HOUSE M.D. FIC: Bombed
Title: Bombed
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Words: 393
Summary: Wilson doesn’t know what hit him. Ficlet written for the Sick!Wilson Prompt BINGO Challenge. Happy belated birthday!
Thanks: To jezziejay for beta :)
When Wilson finally regained consciousness, he reached for the alarm clock and accidentally slapped House in the face. “Sorry,” he mumbled automatically before his befuddled brain caught up and asked him just what the hell House’s head was doing on the pillow next to his anyway. Wilson’s own head ached, and his stomach was roiling in protest. He was suddenly aware that his mouth tasted simultaneously sweet and rancid, as if a chocolate bunny had crawled in and died. He smacked his lips experimentally and then wished he hadn’t.
House was regarding him with a slightly guilty air. “Good morning, sunshine.”
For some reason Wilson was lying on his stomach. He started to push himself up and immediately regretted it. House put out a cautionary arm. “Don’t move too much. You’ve got an IV in.”
Wilson turned his head gingerly to the right and eyed the stand next to the bed, following the line from the drip chamber down to the cannula in his median cubital. “What the…”
“Saline,” House supplied. “Rehydration therapy.”
“What… happened to me last night?”
“You were the victim of my version of a giant Irish Car Bomb cupcake.” Seeing Wilson’s blank expression, he elaborated, “Several rounds each of whiskey, Bailey’s, and Guinness, and a double layer chocolate cake. With candles, of course.” Off Wilson’s look of disbelief, he added, “Don’t worry, I had the fire extinguisher ready.”
“Wow, House, that’s really…”
“Insensitive?” House suggested brightly.
“I was going to say ‘nauseating.’” Wilson closed his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You already have been. Repeatedly. It’s starting to get old.”
“God.” Wilson let his head sink back down onto the pillow and gulped unhappily against the threatening bile. “Why did you let me drink all that crap?”
“I couldn’t say no.” House gave him a pained look. “It was your birthday.”
“I don’t even remember eating cake.”
“After all that alcohol, I’d be surprised if you remembered having sex with the entire nursing staff. It’s okay, I made them all use protection. Jeffrey bitched a little, but-“
“House. Why are you still talking?”
“Well, look who’s Mr. Crankypants this morning.”
“Can’t you just leave me alone to die in peace?”
House pouted. “You’re no fun. We haven’t even gotten to the traditional birthday spanking.”
“Oh,” Wilson assured him, “we’re getting closer to it all the time.”
Author’s Note: If you’ve never had an Irish Car Bomb cupcake, check this out.
Fandom: House M.D.
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship
Words: 393
Summary: Wilson doesn’t know what hit him. Ficlet written for the Sick!Wilson Prompt BINGO Challenge. Happy belated birthday!
Thanks: To jezziejay for beta :)
When Wilson finally regained consciousness, he reached for the alarm clock and accidentally slapped House in the face. “Sorry,” he mumbled automatically before his befuddled brain caught up and asked him just what the hell House’s head was doing on the pillow next to his anyway. Wilson’s own head ached, and his stomach was roiling in protest. He was suddenly aware that his mouth tasted simultaneously sweet and rancid, as if a chocolate bunny had crawled in and died. He smacked his lips experimentally and then wished he hadn’t.
House was regarding him with a slightly guilty air. “Good morning, sunshine.”
For some reason Wilson was lying on his stomach. He started to push himself up and immediately regretted it. House put out a cautionary arm. “Don’t move too much. You’ve got an IV in.”
Wilson turned his head gingerly to the right and eyed the stand next to the bed, following the line from the drip chamber down to the cannula in his median cubital. “What the…”
“Saline,” House supplied. “Rehydration therapy.”
“What… happened to me last night?”
“You were the victim of my version of a giant Irish Car Bomb cupcake.” Seeing Wilson’s blank expression, he elaborated, “Several rounds each of whiskey, Bailey’s, and Guinness, and a double layer chocolate cake. With candles, of course.” Off Wilson’s look of disbelief, he added, “Don’t worry, I had the fire extinguisher ready.”
“Wow, House, that’s really…”
“Insensitive?” House suggested brightly.
“I was going to say ‘nauseating.’” Wilson closed his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You already have been. Repeatedly. It’s starting to get old.”
“God.” Wilson let his head sink back down onto the pillow and gulped unhappily against the threatening bile. “Why did you let me drink all that crap?”
“I couldn’t say no.” House gave him a pained look. “It was your birthday.”
“I don’t even remember eating cake.”
“After all that alcohol, I’d be surprised if you remembered having sex with the entire nursing staff. It’s okay, I made them all use protection. Jeffrey bitched a little, but-“
“House. Why are you still talking?”
“Well, look who’s Mr. Crankypants this morning.”
“Can’t you just leave me alone to die in peace?”
House pouted. “You’re no fun. We haven’t even gotten to the traditional birthday spanking.”
“Oh,” Wilson assured him, “we’re getting closer to it all the time.”
Author’s Note: If you’ve never had an Irish Car Bomb cupcake, check this out.