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Service Call
by Topaz Eyes
Service Call
(which may or may not have been based on a certain April Fool's day rumor...)
Wilson was reviewing Oncology departmental charts at his desk just after lunch, trying to stave off an incipient migraine, when his pager beeped.
Pulling it off his belt to check the display, his heart sank when saw House's "911apt" message. He shot like a bolt from his desk and sprinted to his car, not even noticing Cuddy's bemused expression on her face as he flew through the front doors towards the parking lot.
Wilson sped back to the apartment, not even noticing the drive. House had taken the day off for "personal reasons", telling Cuddy he wanted to "catch up on his journal reading in peace"; he was preparing to write up his latest case for publication. Cuddy had even granted it (though grudgingly) because of the novelty of the case; House as lead author would only lend prestige to the final paper. Wilson arrived at the apartment on a run, refusing to think of the scene that might greet him inside.
Letting himself in, barely controlled panic soon gave way to bemusement when he saw the apartment, bright and shiny and airy in the afternoon light, everything neat and clean and nothing out of place. All except for House though, who was nowhere to be seen behind the stacks of photocopies and journals on the coffee table.
"House?" he called, voice rising an octave and poking around the rest of the apartment. "Where are you?"
"In here, Jimmy," came the slightly hoarse reply, from the direction of House's bedroom.
Wilson headed to the bedroom, concern increasing exponentially. "House, what's happened, are you all right--?"
He stopped short at the threshold of the open door.
"Never been better."
Wilson gaped at the sight, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
House lounged on top of the bed covers, hale and hearty, wearing nothing but a huge lascivious grin on his face and holding a ball of navy blue fabric in his lap.
Wilson initially sagged with wordless relief that House was fine, his hand clutching gratefully at the door frame; but it quickly dissipated and he soon threw up his hands in annoyed frustration. "What the hell? HOUSE! You paged an emergency! I sped back here breaking God knows how many laws and praying you hadn't fallen and injured yourself or worse--"
"You worry too much, Jimmy. Everything's fine. I just got a little bored with reading all those dead, dry journal articles," House said lightly. "Thought it was time to fix that." He waggled an eyebrow and his grin grew wider, if that were possible.
Wilson's eyes narrowed. "Bored. Yes. Well. That's just great. You do realize that Cuddy witnessed my escape? She's bound to put two and two together--"
"You talk too much. Shut up. Here, take these." House threw the bundle of clothing straight at him.
Wilson just managed to catch the bundle before it hit him in the face, anger immediately giving away to abject confusion. "Umm--what's going on? What are they?"
House smirked. "Repairman overalls. Put 'em on."
Wilson blinked in astonishment and stared at the bundle in his hands. "What? How--? Have--have you finally lost your mind? What could possibly be broken and need fixing? Do I even look like I could repair large appliances? Why on earth would I--?"
"Because, genius, you look exactly like a certain new TV spokesman for a washing machine company. Spitting image in fact. And he's damn hot. You'd know that if you ever bothered to pay attention to the ads."
Wilson's fish-face look told everything. "House? I-- What the hell--?" His voice trailed off.
House only cocked his head and languidly stretched out on the bed, evidence of his arousal clearly on display. "Haven't you ever had fantasies about visiting repairmen while you're at home alone during the day, Wilson? Postmen, delivery boys, service technicians in uniform all hard and ready to go with their tools?" House leered. "If I can't have the real thing, at least I happen to have the next best thing. That's you. In this uniform. Servicing me." His hips bucked up slightly.
Wilson ducked his head and stifled an amused snort. "Uh--no, I can't say I have." He let the navy blue overalls unroll, the cotton twill surprisingly soft and smooth between his fingers and infused with House's scent. He ran his thumb along the name tag, smirking at the name embroidered on it. Jimmy. Of course. Why was he not surprised? He looked up at House through his eyelashes. "You do know that new TV spokesman's just a April Fool's rumor? Although perhaps if I were as addicted to soap operas as someone I happen to know, I could buy into it--"
"Just shut up, Wilson, and put the damn thing on."
Wilson shivered at the impatient raw desire in House's voice and suddenly decided he was more than willing to play along after all. He turned around, facing away from House as he unzipped the zipper and gingerly started to step into the legs.
"Take the rest of your clothes off first."
Wilson's breath hitched; he wasted no time as he shed his clothes and pulled on the uniform. It was a perfect fit; he pulled the zipper halfway up his chest as he turned back. "Do I have a toolbox somewhere?" he asked, his own voice growing husky.
"In the corner. I'm sure you'll find everything you need to take care of things."
Wilson picked up the red kit from the corner across and set it on the bed. Opening it, he raised an eyebrow at the contents. "Hmm, these are highly--er--unusual tools for repairing a washing machine," he stated, holding up a dildo and a tube of Astroglide.
"I'm sure a handy man like you will know how to use them anyway," House said, staring right at him with undisguised lust. Wilson flushed as House's gaze slid down to the prominent bulge in his overalls.
"I--I think I can manage," Wilson replied slowly, moving to stand beside him. "If you show me where the problem is, I'm sure I can fix it in a jiffy."
House nodded in approval. "Now that's what I call service," he said.
"Nothing but the best in workmanship," Wilson breathed, as House reached up and tugged down the zipper to the coveralls, sliding his hand inside against his skin.
"Then I know one repairman who won't be the 'Loneliest Man in the Galaxy' tonight," House murmured, pulling Wilson down beside him.
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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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