Anesthesia, chapter 22
Those of you who wanted longer chapters may be at least partially appeased- this one's a long one. :) Enjoy!
"How was your first day back?" Wilson asked, flipping the pancakes over.
"Great," House replied, "once I got them to stop asking me where I was."
Wilson chuckled. "What do you think they're thinking?"
"Taub thinks I'm in love with a hooker, Thirteen thinks I'm trying to turn myself around, Kutner thinks I tried to kill myself, Foreman's angry but has given up guessing, Cameron thinks I got the flu or something, and Chase couldn't give two shits," House said. "God, those smell good."
Wilson grinned. "Thanks. So is Cuddy going to let you go back tomorrow?"
"Yeah," House replied, and frowned.
"What?"
House shook his head. "It's probably nothing. Just that... She didn't talk to me today. She just spied on me, trying to be sneaky, but you can't hide legs like those behind a newspaper." Wilson couldn't help but smile a little wider- House was giving new meaning to the term "bisexual." "What are you grinning about?"
"Nothing," Wilson said. "Maybe she's backing off. You know, giving you some space?" Wilson shoveled the pancakes off onto a plate, then started to pour more batter.
House shook his head again. "I don't think so." He looked at the pancakes cooking, hissing quietly in the pan, and his frown faded. "L-word, five minutes," House said.
"Arm the mute button," Wilson replied, grinning. "Pancakes will be done in ten."
"Good God!" Wilson exclaimed, swallowing a syrup-saturated piece of pancake. "It looks like she has two cannonballs strapped to her chest."
"Yeah, encased in bouncy Jell-O," House replied.
Wilson laughed. "Why aren't they making out?"
House shrugged. "Don't know. They should."
"They definitely should."
Cannonball Chest continued talking to her girlfriend, a hot, goth-ish girl with stringy, rail-straight, medium-length hair. Wilson groaned. "What could they possibly have to talk about?"
"More than us, apparently," House said, then shouted at the TV, "GET ON WITH IT!" As if on cue, after a short, awkward-looking pause, they both smiled and started to have sex.
"And that's why I only watch this show with you," Wilson said. "You make them listen."
House drained a shot of bourbon. "It's all about authority," he said, finishing his pancakes and setting his plate next to Wilson's on the coffee table. "You have to make them feel your power."
"And how do you do that?"
"The voice," he said. "For instance, I could tell you, offhand, to take your shirt off, but would you do it?"
"Probably not," Wilson said. "I might think you were joking or demonstrating a point."
The corners of House's mouth twitched. "On the other hand, if I were to tell you," he began, leaning in close, electric blue eyes penetrating Wilson's brown ones, and said sharply, "to take your shirt off right now, would you do it?"
Wilson swallowed. "I might take you a little more seriously, yeah."
"And it doesn't work on the TV, but touch and proximity work, too," he said, putting one hand on Wilson's thigh and stroking up the inside, then darting under his shirt. "Teasing, you don't need to be rough. Just little... light... touches." Nails scraped lightly down his spine, making his back arch, and House's other hand cupped his groin, squeezing gently. Wilson heard the blood rushing in his ears, felt his member responding, and thrust involuntarily into House's persuasive hand, and just then, House pulled away. "But you already knew that."
Wilson swallowed. "Well, it's always nice to... uh... to have a review lesson." Onscreen, the two lesbians were having at it, the goth-ish chick licking Cannonball Chest's neck, grabbing at each others' boobs. Wilson groaned, erection almost painful now. "Why do you do this to me?"
House just grinned. "Because it's fun."
Wilson glared at him. "House, you shouldn't start what you can't finish."
House grinned wider. "So, make me finish."
Wilson got his epiphany look, then his look of frustration and discomfort turned into a grin that matched House's. He straddled the older man, kissed him hard, and commanded hoarsely, "House. Take off your shirt."
Later, they were wrapped up in blankets on the couch, watching Dexter and sharing a bottle of red wine. Wilson was on his back, propped up on some pillows against the arm of the couch, and House was half on top of him, head on his chest, long, artistic fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. His eyes were half-closed, and he was almost asleep. "House," Wilson murmured.
"Hm?" House looked up at him, blinking slowly, and held up the bottle. "Wan' some?" Wilson took the bottle, but put it on the coffee table, out of House's reach. "Hey!"
He leaned forward, trying to grab it, but Wilson wrapped an arm around House's chest and held him in place. "No more," he said quietly, cradling House's face against his chest. "Why do you keep seducing me?"
House sighed. "Psychology time," he said reluctantly.
"I want to know," Wilson insisted.
"You keep leading me on." House chuckled a little at his own joke.
"House, I'm serious." He caressed the side of House's face, petting his hair. "Tell me. I hurt you, and you should be running screaming away, but you aren't."
House's smile fell. "I can't run," he said softly. "Remember? My leg."
"You know what I mean." Wilson's chest ached as House looked up at him, expression devoid of pain or suspicion, just looking at him. "I'm sure, if you wanted, you could find someone else. Why do you stay with me?"
House shook his head. "I can't have anyone else, I'm not like you. I can't... It has to be you, though. It's like I'm... empty, and I need you to fill me up. Makes me feel better."
"But it must hurt you."
"Not really," House said. "Not anymore. Now you're..." He frowned and reached for the wine bottle again. Wilson suddenly thought of what he'd probably be doing with that if he'd decided to keep hurting House and gasped quickly, grasping House's wrists and holding them close to his chest. House managed to twist a hand free and grab the bottle, but Wilson took it away before he could drink from it. House made a noise of protest. "Hey, 'm thirsty," he muttered. "Wan' more. Gimme." Wilson shushed him and kissed him gently on the lips, dipping briefly into his mouth with his tongue, and embraced him tightly. Over the weeks he'd spent at home, his scent had changed, erasing the clinical edge with other, softer things. Right now, he smelled like musk and sweat and warmth and wine. The wine he'd somehow managed to swipe when Wilson wasn't paying attention and was now finishing off, smacking his lips.
Wilson sighed. "You're unbelievable." House chuckled a little, and Wilson couldn't help but smile back. "Bed?"
House shook his head, holding the empty wine bottle like a child might hold a teddy bear. "This's nice."
"Okay," Wilson murmured, and covered him with the blankets, taking the bottle away so it wouldn't shatter while he was sleeping, and they went to sleep.
Twenty-three
"How was your first day back?" Wilson asked, flipping the pancakes over.
"Great," House replied, "once I got them to stop asking me where I was."
Wilson chuckled. "What do you think they're thinking?"
"Taub thinks I'm in love with a hooker, Thirteen thinks I'm trying to turn myself around, Kutner thinks I tried to kill myself, Foreman's angry but has given up guessing, Cameron thinks I got the flu or something, and Chase couldn't give two shits," House said. "God, those smell good."
Wilson grinned. "Thanks. So is Cuddy going to let you go back tomorrow?"
"Yeah," House replied, and frowned.
"What?"
House shook his head. "It's probably nothing. Just that... She didn't talk to me today. She just spied on me, trying to be sneaky, but you can't hide legs like those behind a newspaper." Wilson couldn't help but smile a little wider- House was giving new meaning to the term "bisexual." "What are you grinning about?"
"Nothing," Wilson said. "Maybe she's backing off. You know, giving you some space?" Wilson shoveled the pancakes off onto a plate, then started to pour more batter.
House shook his head again. "I don't think so." He looked at the pancakes cooking, hissing quietly in the pan, and his frown faded. "L-word, five minutes," House said.
"Arm the mute button," Wilson replied, grinning. "Pancakes will be done in ten."
"Good God!" Wilson exclaimed, swallowing a syrup-saturated piece of pancake. "It looks like she has two cannonballs strapped to her chest."
"Yeah, encased in bouncy Jell-O," House replied.
Wilson laughed. "Why aren't they making out?"
House shrugged. "Don't know. They should."
"They definitely should."
Cannonball Chest continued talking to her girlfriend, a hot, goth-ish girl with stringy, rail-straight, medium-length hair. Wilson groaned. "What could they possibly have to talk about?"
"More than us, apparently," House said, then shouted at the TV, "GET ON WITH IT!" As if on cue, after a short, awkward-looking pause, they both smiled and started to have sex.
"And that's why I only watch this show with you," Wilson said. "You make them listen."
House drained a shot of bourbon. "It's all about authority," he said, finishing his pancakes and setting his plate next to Wilson's on the coffee table. "You have to make them feel your power."
"And how do you do that?"
"The voice," he said. "For instance, I could tell you, offhand, to take your shirt off, but would you do it?"
"Probably not," Wilson said. "I might think you were joking or demonstrating a point."
The corners of House's mouth twitched. "On the other hand, if I were to tell you," he began, leaning in close, electric blue eyes penetrating Wilson's brown ones, and said sharply, "to take your shirt off right now, would you do it?"
Wilson swallowed. "I might take you a little more seriously, yeah."
"And it doesn't work on the TV, but touch and proximity work, too," he said, putting one hand on Wilson's thigh and stroking up the inside, then darting under his shirt. "Teasing, you don't need to be rough. Just little... light... touches." Nails scraped lightly down his spine, making his back arch, and House's other hand cupped his groin, squeezing gently. Wilson heard the blood rushing in his ears, felt his member responding, and thrust involuntarily into House's persuasive hand, and just then, House pulled away. "But you already knew that."
Wilson swallowed. "Well, it's always nice to... uh... to have a review lesson." Onscreen, the two lesbians were having at it, the goth-ish chick licking Cannonball Chest's neck, grabbing at each others' boobs. Wilson groaned, erection almost painful now. "Why do you do this to me?"
House just grinned. "Because it's fun."
Wilson glared at him. "House, you shouldn't start what you can't finish."
House grinned wider. "So, make me finish."
Wilson got his epiphany look, then his look of frustration and discomfort turned into a grin that matched House's. He straddled the older man, kissed him hard, and commanded hoarsely, "House. Take off your shirt."
Later, they were wrapped up in blankets on the couch, watching Dexter and sharing a bottle of red wine. Wilson was on his back, propped up on some pillows against the arm of the couch, and House was half on top of him, head on his chest, long, artistic fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. His eyes were half-closed, and he was almost asleep. "House," Wilson murmured.
"Hm?" House looked up at him, blinking slowly, and held up the bottle. "Wan' some?" Wilson took the bottle, but put it on the coffee table, out of House's reach. "Hey!"
He leaned forward, trying to grab it, but Wilson wrapped an arm around House's chest and held him in place. "No more," he said quietly, cradling House's face against his chest. "Why do you keep seducing me?"
House sighed. "Psychology time," he said reluctantly.
"I want to know," Wilson insisted.
"You keep leading me on." House chuckled a little at his own joke.
"House, I'm serious." He caressed the side of House's face, petting his hair. "Tell me. I hurt you, and you should be running screaming away, but you aren't."
House's smile fell. "I can't run," he said softly. "Remember? My leg."
"You know what I mean." Wilson's chest ached as House looked up at him, expression devoid of pain or suspicion, just looking at him. "I'm sure, if you wanted, you could find someone else. Why do you stay with me?"
House shook his head. "I can't have anyone else, I'm not like you. I can't... It has to be you, though. It's like I'm... empty, and I need you to fill me up. Makes me feel better."
"But it must hurt you."
"Not really," House said. "Not anymore. Now you're..." He frowned and reached for the wine bottle again. Wilson suddenly thought of what he'd probably be doing with that if he'd decided to keep hurting House and gasped quickly, grasping House's wrists and holding them close to his chest. House managed to twist a hand free and grab the bottle, but Wilson took it away before he could drink from it. House made a noise of protest. "Hey, 'm thirsty," he muttered. "Wan' more. Gimme." Wilson shushed him and kissed him gently on the lips, dipping briefly into his mouth with his tongue, and embraced him tightly. Over the weeks he'd spent at home, his scent had changed, erasing the clinical edge with other, softer things. Right now, he smelled like musk and sweat and warmth and wine. The wine he'd somehow managed to swipe when Wilson wasn't paying attention and was now finishing off, smacking his lips.
Wilson sighed. "You're unbelievable." House chuckled a little, and Wilson couldn't help but smile back. "Bed?"
House shook his head, holding the empty wine bottle like a child might hold a teddy bear. "This's nice."
"Okay," Wilson murmured, and covered him with the blankets, taking the bottle away so it wouldn't shatter while he was sleeping, and they went to sleep.
Twenty-three