Leather- House/Wilson
Leather
There was a rap on the door which woke Wilson from his studious slumber. After shutting down two indecent websites from his computer, Wilson made himself look presentable then shimmied to the door. Upon opening he found three cardboard boxes busting open, stacked one on top of the other. House’s tuft of mousey hair poked over one of the boxes and Wilson breathed through his teeth, using that old counting trick to release stress. It wasn’t working. “House what are you doing?” he barked, trying to get on tiptoes to see over the boxes. House popped up with all the vigour of a jack in the box, his blue eyes masked by thickly rimmed black spectacles.
“Hey aren’t these cool?” he cried, pouting and posing as he pointed to the glasses.
“What are you doing?” Wilson repeated, his ever decreasing tolerance hanging on by a mere thread. House did a double take at all the boxes, and chirped, “I’m your roomie.”
Wilson coughed back and shifted out the way as House struggled to carry two boxes into Wilson’s cramped room. “What do you mean roomie?” Wilson asked, kicking some of House’s belongings across the floor. House placed his hands on his hips and then sighed, “God, you take a while to catch on. My room is being renovated, so for now we’re bunk buddies.”
“Please, never use the phrase bunk buddies.”
“Yeah I guess that was a little out of context. We haven’t got to be bunk buddies. Unless you want to be?” House gave a slight grate on his voice and smirked as he notice Wilson evidently dodge the comment.
*
Wilson leant against the wall outside his office, which had now become a makeshift bachelor pad for House, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What would meet him today? It was like leaving a dog home alone; never knowing what foul pleasures await. Last week it was House injecting himself with six different drugs, the week before was House on the floor with a bottle of whiskey and an empty packet of vicodin. Wilson pushed the door and closed his eyes. Everything was in it’s place. There was no House strewn across the floor. House was sitting behind Wilson’s desk, the flicker of the computer screen on his face. His head was cocked to one side and his mouth was curved in a way which could only be described as confusion. House looked up for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the screen with a smirk.
Wilson was sure he felt his heart thump in relief then hasten when he thought of the computer.
“I know a better place you can watch this without the tacky leather straps.” House said, no hint of sarcasm on his voice. Wilson felt a pulse of blood lace his face, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red as he stumbled over his words. House sniffed and clicked a few times on the mouse. “Wow you should really delete viewing history on this thing.” House sighed, scratching the stubble on his chin, “And cookies, lets not forget those.”
“House- I-I.”
“It was for medical research.” House soothed, “I know. Let’s forget this ever happen.” Wilson screwed his face up and turned to face the door, knowing House could never forget something like this for as long as he lived.
“Just one thing.” House queried, “Do you really like this stuff?” The way his voice hushed towards the end told Wilson it wasn’t a joke but a sincere question.
“Yes, why?” Wilson groaned, rubbing his forehead. House shrugged and poked a few sheets of paper, “No, it’s just, I like it too.”
“Really?” Wilson’s eyes widened, “You serious?” House said nothing, but turned, fishing in a cardboard box. Wilson’s mouth opened a little more and he found himself stepping forward to the edge of the desk, House cradled a black whip and a collar, stroking the thick leather. He looked up with his iced eyes. He caught Wilson by the collar of the shirt, “Deadly serious.” he whispered with a smirk.
There was a rap on the door which woke Wilson from his studious slumber. After shutting down two indecent websites from his computer, Wilson made himself look presentable then shimmied to the door. Upon opening he found three cardboard boxes busting open, stacked one on top of the other. House’s tuft of mousey hair poked over one of the boxes and Wilson breathed through his teeth, using that old counting trick to release stress. It wasn’t working. “House what are you doing?” he barked, trying to get on tiptoes to see over the boxes. House popped up with all the vigour of a jack in the box, his blue eyes masked by thickly rimmed black spectacles.
“Hey aren’t these cool?” he cried, pouting and posing as he pointed to the glasses.
“What are you doing?” Wilson repeated, his ever decreasing tolerance hanging on by a mere thread. House did a double take at all the boxes, and chirped, “I’m your roomie.”
Wilson coughed back and shifted out the way as House struggled to carry two boxes into Wilson’s cramped room. “What do you mean roomie?” Wilson asked, kicking some of House’s belongings across the floor. House placed his hands on his hips and then sighed, “God, you take a while to catch on. My room is being renovated, so for now we’re bunk buddies.”
“Please, never use the phrase bunk buddies.”
“Yeah I guess that was a little out of context. We haven’t got to be bunk buddies. Unless you want to be?” House gave a slight grate on his voice and smirked as he notice Wilson evidently dodge the comment.
*
Wilson leant against the wall outside his office, which had now become a makeshift bachelor pad for House, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What would meet him today? It was like leaving a dog home alone; never knowing what foul pleasures await. Last week it was House injecting himself with six different drugs, the week before was House on the floor with a bottle of whiskey and an empty packet of vicodin. Wilson pushed the door and closed his eyes. Everything was in it’s place. There was no House strewn across the floor. House was sitting behind Wilson’s desk, the flicker of the computer screen on his face. His head was cocked to one side and his mouth was curved in a way which could only be described as confusion. House looked up for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the screen with a smirk.
Wilson was sure he felt his heart thump in relief then hasten when he thought of the computer.
“I know a better place you can watch this without the tacky leather straps.” House said, no hint of sarcasm on his voice. Wilson felt a pulse of blood lace his face, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red as he stumbled over his words. House sniffed and clicked a few times on the mouse. “Wow you should really delete viewing history on this thing.” House sighed, scratching the stubble on his chin, “And cookies, lets not forget those.”
“House- I-I.”
“It was for medical research.” House soothed, “I know. Let’s forget this ever happen.” Wilson screwed his face up and turned to face the door, knowing House could never forget something like this for as long as he lived.
“Just one thing.” House queried, “Do you really like this stuff?” The way his voice hushed towards the end told Wilson it wasn’t a joke but a sincere question.
“Yes, why?” Wilson groaned, rubbing his forehead. House shrugged and poked a few sheets of paper, “No, it’s just, I like it too.”
“Really?” Wilson’s eyes widened, “You serious?” House said nothing, but turned, fishing in a cardboard box. Wilson’s mouth opened a little more and he found himself stepping forward to the edge of the desk, House cradled a black whip and a collar, stroking the thick leather. He looked up with his iced eyes. He caught Wilson by the collar of the shirt, “Deadly serious.” he whispered with a smirk.