
The nurse - House notes that her ID tag reads `Emily' - looks up in surprise. Emily wisely doesn't question his change of mind and gets up from her chair, "I'll show you to him."
House follows her back into the corridor, all the while telling himself that this is a very, very bad idea.
"I can't believe you!" Wilson storms into the conference room, face flushed with anger. Chase, Foreman and Cameron stare at him, with expressions ranging from surprise to confusion, and then look at House.
House's expression remains unchanged for a moment before he gives the three younger doctors a pointed look, "As much as fun as this looks like it's going to be, you have tests to run." When none of them move, House glares at them until they get the message. The three file out of the room and only when they're completely out of sight does House look back at Wilson with a raised eyebrow.
Wilson opens his mouth and then closes it again, shaking his head. "Actually I can believe you'd do something like this, but not to me," he says, and House almost winces at his hurt puppy-dog eyes. "Not only do you see one of my patients behind my back, but you treat him without consulting me at all!"
"There wasn't time, the infection would have reached his heart," House replies, fishing for his `happy pills'. He's going to need one to get through this conversation, House figures. "And I'm sure you know how hearts can be so fickle sometimes." He throws a pill to the back of his throat and swallows, no longer looking at Wilson.
"If Emily had come to me in the first place I would have picked up on the infection," Wilson grinds out, stalking forward into House's personal space. "What the hell is it around here, everyone hates you but you're the one they run to?"
"She did go to you and apparently you ignored her." House eyes the label on the Vicodin bottle as if it says something particularly intriguing.
"I didn't ignore her! I was busy saving someone's life at the time, for God's sake."
Starting to get irritated, House fixes Wilson with a fierce look. "So the wonder boy couldn't be everywhere at once, boohoo. What exactly is the problem, did I tread on your territory, is that it? Do I need to roll over and bare my stomach to make you feel better?"
There's a pregnant pause and House imagines he can feel all the air in the room being sucked into a vacuum, awaiting the explosion.
"Just...go to hell!" Wilson spits out, eyes fiery. He glares at House another moment before turning and walking out.
The night after the fight, Wilson doesn't come home. House thinks it's kind of frightening he words it like that. Wilson doesn't come home.
When Wilson first moved in after the divorce he talked about getting his own apartment as quickly as possible. Somehow those plans faded like smoke in the air, and House hadn't asked. It seemed to have become accepted by both of them that Wilson wasn't going anywhere.
Without being asked, Wilson has wordlessly left him cheques for half the rent on the kitchen counter. Though he doesn't need the money, House accepts them anyway because he knows it's not actually about the money. They also take it in turns to go on food runs when it's needed, which isn't often since they both tend to eat out more often than not.
For whatever reason, living together has just worked, despite the minor upsets; like fights over the dishes and missing food.
House sits on the couch, eating last night's leftovers after finally conceding that Wilson's not going to show up and staring at a blank TV. He tries not to think of all the places Wilson might be and fails miserably. Without even consolidating the reason for what he's doing, House suddenly puts the plate of food down and gets to his feet. Moving in an irrational hurry, House walks down the hallway to the spare bedroom and pauses only a moment before pushing the door open.
Wilson's things are still scattered around the room and House denies the part of him that says the prickly feeling flooding his body is relief.
He closes the door again and walks back to the living room at a much slower pace. Grabbing the remote, House turns on the TV and settles back onto the couch. He might as well have left the TV off though, because he only ends up sitting there and listening to the silence.
The next day at the hospital, House glimpses Wilson talking to another doctor in the clinic, looking completely normal. He's even wearing different clothes and House wants to ask where he was last night, but he doesn't. Instead he turns away and limps to his office, his body aching and stiff from lack of sleep.
The day drags forward like an elderly, placid snail. There's no new cases and House spends most of his time avoiding Cuddy. The last thing he's prepared for is clinic duty, even if it could make the day go by a little quicker. In his current state of mind House thinks he'd probably just wind up with a whole lot of new law suits.
At the end of the day he goes home without seeing Wilson again. When he gets there his apartment is undisturbed and cold. House puts the heat on, pours himself a whiskey and sits down at the piano. He doesn't play though. He drinks with one hand, while his other runs lightly back and forth over the keys.
House goes to bed early, exhausted from the night before and half drunk. He leaves the heat on high and is asleep minutes after climbing into his bed.
When he wakes up again House is sweltering, his sweat damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He groans and throws the blankets off his torso, relishing the cool air that hits his body. When he opens his eyes House gets a sudden burst of adrenalin to see a dark figure standing by his bed.
"What are you trying to do, roast yourself?" Wilson's familiar voice asks him.
House doesn't trust himself to speak for a moment, taking time to recover from the shock, and struggles to sit up. "How long have you been there?"
"I just got here. I...came in to make sure you hadn't suffocated in your sleep," Wilson says. "I turned the heat off." Even in the low light House can see Wilson run a hand through his hair and turn towards the door, "Well, goodnight."
"Wilson."
Wilson pauses and looks back at him, "What?"
House struggles with himself for a long moment, frowning up at the shadowed ceiling. There's a lot of things he thinks to say, but all of them make him inwardly cringe and feel slightly nauseous. House closes his eyes, letting out a quiet puff of air. "Goodnight."
The soft click of the door closing alerts him that Wilson has left.
No Rules
The next day at work House is even snappier than usual and he cares even less about the kicked puppy looks he's been getting in return; mainly from Cameron and Chase. Foreman just ignores him. Wilson managed to leave before House was even awake in the morning, and he's obviously keeping a low profile again because House hasn't seen him.
Earlier, House considered tracking Wilson down and just having it out with him. Forcing Wilson to spit out all the words he's obviously stopped himself from saying over the past two weeks. Because, despite the rules House has been clinging to, he's starting to get fed up with this dancing around and uncertainty.
House knows that Wilson's anger over his patient, and their subsequent fight, actually had nothing to do with his patient and everything to do with what's been going on between them. However, there's a large part of House that doesn't want to know. That is afraid, even, to know what Wilson has been thinking - and feeling, for that matter. And, just maybe, it's not just Wilson's thoughts and feelings that House is afraid of.
So, he just sits in his office instead, avoiding doing any work, and especially avoiding clinic duty. Since he's been doing that a lot lately, House is not really surprised when Cuddy stalks into the room with a foreboding expression on her face. House sees her in his peripheral vision, but keeps his eyes down on his Game Boy, tongue stuck out the side of his mouth in faked concentration.
"House," Cuddy finally says, and House is unsettled to realise that it isn't anger, but concern, in her voice. "What's going on?"
House misses a jump in the game and his man sputters and dies with accompanying sorrowful music. He glares at the screen - that was his last life - before raising his eyes to Cuddy's face. "Well, that's a tough one. It'd take me a long time to give you a running commentary of the entire world."
Cuddy's expression doesn't change as she walks up to the spare chair in front of his desk and sits down. House eyes her warily; Cuddy never sits down in his office. "Let me rephrase then, what's going on with you and...James?"
The first name usage is like a small bomb going off at the end of the sentence, but House schools his expression into impassiveness. "I can tell I'm going to love this little chat already," House says, but Cuddy still doesn't react.
"James's behaviour has been...erratic lately. He was late to a board meeting a few days ago and when he finally did show up, he looked..." Cuddy pauses, obviously searching for the appropriate word, "...upset," she finally finishes, giving House a pointedly suspicious look. "And you...though I didn't think it was even possible, you've been in an even fouler temper than usual lately." Cuddy eyes House carefully, her expression softening a little, "I'm asking as a friend, not as your boss."
The words `upset' and `erratic' have stuck into House's mind, though he tries hard not to acknowledge them. What's going on with him and Wilson? House almost laughs at the thought of telling Cuddy the truth, just to see the shock on her face. He doesn't of course; instead he just sits back and gives Cuddy a baleful look.
"Then, as a friend," House draws out sarcastically, "mind your own business." A small part of him regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, but he's just too weary to deal with this in any other way but fast and brutally.
Cuddy's expression remains even, but House saw the small flare of hurt in her eyes. "Then, as your boss, I suggest you work whatever this is out before it becomes a serious problem. I also expect you in the clinic in five minutes or I'll double your roster for a month." With that, Cuddy gets to her feet and leaves without looking back.
House watches her until she's out of sight down the hallway before looking in the direction of Wilson's office, a brooding expression on his face. He eventually drags himself downstairs like a beaten dog, taking his Game Boy with him, and signs himself into the clinic. After seeing only one patient, however, House locks himself into one of the exam rooms and resumes playing his Game Boy.
It started raining half an hour before House leaves the hospital, though it's far from being a heavy downpour at least.
While the prospect of a wet bike ride does nothing to uplift his mood, House has to admit that he likes the way all the lights are reflected in the wet road, making what is otherwise extremely dull to look at, look like a shimmering abstract painting. When he gets to his apartment, House takes his time unlocking and opening the door, though he knows it's pointless delaying the inevitable empty welcome awaiting him inside.
However, when House finally walks inside, he's greeted instead with the sight of Wilson sitting on the couch, watching something on TV. There's a napkin tucked into Wilson's collar and he's eating from a carton of Chinese take-out, while more cartons are spread out on the coffee table. The lights are all on and the air is filled with the intoxicating scent of the food.
House has frozen where he is in the doorway and Wilson turns to look at him before he gestures at the take-out with a chopstick. "There's some here for you, if you want to join me," he says hesitantly.
House can't bring himself to say anything. He finally closes the door though and makes his way over to the closet. After putting his jacket and helmet away, House stands for a moment looking at the back of Wilson's head, before walking around to the front of the couch. Setting his cane against the table, he sits down beside Wilson, though not close enough for them to touch.
"Where have you been all day?" House asks, trying to be flippant but it comes out accusatory anyway. Though the urge to look at Wilson is strong, he keeps his eyes steadfastly on the TV.
Wilson shrugs, "Around. Busy," he says and shovels some more noodles into his mouth.
"Busy," House repeats, deadpan, but dismisses Wilson's dismissal. He reaches out and snatches one of the cartons off the table, opening it to see what it is - Chow Mein - before reaching for the spare set of chopsticks.
Around ten minutes pass in silence before Wilson puts his empty carton on the table and sits back, turning his head to look at House. "I...think we need to talk."
House's stomach twists at that; he's certain now that he really doesn't want to talk. Even though he knows it's not true, House wants to believe that the rule about not talking was working. We're fine, he wants to say. Everything's fine.
"You sound like a woman," is what House actually says.
"Oh, you mean we should go the clich male way and just punch each other a few times?"
House glances at Wilson with a slight smirk, "Sounds less painful."
Wilson rolls his eyes and looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. He then sighs and drops his hand to his lap. "Look, I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you for treating my patient. I should never have ignored Emily. I wouldn't, usually...." Wilson grips his thigh spasmodically, his expression tight. "I-I was angry at myself and I took it out on you."
House frowns at Wilson, stabbing his chopsticks into the bottom of his carton to get the last bits of food. "I suppose this is where I'm supposed to apologise too," he says sarcastically.
Wilson glances at him but doesn't reply until he's looking back at the TV again, "We're not following a script. Just say what you want to say." Wilson stops, taking a deep breath, "For once just...say something," he adds in a much quieter, much more intense tone.
A minute passes and House puts his now empty carton next to Wilson's, staring at the TV and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He's well aware that the `something' Wilson means has nothing to do with the fight they had. House has no idea what to say though, and he definitely doesn't know what Wilson wants him to say. So he says nothing.
"Fine, just...just forget it," Wilson eventually says, voice hitching briefly. Sitting forward, he starts tidying the table up in sharp movements. Before Wilson is done though, he pauses and stares away again across the room, the tension in his body easily visible. "We can't keep having sex," he blurts out.
"What?" House fires back, shocked, and not even sure that he heard that right. The anxious knot in his stomach returns with an almost nauseating vengeance. It seems Wilson is intent on breaking all the their rules and House wants to be angry at that, but he's too busy reeling from the announcement. House stares at Wilson for a short while before speaking. "Why?" House finds himself asking, much to his own disbelief.
"Why?" Wilson repeats, voice strangely hollow. Turning back to face House, Wilson opens his mouth to say something else but closes it again, looking lost. However, the lost expression quickly evolves into something like determination. Wilson moves his hand to cup House's jaw, and before House can react to that, starts to lean in closer. Instantly panicking, House jerks back and knocks Wilson's hand away, his heart thumping wildly. Wilson smiles, though it's far from a happy one. "That's why," Wilson says, sounding like he's just resigned himself to some horrible fate...and like he's just admitted to some deep, dark secret.
And, perhaps he has, House realises. Wilson stands up, gathering the rubbish off the table before walking into the kitchen. House can only stare after him in bewilderment until Wilson is completely out of sight.
House slumps against the backrest of the couch when he hears the sound of Wilson's bedroom door closing firmly and lets out a slow, shuddering breath. He wishes, half heartedly, that he could go back to the start of all this and take the other damn path.
This...this has just gotten far too complicated.
Wilson is going to leave.
House tells himself this, but the truth of it doesn't quite sink in; perhaps because he doesn't want it to. Wilson hasn't actually said anything, but House has noticed him taking the real-estate section of the newspaper. Even if he hadn't seen that though he'd know it from Wilson's silence and by the way Wilson avoids him as much as possible; staying in his room for hours, just like he did after they first...had sex.
The emptiness and silence is somehow even worse this time around. Sometimes, House thinks he hates Wilson for having this effect on him. Other times, briefer times - often after he's been drinking - House thinks that what he feels for Wilson is actually nothing at all like hate. Except, perhaps, the intensity aspect of it.
Exactly a week after that night with the Chinese take-out, House gets home late. The apartment is warm and the kitchen light is on but there's no sign of Wilson, unsurprisingly. House dumps his bag in the living room and walks down the hallway. He stands outside Wilson's room for a few minutes, frowning at the door. Fear has brought him this far; fear that Wilson will leave. That their entire friendship is going to fall apart.
House doesn't quite know what it is that urges him to open the door, but he finds himself doing so anyway, after giving it a perfunctory knock with the head of his cane.
Inside, Wilson is sitting up in bed, reading a book. He looks up at House with the same impassive expression he's had all week. "House," Wilson greets him as if they're at work and House just walked into his office.
The attitude rankles, but House refuses to show it. He walks right up to the bed and, without saying anything, sits down on the edge, propping his cane between his legs.
"Is there...something you want?" Wilson finally asks.
House taps the handle of his cane between his hands, delaying his reply. "We need...to talk," is what he finally forces past his lips. House can't see Wilson's face, but he can somehow feel the incredulity, as if it's something permeable in the air.
"Now who sounds like a woman?" Wilson asks, but his voice is flat.
House breathes out slowly through his nose and grips his cane tightly with one hand. A moment passes before he twists around just enough to see Wilson. "I need to know something," he says, forcing himself to meet Wilson's eyes. "Did you leave the bathroom door open on purpose?"
Wilson stares at him, first in confusion, then in growing realisation, before finally settling on scandalised. "What? Why would I...?" Wilson trails off abruptly and looks away, frowning. When Wilson looks back at him, House thinks he can see a hint of embarrassment behind his mask. "I...uh, yeah," Wilson admits haltingly, looking down at his lap, "I think I did."
"We've been doing it for a while, haven't we?" House asks haltingly.
Wilson looks up, confused, "Doing what?"
"Flirting," House grinds out. "We've been flirting for years." A sudden harsh laugh escapes his throat, as that statement sinks in. House shakes his head and looks down at his feet before asking the question that's been plaguing him from the start. The question he's not sure he wants the answer to. "What are we?"
Wilson doesn't answer, but House didn't really expect him to. What House doesn't expect either though, is Wilson sliding a hand up his upper arm and resting it on his shoulder. House's ironic humour drains out of him at the touch and he's just left feeling heavy...weighted.
"We're..." Wilson starts to say, but he doesn't finish. Instead, he uses his other hand to angle House's face towards him, palm pressed warmly against House's jaw.
"Wilson," House warns, though he doesn't really know what he's warning against. He just knows that the look in Wilson's eyes makes him uneasy. This whole thing makes him uneasy. Yet, he can't seem to look, or move, away.
"Say it, then," Wilson demands.
House frowns, searching Wilson's face, "Say what?"
Wilson leans closer until their faces are only a few inches apart, staring almost fiercely into House's eyes. "Tell me that you're not gay," Wilson says in a low, rough voice, "Tell me I'm not gay. Tell me this is a bad idea. Tell me you don't want it."
House flinches, almost moving to pull away, but a memory is what stops him. It's not a memory of sex, or even of the silence and emptiness that has haunted him lately - because all those things don't stand out the most. Not in his life. He can get sex elsewhere, and he can live with silence and emptiness again, just as he has before.
It's a memory of playing with the hair at the nape of Wilson's neck, while they sat together on his couch, that stands out for House above everything else. Of that small almost-not-there smile Wilson got on his face and Wilson's hand, warm and strangely comforting, resting on his thigh.
Staring back into Wilson's eyes, House thinks - this is the moment when you give up on rules altogether.
Letting go of his cane, House reaches up and presses a hand to Wilson's cheek, closes his eyes, and leans forward to kiss him. It's barely a kiss, really, but even the brief contact of their lips sends a spark of electricity down to his groin. "Damn you," House breathes against Wilson's lips, and kisses him again, hard and desperately. Wilson makes a noise that might have been anything, a sob, a moan, a sound of surprise, but he meets the kiss and returns it with just as much lack of control.
So different, House thinks. Wilson's lips are soft, but there's no escaping the fact that he's male. That he is in fact, actually kissing another man.
Letting his cane fall to the floor, House pushes Wilson back against the mattress and awkwardly moves himself further onto the bed. He settles half on top of Wilson, and they kiss again, sucking at each others lips until they're swollen, teeth nipping and scraping, tongues meeting wetly and without any hint of technique - not that it matters.
It slowly dawns on House that the kiss has become a fight for dominance. That they are each struggling to take the upper hand, though neither of them are winning. That in itself doesn't surprise him though. What does surprise House, is that he's enjoying it. And he can tell by Wilson's vehemence that he's not that only one. Perhaps it's because neither of them are winning, which means neither of them are losing either. Things are, for once, perfectly balanced.
Their loud breathing, swallowed groans and gasps for air sound like a cacophony of noise to House, though he knows it's anything but. The blankets are shoved out of the way with a heavy dose of frustration before clothes start to follow in much the same way; which is easy for Wilson at least, since he wasn't wearing much to begin with. Wilson's book joins House's cane on the floor with a thump, but if Wilson cares, or even notices, he doesn't show it.
Moving to lie in between Wilson's legs once the last item of clothing is tossed away, House moans at the back of his throat to feel the entire lengths of their naked bodies pressed together. He'd thought that their cocks pressed together, when Wilson had jerked them off like that, had been intimate, but this...this is so much more and so much better. It's with mild surprise that House notes he's not at all adverse to the hard planes of Wilson's body, even though he's used to softness and smooth curves.
They kiss again and House grinds their erections together, making a sound of annoyance because he can't thrust as hard as he wants to - needs to - with one good leg. Wilson pulls his mouth away from House's lips and his neck arches as he lets out a quiet gasp. House watches him for a split second that feels like an eon, filing this image of Wilson away in some safe place of his mind.
Rolling his hips up to meet House's wild thrusts, Wilson's fingers travel over House's body, tracing what House thinks must be complicated maps that lead nowhere and everywhere. Leaning back in, House tastes the skin down Wilson's neck, stopping to suck lightly just above his collar bone.
"Wait," Wilson abruptly chokes out then, hands clamping on House's hips to stop him from moving. "I..." Wilson stops and swallows.
House pushes himself up and stares at Wilson in growing apprehension, still breathing hard and nearly shaking in the effort not to move. "What?"
"I want..." Wilson tries to say again but shakes his head and looks away. Twisting only his upper body, Wilson rolls towards the bedside table and opens the top drawer. He pulls out a single condom and a tube of lubricant which, House notes, has obviously been used before. Wilson's face is flushed when he rolls back, but he meets House's eyes steadily.
House's eyes flicker to the items in Wilson's hand before returning to Wilson's face, attempting to process this as quickly as he can - because patient is the last thing he's feeling right now. "Which -" House stops and swallows uneasily before continuing, "- which way?"
Instead of saying anything, Wilson drops the lube onto the bed next to them before taking one of House's hands and pressing the condom against his palm.
House closes his eyes tightly, assaulted suddenly with images in his mind that he's never even been close to thinking about before. A big part of him wants to say no, to the whole idea. Another part of him though, is aroused by it - and curious. Curious too, to think that Wilson has actually given some thought to this. "You realise-" House says hoarsely, without opening his eyes, "-I'm not up to any fancy gymnastics."
"I know," Wilson says, and House can hear the slight smile in his voice. Apparently deciding again that demonstration is easier than vocal explanation, Wilson nudges House to the side and rolls them over until their positions are reversed, with Wilson lying on top. Catching House's eyes, Wilson places a hand on the side of his face, slowly dragging it down his neck and then to his chest. The intensity in Wilson's eyes almost makes House look away.
Sliding down the bed, Wilson moves his hand to House's erection and House closes his eyes for a moment at the jolt of sensation. Before House even remembers the condom is still in his hand, Wilson takes it off him again, ripping it open and putting it on the tip of House's cock. House looks down and bites the inside of his cheek as Wilson rolls the condom down.
Moving back up, Wilson supports himself on all fours over House, his knees either side of House's hips, before leaning down and kissing him. House returns the kiss, reaching up to run his hands down to Wilson's waist, his arse, his thighs, and back up again, tangling their tongues together when Wilson's tongue slips past his lips. He's not really aware of Wilson doing anything more until Wilson's hand, slick with lube, grips his cock, stroking him lightly.
House groans and kisses Wilson harder, gripping the back of his neck tightly until Wilson pulls back to meet his eyes. A sudden burst of uncertainty twinges House's stomach and he moves both hands down to grip Wilson's hips. They somehow manage to have a whole conversation without words; questions, doubts and reassurances passing back and forth. Eventually, House's grip relaxes and he gives a small nod.
Still holding House in his hand, Wilson angles the tip of House's cock to slide into place between his arse cheeks. Their eyes are still locked together when Wilson pushes back until the head of House's cock is past the first ring of muscle. House can feel his heart thumping in his chest, shocks of pleasure shooting up his spine from the tightness slowly encasing him. Wilson breathes out in a restrained gasp, an expression of concentration on his face as he freezes in place.
House's hands tighten their grip on Wilson's hips again as he fights with the urge to thrust up, unsure what he's seeing in Wilson's eyes but whatever it is, is nearly overwhelming. House feels exactly when Wilson manages to relax and his breath catches in his throat when Wilson slides all the way down until House's cock is completely buried inside him. They're both completely still for a long moment, except for the regular up and down movements of their chests as they fight for air. House doesn't know which one of them starts moving, because he's instantly too absorbed in the incredible sensations flooding his body to think about anything else.
Doing most of the work, Wilson moves up and down on his lap and House just manages to see Wilson's eyelids flutter closed in apparent pleasure before he has to close his own. A moment later and Wilson is kissing him again, a wild meshing of lips and tongues as he starts to move faster, almost whimpering into House's mouth. House considers, for a moment, reaching for Wilson's cock, but it's really all he can just to hang on.
A few thrusts later, anyway, Wilson takes himself into his hand, pumping fast and adding to the slick, wet sounds in the room. House can barely breathe as he feels his balls draw up tight to his body, getting so close that he knows he couldn't stop now if he tried. Wilson, however, beats him to the finish, breaking off the kiss to let out a choked sob against House's shoulder as he shudders and comes.
House feels every throb of Wilson's orgasm, and then he feels nothing at all but white heat burning him up from the inside as he reaches his own.
"James," House breathes out, without really being aware of it, as the last pulse of his orgasm fades and Wilson slumps against him. The feeling of loss when his softening cock slips free of Wilson's body is strange and House places a hand on Wilson's back, stroking him slowly.
This is not love, House tries to tell himself. Or, at least, it's not the kind of love he's familiar with. Not the kind of love that he's ever felt before.
A couple of minutes pass before Wilson lifts himself up, only meeting House's eyes for a second before leaning down and pressing their lips together. House is too surprised for a moment to respond and a small part of him, the part that's still trying to figure out what all this means, wants to pull away.
The slow movements of Wilson's lips are easily persuading however, and House is kissing back before he's even completely aware of what he's doing. The kiss, so measured that they're barely even moving, makes his chest tighten painfully. He uses one hand to stroke Wilson's hair before sliding the hand down Wilson's back.
When the kiss ends an unknown time later, House knows that he is well and truly lost - to whatever this is. Wilson is giving him that small, nearly imperceptible, smile, looking somehow both sated and the most alive House has ever seen him.
"Greg?" Wilson questions hesitantly, as if testing House's reaction to using his first name.
House meets Wilson's eyes, a little wary, but at this point he thinks nothing is going to surprise him any more. "What?"
Something in Wilson's expression eases before he replies, "Can we...move to your bedroom?"
House only blinks a couple of times at first, trying to imagine spending a whole night sleeping next to Wilson. Which leads on to wondering what it would be like to sleep next to Wilson every night. Waking up with him. Living with him like a...couple. Is that what they are?
The idea terrifies him, for more reasons than House can even process.
Looking away, House grips Wilson's shoulder and puts pressure on it until Wilson slides off him. The expression Wilson's face gives him a vague sense of dj vu. House sits up and pulls off the condom, tossing it into the nearby bin. He then grabs his shirt off the floor and wipes himself off before pulling his underwear back on, all the while feeling Wilson's eyes on him.
Picking his cane up, House gets to his feet with a slight grimace of protesting muscles. Looking back down at the bed, House's eyes travel down Wilson's body and then back up again to meet his eyes.
"Well, are you coming?" Without waiting for a reply, House turns and heads towards the door.
Just as he steps out into the hallway, House hears Wilson getting up off the bed and allows himself a small smile as he walks towards his bedroom.
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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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