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  Irreversible 
 by Kristina  

 Eventually

It took Wilson many years to forgive himself.

When he finally did, it was completely anti-climactic. It didn't happen
during his semi-frantic attacks of religiosity that first Yom Kippur, nor
during any of his other endless acts of atonement. 

It happened in the cafeteria two weeks from his forty-sixth birthday. He
was tired - from House's physical therapy regimen, his patients, the
department budget proposition that was due in three days and that he
hadn't quite started - but he was happy. 

Somewhere between the beginning and the end of his low fat, sugar free
lunch his mind had wandered back its usual stress-induced path. For the
first time it had not reached its usual conclusion.

After imagining this moment for many years, he was almost disappointed.
There was no overwhelming sense of relief, no rush at the joy of
self-acceptance. 

Absolution, when it finally came, was unspectacular. 

Seven weeks from now

Wilson lifted his eyes from the patient file of a dying six year old and
squinted. "Huh?"

"We need to talk." House nodded in the direction of the clock. "Come on.
It's almost midnight. The nice councilor said you're supposed to get a
good night's sleep, remember?"

"I'm sorry, I just heard the words 'We need to talk' come out of your
mouth. Did you swipe drugs from the pharmacy again?"

House tapped his cane against the floor. He suddenly looked very serious.

"Fine." Wilson shut the file and put on his coat. 

The night was crisp and chilly. He wrapped the scarf around his neck more
tightly. 

"So, are you going to stop wallowing in self-pity now?" House cast him a
curious look. "Because it really is kind of a drag." 

Wilson felt the corners of his mouth twitch. The sensation felt good and
unfamiliar. "I haven't been wallowing!"

House gave him a pointed look as he got into the driver's seat. "You could
beat Cameron in Miss Martyr USA. But it's over now. Whatever it is you've
been obsessing about lately, it's not getting over my doorstep tonight."

Wilson made himself look House in the eyes. "I told you, there's nothing."


The drive was short and uneventful, the streets almost empty. As they
pulled over to the curb he could see the faint light of the living room
windows. 

House fiddled with his iPod. "Wow, that was a thrilling conversation."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Fine, I promise to never wallow in anything ever
again. Can we get out of the car now?"

"Very convincing. Also kind of disappointing. Here I thought we were going
to live dysfunctionally ever after." 

"That's... still the plan."

Neither of them made a move to get out. "I think we're all right." House
said finally, almost to himself. 

Wilson's hand had reached into his pocket almost on its own. His fingers
touched the smooth surface of the fountain pen briefly. "Yeah," he said.
"We will be."

Six and a half weeks from now

He came home to find House to his elbows in dish water. 

"This is... new." 

House shrugged. "You were late." He wiped his hands on the towel. "You've
better got a twenty on you, or else the delivery man is going to be very
upset."

Wilson rolled up his sleeves. "I got it. What are we having? Chinese?
Italian?"

"Indian. Specially mild for you."

"Figures." 

The doorbell soon rang and Wilson paid for the food which amounted to
thirty dollars including tip. They sat on the couch and used the
silverware House had cleaned. When the food was gone they washed it down
with beer. Neither of them spoke. It was almost like the old days. 

House suddenly set his bottle down. "I know things haven't been great
lately..." 

Wilson shifted his weight. "There's been a lot going on at work. I've just
been very busy."

"I bet that's what you tell all your wives. Look..." House looked pained,
as if he was setting himself up for great disappointment. "If there is...
if there's someone else, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell me before
you've made up your mind."

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. Wilson suddenly found he couldn't
keep himself from laughing. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "There's no
one for me but you, House."

Six weeks from now

House gripped the edges of the mattress and let out another hiss. "Just
fucking do it." Wilson's wrist was hurting from the angle but he shook his
head slightly. 

"I'm not a fucking school girl." House pushed at his shoulders as if he
thought he could provoke Wilson into action. "I can take it."

Wilson tried his best not to flinch. "I don't want to hurt you." 

"Look, if you don't get your fingers out of my ass and get to business I'm
calling a hooker." 

Wilson's fingers ached when he pulled them out. "You sure?"

"Seriously, I have the service on speed dial."

He reached for the lubricant and stroked himself until his erection was
sufficient. The voice in his head was telling him that this was wrong, but
he forced himself to ignore it. He was used to doing that. 

When he slid in, slippery and as slow as he could manage, the familiar
sensation hit his nervous system like a ton of bricks. 

House breathed harshly, hands clenched tightly against the sheets.
Wilson's throat was dry. "We should stop." 

House squeezed his eyes shut. "No. Get it over with."

It took a minute to get into a pace House seemed comfortable with.
Whatever tension was there soon disappeared as his body became soft and
pliant. It was easy to fuck him. 

Wilson ran his free hand across House's chest and arm, stroking across the
soft skin soothingly. The wet sounds of his thrusts seemed obscenely loud.


Suddenly House clenched around him, and Wilson was ambushed by the
pleasure he had been determined to repress. He ejaculated in the condom he
had insisted on wearing and reached down to grab House's cock. He jerked
him off with rough, steady strokes until it was finished. He pulled out as
carefully as he could. 

"Are you all right?"

House blinked. He seemed tired. "Sure. It's not the coolest thing I've
ever done, but...." He looked off into the distance. "I'm glad it was
you." 

Wilson felt the cold dread wash over him and smiled warmly. He rubbed
House's arm. "You're welcome." 

Five and a half weeks from now

House leaned against the low wall that separated them. "I want you to fuck
me," he said quietly.

The folder fell from Wilson's hand. He bent to pick it up. "Uh, no."

"Funny, that's not the kind of answer I had anticipated."

Wilson wet his lips nervously. "You've never wanted to before."

House looked at him thoughtfully. "Maybe it didn't occur to you, but
you're not the only one who can change his mind."

The wind picked up, and Wilson forced his eyes to follow the movements of
the naked branches. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he said at
last.

In the corner of his eye he could see House smile ever so slightly. It
looked somehow out of place. "Don't worry, Jimmy, I'm sure you'll like
it."

There was a moment of perfect terror when House's scrutinizing gaze seemed
fixed on him, but then he shrugged and turned his attention back to the
trees. 

The folder was damp with Wilson's sweat. He imagined the light weight of
the fountain pen in his pocket. "I can't." 

House was leaning away from him, looking in a direction that ensured
Wilson couldn't see his face. "I love you," he said so quietly it was
almost a whisper. 

Wilson wanted so badly to reach across the wall and touch his hand but he
knew it wouldn't be welcome. He nodded. "All right." 

Five weeks from now

Between driving them home and watching TV, there was dinner and a bathroom
that needed to be cleaned. Wilson had been putting off cleaning the drain
for days since it still functioned sufficiently, despite draining the
water far too slowly than he would have liked. Now there was no use in
waiting any longer. He pulled on the bright yellow rubber glove and got on
his knees gingerly. How two men could generate that much hair was beyond
him. As he had finished pulling out the slimy strands from the drain, his
eye caught something stuck behind the toilet seat. 

It was a black fountain pen, the kind he used at work. He pulled it out
with shaking hands, feeling an abyss of despair sucking him in. 

That night, he asked House to fuck him harder until his body was screaming
and he could feel the pain for days. 

Four and a half weeks from now

Dr. Morgan referred him to a councilor who stressed the importance of
delegating one's work and getting enough rest. Wilson charmed his way out
of follow-up sessions by promising to share some of his workload with
other oncologists. 

"You're just trying to get attention, you know," House said that night as
he wrapped the cover around Wilson more tightly. "It's not going to work."

"Yeah, and that's why you've been force-feeding me anti-acids and have
been keeping me off my feet."

"That's because I want you back on your feet in the kitchen." 

House's tender care lasted for two days. Wilson knew it was over when
House threw a cleaning glove at him and told him there was something stuck
in the drain.

Four weeks from now

He doubled over. The pain in his stomach made it feel difficult to
breathe, though rationally he knew his airways were clear and open. He
waved off the nurse's concern and dove into his desk drawer for
anti-acids. Before he could tell her not to, she had run off. 

It took only a minute before Cuddy barged into his office, face wrinkled
with worry. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he leaned back in his chair and made himself breathe slowly and
evenly. The pain faded into the background. "It's an ulcer. Dr. Morgan
diagnosed it."

The wrinkles smoothed out and she leaned towards him over the desk.
"James," she said softly. "Is your workload bothering you?"

That was Cuddy for you, always thinking everything was her fault. 

He shook his head. "It's not too bad. I've not been sleeping enough,
that's all." 

"Is everything all right... between you and House?" She closed her eyes
and shook her head. "No, wait.. I mean are things worse than usual?"

He let out the nervous laugh Julie had accused him of using to manipulate
her. "He hasn't done anything."

"But you have?"

His gaze wandered to the window facing the balcony. The yellow leaves were
clinging desperately to their branches, as if they were reluctant to let
go. "Do you believe in karma?"

She smiled softly. "Rabbi Rubenstein wouldn't be too pleased if I said I
did." 

His throat burned. He yearned desperately for a sip of water. "Do you
think there are things you can't make up for? That no matter what you do
and how much you try you'll never be able to tip the scales back in your
favor." 

She was quiet for a while. "I think... you've got to never stop trying."

"But what if it's futile? If you never manage to forgive yourself?"

She bit her lip. "I like you, but you've got to learn how to say no."

Three and a half weeks from now

House stood in his office, leaning on his cane with a displeased look on
his face. "Are you screwing someone else?"

The sound of his scribbling was suddenly painfully loud. He swallowed
tightly. "Of course not."

"Well, you're doing something behind my back. You're never this nice
unless you're feeling guilty."

"That's... not a compliment."

House snorted. "I didn't intend for it to be."

Wilson bit his lip. "It may seem strange to you, but a person can do nice
things without any ulterior motives." 

Three weeks from now

The piano bar was almost empty. House liked to go there early in the
evening, before the crowds started coming in. He also liked sitting at the
back where he could see the whole room and no one could see him. Wilson
had flirted the waitress into taking away the remaining chairs so they'd
be left alone. 

She came back to take their drink orders. House usually only drank beer or
large quantities of scotch, and Wilson beat him to it by ordering two
Heinekens. A drunk House might be easier to deal with, but he knew a
hangover on top of the pain would be too much. 

They drank their beers and watched a row of amateurs and
semi-professionals try their hand at the piano. Wilson didn't know much
about music, but he could tell from House's facial expressions which ones
where decent. When he was almost sure House would go over there himself a
middle aged schoolteacher type managed to make House's frown disappear.

Wilson took a sip from his bottle. "She any good?" 

"I haven't liked a woman on stage since Candy went out of business. Plus,
this is cheaper."

Wilson fingered the table casually. "Would you do her?"

House raised one eyebrow. "In an alternate universe where your Jewish
mother won't cut my balls off, sure."

"We don't have to tell mom." He let a moment pass in silence. "You miss
tits."

"I also miss Dawson's Creek. Are you serious?"

Wilson shrugged. "I'll get her. Let me know when you've made up your
mind." 

Schoolteacher's name turned out to be Linda. Wilson dug into his wallet
and bought her a drink and did most of the talking, which was probably
smart.

House seemed to warm up after a while, and they took a taxi home. House
fiddled with the piano and poured scotch until he and Linda were laughing
together on the piano stool. Eventually, they retreated into the bedroom.
Wilson handed them the condoms and found out what it felt like to watch
your lover fuck someone else into the mattress. 

After she was gone, House lay curled into Wilson's side. He sounded giddy
and relaxed. "That was oddly generous of you."

Wilson brushed the side of House's arm and tried to remember what it was
like to feel so at peace. "Anything for you, House." 

Two weeks from now

"You're not sleeping."

Wilson put the glass down in the sink carefully. "How would you know?"

"I have a webcam in the bedroom."

A small nervous laugh escaped him. "Yes, I forgot all about your side
business."

House chewed his Cheetos loudly. "See a shrink."

"What?" 

House shrugged. "Or a rabbi. If you don't see a shrink you'll end up
telling me about what's bothering you, and I'd rather you didn't, because
frankly, it bores me. See a shrink." 

Wilson willed his shoulders to slump. "Nothing's bothering me." There was
an awkward pause, and then he turned from House's look of disbelief to the
dishes. 

That night, he smoothed the fresh linen sheets over the bed and told
himself for the hundredth time that it was time he started over. 

Next Tuesday

Wilson waved his shopping bag in front of himself. House reluctantly tore
his eyes from the television to look at him suspiciously. "What's this?"

"Season two."

"Why?"

Wilson took a deep breath. "Call it an apology."

House snorted. "Not that! I know why you bring offerings of guilt. But why
did you pick that?" he indicated the bag with his head. 

Wilson shrugged. "Because you like it." 

"I like watching my neighbors fight about the trash too, but I wouldn't
pay 30 bucks for it." 

"Well I paid for it. Look, House .." he swallowed nervously, tightening
his hands around the bag. "I'm really sorry."

For a second he thought they would have a genuine conversation, but House
had already yanked the bag out of his hands and was tearing the plastic
off impatiently. "I've had worse."

Next Monday

House pushed his head away. "Let's do it the usual way."

Wilson sat back on his heels. "But your back..." 

"My back's fine." House was wearing that look of mischief and impatience
that Wilson knew so well. He groaned. "Look, it's not that I don't
appreciate the daily blowjobs, but my back's fine and the lack of
variation is boring me out of my skull."

He ran his thumb across Wilson's chin slowly. "I want to fuck you."

Almost against his will, Wilson felt his cheeks flush, and he stood up to
pull his zipper down. House shook his head. "Not here."

Panic surged in his chest but he forced it down, and they walked towards
the bedroom, House swaggering as much as someone walking with a cane
could. Wilson got the lube, took his clothes off and lay back against the
comforter. 

"Let me know if you want to stop." 

House took the lubricant and poured a generous amount on his hands and
cock. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" 

The familiar routine was almost comforting, and Wilson made himself soft
and unresisting under House's roaming hands. Soon he was opened and
entered and eventually filled completely.

Then House was kissing his ear and stroking his cock and the coupling was
sticky and felt just a tad uncomfortable. 

"This all right?" 

He dug his fingernails into House's back and moaned convincingly. 

After a few minutes House finished and reached for Wilson's cock, his
other hand slipping between his legs casually. Wilson closed his eyes and
forced his mind to focus on the sensations. House was jerking him off with
sure, steady strokes, rubbing against his loosened hole with the other
hand. It was good, as usual, and Wilson tried to give into the arousal. 

Suddenly, House pulled his fingers out. "This..." He wiped the mess of
semen and lubricant on the comforter with a look of disgust. "...is why I
don't take it up the ass."

Wilson could feel the moment his erection went limp in House's hand.
Suddenly, all he could think about was the feeling of soft linen sheets,
this room, this bed... 

House frowned and squeezed his cock insistingly. "Fucking someone else,
Jimmy boy?"

Wilson froze and tried to squirm away. "What?" 

"Is that why you can't keep it up for me?"

Wilson's stomach clamped, and he tried to sound as calm as humanly
possible. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not the problem?" 

House's mouth opened, and for a moment Wilson wondered if he hadn't gotten
in over his head, but then House let the cock slip from his fingers with
an annoyed sigh. He rolled on his back. "Fine. Whatever."

The day after tomorrow

Cuddy met them in the lobby. She smiled and crossed her arms over her
chest which only made her cleavage look more impressing. Wilson did his
best not to look at it. 

"How are we feeling today, Dr. House?" 

House leaned against his cane with the annoyed look he had perfected over
the years. "We are feeling resentful towards our boss for forcing us to
take medication that should have been left in the dark ages." 

Wilson rolled his eyes. "He's not in pain. The Tetrazepam worked." 

"Yeah, and Wilson here has washed and fed me, too. I only got to dress
myself because I asked nicely."

She smirked. "Your prescribing physician will be very pleased to hear
that." 

House groaned. 

When they reached Diagnostics, Foreman was already waiting outside the
door with a content smile on his face. "Good morning, Dr. House. I hear
the treatment was a success."

"Yeah, could you prescribe a naked oil massage for me next time? That
would probably feel less like a mind rape. " 

Wilson started fidgeting with his watch. "I really should get..." 

"Well, we're glad to have you back. Just let me handle the whiteboard for
a while. You know, lift the pens, carry them around, all the heavy
lifting. We don't want you to throw your back out again." 

Wilson didn't walk away quickly enough to avoid hearing House's scathing
retorts. Luckily, he did make it to his office before either of them
noticed how much he was shaking. 

Tomorrow night

"It's funny," House said absent-mindedly when Wilson crouched in front of
the DVD player. "I didn't figure you for the closeted calligraphy type." 

Wilson put in the next disc and got up gingerly. "What are you talking
about?" 

House shrugged off the comforter and pulled back the hem of his T-shirt to
reveal black ink smudges just below his ribs. "Found this in the shower.
Too bad it's too smudged to read what it says. I bet it said something
obscene. Did it?" 

Wilson stared at the neat, faded scrawling and felt a cold dread creep up
on him. He shook his head as casually as he could. "Looks like you ran out
of whiteboard." He rummaged in his briefcase frantically until he found a
wet wipe. "Seriously, House, what you do to yourself is between you and
your sharpies." 

House looked like he was going to say something in reply, but his
attention was caught by the next episode of The O.C. Wilson used that
moment to wipe the ink off effortlessly. "There," he said, pulling the
shirt down and spreading the comforter back over House. "All clean." 

Tomorrow morning

It was with a muffled groan that Wilson learned that House was finally
awake. He wiped off the last bit of flour from the counter with shaky
hands and turned on the coffer maker. 

Everything looked ready.

The pancakes were stacked on the ceramic plates. There was maple syrup,
fried-to-a-crisp bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice in the carafe.

Within a minute he could hear the familiar tap-tap sound of the cane and
House came limping slowly into the kitchen, wearing only his T-shirt.
Wilson forced himself to avert his eyes. "Let me get your robe." 

He went into the bathroom to retrieve it, and let House lean on him for
the second it took to help him into it. He felt the other man's body lax
and boneless against his, but he could walk and stand without assistance. 

Wilson swallowed nervously. "How are you feeling?"

House blinked. He looked awkward and shaken, like a kid lost in the
supermarket. The sight was unsettling. 

"Like I've been hit by a truck. Repeatedly. Do me a favor, Wilson. Next
time I agree to take Tetrazepam I want you to drag me to the chiropractor
kicking and, well, gesturing wildly and screaming." 

Wilson bit his tongue. "Does it hurt?" 

"Everywhere but my back. Hey..." 

House looked at the table and let out a soft whistle. "Wow, I had
completely forgotten it was Celebrate Your Cripple Day."

Wilson helped him sit in the office chair he had dragged in. "I went to
the store. I thought you deserved a decent breakfast. I also got stuff for
dinner, season one of The O.C. I know you don't have it so..." 

"That's because I'm cheap." House squinted. "What time is it?" 

Wilson poured them both a cup of coffee and sat down in his own chair. He
turned his cup nervously. "Ten minutes after one. I bought another pack of
mozzarella," he said tentatively. "Since we ran out last night." 

House looked at him questioningly. 

"When we had sandwiches. On the couch." 

House looked uncomfortable. "I don't remember. I feel so... hung over." 

Wilson felt the rush of relief course through his body. He reached across
the table to take House's hand gently. He smiled. "You'll be fine." 

Tonight

The sound of the front door closing behind them made him jump. He shrugged
off his jacket and placed his shoes on the doormat as House gingerly
brushed past him without taking off his sneakers. Wilson sighed and
clutched the brown paper bag.

"How are you doing?"

There was a hiss of pain as House tried to slowly seat himself on the
couch. From the sound it was obvious he wasn't comfortable. "What the fuck
do you think?"

"Maybe you just need to rest a bit. Keep the weight off your feet."

"Yeah, and you can cure breast cancer by chewing mistletoe. " House held
out his hand impatiently. "Gimme." 

"Not before you eat something."

"I'm not suffering from malnutrition! No amount of eating is going to make
me feel better. Gimme the fucking pills."

Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his head. This whole situation was
tiring. "It's not Vicodin, House. Tetrazepam is probably going to knock
you out, at which point I'd rather like it if you had eaten and gone to
bed." 

"On the other hand, the noise of me screaming in agony might put a damper
on your dinner plans. I took a class in pharmacology once, I'm aware of
the side effects."

He knew he was losing the battle without even trying to argue further.
"Fine, but you are going to eat something."

"Whatever you say, Master."

When he returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and the bottle of
pills, House had turned on the TV and was reclining as comfortably as he
could.

"How many Vicodin did you take today?"

"Why? You want any?" 

When he hesitated, House held out his hand. "Don't look so glum, Wilson.
Worst case scenario I get anterograde amnesia and you get to be a pain in
the ass all night without me complaining about it in the morning." 

Wilson shook out a pill into House's hand. House looked disturbingly
chipper as he knocked it back without touching the water. "Thank you, Dr.
Wilson."

He sighed. "I'll get started on dinner." 

He didn't really feel up to cooking a big meal and he doubted House would
eat it if he did. And even then there was a good chance that House would
conk out before it was finished. 

Keeping this in mind, Wilson settled for making a couple of grilled
sandwiches with mozzarella and cherry tomatoes. He took out two plates and
tossed together a quick salad while waiting for the grill to finish. When
he came back out, he found House on his feet, pacing around the living
room gingerly. 

"Wow. That class must have been short and pointless." He set down the
plates on the coffee table and fluffed up one of the pillows. "You're
supposed to be resting the affected muscle. Rest, I'm told, is most
effectively achieved by sitting down." 

House stretched and flexed his fingers as if he was working out kinks that
had yet to present themselves. "It's not working."

Wilson sighed. "It's not a painkiller. You might actually have to wait
longer than a whole five minutes."

House stopped abruptly, tilting his head to the side. "Gimme another one."

Wilson shook his head. "There's no use taking medication if you're not
going to follow the instructions."

"Fine." With a growl, House walked over to the couch. He winced as he sank
down on the pillow. "I'll eat your stupid dinner." 

With a sigh of relief, Wilson seated himself on the other end of the
couch. "With your charm it's no small wonder the nurses don't like you." 

The cheese was congealing and made that lovely squeaky sound as he chewed
it. He made a mental note to buy another pack of mozzarella from the
Carnegie center deli. 

"So," he said after a while. "Have you thought about it further?

"Thought about what?"

He inhaled sharply. "July."

"Yeah, I'm not so much the outdoor type." 

Wilson tried to focus on House's soft chewing sounds. "We wouldn't have to
be outdoors. Not all the time. They have muscle cars at the Volo museum.
Pretty good exhibit. Been wanting to go for a while."

House remained silent. Wilson rubbed his neck. In his mind he could see
the endless row of cars. "I just think it would do us some good." 

"No, you don't. You think it would do me some good." 

He could hear from the tone in House's voice that he wasn't really paying
attention. "Well, yes. When was the last time you had a vacation, House?"

"Took a drug holiday last year. Didn't like it much." 

They fell silent. 

On the television Summer was kissing Cohen. Wilson felt a sudden desire to
be young again.

"You know what your greatest fear is?" House said finally, licking the
butter off his fingers with an obscene sucking sound. "That you'll run out
of ways to take care of me."

Wilson couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, my life's ambition is to try to fix
you. You've got me figured out."

"Oh, no. You're not Cameron. You don't want to fix me. You want to keep me
sick." 

The kissing sounds from the television drowned out the sound of his heart
beat. His jaw fell. "That's an interesting conclusion," he said at last.

"As long as my leg hurts you get to play nursemaid. As long as I know you
get off on it, I get to indulge you without feeling guilty." House gave a
faint shrug. "It all works out beautifully."

"You don't feel guilty, House." 

"But I could, if I wanted to." He picked up the remote as the credits
rolled. "Wanna watch the game?"

Wilson stood and collected the plates. He had to get away before he said
or did anything he would regret later. "I have some reading to do. And
stay off your feet!" 

When he had read the same page three times, he shut the latest issue of US
Oncology News and sauntered out of the bed room. House was lying back on
the couch with a worryingly contented look on his face. When Wilson got
closer he saw the whiskey bottle. He groaned.

"Are you actually trying to make yourself sick?"

"No, I'm trying to make you funnier. I figure if I get drunk enough,
you'll appear less dull and anal."

"You're not supposed to mix benzodiazepine with alcohol!"

"Well, you're not supposed to get sodomized by your gay lover either, but
you don't seem to have any problem with that."

Wilson pressed his lips together. "You really are an asshole, House."

"Well duh!" House took another long swig from his whiskey bottle. He
seemed to study Wilson thoughtfully. "Want me to suck you off?"

"What?"

"If you're worried about not getting any tonight, I could help you with
that." He let out a loud belch. "Just don't get any spunk on my shirt."

Wilson forced himself to count to five before answering. "I think I'll
pass. You're not exactly attractive right now."

"It's your loss." House started drumming his thighs. "So, how about that
pill?"

"You already had one."

"Yeah, one that's busy doing nothing." He held out his hand. It looked a
bit like a peace gesture. "I need another."

Wilson shook his head. "House... no." 

House sat up, swaying a bit as he did so. "Come on..."

"One is recommended. Two would be insane." 

"Yeah, and so would being driven mad by your lumbago. Stop fucking around
and give me another pill, Jimmy."

The back of Wilson's throat felt dry. He rubbed his hands together. "I'm
sorry, but the answer is no."

For a moment, House seemed too surprised to speak, then his jaw clenched
tightly. "It's not your fucking decision!"

Wilson had already taken a step forwards. "How about I make you some
chamomile tea and we put you to bed? I think you'll feel better in the
morning." 

In retrospect, stepping forward hadn't been a smart move. Before he had a
chance to react, House had grabbed his arm with surprising strength. 

"Please, Jimmy. I don't want to have to fight you for it." 

He tried to shake him off. "Don't be so dramatic." 

House's expression softened, the thin veil of anger slipping away. He
looked at Wilson pleadingly.

"I haven't had an MRI, Jimmy. I might have a herniated disc. I'll hurt
myself."

"Then don't do it." Wilson was stronger and had the advantage of all his
muscles being in one piece. He knew that if push came to shove, he could
easily win the fight. But at what cost? House was in excruciating pain
from the lumbago, and if he really did have a herniated disc and made any
sudden movements... 

"Overstepping the recommendation is highly inadvisable." 

"I'm willing to take the risk." House had stiffened in his seat, wincing
slightly every few seconds. "Look, ah... nothing bad's gonna happen. At
most I'll conk out." 

He was rubbing Wilson's arm now, long, deft fingers against the fabric of
the shirt sleeve. It was enough to make Wilson shiver. 

"But if you combine that with the drinking you've done..."

"...I'll conk out five minutes sooner than I would otherwise. Relax, I've
been self-medicating for years." House exhaled sharply, without ceasing
his caresses. He looked as though every movement hurt. "At least do me the
favor of letting me get the first punch in." 

The look on House's face was one of pure despair, and Wilson's carefully
constructed defense crumbled at the sight of it. He sighed. "Okay, but
you'll go straight to bed, and no more drinking." 

For a moment, House didn't seem to react, then his body melted into
relaxation and his hand fell from Wilson's arm. "Thank you." 

Wilson tried hard not to think as he refilled the glass in the kitchen,
producing another pill from his pocket. House took the water with the pill
this time, sitting back against the cushions with a faint hiss. 

He looked up at Wilson from behind heavy lids. "What would I do without
you, Jimmy?"

Wilson tugged at his arm. "Come on, you're going to bed." 

"When my show is over."

"You have TiVo!" 

It took five minutes before Wilson gave up on the battle and another
fifteen before The L Word was finally over. 

Turning the TV off with a flick of the remote, House stood up and fell
back on the couch almost instantly. He was panting harshly by the time
Wilson had reached for him. "Woah, it really relaxed all of my muscles."

The sight of House boneless and groggy at the couch caused all of Wilson's
anger to come flooding back. "Which you would have known if you had read
the warnings!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, spare me the lecture."

Wilson tried to provoke House into standing up by yanking his left arm and
then the right. Eventually, he grabbed both hands and shifted his weight
on his heels as he pulled the other man up. For a moment he contemplated
the terrifying possibility that he might have to carry House to the
bedroom, but those fears turned out to be unfounded. Leaning on Wilson's
shoulder with his arm around his waist, House was able to walk to the
bedroom. 

Once there, Wilson deposited him on the edge of the bed where he slumped
like a sack of potatoes. "Take your pants off." 

House groaned a little but started unbuckling his belt nonetheless. "Wow,
this fetish of yours is stronger than I thought."

"Stop being a smart ass, and do as I say." 

"You should think about removing that stick from your ass, Wilson. I can
refer you to a good surgeon, if you like." 

Biting back a bitter reply, Wilson helped House pull his jeans all the way
off. House's legs were limp and boneless. 

"This is.... This is just typical! You have no sense of responsibility at
all!"

"Well duh. Besides, didn't we already establish you've got a thing for
that? Come to think of it, this must give you a hard-on. The sicker I get,
the more turned on..."

House was interrupted by the loud thud of Wilson's fist connecting to the
bed frame. "Shut up!" He rubbed his knuckles. 

House looked almost terrified. "It's my body. It's not your place to make
decisions about it." 

Wilson bit his tongue. "Sometimes, you're not the best person to be making
those decisions."

House studied him pensively for a moment. "Can I go to bed now? Your moral
superiority is really tiring." 

Wilson folded House's pants and placed them on the chair neatly. He was
suddenly feeling very tired of it all.

"You know, you're making it hard for me to love you sometimes."

House snorted softly. He was already lying back against the bedspread, one
hand rubbing his head sleepily. "That's what you want." 

Wilson started unbuttoning his shirt without really knowing why. He didn't
particularly feel like going to sleep next to House tonight. "You have no
idea what I want."

House peered at him from between his fingers. "Aww, poor little Wilson not
getting enough attention? You should fuck Cameron, she'd make you happy.
You could hit on terminal patients together."

Wilson bit his lip. His silence was rewarded with an irritated groan.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," and then House was kissing him, pulling him back on
the bed with over-medicated slowness. 

If this had been Wilson's night, he would have been able to stop his body
from responding. He wouldn't have twitched under House's hands, and he
most certainly wouldn't have arched his back and moaned. But right now, he
couldn't find it in himself to care.

House let out a small laugh as his hand found Wilson's erect cock. "Yeah,
that's it. I knew this would turn you on." 

Wilson silenced him with a kiss. House's feet were still on the floor so
he pulled back, nudging the other man's knees until he scooted backwards.
When they were both fully on the bed he slipped his hand under House's
t-shirt. The kissing grew impatient. He was biting House's lips, sucking
his tongue with a passion he hadn't felt in weeks. He could feel House's
erection with his knee and reached down to squeeze it. 

But House swatted his hand away, and just as he opened his mouth to
question, Wilson was pushed away.

"I think I've proven my point."

He panted harshly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand.
"What are you talking about?"

House stretched out against the covers languidly which caused him to wince
as his back muscles worked. "You like me when I'm sick and helpless. Face
it, if I wasn't in pain and pumped full of benzodiazepines your dick
wouldn't be nearly as hard."

For several harrowing seconds Wilson felt as if all air had been knocked
out of him. His body instinctively pulled away. "How can you say that?" 

House groaned and rubbed his forehead with one shaking hand. "God, I'm
glad I won't be able to remember this tomorrow." 

Wilson's body was trembling with anger. He was still achingly hard. He
took a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm asking you to apologize. Right
now." 

House removed his hand to look at him. "We both know that's not going to
happen. Just shut up, and let me go to sleep, Wilson. You can bemoan
yourself somewhere else." 

In that moment it was as if something inside Wilson broke. Before he
realized what he was doing, he reached across the bed and started tugging
at the hem of House's boxers. 

House snorted and tried to squirm away. "What, you think this is a
voluntary arrangement now? I only wanted to prove how pathetic you were,
Wilson. Now, take your hand the fuck off me." 

"Shut up!" Wilson was surprised by the anger in his voice. He deftly
pulled House's boxers off and crawled on top of him, feeling the loose
body beneath him. He leaned forward and caught the other man's lips in a
rough kiss. When he pulled away, House was looking up at him with worried
eyes. 

"It's a bit late to grow a backbone, don't you think?" It was said in the
usual sarcastic tone, but House's voice sounded unsteady.

It was in that moment that Wilson knew what was going to happen. Using his
thighs to press House down, he reached into the bedside drawer and found
what he needed. 

When he pulled the wrapper off the condom, House's eyes widened.

"For fuck's sake, knock it off!" He tried to wiggle away but he was too
weak. 

"Don't struggle. You'll hurt your back."

Wilson rolled the condom over his erection with shaking fingers. He poured
lube on his hands and slicked himself up. His knees were on either side of
House and he carefully lifted himself up enough so he could reach between
House's legs. He wiped the rest of the lubricant on the other man's tight
entrance. 

House flinched and pushed at his shoulders with weak hands. "Get the fuck
off me!"

Wilson was trembling. He poured more lubricant on his fingers and rubbed
soothingly. When he let the first finger slip in, he could feel House's
whole body tense. 

"You have to relax. You have to relax or else it's gonna hurt." 

He slipped in another finger, then a third, telling himself that House's
tension was just nerves. He worked to loosen him slowly. 

All the time he knew what he was doing. For something like this there was
no excuse. Still, he kept telling himself he needed it, that if he just
got do to this he'd be able to love House even more. If he could channel
all his anger and hurt into the one place he had coveted for years, he'd
be strong enough to be as selfless as he needed to be. 

He pulled his fingers out carefully and slid backwards, lifting House's
legs up so that his ass was resting against his groin. 

House was practically sobbing now, feebly trying to pull backwards.
"Jimmy, for fuck's sake!"

"I won't hurt you." Wilson was breathing raggedly. What he was doing was
wrong, so wrong, but he stroked House's ass with sweaty hands. "You'll
like it. It'll be all right." 

If there was one last moment to stop what he was doing, he didn't allow
himself to recognize it. He leaned forward and pushed himself in slowly. 

He had wanted to do this for years, and the muscles that clenched around
him now felt as heavenly as he had imagined. Sweat broke out on his body
as he pressed on, House's thighs trembling under his hands. 

He paused and let himself catch his breath. House was whimpering softly,
head thrown back against the pillows. His hands were still pushing against
Wilson's shoulders weakly, cursing and threatening him with every uttered
word.

Wilson knew the condom would keep everything nice and clean, but he still
needed to be careful not to hurt House. He wouldn't have wanted to hurt
him in any case.

When he felt the muscles around him unclenching ever so slightly, he
pulled back, and started fucking his lover with slow, shallow strokes. 

It only took a few minutes until he felt himself reaching his peak. He
whispered endearments and encouragements as if that made it easier to
stomach what was happening. 

"Oh yeah... Fuck, you feel good." 

House's body felt lax enough beneath him for him to dare letting go of one
of his thighs, and he grasped the other man's cock. He stroked it roughly,
but it remained soft, even as he tried brushing against House's prostate
with his thrusts.

His orgasm came crashing over him, causing him to whimper and curse as he
spilled himself into the condom. He fell forwards helplessly. House's leg
slipped from his grasp. For a moment everything felt perfect.

"Oh God, that was good. Thank you." The body underneath him trembled. He
pulled out as carefully as he could and ignored House's wince. He laid
down, making sure he wasn't putting any pressure on House's bad leg.

"I take it you enjoyed raping me?" 

House was looking angrily at him, the pleading gone from his eyes. The
sweaty strands of his hair clung to his forehead. Wilson wanted to brush
them away. 

"It's all right." He ran one hand across the other man's chest soothingly
while trying to get the feeling of nausea out of his head. He had just
raped the love of his life. "Just... just relax, House. Just go to sleep."

House stilled in his arms. For a moment he was silent. "I need to go to
the bathroom," he said tensely after a few seconds.

Wilson shifted his weight. "Just go to sleep. You're comfortable like
this." 

House blinked. "I need to take a piss."

Wilson's throat was dry. He didn't move. "It's all right if you wet the
bed. I can change the sheets tomorrow."

"Look, I'm not going to call the cops. I just need to piss. Please,
Jimmy." 

For a moment, Wilson hesitated. Then he eased up slowly. "I'll help you."

House shook his head. "I've had enough humiliation for one night. Just
help me stand. I'll be back in a second."

After another moment's hesitation Wilson nodded. "All right." 

With hands still messy with lubricant and sweat, he helped House stand and
watched as he walked on unsteady feet across the hall to the bathroom. The
door fell shut.

He disposed of the condom and used a tissue to wipe himself clean. He
pulled back the bedspread and the comforter and crawled in on his usual
side. Minutes passed. His nausea returned.

There was the sound of water from the bathroom and he imagined House in
there, frantically scrubbing himself clean. Eventually, there was the
sound of urination and the toilet flushing. The door opened and House
limped back with a unreadable expression on his face. He was clutching the
edge of his t-shirt awkwardly.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure."

Wilson helped House ease onto his back and pulled the comforter over them.
They lay for a moment in uncomfortable silence. There were so many things
he wanted to ask House; if he was sore, if he wanted a blowjob, if he
wanted to hit Wilson over the head with a hammer, but he couldn't muster
up enough courage to ask any of them. 

"I think the Tetrazepam will work," he said at last. "I doubt you'll be in
any pain in the morning." 

"Yeah." House sounded slurry, like he had simply spent the night drinking
too much. His right arm lay limp and passive next to him. Wilson couldn't
help reaching out to touch it. "Is this all right?" 

House snorted. "It's a bit late to ask for permission now." 

Wilson felt like screaming. "I'm sorry you didn't like it," he said
softly.

House stared up into the ceiling. His eyes were drifting shut and he
blinked stubbornly. "I trusted you."

Wilson forced himself not to give in to the nausea that was threatening to
overwhelm him. He spoke the way fifteen years of dealing with dying
patients had taught him.

Gently, reassuringly. "You will again." 

House shook his head. "I'll never forgive you for this." 

Wilson was unable to suppress his shiver. "House... you won't remember." 

Instantly, he could feel House tense under his touch. He rubbed the soft
skin with his thumb soothingly. "Shhh... It's better this way." 

House's jaw tensed tightly, but Wilson could see he was fighting off
sleep. He rubbed House's arm slowly. "That's it. Just go to sleep.
Tomorrow things will be back to usual."

House laughed softly, his eyes glazy and unfocused. "That's where you're
wrong, Jimmy." 

Wilson wet his lips nervously. "You won't remember." 

House's eyes drifted closed again, and he continued murmuring even as he
was falling asleep. "No, Jimmy, but you will."

  
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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.