Title: Für Elise Summary: Not a first kiss, not a first fuck, but a first all the same. Prompt illegally taken from a name. Rating: PG-13 (T) for adult themes and language.
"Can you…can you stay the night?" Wilson regretted his question the moment he had asked it. And then he remembered that he had decided to ask it, and it may as well be now.
"Why? Afraid of the monster under the bed?" House dried his hair with a towel, then put on his boxers.
"No, it's…I..."
"I know what it is." House finished zipping up his jeans, then rolled his eyes and declared, in a loud, gesticulating falsetto: "We need to talk. About us." Then back to his normal voice. "I don't want to talk. I just want to fuck you."
Wilson fought hard against the tears, because he knew they would only make House angrier. "House, it's been months now. I…I can't go on like this. I want us to have a relationship or…" he breathed deep. Was he going to say it? "…or this will have to stop." He had surprised himself again.
House was now completely dressed. "It appears you're growing a backbone, finally. That was a honest request which deserves a honest answer. Sayonara."
Wilson jumped out of the bed, ran after the limping man and managed to stand between him and the door, naked and shivering with cold and desperation. "House… what does this mean?"
"It means I'm not interested. I had hoped we could just have sex, but I see I'm back to hookers. Not that I really mind. Let me get out, please."
Wilson now cried openly. "House…House, I love you."
"Yes, I know you're a girl like that. But I'm not. You'll as soon catch me saying I love you as playing Für Elise by candlelight. Can I finally get out? It's one am and we work tomorrow. Or at least I do."
Wilson moved away from the door, defeated. "Goodnight, House," he said. The other left without a word, banging the door behind him.
The next day, Wilson called in sick. It was a Friday, so he had three full days to stay home and cry. He slept little and ate less, until at dawn on Sunday he collapsed on his couch. He had kept away from the bed because the bedclothes still smelled of their lovemaking, which would never happen again.
He was woken up by the telephone ringing. He managed to locate it with some effort, and lifted the receiver.
"House speaking. You'll be having dinner at my place tonight. See you in two hours. Let yourself in with your key."
Wilson remained still, his mind reeling, for a couple of minutes after the final click. Then he slowly dragged himself to the shower.
Two hours later he felt completely ridiculous standing in front of House's door with a box of chocolates. Like this were a date. Yet there was no way he could come empty-handed to a dinner invitation, and the pure dark chocolate he had chosen was House's favorite, imported brand.
After pausing a moment for what he knew would not come, for a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to him, he let himself in. The room was clean and tidy, the table elegantly set for a dinner for two. The only light sources were two lighted candles on the table, and two more on the piano. House was sitting on the piano bench, looking at him.
Than he turned to the instrument, and Beethoven's music filled the wax-scented air.
A/N: Some Easter Eggs have a surprise inside. In this case it's an Austen quotation which may or may not be IC: you decide - at least it fits with piano music and candlelight.
Re: Für ElisecuddyclothesApril 16 2011, 02:51:05 UTC
Is it the Fur Elise quotation? Or "this is an honest question which deserves an honest answer. I read it over several times. Thank you for my Easter egg!
Summary: Not a first kiss, not a first fuck, but a first all the same. Prompt illegally taken from a name.
Rating: PG-13 (T) for adult themes and language.
"Can you…can you stay the night?" Wilson regretted his question the moment he had asked it. And then he remembered that he had decided to ask it, and it may as well be now.
"Why? Afraid of the monster under the bed?" House dried his hair with a towel, then put on his boxers.
"No, it's…I..."
"I know what it is." House finished zipping up his jeans, then rolled his eyes and declared, in a loud, gesticulating falsetto: "We need to talk. About us." Then back to his normal voice. "I don't want to talk. I just want to fuck you."
Wilson fought hard against the tears, because he knew they would only make House angrier. "House, it's been months now. I…I can't go on like this. I want us to have a relationship or…" he breathed deep. Was he going to say it? "…or this will have to stop." He had surprised himself again.
House was now completely dressed. "It appears you're growing a backbone, finally. That was a honest request which deserves a honest answer. Sayonara."
Wilson jumped out of the bed, ran after the limping man and managed to stand between him and the door, naked and shivering with cold and desperation. "House… what does this mean?"
"It means I'm not interested. I had hoped we could just have sex, but I see I'm back to hookers. Not that I really mind. Let me get out, please."
Wilson now cried openly. "House…House, I love you."
"Yes, I know you're a girl like that. But I'm not. You'll as soon catch me saying I love you as playing Für Elise by candlelight. Can I finally get out? It's one am and we work tomorrow. Or at least I do."
Wilson moved away from the door, defeated. "Goodnight, House," he said. The other left without a word, banging the door behind him.
The next day, Wilson called in sick. It was a Friday, so he had three full days to stay home and cry. He slept little and ate less, until at dawn on Sunday he collapsed on his couch. He had kept away from the bed because the bedclothes still smelled of their lovemaking, which would never happen again.
He was woken up by the telephone ringing. He managed to locate it with some effort, and lifted the receiver.
"House speaking. You'll be having dinner at my place tonight. See you in two hours. Let yourself in with your key."
Wilson remained still, his mind reeling, for a couple of minutes after the final click. Then he slowly dragged himself to the shower.
Two hours later he felt completely ridiculous standing in front of House's door with a box of chocolates. Like this were a date. Yet there was no way he could come empty-handed to a dinner invitation, and the pure dark chocolate he had chosen was House's favorite, imported brand.
After pausing a moment for what he knew would not come, for a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to him, he let himself in. The room was clean and tidy, the table elegantly set for a dinner for two. The only light sources were two lighted candles on the table, and two more on the piano. House was sitting on the piano bench, looking at him.
Than he turned to the instrument, and Beethoven's music filled the wax-scented air.
A/N: Some Easter Eggs have a surprise inside. In this case it's an Austen quotation which may or may not be IC: you decide - at least it fits with piano music and candlelight.
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