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And IM Me In the Morning
by l57371
'Evil, evil woman! You set me up!' House's voice rang down the corridor as he shouted toward the swiftly retreating backside of Lisa Cuddy.
'I didn't set you up so much as ... Okay, yeah, I set you up. But it worked, you're here, and you're going to take the training, House.' Cuddy turned around briefly, still walking backwards in retreat. 'Just get it over with. You know you have to learn the patient profile program. I know Cameron used to do it for you, but none of your new fellows like you enough to do it now. You'll have to just bite the bullet and do it yourself.' She smirked as she turned around and sauntered off.
'You stole that smirk from me,' House grumbled under his breath. He regarded the door of the training room critically and was considering his chances of escape when he saw a hospital security guard rounding the corner that Cuddy had just gone around. He spotted House and strode purposefully toward him.
House blew out a breath and turned back to the door. 'Never mind, I'm going,' he said, just as the guard opened his mouth. He opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was nearly full, only one station was left open, at the back of the room on the right. He quickly scanned the waiting students, groaning inwardly when he spotted Wilson on the other side of the room, who was desperately trying not to be spotted. House turned away and stomped half-heartedly to the last open computer, dropping noisily into the chair and huffing loudly at the imposition of having to actually log in.
The trainer, who had stopped talking when House burst into the room, took up his spiel again. 'Now if you'll all just click on the icon for the program, we'll get started. An icon is a little picture that represents the program.' The trainer, smarmy bastard that he was, favoured the crowd with a large, self-satisfied grin. House rolled his eyes hard and looked back at his screen, still going through its logging in process. Finally it settled down and his e-mail and IM windows popped open, the final step in his startup routine. He minimized them and opened the program he was here to learn.
He glanced sideways again at where Wilson was shrinking back against the wall, studiously not looking in House's direction. The trainer droned on at the front of the room, oblivious to the looks of exasperation being shot at him by the students. 'The program will open up and you'll have to log in. Now, log in means to put in your username and password.'
House sighed again and turned back to his screen. Maybe he could find the ABC website and stream General Hospital. He began search the program files for a media player.
'If you look on the left of the monitor, that's the screen that looks like a TV,' the trainer giggled a little to himself. House shot him a murderous glare. 'You'll see a menu. A menu is just like at a restaurant, it gives you all your choices!' House vowed silent revenge on Cuddy for making him listen to this obsequious asshole and also for removing RealPlayer from the computers. He'd have to make do with Windows Media instead. He opened a browser window and hit the ABC website.
Ding! House jumped as his IM window popped up and a message scrolled across. Quickly he muted the sound on his computer and looked around guiltily. Only the woman beside him seemed to have noticed, and she just spared him a quick glaring glance before returning her gaze to the front of the room.
He glanced down at the IM window. Wilson, of course. He angled the monitor slight more towards himself and away from any prying eyes.
*Y R U here?*
Seriously? Wilson was using IM shorthand? He'd always been the sort to laboriously type out every word, in proper sentence structure, punctuation and everything. Whether in e-mail, IM or even on his pager, words were all spelled out and sentences ended in periods.
House tapped back, *'Y R U' typing like a 14-year old girl?* He stole a quick glance to his right, trying to see Wilson's face from where he sat, but the other man sat hunched over his keyboard, face down, shoulders tense.
*Trying to be discrete, the more letters, the noisier.*
The reply was quick to arrive. House snorted quietly, then hit the keys on his own keyboard as if typing on an old Underwood. *Why Jimmy, I didn't even think you knew the word. What do you know about being discrete, anyway?* He looked up to see the trainer glaring at him. He smirked back and propped his chin in his hand, staring avidly at the projected screen the trainer was motioning at.
'Trouble logging in?' the trainer asked, brow furrowing.
'No, not at all. But could you go over the whole 'icon' thing again? I'm not sure I understand. Is the picture the program?' House grinned a feral grin and quickly darted his eyes around the room, taking in the eye-rolls and frustrated huffs and glares of the other students.
'Oh, sure, no problem!' The trainer flipped back a few screens and started babbling, icons and pictures and representations and avatars dropping ostentatiously from his lips. He looked overjoyed, like he was just waiting for someone to ask him to explain something just so that he could show off his own brilliance. House ducked back behind his monitor.
Excuse me, he thought, screen that looks like a TV.
Wilson had used the distraction to type out his reply. *More than you, apparently. You realize that everyone in this room now hates you? And that we'll be getting out for lunch late?*
House pulled the Explorer window back up and started clicking through the ABC.com pages. No video stream, but he could read about what happened in that day's episode. A poor substitute, but it would have to do.
The IM dinged and one character came up. *?*
*What ?*
*Are you going to answer me? Or just ignore me as usual?* Wilson's replies were coming faster now. Sure, NOW he wanted a conversation.
*What, are you afraid I'm impinging on your copyright or something?*
This time the reply took longer. *I wasn't ignoring you.*
* * *
Wilson's thoughts cast back in time That day had been a bad one. He'd lost three long time patients within the space of five hours, and he had holed himself up in his office in an attempt to gain back a little of the composure he'd lost when the third one had breathed her last. He stood with his back pressed against the door, shaking hands covering his face, breathing, just breathing. Eventually the shuddering in his shoulders and the flutter in his stomach calmed and he scrubbed his face with his palms, raking his fingers back through his hair and pushing it back off his forehead. He thumped his head back against the wooden door.
'You're supposed to knock to get in, not out!' House's voice carried through the door with ease, just like it carried across restaurants and down hallways and even through streets when he wanted it to.
'I don't want out!' Wilson shouted back, pushing himself off the door and stumbling to his sofa.
'Good, 'cause I want in,' House replied, swinging the door open and limping in, somehow managing to appear graceful despite the limp and the cane and the giant Toblerone bar he held in one hand.
'Not now, House,' Wilson groaned, leaning back in the couch, his eyes closed and his hands over his face again, as if he could somehow keep House out of his head by keeping him out of his line of sight.
'Yes, now,' House said, dropping heavily onto the couch beside him. 'What better time is there for foreign chocolate than directly after three of your brave little soldiers have hit the happy trail?'
Wilson glared under his hands. 'Trust you to be sensitive and caring after a lousy morning.' He dropped his hands and sighed heavily. 'Get out, House.'
'Is that the thanks I get after walking all the way over here to cheer you up?' House waved a triangle of chocolate under Wilson's nose. 'Open.'
Wilson obediently opened his mouth and House dropped the chocolate in.
'Mmf, fank oo,' Wilson said around the candy. 'Now ged oud.' He pushed himself off the sofa and slowly walked to the balcony door, stopping just in front and putting his hands on his hips.
House regarded him from his spot on the couch, chewing thoughtfully on his own chocolate. Finally he swallowed and said, 'So which one was it?'
'Which one was what?'
'Which brave little soldier bought it this morning?'
'Stop calling them that!' Wilson turned suddenly and exploded, throwing his hands up and clenching his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he shouted. 'Just ... just,' his mouth worked as he groped for words, hands shaking. 'No more, just no more, House. I'm sorry it offends you when I feel something when a patient dies. I'm sorry I feel something when three patients die. I'm sorry I ... ' his voice petered out and he hung his head, arms dropping back to his sides. He turned back to the window, his breath hitching in his chest.
House remained silent as he levered himself to his feet and took a hesitant step forward, warily watching the rise and fall of Wilson's shoulders as he struggled for control. Another step forward and he could reach his hand out to Wilson's shoulder, feeling instantly the quiver and shudder of the emotions raging through the other man. He waited until the shaking stopped and then faced a choice. He should have dropped his hand and left the office. He should have said something sarcastic and mean and slammed the door on the way out. He should have left well enough alone.
Instead he raised his other hand and let it drop on Wilson's other shoulder. Instead he hobbled forward until he was only a hairsbreadth away from the broken man. Instead, he leaned over Wilson's shoulder, squeezed his hands tight, and kissed Wilson's jaw, briefly, lightly. He pulled back until Wilson was leaning against his chest and ran his lips along Wilson's jaw until they reached his ear. Instead, he whispered, 'Okay.'
Wilson jerked back and looked back at House over his shoulder. 'I ... what?'
House touched his lips lightly to Wilson's neck, feeling the slight prickle of the morning stubble against his lips. 'Okay.'
'Okay ... what?' Wilson asked, swallowing harshly but not daring to move an inch, looking down his nose at what he could see of House's eyes.
'Okay, I'll stop calling your cancer kids brave little soldiers,' House mouthed against the skin of Wilson's throat. 'S'what you wanted, isn't it?' He breathed the words more than said them.
'Yes - well, no - well, yes but that's not the point,' Wilson stuttered. He reached up to House's hands where they still rested on his shoulders and shifted them gently off, dislodging House's lips and turning to face him. 'The point is that you should feel some sort of compassion ... Wait a minute, what the hell was that?'
'What was what?' House backed up a step and planted his cane in front of him.
'What was that? What was with the ... touching and the ... kissing!' Wilson backed up a step of his own.
'What kissing? There was no kissing. I think I would remember kissing you, considering that you're definitely not my type. You don't charge per hour, for starters.' House turned and stalked quickly toward the door.
'No, that was kissing. Your lips were on my neck, that's definitely kissing.' Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, thumb stroking absently over the spot where House's lips had been.
'You're delusional.' House turned and opened the door. He was half way through before he turned back and said, 'And also a soft touch. You'd think after this many years treating the dying, you'd have developed a decent shell. Call me when your carapace finally forms.'
* * *
The door slammed shut behind him.
Over the next three days, Wilson disappeared. Everywhere House had gone, Wilson had either just left or was just leaving. Eventually it began to feel like a game of hide and seek. The trouble was that Wilson was faster at hiding that House was at seeking. The only part of Wilson that House had seen for three days was the back of his lab coat, flapping in the breeze as he made his escape.
Until he walked into that training room.
* * *
*Ignoring me, running away, same result,* House typed, not even bothering to pretend to pay attention to what the trainer was saying any more.
*What do you want from me, House?*
*Not a thing.* House stole another glance over toward Wilson. The other man's shoulders were still hunched, his head down, drawing in on himself. He looked defensive, maybe already beaten.
*Liar. I'd say it's obvious what you want from me. What I don't know is why?*
House was trapped. He either had to admit that he'd kissed Wilson out of want, out of need, desire, lust, the urge to try to make the man feel better, or run away like the coward he was. Well, he had three legs, he could run. He quickly shut down his programs and collected his cane from the back of his chair, hefting himself up and making for the door as quickly as he could.
'But we're not done'' the trainer's voice trailed behind him as he fled.
* * *
'Now you're avoiding me.' Wilson's voice drifted into House's office, through the oppressive blackness, over the desk and down to the floor where House lay, earphones half on, lazily conducting the Clash as they rasped their way through 'London Calling'.
House cracked one eye and grimaced. 'Not avoiding you. If I were avoiding you, would I be where you could find me on the first try?'
'You would, if you wanted me to find you but still wanted to look like you were avoiding me.' Wilson stepped into the room, letting the door silently swing shut behind him. Quickly he took in the closed blinds and the locked conference room door, then returned his attention to the desk. Somehow it was easier to address the desk rather than the man hiding behind it.
House sorted through the sentence. 'Did that even make sense in your head first?'
'Yeah, it did. I'm not sure where it went wrong.' Wilson moved further into the room, just until he could make out House's side where he lay on the floor. 'So...'
'So what do you want?' House pushed himself up to a sitting position and dragged himself backwards until his back was against the bookshelf. Only then did he look up into the eyes of the other man. In the earphones, the Ramones demanded to be sedated.
Wilson hitched his hip onto the desk and picked up a miniature Rubik's cube, turning sides at random. 'I guess I want to know-'
'Know?'
'Know why-'
'Why?'
'Why you-'
'Will you please spit it out? If I have to drag every word out of you this conversation is going to take more time than I have left to live.'
'Why you kissed me!' Wilson pushed the words out in a rush, not taking his eyes off the cube.
'Isn't it obvious? I was trying to mess with your head.' But House hesitated just a moment too long in answering, and knew the words sounded lame before they even left his mouth.
'Right, of course that was it. How silly of me to think that you could possibly feel something for me other than derision.' Wilson very deliberately set down the tiny game and rose from the desk. 'See you 'round, House.' He strode quickly to the door.
His hand was on the handle and his muscles tensed to pull it open before he heard House's quiet voice in the darkness. 'Wait...'
Wilson froze, his hand still on the door, his head tilted down and to his right, listening hard over his shoulder. Behind him he heard the telltale sounds of House battling his own leg to achieve verticality. He almost smiled at the familiarity of the small grunts and breaths required to get there.
House's soft voice stirred the air behind him. 'Why do you think I ... did that?'
Wilson dropped his chin to his chest. 'I don't know, not for sure.' He dropped his hand from the door handle and turned slowly around. 'I think maybe that you wanted my attention. If that was it, well, it worked, you've got it. Undivided.' He looked straight into House's eyes, bottomless wells in the gloom of the dark office. 'Tell me what you want.'
House dropped his gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet the intense look in his friend's dark eyes. His lips pressed thinly together and he moved his cane to the side, preparing to turn away. Wilson reached out and caught his arm before House could complete the move, taking a small step forward and bringing himself nearly flush against the taller man. They were separated by only a breath. House turned his head back toward Wilson and regarded him silently, holding his breath.
Wilson moved, almost imperceptibly, and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips lightly to House's stubbled jaw, then withdrawing only millimeters. House felt Wilson's hot breath gust over his face, over his neck, and suppressed a shudder that tried to work its way down his back, curling his toes, prickling his scalp and stirring his loins.
Finally Wilson had the breath to whisper, 'If you won't tell me what you want, can I tell you what I want?'
House had to try twice before he could answer, his voice coming out in a crackling hiss the first time. He licked his lips and tried again. 'Yes.'
Wilson tugged lightly on the arm he still held in his hand, turning House to face him more fully. The turn brought their lips within a breath of each other. 'I want to know why now,' he rasped out, feeling his own breath bounce back at him off of House's lips.
House's gaze flicked back and forth between Wilson's eyes and his lips while he processed Wilson's words. It was a good question, one for which House didn't have an answer. 'I don't know,' he whispered, moving forward just a hair and barely touching his lips to Wilson's, light as a breeze.
Wilson allowed the touch for a second, two, and then pulled away, fluttering his eyes open and backing up a step. He took a shaky breath, brought quivering hands up to adjust his tie and turned to the door. House hung his head and ground his teeth together, biting back the venomous words that were fighting their way out. It didn't matter, Wilson knew where his mind would go.
'Not running away, House. Just going to my office for my things, then I'll meet you at the elevator. We're going to your place, we're going to eat, and then we're going to talk.' Wilson disappeared through the door and missed the small, fleeting smile on House's face as he watched the younger man leave the room. As soon as he was out of sight, House limped quickly to his desk and threw his belongings into his backpack.
* * *
After a tense elevator ride and an even more strained car ride, they arrived at House's apartment just ahead of the pizza. The smell of the sausage and cheese served to cut the tension somewhat and both men relaxed just a little as they ate in silence. Finally the pizza was finished and there was no more avoiding the conversation looming.
'So-' House started.
'When-' Wilson said at the same time.
They both chuckled and dropped their gazes, then lifted them again at the same time, both smiling at the synchronicity. Wilson held up his hand, palm toward House, and said, 'Me first.'
House nodded and settled in to listen.
'I ran because you startled me.' Wilson didn't look at House, just kept his gaze on his own hands, on his knees, on the table before him. Anywhere but at those eyes. 'I didn't know if you were serious or if you were just waiting for an opportunity to mock me. I couldn't figure you out, and...' He took a breath, held it and blew it out, finally looking up at House, 'And I wouldn't have been able to stand it if you had mocked me for it. For liking it. For wanting more of it.'
House looked up from his inspection of his own fingernails at the last admission, startled.
Wilson dropped his gaze again. 'Your turn,' he said softly.
House cleared his throat and took a breath, took another. His words deserted him. 'I ... I just...' He cleared his throat again, shifted on the sofa, and flinched slightly as he felt Wilson's strong fingers close slowly over his own. He looked up and directly into Wilson's eyes. 'I guess - I guess I just got tired of - of not - not kissing you,' he finally stuttered out.
Wilson blinked and parted his lips as if preparing to say something, but no sound emerged. Instead, he brought his other hand up and cupped the side of House's jaw gently, leaned in and kissed him soundly. It was more than just the tentative brush of lips from before, this was a real kiss, something from which there was no going back, no backing away. Their lips slid together, away, together again, mouths capturing each other and sucking lightly, tongues tracing over tongues. House found his hands on either side of Wilson's face, no clue when they got there, his thumbs tracing over sharp cheekbones. Wilson moaned softly and threaded his other hand back and into House's hair, holding on softly.
As if by unspoken agreement, House's arms went around Wilson's shoulders and pulled, and Wilson's hand cradled House's head as he pushed, easing them both down onto the sofa. Wilson lifted himself up as House brought his hurt leg up and onto the sofa, then ran a hand down Wilson's back to his ass and pushed him down between his long legs. Both men gasped as their groins came into contact, feeling each other's heat and hardness despite the intervening layers of clothing. Their eyes met briefly, then House raised his head to capture Wilson's lips once more.
The dam on Wilson's self control was rapidly crumbling and he frantically tried to kiss and grope at the same time, running his hands over House's hair and face, down his chest and over his sides. He pulled on the hem of House's t-shirt, trying desperately to feel skin under his fingers. House was having more luck, yanking on Wilson's shirt tails and running trembling fingers over the heated skin of the man's lower back, up his sides, and dipping his fingertips as far as he could under the waistband of his pants. Finally, with a frustrated huff, Wilson sat back on his haunches over House's thighs, shifting his weight over the good leg and balancing precariously on the edge of the sofa.
'Off, off!' he panted, tugging at House's shirt with one hand while he clumsily tried to unbutton his own shirt with the other hand. House swallowed and blinked hard, quickly getting with the program and wrestling himself out of the t-shirt while still laying down. Then he tackled Wilson's buttons, finally just ripping off the last one and yanking it off his shoulders. Wilson shook his arms and threw the shirt behind him, then brought his hands to House's chest, carding his fingers through the salt and pepper chest hair, tracing his fingers over House's nipples. He smiled wildly when House gasped, grabbing the tight nubs between finger and thumb and pinching lightly. House's jaw dropped open and his eyes squeezed shut, a gasp escaping as he arched backwards and into the touch. His hands roamed up and over Wilson's ass and up his back, pulling, tugging lightly on the other man, trying to get him to come back down.
Instead Wilson trapped House's hands in his own, placing them firmly down on to House's stomach, then attacked House's button and zipper. He fumbled them open and then opened his own with lust-clumsy fingers. House's eyes cracked open at the brush of fingertips over his hard cock. He took in what Wilson was doing with want-charged eyes and quickly got with the program, pushing his jeans and boxers down over his hips and off his straining cock, then yanking Wilson's down as well. He drew his fingers back over Wilson's hips and then dragged his fingertips up Wilson's straining erection, listening raptly to the gasp and strangled moan from Wilson's throat as his eyes slammed shut and his head dropped back. House needed to hear that again.
He wrapped his long fingers around Wilson's hot cock, brushing the pad of his thumb over the head and spreading the drops of fluid that had collected there. He stroked quickly, up and down, just once, then brought the thumb to his lips, flicking his tongue out and tasting the juices there. Wilson watched him, his shoulders and chest heaving with panting breath, until House's eyes came up again to meet Wilson's. He dove in for a bruising, wild kiss, forcing his tongue between House's lips and biting savagely at his mouth.
House brought his hands up to Wilson's ass, grabbing hold of the taut, muscular cheeks and pulled, hard, against his own groin. Wilson's cock slid against House's, a slick press of flesh aided along by sweat and ejaculate, and it was heaven. The sparks traveled along his dick and up his back, down his legs and arms, exploding behind House's eyes in fireworks and colours coalescing into the face of Wilson, who gasped into House's mouth and quickly began thrusting against House's lower belly. The feel of each other's cock pressed against his own, the crisp burn of hair and the hot stretch of skin combined to bring both men to the edge embarrassingly quickly.
'House, god, gonna - unh! Gonna come!' Wilson panted through clenched teeth, lips against House's check, nose pressing beside House's own closed eyes, thrusting raggedly, hips stuttering as the fire spread out from his belly and out into his body.
'Do it, do it,' House chanted, clenching his hands into Wilson's ass cheeks, pulling the man against him as hard as he could until he could feel the spread of hot liquid up his stomach and chest. He managed to get his eyes open slightly and took in the sight of Wilson's face, mid-orgasm. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows were raised as if in surprise, his mouth open and lips slack. Finally he went boneless against House, dropping down onto his chest and resting his forehead on House's shoulder. He turned his face into House's neck and kissed his chin messily as he panted.
Finally Wilson blinked and came back to himself somewhat. 'Sorry,' he whispered, pushing himself up on his forearms and shifting his weight to the side.
'No, just - stay there,' House ground out, grinding his hips upwards and into Wilson's, pushing down on Wilson's ass, scrabbling for traction on the slippery couch cushions. He thrust frantically up and into the crease of Wilson's thigh and hip, the sweat and come making the hot slide perfect and maddening all at once. He clenched his eyes shut and his teeth together, pushing up with all he had.
'C'mon, House, give it to me, come on me, let it go,' Wilson rasped into House's ear, pushing into House with each thrust upwards. 'Do it, House, do it now.'
House stilled suddenly as the shock of orgasm shot through his body, a ragged shout tearing from his throat that may have been Wilson's name. Finally House stopped twitching and he blinked his eyes open again. His hands danced over Wilson's buttocks, his back, his hair, finally settling hesitantly on Wilson's shoulders. He finally managed a hoarse whisper; 'Heavy.'
Wilson snorted a small laugh. 'Sorry.' He rolled slightly to the side and pushed House until he was on his side with his back against the back of the sofa, Wilson right in front of him, face to face, still touching whatever he could reach.
House threw caution to the wind and leaned in for another kiss, a slow, sweet slide of lips and tongue, threading his hand through Wilson's soft hair again. 'Mm, pizza.'
Wilson laughed again, dissolving into giggles with his forehead against Houses shoulder. 'Sorry, again.'
'Don't be. I liked the pizza.' House laughed softly too.
'What do you say we adjourn this to somewhere a little,' Wilson shifted his hips as he started to slip off the sofa, 'bigger. More spacious? Less sofa-like?'
'Absolutely. But you'll have to help me up. And find my cane...?' House lifted his leg and unbalanced Wilson, who fell unceremoniously to the floor, still laughing.
'Ouch. Found the cane,' he said, pulling it out from under him and handing it to House as he attempted to maneuver himself up from the couch. He stood and pulled his pants back up, reaching a hand out to help House from the sofa.
House stood, but Wilson didn't move back. He captured House against himself, locking his hands behind the other man's back and yanked him close, pressing his lips hard to House's, licking his way into House's mouth, exploring teeth and lips and tongue with a vigour that belied a recent orgasm.
House gave back as good as he got, thrusting his tongue into Wilson's mouth until he had to back up for breath. 'Bed, now,' he said, lips moving against Wilson's, 'or we sleep out here on the floor.'
Wilson grimaced and backed off, but not before hooking his fingers into House's open waistband. 'Okay, bed. But make it snappy.'
'Demanding bastard,' House smiled, following Wilson down the hall.
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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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