"Hungover" - House - PG-13 - House/Wilson
TITLE: "Hungover"
AUTHOR: Magenta (my fan fiction nom de plume)
FANDOM: House
PAIRING: House/Wilson with a mention of an implication of Stacy/Cuddy
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: This is a bit rambly, I suppose, and not really graphic or anything, but male nudity gets stamped with PG-13...
SUMMARY: The aftermath of Wilson's birthday party.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters mentioned within this work of fiction. They belong to Bad Hat Harry Productions, Universal Television, and other such people who are not me. My aim, and I've succeeded at this in the world of fan fiction, is to NOT make money from these stories so suing me is pointless.
NOTES: This is my first post to this community...I decided to join based on the fact that I like the occassional writing challenge in between my other self-imposed writing assignments. It's also five in the morning here...so don't pick on my grammar too much. teehee
~~~~~
A blindingly bright shaft of sunlight pierced the darkness of the room that House found himself in. His head pounded and he felt as though his mouth had been carpeted in a thick shag pile he imagined to be green. An arm that was not one of the two he normally wore was draped across his waist and it shifted when the body it did belong to sensed his movement.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes adjusted to his surroundings and House's already furrowed brow grew that much more wrinkled in confusion. He was in a living room, on a squeaky sofa bed. He was also naked save for a pair of socks he didn't recall owning. Attached to his right hip was his only friend, Wilson, who was in a similar state of undress except that he wore a lampshade on his head. Strangely curious, the gruff doctor took advantage of the bright light and sneaked a quick peek at the assets of his friend and was impressed with what he saw, though he'd never admit to it.
Desperate, House searched his mind for the events of the night before. All he could easily remember was that it was Wilson's birthday yesterday and apart from Wilson's wife the guest list was all hospital staff. He remembered drinking a lot and he remembered playing the piano (and seeing the ill-disguised lust in Cameron's eyes when he started singing "The Way You Look Tonight," a song that wasn't normally part of his repertoire, but Wilson had requested it as he sloshed his drink and slurred his speech.)
As stealthily as possible, House extricated himself from Wilson's arms and tried to find his clothes in the mass of bed sheets and garbage. The younger doctor tried to follow his retreat, seeking the warmth that House gave him, but eventually gave up when he sensed the edge of the bed. House himself was dangerously close to vomiting with all of the movement and bending over, but it was imperative that he put on something more than just airs. Just then, images of his friend in a more than friendly position flashed through his head and he had to sit.
Bobbing heads and writhing bodies, cries and moans all filtered back to him through the fog of his drink-induced memory loss. He knew it wasn't Cameron that made him feel all tingly, nor was it Cuddy or Stacy. Those two left fairly early, as he remembered it, and together in a very together kind of way. No, he knew that it could only be the one he woke up with: Wilson.
House smirked and looked down to find his black boxers and his t-shirt and dressed himself. He then stood and crossed to the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee and raided the medicine cabinet next to the sink for analgesics and vitamins to counter the hangover.
Twenty minutes later a ruffled, naked, and half-asleep Wilson shuffled into the kitchen, his walk not unlike House's own limp. He took the mug that he was offered with a grunt, then leaned against the counter next to his friend and took a sip. House then put a mix of pills into the palm of his friend's hand and Wilson took them without question and without a second glance.
"You're so trusting. I could have just given you some of my vicodin or arsenic or something," whispered House.
Wilson took another sip of coffee and sighed. "I think either of those options would be a welcome relief to the pain I'm feeling right about now..."
"Oh, grow up...I wasn't that rough," the older doctor chided. "At least, that I remember."
"I beg to differ-"
"Please, do..."
Wilson rolled his eyes and gave House a silent warning. The older doctor pulled a face and smirked again before sipping his coffee. The two of them stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company and the relative quiet of midafternoon in the younger doctor's suburban neighbourhood.
House finished his coffee and put his mug in the sink. "Well, looks like I'd better find my pants before I get into any trouble," he said as he limped off toward the living room where they'd had their wild night of debauchery. Wilson followed him and sat on the arm of the couch as his friend made a concerted search.
"You know, you've got quite a limp there. Do you want to borrow my cane today? You probably need it more than I..."
"No thanks, I think I had quite enough of that last night..."
House's sparkling blue eyes lit up even more when he moved some bed sheets and found his pants and his cane. He pulled them up triumphantly then sat to slide the pants on.
"Am I going to have to wait for my next birthday party before we do this again?" Wilson asked as he stared into his coffee cup, too afraid to meet House's eyes. He hated the way his voice sounded just then...so soft and pleading. Weak.
House sighed. "Anything's possible...maybe I'll accidentally bump into you at the hospital. I mean, we both work there." Brown, doe-like eyes lifted to meet House's cool blues and Wilson opened his mouth to say something.
"Don't."
In the silence of the room, House's quiet demand sounded like a shotgun blast to the two hungover men. To soften the blow, House gave his friend a smirk then turned and limped out of the house.
"See you at work, loverboy."
A satisfied smirk spread across Wilson's face as he sunk into a corner of the sofa bed and drank his coffee.
THE END.
AUTHOR: Magenta (my fan fiction nom de plume)
FANDOM: House
PAIRING: House/Wilson with a mention of an implication of Stacy/Cuddy
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: This is a bit rambly, I suppose, and not really graphic or anything, but male nudity gets stamped with PG-13...
SUMMARY: The aftermath of Wilson's birthday party.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters mentioned within this work of fiction. They belong to Bad Hat Harry Productions, Universal Television, and other such people who are not me. My aim, and I've succeeded at this in the world of fan fiction, is to NOT make money from these stories so suing me is pointless.
NOTES: This is my first post to this community...I decided to join based on the fact that I like the occassional writing challenge in between my other self-imposed writing assignments. It's also five in the morning here...so don't pick on my grammar too much. teehee
~~~~~
A blindingly bright shaft of sunlight pierced the darkness of the room that House found himself in. His head pounded and he felt as though his mouth had been carpeted in a thick shag pile he imagined to be green. An arm that was not one of the two he normally wore was draped across his waist and it shifted when the body it did belong to sensed his movement.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes adjusted to his surroundings and House's already furrowed brow grew that much more wrinkled in confusion. He was in a living room, on a squeaky sofa bed. He was also naked save for a pair of socks he didn't recall owning. Attached to his right hip was his only friend, Wilson, who was in a similar state of undress except that he wore a lampshade on his head. Strangely curious, the gruff doctor took advantage of the bright light and sneaked a quick peek at the assets of his friend and was impressed with what he saw, though he'd never admit to it.
Desperate, House searched his mind for the events of the night before. All he could easily remember was that it was Wilson's birthday yesterday and apart from Wilson's wife the guest list was all hospital staff. He remembered drinking a lot and he remembered playing the piano (and seeing the ill-disguised lust in Cameron's eyes when he started singing "The Way You Look Tonight," a song that wasn't normally part of his repertoire, but Wilson had requested it as he sloshed his drink and slurred his speech.)
As stealthily as possible, House extricated himself from Wilson's arms and tried to find his clothes in the mass of bed sheets and garbage. The younger doctor tried to follow his retreat, seeking the warmth that House gave him, but eventually gave up when he sensed the edge of the bed. House himself was dangerously close to vomiting with all of the movement and bending over, but it was imperative that he put on something more than just airs. Just then, images of his friend in a more than friendly position flashed through his head and he had to sit.
Bobbing heads and writhing bodies, cries and moans all filtered back to him through the fog of his drink-induced memory loss. He knew it wasn't Cameron that made him feel all tingly, nor was it Cuddy or Stacy. Those two left fairly early, as he remembered it, and together in a very together kind of way. No, he knew that it could only be the one he woke up with: Wilson.
House smirked and looked down to find his black boxers and his t-shirt and dressed himself. He then stood and crossed to the kitchen where he started a pot of coffee and raided the medicine cabinet next to the sink for analgesics and vitamins to counter the hangover.
Twenty minutes later a ruffled, naked, and half-asleep Wilson shuffled into the kitchen, his walk not unlike House's own limp. He took the mug that he was offered with a grunt, then leaned against the counter next to his friend and took a sip. House then put a mix of pills into the palm of his friend's hand and Wilson took them without question and without a second glance.
"You're so trusting. I could have just given you some of my vicodin or arsenic or something," whispered House.
Wilson took another sip of coffee and sighed. "I think either of those options would be a welcome relief to the pain I'm feeling right about now..."
"Oh, grow up...I wasn't that rough," the older doctor chided. "At least, that I remember."
"I beg to differ-"
"Please, do..."
Wilson rolled his eyes and gave House a silent warning. The older doctor pulled a face and smirked again before sipping his coffee. The two of them stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company and the relative quiet of midafternoon in the younger doctor's suburban neighbourhood.
House finished his coffee and put his mug in the sink. "Well, looks like I'd better find my pants before I get into any trouble," he said as he limped off toward the living room where they'd had their wild night of debauchery. Wilson followed him and sat on the arm of the couch as his friend made a concerted search.
"You know, you've got quite a limp there. Do you want to borrow my cane today? You probably need it more than I..."
"No thanks, I think I had quite enough of that last night..."
House's sparkling blue eyes lit up even more when he moved some bed sheets and found his pants and his cane. He pulled them up triumphantly then sat to slide the pants on.
"Am I going to have to wait for my next birthday party before we do this again?" Wilson asked as he stared into his coffee cup, too afraid to meet House's eyes. He hated the way his voice sounded just then...so soft and pleading. Weak.
House sighed. "Anything's possible...maybe I'll accidentally bump into you at the hospital. I mean, we both work there." Brown, doe-like eyes lifted to meet House's cool blues and Wilson opened his mouth to say something.
"Don't."
In the silence of the room, House's quiet demand sounded like a shotgun blast to the two hungover men. To soften the blow, House gave his friend a smirk then turned and limped out of the house.
"See you at work, loverboy."
A satisfied smirk spread across Wilson's face as he sunk into a corner of the sofa bed and drank his coffee.
THE END.