Fic: Eve-an
Title: Eve-an
Author: Fayding_fast
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Minor for "House divided"
Con-crit? Yes please and thank you kindly.
Summary: Wilson's all about persona
When Wilson pulls a disappearing act during his clinic hours, House claims that he'd seen it coming. After all, he explains, a man who has worked his way steadily through three wives, countless girlfriends and a duck is hardly the definition of well-balanced.
Secretly though, House is dumbfounded. He'd told Wilson that things would go tits-up with Danny; he'd been kind enough to warn him. Perhaps, when this was all over, when the dust had settled and the mindless panicking had died down, Wilson might be wise enough to pay a little more attention to him. A man can dream.
Meanwhile, anxious colleagues keep pestering him - buzzing around him like flies - and they all say the same thing. Ad nauseam. Ad infinitum. They tell him that he can drop the heartless act; they know he's worried, and House knows they're right. Eventually, House craves some peace to such an extent that he swallows his pride, puts on his jacket and leaves the hospital to go and search for him.
He finds the loser in the sixth bar he visits.
Wilson is dressed casually in a snug fitting t-shirt and jeans that are frayed at the knees so he must have gone home first, to change. He's also wearing a new pair of glasses that do wonders for his appearance but absolutely nothing to enhance his vision. He doesn't notice House until he's prodded sharply between his shoulder blades with a cane.
"You're pitiful; you realize that?" House points out when Wilson twists around to frown up at him.
"That's kinda harsh," Wilson protests. "You don't even know me."
House stares at him in surprise, shocked not so much by the words but by Wilson's voice which is husky and intriguing because it's wholly unfamiliar. He rallies quickly. "You think you're in disguise?" he enquires carefully. "Because if you do, I'm here to tell you that you fail, genius. If you wanted to get drunk incognito, Wilson, you should have borrowed my cap and sha....."
"This is only my first drink," the other man interrupts him, "and my name's not Wilson." Bespectacled eyes begin to sparkle with mischief. "I've gotta tell ya, I'm almost disappointed. You seem to be confusing me with someone else."
"Someone...." House cuts himself off abruptly, then fumbles in his pocket for his pills. Wilson always does this to him and with deceptive ease: nonchalantly scissor-kicks his legs out from under him and it's extremely annoying. He examines his companion silently. "I thought your name was James Wilson," he finally ventures. "Who do you think you are?"
"I...." the man says and pats the stool beside him in invitation, "think I'm Evan."
*
Turns out that Evan's bright, carefree, and effortlessly amusing, and he grasps House's interest by the scruff of its neck and holds his wine glass in his right hand.
House learns that Evan had been an only child and had spent most of his life in Quebec.
"I'm training to be a counselor," Evan says, the lies spilling from his pretty mouth like nickels from a slot machine, and, oh, it must be House's lucky night because, for once, he's hit the jackpot. "I hope I'll make a good one." He moves closer to House.... body language confident and flirtatious. "Now," he says, gazing at House from beneath curling lashes, "why don't we start talking about you?"
The two men deliberately switch to soft drinks and they jump easily from topic to topic. House grins so often his jaw aches, and the evening flashes past in a blur.
"May I come home with you tonight?" Evan asks, his brown eyes luminous with hope, and House doesn't have an immediate answer for him. Evan's as different from Wilson as night is from day - as abandonment is from repression, but House has loved far too few people in his life. There's so much for him to lose if this should all go disastrously wrong.
"I understand," Evan says gently when the silence stretches out too long. "It was nice to meet you, Greg." He stands up smoothly and pats his back pockets.
House stares up at him, surprised anew. "You're freeballing?" he asks, his throat dry.
Locating his keys, Evan nods as if it's no big deal and starts to brush past him.
House pauses to do the sensible thing and weighs lust against common-sense. "Hey, wait up," House calls after him, scrambling to find his feet. "My answer's yes."
*
He has second thoughts when both men are standing in his bedroom. This was either role playing taken to extremes or the other man was out of his tiny mind, but Evan doesn't appear to have any qualms and is pressing against House lightly - chest to chest and groin to groin. He holds House's face still with the tips of his fingers and kisses him with an urgency that's flattering.
House pulls back a bit - a little anxious - embarrassingly turned-on - and he remembers how often he'd fallen asleep on sticky sheets after that conversation he'd had with Bonny. Trying to conquer his nerves, he trails shaking hands over the other man's shoulders and Evan gazes into his eyes smiling, always smiling. Smirking back, House decides to give himself over to the moment. His last remaining doubts are cast aside the second Evan starts shedding his clothes.
*
House is still trying to catch his breath when Evan rolls over and lays his head on House's chest.
"You want me to leave or stay?" Evan murmurs wistfully, still speaking in that throaty, ravish-me-now voice and House idly strokes his fingers through dark, sweat-dampened hair and wonders who he's asking.
As much as he'd like to convince himself that Wilson's messing with him and the two of them are just playing some elaborate, twisted game, he's finding it impossible to believe. He knows in his heart of hearts that this is something worse. Something infinitely troubling.
Even if he cuffs the other man to his bed, he could still wake up in the morning to discover that Evan had been long gone. And who might have forcibly taken his place? House sighs deeply, wondering why nothing in his life ever, ever works out well and feels depressed because there are no easy answers.
Only soul-destroying questions.
Evan lifts his head to look at him.
"Could care less either way," House snaps and flinches at the pain he sees in the other man's large eyes. He gently eases Evan's head back down and smiles sadly up at the ceiling reflecting on how ironic it all is - that he, a junkie and part-time drunk, is probably the sanest one in the crowd. How awful. On impulse, he throws an arm over Evan's tense form and, when Evan relaxes slowly by degrees, he holds onto him tightly, pretending that that might make a difference. "As long as you keep my bed warm."
The end.
Author: Fayding_fast
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Minor for "House divided"
Con-crit? Yes please and thank you kindly.
Summary: Wilson's all about persona
When Wilson pulls a disappearing act during his clinic hours, House claims that he'd seen it coming. After all, he explains, a man who has worked his way steadily through three wives, countless girlfriends and a duck is hardly the definition of well-balanced.
Secretly though, House is dumbfounded. He'd told Wilson that things would go tits-up with Danny; he'd been kind enough to warn him. Perhaps, when this was all over, when the dust had settled and the mindless panicking had died down, Wilson might be wise enough to pay a little more attention to him. A man can dream.
Meanwhile, anxious colleagues keep pestering him - buzzing around him like flies - and they all say the same thing. Ad nauseam. Ad infinitum. They tell him that he can drop the heartless act; they know he's worried, and House knows they're right. Eventually, House craves some peace to such an extent that he swallows his pride, puts on his jacket and leaves the hospital to go and search for him.
He finds the loser in the sixth bar he visits.
Wilson is dressed casually in a snug fitting t-shirt and jeans that are frayed at the knees so he must have gone home first, to change. He's also wearing a new pair of glasses that do wonders for his appearance but absolutely nothing to enhance his vision. He doesn't notice House until he's prodded sharply between his shoulder blades with a cane.
"You're pitiful; you realize that?" House points out when Wilson twists around to frown up at him.
"That's kinda harsh," Wilson protests. "You don't even know me."
House stares at him in surprise, shocked not so much by the words but by Wilson's voice which is husky and intriguing because it's wholly unfamiliar. He rallies quickly. "You think you're in disguise?" he enquires carefully. "Because if you do, I'm here to tell you that you fail, genius. If you wanted to get drunk incognito, Wilson, you should have borrowed my cap and sha....."
"This is only my first drink," the other man interrupts him, "and my name's not Wilson." Bespectacled eyes begin to sparkle with mischief. "I've gotta tell ya, I'm almost disappointed. You seem to be confusing me with someone else."
"Someone...." House cuts himself off abruptly, then fumbles in his pocket for his pills. Wilson always does this to him and with deceptive ease: nonchalantly scissor-kicks his legs out from under him and it's extremely annoying. He examines his companion silently. "I thought your name was James Wilson," he finally ventures. "Who do you think you are?"
"I...." the man says and pats the stool beside him in invitation, "think I'm Evan."
*
Turns out that Evan's bright, carefree, and effortlessly amusing, and he grasps House's interest by the scruff of its neck and holds his wine glass in his right hand.
House learns that Evan had been an only child and had spent most of his life in Quebec.
"I'm training to be a counselor," Evan says, the lies spilling from his pretty mouth like nickels from a slot machine, and, oh, it must be House's lucky night because, for once, he's hit the jackpot. "I hope I'll make a good one." He moves closer to House.... body language confident and flirtatious. "Now," he says, gazing at House from beneath curling lashes, "why don't we start talking about you?"
The two men deliberately switch to soft drinks and they jump easily from topic to topic. House grins so often his jaw aches, and the evening flashes past in a blur.
"May I come home with you tonight?" Evan asks, his brown eyes luminous with hope, and House doesn't have an immediate answer for him. Evan's as different from Wilson as night is from day - as abandonment is from repression, but House has loved far too few people in his life. There's so much for him to lose if this should all go disastrously wrong.
"I understand," Evan says gently when the silence stretches out too long. "It was nice to meet you, Greg." He stands up smoothly and pats his back pockets.
House stares up at him, surprised anew. "You're freeballing?" he asks, his throat dry.
Locating his keys, Evan nods as if it's no big deal and starts to brush past him.
House pauses to do the sensible thing and weighs lust against common-sense. "Hey, wait up," House calls after him, scrambling to find his feet. "My answer's yes."
*
He has second thoughts when both men are standing in his bedroom. This was either role playing taken to extremes or the other man was out of his tiny mind, but Evan doesn't appear to have any qualms and is pressing against House lightly - chest to chest and groin to groin. He holds House's face still with the tips of his fingers and kisses him with an urgency that's flattering.
House pulls back a bit - a little anxious - embarrassingly turned-on - and he remembers how often he'd fallen asleep on sticky sheets after that conversation he'd had with Bonny. Trying to conquer his nerves, he trails shaking hands over the other man's shoulders and Evan gazes into his eyes smiling, always smiling. Smirking back, House decides to give himself over to the moment. His last remaining doubts are cast aside the second Evan starts shedding his clothes.
*
House is still trying to catch his breath when Evan rolls over and lays his head on House's chest.
"You want me to leave or stay?" Evan murmurs wistfully, still speaking in that throaty, ravish-me-now voice and House idly strokes his fingers through dark, sweat-dampened hair and wonders who he's asking.
As much as he'd like to convince himself that Wilson's messing with him and the two of them are just playing some elaborate, twisted game, he's finding it impossible to believe. He knows in his heart of hearts that this is something worse. Something infinitely troubling.
Even if he cuffs the other man to his bed, he could still wake up in the morning to discover that Evan had been long gone. And who might have forcibly taken his place? House sighs deeply, wondering why nothing in his life ever, ever works out well and feels depressed because there are no easy answers.
Only soul-destroying questions.
Evan lifts his head to look at him.
"Could care less either way," House snaps and flinches at the pain he sees in the other man's large eyes. He gently eases Evan's head back down and smiles sadly up at the ceiling reflecting on how ironic it all is - that he, a junkie and part-time drunk, is probably the sanest one in the crowd. How awful. On impulse, he throws an arm over Evan's tense form and, when Evan relaxes slowly by degrees, he holds onto him tightly, pretending that that might make a difference. "As long as you keep my bed warm."
The end.