(no subject)
Watching for Wilson’s reaction out of the corner of your eye, you inch your hand over until your fingertips brush against skin. Like a 5-legged spider, you move your hand to settle it firmly over Wilson’s. The hand twitches under yours and you catch him glancing at you, looking out of the corner of his eye, very similar to the way you are sneaking looks at him.
“Are you afraid of the big bad men and their big bad guns?” he quips lamely, but doesn’t pull back his hand.
You rub your thumb over one of his knuckles and he tries to pull back. You tighten your grip, not wanting your prey to get away.
“House,” he warns, clearly uncomfortable, shifting to look at you properly. “Something on your mind?”
You stumble over your words before you even get a syllable past your lips. Since when have you regressed to the awkward gangly teen that was afraid of rejection? “Yes,” you finally manage to say, turning to look at Wilson and catching his eye.
“You aren’t going to try to kiss me, are you?” he jokes, accompanied by a weak laugh.
“Why on earth would I do a thing like that?” Yes. Why? WHY?
“Well, you are staring at my lips.”
Fuck. You quickly look elsewhere - Wilson’s right ear. “Do you want me to?” You try to act casual.
A blink. Two. Three. Eyes narrow, trying to search out the joke. “What?”
“Do you want me to?” You are back to staring at his lips again, waiting for an answer.
He glances at the coffee table, first looking at your empty beer bottles, then his own before he turns his eyes back on you. “Yes,” he says cautiously, eyes narrowed, still suspicious.
You snap up the consent and lean towards him, hooking your fingers behind his neck when he tries to lean away. Inches from his lips, you pause, breathing in the air expelled from his rapid breaths.
What do you do next?
Chicken out
Kiss him
(back)