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Just a Little Touch
by l57371
Cuddy thinks she's so clever.
House sat in his lounge chair in his office, eyes closed, and the dulcet tones of Al Green blaring from his iPod.
Making me touch people, thinking I'd gain something from it.
He shifted a little, straightening his bad leg and rolling his head to the other side. He opened his eyes and glanced briefly out his office window to the hall. Empty. It was early in the evening though, so not so odd that it would be all but deserted.
Touching to bring about humanity. Seriously, what am I if not human?
His eyes drooped closed again, and he coasted on the waves of the Vicodin high, brain foggy and light, body relaxing into the warmth of painlessness. Or at least as close as he ever got these days.
You're inhuman, House.
Wilson's voice sliced through his buzz and his eyes snapped open again, taking in the empty office, the conference room next door, the barren hallway. When exactly did his conscience take on Wilson's voice, anyway?
You could certainly stand to gain a little humanity.
House snorted lightly, his lips curling up into a smile, almost a sneer. Humanity is over-rated, he answered himself. Getting all touchy-feely about it isn't going to change anything. He felt his mind begin to drift again, and his muscles relaxed into a boneless heap as the drug finally overcame his thoughts. Nobody I want to touch, anyway.
* * *
It was well after nine before House roused himself from his drugged torpor and made his way down the elevator to the lobby. The elevator doors opened onto the main hallway and he slowly shuffled his way toward the main doors, glancing into the subdued lighting of the clinic to his right. Two people, only shadows from House's point of view, were standing at the main desk, leaning against it and chatting. He narrowed his eyes and tried to make out who they were. One was Wilson, there was no mistaking his posture, the way he moved his hands as he spoke, the shaking of his shoulders as he laughed at something the other one said. He would know Wilson anywhere; he didn't have to see his face. Who the other man was, though, he couldn't make out.
House moved to the shadows beside the door and continued watching them, Wilson and the mystery man. Maybe if he waited long enough he could corral Wilson and make him buy dinner. After a few minutes Wilson bent to pick up his briefcase and the other man swung his overcoat over his shoulders, preparing to leave. House shrunk back a little further. The unknown man took two steps past Wilson, then turned back and put a hand on Wilson's shoulder, rubbing it back and forth as he spoke what looked like a question into Wilson's ear. Wilson shook his head, patted the other man's hand that was still on his shoulder, leaning into the touch, then turned to leave as well. They came through the door of the clinic together.
'Dr. Warren,' House intoned softly. 'Working a little late, aren't you? There generally aren't that many late night emergencies for you Ear-Nose-Throat guys.'
'Dr. House,' the other man returned with a half smile. 'I presume I'm doing the same thing you're doing, seeing to the care of my patients. Oh, sorry,' the man's mouth curved into a sneer, 'patient.' He enunciated the 't' loudly, with little pop.
'From what I hear, Dr. Warren,' House growled, 'You're seeing more to the care of your secretary than your patients these days.' He cocked his head to the side. 'Oh, sorry, secretaries.' He drew out the 's' like a long zed sound, enunciating just as carefully.
Warren paled and frowned, then nodded briefly at Wilson and stalked quickly to the door, through it before anyone could say goodnight.
Wilson turned back to House. 'You just can't leave anyone alone, can you?' The asked, frustration tingeing his voice.
House quirked an eyebrow at the other man. 'Have you ever met me? Of course I can't, especially not a hypocrite like that.' He turned to the door, gratified to find Wilson turning with him. 'Come on. Buy me dinner.' He turned to look at the Wilson's face but he was too far away to see. Further away than he usually was. Usually he was right at House's shoulder, but tonight he was distant and removed. What did that mean? 'You coming?' he asked instead.
Wilson looked briefly back at the clinic and then followed House out. 'Yeah, I guess so.' He wrapped his arms around his torso as they walked, chin tucked tightly into his chest.
House eyed him carefully. 'So are you going to tell me what he wanted?'
'What who wanted? Warren? Oh, nothing.' Wilson was uncharacteristically unforthcoming.
'Then what was the little shoulder-hugging scene about then?' House asked, still watching for a reaction.
'There was no hugging, House. He just rubbed my shoulder, that's all.' Wilson brought one hand up to the same shoulder, holding it.
'Well, it certainly looked cozy from where I was standing,' House shot back.
Wilson whirled around and faced him, suddenly angrier than House had seen him for a very long time. 'It's called comfort,, House! A little human contact! Offering of support! It's something us HUMANS do for each other! Not that you would know anything about that, I know.' He pulled his overcoat more tightly around himself and marched off toward his car.
'Suddenly I'm not very hungry.' The words came floating back to House over Wilson's shoulder as he wrenched open the car door and flung himself inside, slamming the door after himself. The belt from his overcoat was trapped outside, between the door and the body of the car, and it was a testament to how angry Wilson really was that he did not open the door and retrieve it, he merely started the car and roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing a little as he turned onto the ramp.
House watched him go.
* * *
He lay in bed that night, after a dinner of peanut butter sandwiches on stale bread and way too much scotch, replaying over and over the scene in the clinic. Warren had put his hand on Wilson's shoulder, and Wilson, damn him anyway, looked like he liked it. Like he appreciated it. Like he wanted it.
Was that what Wilson wanted?
* * *
House spent the next day in observation. He watched Wilson, wherever he went, whomever he talked to, whatever he did, House watched. From office to cafeteria to hallways to clinic duty, House followed him. Wilson was of course aware of the scrutiny, and every once in a while casting an inquiring eye to wherever it was that House was ineffectually hiding, then turning away with a faint sigh.
What he saw was Wilson seemingly craving the small touches and caresses of normal, everyday interaction. When he shook hands, he held on for just a little too long. When he touched his patients, a rub on the shoulder or elbow, a casual arm slung around the neck, he held on just a little bit too tight. The cashier in the cafeteria had to snatch her fingers back after giving Wilson his change from lunch
By mid-afternoon House had seen enough. He sequestered himself in his office, bouncing his oversized ball lightly off the windows of his balcony as he thought. Touch was foreign, something to be avoided at all costs, and here Wilson was seeking it out. House spent most of his life lately shying away from contact - verbal, physical, what have you - that could lead to any form of intimacy. The last time intimate touch had invaded his life, he'd paid for it with his leg, his mobility. Therefore it was to be shunned. No touch meant no harm, no hurt. Which was why hookers were perfect, of course. Private touch, yes, but definitely not intimate.
This touching that Wilson seemed so intent on getting just screamed of intimacy, even though it was nowhere near private. So why seek it out from people he was not intimate with? Patients, colleagues, none of these people could be considered close to him. Did he prefer to be touched by strangers?
A knock came from the glass door and a second later the man in question stepped through.
House raised an eyebrow at him. 'Need something?' he began.
'No, not really.' Wilson sauntered past the desk and stood, looking out the windows and across the parking lot in front of the hospital.
'So you're here because...?' House trailed off.
Wilson ignored the question and asked his own. 'Are you finished watching yet?' He didn't turn away from the windows. 'I have no idea what it is you're looking for, but I sure as hell hope you've found it. Not only is it disconcerting to have you hovering all damned day but you're scaring my patients.' He dropped his chin a little, looking down toward the floor of the balcony.
House rose from his desk and moved carefully to stand behind him. He lifted his left hand, the one that wasn't currently clenched, white-knuckled, around the handle of his cane, and stretched it out toward Wilson's slumped shoulder. He glanced at the window, thankful it was still too light to see their reflections in it, then looked to Wilson's shoulder, hunched under his too-white lab coat, tension radiating. He watched his hand, slowly moving toward that shoulder, and noticed his fingers trembling. He made a fist, willing his hand to stop shaking. Again he stretched his fingers out and again bunched them up, but the trembling continued. Finally he dropped his hand.
'A little egotistical of you to assume I was watching you. I could have been stalking that new nurse, you know.' He turned and limped quickly to the door. 'See you tomorrow.'
Wilson turned from the window in time to see him disappear through the door and down the hallway. House heard him call after him, 'It's only the middle of the afternoon!' He didn't turn back.
* * *
After a night of alternately steeling himself to accomplish the task and throwing all his plans away and calling it bad rubbish, House stalked into work in the morning. His shoulders were set, his face a mask of grim determination.
He spotted Wilson's distinctive camel-coloured overcoat at the coffee kiosk and changed course, fighting down a mild panic attack. He decided on joviality to cover the nerves.
'Good MORNING, Dr. Wilson!' he boomed as he made his way over. He chuckled slightly when he saw Wilson's shoulders jump and hunch over. He stopped just behind Wilson and waited while he finished paying for the coffee.
'House. And to what do I owe the honour of you nearly giving me a heart attack so early in the morning?' Wilson pocketed his wallet and bent to retrieve his briefcase.
'No reason, really. Isn't the heart attack enough?' House remained standing in front, blocking Wilson's escape.
'For you, I suppose it is, yes.' Wilson dodged to the right and attempted to go around him. 'See you later, House.'
'Wilson, wait,' House said, and shot his hand out to grab Wilson's arm, just below the elbow. For a moment neither man moved, both of them staring down at House's hand. He carefully examined the sensation of Wilson's solid muscles twitching and playing under the fabric of the coat, squeezing a little harder than he'd originally meant to. Softly House said, 'Lunch later?'
Wilson seemed to shake himself mentally. 'Um, yeah. Lunch, sure. Come get me when you're ready.' He didn't make any attempt to retrieve his arm. 'Just make sure it's somewhere close to lunch time this time, alright?' He looked up at House with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
House nodded. 'Okay, noon then.' He slowly loosened his fingers and removed his hand. 'Well, noon-ish.' His eyes twinkled with an unexpressed smile.
Wilson nodded and walked away, heading for the elevators. For the second time in two days, House watched him as he went.
* * *
Lunch time came and the two men met in the cafeteria lineup. House declined a tray of his own and just piled what he wanted onto Wilson's tray, and then conveniently took off with it to reserve a table when they came to the cash register. The cashier looked askance at Wilson as she carefully dropped the change into his hand. Wilson grinned disarmingly at her. She didn't grin back.
When he reached the table, House was busy doling out the food and drinks and utensils, the condiment packages, the straws. Wilson lifted an eyebrow as he watched but said nothing.
'Betcha can't guess what five stupendously moronic things Foreman did this morning?' House started off, letting his mouth fly and his brain disengage, watching Wilson's face for silent commentary or reaction. He nodded in all the right places, making muffled 'mm-hm' sounds in the pauses, looking up occasionally. Finally, House saw an opening: Wilson had picked up a French fry.
'They never salt these things enough, do they?' he complained, reaching for a salt packet and quickly tearing off a corner. Wilson looked up, startled, fry half way to his mouth. House grabbed his bare wrist and guided his hand back down to the plate, holding it so that the fry in his hand hovered above the rest on the table. Quickly, he shook the salt over the fries, sparingly sprinkling the pile while he watched Wilson's face.
Wilson's eyes were riveted on the hand holding his wrist. He could feel Wilson's pulse under his fingers, fluttering quickly and then pounding hard at a rate much too fast for sitting and eating. He stopped and tossed the rest of the packet aside. After taking a quick, furtive look around to make sure nobody was watching, he guided Wilson's hand to his mouth and waited while the man took a bite from the fry. And forgot to chew.
He let go of Wilson's wrist and the man seemed to come back to himself, resuming eating. He looked back up into House's face after his eyes wandered, somewhat unfocused, from House's hand to his own hand and back again. House couldn't remember what he was talking about before, and so said nothing to fill in the strange silence. After a long moment, House pushed his chair back and away from the table. He picked up his cane and pushed himself to his feet. As he passed Wilson, he dropped his hand to the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.
'Coming over tonight?'
Wilson was silent as he turned slowly to look up at House's hand, and then at his face. House kept still, eyebrow raised in question, hand still gripping Wilson's shoulder lightly. He nodded slightly and turned back around, confusion warring in his eyes with something else House couldn't quite identify.
'Good. See you then.' House lifted his hand from Wilson's shoulder and, completely not by accident, brushed his cheek with his knuckles on the way by. At the door of the cafeteria he stopped and turned to look at Wilson. He was still sitting, one hand clutching the wrist House had grabbed, the other clutching at the shoulder where House had left his hand. He sat, motionless, until House turned and left.
* * *
Safely back in his office, House dropped into his chair and turned toward the balcony, gazing unseeingly out into space. His hand ... tingled. The hand he used to grab Wilson's wrist, the same one with which he touched Wilson's shoulder, tingled. It had done the same thing that morning at the coffee kiosk as well. Touching Wilson was making his own hand feel good. He briefly wondered what it would do for the rest of his body, then shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his head. His mind and memory kept casting back to the moments when House had had his hands on Wilson, reliving the feeling of the other man's skin under his, the feel of the muscles and bones. He fancied he could feel the entropy of the living cells under his fingertips, the rush of blood through veins and tissues, flooding his own skin and blood with some essence of Wilson, taking some of the man into himself.
He blinked rapidly. Damn Cuddy. Now that he had touched Wilson, he wanted to do it again and again and keep doing it, if this was the feeling he got from it.
His pager buzzed. He was needed in the clinic. Of course.
Wait, this might be useful. He considered the possibilities of running simultaneous experiments and decided it would be worth it, just this once.
* * *
House had just sat down on the sofa with the box of pizza when a knock sounded at the door and a key scraped in the lock.
'You have lousy timing,' he growled without turning around. 'The pizza's already here and paid for.'
'Then I have wonderful timing,' Wilson shot back, smiling as he dropped onto the sofa beside House. 'And you now have beer as well.'
House grunted and accepted the proffered bottle. 'Okay, you're forgiven.' And for a long time the only sounds were chewing and swallowing, and the tinny noise from the television as it extolled the virtues of large trucks crushing smaller ones.
When they were finished Wilson rose to take the leftovers and plates and empty bottles into the kitchen. House rose to follow him, watching as he tried to balance the empties and box and plates all together.
'You could help, you know,' Wilson said over his shoulder.
'True, I could.' House paused in the doorway, leaning on his cane. 'So I experimented on clinic patients today.'
'Why am I not surprised?' Wilson managed to get everything onto the counter without breakage and turned around to make an exasperated face. 'What did you do to them this time?'
'I touched them.' House waited to see Wilson's reaction.
'Seriously? You actually touched ... No, never mind. And?' Wilson made an impatient 'come on, out with it' motion with his hand as he moved past House and back into the living room.
'And it wasn't the same.' House followed again, trailing behind as Wilson headed back toward the couch.
Wilson stopped walking. 'The same as what?'
'The same as touching you,' House said, sidling up behind Wilson, waiting for him to turn around.
Instead, Wilson walked away, drifting toward the bookshelves on the other side of the room. 'So you were experimenting on me too then?' he said, not looking back at House.
'Only a little,' replied House, changing course and following him once again to the bookshelves.
Wilson whirled around. 'Don't experiment on me,' he said, brown eyes boring into House with a ferocity he'd never seen before.
'Would it make you feel any better if I said I was experimenting on me?' House said after a moment.
'No, why?'
House waved his hand distractedly. 'Something Cuddy said. Doesn't matter. The point is, I've discovered something. Well, two somethings.'
Wilson covered his eyes with his hand. 'I don't suppose there's any way I could get you to not tell me, is there?'
'Nope. First discovery is, you like being touched.' House let it drop and waited to see if Wilson would pick it up.
'Most people do. And by people here I mean not you. I know you don't. And what the hell does that have to do with anything anyway?' Hands on his hips now, Wilson's leg was jiggling like he wanted to pace but didn't have the room, with House standing right in front of him.
'Second discovery is, I like to touch you,' House said quietly, not looking Wilson in the face.
That did it, Wilson froze, motionless. He'd even stopped breathing. His mouth worked, open and shut, but nothing came out. His eyes went wide, darting frantically from House's face to his hands, to the room behind him and back. His hand flopped uselessly at his side.
House moved in closer, propping his cane against the bookshelf behind Wilson, and brought his hands up to Wilson's shoulders. He stroked the back of his knuckles along Wilson's cheek, lips quirking when Wilson's eyes slammed shut and he turned his face into the touch. 'Am I wrong?' he whispered. 'Do you not like this?'
Wilson's breath ghosted over House's face and he heard a small, breathy 'No...'
'Which one? No, I'm wrong, or no, you like this?' House said, his lips moving against Wilson's ear.
'Not wrong...' Wilson replied, turning his head from the knuckles on his cheek to the lips on his ear and back again.
'I'm never wrong,' House replied, more through habit than anything else, and then put his lips to better use, trailing kisses down Wilson's jaw until he found Wilson's lips.
Now this, THIS was even better than a hand on the shoulder. House's fingers had been tingling while they were stroking Wilson's face, but now his lips were tingling and the rest of him was on fire. He pushed up close to Wilson's body, trying to find as many points of contact as possible only to be frustrated by clothes and Wilson's hands, pushing against him.
'Wait!' Wilson's breathy exclamation took him by surprise and he floundered backwards, suddenly very self-conscious. His leg flared pain up and down and he nearly stumbled, but Wilson's strong, sure hands grabbed at his shoulders and held him upright.
'No, okay, sure,' House mumbled, turning his head away and attempting escape.
'House, shut up.' Wilson stepped into House's personal space this time and held him against his chest, Wilson's lips in House's ear, a mirror of before. 'I just think we should maybe go somewhere more comfortable and horizontal.' House lifted his head and turned to face Wilson. 'Far be it for me to interrupt your journey to enlightenment. By all means, let the touching continue.' House could feel Wilson's smile against the skin of his throat.
Wilson pressed House's cane into his hand, then pushed him lightly toward the bedroom, following closely behind.
House stopped when he reached the side of the bed, turned around and waited for Wilson to catch up. He'd stopped at the door of the bedroom and stood, just looking at House. Slowly he approached, his eyes dark with lust and want, making House shudder with sudden desire. Wilson worked quickly, stripping off his own shirt, pants, everything, and dropping it all in a messy pile on the floor, then pulled harshly at House's own shirt, shoving at the pants and boxers, until everything was gone. He stood in front of House, chest heaving, body vibrating, hard cock glistening and bobbing with each heartbeat. His Adams apple moved as he swallowed.
'House,' he whispered, making him tear his eyes away from Wilson's quivering body and look up, 'touch me.'
And with that, House was undone.
He growled low in his throat and lunged for Wilson, turning slightly so that they landed on the bed and bounced, House on top, while he plunged his tongue into Wilson's mouth, biting at his lips, roaming his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, thrusting raggedly against Wilson's belly in a lopsided attempt to gain some traction.
'House, wait,' Wilson panted, pushing House off of him and over onto his side. 'I want to touch you too.'
House groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for some semblance of control. He heaved a long, slow breath and then blinked his eyes open, searching out Wilson's face in the dark, leaned forward and touched his lips to the other man's, gently but firmly. He let his hands roam, gentler this time, softer but with no less purpose, over Wilson's shoulders, his arms, down his chest and over his stomach. Wilson returned the favour, caressing his strong fingers over House's arms, outlining muscles, drawing random patterns on his back.
Eventually Wilson grasped hold of House's hand and guided it downward, curling the other man's fingers around his cock and guiding his hand up and down. He whispered against House's lips, 'God, touch me,' and House moaned raggedly against Wilson's neck, taking up the rhythm that Wilson set and added a twist of his own at the top of the stroke. Wilson's breath left him in a rushed gasp and his body shuddered under House's hands and lips. Soft cries of 'Oh! Yes! Like that!' escaped his lips along with pants and groans until his hips bucked unsteadily toward House's. His back arched and he threw his head back, a wordless shout wrenching from his throat.
House felt a warm wetness covering his belly and slowed his strokes, loosening his grip a little, letting Wilson ride out the sensation until he felt Wilson pull his hips away. House considered staying put and letting him ride the too-much-pleasure knife-edge but decided to let the man recover instead. It didn't take long.
'My turn,' Wilson whispered, bringing his face back to House's and mouthing his way over House's jaw and down his throat. 'I want to touch you.'
House shivered. He felt Wilson's hand rubbing small circles over his shoulder, down his arm and onto his back, his thumb brushing lightly over his waistline and down to his hip bone before coming down in front of him and dragging his fingertips over his straining cock. The first touch of Wilson's fingers made his eyesight fuzz out and sparks shoot up his spine. He gasped and let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.
Wilson smiled and bit down lightly on House's shoulder, working his way up his neck to his ear again, and tightened his grip on House's dick, speeding up considerably. House gasped again and began panting. His eyes rolled back in his head and he lost feeling in his fingers and toes as the blood rushed to his head and his groin. Wilson dragged his thumb over the head of House's cock and House cried out to the ceiling, moaning and thrashing his head from side to side.
Soon House felt the coil of white-hot need uncurling in his belly and it exploded outward, zinging up his back and down his legs, out through his arms and into his brain. He came hard, adding to the wetness on his belly, shot after shot until he thought it would never stop. His voice was choked and harsh when he cried, 'Wilson!' and clutched for the other man's shoulders spasmodically.
Eventually he stopped shuddering and became aware of Wilson's arms around him, cradling his head against his shoulder and stroking his fingers down House's back, whispering, 'I've got you, I've got you, it's okay.' House licked his lips and pushed back slightly, his eyes quizzical and his eyebrows drawn together.
'Well,' Wilson whispered, answering the unasked question, 'you didn't seem like yourself for a minute, I figured I'd help ground you.' His lips drew up into a small smile. House nodded vaguely and nuzzled back into Wilson's neck.
'I've never come that hard, I think,' House said, his voice low and reverent. 'I don't know what...'
'Yeah, I know,' Wilson replied. 'Me too.'
They stayed entwined in each other for uncountable minutes, neither one willing to be the one to break the embrace. Their breathing evened out and became regular once more, their skin cooled as the sweat evaporated. Their bellies became sticky and cold. Finally, Wilson pulled away and reached down for something to attempt a clean-up with. He came back with a t-shirt and proceeded to swipe ineffectually at the mess. House took it away and tossed it back on the floor, pulling Wilson back into his arms.
'Well then,' Wilson attempted a casual tone. 'What do you want to do now?'
House grinned. 'Touch me again?'
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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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