house    

Title: He Needs Me Too
 Rating: R
 Catagory: slash
 Pairing: House/Wilson
 Summary: Wilson has an epiphany and acts on it right away. Sexiness
ensues. set anytime after House vs. God.
 
 
 
 “Bros before Hos, man!” 
 
 God, House could be an ass sometimes. Okay. Most times, House could be an
ass. Not only was he known for it, he could actually be counted on for it.
Wilson’s mouth pursed into a small grin as he silently mused on his best
friend’s most notorious trait. Honestly, he thought. What an ass. The
small grin grew just the slightest bit.
 
 If you want a shoulder to cry on? Stay as far away from Greg House as
possible. But if what you need is a pragmatist who will tell you exactly
what the facts are no matter how those facts make you feel? Well, then
Greg House is the best person to call on. He was always the first person
Wilson called on. Wilson knew it, too. That didn’t bother him so much, but
lately he’d been getting the uncomfortable feeling that House had finally
noticed. 
 
 Noticed that Wilson had allowed not one, not two, but three marriages
crumble because as much as he had loved his wives, he found he could live
without them. Wheras he could not even fathom his life without: Greg.
House. And if House really had realized this about his friend, then Wilson
knew it could only mean one thing: The impending end of life as he
understood it. 
 
 The shoe was bound to drop. But when? Of course, thought Wilson, maybe
House hasn’t realized the implications of me chosing his company over my
wife’s again and again. And again. 
 
 As Wilson thought the grin dissapeared and his brows slowly furrowed
together. 
 
 It is possible that he’s too busy with cases to notice your steadfast
willingness to tolorate his undiluted egomania. It seemed like a plausable
theory until Wilson remembered who he was thinking of. No chance House
hadn’t noticed by now. He noticed everything. 
 
 House. Wilson mused, both silently and uselessly. He knew his friend
would make horrible fun of him for this sort of idle, hyper-romantic
pondering. But it seemed to be a function beyond his control. And so it
continued: House . . . 
 
 “You moving back in with me?” House had asked him once.
 
 His stupid reply? “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Or something
to that effect. Wilson couldn’t remember his exact words, but the gist had
been “No, I’m not.” Stupid! Or possibly the best decision of his life, he
couldn’t be sure.
 
 When push came to shove, that was Wilson’s greatest flaw. Being unsure.
Unsure of himself. His feelings. His marriages. What to do. What to say.
What to do about what he’d said or not said as the case may be. And so it
went with all the thousands of little decisions Wilson made in a day,
while House seemed capable of making life-and-death calls without batting
an eye. Staring a critically ill person in the eye and forcing them to
give him the information they had witheld out of shame or some other
desperate need for secrecy? House could do that kind of thing. 
 
 Wilson took a deep breath and quietly hoped that House never decided to
force such truth out of him. But as he exhaled an epiphany came upon him.
A whole bucketload of thoughts and information dumped on his already
burdened shoulders in one split second. A real, true epiphany. He froze up
and began to sort through the mess of thoughts:
 
 Why shouldn’t the truth be forced out of me? Would it have to be forced?
Would I really be ashamed if my heart were laid bare? Why? If House did
choose to expose me and hold my heart up, beating and naked, what would I
have to fear? The revelation gained momentum: House would never destroy
me. Insult me? Yes. Tease me? Yes. Make me feel foolish and lost? Hell
yes! But destroy me?! Not a chance. Because . . . and at this point,
Wilson’s pulse spead up and his breath quickened. . . 
 
 He needs me too. And all of the sudden Wilson had a certainty to hold
onto. House needed him. Even if he didn’t sit in his office mentally
musing over all the nuances of his friend’s words and actions, House did
need him. Whenever he was vulnerable and needy, where did he turn? To me.
Thought Wilson as the grin crept back. Okay, first to Vicodin--but then
me! Wilson was consumed by the need to see the man he’d been thinking
about for the last 45 minutes. Who cared that it was two o’ clock in the
morning? There were only three places House could possibly be: His Office,
the Lab, or his Home. It turned out to be Wilson’s lucky night. House was
in his office, pacing back and forth. Obviously waiting for test results
on a case, Wilson thought as he stepped in without invitation or greeting
and pulled the blinds closed.
 
 “Uh-oh.” House snarked. “I suppose you’ve finally smothered a patient to
death. I knew this day would come.”
 
 Wilson strode up to House, not meeting his eyes until they were inches
apart. “Ask me what you mean to me,” he ordered.
 
 House’s eyes narrowed, the way they did when he was considering every
possible outcome of a decision before chosing it.
 
 “Just ask!” Wilson insisted, “It’s not like you don’t already know the
answer.”
 
 House’s eyes became clear as a summer day. “Why are you doing this?” He
asked. His tone was totally neutral, as if he were taking a patient
history. No emotional investment at all.
 
 Wilson gambled and took a quick step forward. House stepped back.
Wislon’s heart thrilled at the small victory. He had always rocked at
poker. He continued to idle forward until House bumped up against his
desk. “I’m doing this for the answers,” Wilson responded with shallow
breath. “You should respect that. You live for answers.”
 
 “And yet I don’t like to be questioned. Does that make me a control
freak?”
 
 “Don’t change the subject.”
 
 “Look, Jim--” House put a hand on Wilson’s chest with the intention of
pushing him away. Wilson simply covered that hand with both of his and
stepped in closer.
 
 “You know you’re gonna regret this,” House said matter-of-factly.
 
 “Just ask me.” Wilson gently took the hand away from his chest and
lowered it between them, interlacing his fingers with his friends.
“Please.”
 
 House looked down at his hand cucooned between Wilson’s. He could feel a
soft pulse coursing through Wilson’s fingers, and he realized from the
rythm that his friend wasn’t nearly as nervous he would have assumed. In
fact judging by his pulse rate, Wilson was utterly at ease. Based on that,
House assumed he coudn’t possibly be planning something too stupid, or
he’d be a wreck. Complete with profuse sweating and rapid pulse. The
evidence comforted him, and he relented to Wilson’s request with a deep
and irritated sigh. “Fine,” he said. “What do I mean to you?”
 
 “More than anything,” Wilson replied with quiet confidence, moving one of
his hands to cover House’s other hand, the one that gripped his cane. His
support. “You mean more to me than this job, than my patients. You mean
more than vows to me,” he curled his fingers beneath House’s and began to
pry them off of the cane, which forced House to shift his weight to the
desk behind him. Wilson brushed his nose against his friend’s and the
other man tilted his head upward in a completely automatic response. “And
you know it,” Wilson finished before fixing House with a clear-eyed stare.
No place to hide. “You know it,” he repeated. “Now, what do I mean to
you?” He asked, his voice a little uncertain for the first time since
entered the room.
 
 House’s eyes fluttered just the slightest bit. “Don’t be an idiot,
Wilson.”
 
 “I need to know.”
 
 House squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before looking back at his
friend. “You need to go back to your office and get some sleep.”
 
 “I don’t want sleep,” Wilson insisted. “I want to know what I mean to
you. I can’t sleep again until I know.” 
 
 The two stood together for a silent moment, just breathing. Wilson
hovered close to House’s mouth. He could feel his friend’s pulse pick up.
Hear breath grow shallow.
 
 “Please leave,” House begged almost inaudably.
 
 “Not until you tell me,” Wilson whipsered back, calm as a placcid lake.
 
 House groaned as if already mourning a heart that hadn’t actually broken
yet, that might not break at all. “You mean my sanity,” he finally replied
before allowing himself to pitch forward into Wilson’s ready arms. 
 
 The embrace seamlessly became a series of small, shy kisses. House was
certian the moment would shatter any second now, and Wilson knew better
than to push his friend too far. So they both proceeded as if walking over
china glass. Shy and almost too gentle. Until their appetite for one
another grew, then they each found eagerness and courage to push further.
 
 Just as Wilson began to push House back onto the desk, they heard the
sound of approaching voices and stopped.
 
 House’s eyes met Wilson’s and widened. “Ducklings!” He said, in as close
a tone to panic as Wilson had ever heard him use.
 
 Wilson’s mind shot into overdrive and in a move that seemed almost
pre-arranged he kicked House’s cane up off the ground, grabbed it, handed
it to House, and fished House’s pills out of his pants pocket before the
man could have even said “lumbar puncture.”
 
 Just as Wilson planned (in the half second he’d had to plan it), when The
Trio entered the room, they mistook House and Wilson’s flushed and
disheveled appearence to be an arguement in progress.
 
 “They are going to kill you House!” Shouted Wilson, shaking the bottle to
punctuate the statement. “And I am sick to death of saying it!”
 
 “Do you two ever not squabble like this?” Foreman asked.
 
 “Of course.” House assured him. “Sometimes we’re too busy having crazy
monkey sex.”
 
 Since Wilson knew to expect such comments from his friend, he played the
moment totally nonplussed. The trio simply rolled their eyes and soldiered
forth.
 
 “The LP test was negative,” Said Cameron.
 
 “And he’s had two seizures since we took him off the antibiotics.” Chase
added, ever the helpful little underling.
 
 House nodded. “So put him back on the antibiotics--but something more
broad spectrum since the CSF fluid was clear. You should also biopsy the
liver since organ failure is back on the table, liver’s most likely,
aaaaannnnd . . . .” 
 
 “I still think we should enduce a siezure and ultrasound his head,”
insisted Foreman, “just to be absolutely sure it’s not--.”
 
 “Yes!” House exclaimed. “Good idea. Run the tests. Run all the tests you
can think of and don’t any of you DARE to step back in this office until
you have real answers! Understand?!”
 
 Chase glanced nervously from Wilson to House. “Uh . . . just how bad an
arguement is this, guys?”
 
 “Huge,” House rolled his eyes for effect and jerked his thumb toward
Wilson. “He’s furious.”
 
 Wilson nodded along and made sure to give an indignant huff. “Yes,” he
assured Chase and company. “Yes, I am furious. This little discussion--”
He shot a sharp look toward House, “could go on for quite a while. So, uh
. . . barring conclusive test results, if I were you I’d think twice about
opening that door again.”
 
 House twisted his cane in his hands. “Seriously guys. We could be at it
all night, so don’t bug us unless it’s urgent!”
 
 The gang simply blinked at the two men for a moment.
 
 “GO!” They both shouted in tantum.
 
 They all shuffled slowly out the door, mumbling ‘okays’ and ‘sorrys’ as
they went. 
 
 Wilson practically threw House back against his desk as soon the door
clicked shut.
 
 “That thing with the pills was genius--” House managed to say before his
words were swallowed up in Wilson’s mouth. Wilson drank in the rest of the
sentance, whatever it would have been, and focused on taking in every last
tatse and feeling he could find in the kiss. Wilson felt House’s hands
move through his hair and over his back. He needs me too. House’s tongue
pushed and played with uncoaxed enthusiasm against his own. He absolutely
needs me too. Wilson made a mental note to never, ever doubt that fact
again. 
 
 “I don’t think they’ll be back tonight, do you?” Wilson panted when they
finally came up for air.
 
 “Probably not. But this whole, ‘we’re we’re having a fight,’ gag will
only work so many times before one of them catches on.
 
 “Mmmm,” Wilson mused as he placed little butterfly kisses down House’s
throat, pausing to lap at the places that ellicited the greatest response.
“My money’s on Chase.”
 
 House shook his head a little. “Nah. Cameron would get it before him. She
scrutinizes everything I do and say.” House pulled Wilson’s tie off in
less than a second and then focused on getting his shirt undone. The job
was finished in no time. He pushed the shirt of Wilson’s shoulders while
pressing himself flush against the other man. “It’s really annoying.” He
whispered.
 
 Wilson’s tongue darted out to meet House’s in a lighting-quick kiss. “But
she only sees what she wants to see.” He pointed out before pulling House
into another kiss, this one deep and lasting. He could taste every year of
their friendship in that kiss. Every day of it. All the laughs, jibes and
conversations that made up what this man meant to him. When they broke
apart he pulled House’s Pink Floyd t-shirt over his head in one swift
move. “Whereas Chase is purely academic,” Wilson went on as if this were
just another conversation between the two of them. “He’ll consider the
evidence just as it is.”
 
 House bit back a moan as Wilson undid his pants--or rather, he bit down
on Wilson’s shoulder to stifle the moan. His friend sucked in a sharp
breath.
 
 “Sorry.”
 
 “No, it felt fine,” Wilson insisted. “It’s just that your office is made
of glass not soundproofing material.” 
 
 “Then we’ll just force ourselves to be quiet,” Said House. “Which is what
I was doing. God, it’s like you’ve never had sex at work before!” 
 
 Wilson pulled back and smiled.
 
 “Why are you smiling like that?” Asked House. 
 
 Wilson nuzzled against House’s throat and kissed softly along his
collorbone while he answered, his voice low but full of playfullness. “For
all you know, I’ve had plenty of sex at work. Mabye I really am sleeping
with half the nursing staff.”
 
 “You are not,” House muttered, trying not to drown in need as Wilson
pressed him down onto the desk.
 
 “Or maybe I come in here when you’re gone just to stare at this desk and
think of all the things I could do to you on it.” House couldn’t believe
he was hearing Wilson talk like this. “Maybe I think about that until I’m
so hard I can’t stand it,” he took House’s hand and guided it between
them, pushing downward “just like this.” He gasped a little when House’s
fingertips brushed against his erection.
 
 House couldn’t recall at what point their pants came off, but he assumed
it had been Wilson’s doing. Probably around the time he pushed me onto the
desk. He stopped caring and heard himself gasp with Wilson as they made
contact. He ran his fingers lightly over the whole lenth of his friend. 
 
 Wilson rocked against him. He slowly drew House’s bad leg around him and
in a single deft move spun them lenthwise on the desk, so they could lay
back. Things he didn’t care about crashed and fluttered to the floor.
Wilson kept rocking, each move illiciting an inarticulte sound from House
that thrilled him. “Maybe I sit in your chair and pretend my hand is
yours,” he whispered. House tightened his grip around them both and moved
his hand to the pace Wilson had set. Wilson quickened, barely holding on
to control. 
 
 “Please,” House panted.
 
 “Maybe I’ve--” Wilson’s breathing was so ragged he could barely speak,
“come right here, in this room. . .” he paused to draw himself closer to
House, and enjoy feeling the man’s legs wrapped around him. He breathed in
the smell of them both and moaned. “A thousand times.” Pushed to his limit
with every nerve ending in his body begging for release, Wilson finally
allowed instinct to take the wheel. He brought one hand between them to
help House, and they thrust against each other as though the world might
end any second. Unsure and unconcerned about what noise the desk was
making, all either man wanted was to feel the other come with him. Because
of him. 
 
 Has sex ever been this good? Wilson wondered as a massive shudder went
through his body; a giant wave that washed over him again and again and
again.
 
 “Don’t stop,” he dimly heard House beg. He didn’t. The wave washed over
them both for what seeemed an impossible amount of time. They must have
looked like awkward mess of irregular breathing and oddly splayed limbs.
But as far as Wilson was concerned? The sight of House beneath him,
clinging to him so frantic and wanting, was almost beautiful enough to
break his heart.
 
 The waves crashed to shore at last and Wilson drew deep, slow breaths to
recover, letting his head fall against House’s shoulder.
 
 “Mmmmm,” House moaned.
 
 “Yeah,” Wilson replied with a slight nod, already reflecting on the
things he’d just said with a kind of proud shock. When had he developed
that kind of nerve? He squished his nose against House’s and raised
himself up just enough to look the other man in the eye.
 
 “I know.” Said House with just the slightest grin. “I was surprised too.”
 
 “Huh?” Wilson breathed, still a little hazy in the brain.
 
 “That you could talk like that,” His friend clarified. “I had no idea.
Perfect, by the way. A simple but effective image . . . you jacking off in
here to thoughts of me when I’m not around . . .well played. I never stood
a chance.” House pushed against Wilson just enough to let him know he
wanted to sit up. Wilson obliged at once. He stood right at the edge of
the desk and pulled House flush against him as soon as he sat up. He
traced tiny circles on the small of House’s back and enjoyed watching such
a touch affect him, even in his spent condition.
 
 “Well,” Wilson mumbled, “I know nothing turns you on like you.”
 
 House nodded slightly against Wilson’s chest. “I have excellent taste.”
Wilson couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You know I hate to break a
mood,” House continued, “but we are both a little messy . . . and by messy
I mean sticky.”
 
 Wilson groaned into House’s hair. “Do you ever stop pointing out facts?”
 
 “Nope. For instance, you’ve consciously wanted me ever since my brief
Stacy-relapse last year.”
 
 Wilson drew in a sharp breath.
 House continued, “I’m not sure how long you’ve been in love with me, but
Stacy coming back was when you actually recognized it for what it was.”
 
 “Is that a fact?” 
 
 “Yes.”
 
 “And how long have you wanted me? Wilson asked, his voice faltering just
a bit. Several moments of uneasy silence passed, and Wilson seriously
considered cracking a joke to break the tension.
 
 “Ever since you moved out of my place to go live with Cancer Chick. Even
though I didn’t know about her at the time,” he explained. “That’s what
did it. Whe you left my home and I knew how much I wanted you in my bed,”
House sighed almost whisfully. “But it was too late then. You were in her
bed.” 
 
 “Her name was Grace.”
 
 “I don’t care,” House shot back with more than a trace of real
bitterness. “She had you all to herself all that time,” he nuzzled against
the crook of Wilson’s neck, dusting little kisses here and there as he
pleased.
 
 House. Nuzzle. Thought Wilson, not quite processing the inherent
contradictions. House . . . nuzzle. . . 
 
 “She was only with you because you were all she had left, you could have
been anybody.”
 
 For a moment Wilson was consumed withe the desire to push House away and
call him a childish bastard. 
 
 But then he continued, “I’m the one who really needed you. I’m the one
who wanted Jim Wilson. I wanted you for real reasons that mean something
and I still lost you.”
 
 Wilson laughed. “Clearly, you didn’t loose me. We’re messy, remember? We
wouldn’t be messy right now if you’d actually lost me.”
 
 “Good point,” House mused. “Still, you did move out and I missed you like
hell.”
 
 “Isn’t it a little weird to miss someone when you see them every day at
work?”
 
 “I guess it is,” House answered with sleepy resignation.
 
 Wilson hugged him as close as he could. “I missed you too,” he whispered.
 
 “Even when you were with Grace?”
 
 “Especially when I was with Grace,” he admitted. “Every night I spent in
her bed . . . was a lie. A convienient, somewhat comforting lie.” A panic
suddenly welled up inside him, and he pushed back far enough to fix House
with an urgent, searching stare.
 
 “What now?”
 
 “You’re not gonna take this all back in the morning are you? Blame it on
the vicodin?” Just the thought of it made Wilson want to vomit.
 
 House pulled them close together again until their noses were touching.
“I will not take this back. Ever. I plan on dragging you into my bed at
the earliest possible convienience and keeping you there as long as
humanly possible. Not with giant bags of money could you get me to take
this back, okay?” He said nothing more and simply watched Wilson’s face
hoping to guage the reaction.
 
 Wilson’s eyes clouded over and just the smallest hint of a smile appeared
on his mouth. “I don’t think we’re messy enough,” was all he said. House
agreed, and they fell back onto the desk in less than a minute.
 
 THE END.