Anesthesia, 23
So I was going to delay the creepy!Wilson until later, but I changed my mind. Faster plot! More plot! PLOT, I SAY!
Chapter 23 under the cut.
Wilson woke up at six-thirty, two or three hours before House normally got up, and looked down at him. His chest started to hurt again, and he put a palm over his heart- it was pounding erratically. He made a mental note of it and took a few deep breaths, slowing his heartrate, and looked at House again. The diagnostician was much healthier than he had been. While he was still pale and a bit too thin, that was to be expected of a drug addict, and he was free of bruises now. Wilson preferred him that way. The physical damage he'd caused was unnecessary, and beneath him. That was lower even than House's level of manipulation, and Wilson intended to be above him. Like he was now.
He watched House sleep for a few moments, then discovered the source of his pounding heart- a morning hard-on. It brushed against House's hip, making Wilson hiss at the friction, and House stirred, opening one eye. "Were you watching me sleep?"
Wilson shrugged. "I like watching you sleep."
The eye blinked, soft from waking up. "You don't think it's a bit creepy?"
Wilson did, but he cast about for another answer. "It's like there's nothing else in the world," Wilson said quietly. "All you are is here." One arm was cast over House's abdomen, and Wilson tightened it possessively, flattening his palm over House's chest. "And I can't believe it. I can't believe you're giving me another chance."
House smiled a little and rolled his hips, stimulating Wilson's erection again, making him hiss through his teeth. "I can't believe you're hard again."
"Neither can I," Wilson said, rocking slowly and groaning. "Ah, House, what are you doing to me?"
"Don't know," House replied, rolling over to face him. "But whatever it is, I'm not doing enough of it."
Cuddy knew something was wrong when House decided to show up himself instead of sending his minions, as he had been doing lately. "Patient needs an MRI," he said, by way of greeting.
Cuddy looked at him. "Okay, so, schedule him."
"Can't. He has a bullet fragment embedded in his neck close to his spine, old injury, and we have to remove it or the MRI will rip it out. Surgery's dangerous, so I'm sure I need your approval."
Cuddy sighed and held her hand out for the authorization form, but House didn't give it to her. "What?"
House plopped into the chair. "You're supposed to challenge the need for the MRI and thus the dangerous surgery. The fact that you aren't tells me that you're feeling guilty about something, probably the same something that's made you not talk to me for two days. So what is it?"
Cuddy smiled a little at the sound of his gruff, analytical way of asking her what was wrong. "You and Wilson," she said. "How are you?"
House put his thinking face on, then nodded once. "So, you're feeling guilty because if you were wrong about Wilson and he's treating me well now, then you were getting between us before, and if you were right and he's not done yet, then you're leaving me at his mercy, and you're agonizing over which one it is."
Cuddy took a deep breath and began, "Yeah, well, are you-"
"I'm good," House interrupted. "Really. It's like before, but with more cuddling." She searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but he pre-empted her by saying, "And Wilson didn't instruct me to tell you that. He's not standing outside the door listening, he doesn't even know I'm here."
"Okay," Cuddy said. "You aren't lying."
House squinted at her. "I sense a qualifier coming."
"But that doesn't mean he's finished."
House chuckled. "Wilson always finishes. See you later." He stood and flipped his cane over his wrist, heading for the door.
Cuddy opened her mouth to explain all the reasons that was wrong, but it would take too long, so she tried to delay him. "Uh- oh, um, your surgery? I need the form."
"There is no form," he said.
"What do you mean, there's no form?"
"No form. No surgery, no MRI, no patient. See you later." With that, he breeze-limped out.
"Oh," Cuddy said. "Okay."
So House had invented a fake dangerous surgery and a fake patient just to figure out what she was thinking about him and Wilson.
She was thinking that House had better be twenty times more careful than she thought he was being, because she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach like maybe things were not so simple. Maybe Wilson was treating House well, but House was still at Wilson's mercy- the worst of both worlds.
That night, before they went to sleep, Wilson caught House taking extra Vicodin. "Your leg?"
"Yeah," House replied. "Now that I'm out and about again, it's back to reminding me of its presence at irregular and inconsistent intervals." He climbed into bed next to Wilson, wrinkling his nose when he encountered a cold wet spot from the exertions they'd finished a few minutes earlier. "Eww, old spooge."
Wilson snorted. "You can't be grossed out by your own spooge, House. Want me to rub your leg?"
"No, s'ok," House said.
"Are you sure?"
"...Yeah." After a moment, House felt Wilson's fingers on his thigh. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, his heart leaped into his throat and his stomach did a swandive for his feet, and he snatched Wilson's hand. "Don't."
Wilson looked at House's eyes, narrowed in annoyance and... fear. Shit. He'd have to fix that, or he would never reach his goal. He pulled his hand back and said softly, "Sorry." He slid a few inches away from House and got comfortable, cursing his impatience. It would take time to undo the damage he'd done to House's trust, even for that tiny infraction.
His thoughts were interrupted when House rolled over and, a little awkwardly, touched Wilson's chest with the tips of his fingers. Obligingly, he rolled onto his back and let House lie along his side, head on his chest, and relaxed there.
Well, that was easy.
"Your heartbeat just sped up," House murmured.
"It does that when you're around," Wilson replied.
House paused and chuckled quietly. "Wow, I'm going to get diabetes. That was insanely sappy."
"Depends on what you think it means."
Chapter 24
Chapter 23 under the cut.
Wilson woke up at six-thirty, two or three hours before House normally got up, and looked down at him. His chest started to hurt again, and he put a palm over his heart- it was pounding erratically. He made a mental note of it and took a few deep breaths, slowing his heartrate, and looked at House again. The diagnostician was much healthier than he had been. While he was still pale and a bit too thin, that was to be expected of a drug addict, and he was free of bruises now. Wilson preferred him that way. The physical damage he'd caused was unnecessary, and beneath him. That was lower even than House's level of manipulation, and Wilson intended to be above him. Like he was now.
He watched House sleep for a few moments, then discovered the source of his pounding heart- a morning hard-on. It brushed against House's hip, making Wilson hiss at the friction, and House stirred, opening one eye. "Were you watching me sleep?"
Wilson shrugged. "I like watching you sleep."
The eye blinked, soft from waking up. "You don't think it's a bit creepy?"
Wilson did, but he cast about for another answer. "It's like there's nothing else in the world," Wilson said quietly. "All you are is here." One arm was cast over House's abdomen, and Wilson tightened it possessively, flattening his palm over House's chest. "And I can't believe it. I can't believe you're giving me another chance."
House smiled a little and rolled his hips, stimulating Wilson's erection again, making him hiss through his teeth. "I can't believe you're hard again."
"Neither can I," Wilson said, rocking slowly and groaning. "Ah, House, what are you doing to me?"
"Don't know," House replied, rolling over to face him. "But whatever it is, I'm not doing enough of it."
Cuddy knew something was wrong when House decided to show up himself instead of sending his minions, as he had been doing lately. "Patient needs an MRI," he said, by way of greeting.
Cuddy looked at him. "Okay, so, schedule him."
"Can't. He has a bullet fragment embedded in his neck close to his spine, old injury, and we have to remove it or the MRI will rip it out. Surgery's dangerous, so I'm sure I need your approval."
Cuddy sighed and held her hand out for the authorization form, but House didn't give it to her. "What?"
House plopped into the chair. "You're supposed to challenge the need for the MRI and thus the dangerous surgery. The fact that you aren't tells me that you're feeling guilty about something, probably the same something that's made you not talk to me for two days. So what is it?"
Cuddy smiled a little at the sound of his gruff, analytical way of asking her what was wrong. "You and Wilson," she said. "How are you?"
House put his thinking face on, then nodded once. "So, you're feeling guilty because if you were wrong about Wilson and he's treating me well now, then you were getting between us before, and if you were right and he's not done yet, then you're leaving me at his mercy, and you're agonizing over which one it is."
Cuddy took a deep breath and began, "Yeah, well, are you-"
"I'm good," House interrupted. "Really. It's like before, but with more cuddling." She searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but he pre-empted her by saying, "And Wilson didn't instruct me to tell you that. He's not standing outside the door listening, he doesn't even know I'm here."
"Okay," Cuddy said. "You aren't lying."
House squinted at her. "I sense a qualifier coming."
"But that doesn't mean he's finished."
House chuckled. "Wilson always finishes. See you later." He stood and flipped his cane over his wrist, heading for the door.
Cuddy opened her mouth to explain all the reasons that was wrong, but it would take too long, so she tried to delay him. "Uh- oh, um, your surgery? I need the form."
"There is no form," he said.
"What do you mean, there's no form?"
"No form. No surgery, no MRI, no patient. See you later." With that, he breeze-limped out.
"Oh," Cuddy said. "Okay."
So House had invented a fake dangerous surgery and a fake patient just to figure out what she was thinking about him and Wilson.
She was thinking that House had better be twenty times more careful than she thought he was being, because she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach like maybe things were not so simple. Maybe Wilson was treating House well, but House was still at Wilson's mercy- the worst of both worlds.
That night, before they went to sleep, Wilson caught House taking extra Vicodin. "Your leg?"
"Yeah," House replied. "Now that I'm out and about again, it's back to reminding me of its presence at irregular and inconsistent intervals." He climbed into bed next to Wilson, wrinkling his nose when he encountered a cold wet spot from the exertions they'd finished a few minutes earlier. "Eww, old spooge."
Wilson snorted. "You can't be grossed out by your own spooge, House. Want me to rub your leg?"
"No, s'ok," House said.
"Are you sure?"
"...Yeah." After a moment, House felt Wilson's fingers on his thigh. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, his heart leaped into his throat and his stomach did a swandive for his feet, and he snatched Wilson's hand. "Don't."
Wilson looked at House's eyes, narrowed in annoyance and... fear. Shit. He'd have to fix that, or he would never reach his goal. He pulled his hand back and said softly, "Sorry." He slid a few inches away from House and got comfortable, cursing his impatience. It would take time to undo the damage he'd done to House's trust, even for that tiny infraction.
His thoughts were interrupted when House rolled over and, a little awkwardly, touched Wilson's chest with the tips of his fingers. Obligingly, he rolled onto his back and let House lie along his side, head on his chest, and relaxed there.
Well, that was easy.
"Your heartbeat just sped up," House murmured.
"It does that when you're around," Wilson replied.
House paused and chuckled quietly. "Wow, I'm going to get diabetes. That was insanely sappy."
"Depends on what you think it means."
Chapter 24